Orbis Terrarum 15 (2017) 9783515121620, 9783515121651, 3515121625

Citation preview

RBIS TERRARUM Alte Geschichte Franz Steiner Verlag

Band 15 / 2017

Internationale Zeitschrift für historische Geographie der Alten Welt Journal of Historical Geography of the Ancient World Revue internationale de la géographie historique du monde antique Rivista internazionale di geografia storica del mondo antico

15

ORBIS TERRARUM Band 15

ORBIS TERRARUM Internationale Zeitschrift für historische Geographie der Alten Welt Journal of Historical Geography of the Ancient World Revue internationale de la géographie historique du monde antique Rivista internazionale di geografia storica del mondo antico OT 15 (2017)

Franz Steiner Verlag

ORBIS TERRARUM Internationale Zeitschrift für historische Geographie der Alten Welt Journal of Historical Geography of the Ancient World Revue internationale de la géographie historique du monde antique Rivista internazionale di geografia storica del mondo antico Publikationsorgan der Ernst Kirsten Gesellschaft: Internationale Gesellschaft für Historische Geographie der Alten Welt begründet von Prof. Dr. Eckart Olshausen herausgegeben von Prof. Dr. Michael Rathmann Mitherausgeber: Prof. Dr. Tønnes Bekker-Nielsen (verantwortlich für Rezensionen englischer, deutscher, spanischer oder türkischer Titel) Dr. Anca Dan (verantwortlich für Rezensionen französischer, italienischer, griechischer oder russischer Titel) Wissenschaftlicher Beirat: Pascal Arnaud (Lyon), Serena Bianchetti (Firenze), Daniela Dueck (Ramat Gan), Hans-Joachim Gehrke (Freiburg), Herbert Graßl (Salzburg), Anne Kolb (Zürich), Ray Laurence (Sydney), Alexander Podossinov (Moskau), Francesco Prontera (Perugia), Sergei Saprykin (Moskau), Vera Sauer (Rangendingen), Mustafa Sayar (Istanbul), Richard Talbert (Chapel Hill), George Tolias (Athen) www.steiner-verlag.de/orbis

Das Emblem auf dem Cover der Zeitschrift ist abgeleitet von einem Relief in der Galleria Estense, Módena, Inv. Nr. 2627 (vgl. Vera Sauer, OT 1, 1995, 9–23). Bibliografische Information der Deutschen Nationalbibliothek: Die Deutsche Nationalbibliothek verzeichnet diese Publikation in der Deutschen Nationalbibliografie; detaillierte bibliografische Daten sind im Internet über abrufbar. Dieses Werk einschließlich aller seiner Teile ist urheberrechtlich geschützt. Jede Verwertung außerhalb der engen Grenzen des Urheberrechtsgesetzes ist unzulässig und strafbar. © Franz Steiner Verlag, Stuttgart 2018 Druck: Laupp & Göbel, Gomaringen Gedruckt auf säurefreiem, alterungsbeständigem Papier. Printed in Germany. ISSN 1385-285X ISBN 978-3-515-12162-0 (Print) ISBN 978-3-515-12165-1 (E-Book)

INHALTSVERZEICHNIS Vorwort des Herausgebers ....................................................................................... 9 Manuel Albaladejo Vivero Emporion and Chora in the Periplus of the Erythraean Sea and related sources ....................................................................................................... 11 Tønnes Bekker-Nielsen The corners of a Pontic world: an essay in the history of spaces .......................... 23 Herbert Graßl Die Beziehungen zwischen Land und Stadt in Alkiphrons Bauernbriefen. Literarische Fiktion oder Spiegel bäuerlicher Lebensformen der griechischen Spätklassik bzw. römischen Kaiserzeit? ................................................................ 71 Paul J. Kosmin The politics of science: Eratosthenesʼ geography and Ptolemaic imperialism ..... 85 Alessandro Novati Oltre le porte della città: la campagna come bene materiale ed estetico nel romanzo di longo sofista ....................................................................................... 97 András Patay-Horváth Pelops and the Peloponnese ................................................................................. 113 David A. Warburton Lists versus plans and maps. The ancient near eastern approach to geographical and topographical information – and its possible importance for the history of cartography ..................................................................................................... 131 Forschungsberichte Bernadette Descharmes Piraterie in der antiken Mittelmeerwelt. Ein Forschungsbericht zum Seeraub von der griechischen Frühzeit bis zur Begründung des Prinzipats ...................... 197

6

Inhaltsverzeichnis

Buchbesprechungen Tønnes Bekker-Nielsen Literaturbericht: Maritime Perspectives Besprechungen zu Baltrusch, Ernst / Kopp, Hans / Wendt, Guido (Hgg.): Seemacht, Seeherrschaft und die Antike; Derks, Heidrun: Gefahr auf See: Piraten in der Antike; Kleu, Michael: Die Seepolitik Philipps V. von Makedonien; Kopp, Hans: Das Meer als Versprechen: Bedeutung und Funktion von Seeherrschaft bei Thukydides; Schulz, Raimund: Abenteurer der Ferne: Die grossen Entdeckungsfahrten und das Weltwissen der Antike ..................... 225 Arturo Morales Muñiz Besprechung zu Broderick, Lee (ed.): People with Animals: Perspectives & Studies in Ethnozooarchaeology................................................. 236 Amanda C. Castelló Sánchez Besprechung zu Naudinot, Nicolas / Meignen, Liliane / Binder, Didier / Querré, Guirec (eds.): Actes des XXXVe rencontres internationales dʼarchéologie et dʼhistorie d´Antibes: Les systémes de mobilité de la Préhistoire au Moyen Âge. ..................................................................................................... 240 Christina Williamson Besprechung zu Paliou, Eleftheria / Lieberwirth, Undine / Polla, Silvia (eds): Spatial analysis and social spaces: Interdisciplinary approaches to the interpretation of prehistoric and historic built environments............................... 242 John Leonard Besprechung zu Schäfer, Christoph (ed.): Connecting the Ancient World: Mediterranean Shipping, Maritime Networks and Their Impact ......................... 246 Jonas Scherr Besprechung zu Dumézil, Bruno (ed.): Les barbares .......................................... 250 Eckart Olshausen Besprechung zu Brice, Lee L. / Slootjes, Daniëlle (eds.): Aspects of Ancient Institutions and Geography: Studies in Honor of Richard J. A. Talbert .............. 253 Sabine Panzram Besprechung zu Orfila, Pons M. / Chavez Álvarez M. E. / Sanchez Lopez, E. H. (Hgg.): La orientación de las estructuras ortogonales de nueva planta en época romana. De la varatio y sus variaciones .............................................. 257 Pieter Houten Besprechung zu Hanson, J. W.: An Urban Geography of the Roman World, 100 BC to AD 300 ............................................................................................... 259

Inhaltsverzeichnis

7

Brigitte Englisch Besprechung zu Zackor, Jutta: Alexander der Große auf mittelalterlichen Weltkarten: Alexander Macedo – domitor mundi? ............................................ 262 Athena Trakadas Besprechung zu Palma, P. / Santhakumaran, L. N.: Shipwrecks and Global ʽWormingʼ ........................................................................................................... 267 Eivind Heldaas Seland Besprechung zu Wiesehöfer, Josef / Brinkhaus, Horst / Bichler, Reinhold (eds.): Megasthenes und seine Zeit – Megasthenes and His time: Akten der Internationalen Tagung ʽMegasthenes, Apollodoros und Isidoros, Greek Views of India and the Parthian Empireʼ............................................................. 268 Anca Dan Besprechung zu Ballesteros Pastor, Luis: Pompeyo Trogo, Justino y Mitrídates. Comentario al ʽEpitome de las Historias Filípicasʼ........................... 270 Omar Coloru Besprechung zu Bucciantini, Veronica: Studio su Nearco di Creta: Dalla descrizione geografica alla narrazione storica ........................................... 274 Ray Laurence Besprechung zu Merrills, Andy: Roman Geographies of the Nile: From the Late Republic to the Early Empire ....................................................... 276 Kristina Winther-Jacobsen Besprechung zu Gebhard, Elizabeth R. / Gregory, Timothy E. (eds): Bridge of the Untiring Sea: The Corinthian Isthmus from Prehistory to Late Antiquity........................................................................ 279 Laurianne Martinez-Sève Besprechung zu Moretti J.-Ch. (dir.) / Fadin, L. / Fincker, M. / Picard, V.: Exploration Archéologique de Délos XLIII, Atlas .............................................. 282 Jane Hjarl Petersen Besprechung zu Baas, Philipp: Landbevölkerung und Tod: Untersuchung zu den ländlichen Siedlungen und Nekropolen römischer Zeit auf Sizilien ............ 283 Antonia Sáez Romero Besprechung zu Trakadas, Athena: Fish-salting in the Northwest Maghreb in Antiquity: A Gazetteer of Sites and Resources ............................................... 286

VORWORT DES HERAUSGEBERS Der Orbis Terrarum ist das Publikationsorgan der Ernst-Kirsten-Gesellschaft und ein Forum für Forschungen auf dem Gebiet der Historischen Geographie der Antike. Er bietet daher Raum für Untersuchungen von Historikern, Geographen, Philologen und Archäologen sowie anderer mit Aspekten der Historischen Geographie befasster Altertumswissenschaftler. Das Spektrum ist bewusst breit angelegt. Studien zum geographisch-topographischen Profil der antiken Welt haben hier ebenso Platz wie Forschungen zur historischen Wechselwirkung zwischen Mensch und Landschaft sowie wissenschaftsgeschichtliche oder methodologische Arbeiten. Der Orbis Terrarum nutzt ein double blind peer review-Verfahren. Für den nun vorliegenden Band möchte ich folgenden Gutachtern danken: Pedro Barceló, Serena Bianchetti, Nunzio Bianchi, Daniela Dueck, Werner Eck, Babett Edelmann-Singer, Klaus Freitag, Herbert Graßl, Sven Günther, Matthäus Heil, Kaja Harter-Uibopuu, Heinz Herzig, Anne Kolb, Christian Marek, Alan Millard, Eckart Olshausen, Sabine Panzram, Maria Pia Pattoni, Francisco Ponce, Joachim Quack, Duane W. Roller, Kai Ruffing, Joaquín Ruiz de Arbulo, Werner Tietz, Hamdi Şahin, Benet Salway, Sergei Saprykin, Mustafa Sayar, Walter Scheidel, Winfried Schmitz, Paul Schubert, Raimund Schulz, Monika Schuol, Wolfgang Spickermann, Richard Talbert und Nikolas Wiater. Manuskripte sind einzureichen bei Michael Rathmann, Universität EichstättIngolstadt, Lehrstuhl für Alte Geschichte, Universitätsallee 1, D-85072 Eichstätt, eMail: [email protected]. In der Herausgeberrunde wird es ab Band 16 eine personelle Veränderung geben: Tønnes Bekker-Nielsen scheidet nach verdienstvoller Mitarbeit leider aus. Für die geleistete Arbeit möchte ich ihm unseren herzlichen Dank aussprechen. Als Nachfolger konnte Frank Daubner gewonnen werden. Zusammen mit Anca Dan betreut er nun den Rezensionsteil; Anschriften: Anca Dan, AOROC-CNRS, École Normale Supérieure, 45 rue d’Ulm, F-75005 Paris, eMail: [email protected]. & Frank Daubner, Universität Trier, FB III-Alte Geschichte, D-54286 Trier, eMail: [email protected]. Für die redaktionellen Arbeiten danke ich Natalie Schlirf, der Universität Eichstätt-Ingolstadt für den großzügigen Druckkostenzuschuss. Eichstätt, im Juni 2018

Michael Rathmann

EMPORION AND CHORA IN THE PERIPLUS OF THE ERYTHRAEAN SEA AND RELATED SOURCES1 Manuel Albaladejo Vivero Abstract This paper deals with the references to Indian emporia contained in the Periplus of the Erythraean Sea, as well as in related sources (Pliny the Elder and Ptolemy). Indian emporia were ruled by several political entities that were located inland. These entities controlled the emporia to have direct access to imported products and to tax commercial transactions. Keywords: India, Periplus of the Erythraean Sea, emporia, seaborne trade, Indian Ocean. The last few years have witnessed a resurgence in studies devoted to the Periplus of the Erythraean Sea, a fundamental source for learning about trade and relations between Roman Egypt, eastern Africa, southern Arabia and India. Generally dated to the mid-first century AD,2 the Periplus is traditionally regarded as something like a memorandum book kept in Greek by one or more sea captains or traders from Roman Egypt who had first-hand knowledge of sailing routes and trading practices in the region of the Indian Ocean.3 While the Periplus has always been considered a common, vulgar work without a shred of literary value, some very recent studies have pointed to a certain level of literary skill. They have taken a second look and concluded that the Periplus contains, side-by-side with its purely

1

2

3

This paper is part of Spanish Ministry of the Economy, Industry and Competitiveness project HAR2016–76098–C2–1–P, “Historiography and Ancient Geography: Representation of Space and Transmission of Knowledge.” G. FUSSMAN, “Le Périple et l’histoire politique de l’Inde,” Journal Asiatique, 279, 1991, 31– 8; C. ROBIN, “L’Arabie du sud et la date du Périple de la mer Érythrée,” Journal Asiatique, 279, 1991, 1–30. Among the discordant opinions, see P. ARNAUD, “Le Periplus Maris Erythraei: une oeuvre de compilation aux preoccupations géographiques,” Topoi. Orient-Occident Supplément 11, 2012, 27–61. L. CASSON, The Periplus Maris Erythraei. Text with Introduction, Translation, and Commentary, Princeton 1989, 7–8.

12

Manuel Albaladejo Vivero

practical information, diverse elements that unmistakably link the work to the classic travelogue tradition.4 Certain phenomena that have happened or whose historic process has gathered speed in recent decades, such as globalization, have spurred scholars to reexamine the Periplus and try and untangle all the elements it contains. A number of significant studies have been devoted to explaining the development of complex societies, with their attendant political evolution, in parallel with the commercial development that involved the creation of far-flung trade networks in the region of the Indian Ocean.5 Closely connected to the trade networks in question is the issue of the harbors and infrastructure that were instrumental in exchanges between the Indian political entities of that time and other entities (especially private entities) doing business in the broad environment defined by the coastal states of the Indian Ocean.6 In this paper I would like to focus on looking into the main emporia and other Indian ports mentioned in the Periplus of the Erythraean Sea and other more-orless contemporary Greco-Roman sources (primarily Pliny the Elder and Ptolemy) to better grasp the role these hubs of commerce played, especially from the political standpoint. The initial hypothesis that I shall develop and endeavor to prove in the pages to follow consists in assessing the role that Indian emporia played as the sites hand-picked by the political authorities in charge (whether governing a single emporion or several emporia at the same time) for safe, controlled trading with the rest of the players operating in the Indian Ocean region. This model of political/trade organization may also have been present in other zones described in 4

5

6

D. MARCOTTE, “Le Périple de la mer Érythrée dans son genre et sa tradition textuelle,” Topoi. Orient-Occident Supplément 11, 2012, 7–25; P. ARNAUD, “Le Periplus Maris Erythraei,” 27–61; F. DE ROMANIS, “An Exceptional Survivor and Its Submerged Background: The Periplus Maris Erythraei and the Indian Ocean Travelogue Tradition,” in G. COLESANTI – L. LULLI (eds.), Submerged Literature in Ancient Greek Culture. Case Studies, BerlinBoston 2016, 97–110; D. MARCOTTE, “Le Périple de la mer Érythrée et les informateurs de Ptolémée. Géographie et traditions textuelles,” Journal Asiatique 304.1, 2016, 33–46; D. MARCOTTE, “L’océan Indien dans l’Antiquité: science, commerce et géopolitique,” in P. DE SOUZA – P. ARNAUD – CH. BUCHET (eds.), The Sea in History. The Ancient World, Woodbridge 2017, 511–22. R. TOMBER, Indo-Roman Trade. From Pots to Pepper, London 2008; E.H. SELAND, Ports and Political Power in the Periplus: Complex Societies and Maritime Trade on the Indian Ocean in the First Century AD, Oxford 2010; S.E. SIDEBOTHAM, Berenike and the Ancient Maritime Spice Route, Berkeley 2011; B. FAUCONNIER, “Graeco-Roman merchants in the Indian Ocean: Revealing a multicultural trade,” Topoi. Orient-Occident Supplément 11, 2012, 75–109; J.P. SÁNCHEZ HERNÁNDEZ, “Pausanias and Rome’s Eastern Trade,” Mnemosyne 69, 2016, 955–77; E.H. SELAND, Ships of the Desert and Ships of the Sea. Palmyra in the World Trade of the First Three Centuries CE, Wiesbaden 2016. For merchant communities in ancient India, H.P. RAY, The Archeology of Seafaring in Ancient South India, Cambridge 2003, 188–213. M.A. SPEIDEL, “Fernhandel und Freundschaft zu Roms Amici an den Handelsrouten nach Südarabien und Indien,” Orbis Terrarum 14, 2016, 155–93; R. SCHULZ, Abenteurer der Ferne: die grossen Entdeckungsfahrten und das Weltwissen der Antike, Stuttgart 2016, 355–78.

Emporion and Chora

13

the Periplus, such as southern Arabia and the east coast of Africa, but for reasons of space that subject will have to be dealt with in a future article. A second hypothesis is entertained as well, one that is trickier to back up but might explain the existence of various emporia, primarily on the west coast of the Indian subcontinent, as a result of foreign policy under Augustus, before whom various embassies from India (as well as from other zones outside the Roman Empire) presented themselves to seek his amicitia.7 Amicitia, an ambiguous, vague term by definition, may be interpreted in this context as an agreement or accord to establish trade relations between Rome and the countries that did not belong to the Roman provincial structure.8 Before taking up our analysis, let us review the geographic constraints that existed on India’s western coast. More specifically, let us recall that an emporion did not necessarily have to be a seaport; in fact, there were several emporia on rivers.9 In addition, evidence indicates there were few high-quality natural seaports in the area. The coastline largely consisted of a continuous plain of sandy beaches, where it was hard to anchor ships. Fortunately for seafarers, in northwestern India ships could be moored at the mouths of rivers. In the particular case of the Indus, the most important river in northwestern India, it was relatively easy to sail upriver, as demonstrated by Alexander the Great’s expedition into that area. Other nearby rivers present fewer facilities for shipping; the rivers that flow through the Western Ghats run along jagged courses that fall sharply as they near the coast.10 The area of the mouth of the Indus is called Scythia11 in the Periplus. It is said to throng with snakes that come out of the bottom of the sea, and only the middle of the river’s seven mouths is said to be navigable. The middle mouth referred to the central course, along which, near the coast, lay the emporion of Barbarikon.

7

8 9

10 11

RgdA 31; Str. XV, 1, 4; XV, 1, 73; Suet., Aug. 21, 3; Flor. II, 34, 62–63; D.C. LIV, 9, 8–10; Oros. VI, 21, 19–20; Eutr. VII, 10; Aur. Vict., Caes. I, 7. W. SCHMITTHENNER, “Rome and India: Aspects of Universal History during the Principate,” JRS 69, 1979, 98–101; S.E. SIDEBOTHAM, Roman Economic Policy in the Erythra Thalassa 30 B.C.–A.D. 217, Leiden 1986, 129; G. ZIETHEN, “Legationes Externae in der frührömischen Kaiserzeit: INDI – ΑIΘI ΕΣ – ΣΕ ΕΣ,” Nubica 3.1, 1994, 141–97; R. MCLAUGHLIN, Rome and the Distant East. Trade Routes to the ancient Lands of Arabia, India and China, London-New York 2010, 111–17; M.A. SPEIDEL, “Fernhandel und Freundschaft zu Roms Amici,” 175–82. In other contexts amicitia could mean acceptance of Roman domination. M.A. SPEIDEL, “Fernhandel und Freundschaft zu Roms Amici,” 181. P. COUNILLON, “L’emporion des géographes grecs,” in A. BRESSON – P. ROUILLARD (eds.), L’Emporion, Paris 1993, 50. See also the example of Naukratis, A. MÖLLER, Naukratis. Trade in Archaic Greece, Oxford 2000. E.H. SELAND, Ports and Political Power in the Periplus, 48. PME 38.

14

Manuel Albaladejo Vivero

Fig. 1: Indian emporia, based on the map by E.H. SELAND (see note 12)

The name “Scythia” bears no relation to the broad region the Greeks identified with modern Ukraine and southern Russia. Instead, it was the kingdom of the Sakas, a group of invaders from central Asia that reached northwestern India in the late second century and the first century BC.12 The Scythia depicted in the Periplus, however, was governed by monarchs of Indo-Parthian origin.13 The last known Saka sovereign was Azes II, a contemporary of Augustus,14 while the 12 13 14

E.H. SELAND, Ports and Political Power in the Periplus, 48. O. BOPEARACHCHI – W. PIEPER, Ancient Indian coins, Tournhout 1998, 219–23. W.W. TARN, The Greeks in Bactria and India2, Cambridge 1951, 79; H. KULKE – D. ROTHERMUND, Geschichte Indiens. Von der Induskultur bis heute2, Munich 1998, 97–99; P.N. PURI, “The Sakas and Indo-Parthians,” in J. HARMATTA – A.H. DANI – G.F. ETEMADI (eds.), History of Civilizations of Central Asia, Delhi 1999, 191–207, esp. 194–202.

Emporion and Chora

15

Indo-Parthian dynasty was founded by the man who would eventually become the dynasty’s most famous king, Gondophares or Gundofarr.15 Gondophares is believed to have reigned between approximately 20 and 45 AD. The emporion of Barbarikon depended on an inland metropolis named Minnagar, which has not yet been accurately identified.16 The Indo-Parthian monarchs governed Minnagar not without difficulties, as may be gathered from the Periplus,17 possibly in reference to the complicated times after the death of Gondophares. Fortunately for the modern specialist, we are told that the cargoes of the ships that anchored at Barbarikon were carried upstream to the metropolis,18 giving us to understand that it was relatively simple to get from Barbarikon to Minnagar thanks to the shipping possibilities afforded by the Indus River. Barbarikon imported many different products, such as textiles (plain garments, printed textiles, fabrics of various colors), in addition to topaz, coral, storax, frankincense, glassware, silver dishes, money (that is, Roman coins, which were highly prized in India) and wine.19 The emporion exported products like costus, bdellium, lycium, nard, turquoise, lapis lazuli, Chinese skins, cloth, silk and indigo. Some of the exports, like bdellium and indigo, could be obtained in the area of the river’s mouth, but others, like the Chinese skins and silk, clearly indicate long-distance trade. Such trade must necessarily have passed through the Indus Valley and the Afghan mountains to hook up with the overland routes leading to the western regions of China, although we cannot rule out the possibility that there may have been communication between the Indus Valley and the Ganges Valley, which could have given access to Chinese markets through the Bay of Bengal.20 It seems evident that one of the functions of the Indo-Parthian sovereigns seated at Min-

15

16

17 18 19

20

In Christian tradition he is portrayed as one of the Three Kings (Caspar or Gaspar), and he is mentioned in the Apostle Thomas’s journey to India. E.J. SCHNABEL, Urchristliche Mission, Wuppertal 2002, 853–9; J. KURIKILAMKATT, First Voyage of the Apostle Thomas to India: Ancient Christianity in Bharuch and Taxila, Bangalore 2005; M. WITZEL, Das alte Indien, Munich 2010, 94–7. L. CASSON, The Periplus Maris Erythraei, 189; M. KERVRAN, “Multiple Ports at the Mouth of the River Indus: Barbarike, Deb, Daybul, Lahori Bandal, Diul Sinde,” in H.P. RAY, Archaeology of Seafaring, Delhi 1999, 70–153; S. GHOSH, “Barbarikon in the Maritime Trade Network of Early India,” in R. MUKHERJEE (ed.), Vanguards of Globalization: Port Cities from the Classical to the Modern, New Delhi 2014, 59–74. PME 38. R. MCLAUGHLIN, The Roman Empire and the Indian Ocean, Barnsley 2014, 150–6. PME 39. As E.H. SELAND states in Ports and Political Power in the Periplus, 51, some of these products, like the glassware, silver dishes and wine, might have been consumed at the king’s court itself, while others would have been distributed more widely to other strata of society or other regions. On Roman coins, Plin., Nat. VI, 85. E.H. SELAND, Ports and Political Power in the Periplus, 50. On the references in the Periplus to the trade in textile products, M. ALBALADEJO VIVERO, “Textile trade in the Periplus of the Erythraean Sea,” in M. GLEBA – J. PÁSZTÓKAI (eds.), Making textiles in PreRoman and Roman Times. People, Places, Identities, Oxford 2013, 142–8.

16

Manuel Albaladejo Vivero

nagar was to hold the reins of this long-distance trade, encourage it and expand it as much as they could, using, as it happens, the resources provided by the huge network of connections they had woven throughout the Indian Ocean thanks to their knowledge of how to sail during the monsoon season.21 Southeast of Barbarikon lay the other great emporion of northwestern India, Barygaza, in the region of Ariakê, governed by one Mambanos22 (identified with a king of the Indo-Scythian Saka dynasty named Nahapana,23 who governed in northwestern India in the mid-first century AD). Barygaza is actually one of the ports most often mentioned in the Periplus, a fact that speaks loud and clear of Barygaza’s intrinsic importance24 and the author or authors’ personal knowledge of it. Mention is also made of the country’s metropolis, called Minnagara, creating a certain confusion between this Minnagara and the other metropolis, the one that controlled the emporion of Barbarikon.25 The Periplus does speak of the existence of another city, called Ozênê (Ujjain), which used to be the seat of the local monarchy26 (When the court moved on we do not know). Onyx, agate, fine cotton cloth, mallow cloth and cloths of ordinary quality were shipped from Ozênê to Barygaza. The author or authors of the Periplus moreover report that various products from the inland regions, like nard, costus and bdellium, were brought into Ozênê. It is quite probable that the work of monitoring and taxing all the goods moving up- and downriver took place in Ozênê.27 Barygaza imported more-or-less everyday products, the same sorts of products that Barbarikon imported, like wine (Italian, Laodicean and Arabian), metal (copper, tin and lead), coral, topaz, fabric of all kinds, girdles, storax, sweet clover, glass, realgar, antimony for dyeing, Roman coins28 and unguents. There were also special imports for the king, such as high-quality silver objects, slave musicians, maidens destined for concubinage, fine wine, costly garments and unguents, also of fine quality.29 The author or authors of the Periplus say that goods from other emporia (probably from the Ariakê region) or from far-away lands were exported from Barygaza; the list contains products such as nard, costus, bdellium (mentioned 21 22 23 24 25

26 27 28 29

PME 39. PME 41. L. CASSON, The Periplus Maris Erythraei, 198; R. MCLAUGHLIN, The Roman Empire and the Indian Ocean, 157–71. A. BRESSON, “Les cites grecques et leurs emporia,” in A. BRESSON – P. ROUILLARD (eds.), L’Emporion, Paris 1993, 196. Both names mean “Saka-town,” but the first one had been taken over by the Parthians. W.W. TARN, The Greeks in Bactria and India2, 235; L. CASSON, The Periplus Maris Erythraei, 199. PME 48. E.H. SELAND, Ports and Political Power in the Periplus, 53. These gold and silver coins were said to be for exchange into local currency. In this case they were not regarded as luxury goods, unlike the coins mentioned in PME 39. PME 49.

Emporion and Chora

17

previously in the account), ivory, onyx, agate, lykion, all kinds of cloth (Chinese, mallow cloth, linen) and long pepper.30 Quite significant reference is made to the existence of a trade monopoly in the hands of the monarchs who ruled Barygaza in those days. The Periplus contains the assertion31 that, because of the shallow waters of the river where the emporion lay (called Lamnaios), the local fishermen “in the service of the king” would go out with long boats called trappaga and kotymba.32 Farther south,33 in the region named Dachinabadês,34 there were two main emporia, Paithana (which lay twenty days’ journey south of Barygaza) and Tagara (which was roughly ten days’ travel east from Paithana). As told in the Periplus,35 from Paithana large quantities of onyx were sent to Barygaza by cart over long, hard routes, while from Tagara large quantities of ordinary cloth, fine Indian fabrics and mallow cloth were carried, along with other goods that reached Tagara from the coast. This region may be identified as the Deccan Plateau, and it seems that at least since the early first century BC the plateau’s interior region was controlled by the Satavahanas, who at some point established their capital in Paithana itself, although the Periplus fails to make Paithana’s status clear.36 The Periplus makes the striking assertion that the products from Paithana and Tagara were traded in Barygaza after having reached their destination via a long journey over hard-to-travel roads. Offering a solution to this problem is no simple matter, but any attempt to do so must include analysis of the next chapter of the work,37 which mentions the emporia topika (local ports) of Akabaru and Suppara and the polis of Kalliena, which had become an emporion enthesmon by the time of Saraganos the Elder.38 Later, however, Sandanês (sovereign of the Sakas) came 30 31 32

33 34 35 36

37 38

PME 49; E.H. SELAND, Ports and Political Power in the Periplus, 52. PME 44. “[T]o the entrance as far as Syrastrênê to meet vessels and guide them up to Barygaza. Through the crew’s efforts, they maneuver them right from the mouth of the gulf through the shoals and tow them to predetermined stopping places; they get them under way when the tide comes in and, when it goes out, bring them to anchor in certain harbors and basins. The basins are rather deep spots along the river up to Barygaza.” L. CASSON, The Periplus Maris Erythraei, 79. H.P. RAY, The Archaeology of Seafaring in Ancient South Asia, 192. This author shows the difficulty of embracing the idea that these rulers had absolute control over commercial activities. PME 50–2. F. DE ROMANIS, “On Dachinabades and Limyrike in the Periplus Maris Erythraei,” Topoi. Orient-Occident Supplément 11, 2012, 329–40. PME 51. U. SINGH, A History of Ancient and Early Medieval India. From the Stone Age to the 12 th Century, Delhi 2008, 381–4; E.H. SELAND, Ports and Political Power in the Periplus, 54; M. WITZEL, Das alte Indien, 105–7. PME 52. L. CASSON, The Periplus Maris Erythraei, 214–5. Śatakarṇi, king of the Satavahana dynasty, who ruled until the first century AD. L. CASSON, “Sakas versus Andhras in the Periplus Maris Erythraei,” JESHO 26, 1983, 164–77; L. CASSON, The Periplus Maris Erythraei, 274.

18

Manuel Albaladejo Vivero

to occupy the city, and trade became tightly restricted, so much so that Greek ships reaching the area used to be escorted to Barygaza. An emporion with the status of emporion enthesmon (“lawful port,” “legally authorized port”) must be understood to have been an emporion open to foreign trade,39 as we can assume all emporia conducted their commercial transactions according to the local law. Once the Sakas took over Kalliena, its port would have been classified as an emporion topikon, together with the ports of Akabaru and Suppara. Therefore, in becoming a “local port,” Kalliena would have ceased to be open to foreign trade.40 That would explain why any Greek ships reaching this area through navigational error or ignorance of the political situation would have had to be shunted to the port of Barygaza, which, as we have seen before, was open to international trade and furthermore was under the Sakas’ control. Thus, the Sakas could control all commercial trade and collect the pertinent taxes, all at one location.41 In southern India the Periplus refers to the kingdom of Kêprobotos,42 which corresponds to the kingdom of Chera,43 on the western coast. To this kingdom belonged the coastal village (kóme) of Tyndis and, 500 stadia from Tyndis, Muziris. Muziris is the port on the Malabar (Limyrikê) coast that by far receives the most attention from the author or authors of the Periplus, and it is likewise mentioned by Pliny the Elder,44 a famous Egyptian papyrus,45 the Tabula Peutingeriana46 and Tamil poetry.47 The site where Muziris once stood has been discovered

39 40 41 42 43 44

45

46 47

A. BRESSON, “Les cites grecques et leurs emporia,” in A. BRESSON – P. ROUILLARD (eds.), L’Emporion, Paris 1993, 193. M.A. SPEIDEL, “Fernhandel und Freundschaft zu Roms Amici,” 182. L. CASSON, The Periplus Maris Erythraei, 215; R. MCLAUGHLIN, Rome and the distant East, 47, 117; E.H. SELAND, Ports and Political Power in the Periplus, 55–6. PME 54. R. MCLAUGHLIN, The Roman Empire and the Indian Ocean, 172–95. V. SELVAKUMAR, “The Routes of Early Historic Tamil Nadu, South India,” in M.-FR. BOUSSAC – J.-FR. SALLES – J.-B. YON (eds.), Ports of the Ancient Indian Ocean, Delhi 2016, 295. Plin., Nat. VI, 104–5. Pliny affirmed that Muziris was “the first trade center of India.” When he wrote his work, Caelobothras reigned in this emporion. “Caelobothras” may be the same as “Kêprobotos,” or it may designate a royal title. On the other hand, Ptol., Geog. VII, 1, 86, stated that the monarch was Kerobothros. P. Vindob. G40822. F. DE ROMANIS, “Comparative Perspectives on the Pepper Trade,” in F. DE ROMANIS – M. MAIURO (eds.), Across the Ocean: Nine Essays on Indo-Mediterranean Trade, Leiden-Boston 2015, 127–50. The duties the Hermapollon (the ship mentioned in this document) had to pay on its return from India are estimated at over 1.7 million sestertii. M.A. SPEIDEL, “Wars, Trade and Treaties: New, Revised, and Neglected Sources for the Political, Diplomatic, and Military Aspects of Imperial Rome’s Relations with the Red Sea Basin and India, from Augustus to Diocletian,” in K.S. MATHEW (ed.), Imperial Rome, Indian Ocean Regions and Muziris: New Perspectives On Maritime Trade, New Delhi 2015, 104–5. Tab. Peut. Seg. 11. M. RATHMANN, Tabula Peutingeriana. Die einzige Weltkarte aus der Antike2, Darmstadt 2017, 98–9. Pattupattu. Ten Tamil Idylls. Tamil Verses with English translation. Transl. by J.V. Chelliah, Madras 1962.

Emporion and Chora

19

in Pattanam48 (a place name that, in the Pali language, actually means “port”), only a short distance from the ancient coastline (which also corresponds with the 20 stadia, or 3.5 kilometers, mentioned in the Periplus as the distance between Muziris and the sea). The other great emporion of southwestern India was Nelkynda, which lay nearly 500 stadia from Muziris but belonged to a different kingdom, the kingdom of Pandyon (also rendered as “Pandya”). Nelkynda too lay next to a river and roughly twenty stadia from the sea,49 and we are told that the kings governing both emporia (Muziris and Nelkynda) resided in the interior, as was the norm elsewhere in India as well.50 The kingdom of Pandyon/Pandya enjoyed certain fame in Greco-Roman literature; both Pliny the Elder and Arrian of Nicomedia (the latter drawing on the work of Megasthenes) told the story of how the kingdom was founded by Herakles, who placed at its head his own daughter, Pandaea, whose name the state itself assumed.51 The capital of the real kingdom of Pandya was Madurai,52 situated in the country’s interior, as we know; it was mentioned as such also by Pliny53 and Ptolemy.54 The archeological remains of its emporion, Nelkynda, have not yet been identified for sure, although signs point to modern Kottayam.55

48

49

50

51 52 53 54 55

K.P. SHAJAN, R. TOMBER, V. SELVAKUMAR, P.J. CHERIAN, “Locating the Ancient Port of Muziris: Fresh Findings from Pattanam,” JRA 17, 2004, 312–20; K.P. SHAJAN – V. SELVAKUMAR, “Pattanam, the First Indo-Roman Trade Centre on the Malabar Coast, and the Location of Ancient Muziris,” in A.S. GAUR – K.H. VORA (eds.), Glimpses of Marine Archaeology in India: Proceedings of the Seventh Indian Conference on Marine Archaeology of Indian Ocean Countries, 6-7 October 2005, Goa 2006, 15–20; P.J. CHERIAN – G.V. RAVI PRASHAD – K. DUTTA – D.K. RAY – V. SELVAKUMAR – K.P. SHAJAN, “Chronology of Pattanam: a multi-cultural port site on the Malabar coast,” Current Science 97.2, 2009, 236–40. PME 54. It is also mentioned in Plin., Nat. VI, 105, where an uncial lambda is mistakenly changed to a capital “A.” J. DESANGES, “L’excursus de Pline l’Ancien sur la navigation de mousson et la datation de ses sources,” Topoi. Orient-Occident Supplément 11, 2012, 63–73, esp. 66. PME 55. F. DE ROMANIS, “Comparative Perspectives on the Pepper Trade,” 142, compares ancient trade in the zone with 16th-century Portuguese trade and offers a geographic explanation for the presence of two emporia within just 500 stadia of each other. The idea is that there were two river basins, and the pepper gathered in the area of the Western Ghats could be transported separately along the two river basins to the two ports. Plin., Nat. VI, 76 (although Pliny situated the kingdom of Pandya north of India); Arr., Ind. 7–11. V. SELVAKUMAR, “The Routes of Early Historic Tamil Nadu, South India,” 298. The city was praised in the Tamil poem Maduraikanchi 372–760. Pattupattu. Ten Tamil Idylls, 221–79. Plin., Nat. VI, 105. Ptol., Geog. VII, 1, 89. E.H. SELAND, Ports and Political Power in the Periplus, 58. Both Muziris and Nelkynda were connected to Madurai through a land route. V. SELVAKUMAR, “The Routes of Early Historic Tamil Nadu, South India,” 299–301.

20

Manuel Albaladejo Vivero

Fig. 2: India of Ptolemy, based on the map by A. Stückelberger – G. Graßhoff (eds.), Klaudios Ptolemaios. Handbuch der Geographie, Vol. 2, Basel 2006, 896 –7.

Emporion and Chora

21

The Periplus tells how merchant ships used to unload their wares at a number of coves near a village called Bakarê, which stood next to the river’s mouth. 56 The reason for this practice was to keep the fully laden ships from running aground, as the waters were very shallow and contained sandbanks. The Periplus mentions various other places along the coast of the kingdom of Pandyon/Pandya, such as the village of Balita, which the author says has a good port; next came a place called Komar, where there was a small settlement and a port, where men and women went who wanted to lead a holy, celibate life.57 Beyond Komar we are told there was Kolchoi, which also belonged to the kingdom of Pandyon,58 at the southern tip of India, next to the Gulf of Mannar, which separates the subcontinent from Sri Lanka. Kolchoi was furthermore an important pearl-fishing hub; the pearls were collected by condemned criminals but sold to foreign merchants in the emporia of Muziris and/or Nelkynda. After Kolchoi, the Periplus mentions another place referred to as “Strand” (Aigialòs), situated in a gulf with an inland region (chôra) called Argaru. The fine fabrics called argaritides were exported from Argaru, and the pearls collected in the area were stored in Argaru as well.59 Possibly the local ruler held some sort of monopoly enabling him to control the pearl trade. Incidentally, it has been argued that “Strand” could be the first place attributed by the work’s author or authors to the third great kingdom existing in southern India during the period when the Periplus was composed, i.e., the kingdom of Chola.60 It is a fact that no mention of Chola’s name appears anywhere in the Periplus, while Chera/Kêprobotos and Pandya/Pandyon are mentioned; perhaps this is because at that time very few or no merchants from the Roman Empire were sailing beyond Cape Comorin.61 In addition to the zone of Argaru, three emporia on the Coromandel Coast are mentioned in the Periplus: Kamara, Podukê and Sôpatma, in that order, situated one after the other.62 The Periplus also speaks about the existence of close commercial contact between the Malabar Coast or Limyrikê and these southern emporia, and it refers to the ships used, the sangara and the huge kolandiophônta,63 which used to cross to Chrysê64 and the Ganges. 56 57 58

59 60 61 62 63 64

PME 55. PME 58. PME 59. V. SELVAKUMAR, “The Routes of Early Historic Tamil Nadu, South India,” 302–3. The city and the port of Kolchoi or Korkai are also mentioned in the Tamil poem Sirupanattrupadai 79-80, as well as in Maduraikanchi 127. Pattupattu. Ten Tamil Idylls, 149–50; 239. PME 59. V. SELVAKUMAR, “The Routes of Early Historic Tamil Nadu, South India,” 293–4. Something similar to what is said in Str. XV, 1, 4, and Ptol., Geog. I, 13–4. E.H. SELAND, Ports and Political Power in the Periplus, 59. PME 60. S. GHOSH, “Coastal Andhra and the Bay of Bengal Trade Network,” South Asian Studies 22, 2006, 65–6. Mentioned also in PME 63 and in Ptol., Geog. VII, 1, 15; 2, 5; 2, 12; 2, 17; 2, 25, generally as a peninsula. It has been identified with Myanmar, Malaysia and Sumatra. L. CASSON, The Periplus Maris Erythraei, 235–6.

22

Manuel Albaladejo Vivero

The last emporion mentioned in the Periplus is Ganges, which shares its name with the great river of eastern India. At this marketplace malabathron,65 Gangetic nard, pearls and fine cloths or sindones of the best quality, called Gangetic cloth,66 were sold. The last political entity mentioned as such in the work is Thina. 67 Thina was regarded as a great inland polis from which wool, linen and silk cloth were carried from Barygaza through Bactria and transported to Limyrikê over the Ganges River.68 Thina was seen as a remote place; its region (chôra) lay beneath Ursa Minor, the most northerly point known. Besides, the city was very hard to reach, and it was rare to find travelers who came from it.69 A number of conclusions may be drawn from what we have seen. We may infer that each capital of the various kingdoms there were in India when the Periplus was written kept tight control over a main port, generally termed an emporion by the author or authors. This may have been due to factors such as the scarcity of good natural ports along India’s western coast and, above all, the various rulers’ political determination to monopolize long-distance trade so as to enjoy exclusive access to high-prestige luxury goods, which we know of in detail thanks to the Periplus. Another hardly negligible factor, and one strongly related with the monopoly on access held by the political elite of the various Indian states, was without doubt the need to collect large revenues through the taxes, harbor dues and customs duties that would have been charged at the ports each state controlled. This gives us some notion about not only the products traded in this area of the Indian Sea during the first century AD, but also the commercial practice undoubtedly fostered by various political actors. Dr. Manuel Albaladejo Dpto. de Prehistoria, Arqueologia e Historia Antigua Universidad de Valencia Avenida Blasco Ibáñez 28 E-46010 Valencia [email protected] 65

66 67

68 69

Leaves of tamāla, an Indian plant in the Lauraceae family, similar to the cinnamon tree. L. CASSON, The Periplus Maris Erythraei, 220; F. DE ROMANIS, “Comparative Perspectives on the Pepper Trade,” 134. There are other references to this product in Plin., Nat. XII, 129 and P.Oxy. LIV, 3731, 3733 and 3766. PME 63. PME 64. “Thina” stems from the name of the Ch’in or Qin dynasty, which unified China in 221 BC. Ptol., Geog. VII, 3, 6, mentions the metropolis of Sinai or Thinai, although in other entries the only name he uses is “Sinai.” The word Roman authors customarily used to refer to the Chinese was Seres, as can be seen in Plin., Nat. VI, 54, 88; XII, 84 (oceanus Sericus in VI, 37). Mela I, 11; III, 60. Sol. XV, 5; L, 2-3; LIII, 21. Amm. Marc. XXIII, 6, 14; 6, 67. E.H. SELAND, Ports and Political Power in the Periplus, 72. In fact, there were contacts between the Bengal ports and China. R. MUKHERJEE, “Routes, Ports and Networks in Bengal: China Connection,” in M.-FR. BOUSSAC – J.-FR. SALLES – J.B. YON (eds.), Ports of the Ancient Indian Ocean, Delhi 2016, 323–50, esp. 330–2.

THE CORNERS OF A PONTIC WORLD: AN ESSAY IN THE HISTORY OF SPACES Tønnes Bekker-Nielsen Abstract The Iris-Lykos basin is often treated as a single historical space called ‘Pontos’. The frequent revisions of political boundaries during the early centuries of Roman dominance suggest, however, that the Iris-Lykos basin contained several ‘soft’ or ‘functional’ spaces. This hypothesis finds support in the writings of the church fathers of the third to sixth centuries AD which seem to reflect a difference in outlook between western and eastern ‘Pontos’, between Amaseia and Neokaisareia. Keywords: Pontos, Roman Empire, soft space, epigraphy, hagiography. Where nature hath made the bounds of Countries, they remain always the same; … But where limits are arbitrary, and depend only upon the agreement of men, they are frequently changed: and a Country may still retain the same name, though the limits have been often altered. 1 The main hindrance to the movements of people and goods by land has usually been social rather than physical.2

1. Introduction3 At an idyllic spot in the verdant north Anatolian plain known to ancient writers as the Phanaroia, the Lykos and the Iris rivers meet (fig. 1). The Lykos river (mod. Kelkit4 çayı) flows on a more or less direct course from east to west along the 1 2 3

4

MAURICE 1691, 410. HORDEN & PURCELL 2001, 132. The present study was made possible by a fellowship from the Fondation Maison des Sciences de l’Homme in the spring semester of 2016. The author is grateful to the FMSH for their generosity, to the École Normale Supérieure, to UMR 8546 CNRS/ENS-AOROC Archéologie & Philologie d Orient et d’Occident, the Université Paris 1 Panthéon-Sorbonne and the Maison des Sciences de l’Homme, as well as to Prof. ALEXANDRU AVRAM, Dr. ANCA DAN, Prof. FRANÇOIS QUEYREL and Prof. STÉPHANE VERGER for their hospitality; and to Dr. JESPER MAJBOM MADSEN (Odense), Dr. VERA SAUER (Rangendingen) and Dr. SØREN LUND SØRENSEN (Berlin) for constructive criticism of a draft version of this paper. Like the Greek Lykos, Kelkit, derived from Armenian, means ‘wolf’.

24

Tønnes Bekker-Nielsen

southern flank of the great range known as the ‘Pontic Alps’ which separates inland Anatolia from the Black Sea coast. In its upper reaches, the Lykos is a turbulent mountain stream, but for the last forty to fifty kilometres before the confluence, its waters flow slowly along its wide, shallow river bed meandering through the Phanaroia. The Iris (mod. Yeşilırmak) follows a much longer and more circuitous route. At first, its waters flow from east to west on a course more or less parallel to that of the Lykos, which at this point is less than fifteen kilometres distant. The river then diverges towards the south-west, threading its way between the mountains of the Lithros massif to reach the plain of Amaseia (mod. Amasya) where it is joined by the Skylax (mod. Çekerek). Having passed the city of Amaseia it turns east, tracking a second course through the mountains, and returns to the Phanaroia where it finally meets the Lykos. Immediately after their confluence, the waters enter a narrow gorge leading through the Pontic Alps and into the plain of Themiskyra (mod. Çarşamba), legendary home of the Amazons,5 before they eventually reach the Black Sea (map fig. 2). To historians of the Hellenistic era, the Iris-Lykos basin is known as the core region of ‘Pontos’ or ‘the Pontic kingdom’,6 the territory ruled by the Mithradatic dynasty from c. 301 to c. 66 BC. According to STEPHEN MITCHELL, however, ‘what we now call the Pontic kingdom never described itself in terms of any geographical designation or limitation – Lineage, not territory, was the key to the title’.7 The realm of the Mithradatids was a dynastic state held together by the person of the king, his ‘ancestral dominion’.8 Not until the Roman period does ‘Pontos’ emerge as a clearly defined space – or rather, spaces: for the province Pontus created by Pompey after the defeat of Mithradates was soon broken up, and in the centuries that followed, it underwent a succession of territorial redivisions. 2. History and space This raises the question whether it is possible, or indeed meaningful, to write the history of spaces without ‘any geographical designation or limitation’. Most studies of history view the world as composed either of territories delimited by political borders or of spaces defined by the natural features of the landscape. The founding fathers who established the historical geography of the ancient world as a separate academic discipline – HENRICH KIEPERT,9 WILLIAM M. RAM5 6 7 8 9

Hdt. 4.110; Strab. 12.3.15; Apoll. Rhod. 2.964–1000; BEKKER-NIELSEN & JENSEN 2016, 232–3. E.g., ‘noyau central’ (REINACH 1890, 9); ‘Herzstück des Landschaft Pontos’ (OLSHAUSEN 1980, 903); ‘the Pontic heartland’ (BOYCE & GRENET 1991, 3:293). MITCHELL 2002, 51; see also DAN 2013, 27–8. App. Mithr. 15: π ω ο ἂ χ . It is instructive to compare KIEPERT (1878) to the latest monograph on ancient geography by ROLLER (2015). Whereas ROLLER’S book is mainly concerned with ancient geographical ex-

The Corners of a Pontic World

25

and HEINRICH NISSEN,11 to name only three – saw the task of the historiangeographer as analogous to that of geographers describing the contemporary world. Starting from the features of the physical landscape and mining ancient texts – narratives, inscriptions, itineraries, geographical descriptions and in RAMSAY’S case, the Bible – for data, they strove to establish the locations of ancient cities, the boundaries of territories and provinces, the correct names of natural features such as rivers and mountains, just as historians, through critical examination of their texts, strove to establish reliable chronologies of ruling dynasties and historical events. The interwar generation of French scholars which came to be known as the Annales school (from the title of the journal which they established in 1929) rejected the positivism of their predecessors as well as their preoccupation with political history. One of the stated aims of the Annales was to break down the divisions between disciplines and serve as an agent de liaison’ between geographers, economists, historians and sociologists.12 Their approach inspired researchers in many other countries, not least in the UK,13 to explore the interplay between history, archaeology and geography in the ancient world. The Annales school prioritized the study of economic relations, agricultural régimes, inherited traditions and mentalities, none of which were bound by the shifting political borders of medieval and early modern Europe. Its emphasis on the physical environment as ‘enabling and constraining’ human choice and action did, however, carry the risk of lapsing into geographical determinism, a danger of which the Annales scholars themselves were well aware.14 By contrast, another important new paradigm of the interwar period, Central Place Theory, almost entirely ignored the physical environment. In his groundbreaking study Die zentralen Orte in Süddeutschland (1933), the German economic geographer WALTER CHRISTALLER analyzed the emergence and development of urban settlement networks as the product of human behaviour and the inherent complementarity of central’ (urban) and dispersed’ (rural) economic systems.15 The Hinterland of a city is defined by space-time distances – not by administrative boundaries, nor by geographical features – and though the region chosen by CHRISTALLER for his case study, southern Germany, is marked by mountain ridges and river valleys, these found no place within his analysis. CHRISTALLER’S theory of central places met with a cool reception in the homeland of the Annales school but inspired many studies in the UK and especialSAY10

10 11 12 13 14 15

ploration and theorization, KIEPERT devotes no more than 14 pages (out of 544) to these topics before moving on to the ‘facts’. RAMSAY 1890. NISSEN 1883–1902. Letter from LUCIEN FEBVRE, quoted by LEUILLOT 1973, 321. BINTLIFF 1981, 5. Both the strengths and the weaknesses of the Annales approach are brought out clearly in BRATIANU 1969, a now classic study of the Black Sea in the longue durée. CHRISTALLER 1933, 23–30; BEKKER-NIELSEN 1989, 4–8.

26

Tønnes Bekker-Nielsen

ly in the United States, demonstrating the analytical potential of CPT for the study of pre-industrial societies16 but also revealing its inherent risk of excessive abstraction degenerating into scholastic formalism. Central Place Theory enjoyed considerable popularity among archaeologists in the 1970s and early 1980s17 but eventually went out of fashion. Instead, historical geographers and archaeologists turned to large-scale surface surveys, in a certain sense representing a return to the positivistic paradigm of the pre-1914 era with its implicit assumption that more data located in space (‘more dots on the map’) will lead to deeper insights.18 The most recent trend in ancient historical geography and archaeology is network theory. Like graph theo-ry (to which it is closely related19) and Central Place Theory, network theory largely ignores the physical environment; and like CPT and graph theory, it carries with it the risk of lapsing into formalism, merely providing new names for familiar phenomena.20 The last decades have seen an increase in interdisciplinary applications combining geography and social sciences, geography and history, geography and literature, etc., a trend known as the ‘spatial turn’.21 Some see the ‘spatial turn’ as a means of restoring geography to its rightful position of parity with history, from which it was toppled by nineteenth-century evolutionism;22 others, to expose the ways in which space is manipulated in order to reinforce existing structures of domination and exploitation;23 others again, finding ways to exploit the potential of new, powerful digital tools such as GIS in the humanities. 24 The ‘spatial turn’ has had a profound impact on the humanities, but in the other direction, it has also extended the concept of ‘space’ itself. In classical geometry or geography, any space is defined by clear borders, and any point can be objectively located in one space: this tree grows either within the municipal territory of Scafati or that of Boscoreale; the water in that brook drains into either the Po or the Adige. Such spaces in turn take their place within a hierarchically organized ‘Westphalian’25 system of spaces ranked by ascending size: province, region, nation, European Union; watershed of the Po, Adriatic Sea, Mediterranean Basin.

16 17 18 19 20

21 22 23 24 25

E.g., SKINNER 1964–5. E.g., HODDER & HASSALL 1971; GRANT (ed.) 1986. BINTLIFF 2000. BRUGHMANS 2013, 628–32. On some of the conceptual problems of applying CHRISTALLER’S model in historical contexts, WIEGELS 2006, esp. 25–7. For network theory, see the insightful critiques of SINDBÆK 2015, 111–3 and LEONARD 2015. TORRE 2008; BACHMANN-MEDICK 2016, 211–5. HARVEY 1998, 725; SCHLÖGEL 2003, 38–40; SOJA 2011, 10–6. SOJA 2010. For an incisive critique of the ‘spatial turn’, see HARD 2008. The term was coined by WATERHOUT (2010), by analogy with the division of Europe into a hierarchical system of clearly defined territories by the Peace of Westphalia in 1648.

The Corners of a Pontic World

27

These categories – physical and political space – continue to inform many contemporary studies of ancient historical geography.26 Within the humanities, however, the ‘spatial turn’ has generated new interest in other concepts of spaces: ‘subjective’ (as against ‘objective’) spaces, ‘humanspace’27 or ‘spaces of belonging’.28 These are what geographers would term ’soft spaces’: ‘functional’ spaces defined by boundaries which are ‘fuzzy’, ‘penumbral’ and permeable;29 ‘activity spaces’ which reflect ‘real geographies of problems and opportunities as experienced by their inhabitants:30 their ‘lifecourse geography’,31 Compared to the ‘hard’ spaces of physical or political geography, ‘soft’ spaces are less easy to locate within a taxonomy of ‘top-bottom’ or ‘centre-periphery’; like the communities that constitute IRAD MALKIN’S ‘small Greek world’, they are connected within a complex relational network without any implicit hierarchy. When trying to identify and delimit ‘soft spaces’, contemporary geographers can draw on a wealth of statistical data: age, household size, household income, occupation, marital status et cetera, and if need be, supplement their data by means of questionnaire surveys or house-to-house interviews.32 A historical geographer has far fewer data to start from and supplementary surveys are not possible. Interaction between humans can only be traced through proxy data. At present, these mainly take the form of texts and artefacts, though DNA analysis may open new perspectives for future research. A recent study of ceramics circulation in Hellenistic and Roman Cyprus highlights the localized nature of pottery production and consumption, often within a radius of only 10 or 20 km, and reveals that the edges of a ‘ceramic region’ are fuzzy, with pottery often spilling over into neighbouring ceramic regions. 33 Prosopography combined with network analysis can uncover the ways in which a region is connected to the outside world by relations of kinship, trade and patronage. Stylistic and iconographic studies can reveal the routes along which ‘innovation waves’34 travel. At present, none of these methods hold much promise for students of the IrisLykos basin: the ceramic material is sparse, too often unprovenanced and, for lack of reliable ceramic chronologies, difficult to date, while the epigraphic dossier is limited. The most important attempts along these lines have been those of KONRAD KRAFT (1972), tracing the movements of itinerant moneyers by means of die

26

27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34

E.g., KOSMIN 2014 (with an emphasis on political ‘production of territory’ and ‘spacemaking practices’) as against THONEMANN 2011 (taking the natural features of the landscape as the point of departure). KELLY 2015, 9. PEARCE 2002; JONES 2007. Cf. the distinction of AYDO AN 2016, 30, between ‘borders’ and ‘frontiers’. ALLMENDINGER & HAUGHTON 2009, 619; 2010; BEKKER-NIELSEN 2014a. ALLEN & WILES 2014, 119. E.g., ALLEN & WILES 2014, 122–3. LUND 2015, 217. For the concept, HÄGERSTRAND 1952.

28

Tønnes Bekker-Nielsen

linkages and iconographic analysis of the local coinage and of HENRI-LOUIS FERNOUX (2004) on élite relationships in Bithynia, but extending into Pontus. Other approaches hold greater promise for our region. Literary texts, especially autobiographical,35 biographical or hagiographical narratives36 can provide insights into the ‘spaces of belonging’ of their authors and/or their audience. In this category, we have a very large body of texts from the hands of Christian thirdand fourth-century authors (forming the basis for two brilliant studies of late Roman Cappadocia by RAYMOND VAN DAM37) and a significant proportion of this material relates directly or indirectly to the Iris-Lykos basin. Furthermore, it needs to be remembered that ‘hard’ and ‘soft’ spaces do not merely coexist; they interact with, and impact on, each other. Thus, the shifting limits of ‘hard’ spaces may reflect the underlying dynamics of invisible ‘soft’ spaces in the same way that earthquakes reveal the tensions under the face of the earth. Where ‘hard’ and ‘soft’ spaces are congruent, tensions are unlikely to occur; where the ruling power attempts to impose a spatial logic which is at odds with the ‘activity spaces’ of the inhabitants, conflicts arise38 and may eventually lead to revision of the ‘hard’ borders. In this respect, it is significant that whereas the administrative districts in some other parts of the empire remained stable over centuries, the borders of the central and northern Anatolian provinces were frequently redrawn.39 This paper will attempt to explore the spatial organisation of the Iris-Lykos basin from the third century BC to the seventh century AD in order to test the assumption that it was not only divided into ‘hard’ spaces but also contained ‘soft’ spaces whose borders were fuzzy and negotiable, just as the external borders of ‘Pontos’ were shifting, permeable and ‘fuzzy’40 and the ‘Pontic heartland’ in the Iris-Lykos basin can be seen to be oriented in different directions at different periods in history. 3. Third to first centuries BC: the Mithradatids In the turbulent decades following the breakup of Alexander’s empire, a series of minor kingdoms emerged in Anatolia. One of these was Armenia, which straddled the isthmus between the Black and the Caspian Seas. Ancient geographers distinguished between Armenia major, comprising the territories east of the Euphrates, 35 36 37 38

39 40

JONES 2007. KELLY 2015. VAN DAM 2002; 2003. E.g., in the Agricola, Tacitus relates the complaints of the Britons at being forced to deliver their taxes in kind to far-off collecting points instead of to their local army camp: Tac. Agr. 19. DALAISON 2016, 191; also MAREK 2003, 44–7; 2010, 453–62 For the fuzzy’ nature of the border between Paphlagonia and ‘Pontos’, see BEKKER-NIELSEN 2014a, 139–42; 2014b.

The Corners of a Pontic World

29

and Armenia minor to the west and north of the great river. The textual sources for the internal history of Armenia are scarce until its conquest by Antiochus III in 212 BC, but from this point in time, if not already before, Armenia was de facto a client state of the Seleucids who c. 190 BC divided its territory and established Armenia minor as a separate kingdom.41 Taking advantage of the opportunities offered by the defeat of the Seleucids at the hands of the Romans and the peace of Apameia (188 BC), the kings of Armenia major not only succeeded in reestablishing the independence of their kingdom but extended their dominion southward to include parts of the erstwhile Seleucid empire. Their territories reached their greatest extent in 70 BC under king Tigranes II (‘the Great’).42 Sources for the early history of the Mithradatic kingdom are as sparse as those for Armenia. The kings themselves later claimed to be descended from the Persian royal house and that their ancestors had been given a kingdom on the Black Sea by Dareios’.43 Most scholars since REINACH (1890) have rejected this genealogy as fictitious and assumed that the Mithradatids were descended from a minor dynast who around 301 BC succeeded his father as ruler of Kios, a city on the Sea of Marmara (mod. Gemlik). Later, according to Diodoros, he extended his domains into Cappadocia where he ruled for 36 years44 and was remembered as Mithradates I Ktistes, founder of the Mithradatic kingdom. There are, however, various problems in this reconstruction, both in terms of chronology45 and geography.46 BOSWORTH and WHEATLEY (1998) have proposed to rehabilitate the Persian genealogy of Mithradates I and to identify his ancestral domain not with the comparatively insignificant city of Kios on the Sea of Marmara, but as a far larger territory which included Mysia and the region inland from Herakleia Pontike (mod. Ere li).47 Whichever of the three origins proposed for the Mithradatic dynasty we choose to accept – that Dareios had granted them a territory on the Black Sea (their own version), that they hailed from the Marmaran port of Kios (the older communis opinio) or from the hinterland of Herakleia (BOSWORTH, WHEATLEY and most contemporary scholars) – we are talking about a location on the coast. It is equally significant that among the dynasty’s earliest acquisitions we find Amastris (mod. Amasra): in 279 BC, this city and its port – one of the best natural ports on the southern Black Sea coast and the main entrepôt for imports from the

41 42 43 44 45 46 47

SHERWIN-WHITE & KUHRT 1993, 16–7; 190–7; MAHÉ & MAHÉ 2012, 38–9; PLISCHKE 2014, 265–6. MAHÉ & MAHÉ 2012, 46–57. Pol. 5.43.2. Diod. 20.111.4. MCGING 1986, 250–1. BOSWORTH & WHEATLEY 1998, 155–6; cf. BURSTEIN 1976, 230. BOSWORTH & WHEATLEY 1998, 158, cf. MITCHELL 2002, 52–3; ERCIYAS 2006, 10–2. For a summary of the main points of the discussion, MAYOR 2011, 388 n. 19.

30

Tønnes Bekker-Nielsen

Aegean48 – came under the control of Ariobarzanes, who in 266 succeeded Mithradates I Ktistes on the throne.49 Among the Hellenistic monarchs, a navy was not merely an instrument, but also a symbol of power – witness the naval ‘arms race’ in the Eastern Mediterranean during the third century BC, when Antigonids, Seleucids and Ptolemies tried to outdo each other in building ever larger warships.50 Even a minor ruler without ambitions on such a scale would still need access to the sea for trade and for maintaining contact with other rulers and states in the Hellenistic of which the Mithradatic kingdom formed a part. It would in fact have been more surprising if the Mithradatids, in control of an area with long shipbuilding traditions and vast timber resources, had not looked to the sea. The point is stressed here because it runs counter to a scholarly opinion that would see the Mithradatic kingdom as orienting itself towards the sea only from the reign of king Pharnakes (c. 185–159 BC) onwards.51 But by the time of Pharnakes, Amastris had been under Mithradatic control for a century, while his predecessor had seized control of Amisos in 200 BC.52 Pharnakes himself captured Sinope (mod. Sinop) in 183 BC and founded or re-founded the city of Pharnakeia (mod. Giresun) on the coast between Amisos and Trapezous. His actions represent the logical consequences, not the beginnings, of a maritime policy of the Mithradatids who now controlled the three best harbours on the southern shore of the Black Sea. Under Pharnakes’ successors, their domain was extended to the northern coast where the last king, Mithradates VI Eupator, sought refuge after his defeat at the hands of Pompey. To contemporary observers, the sea was a defining element of the Mithradatic kingdom. Polybius, writing in the second century BC, describes the Mithradatic territory as Cappadocia by the Euxine’.53 By the first century BC, the term ‘Pontos’, originally used to designate the Black Sea as a whole, was being used for the territories bordering its southern shore.54 The early Mithradatids had their tombs and (presumably, though secure evidence is lacking) their royal residence in Amaseia, which lies in the narrow valley of the Iris astride the north-south route from the coast to Zela (mod. Zile). Later, 48 49 50 51 52 53 54

MEHL 1987, 117. MITCHELL 2002, 54; Memnon FGrH 434 F9.4. MURRAY 2012, 193–207. E.g., most recently MITCHELL 2002, 55. Pol. 4.56. Pol. 5.43.1. E.g., Strab. 13.2.10. According to MITCHELL 2002, 50 Neither the geographical term Pontus nor the quasi-ethnic Ponticus was ever used in contemporary documents in relation to the kingdom of Mithradates Eupator or his predecessors’: a bold statement, given that most documents of the period have not been preserved for posterity. Strabo’s reference (11.8.4) to ‘the Cappadocians living by the Euxine who are now [ ῦ ] called pontikoi’, does, however, imply that this sense of the term was recent. There is epigraphic evidence for the use of pontikos as an ethnikon as early as the second century BC (DAN 2013, 39–40) but this may refer to the western Black Sea. See also OLSHAUSEN 2014, 39–41.

The Corners of a Pontic World

31

they moved their residence to Sinope, strategically located for control of the Euxine but only tenuously connected to the Mithradatid lands in the Iris-Lykos basin. Two routes led from Sinope to Amaseia, both difficult in winter. One went by sea as far as Amisos, then by road; the other entirely by land over the Dranaz pass (fig. 3) across the Pontic range, then along the valleys of the Amnias (mod. Gök ırmak) and Halys (mod. Kızılırmak) to reach the plain of the Phazemonitis and the Havza gap, where it linked up with the road from Amisos to Amaseia. As far as we know, the Mithradatids never tried to present themselves as autochthonous to the Iris-Lykos basin. On the contrary, they consistently underscored their position as outsiders by identifying themselves as Persians: claiming to be descended from the highest levels of the Persian aristocracy, performing Persian rituals55 and using Persian names for their sons.56 The linguistic skills of Mithradates VI (according to Pliny the Elder,57 he spoke twenty-two languages) did not place the monarch within a Hellenistic tradition (where speaking Greek well was the defining characteristic of the ruling class) but identified him as heir to the polyglot empire of the Achaemenids.58 The cult of Persian deities was another way to highlight the dynasty’s Achaemenid heritage, and the Mithradatic kings presented themselves as the patrons of two, later three semi-independent ‘temple states’ within the Iris-Lykos basin.59 To the southwest, on a tributary of the Iris, lay the sanctuary at Zela. It was dedicated to three Persian deities – Anaïtis, Omanes and Anadatos – and said to have been founded by the generals of Kyros to celebrate a victory over a local tribe, the Sakai.60 Komana, the largest of the ‘temple-states’, was located in the valley of the Iris and was the region’s most important quasi-urban settlement before the Roman conquest. The origins of Komana are not known; it may have been a cult site as early as the Hittite period.61 At the end of the last century BC, Komana was an important market centre, especially popular with traders from Armenia,62 while

55

56 57 58 59 60 61 62

This is best attested in the case of Mithradates VI Eupator, but already in the second century BC, Polybius was aware of the kings’ claims to Persian descent and to have received their kingdom from Dareios’ (note 43 above); also BOYCE & GRENET 1991, 3:285-6, 303–4. For fire as an element in Persian rituals, Strab. 15.3.15 where the author claims to have visited a fire-sanctuary in Cappadocia’, presumably at Zela. MCGING 2013, 25–6. Plin. nat. 7.24. Aur. Vict. 76.2 gives the number as fifty. HØJTE 2006, 23. For a map of all cultic sites in Pontos, see OLSHAUSEN 1990. On the nature of the so-called ‘temple states’, OLSHAUSEN 1987, 196–7; SÖKMEN 2009, 277–9. Strab. 11.8.4; cf. BOYCE & GRENET 1991, 3:287–91; MITCHELL 2002, 56; SÖKMEN 2009, 280; AMANDRY 2009; ERCIYAS 2009, 292; MCGING 2013, 25. AMANDRY & RÉMY 1998, 14; SÖKMEN 2009, 278. Strab. 12.3.36. It is not clear whether Armenia minor or Greater Armenia beyond the Euphrates is meant, probably the former.

32

Tønnes Bekker-Nielsen

the income from its extensive estates supported a large number of temple functionaries and slaves.63 The scholarly consensus is that the sanctuary of Mên Pharnakou at Ameria near Kabeira derived its name from king Pharnakes (189–160 BC),64 which would make this the most recent foundation of the three temple states’. The establishment of a major inland sanctuary near Kabeira and the (re)foundation of Pharnakeia on the coast were connected elements of Pharnakes’ geopolitical strategy: Kabeira controlled the easiest passage from the Phanaroia across the Pontic range to reach the sea at Oinoë (mod. Ünye).65 An especially spectacular expression of the dynasty’s Persian traditions – be they inherited or invented – was the sacrifice performed by Mithradates VI Eupator after his victory over the Roman commander Murena in 82 BC: an enormous pyre on a mountain peak ‘in the same way as the sacrifices conducted by the Persian kings at Pasargadai’66 that could be seen from far out to sea.67 4. The first century BC: looking west Fifteen years after Mithradates’ splendid victory bonfire, his kingdom came to a sad end at the hands of another Roman commander, Pompey. Defeated in battle in the upper Lykos valley, the king himself managed to escape with a small force and made his way to the Crimea, where he met his death a few years later. Unable to apprehend Mithradates, Pompey turned his attention to Armenia major, where King Tigranes was recognized as an ally of the Roman people but forced to renounce his claims to his lost territories in Syria, Galatia, Phoenicia and Cilicia.68 With Mithradates disposed of and the eastern border secured by the Armenian settlement, Pompey turned his attention to the organization of the former Mithradatic kingdom under Roman rule. Some outlying parts of Mithradates’ eastern dominions were assigned to native rulers; the major part was absorbed into the Roman Empire and combined with the existing province of Bithynia. The new territories included the valleys of the Lykos and Iris (with the former royal capital 63 64

65

66 67

68

Strab. 12.3.34–6; SÖKMEN 2009, 282–3; ERCIYAS 2009, 290–1; ERCIYAS 2014, 217. OLSHAUSEN 1987, 195; OLSHAUSEN 1990, 1887–8; ERCIYAS 2006, 15; MOGA 2012. MCGING 2014, 27 considers it highly likely’ that the sanctuary was established by king Pharnakes, although it can scarcely be ruled out’ that it was founded by another Pharnakes, the husband of Kyros’ aunt Atossa; for this hypothesis, see LANE 1990, 2170–1, followed by SÖKMEN 2009, 283. The choice of Kerasous instead of Oinoë for Pharnakes’ refoundation was no doubt motivated by the former’s location on a peninsula with a sheltered harbour and an easily defended acropolis, in contrast to the exposed site of Oinoë. App. Mithr. 67. It is not known where the victory bonfire took place. To be visible from the sea, as claimed by Appian, it would have to be on one of the peaks of the Pontic range, but see also WILLIAMSON 2014. On the Persian elements of the ritual, BOYCE & GRENET 1991, 3:293–9. Plut. Pompeius 33.5.

The Corners of a Pontic World

33

of Amaseia) as well as the Paphlagonian seaboard and the valley of the Amnias. The inland rump of Paphlagonia became a client kingdom on terms similar to those of Armenia.69 As a complement to the few existing urban communities, Pompey founded seven new poleis, five of which lay on an east-west line south of the Pontic range: Nikopolis (mod. Yeşilyayla) at the border of Armenia minor; Diospolis at the site of Kabeira; Magnopolis (formerly Eupatoria, mod. Çevresu70); Neapolis (mod. Vezirköprü) and Pompeiopolis (mod. Taşköprü). To connect them, the road leading from the Armenian border to the centre of the Phanaroia was extended westwards through the Kılıçarslan pass and across the Halys into the valley of the Amnias, where it linked up with the road from Bithynia and the road across the Dranaz pass from Sinope.71 Together, the Roman territories in northern Anatolia now formed a land corridor stretching from the Bosporus to the Armenian border, with Pompeiopolis at its mid-point. According to one view, Pompey created a ‘double’ province, Pontus et Bithynia, under a single governor.72 An alternative hypothesis is that the new territories were absorbed into the existing province Bithynia which was later divided into two sub-provinces, Pontus and Bithynia.73 The textual sources will support either interpretation. From a Pontic point of view, it would not make a great deal of difference since in any case, the provincial governor had his residence in the Bithynian part of the province, hundreds of Roman miles to the west. Pompey created three poleis along the course of the Lykos river. Nikopolis, the ‘city of victory’ in the upper Lykos valley, 74 not far from the site of Pompey’s final victory over Mithradates, was settled with veterans from his campaign. Diospolis, the ‘city of Zeus’ took the place of Kabeira75 near the important road junction where the east-west road along the right bank of the Lykos met the roads coming from Komana and Oinoë.76 Eupatoria was a Mithradatic foundation which Pompey refounded as Magnopolis (from his epithet Magnus).77 Henceforth, access to the Phanaroia from all directions was controlled by loyal cities: from the west (Magnopolis), the north (Diospolis), the east (Nikopolis) and from the south (Komana).

69

70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77

MAGIE 1950, 370–2, 1232–4; OLSHAUSEN 1991; MITCHELL 1993, 31–2. For a critical discussion of the alternative theory of WELLESLEY (1953, 305) that the lands east of the Halys were not Roman provincial territory, see MITCHELL 1993, 41; MAREK 1993, 27–32. For the history of Magnopolis, see now SØRENSEN 2016a, 153–62. BEKKER-NIELSEN & CZICHON 2015; BEKKER-NIELSEN 2016b; BEKKER-NIELSEN 2018. E.g., MAREK 1993, 26–46; 2003, 36–41; MITCHELL 2002, 50. E.g., WELLESLEY 1953, 294 n. 1; WESCH-KLEIN 2001; DAN 2014, 49 n. 17. Strab. 12.3.28; cf. Cass. Dio 36.50; App. Mithr. 105. Strab. 12.3.31. For an overview of the ‘Pontic’ road network, see OLSHAUSEN 1999; for east-west routes, DRAKOULIS 2012, 80. Strab. 12.3.30; App. Mithr. 115.

34

Tønnes Bekker-Nielsen

As it turned out, the structure of administration created by Pompey remained in place for no more than twenty-odd years before his work was undone by Mark Antony, who assumed control of the eastern provinces after the battle of Philippi (42 BC).78 The two western Pompeian cities, Neapolis and Pompeiopolis, were given to Kastor, the ruler of Galatia and Paphlagonia; the cities of the Phanaroia were assigned to Dareios, a grandson of Mithradates VI Eupator. A few years later, the territories were reassigned: Kastor’s son Deiotaros Philadelphos succeeded his father as ruler of Paphlagonia and the Neapolitis, while Dareios’ place as lord of the Phanaroia was taken by Polemon, a Phrygian who had proved himself as a loyal military leader and administrator.79 In 35 BC Polemon was also given control of lesser Armenia.80 Antony’s dispositions in regard to Amaseia and the coastal regions are not clear from the sources; probably these were joined to the territory of Polemon.81 Of the vast provincial territories added to the Empire by Pompey, only the coastal strip north of the Pontic mountains from Amastris as far as the estuary of the Halys remained under direct Roman rule.82 Why did Antony dismantle the provincial structure created by Pompey? Three possible explanations present themselves. According to the tradition preserved for posterity by Plutarch, short-term decisions and inordinate rewards to personal friends and cronies were typical of Antony, and the partition of Pompey’s conquests between Dareios, Kastor and Polemon would fit well enough into this portrait;83 but Plutarch had his own agenda when writing the Life of the triumvir and we should be wary of taking his judgments, which to a large extent reflect Augustan propaganda, at face value.84 Another possible explanation is that Pompey’s urban organisation of the east had been premature: Pontus was not ready, not sufficiently developed, to become a Roman province. Realizing this, Antony reversed the dispositions of his predecessor and divided the territory up among native rulers.85 This interpretation seems to reflect the evolutionistic ideas of nineteenth-century colonialism rather than the realities of the first century BC. It would in any case have been difficult for Antony to judge the success of Pompey’s urban policy at a time when the new cities had existed for little more than twenty years.86 Worse, the analysis fails to

78 79 80 81

82 83 84 85 86

For an overview of Antony’s dispositions, see MAGIE 1950, 434–6; SULLIVAN 1980; MAREK 1993, 50–9; SØRENSEN 2016a, 122–6. SØRENSEN 2016a, 125. Cass. Dio 49.33.2; 49.44.3. MAREK 1993, 50. The coastal town of Side, which was renamed Polemonion, must have been part of the territory of Polemon I – if not from the outset, then added to the king’s dominions before his death in 8/7 BC. MAREK 2003, 41 and map p. 182. Cf. Plut. Antonius 21.3, where the author compares Antony – unfavourably – to Pompey. Plut. Antonius 92–3. BUCHHEIM 1960, 49-50; BENGTSON 1977, 271; OLSHAUSEN 1980, 910. MAREK 1993, 49. Roman foundations – even colonies – were often slow starters; see, e.g., DE GIORGI 2011, 145–7 on Augustan colonies in Pisidia.

The Corners of a Pontic World

35

distinguish between the local and the regional level. According to HERMANN BENGTSON, the ‘feudal lords’ of the old regime successfully obstructed the implementation of Pompey’s reform and the organisation of the territory into cities. Had that in fact been case, the consequence would have been a loss of status for Pompey’s cities. Yet there is no indication in our sources that the cities went into decline. On the contrary, Kabeira became a royal residence under Pythodoris, Neapolis possessed a temple to the emperor ( α ο ) in 3 BC, Komana was a flourishing market and Nikopolis a populous city in Strabo’s time. 87 Indeed, for administrative purposes, there was no alternative to the cities: the castle strongholds, which had been nodal points in the ‘feudal’ power structure of the Mithradatids, were no longer functional, having been destroyed or made uninhabitable by Pompey.88 If the Romans had reason to be disappointed with the performance of the new urban entities, a more likely cause for concern was that tax revenues failed to match the cost of administering the far-flung provincial territory. Certainly Antony, with his experience as an army commander, cannot have failed to appreciate that the line of communication from Nikopolis to the provincial capital in Bithynia was extremely long – c. 600 Roman miles (900km), a whole month’s journey for an average traveller.89 For the cities, communications with the provincial capital were difficult, just as they were for the provincial governor making his circuit of the province. Under Pompey’s scheme, inland Paphlagonia provided the link between Pontus and Bithynia. According to Strabo, there was a ‘soft’ zone of contact between the Iris basin and eastern Paphlagonia90 and the Amnias valley offered easy access to Pompeiopolis. We have no evidence for a similar contact zone stretching across the rough uplands of western Paphlagonia into Bithynia. To judge from the amphora finds, the primary trade route from Pompeiopolis to the coast had its terminus not on the Marmaran shore, but in Amastris.91 The ‘hard’, linear east-west axis that Pompey attempted to impose on Pontus was not congruent with the ‘soft’ realities of the inhabitants’ lives, nor with the routes of trade and exchange. The western connection failed, and although the dynastic kingdoms were eventually reincorporated into the empire, the administrative union of the Iris-Lykos basin with Bithynia was not re-established.

87

88 89 90 91

Kabeira: Strab. 12.3.31. Neapolis: SP 3:1 no. 66 (the ‘Neapolis oath’). Komana: Strab. 12.3.36. Nikopolis: 12.3.28. MAREK (1993, 49–52) assumes that the urban communities lost their city status (politeia) as a consequence of Antony’s reforms, and that the cities were restored later; but royal rule at the regional level is not incompatible with polis autonomy at the local level, witness, e.g., the case of Bithynia. Strab. 12.3.38. The point will not have been lost on Pompey either. Did he intend to relocate the provincial capital to Pompeiopolis at the mid-point of the new province? Strab. 12.3.25. Personal communication from ANDREI OPAIT, who is studying the ceramic assemblages from Pompeiopolis.

36

Tønnes Bekker-Nielsen

In fact, Antony’s redistribution of the eastern territories was a classic example of the Roman doctrine divide et impera: with the former Mithradatic possessions divided into no less than seven parts (three client kingdoms, two temple states, the free city of Amisos and the rump of Pompey’s Pontus), no single ruler could hope to rally the former Mithradatic subjects against the Romans (as Pharnakes, the son of Mithradates VI, had attempted in 48–47 BC). The best testimony to the soundness of Antony’s arrangements is that of his enemy, Augustus. Though he had Antony’s statues pulled down92 and his birthday declared a day of ill omen,93 Augustus upheld Antony’s territorial arrangements in northeastern Anatolia. Even Polemon, who had remained a loyal supporter of Antony until the battle of Actium, was confirmed as client ruler of the Phanaroia94 though not of Nikopolis, which was transferred to Armenia minor. Perhaps by way of compensation, Polemon was later entrusted with the conquest of the Bosporan kingdom in the Crimea, where he died in 8 or 7 BC. The Phanaroia passed to his widow, Pythodoris, then to their son who reigned as Polemon II until he was forced to abdicate c. AD 64.95 Shortly afterwards, in the reign of Vespasian, Armenia minor ceased to exist as an independent kingdom and was attached to Cappadocia. Strabo relates that during the reign of Mithradates VI Eupator, Kabeira had been home to a royal palace, hunting-grounds and a park for wild animals, as well as mines and a water mill. Pompey ‘furnished the place with what was required to make it a city’ ( υ α ο ἰ π ) and named it Diospolis. Later, queen Pythodoris improved the city further, renamed it Sebaste in honour of the imperial house96 and made it a royal residence ( α ο )97 The decision to develop Kabeira into a proper city was no doubt strategic: the site was well placed on the southern slopes of the Pontic range and possessed an easily defensible citadel;98 it also controlled access to the nearby sanctuary of Mên Pharnakes at Ameria and the route across the mountains to Oinoë. Under the pax Romana, defense became less important and the city seems to have expanded downhill in the direction of the river and the east-west road.99 Remains of a substantial structure, probably a cryptoporticus of the second or third century AD, have been found in the lower town (fig. 4). Eupatoria did not enjoy an easily defensible position but was located in the middle of the plain’ (ἐ ῳ π ῳ100). Like Kabeira/Diospolis, it was close to the 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99

Plut. Antonius 86.9. Cass. Dio 51.19.3. Strab. 12.8.16; Dio 53.25.1. SULLIVAN 1990, 930; SØRENSEN 2016a, 138–9; 163. Of Augustus, but no doubt also of Pythodoris’ patron, Livia, cf. SEG 39, 695. Strab. 12.2.30-31; ERCIYAS 2006, 44. Strab. 12.3.30; OLSHAUSEN & BILLER 1978, 169–70. A similar phenomenon can be observed in Neoklaudiopolis, where the late Roman city spreads downhill towards the road: BEKKER-NIELSEN 2018. 100 Strab. 12.3.30.

The Corners of a Pontic World

37

east-west road which crossed the Iris and the Lykos at their confluence a few kilometres north of the city. Strabo tells us that Eupatoria took its name from its founder’ (in other words, Mithradates VI Eupator) but was only half finished’ by the time of the Roman conquest; Pompey assigned it land and inhabitants and called it Magnopolis’101. Until recently, no inscriptions had been recorded from Eupatoria-Magnopolis, and the site of the city itself at Çevresu was not identified until 2014.102 This led most researchers to conclude that the city was a failed foundation and abandoned at an early date.103 Since it is included among the cities named in Pliny’s Natural History104 it will, however, still have been a functioning polis at the mid-first century AD. The site continued to be inhabited but Magnopolis had lost its civic autonomy by the end of the second century at the latest, possibly already by the end of the first.105 Outside the Phanaroia, the city of Sebastopolis (mod. Sulusaray) was presumably created by elevating the village of Karana to polis status, possibly in 3/2 BC and certainly before the death of Augustus in 14 AD.106 According to Strabo, Mega-lopolis had been granted its polis status by Pompey107 and the change of name to Sebasteia (whence its modern name, Sivas) must have taken place by AD 14 at the latest. 5. First and second centuries AD: looking inwards The integration of the northeastern client territories (the kingdom of Deiotaros, the kingdom of Polemon II, the temple states and the kingdom of Armenia minor) into the Imperium Romanum was a protracted process taking place over several stages, all of which are not equally well documented in the sources. It commenced with the death of the Paphlagonian client-king Deiotaros II Philadelphos in 6 BC. The core territory of his kingdom was absorbed into the Imperium Romanum, but Neapolis and its territory apparently not: Strabo is emphatic that in his time, the

101 102 103 104

Strab. 12.2.30. SØRENSEN 2016a, 159 against the earlier view of BILLER & OLSHAUSEN 1978, 169. SØRENSEN 2016a, 153–4. Plin. nat. 6.8. Pace MAREK (1993, 52) there is no reason to think that Pliny’s information was out of date; at 6.23 he states that he has obtained information from participants in Corbulo’s eastern campaigns. 105 A milestone of Nerva’s reign (FRENCH, RRMAM 3, F2 149(B)) found at Uluköy to the west of Çevresu bears the number , which FRENCH restored to = 37 miles (55km), slightly more than the distance by road to Neokaisareia (50km). Seven Roman miles (10km) would, however, match the distance by road from Çevresu to Uluköy via the bridge at the confluence, thus Neo-kaisareia and Magnopolis are both potential capita viae. Another milestone from Uluköy is dated to 197/198 (FRENCH, RRMAM 3, F2 149(A)) and carries the distance XXXVI = 53.5km: in this case, Neokaisareia is clearly the caput viae. 106 LE GUEN-POLLET & RÉMY 2010, 100, based on the era of the city. 107 Strab. 12.3.37.

38

Tønnes Bekker-Nielsen

Halys formed the eastern boundary of Paphlagonia.108 Of the city’s status in the following half century, virtually nothing is known save that the Neapolitans swore an oath of loyalty to Augustus (3 BC) and changed the name of their city to Neoklaudiopolis (between 41 and 68 AD). One possibility is that Neapolis and its territory had been re-integrated into the imperium Romanum by 3 BC,109 another that they were added to the domain of Pythodoris and passed on to her son, Polemon II.110 When Polemon was forced from the throne in 64 AD or shortly afterwards, his kingdom was broken up. The coastal territories were assigned to the governor of Galatia while the remainder of Polemon’s kingdom became the province Pontus Polemonianus, which included the Phanaroia as well as the upper Halys valley around the city of Sebasteia, the former Megalopolis. On its eastern border, Armenia Minor became a separate province with Nikopolis as its metropolis. In Ptolemy’s Geography, which reflects the situation in the late first or early second centuries AD, we find north-eastern Anatolia divided into Paphlagonia (roughly equivalent to the former kingdom of Deiotaros, with Pompeiopolis and Neoklaudiopolis111); Pontos Galatikos (Pontus Galaticus, with Amaseia and Zela);112 Pontos Polemoniakos (= Pontus Polemonianus, the former kingdom of Polemon II, with Neokaisareia);113 Pontos Kappadokikos (the eastern coast, with Kerasous, Pharnakeia and Trapezous);114 and Mikrê Armenia (the former client kingdom of Armenia Minor, with Nikopolis).115 Though provinces in name, these units were de facto sub-provinces administered by the governors of the two large central Anatolian provinces, Galatia and Cappadocia. A sub-province was, however, more than a bureaucratic cipher. It had its own capital, in Greek terminology metropolis,116 which was also the meeting place of the koinon or provincial council. One of the koinon’s responsibilities was the cult of the emperor, which had been introduced to Anatolia during the reign of Augustus.117 In addition, the meetings of the council served as a venue for the provincial élite to display their individual wealth and paideia. On the collective level, the koinon demonstrated the loyalty of the community to Rome and the 108 109 110 111

112 113 114 115

116 117

Strab. 12.3.9; BEKKER-NIELSEN 2014b, 65. MAREK 2010, 405. SØRENSEN 2016a, 144–8. Ptol. 5.4.6. Both these cities have been misplaced by Ptolemy, and Neoklaudiopolis probably formed part of Pontus Polemonianus: BEKKER-NIELSEN 2014b, 65–6; SØRENSEN 2016a, 164–5. See also note 113. Ptol. 5.6.3; 5.6.9. Ptol. 5.6.4; 5.6.10. Ptol. 5.6.5; 5.6.11. Ptol. 5.7.3. Unfortunately, Ptolemy’s information about north-eastern Anatolia is not of the highest quality. Not only is it outdated by several decades, but cities have been misplaced or confused with others: for instance, Zela is located where Komana should have been and vice versa, similarly Gangra-Germanikopolis and Pompeiopolis. On the title metropolis and its semantic evolution, ARNAUD 2004; PUECH 2004. MADSEN 2016, 24–6.

The Corners of a Pontic World

39

ruling dynasty through the medium of the imperial cult, of which its leading citizens served as priests.118 At some time in the early second century AD, the inland territories of Pontus Polemonianus were combined with Pontus Galaticus to form the province of inland Pontos’, Pontus Mediterraneus or Pontos Mesogeios, with Neokaisareia as its capital. 119 Thus instead of being divided between east and west (Neokaisareia and Amaseia) the Pontic provinces were now divided between coast and inland. What consequences, if any, this had for the koinon organisation is not known, since we have no evidence for the presence of the koinon or the imperial cult predating the reign of Trajan.120 Assuming that the boundaries of koinon and province were normally congruent,121 then one possibility is that the koinon organization was established after, or in connection with, the redrafting of the provincial boundaries. Another view is that pre-existing koina (for which we possess no evidence122) were split up and their limits redrawn in the same way as the provincial boundaries.123 The exact date of the reorganization is difficult to establish. The old provincial arrangement was still in force in the second decade of the new century: an inscription set up in Pisidian Antioch honours the former governor … Paphlag(oniae), Ponti Galat(ici), Ponti Polemoniani, L. Caesennius Sospes, whose term of office began no earlier than AD 111.124 The earliest epigraphic evidence for the new province is an inscription from Ikonion (mod. Konya) honouring M.

118 On koina in Asia Minor generally, BURRELL 2004; VITALE 2012; EDELMANN-SINGER 2015; BEKKER-NIELSEN 2016a; in northern Anatolia, VITALE 2013; DALAISON 2016; SØRENSEN 2016b. 119 For the date, VITALE 2012, 202. ÇIZMELI (2006, 96) would place the reorganisation in the last year of Trajan’s reign. For the discussion of the number of provinces and koina, see DALAISON 2014, 126–8, with further references. 120 As an alternative hypothesis, DALAISON (2014, 127) proposes that the cities in the koinon of Neokaisareia could be identified as Polemonion, Kerasous, Trapezous, Zela and Sebasteia, i.e. that it was congruent with the former sub-province of Pontos Polemoniakos as described by Ptolemy (5.6.10). This fails, however, to account for Sebastopolis, which according to Ptolemy (5.6.9) was in Pontos Galatikos (not Polemoniakos) but on the evidence of IGR 3.115 = OGIS 529 was a member of the Neokaisareian koinon by the mid-second century. 121 BURRELL 2004, 206: ‘a single would generally not overstep the bounds of a Roman province’. The practical problem highlighted by BURRELL – a koinon referring to more than one provincial governor – would not present itself in the case of the two Pontic koina, both of which were subordinate to the governor of Cappadocia. 122 BURRELL cites a coin legend identifying Neokaisareia as neokoros as evidence that the city was ‘koinon center of the reorganized Pontus’ c. 100 AD, but the coin in question is a forgery: DALAISON 2016, 209 n. 73. MITCHELL (2002, 50) theorizes that all the ‘Pontic’ provinces in northern Anatolia were part of a single koinon with its roots in the Pompeian reorganization. See also MAREK 2015, 311–2. 123 Thus VITALE 2012, 202: Die administrative Umverteilung … hat zugleich die bestehende Konstellation der Landtage grundsätzlich verändert’. 124 CIL 3.6818. For the career of Caesennius Sospes, see RÉMY 1988 no. 108, where his term of office as governor of Galatia is dated to c. 111 –114; Mitchell 1993 2:155 has c. 112–114.

40

Tønnes Bekker-Nielsen

Arruntius Frugi who had been imperial procurator prov(inciae) … Ponti Mediterrani, probably at some time in the late 120’s AD.125 There is no doubt that the Phanaroia was included within the sub-province and the koinon centred on Neokaisareia. The precise extent of the koinon is, however, a matter of debate. In the year 205/6, two series of bronze coins were minted at Neo-kaisareia bearing the reverse legend koin(ou) Pon(tou) Neokai(sareia) metro(polis) and depicting a seated female figure, surrounded by five similar standing figures (fig. 5).126 CHRISTIAN MAREK and MARCO VITALE identify these as personifications of the six cities constituting the koinon.127 BARBARA BURRELL and XAVIER LORIOT, on the other hand, point out that since the limited space on a coin would only accommodate so many figures, six tychai may be a visual abbreviation for a higher number of cities, including communities on the Black Sea coast.128 According to the theory of exactly six cities, these are Amaseia, Neokaisareia (formerly Diospolis), Zela, Komana, Sebastopolis and Sebasteia (formerly Megalopolis). That Sebastopolis belonged to the Neokaisareian koinon is attested by an inscription honouring M. Antonius Rufus, Pontarch in the metropolis of Pontos, Neokaisareia’.129 There is no comparable evidence for Sebasteia but according to Ptolemy, it belonged to Pontus Polemoniakos, not to Pontos Galatikos.130 By the early fourth century, it had been reassigned to the province of Armenia Minor. Nikopolis is not included, since it was now located in the sub-province of Armenia minor; similarly, Neoklaudiopolis and Pompeiopolis are excluded as belonging to Paphlagonia131 while by this time, Magnopolis (formerly Eupatoria) was no longer an independent polis.132 5.1 One province, two cities: Amaseia and Neokaisareia When the new province Pontus Mediterraneus was created in the early second century, Neokaisareia became the provincial capital while Amaseia, which had 125 ILS 3.2.9013; for Arruntius’ career, PFLAUM 1960 1:373–5 (no. 157) and 1982, 44 –5 and 129: vers 127–130’, based on KENNEDY 1977, 524–5. 126 VITALE 2014, 57, fig. 3; for another version, DALAISON 2014, 144 fig. 38 (without mural crowns). 127 VITALE 2012, 175, following MAREK 1993. See also SØRENSEN 2016a, 76; 82–3; 86–8. 128 BURRELL 2004, 206: there were at least six cities in the Koinon to which Neokaisareia belonged, but does not rule out that there were more’. We can, however, rule out that there were seven: one extra figure would have made the design symmetrical, with Neokaisareia at its centre. See also LORIOT 2006, 531; ÇIZMELI 2006, 97; DALAISON 2013, 127. 129 LE GUEN-POLLET 1989, 65–6 no. 10 = IGR 3, no. 115 = OGIS 529. 130 Ptol. 5.6.9. 131 On the sources for Neoklaudiopolis, see BEKKER-NIELSEN 2014b. By the late second century, the city was under the authority of the governor of Galatia, hence Paphlagonia, L. Petronius Verus (RÉMY 1988 tab. 36, no. 122) who is on record as repairing roads in the territory of Pompeiopolis (RRMAM 3:4, no. 39) as well as Neoklaudiopolis (RRMAM 3:4, no. 46(B)). 132 Above, note 103.

The Corners of a Pontic World

41

once been a royal residence, was henceforth no more than an ordinary polis. Given the Greeks’ reputation for petty inter-urban rivalries,133 one might well have expected the grouping of Amaseia with Neokaisareia to create resentment among the Amaseians and unleash a war of titles and coin images comparable to that between contemporary Nikomedia and Nikaia, which is the subject of a classic article by LOUIS ROBERT (1977).134 Indeed, MARCO VITALE has claimed that a late date – in the reign of Hadrian – for the creation of the new province is supported by an ‘explosionsartigen Mitteilen von Ehrentiteln seitens der betreffenden Metropoleis auf Inschriften und Münzen’.135 In the sources where we should expect to find the echoes of such an explosion there is, however, nothing but silence. Neokaisareia is not known to have struck any coins at all in the first half of the second century and when a new series finally appeared in AD 161/2, it carried, as a matter of course, the title metropolis. Rather more self-assertive were the two third-century series, already mentioned, struck in 204/5 and 205/6 respectively and showing six tychai. In the earlier version, the six figures are standing; later, five tychai are standing but the figure at the centre, representing the metropolis of the koinon, is seated.136 To sit while others must stand was a mark of precedence and the image of the five tychai – one of them representing Amaseia – standing around the seated figure of Neokaisareia was a visualization of the city’s primate status within the koinon. The Amaseians were more active than the Neokaisareians, yet there is no evidence from their coinage137 that they employed the title metropolis for themselves before the mid-130’s, by which time it was being freely used by provincial cities without capital status.138 The more general, less exclusive term protos, ‘first (of the province)’ is first found on an Amaseian coin series of 153/54.139 In 161/62, the same year that the Neokaisareians resumed minting, the Amaseians added

133 The best documented case is that of Nikaia and Nikomedia: Dion Chrys. 38.21–30; Herodian 3.2.7–9; ROBERT 1977; BEKKER-NIELSEN 2008, 47–8. On Greek failings’ in general, HELLER 2004, 13–21. 134 ROBERT 1977; cf. DALAISON 2014, 130. 135 VITALE 2012, 202. 136 ÇIZMELI 2006, nos 112 (AD 204/5), nos 52, 53, 215, 216 (AD 205/6). 137 VITALE (2012, 202 n. 1204) cites a coin of Plotina as evidence that Amaseia claimed the title metropolis before AD 123. This is based on the publication by FOY-VAILLANT (1700, 31) of a coin bearing the portrait of Plotina and the reverse legend Α ΑC ΑC Η . As there is no other record of such a coin from Amaseia, whereas Amastris is known to have struck coins bearing Plotina’s portrait and the title metropolis (RGMG 1:1, 173 no. 54; RPC 3, no. 1208) FOY-VAILLANT or his source probably misread the legend Α ΑC[…] on a worn Amastrian coin. On FOY-VAILLANT’s contribution to the history of Pontos and his reliability in general, see BEKKER-NIELSEN 2013, 5. 138 PUECH 2004, esp. 358–60; HELLER 2004, 283–341 on the evolution in the use of the titles metropolis and protos. 139 Dalaison 2008, no. 49. According to Dio Chrysostom, protos was an empty title: Or. 38.29; 38.38

42

Tønnes Bekker-Nielsen

neo-koros, a title which they continued to use on their coins down to the reign of Severus Alexander.140 The epigraphic evidence for the use of metropolis by the Amaseians is meagre and dates from the late 130’s onwards.141 One inscription, found at Sebastopolis, names both Neokaisareia and Amaseia as metropoleis, suggesting amity rather than rivalry.142 In general, the Amaseians appear to have been less concerned with their status vis-à-vis Neokaisareia and the Phanaroian cities than with asserting their traditional primacy within the country between the Iris and the Halys. This they attempted to achieve by means of a remarkable ‘Persian revival’ evoking the memory of the Mithradatid kings – the earliest of which of course lay buried in Amaseia. Mention has previously been made of the spectacular fire sacrifice offered by Mithradates VI to celebrate his victory over the Romans in 82 BC. On a mountain top near the village of Yassical some ten kilometres from Amasya, the remains of a large sacrificial compound have been identified. At its centre is a large monumental altar, c. 40x40m; around it were found stone blocks inscribed with names of villages and rural districts of the region.143 It is tempting to interpret the mountain altar at Yassical as the site of Mithradates’ victory sacrifice to Zeus Stratios, but this comes up against several objections. According to Appian, the pyre was visible from the Black Sea, which the summit at Yassical is not.144 There is no secure archaeological evidence for a preRoman cult at Yassical and though located no more than ten kilometres from Amaseia, the sanctuary is never mentioned by Strabo. The cult site at Yassical was, however, in use by the end of the first century AD: an inscription found at the site names a priest of Zeus Stratios and carries the date 101 of the Amaseian civic era, corresponding to AD 98/99. It seems, then, that the cult site at Yassical came into existence in the course of the first century AD145 as a common sanctuary for a large territory. Which territory? CUMONT146 noted that in northern Anatolia, the cult of Zeus Stratios was found in Nikomedia (mod. İzmit)147 and Gangra (mod. Çankırı),148 both provincial

140 DALAISON 2014, 136; BURRELL 2004, 210–11. 141 SEG 1987, 306–7 no. 963 = EA 9, 63 no. 7 (AD 137/138); SEG 1987, 307 no. 964 = EA 9, 63 no. 7 (AD 138/139), both from Klaros; also SP 3:1, 119–20 no. 97 (AD 177-180), but Amaseias in l. 5 is restored. 142 IGR 3:43–4 no. 115. Since the honorand was priest for life of the deified Hadrian, the inscription can be no earlier than AD 138. 143 CUMONT, SP 2:173–84; FRENCH 1996, 75–83; WILLIAMSON 2014. 144 App. Mithr. 66; WILLIAMSON 2014, 179. 145 A possible context for Amaseia’s Mithradatic renaissance’ might be the re-integration of Pole-mon’s territories into Pontus Galaticus in the sixties AD (SØRENSEN 2016a, 16) but this remains speculative. 146 CUMONT, SP 2:181. 147 Eust. Commentary on Dionysios Periegetes 793. 148 CIA 3.141, but the reading is conjectural.

The Corners of a Pontic World

43

capitals, as well as in the formerly independent city of Herakleia Pontike.149 In the first century AD, a cult to Zeus Strategos is attested in Amastris, the capital of a koinon.150 This supports the theory that the cult of Zeus Stratios encompassed the province as a whole, i.e. Pontus Galaticus. DAVID FRENCH, on the other hand, has pointed out that none of the inscriptions found at the site can be related to locations outside the chora of Amaseia, and proposed that the site functioned as ‘a communal centre of the city of Amaseia and its territory’.151 In a recent study, CHRISTINA WILLIAMSON has analysed the extent of the viewshed, i.e. the area from which the fire and the smoke column of a mountaintop bonfire at Yassical would be visible. They could be seen from many parts of Amaseia’s chora, but also from some of the districts further west.152 Though WILLIAMSON’S results are not incompatible with CUMONT’S theory of Yassical as a common sanctuary for Pontus Galaticus, she prefers to follow FRENCH and interpret the sanctuary as a focal point for the Amaseian chora. The hilltop sanctuary was also depicted on the coinage of Amaseia. The city struck coins as early as the reign of Tiberius, but the image of a pyre flanked by a tree appears for the first time on a coin series of AD 112/113.153 It is absent from coins struck during the 130’s but reappears in 153/54,154 was not used during the reign of Marcus Aurelius but taken up again under Commodus.155 The theme was extremely popular under the Severans, when some coin images also depict a lighted pyre.156 A few late issues show a bird’s eye view of the city with the pyre in the background (in actual fact Yassical is not visible from Amasya 157). In total, the various representations of a pyre account for 17 out of 57 reverse types among the city’s coins, more than any other subject. It is tempting to link the introduction of the coin images showing the pyre at Yassical with the reorganisation of the ‘Pontic’ provinces: a reaction to Amaseia’s loss of metropolitan status. As we have seen, however, the cult site was already in use during the first century AD and its earliest appearance on a coin image took place before the amalgamation of Pontus Galaticus and Pontus Polemonianus,158 the next at least three decades later. However, the hilltop cult site was clearly an important identity marker for the Amaseians, who used the visual image of the 149 Plin. nat. 16.89.1 (239). 150 IGR 3.89 (AD 69). On the similarity between Zeus Strategos and Zeus Stratios, see CUMONT, SP 2:180; BOYCE & GRENET 1991, 3:298; TEFFETELLER 2012. 151 FRENCH 1996, 83. 152 WILLIAMSON 2014, 187. 153 DALAISON 2008, 67 nos 23–4; on the motif, DALAISON 2008, 136–7, 174–7. 154 DALAISON 2008, nos 50–1, 59–63, 65. 155 DALAISON 2008, nos 158–62. 156 DALAISON 2008, nos 240–55. 157 SAUER 2014, 116–7. 158 The first issue showing a pyre is dated to AD 112/113, but the two provinces are listed separately in the cursus of L. Caesennius Sospes (ILS 1017) who held office until 113/114. Unless the reorganisation took place during the tenure of Caesennius Sospes, Amaseia and Neokaisareia would both have been provincial capitals in AD 113.

44

Tønnes Bekker-Nielsen

pyre to stress the city’s Mithradatid heritage, a link that was further reinforced by the royal tombs, prominently visible above the city and occasionally depicted on the city’s coinage.159 6. Third century AD: looking across the Halys Roman milestones, which make their appearance in the Iris-Lykos basin during the first century AD, are an important source for the ‘hard’ administrative geography of the region. Mileages were normally reckoned from the city to the limits of its territory, while road construction and repair were carried out by the poleis under the authority of the provincial governor, who is often named on the stone. Thus milestones can provide important information not only on territorial limits between poleis but between provinces, and on the governors’ provinces to which sub-provinces such as Pontus Polemonianus and Pontus Mediterraneus were attached. Given the large number of preserved stones, it is possible to make some judgments based on quantity, though the limitations of conclusions e silentio need to be kept in mind. Major maintenance work on a road was often commemorated by erecting new milestones or re-inscribing existing ones; thus the chronological and spatial distribution of milestone inscriptions may provide a rough impression of the frequency with which specific sections of road were repaired, hence the amount of traffic, and of the degree of interest taken in the road network of the region under different emperors and governors. In the Phanaroia, milestones are generally rare. Stones of the first and second centuries have been recorded on the right bank of the Lykos, evidently belonging to the road Neokaisareia-Magnopolis-Neoklaudiopolis. The first generation of milestones along this highway is represented only by traces of an inscription on the twenty-third milestone from Neokaisareia, lost when the stone was reinscribed with the name of Pomponius Bassus, legate of Nerva. The same legate is named on a stone found at Uluköy west of Magnopolis. Uluköy has also produced a stone bearing the name of C. Iulius Flaccus, legate of Septimius Severus, dated to AD 197/198. Only one other pre-Diocletianic milestone has been recorded from the territory of Neokaisareia.160 A milestone of Carus has been found on the territory of Amaseia, along the road leading from the city and along the southern flank of the Lithros massif into the Phanaroia.161 From the Tetrarchy onwards, milestones abound along the Neokaisareia-Amaseia road, whereas none are found 159 Coin reverses showing a perspective view of the city, minted in the reign of Domitian and again in that of Alexander Severus, include a single tomb, probably … a sort of symbolic shorthand for all the tombs’ of the city: DALAISON 2014, 138. 160 RRMAM 3:3 no. 012 from Akça (Erbaa district, Tokat province) had been inscribed once before being re-inscribed under Diocletian. 161 RRMAM 3:3 no. 016 from Yerkozlu, Taşova district, Amasya province. The stone was found some distance east of its original location, where it marked the thirteenth mile from Amaseia.

The Corners of a Pontic World

45

along the more northerly road from Neokaisareia to Magnopolis and the Kılıçarslan pass. Around the year 230, a change took place in the administration of northeastern Anatolia. Instead of a senatorial governor in the Cappadocian capital at Kaisareia, the Iris-Lykos basin now had its own governor 162 of equestrian status, identified on milestone inscriptions as the praeses provinciae Ponti; the qualifier Mediterraneus is not used. Two different interpretations of this phenomenon have been put forward. According to one interpretation, recently restated by XAVIER LORIOT, Pontus was a newly created province encompassing the cities formerly belonging to Pontus Mediterraneus, as well as others; over time, it was extended to include Sinope, Gangra and inland Paphlagonia.163 According to another view, Pontus (sc. Mediterraneus) and Paphlagonia remained separate provinces but were now administered by a common governor.164 The milestone inscriptions are not very helpful, since in most cases we encounter heavily abbreviated formulae such as PR PR P, where the last letters could stand for provinciae Ponti as well as provinciae Paphlagoniae. To complicate matters further, a milestone found within the territory of Gangra in central Paphlagonia bears the text praes(es) pro(vinciae) [P]ont(i)165 while another from the territory of Pontic Amaseia records a praes(es) prov(inciae) Paflag(oniae).166 This last inscription, along with several so far unpublished milestones from Paphlagonia,167 attests to the existence of a provincia Paphlagonia, separate from the provincia Pontus, in the first years of the fourth century. While this does not in itself invalidate the first theory – Paphlagonia could have been subsumed into a provincia Pontus in the 230’s, then re-established as a separate province in 306 – the second and simpler interpretation seems preferable: in the 230’s, Pontus Mediterraneus and Paphlagonia were detached from Cappadocia and Galatia, respectively, to be administered by their own praesides. They remained separate provinces until 306 but were frequently administered by a single praeses: milestones of every known governor from Aelius Quintianus (AD 279– 280) to Aurelius Hierax (305–306) can be found in both Pontus and Paphlago-

162 An otherwise unknown Claudianus is attested on a milestone from 235 –236; he cannot be the governor of Cappadocia, who at that time was Licinius Serenianus: RÉMY 1988, 123 no. 187. P. Aelius Vibianus is identified as pr(aeses) provinc(iae) Pont(i) on a milestone dated to 236–238: RRMAM 3:3 no. 029; 043; MAREK 2015, 321–2. 163 Vers 230 fut créé, pour l’essentiel au depens de la Cappadoce, une province de Pontus centrée autour d’Amasia et qui, peut-etre, comprenait déja des cités autrefois appartenues au Pont-Bithynie, en particulier Amisos’. LORIOT 2011, 284. See also AMANDRY & RÉMY 1999, 16. 164 ÇIZMELI 2006, 102; MAREK 2015, 316–7. 165 RRMAM 3:2 no. 28. 166 RRMAM 3:3 no. 146. 167 MAREK 2015, 316–7.

46

Tønnes Bekker-Nielsen

nia.168 A joint governor for the two provinces would also explain why Amaseia rather than Neokaisareia was apparently selected as administrative capital.169 At the end of the century, the provincial map of northern Anatolia was once again redrawn as part of Diocletian’s administrative reform, which was apparently not implemented in northeastern Anatolia until after the emperor’s abdication. In 305–306 the old provinces were still in place, since Aurelius Hierax is described as praes(es) … r Ronti Paflaugon (sic) on a milestone from Amaseia.170 In 308– 311, Fl. Severus is recorded as praeses of Diospontus, which was later renamed Helenopontus in honour of Constantine’s mother.171 Our best source for the distribution of provinces and cities after the Diocletianic reform is the Synekdemos compiled by an otherwise unknown Hierokles and reflecting the secular structure before Justinian’s reorganisation of the provinces in April 535. According to Hierokles, Sebasteia and Sebastopolis belonged to Armenia prima which also included Nikopolis.172 The cities of Neokaisareia and Komana were joined with those on the coast: Polemonion, Kerasous and Trapezous, into a separate province carrying the historical name Pontos Polemoníakos.173 Helenopontus included the western cities of the former Pontus Mediterraneus (Amaseia and Zela) as well as Neoklaudiopolis (now known as Andrapa), Sinope and Amisos, all of which lay west of the Lithros massif, but also the Phanaroian city of Ibora (mod. Erbaa), which had not previously enjoyed polis status.174 Diocletian also introduced a new level into the hierarchy of control, the dioikesis, or group of provinces. Diospontos/Helenopontos and Pontos Polemoniakos were grouped with five other new provinces to form the dioecesis Pontica, which included the southern Black Sea coast along with Cappadocia and Galatia. For the western cities, the information of Hierokles is confirmed by milestone inscriptions of the fourth century, the latest of which dates from 363,175 but east of

168 Aelius Quintianus: Amaseia, Komana and Sinope; Claudius Longinus: Amaseia, Neoklaudiopolis and Sinope; Aurelius Priscianus: Neokaisareia, Amaseia, Zela, Sinope, Pompeiopolis and Neoklaudiopolis; Aurelius Hierax: Amaseia, Sinope and Neoklaudiopolis. 169 The earliest known governor of the province is Q. Falton(ius) Restitutianus, proc(urator) et praes(es) prov(inciae) Pont(i) who set up an inscription (FRENCH 1986 no. 2 = AE 1986, 632 = MAREK 2015, 321) honouring Severus Alexander and Iulia Mamaea in Amaseia at some time between 230 and 235. This suggests – though it does not prove – that Amaseia was the governor’s residence: so also HAENSCH 1997, 281. 170 RRMAM 4, no. 21(C); MAREK 2015, 326. Redrawing provincial boundaries could be a protracted process, as evidenced by the correspondence of Basil the Great concerning a planned division of Cappadocia, Basil. ep. 74–5; see also VAN DAM 2002, 28–31. 171 RRMAM 4, no. 29(C), text 2; MAREK 2015, 327. 172 Hierokles, Synekdemos 703 173 Hierokles, Synekdemos 702. 174 Hierokles, Synekdemos 701; JERPHANION 1911. 175 Amaseia: RRMAM 3:3 nos 025, text 2; 029(B); 029(C); 031, text 3; 033(A), text 2; 033(B), text 3. Zela: RRMAM 3:3 no. 057, text 2; 142. Neoklaudiopolis/Andrapa: RRMAM 3:4 nos 45(A); 49(D), text 2; Sinope: 08(A), text 2; 08(B), text 2–3; 08(C), text 2–3; 12(A), text 1;

The Corners of a Pontic World

47

the Lithros massif, no post-Diocletianic milestones have been found. For the fifth century, the information of Hierokles is supported by an attendance list from the sixth session of the council of Chalcedon (AD 451), preserved by Dionysius Exiguus, where the signatories are grouped by province and bishopric.176 7. From hard to soft spaces By necessity, our study has so far dealt with the ‘hard’ spaces of northern Anatolia, since these are the ones documented in the textual sources. As mentioned in the introduction, the frequency with which the boundaries of hard spaces were revised during the first century AD may reflect difficulties in matching administrative territories to the underlying tectonics of ‘functional spaces’. By the end of the century, the Iris-Lykos basin had come to be divided between the large, somewhat amorphous province of Pontus Polemonianus stretching from Sebasteia across the mountains to Kerasous and Trapezous on the Black Sea coast, and a much smaller Pontus Galaticus with Amaseia as the leading city. At some time after 111 AD, the littoral beyond the mountains became a separate province, the Ora Ponti Polemoniani, while the rest of Polemonianus was combined with Galaticus to form Pontus Mediterraneus. Amaseia, which had once been a royal residence, later a provincial capital, now found itself subordinated to Neokaisareia, metropolis and meeting place of the koinon. Given the Greek reputation for inter-city rivalries, one might well expect this to spark a war of titles between the two cities. As with Sherlock Holmes’ dog in the night-time, the significant fact is that the Amaseians did nothing: or in so far as they did, there is no chronological link between their actions and the creation of Pontus Mediterraneus. The bonfire cult at Yassical predates the amalgamation of the provinces by at least fifteen years; the most self-assertive coin images of the two cities (the six tychai of Neokaisareia and the bird’s eye view of Amaseia) do not come into use until the third century. Why did Amaseia and Neokaisareia – unlike the classic examples, Nikaia and Nikomedia – not resent sharing a ‘hard’ space? Perhaps because it mattered less than their ‘soft’ spaces, which did not overlap. Whereas Nikaia and Nikomedia were two days’ travel from one another on a main route frequently travelled by couriers and merchants, the journey between Amaseia and Neokaisareia required at least three. The working hypothesis of the second part of this study will be that the two cities occupied separate ‘functional’ or ‘soft’ spaces which did not impinge on each other.

18(A), text 4; 18(B), text 2; 21(A), text 4; 21(C), text 6; 21(F), text 1; see also MAREK 2015, 327–8. 176 PRICE & GADDIS, Acts of the Council of Chalcedon, session VI, 9.D.177–93 (page 2:237).

48

Tønnes Bekker-Nielsen

7.1. Secular and ecclesiastical spaces From the beginning of the third century and the advent of Christianity, new categories of textual sources become available: biographies of saints and martyrs; attendance lists of church councils; letters to or from eminent churchmen whose correspondence was preserved for posterity by the faithful. As narrative sources, hagiographies and martyrologies need to be treated with extreme caution: much of their content is the stuff of legend, not of historical tradition. Documentary texts such as letters and homilies present fewer problems, though it still needs to be remembered that ancient epistolography was a literary genre with its own conventions and that, furthermore, the collections which have been preserved may have undergone several stages of editing at the hands of their authors, or of later compilers. In the third century, the organisational structure of the Christian community was still ‘flat’ with each city’s church headed by its bishop, and the bishops in council constituting the supreme authority in doctrinal matters. In practice, the bishop of a provincial capital – a ‘metropolitan’ bishop – took precedence over, and was looked to for advice by, the other bishops of his province; 177 When, as part of the Diocletianic reforms of the early fourth century, the secular provinces were grouped into dioikeses, the bishop of the city functioning as administrative capital of the dioikesis likewise came to enjoy a superior position in relation to the metropolitan bishops of other provinces within the dioikesis.178 Eventually, the internal hierarchy of the church came to reflect the structure of the secular administration to such a degree that it is sometimes difficult to determine whether late antique compilations of cities and districts are lists of secular provinces or lists of bishoprics. If a city lost its position within the secular structure of administration, the status of its bishop was endangered as well.179 The earliest Christian author from our region whose writings have been preserved is Gregory, who was born between 210 and 213180 into an affluent pagan family in Neokaisareia, where he and his brother Athenodoros studied rhetoric and law.181 When their sister left Neokaisareia to join her husband, who had been

177 The authority of the metropolitan bishop vis-à-vis his colleagues was formalized by the Council of Nikaia, then extended further by the council of Antioch in 341: VOGEL 1979, 274–5. 178 VOGEL 1979, 282. 179 In 371, Basil of Kaisareia unsuccesfully tried to exploit his connections at the imperial court to prevent the partition of Cappadocia into two provinces and the consequent loss of status for his city: Basil. ep. 74–6; BEKKER-NIELSEN 2008, 46. 180 The main points of Gregory Thaumatourgos’ biography are summarized by CROUZEL in his introduction to Gregory’s Canonical Letter (1969, 14–27). For his early life, we have the first-hand account by Gregory himself in the Letter of Thanksgiving to Origenes 5.48–72, written after 238. For his later years, we have only the lives of the saint – five in all – of which only that by Gregory of Nyssa is trustworthy. 181 Letter of Thanksgiving, 60.

The Corners of a Pontic World

49

appointed legal advisor to the governor of Palestine,182 the brothers went along for the journey. They had planned to continue their legal studies in Beirut, but had a change of mind after encountering the Christian philosopher Origines who at that time was teaching in Caesarea, the provincial capital of Palestine. The brothers studied with Origines for at least five years, then returned to their homeland in the Iris-Lykos basin where Gregory was consecrated bishop of Neokaisareia 183 and in his turn, at the request of its citizens, consecrated the first bishop of Komana.184 After his ordination, Gregory is said to have performed a number of miracles which earned him the epithet thaumatourgos, ‘wonderworker’: he cleansed one of Neokaisareia’s temples of its pagan demons,185 caused a lake to dry out186 and forced the ‘wild waters’ of the Lykos into their channel.187 During the persecution of Decius, Gregory left his city and went into hiding in the mountains. 188 According to Eusebius, Gregory’s brother Athenodoros was also a bishop ‘in Pontos’, and both attended the church council at Antioch which in 263 condemned the city’s bishop, Paul of Samosata, as a heretic. This was followed by another council in 268 or 269, where neither Gregory nor his brother are mentioned among the signatories; they may have been dead by then, or too infirm to travel.189 Among the wonderworker’s followers was a woman by the name of Macrina ( the Elder’) whose son, Basil ( the Elder’) became a leading figure in Neokaisareia. Emmelia, his wife, bore Basil at least ten children, of which four rose to important positions within the church: Macrina the younger founded a monastic community on the family estate and built a chapel to the Forty Martyrs of Sebaste (Sebasteia), whose principal shrine was by this time established at Kaisareia.190 Three of her brothers left the Phanaroia and travelled south, eventually ending up as bishops: Peter in Sebasteia, Basil in Kaisareia and Gregory in Nyssa. Basil and Gregory were prolific writers and have left a large literary production. The writings of another Gregory, bishop of Nazianzos and a family friend, have also been preserved.191 So have a series of fourteen homilies by Asterios, bishop of the metropolitan see of Amaseia c. 390–420.192 Basil, the oldest brother, studied in Constantinople and Athens, where he established a life-long friendship with Gregory of Nazianzos. Shortly after his return 182 183 184 185 186 187 188 189 190 191 192

Letter of Thanksgiving, 65. Greg. Nyss. Life of Gregory Thaumatourgos, 26-27 SLUSSER = 909B MIGNE. Greg. Nyss. Life of Gregory Thaumatourgos, 62-70 SLUSSER = 933B–937B MIGNE. Greg. Nyss. Life of Gregory Thaumatourgos, 35 SLUSSER = 916A MIGNE. Greg. Nyss. Life of Gregory Thaumatourgos, 52 SLUSSER = 925D MIGNE. LANE FOX 1986, 531–2, no doubt correctly, reads the story of the dried-out lake as an aetiology. Greg. Nyss. Life of Gregory Thaumatourgos, 56 SLUSSER = 929A–B MIGNE. Greg. Nyss. Life of Gregory Thaumatourgos, 84–87 SLUSSER = 948A–D MIGNE. Eus. HE 7.28–30; on Eusebius’ source, see RIEDMATTEN 1952, 19. A late and unreliable tradition, cited by LE QUIEN 1740, 1:524C, names Athenodoros as bishop of Amaseia. WALTER 2003, 172. For the personal relations within the group, see the detailed study by VAN DAM (2004). On Gregory, MCGUCKIN 2001. For the date, DATEMA, introduction xxiv; for the author, KINZIG 1990.

50

Tønnes Bekker-Nielsen

to Neokaisareia, Basil gave up his secular career and embraced a life of poverty and simplicity, following the examples set by his sister Macrina and another famous ascetic of the region, bishop Eustathios of Sebasteia. According to his own account, he also sought inspiration from the lifestyle of ascetics which he encountered ‘in Alexandria, in the rest of Egypt, in Palestine, in Koile-Syria and in Mesopotamia’193 as well as ‘in the homeland’.194 After a few years, however, Basil abandoned the anchoritic lifestyle and engaged himself actively in the life of the church. He was ordained deacon by the bishop of Antioch and a few years later became a presbyter at Kaisareia. In 370 or 371 he was elected to the see of Kaisareia, which he held until his death in the late 370’s. Basil was an energetic networker as well as a prolific letter-writer,195 and more than 350 letters have been preserved under his name. Of these, by far the largest part – more than 300 – date from his time as metropolitan bishop of Kaisareia. Part of the correspondence, concerning questions of church policy or doctrine, is addressed to recipients in Antioch, Alexandria, Constantinople, Thessalonike or the west, while another group of letters is addressed to individual bishops within his province. While Basil may have had little contact with his family in the north,196 he visited Nikopolis and Satala in 373197 and Neokaisareia a few years afterwards.198 The preserved collection of his Letters includes a dozen missives to the bishops or the citizens of Sebasteia, Neokaisareia, Nikopolis and Satala 199 (all of which belonged to the dioecesis Pontica) and in 375, Basil engaged himself directly in the battle for the succession to the see of Nikopolis.200 On the other hand, Amaseia (also within the dioecesis Pontica) is never mentioned in his preserved letters, nor in those by his brother Gregory of Nyssa. Although his see at Nyssa was farther from home than Basil’s or Peter’s, Gregory maintained contact with his elder sister Macrina until the end of her life. He, too, spent some time at her retreat near Anissa before travelling to Kaisareia in 364 and becoming bishop of Nyssa in 371. Despite the challenges facing him at Nyssa, which led to his being temporarily deposed from his see, Gregory found time to visit his sister at Anissa in 371 or 372. Around 379 he made a second visit to Macrina, who was now dying.201 Not long afterwards, he made a third journey

193 Basil. ep. 223.2. 194 ἐπ ῆ πα ο , Basil. ep. 223.3: probably a veiled reference to Eusthatius, the recipient of the letter. 195 POUCHET 1992. 196 VAN DAM 2003, 68–9, 140–4, an argumentum e silentio mainly based on the absence of the family from the preserved collection of Basil’s Letters. 197 Basil. ep. 99; ROUSSEAU 1994, 240-1; 280–5. 198 ROUSSEAU 1994, 273. 199 Sebasteia: ep. 79, 119, 223; Neokaisareia: 63, 204, 207, 210; Nikopolis: 121, 130, 227 –30; Satala: 102–3, 122. 200 Basil. ep. 227-30; for the context, ROUSSEAU 1994, 286–7. 201 The chronology of Gregory’s life and travels in the 370’s is a matter of scholarly controversy but of limited importance for the present discussion. For a summary of the debate, see SIL-

The Corners of a Pontic World

51

to the Iris valley, where the Iborans had solicited his assistance in choosing their new bishop.202 7.2 The changing borders of ‘Pontos’ In his Canonical Letter addressed to a fellow bishop of his province203 in the aftermath of a Gothic raid in the mid-250s, Gregory Thaumatourgos deplores the behaviour of those among the faithful who seized the opportunity to enrich themselves in the chaos created by the Goths, in some cases even making common cause with the marauders: As for those who have been enrolled among the Barbarians and followed after them as prisoners, forgetting that they were men of Pontus, and Christians, and have become so thoroughly barbarized as even to put to death men of their own race by the gibbet or the noose, and to point out roads and houses to the Barbarians, who were ignorant of them; you must debar them even from the ranks of Hearers, until a common decision is reached about them by the assembly of Saints, with the guidance of the Holy Spirit. 204

The contraposition of uncivilized ‘Barbarians’ and civilized Greeks is a well-worn topos of classical literature; here, however the distinction is drawn between barbaroi and pontikoi. The renegade Pontics are condemned for taking the side of the invaders against their homophyloi, ‘those of their own race’, ’forgetting that they are men of Pontus, and Christians’ ( ο οὶ αὶ Χ α ο ). Since being Christian cannot be defined racially, homophyloi must refer to the Pontikoi as an ethnic community whose members are expected to display a measure of civilisation (i.e. non-barbarism) but also, it is implied, of solidarity towards other Pontics.205 Unfortunately, Gregory the Wonderworker provides no clues to the spatial boundaries of ‘Pontos’ as he understands it. A century later, Gregory of Nyssa describes the monastery that his sister, Macrina the younger had established at Annisa in the Iris valley a little distance up-

introduction to the Letters (2006, 32–9); also MARAVAL 1988a; ROUSSEAU 1994, 360– 3. Greg. Nyss. Ep. 19.12; MARAVAL, Gregoire de Nysse, Lettres, intro p. 28. The letter opens with a greeting ‘to the most holy Pappas’, presumably one of Gregory’s suffragan bishops, not his brother Athenodoros. The bishop of Trapezous has been proposed (LANE FOX 1986, 539; HEATHER & MATTHEWS 1991, 1–3) but this is no more than a conjecture and in the 250’s, Trapezous may not yet have been within the metropolitan jurisdiction of Neokaisareia. The reference to renegades showing invaders the way seems to reflect Gregory’s own experience during the persecution of Decius a few years earlier (Greg. Nyss. Life of Gregory the Wonderworker 85–6); if so, it would imply a location in the mountains, rather than on the coast. Gregory Thaumatourgos, Canonical letter 7, translation from HEATHER & MATTHEWS 1991, 9. Significantly, Gregory’s non-Pontic twelfth-century excerptor Johannes Zonaras paraphrases Pontics and Christians’ as Christians from Pontos’: ἐ οῦ ου ... Χπ α ο (PG 10.1041C). On ‘Pontic’ as a denominator in earlier Greek literature, DAN 2013; 2014. VAS’

202 203

204 205

52

Tønnes Bekker-Nielsen

stream from its confluence with the Lykos206 with a shrine to the Forty Martyrs of Sebasteia nearby.207 In one of his Letters, Gregory writes that Macrina’s retreat is located in the farthest parts of Pontos’.208 To a reader of the Hellenistic or early Roman period, οῦ ου ὰ ἒ χα α would have been understood to mean the remotest part of the Black Sea:209 Colchis, the goal of Jason’s epic voyage, or the Crimea, where Dio Chrysostom travelled after Apollo told him to ‘go to the farthest ends of the earth’.210 But Gregory’s ὁ ο is not the sea, not even on the sea: it is an inland space. Similarly, when Gregory’s brother Basil of Kaisareia writes to all the bishops of his dioikesis, Basil of Kaisareia uses the adjective Pontikos;211 when addressing the ‘Pontic’ bishops (in the original sense of the word: those living by the Black Sea), he calls them ‘Bishops on the coast’.212 In the Life of his sister, Gregory describes Sebastopolis as a ‘small town in the land by Pontos’, πο χ ῃ ὶ αὰ ὸ ο .213 Once, α ὰ ὸ ο might have been understood to mean ‘by the Black Sea’ but Sebastopolis is more than a hundred kilometres from the coast. It formed part of the province Armenia Prima and lay within the jurisdiction of the metropolitan bishop of Sebasteia (who at this time was Gregory’s younger brother Peter); in that sense, being outside, but close to the borders of Pontos Polemoniakos, its position could well be described as α ὰ ὸ ο . In another letter, Gregory writes that his sister’s monastery is ‘close to the small town called Ibora’ which is ‘located on the borders of Pontos’. (Ibora, as we know from the Synekdemos of Hierokles, formed part of the province Helenopontos). Thus Gregory’s ‘Pontos’ has lost its maritime connotations: it is now a ‘soft’ space more or less, but not quite, contiguous with the ‘hard’ province of Pontos Polemoniakos; apart from the region around Ibora, it does not include the province of Helenopontos nor its capital, Amaseia. Indeed, Amaseia is almost entirely 206 According to the Life of Macrina 34.15–6, Macrina’s retreat was located less than eight stades (1.5 km) from the chapel of the forty martyrs, which in its turn, was adjacent to ( ω ) the small town called Ibora’ (Greg. Nyss. Homily on the forty martyrs, PG 46.784B.) For the location of Ibora, MARAVAL 1971, 39–40; OLSHAUSEN & BILLER 1984, 137; MARAVAL 1988b, 24–5. 207 For the traditions surrounding the Forty Martyrs, who were exposed on a lake and froze to death during the persecution of Diocletian, see WALTER 2003, 170–6; VAN DAM 2002,14–5; also the sermons by Basil (PG 31, 508–26) and Gregory of Nyssa (PG 46, 749–88). 208 Greg. Nyss. ep. 19.6; 19.12. It is not clear from the context whether ‘farthest’ is to be understood from the perspective of Nyssa or from that of Neokaisareia; in practice it makes no difference, since the route from Nyssa to Macrina’s retreat passed close by Neokaisareia. 209 Cf. Strabo’s careful distinction, in the Introduction to his Geography (1.3.15), between ὁ ο (the Black Sea) on the one hand, ὁ α ὰ ὸ ο πο / ὁ α ὰ ὸ ο ο (the places / the parts by the Black Sea) on the other. 210 BEKKER-NIELSEN & HINGE 2015, 754. 211 Basil. ep. 252, To the bishops of the Pontic diocese’. 212 Basil. ep. 203. 213 Greg. Nyss. Life of Macrina 36.

The Corners of a Pontic World

53

absent from the works of the ‘Cappadocian fathers’ (Basil, Gregory of Nyssa and Gregory of Nazianzus), an absence that is all the more remarkable considering that Macrina’s retreat in the Iris valley, where Basil and Gregory of Nazianzus also spent time together, was within ecclesiastical jurisdiction of the bishop of Amaseia.214 The bishop himself is only mentioned on a single occasion, when Gregory of Nyssa relates how bishop Phaidimos consecrated Gregory Thaumatourgos as bishop of Neokaisareia by a sort of divine remote control. The only reasonably clear fact to emerge from the narrative is that the Amaseian bishop did not go to Neokaisareia to perform the ordination, nor did Gregory Thaumatourgos come to Amaseia: For this reason, Phaidimos, overcome by some divine impulse concerning the task he was facing, disregarding the intervening distance by which he was separated from Gregory (he was three days’ journey away), but looking to God and saying that both of them at that moment were equally present to the sight of God, laid on Gregory his word in place of his hand, consecrating to God one who was not present bodily. 215

For their part, there is no evidence that the bishops of Amaseia showed much interest in the affairs of their eastern neighbours.216 Although Asterios of Amaseia was evidently acquainted with, and drew on, the writings of the Cappadocian fathers (to such an extent that several of his homilies were later wrongly ascribed to Gregory of Nyssa), there are no traces of of direct personal contact: neither they, nor their episcopal cities, are mentioned in the extant writings of Asterios.217 There is, on the other hand, some local Amaseian colour in Asterios’ Homily 4 ‘Against the festival of the Kalendae’, while his Homily 9, ‘Enkomion on Phokas’ is devoted to this saint, a native of Sinope. The story of the saint’s life is preserved both in the original and in a slightly shorter version by Symeon Metaphrastes. Phokas, we are told, is a patron of sailors, not only on the Black Sea but in the Adriatic and the Aegean. In chapter 12, the people who revere him are enumerated; they include both ‘the Romans’ and the ‘Barbarians’ living around the northern and eastern Black Sea and the Sea of Azov.218 The world-view that emerges from the preserved works of Asterios faces towards the sea and even includes its northern shores (the place-names in Homily 9 include Scythia, Maïotis, Tanaïs and the Cimmerian Bosporos (the strait of Kerch)).219 Other bishoprics of Helenopontus may have had contacts across the Euxine as well. At some time in the early fifth century, a martyrion was erected in 214 According to Gregory, Life of Macrina 5, their mother Emmelia owned land in three provinces, probably to be identified as Helenopontus, Pontus Polemoniacus and Cappadocia. 215 Greg. Nyss. Life of Gregory Thaumatourgos, 27 SLUSSER = 909B MIGNE; SLUSSER’S translation. 216 A Latin collection of canons attributed to Isidore of Seville preserves attendance lists of the synod of Ancyra in 314 and that held in Neokaisareia shortly afterwards. Basilius, bishop of Amaseia was recorded as present in Ancyra but not in Neokaisareia: PL 84, 105C–112A. 217 DATEMA, introduction xxviii–xxxii. 218 Asterios, Homily 9.11 (DATEMA) = PG 40, 309B. 219 Asterios, Homily 9.12.2 (DATEMA) = PG 40, 313A–B.

54

Tønnes Bekker-Nielsen

Andrapa, the former Neoklaudiopolis. Its ground plan in the shape of a Greek cross (fig. 6) is unusual for northern Anatolia, but has parallels in the Crimea.220 Equally clearly, the world-view of the Neokaisareian writers is oriented towards the south. Gregory the Wonderworker and his brother went to the Levant to study; in the 260’s, they again travelled to Syria to participate in the first council of Antioch. Among his friends, Gregory Thaumatourgos counted Firmilianos, bishop of Kaisareia in south-central Cappadocia.221 Later, three of Macrina’s brothers travelled south to become bishops. Among the works attributed to Gregory of Nyssa is a homily in praise of Theo-dore, who had been martyred at Amaseia in the early years of the fourth century. The homily was evidently delivered at the martyr’s tomb in Euchaïta; if the attribution to Gregory is correct, as is now generally accepted, 222 he made at least one further visit to Pontos before being summoned to Constantinople, where he spent the final years of his life. Theodore, we are told, was a soldier who refused to perform the mandatory sacrifice to the pagan gods and was summoned before a tribunal. After the preliminary hearing, he was allowed to go free until his case would be resumed. During this interval, the ‘temple to the mythical mother of the gods standing by the river bank in the metropolis of Amaseia’223 burned down. Theodore was held responsible for the disaster and sentenced to be burned alive.224 His remains were taken to Euchaïta, where a shrine was erected over his tomb.225 We are told that Theodore had recently been transferred to ‘our region’ (π ὸ ὴ ἡ α χ α ),226 but Gregory’s use of the first person plural may be no more than a rhetorical device intended to establish a sense of community between speaker and audience. The narrative of Theodore’s martyrdom was embellished by fifth- and sixthcentury hagiographers who added circumstantial detail such as the name of Theodore’s company commander and dialogues in oratio recta between Theodore and his judges, A list of Theodore’s miracles was also compiled:227 in one version, the martyr kills a dragon which has been infesting the region around Euchaïta. The dragon spews fire, but when Theodore makes the sign of the cross, the flames are extinguished.228 The martyr’s cult soon spread outside Pontos,229 and the second220 WINTHER-JACOBSEN & BEKKER-NIELSEN 2017, 49. 221 For Firmilianos’ biography and dates, cf. MARAVAL’S edition of Gregory of Nyssa’s Life of Gregory the Wonderworker, introduction 27–8 and 121 n. 2 ad loc. 222 WALTER 2003, 45 n. 7; SILVAS 2006, 46. 223 Homily in praise of Theodore, PG 46, 744Α; presumably Kybele is meant. 224 Homily in praise of Theodore, PG 46, 745C. 225 Homily in praise of Theodore, PG 46, 737D. 226 Homily in praise of Theodore, PG 46, 741A. Since the homily was evidently held at the martyr’s tomb, the region of Euchaïta must be meant. 227 ABRAHAMSE 1967, 23: for the texts, see Acta Sanctorum Novembris 4, Bruxelles 1925, 29– 89. For a critical discussion, WALTER 2003, 46–9. 228 DELEHAYE 1909, 26–8. 229 By the mid-fifth century, there was a church of St. Theodore in Constantinople: DELEHAYE 1909, 13. For other early sanctuaries to St Theodore, see WALTER 2003, 49.

The Corners of a Pontic World

55

ary versions of Theodore’s Life were clearly composed elsewhere, perhaps in Constantinople, since their authors find it necessary to explain that Amaseia is located ‘in Helenopontos’230 or ‘by the Pontos’.231 By the ninth century, Theodore had evolved into two entirely separate holy men with different military ranks, Theodore the Recruit ( ω , from, latin tiro) and Theodore the Commander ( α )232 while his role as holy dragon-slayer was later taken over by St George. Brief glimpses of Amaseian life in the sixth century are offered by the Life of saint Eutychios, patriarch of Constantinople, who in 565 was deposed and exiled to Amaseia, but reinstated as patriarch by Justin II in 577. Eutychios’ biography was written shortly after his death by one of his friends and disciples, Eustratios, and includes a section on the activities – mainly of a miraculous nature – of Eutychios during his twelve-year sojourn in Amaseia.233 We are told how rumours of the holy man’s powers spread through the region and attracted supplicants not only from the territory of Amaseia itself234 but from towns as far away as Komana235 and Zela.236 Thanks to the Synekdemos of Hierokles and Justinian’s Novellae, we can follow the evolution of the administrative structure up to and beyond the sixthcentury reorganization under Justinian, who combined Helenopontus and Pontus Polemoniacus into a single province retaining the name Helenopontus and comprising thirteen cities.237 The Acts of ecumenical church councils (Council of Ephesos, 431; Council of Chalkedon, 451; second Council of Constantinople, 551) shed some light on the ecclesiastical organization, which was apparently not affected by Justinian’s reform in the short term,238 and on the continuity of city life despite the ravages of invaders. The bishoprics of Amaseia and Andrapa were able to mobilize the resources required239 to send delegates to the third council of Constantinople in 680–681, to the Council of ‘the Dome’, likewise in Constantinople, in 691–692, and to the second council of Nikaia in 787. The bishop of Ne-

230 231 232 233 234 235 236 237

Acta Sanctorum, passio prima 1 = DELEHAYE 1909, app. I, 1. α ὰ ὸ ο ου α, Acta Sanctorum, passio secunda 2 = DELEHAYE 1909, app. II, 2. WALTER 2003, 59. Life of St Eutychios, 44–63 = PG 86, 2326–46 = CC Series Graeca vol. 25. Life, 51-2 = PG 86, 2332–3. Life, 58 = PG 86, 2340. Life, 49 = PG 86, 2329. Nov. 28. The cities are given as Amaseia, Ibora, Euchaïta, Zela, Andrapa (formerly Neoklaudiopolis), Sinope, Amisos, Leontopolis (Zaliche), Neokaisareia, Komana, Trapezous, Kerasous and Polemonion. Sebastopolis has lost its city status and is considered ‘a fortress rather than a city’: Sebastopolin inter castra magis adnumeramus quam civitates. 238 Cf. Nov. 28.2; both Amaseia and Neokaisareia were allowed to retain their status as metropoleis. 239 On the cost of attending a church council, KAÇAR 2005, 311–2.

56

Tønnes Bekker-Nielsen

okaisareia was apparently absent from the first two councils240 but represented at Nikaia. No milestones are attested after the reign of Valens, but one of the milestones along the road between Neokaisareia and Amaseia was re-inscribed in the early fifth century.241 By the early seventh century, the secular provincial organization appears to have broken down, to be replaced by an entirely new set of ‘hard’ spaces, ‘themes’ (themata) which were in place by the end of the eighth century.242 Under the new scheme, Neokaisareia, Ibora and Amaseia were assigned to the theme of Armeniakon along with Amisos, Sinope and Andrapa.243 8. Pontos, a tale of two spaces From the preceding survey, two ‘Pontic’ spaces have emerged, divided by a ‘fuzzy’ border running approximately north to south through the Lithros massif. From the writings of the Neokaisareian church fathers, it is evident that their world east of the Lithros had little contact with Amaseia but opened towards the south, to the upper Halys valley, the central Anatolian plain and ultimately, the Levant. (In this connection, it may be worth noting that ancient geographical writers consistently underestimate the distance across Anatolia from Pontos to Cilicia.) As for the western space, this was traversed by the trade route leading from Zela through Amaseia and over the Pontic range to Amisos and the coast. The decision of the early Mithradatids to place their residence in Amaseia, where the road passes through a narrow defile and is easily controlled, shows that they were well aware of its importance; later, they transferred their residence to Sinope on the coast. If we are to judge from the – admittedly sparse – preserved writings by bishop Asterios of Amaseia, it seems that his world-view, too, extended not towards the south but northwards, to Sinope, the Black Sea and the Crimea. The history of Raumordnung in Rome’s northeastern Anatolian provinces reflects the interplay between the dynamics of everyday life and the ‘hard’ spaces that the conquerors attempted to impose. For Pompey, recently arrived and with little detailed knowledge of the country beyond the areas of his own campaigns, organizing the former Mithradatic territories along an east-west road seemed an obvious solution.244 He may well have been inspired by the example of other Roman generals: M. Aemilius Lepidus, who in the 180’s BC constructed the via Aemilia as the backbone of Roman control in the newly conquered territories be240 OHME 1990, 253. For the attendance lists as sources, DARROUZES 1975; BRANDES 1999, 41– 4. 241 RRMAM 3:3, no. 015. 242 For the origins of the theme organisation and possible continuity from the late Roman structure of administration, HALDON 1990, 191–215. 243 Constantine Porphyrogenitus, De thematibus, 21. 244 BEKKER-NIELSEN 2016b, 42–3.

The Corners of a Pontic World

57

yond the Apennines, and Cn. Domitius Ahenobarbus, builder of the via Domitia through southern Gaul. Unlike the via Aemilia, which eventually gave its name to the whole region, Pompey’s road failed to impress a lasting sense of unity on the ‘Pontic’ world. Had the settlement imposed by Pompey been maintained by Mark Antony and Augustus, things might have turned out differently, but this remains speculative. As it was, the Pompeian province was soon dismantled and when the territories of the native kinglets were re-integrated in the first century AD, the result was an administrative patchwork which the provincial reorganization of the early second century simplified into a new set of ‘hard’ spaces with Pontus Mediterraneus as the core territory. The inclusion of two former metropoleis, Amaseia and Neokaisareia, within a single province might have been expected to provoke a struggle for precedence, but there is no evidence to that effect: evidently, the ruling élite of one city did not take much interest in the affairs of the other. With the provincial reorganization of Diocletian, the eastern and western parts of the Iris-Lykos basin became distinct ‘hard’ spaces, Pontos Polemoniakos and Helenopontos. Compared to its predecessors, this reorganisation was surprisingly resilient, lasting into the late sixth century, suggesting that these ‘hard’ spaces may have been more congruent with the ‘soft’ spaces of their inhabitants (witness, for instance, that Gregory of Nyssa more or less equals Pontos with Pontos Polemoniakos). The sources unfortunately do not permit us to trace the further evolution of Pontic spaces through the breakdown of the Byzantine provincial administration and the creation of the themata. Was the ‘personality of Pontos’ ingrained in its physical landscape? Hardly. Though the Lithros massif separates eastern and western Pontos, it is easily traversed along the valleys of the Iris:245 the road from Amaseia to Magnopolis runs at less than 500 metres a.s.l., far lower than any of the passes over the Pontic range or the 890 metres of the Güvenbeli pass between Amaseia and Neoklaudiopolis. Nor are the traditional categories of ‘Kulturraum’ or ‘historical landscape’ helpful. Pontos east and west of the Lithros shared a common Hellenised culture; their cities had the same civic institutions; they worshipped the same gods. Language, an important cultural marker, unified them: the literate elite of both regions used Greek as the language of their inscriptions – both private and public – and their coinage.246 If anything, instead of a cultural divergence, there are signs of a cultural convergence as the importance of the temple-states dwindles and the cults of the Persian deities decline. First, their places are taken by the gods of the Greek pantheon and the patron deities of the individual cities, then by Christianity in the third and fourth century. Yet even in the fourth century, when Christianity has unified ‘Pontos’ as a religious space we can, in the writings of the Cappadocian fathers, clearly trace a division into two distinct ‘soft’ spaces. 245 Cf. that in late antiquity, Helenopontos extended along the Iris and into the Phanaroia as far as Ibora. 246 HØJTE 2006, 23–9.

58

Tønnes Bekker-Nielsen

In that case, where should we look for defining factors? Since the time of Christaller, contemporary geographers have seen movement as a key component in the creation of socio-geographic units. Movement creates contacts, facilitates the formation of friendships, kinship ties and business partnerships. In antiquity, movement (i.e. travel) across longer distances – which involved time, expense and insecurity – was rarely undertaken for its own sake, but for specific motives (e.g., trade, health or studies) and when it took place, followed roads and major trade routes where inns, post-stations and fellow-travellers were to be found. The central concept in CHRISTALLER’s analysis was complementarity – in his case, between the economies of town and country. Complementarity, or lack thereof, may also provide the key to understanding why Pompey’s Pontic road failed to create the kind of unified space found along the via Aemilia. The Aemilia connected two complementary economic systems, that of the Adriatic coast and that of the upper Po valley, ensuring a constant movement of traders to and fro along its route. Pompey’s road connected a series of fertile river valleys and plateaux capable of producing more or less the same products. The inhabitants east and west of the Lithros had the same resources at their disposal and little incentive for trade with one another, but they constituted a ready market for goods imported overland from central Anatolia or by sea through Amisos.247 At the present state of the evidence, our inquiry will take us no further, and key questions remain unsolved. Three possible future avenues of exploration do, however, present themselves: First, new finds of moveable artefacts (pottery and coins), provided they are reliably provenanced and dated, may enable us to trace networks of trade and exchange. Second, non-economic factors such as kinship and élite networks need to be taken into account. Network analysis is a discipline undergoing rapid, almost explosive growth and within a few years we may hope to see studies of better docu-mented regions in Asia Minor (e.g., Lycia or Asia), whose results might provide a framework for interpreting the sparse Pontic material. Finally, the possibility of using parallels from the early modern period, or even from contemporary society, to better understand the ways in which ‘soft’ spaces are created and maintained, while offering no simple answers, might help us towards a more nuanced understanding of this elusive aspect of ancient human geography. Bibliography ABRAHAMSE, D. ZANI DE FERRANTI 1967. Hagiographic sources for Byzantine cities, 500–900 A.D. Unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, University of Michigan. ALLEN, R. & J. WILES 2014. The Uncertain Spaces of Great-Grandparenthood, in M. ROCHE, J. MANSVELT, R. PRINCE & A. GALLAGHER (eds.) 2014. Engaging Geographies: Landscapes, Lifecourses and Mobilities. Newcastle, 117–36.

247 MEHL 1987, 108–23 lists the known imports and exports through the ports of the Pontic shore. For amphorae as evidence for maritime trade, LUND & GABRIELSEN 2005; RIZZO 2014, 559–65.

The Corners of a Pontic World

59

ALLMENDINGER, P. & G. HAUGHTON 2009. Soft Spaces, Fuzzy Boundaries, and Metagovernance: The New Spatial Planning in the Thames Gateway, Environment and Planning A 41, 617–33. ALLMENDINGER, P. & G. HAUGHTON 2010. Spatial planning, devolution, and new planning spaces. Environment and Planning C: Government and Policy 28, 803–18. AMANDRY, M. 2009. Zéla sous l’empire romain. Bordeaux. AMANDRY, M. & B. REMY 1998. Comana du Pont sous l’empire romain: étude historique et corpus monétaire (Glaux, 14). Milan. ARNAUD, P. 2004. Titulatures municipales et réseaux urbains: le titre de métropole dans les provinces romaines d’Orient, Cahiers de la Méditerrannée 64, 39–47. AYDO AN, Z. 2016. Changing Perceptions along the Frontiers: The Moving Frontier with Rum in Late Medieval Anatolian Frontier Narratives, in C. ISOM-VERHAUEN and K.F. SCHULL, Living in the Ottoman Realm: Empire and Identity, 13th to 20th centuries. Bloomington, 29–41. BACHMANN-MEDICK, D. 2016. Cultural Turns: New Orientations in the Study of Culture. Berlin. BEKKER-NIELSEN, T. 1989. The Geography of Power: Studies in the Urbanization of Roman North-West Europe (BAR International Series, 477). Oxford. BEKKER-NIELSEN, T. 2008. Urban Life and Local Politics in Roman Bithynia: The Small World of Dion Chrystostomos (Black Sea Studies, 8). Aarhus. BEKKER-NIELSEN, T. 2013. 350 years of research on Neoklaudiopolis (Vezirköprü), Orbis Terrarum 11, 3–32. BEKKER-NIELSEN, T. 2014a. Hard and soft spaces in the ancient world, IN K. GEUS & M. THIERING (eds.) 2014. Features of Common Sense Geography: Implicit Knowledge Structures in Ancient Geographical Texts (Antike Kultur und Geschichte, 16). Berlin, 131–46. BEKKER-NIELSEN, T. 2014b. To be or not to be Paphlagonian? A question of identity, in T. BEKKER-NIELSEN (ed.), Space, Place and Identity in northern Anatolia (Geographica Historica, 29). Stuttgart, 63–74. BEKKER-NIELSEN, T. 2016a. Leading men, in M. VITALE & A. KOLB (ed.) Kaiserkult in den Provinzen des Römischen Reiches: Organisation, Kommunikation und Repräsentation. Berlin, 357–76. BEKKER-NIELSEN, T. 2016b. Trade, strategy and communications on the Roman north-east frontier, Cedrus 4, 31–46. BEKKER-NIELSEN, T. 2018. The city and the road: The transport connections of Pompeiopolis in the light of recent discoveries in the Pompeian cities, IN L. SUMMERER & P. JOHNSON (eds.), Contextualizing Pompeiopolis: Urban Development in Roman Anatolia from a Comparative Perspective (forthcoming). BEKKER-NIELSEN, T. & R. CZICHON 2015. Roads and Bridges of the Phazemonitis, in K. WINTHER-JACOBSEN & L. SUMMERER (eds.), Landscape Dynamics and Settlement Patterns in northern Anatolia during the Roman and Byzantine Period (Geographica Historica, 31). Stuttgart, 295–306. BEKKER-NIELSEN, T. & G. HINGE 2015. Dio Chrysostom in Exile: Or. 36.1 and the Date of the Scythian Journey, CQ 65, 747–55. BEKKER-NIELSEN, T. & M. JENSEN 2015: Two Pontic rivers, Cedrus 3, 231–42. BENGTSON, H. 1977. Marcus Antonius: Triumvir und Herrscher des Orients. Munich. BILLER, J. & E. OLSHAUSEN 1978. Notizen zur historischen Geographie von Pontos, in S. ŞAHIN, E. SCHWERTHEIM & J. WAGNER, Studien zur Religion und Kultur Kleinasiens: Festschrift für Friedrich Karl Dörner zum 65. Geburtstag am 28. Februar 1976. Leiden, 163–77 and pls. liv–lxviii. BINTLIFF, J. 1981. The contribution of an Annaliste/structural history approach to archaeology, in J. BINTLIFF (ed.), The Annales School and Archaeology. New York, 1–33. BINTLIFF, J. 2000. Beyond dots on the map: the future of artefact survey in Greece, in J. BINTLIFF, M. KUNA & N. VENCLOVÁ (eds.), The Future of Archaeological Field Survey in Europe, Sheffield, 3–20.

60

Tønnes Bekker-Nielsen

BOSWORTH, A.B. & P.V. WHEATLEY 1998. The origins of the Pontic house. The Journal of Hellenic Studies 118, 155–64. BOYCE, M. & F. GRENET 1991, A History of Zoroastrianism, 3: Zoroastrianism under Macedonian and Roman Rule (Handbuch der Orientalistik, 1.8.1.2.2) Leiden. BRANDES, W. 1989. Die Städte Kleinasiens im 7. und 8. Jahrhundert. Berlin. BRANDES, W. 1999. Byzantine Cities in the Seventh and Eighth Centuries: Different Sources, Different Histories? in G.P. BROGIOLO & B. WARD-PERKINS (eds.), The Idea and Ideal of the Town between Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages, Leiden, 25–58. BRATIANU, G. 1969. La Mer Noire: des origines à la conquête ottomane (Societas Academica Dacoromana, Acta historica, 9). Munich. BRUGHMANS T., 2013. Thinking Through Networks: A Review of Formal Network Methods in Archaeology, Journal of Archaeological Method and Theory 20, 623–62. BUCHHEIM, H. 1960. Die Orientpolitik des Triumvirn M. Antonius: Ihre Voraussetzungen, Entwick-lung und Zusammenhang mit den politischen Ereignissen in Italien. (Abhandlungen der Heidelberger Akademie der Wissenschaften. Philosophisch-historische Klasse 1960:8). Heidelberg: Winter. BURRELL, B. 2004. Neokoroi: Greek cities and Roman emperors (Cincinnati Classical Studies, n.s. 9). Leiden. BURSTEIN, S.M. 1976. Outpost of Hellenism: the Emergence of Heraclea on the Black Sea (University of California Publications, Classical Studies, 14). Berkeley. CHRISTALLER, W. 1933. Die zentralen Orte in Süddeutschland: Eine ökonomisch-geographische Untersuchung über die Gesetzmäßigkeit der Verbreitung und Entwicklung der Siedlungen mit städtischen Funktionen. Jena. ÇIZMELI, Z. 2006. Le monnayage de Néocésarée et du koinon du Pont (Glaux, 17). Milan. Costantino Porfirogenito de Thematibus, ed. A. PERTUSI (Studie e testi, 160). Vatican city, 1952. CROUZEL, H. Grégoire le thaumaturge: Remerciement à Origène suivie de La Lettre d’Origène à Grégoire, texte grec, introduction, traduction et notes par H. CROUZEL (Sources Chrétiennes, 148). Paris 1969. DALAISON, J. 2008. L'atelier d’Amaseia du Pont: Recherches historiques et numismatiques (Numismatica Anatolica, 2). Bordeaux. DALAISON, J. 2014. Civic pride and local identities: the Pontic cities and their coinage in the Roman period, in T. BEKKER-NIELSEN (ed.), Space, Place and Identity in northern Anatolia (Geographica Historica, 29). Stuttgart, 125–56. DALAISON, J. 2016. Néocorie et koinon: les attestations et représentations du culte impérial fédéral sur les monnaies provinciales romaines du nord de l’Asie mineure (Pont, Paphlagonie et Arménie mineure) in M. VITALE & A. KOLB (eds.) Kaiserkult in den Provinzen des Römischen Reiches: Organisation, Kommunikation und Repräsentation. Berlin, 189–228. DAN, A. 2013. Ἒ α α ρό ἒ α ζα ά : Remarques sur l’antiquité de l’identité grecque pontique, appuyée sur l’inventaire des noms, Il Mar Nero 7, 9–66. DAN, A. 2014. Pontische Mehrdeutigkeiten, eTopoi: Journal for Ancient Studies 3, 43–66. DARROUZES, J. 1975. Listes épiscopales du Concile de Nicée, Revue des études Byzantines 33, 5– 76. DATEMA, C. Asterius of Amaseia: Homilies I-XIV. Text, introduction and notes. Leiden: Brill 1970. DE GIORGI, A. 2011. Colonial Space and the City: Augustusʼ Geopolitics in Pisidia, in R. SWEETMAN (ed.), Roman colonies in the first century of their foundation. Oxford, 135–49. DELEHAYE, H. 1909. Les legendes grecques des saints militaires. Paris. DRAKOULIS, D.P. 2012. Regional Transformations and the Settlement Network of the Coastal Pontic Provinces in the Early Byzantine Period, in G.R. TSETSKHLADZE (ed.), The Black Sea, Paphlagonia, Pontus and Phrygia in Antiquity (BAR International Series, 2432). Oxford, 79– 95.

The Corners of a Pontic World

61

EDELMANN-SINGER, B. 2015. Koina und Concilia: Genese, Organisation und sozioökonomische Funktion der Provinziallandtage im römischen Reich (Heidelberger althistorische Beiträge, 57). Stuttgart. ERCIYAS, D.B. 2006. Wealth, Aristocracy and Royal Propaganda under the Hellenistic Kingdom of the Mithradatids in the Central Black Sea Region of Turkey (Colloquia Pontica 12). Leiden. ERCIYAS, D.B. 2009. Komana Pontike: A City or a Sanctuary? in J.M. HØJTE (ed.), Mithridates VI and the Pontic Kingdom (Black Sea Studies, 9). Aarhus, 289–312. ERCIYAS, D.B. 2014. A Middle Byzantine citadel at Komana, in T. BEKKER-NIELSEN (ed.), Space, Place and Identity in northern Anatolia (Geographica Historica, 29). Stuttgart, 215–25. FOY-VAILLANT, J. 1700. Numismata imperatorum, Augustarum, et Caesarum, a populis, Romanae ditionis, Graece loquentibus, ex omni modulo percussa. Amsterdam. FRENCH, D. 1986. Recent epigraphic research in Pontus, Epigraphica Anatolica 8, 71–84. FRENCH, D. 1996. Amasian Notes 5: The Temenos of Zeus Stratios at Yassıçal, Epigraphica Anatolica 27, 75–92. GRANT, E. (ed.) 1986. Central Places, Archaeology and History. Sheffield. GREGORY OF NAZIANZUS, Three poems; Concerning himself and the bishops; Concerning his own life, translated by DENIS MOLAISE MEEHAN with supplementary notes by THOMAS P. HALTON. Washington 1987. GREGOR VON NAZIANZ, De vita sua, Herausgegeben, eingeleitet und erklärt von C. JUNGCK. Heidelberg 1974. GREGORY OF NYSSA, Homily in praise of the great martyr Theodore, in G. HEIL, J.P. CAVAROS & O. LENDLE (eds.) Gregorii Nysseni Sermones, II (Gregorii Nysseni Opera, X.1). Leiden 1990, 61–71. GREGORY OF NYSSA, Homily in praise of the forty holy martyrs, in G. HEIL, J.P. CAVAROS & O. LENDLE (eds.) Gregorii Nysseni Sermones, II (Gregorii Nysseni Opera, X.1). Leiden 1990, 137–69. GUYOT, P. Gregor der Wundertäter: Oratio prosphonetica ac panegyrica in Origenem/Dankrede an Origenes, übersetzt von PETER GUYOT, eingeleitet von RICHARD KLEIN. (Fontes Christiani, 24). Freiburg 1996. HAENSCH, R. 1997. Capita Provinciarum: Statthaltersitze und Provinzialverwaltung in der römischen Kaiserzeit (Kölner Forschungen, 7). Mainz. HÄGERSTRAND, T. 1952. The propagation of innovation waves. Lund. HARD, G. 2008. Der Spatial Turn, von der Geographie her beobachtet in J. DÖRING & T. THIEDEMANN (eds.), Spatial Turn: Das Raumparadigma in den Kultur- und Sozialwissenschaften. Bielefeld, 263–316. HEATHER, P. & J. MATTHEWS (eds.) 1991. The Goths in the Fourth Century. (Translated Texts for Historians, 11). Liverpool. HALDON, J.F. 1990. Byzantium in the Seventh Century. Cambridge. HARVEY, D. 1998. The Humboldt Connection, Annals of the Association of American Geographers 88, 723–30. HELLER, A. 2006. ‘Les bêtises des Grecs’: conflits et rivalités entre cités d’Asie et de Bithynie à l’époque romaine, 129 a.C. – 235 p.C. (Scripta Antiqua, 17). Bordeaux. HODDER, I.R., & M.W.C. HASSALL 1971. The non-random spacing of Romano- British walled towns, Man 6, 391–407. HØJTE, J.M. 2006. From kingdom to province: Reshaping Pontos after the fall of Mithridates VI, in T. BEKKER-NIELSEN (ed.), Rome and the Black Sea Region: Domination, Romanisation, Resistance (Black Sea Studies, 5). Aarhus, 15–30. HORDEN, P. & N. PURCELL 2001. The Corrupting Sea: A Study of Mediterranean History. London. JERPHANION, G. DE 1911. Ibora-Gazioura? Étude de géographie pontique. Mélanges de la Faculté Orientale, Université Saint-Joseph, Beyrouth 5, 333–54.

62

Tønnes Bekker-Nielsen

JONES, E.H. 2007. Spaces of Belonging: Home, Culture and Identity in 20th Century French Autobiography. Amsterdam. KAÇAR, T. 2005. Church councils and their impact on the economy of the cities in Roman Asia Minor, in S. MITCHELL & C. KATSARI (eds.), Patterns in the Economy of Roman Asia Minor, Swansea, 305–18. KNAPPETT, C. 2013. ‘Why Networks?’, in C. KNAPPETT (ed.), Network Analyses in Archaeology: New Approaches to Regional Interaction. Oxford, 3–15. KELLY, M.R. 2015. The Hero’s Place: Medieval Literary Traditions of Space and Belonging. Washington. KENNEDY, D. 1977. Parthian Regiments in the Roman Army, in J. FITZ (ed.), Limes: Akten des XI. Internationalen Limeskongresses. Budapest. KIEPERT, H. 1878. Lehrbuch der alten Geographie. Berlin. KINZIG, W. 1990. In Search of Asterius: Studies on the Authorship of the Homilies on the Psalms. Göttingen. KOSMIN, P.J. 2014. The Land of the Elephant Kings: Space, Territory, and Ideology in the Seleucid Empire, Cambridge, MA. KRAFT, K. 1972. Das System der kaiserzeitlichen Münzprägung in Kleinasien: Materialien und Entwürfe. Berlin. LAGA, C. (ed.) Eustratii Presbyteri vita Eutychii patriarchae Constantinopolitani (Corpus Christianorum, Series Graeca 25). Turnhout 1992. LANE, E.N. 1990. Men: A Neglected Cult of Roman Asia Minor, ANRW II.18.3, 2161–74. LANE FOX, R. 1986. Pagans and Christians. London. LE GUEN-POLLET, B. 1989. Sebastopolis du Pont (Sulusaray): documents littéraires et inscriptions déjà publiées de la cité, EA 13, 51–86. LE GUEN-POLLET, B. & B. REMY 2010. La cité de Sebastopolis du Pont, Anatolia Antiqua 18, 97– 107. LE QUIEN, M. 1740. Oriens christianus in quatuor patriarchatus digestus quo exhibentur ecclesiae, patriarchae caeterique praesules totius orientis. Paris. LEONARD, J. 2015. [Review of] J. PREISER-KAPELLER AND F. DAIM, Harbours and Maritime Networks as Complex Adaptive Systems (Mainz 2015), Orbis Terrarum 13, 293–6. LEUILLOT, P. 1973. Aux origines des ‘Annales d’histoire économique et sociale’: Contribution à l’historiographie française, in Mélanges en l’honneur de Fernand Braudel, 2: Méthodologie de l’histoire et des sciences humaines. Toulouse, 317–24. LORIOT, X. 2006. Le culte impérial dans le Pont sous le Haut-Empire, in A. VIGOURT, X. LORIOT, A. BERENGER-BADEL & B. KLEIN (eds.) Pouvoir et religion dans le monde romain: en hommage à Jean-Pierre Martin. Paris, 521–40. LORIOT, X. 2011. ‘La province de Pont-Bithynie sous le Haut-Empire: assise territoriale et administration’ in S. BENOIST, A. DAGUET-GAGEY & C. HOËT-VAN CAUWENBERGHE (eds.) Fragments d’empire, fragments de mémoire: Pouvoirs et identités dans le monde romain impérial IIe s. av. n. è. – VIe s. de n è. Lille, 257–86. LUND, J. 2015. A Study of the Circulation of Ceramics in Cyprus from the 3rd Century BC to the 3rd Century AD (Gösta Enbom Monographs, 5). Aarhus. LUND, J. & GABRIELSEN, V. 2005. A Fishy Business: Transport Amphorae of the Black Sea Region as a Source for the Trade in Fish and Fish Products in the Classical and Hellenistic Periods, in T. BEKKER-NIELSEN (ed.), Ancient Fishing and Fish Processing in the Black Sea Region (Black Sea Studies, 2). Aarhus, 161–9. MCGING, B.C. 1986. The foreign policy of Mithridates VI Eupator, king of Pontus (Mnemosyne Supplement, 89). Leiden. MCGING, B.C. 2014. Iranian kings in Greek dress? Cultural identity in the Mithradatid kingdom of Pontos, in T. BEKKER-NIELSEN (ed.), Space, Place and Identity in northern Anatolia (Geographica Historica, 29). Stuttgart, 21–38. MCGUCKIN, J.A. 2001. St Gregory of Nazianzus: An Intellectual Biography. Crestwood, NY.

The Corners of a Pontic World

63

MADSEN, J.M. 2016. Who Introduced the Imperial Cult in Asia and Bithynia? The Koinon’s Role in the Early Worship of Augustus, in M. VITALE & A. KOLB (ed.) Kaiserkult in den Provinzen des Römischen Reiches: Organisation, Kommunikation und Repräsentation. Berlin, 21–36. MAGIE, D. 1950. Roman Rule in Asia Minor to the End of the Third Century after Christ, 1–2. Princeton. MALKIN, I. 2011. A Small Greek World: Networks in the Ancient Mediterranean. Oxford. MAHE, A. & J.-P. 2012. Histoire de l’Arménie des origines à nos jours. Paris. MARAVAL, P. 1988a. La date de la mort de Basile de Césarée, Revue des études augustiniennes 34, 25–38. MARAVAL, P. 1988b. Un corréspondant de Grégoire de Nazianze identifié: Pansophios d'Ibora, Vigiliae Christianae 42, 24–7. MARAVAL, P. (ed.). Grégoire de Nysse. Vie de sainte Macrine (Sources Chrétiennes, 178). 1971. MARAVAL, P. (ed.), Grégoire de Nysse. Lettres. (Sources Chrétiennes, 363). Paris 1990. MARAVAL, P. (ed.). Grégoire de Nysse, Éloge de Grégoire le thaumaturge; Éloge de Basile (Sources Chrétiennes, 573). Paris 2014. MAREK, C. 1993. Stadt, Ära und Territorium in Pontus-Bithynia und Nord-Galatia (Istanbuler Forschungen 39). Tübingen. MAREK, C. 2003. Pontus et Bithynia: Die römischen Provinzen im Norden Kleinasiens (Orbis Provinciarum). Mainz. MAREK, C. 2010. Geschichte Kleinasiens in der Antike. Munich: Beck. MAREK, C. 2015. Epigraphy and the provincial organization of Paphlagonian cities in the Roman Empire, in K. WINTHER-JACOBSEN & L. SUMMERER (eds.), Landscape Dynamics and Settlement Patterns in Northern Anatolia during the Roman and Byzantine Period (Geographica Historica, 32). Stuttgart, 307–28. MAURICE, H. 1691. A Defence of Diocesan Episcopacy in Answer to a Book of Mr. David Clarkson, Lately Published, entituled Primitive Episcopacy. London. MAYOR, A. 2011. The Poison King: The Life and Legend of Mithradates, Rome's Deadliest Enemy. Princeton. MEHL, A. 1987. Der Überseehandel von Pontos, Stuttgarter Kolloquium zur historischen Geographie des Altertums 1, 1980 (Geographica Historica, 4). Bonn, 103–86. MOSSAY, J. 2009. Nazianze et les Grégoire: réflexions d’un helléniste retraité. (Langues et cultures anciennes, 15). Bruxelles: Safran. MITCHELL, S. 1993. Anatolia: Land, Men, and Gods in Asia Minor 1-2. Oxford: Clarendon Press. MITCHELL, S. 2002. In search of the Pontic community in Antiquity, in A.K. BOWMAN et al. (eds.), Representations of Empire: Rome and the Mediterranean World (Proceedings of the British Academy, 144). Oxford, 35–64. MOGA, I. 2012. Strabo on the Persian Artemis and Mên in Pontus and Lydia, in G.R. TSETSKHLADZE (ed.), The Black Sea, Paphlagonia, Pontus and Phrygia in Antiquity (BAR International Series, 2432). Oxford, 191–5. MURRAY, W. 2012. The age of titans: the rise and fall of the great Hellenistic navies. Oxford. NISSEN, H. 1883–1902. Italische Landeskunde 1–2. Berlin. OHME, H. 1990. Das Concilium Quinisextum und seine Bischofsliste: Studien zum Konstantinopeler Konzil von 692 (Arbeiten zur Kirchengeschichte, 56). Berlin. OLSHAUSEN, E. 1980. Pontos und Rom (63 v. Chr. - 64 n. Chr.), ANRW II.7.2, 903–12. OLSHAUSEN, E. 1987. Der König und die Priester: die Mithradatiden im Kampf um die Anerkennung ihrer Herrschaft in Pontos, Stuttgarter Kolloquium zur historischen Geographie des Altertums 1, 1980 (Geographica Historica, 4). Bonn, 187–212. OLSHAUSEN, E. 1990. Götter, Heroen und ihre Kulte in Pontos: ein erster Bericht, ANRW II.18.3, 1865–906. OLSHAUSEN, E. 1991. Zum Organisationskonzept des Pompeius in Pontos – ein historischgeographisches Argument, Stuttgarter Kolloquium zur historischen Geographie des Altertums 2, 1984 und 3, 1987 (Geographica Historica, 5). Bonn, 443–55, pls. lvii–lix.

64

Tønnes Bekker-Nielsen

OLSHAUSEN, E. 1999. Pontica 4. Das römische Strassennetz in Pontos: Bilanz und Ausblick, Orbis Terrarum 5, 1999, 93–113. OLSHAUSEN, E. 2014. Pontos: Profile of a landscape, in T. BEKKER-NIELSEN (ed.), Space, Place and Identity in northern Anatolia (Geographica Historica, 29). Stuttgart, 39–48. OLSHAUSEN, E. & J. BILLER 1984. Historisch-Geographische Aspekte der Geschichte des Pontischen und Armenischen Reiches, 1: Untersuchungen zur historischen Geographie von Pontos unter den Mithradatiden, Wiesbaden (TAVO Beiheft B, 29/1). PEARCE, L. 2002. The place of literature in the spaces of belonging, European Journal of Cultural Studies 5:3, 275–91. PFLAUM, H.-G. 1960. Les carrières procuratoriennes équestres sous le Haut-Empire romain: I (In-stitut français d’archéologie de Beyrouth, Bibliothèque archéologique et historique, 57). Paris. PFLAUM, H.-G. 1982. Les carrières procuratoriennes équestres sous le Haut-Empire romain: supplément (Institut français d’archéologie de Beyrouth, Bibliothèque archéologique et historique, 112). Paris. PLISCHKE, S. 2014. Die Seleukiden und Iran (Classica et Orientalia, 9). Wiesbaden. PRICE, R. & M. GADDIS, The acts of the Council of Chalcedon 1–3, translated with introduction and notes (Translated texts for historians, 45). Liverpool 2005. POUCHET, R. 1992. Basile le Grand et son univers d'amis d'après sa correspondance: une stratégie de communion. Rome. PUECH, B. 2004. Des cités-mères aux métropoles, in S. FOLLET (ed.), L’hellénisme d’époque romaine: nouveaux documents, nouvelles approches (Ier s.a.C. – IIIe s.p.C.). Paris. 357–404. RAMSAY, W.M. 1890. The Historical Geography of Asia Minor (Royal Geographical Society, Supplementary papers, 4). London. REINACH, T. 1890. Mithridate Eupator, roi de Pont. Paris. REMY, B. 1988. Les fastes sénatorieux des provinces romaines d’Anatolie au haut-empire (31 av. J.C. – 284 ap. J.-C.). (Institut Francais d’études Anatoliennes, Synthèse, 26). Paris. RIEDINGER, R. 1979. Die Präsenz- und Subskriptionslisten des Vi. Ökumenischen Konzils (680/81) und der Papyrus Vind. G.3. (Bayerische Akademie der Wissenschaften, Phil.-Hist. Klasse, Abhandlungen, n.F. 85). Munich. RIEDMATTEN, H. de 1952. Les actes du procès de Paul de Samosate: étude sur la christologie du IIIe au IVe siècle (Paradosis, 6). Fribourg. RIZZO, G. 2014. Pontus and Rome: Trade in the Imperial Period, in V. COJOCARU, A. COŞKUN and M. DANA, Interconnectivity in the Mediterranean and Pontic world during the Hellenistic and Roman periods. Cluj-Napoca, 555–77. ROBERT, L. 1977. La titulature de Nicée et Nicomédie: la gloire et la haine, Harvard Studies in Classical Philology 81, 1–39. ROLLER, D.W. 2015. Ancient Geography: The Discovery of the World in Classical Greece and Rome. New York. ROUSSEAU, P. 1994. Basil of Caesarea. Berkeley. SAUER, V. 2014. Urban space: the evidence of coins, in T. BEKKER-NIELSEN (ed.), Space, Place and Identity in northern Anatolia (Geographica Historica, 29). Stuttgart, 109–24. SCHLÖGEL, K. 2003. Im Raume lesen wir die Zeit: Über Zivilisationsgeschichte und Geopolitik. Munich. SHERWIN-WHITE, S. & A. KUHRT 1993. From Samarkhand to Sardis: A new approach to the Seleucid empire (Hellenistic Culture and Society, 13). Berkeley. SILVAS, A.M. 2006. Gregory of Nyssa, The Letters: Introduction, Translation and Commentary (Vigiliae Christianae, Supplements, Volume 83). Leiden 2006. SINDBÆK, S. 2015. Northern Emporia and Maritime Networks: Modelling Past Communication using Archaeological Network Analysis, in J. PRESIER-KAPELLER & F. DAIM (eds.), Harbours and Maritime Networks as Complex Adaptive Systems (RGZM Tagungen, 23). Mainz, 105– 18.

The Corners of a Pontic World

65

SKINNER, G.W. 1964-65. Marketing and Social Structure in Rural China, Journal of Asian Studies 24, 3–452; 195–228; 363–99. SLUSSER, M. 1998. St. Gregory Thaumaturgus: Life and Works. (Fathers of the Church: A new translation, 98). Washington. SOJA, E. 2011. Postmodern geographies: the reassertion of space in critical social theory. 2nd ed. London. SÖKMEN, E. 2009. Characteristics of the Temple States in Pontos, in J.M. HØJTE (ed.), Mithridates VI and the Pontic Kingdom (Black Sea Studies, 9). Aarhus, 277–88. SØRENSEN, S.L. 2016a. Between kingdom and koinon: Neapolis/Neoklaudiopolis and the Pontic cities (Geographica Historica, 33). Stuttgart. SØRENSEN, S.L. 2016b. The Bithynians again! The koina and their supposed involvement in cases of repetundae, in M. VITALE & A. KOLB (ed.) Kaiserkult in den Provinzen des Römischen Reiches: Organisation, Kommunikation und Repräsentation. Berlin, 337–52. SULLIVAN, R.D. 1980. Dynasts in Pontus, ANRW II.7.2, 913–30. TEFFETELLER, A. 2012. Strategies of Continuity in the Construction of Ethnic and Cultural Identity: the Lineage and Role of Zeus Stratios in Pontus and Paphlagonia, in G.R. TSETSKHLADZE (ed.), The Black Sea, Paphlagonia, Pontus and Phrygia in Antiquity (BAR International Series, 2432). Oxford, 223–7. THONEMANN, P. 2011. The Maeander Valley: a historical geography from antiquity to Byzantium (Greek culture in the Roman world). Cambridge. TORRE, A. 2008. Un ‘tournant spatial’ en histoire? Paysages, regards, ressources, Annales. Histoire, Sciences Sociales 63, 1127–44. VAN DAM, R. 1982. Hagiography and history: the life of Gregory Thaumaturgus, Classical Antiquity 1.2, 272–308. VAN DAM, R. 2002. Kingdom of Snow: Roman Rule and Greek Culture in Cappadocia. Philadelphia. VAN DAM, R. 2003. Families and Friends in Late Roman Cappadocia. Philadelphia. VITALE, M. 2012. Eparchie und Koinon in Kleinasien von der ausgehenden Republik bis ins 3. Jh. n. Chr. (Asia Minor Studien, 67). Bonn. VITALE, M. 2014. ‘Pontic’ communities under Roman rule: polis self-representation, provincialisation and the koina ‘of Pontus’, in T. BEKKER-NIELSEN (ed.), Space, Place and Identity in northern Anatolia (Geographica Historica, 29). Stuttgart, 49–62. VOGEL, C. 1979. ‘Circonscriptions ecclésiastiques et ressorts administratifs civils durant la première moitié du IVe siècle [du Concile de Nicée (325) au Concile d’Antioche (341)], La géographie administrative et politique d’Alexandre à Mahomet (Travaux du Centre de recherche sur le proche-Orient et la Grèce antiques, 6). Leiden, 273–92. WALTER, C. 2003. The warrior saints in Byzantine art and tradition. Aldershot. WATERHOUT, B. 2010. Soft spaces and governance: the transformation of planning. Paper given at 24th AESOP Annual Conference, Finland, 7–10 July 2010. WELLESLEY, K. 1953. The Extent of the Territory Added to Bithynia by Pompey, Rheinisches Museum, n.s. 96, 293–318. WESCH-KLEIN, G. 2001. Bithynia, Pontus et Bithynia, Bithynia et Pontus: ein Provinzname im Wandel der Zeit, ZPE 136, 251–6. WIEGELS, R. 2006. Zentralität – Kulturraum – Landschaft: Zur Tauglichkeit von Begriffen und Ordnungskriterien bei der Erfassung religiöser Phänomene im Imperium Romanum, in H. CANCIK, A. SCHÄFER & W. SPICKERMANN, Zentralität und Religion: Zur Formierung urbaner Zentren im Imperium Romanum (Studien zu Antike und Christentum, 39). Tübingen, 21– 46. WILLIAMSON, C. 2014. Power, politics and panoramas: viewing the sacred landscape of Zeus Stratios near Amaseia, in T. BEKKER-NIELSEN (ed.), Space, Place and Identity in northern Anatolia (Geographica Historica, 29). Stuttgart, 175 –88.

66

Tønnes Bekker-Nielsen

WINTHER-JACOBSEN, K. & T. BEKKER-NIELSEN 2017. A Late Roman building complex in the Papaz Tarlası, Vezirköprü (ancient Neoklaudiopolis, northern Asia Minor), with an Appendix: Two Byzantine Coins from the Papaz Tarlası, by V. SAUER, Proceedings of the Danish Institute at Athens 8, 25–58. Abbreviations BAR = British Archaeological Reports, Oxford. RGMG = Recueil général des monnaies grecques d’Asie mineure, T. 4, fasc. 1–4. Paris 1904– 1912. RRMAM = DAVID FRENCH, Roman Roads and Milestones of Asia Minor. Ankara 2012–2016, http://biaa.ac.uk/publications/item/name/electronic-monographs SP = Studia Pontica 1-3. Bruxelles 1903–1910. Prof. Dr. Tønnes Bekker-Nielsen Department of History, University of Southern Denmark Campusvej 55, DK-5230 Odense M [email protected]

Fig. 1. The confluence of the Iris and Lykos rivers in the Phanaroia, north of Magnopolis. In the middle of the stream, remains of a Roman bridge. (Author’s photo, October 2014).

The Corners of a Pontic World

Fig. 2. Pontos in the second century AD (Map by Richard Szydlak).

Fig. 3. The gateway to inland Paphlagonia: the Roman road over the Dranaz pass. (Author’s photo, April 2012)

67

68

Tønnes Bekker-Nielsen

Fig. 4. This massive underground structure in the lower city, probably a cryptoporticus, testifies to the continued prosperity of Neokaisareia under the later Empire. (Author’s photo, April 2013).

Fig. 5. Neokaisareian bronze coin of AD 205/206). The reverse image depicts a seated personification of Neokaisareia with a river-god at her feet, surrounded by five standing female figures. The legend reads Κ – Ε ΚΑ – ΗΤ . (Photo: Gorny & Mosch, Munich).

The Corners of a Pontic World

Fig. 6. The ground plan of a cruciform Christian martyrion on the outskirts of Neo-klaudiopolis as revealed by a georesistivity survey undertaken by the Oymaaǧaç-Nerik project in 2010 (Harald von der Osten-Woldenburg, 2010).

69

DIE BEZIEHUNGEN ZWISCHEN LAND UND STADT IN ALKIPHRONS BAUERNBRIEFEN Literarische Fiktion oder Spiegel bäuerlicher Lebensformen der griechischen Spätklassik bzw. römischen Kaiserzeit? Herbert Graßl Abstract Alciphron’s epistulae rusticae, written in the 2nd/3rd century A.D., are a collection of 39 fictive texts of male and female letter-writers living in Attica, compiled by philological editions. These letters were hitherto analysed by literary methods, evaluating the models of Attic comedy, epigrammatical poetry and philosophical ethics of the classical age. But these influential prototypes concealed the spirits and experience of life in the eastern Roman Empire. Classified as literary imitations the historical evidence of these texts was qualified as unimportant and therefore neglected by most researchers. For the interdependence between country and city, a perspective seldom selected, fifteen letters can be interpreted in particular aspects, comprising the economic and social life and the problems of mutual migration. Alciphron elucidated the different functions of country and city and their separating and uniting features. It must be emphasized that both living spaces are not idealized, advantages and disadvantages are critically marked including the different types of people. Alciphron is deeply devoted to the literary and linguistic models of classical Athens, including the personal inventory, but he is also embedded in the civilisation of the eastern Roman Empire. This can be recognized by undoubted Roman sceneries of every-day life. Both epochs melt into one another like an amalgam, a typical product of the Second Sophistic, which should be evaluated also as authentic evidence for the lifetime of the author and his imaginations. Die epistulae rusticae Alkiphrons, geschrieben an der Wende vom 2. zum 3. Jh., sind eine durch philologische Edition zusammengestellte Sammlung von 39 fiktiven Texten männlicher und weiblicher Landbewohner Attikas. Sie wurden bislang vornehmlich unter literaturwissenschaftlichen Aspekten analysiert, wobei die Vorbilder aus der attischen Komödie, der Epigrammdichtung und der philosophischen Ethik prioritär Beachtung fanden. Diese Muster aus dem 5. bis 3. Jh. v. Chr. ließen aber das kaiserzeitliche kulturelle Milieu des Autors weitgehend unbeachtet. Als literarische Imitationsübung eingestuft gilt der Wert dieser Briefe als Quelle für die ländliche Welt im kaiserzeitlichen Attika für bedeutungslos, was sich auch in der mangelnden Beachtung in der einschlägigen Forschungsliteratur

72

Herbert Graßl

niederschlägt. Für die Beziehungen zwischen Land und Stadt, eine sonst eher selten gewählte Perspektive, lassen sich fünfzehn Briefe genauer auswerten, die neben ökonomischen und sozialen Aspekten auch Probleme der wechselseitigen Binnenmigration erkennen lassen. Alkiphron markiert Land und Stadt in ihren unterschiedlichen Funktionen und gegenseitigen Abhängigkeiten. Speziell hervorgehoben sei, dass der Autor beide Lebensfelder nicht idealisiert, einen kritischen Blick auf Vorzüge und Nachteile wirft und die einzelnen Menschentypen aus der Perspektive seiner Zeit charakterisiert. Der Autor ist zwar den literarischen und sprachlichen Mustern sowie dem personellen Inventar des klassischen Athen verpflichtet, repräsentiert aber ebenso die Lebenswelt der hohen römischen Kaiserzeit im griechischen Ostmittelmeerraum, wie viele Szenarien des Alltagslebens verdeutlichen, die erst in römischer Zeit entstanden sein können. Beide Zeitstufen verschmelzen zu einem Amalgam und bilden somit ein typisches Zeugnis der Zweiten Sophistik, das als historische Quelle ernstgenommen werden muss. Schlüsselbegriffe: Alkiphrons Bauernbriefe, Zweite Sophistik, Landleben in Attika, Land-Stadt-Beziehungen, Quellenrelevanz der Bauernbriefe. Die Bauernbriefe werden von der philologischen Forschung an die Wende vom 2. zum 3. Jh. datiert, wegen der zahlreichen intertextuellen Bezüge zu den Schriften Lukians nach diesem Autor und in zeitlicher und thematischer Nähe zum Hirtenroman des Longos.1 Alkiphron gilt als typischer Vertreter der sogenannten Zweiten Sophistik mit ihrer Hinwendung zum Attizismus, wobei die attische Komödie von Aristophanes bis Menander als sprachliches, inhaltliches und auch räumliches Vorbild fungiert. Als Bauernbriefe (epistolai agroikikai, epistulae rusticae) wird ein von modernen Editoren zusammengestelltes Korpus von 39 fiktiven Briefen männlicher und weiblicher Landbewohner Attikas bezeichnet 2, das thematisch nach den Fischerbriefen, mit denen inhaltliche Korrespondenzen bestehen 3, und vor den Parasiten- und Hetärenbriefen, dem meistbeachteten Sujet4, eingeordnet wird.

1

2

3 4

VIEILLEFOND 1979; BALDWIN 1982; ANDERSON 1997; HODKINSON 2012 nimmt einen starken Einfluss von Theokrit auf Alkiphron an, was aber wegen der unterschiedlichen Sujets zweifelhaft bleibt. Grundlegende Edition bleibt die Teubneriana von M. A. S CHEPERS von 1905, ND Stuttgart 1969; daneben kann auch die Loeb-Edition von A. R. BENNER/F. H. FOBES von 1949 herangezogen werden. Übersetzungen ins Deutsche bieten B. KYTZLER (Hg.), Erotische Briefe der griechischen Antike, München 1967 und K. TREU, Alkiphron/Älian. Aus Glykeras Garten. Briefe von Fischern, Bauern, Parasiten, Hetären, Leipzig 1982. So sind z.B. Geldverleiher in 1,13 und 2,5 angesprochen, stadtliebende Frauen in 1,4 und 2,8; dazu PREVIALE 1932, 54. Zu dieser Textgruppe konnte zuletzt KONSTAN 2011 eindrucksvoll nachweisen, dass Alkiphron die Modelle der klassischen Vergangenheit dem Geschmack seiner Zeit anpasste und auf diese Weise zum Erfinder der antiken Pornographie wurde.

Die Beziehungen zwischen Land und Stadt in Alkiphrons Bauernbriefen

73

Das ländliche Attika und seine typenbildenden Personen waren in der attischen Komödie, der Epigrammdichtung oder der Charakterzeichnung aus der Feder von Philosophen häufig Gegenstand urbaner Reflexionen: Komödiendichter wie Aristophanes, Timokles, Anaxandridas, Antiphanes, Anaxilas, Philemon oder Menander haben ihre Bühnenstücke damit gefüllt, der Epigrammatiker Pamphilos seine Gedichte, Theophrast seine Charaktere.5 Die römischen Autoren haben sich an diesen Vorbildern orientiert.6 Das literarische Genos der Bauernbriefe ist vor Alkiphron nicht nachgewiesen, hat aber bekannte Nachfolger gefunden, etwa Älian in unmittelbarer zeitlicher Nähe oder in der Spätantike Theophylaktos Simokates (7. Jh.). Die bisherigen Untersuchungen zu den Bauernbriefen Alkiphrons lagen ausschließlich in den Händen der klassischen Philologie, die vor allem den literarischen Mustern und hier vor allem Anklängen an Menander nachspürte7, dazu unterschiedlichen Menschentypen, besonders aus den nicht-elitären Gruppen mit oft komischer bis absurder Eliten-Imitation8 sowie den sprechenden Namen der fiktiven Briefverfasser.9 Gegenstand der wissenschaftlichen Diskussion war aber auch die Zeit, in die der Autor seinen Text hinein komponiert hat. Der großen Mehrheit der Forschung gilt die klassische Zeit Athens des 5. bis 3. Jh. v. Chr. als Hintergrund10, nur wenige haben auch auf die Möglichkeit des kaiserzeitlichen Milieus des Autors hingewiesen.11 Entsprechend fällt auch das Urteil über den Quellenwert dieser Briefe aus: Sie gelten als literarische Imitationsübung ohne jeden dokumentarischen Wert. Nur selten wurden daher die Bauernbriefe Alkiphrons als Quelle für das agrarische Leben oder für wirtschaftsgeschichtliche Fragen insgesamt herangezogen.12 Einzig VICTOR DAVIS HANSON13 wertet gelegentlich auch diesen Autor aus. Dabei sind die Bauernbriefe gerade für die Beziehungen zwischen Land und Stadt sehr 5

6 7 8

9

10 11

12 13

Zum ländlichen Attika aus dem Blickwinkel der Neuen Komödie J ONES 2004, 216–25; das soziale Milieu der Charaktere Theophrasts ist von LEPPIN 2002 und SCHMITZ 2014 herausgearbeitet worden. Dazu PREVIALE 1932, 53. FUNKE 2016. KÖNIG 2013, 198; FUNKE 2016, 225f. hebt hervor, dass Alkiphron eine Neuorientierung und Neuschöpfung von Menanders Welt aus der Perspektive von dessen „sekundären Charakteren“ vorgenommen habe, somit ein artifizielles spätklassisches Athen im pseudo-realistischen Kleid geschaffen hat. SONDAG 1905; UREÑA BRACERO 1993; KÖNIG 2007, 277–80. Eine Überprüfung am literarisch und epigraphisch bezeugten Namensbestand ergab, dass fast zwei Drittel der in den ausgewerteten Briefen verwendeten Personennamen auch sonst z.T. häufig belegt sind, doch bleibt eine erhebliche Anzahl offensichtlich rein fiktiver Namen. FÖGEN 2007, 182. CZEBE 1909, der die Quellen aus der Neuen Komödie des 4. und 3. Jh. v. Chr. von der eigenen Erfahrungswelt des 2. und 3. Jh. abhebt; diese Arbeit ist leider wohl wegen des abgelegenen Publikationsortes von der Forschung nicht rezipiert worden. Auch V EILLEFOND 1979 nimmt das kaiserzeitliche Milieu in den Blick. Zur ländlichen Gesellschaft in Athen AUDRING 1977; JONES 2004; GALLEGO 2016; die landwirtschaftlichen Betriebe der griechischen Welt untersucht MCHUGH 2017. HANSON 1995.

74

Herbert Graßl

aufschlussreich. Ich spreche bewusst von Beziehungen zwischen Land und Stadt, da Alkiphron genau diese Perspektive ausdrückt, ganz im Unterschied zur traditionellen Stadt-Land-Typologie.14 Von den 39 Bauernbriefen stellen 15 Briefe genau dieses Thema ins Zentrum. Dabei lassen sich inhaltlich folgende Problemfelder ausdifferenzieren: die ökonomischen Interdependenzen, die sozialen Verflechtungen und die Migration von Personen. Es soll nun auf einzelne Briefe in der Reihenfolge der Textedition näher eingegangen werden. In Brief 2,5 klagt Agelarchides seinem Nachbarn Pytholaos sein Leid: Der Wunsch, ein Landgut (chorion) in Kolonos zu kaufen, ließ sich nur mit einem Kredit verwirklichen. Aber anstatt bei den Nachbarn vorstellig zu werden, geriet der Landwirt an einen Wucherer in der Stadt15, wobei die Geschäftsanbahnung durch eine Mittelsperson aus Athen erfolgte. In weiterer Folge wird der alte Bankier mit seinem ruppigen Benehmen, dem abstoßenden physiognomischen Äußeren und seinem Hantieren mit alten, zerfressenen Papieren vorgestellt, der nur wenig Interesse am Kreditgeschäft erkennen lässt, aber schließlich doch einwilligt, eine Schuldurkunde (grammateion) verlangt, dazu einen hohen Zins und das Haus (oikia) als Hypothek. Mit einer Verwünschung der Kredithaie endet das Schreiben. Die Themen, die hier behandelt sind, sind breit gefächert. Wieso sollte ein Landgut in Kolonos erworben werden? Der Kolonos hippios liegt 10 Stadien (ca. 2 km) nördlich von Athen; von dort ließ sich der Absatz agrarischer Produkte bestens organisieren, was die Marktanbindung des Landwirtes bezeugt. Der Kredit ist als Investitionskredit anzusprechen. Da der Kredit vor der Kaufabsicht in Anspruch genommen wird, handelt es sich nicht um einen sogenannten Kreditkauf, bei dem das erworbene Gut verpfändet wird. Das Bankgeschäft kennt keinen Wettbewerb und musste durch Vermittlung angebahnt werden. Als Alternative zum städtischen Kreditmarkt wird auf die Ausleihe bei Nachbarn verwiesen; dies war nicht unüblich, beschränkte sich aber in der Regel auf Güter des täglichen Bedarfs.16 Die Physiognomie des Bankiers fügt sich jedenfalls gut in ähnliche Beschreibungen in späthellenistischen bis kaiserzeitlichen Texten ein. Eine ausschließliche Verwendung von Schuldscheinen aus Papyrus ist in Athen allerdings erst ab dem frühen 2. Jh. v. Chr. anzunehmen, wurden doch bis dahin steinerne horoi auf belasteten Grundstücken aufgestellt.17 Die Verpfändung des Hauses

14 15

16 17

Dazu zuletzt ZUIDERHOEK 2017, 37–55. Der Name wird von den Editoren als Byrtios (handschriftlich Byrtias) gelesen, abzuleiten wohl von byrsa „Haut, Fell“; der sprechende Name des Bankiers wäre demnach „der einem das Fell abzieht“, wie es auch im antiken Sprichwort anklingt: Suet. Tib.32,2; Oros. 7,4,4; Cass. Dio 57,10. Im Deutschen sei auf die Redensart „einem das Fell über die Ohren ziehen“ für „betrügen, übervorteilen“ hingewiesen. SONDAG 1905, 59 bietet keine Erklärung. Dazu MILLETT 1991, 139–48; 303 Anm. 9 zum Brief Alkiphrons, dem jede historische Evidenz abgesprochen wird. Die grammateia des 4. Jh. v. Chr. waren Wachstäfelchen, keine Papyrusblätter. Zu den horoi in Athen FINLEY 1952; HARRISON 1968, 253–93; MILLETT 1982; LALONDE 1991, 18–21.

Die Beziehungen zwischen Land und Stadt in Alkiphrons Bauernbriefen

75

wird mit dem Fachterminus hypothesis ausgedrückt, den auch Menander (fr. 925) verwendet.18 Im Brief 2,8 mokiert sich der Bauer Dryantidas über die neuen Allüren seiner Frau Chronion, die städtische Lebensformen nachäfft, neue Götter verehrt und das Landleben hinter sich gelassen hat. Da die Frau brieflich kontaktiert wird, ist sie als abwesend gedacht.19 An diesem Schreiben wird die Attraktivität der Metropole für Frauen vom Land mit ihrer größeren Bereitschaft zu Veränderungen und Auflösung traditioneller Familienbindungen deutlich. Im klassischen Athen war die Ehefrau im Haus anzutreffen, in ländlichen Anwesen natürlich auch im näheren Umfeld des Hauses bzw. in der Nachbarschaft, etwa als Geburtshelferin. Alkiphron konnte das Frauenbild dieses Briefes daher nicht aus Quellen der klassischen Zeit gewonnen haben. In der Kaiserzeit war es dagegen auch im griechischen Raum durchaus nicht undenkbar, dass sich eine Frau von ihrem Mann trennen wollte und Herr(in) im Haus wird, wie es z.B. im Traumbuch des Artemidor (4,83) angesprochen wird. Der Sohn des Bauern Sitalkes steht im Zentrum des Briefes 1,11; in Athen beeindruckten ihn die Philosophen der Akademie, die als barfüßige und bleichgesichtige Prahler ein unnützes Leben führten. Man darf sich fragen, wie der Sohn eines Bauern in Kontakt zur Akademie kam. Lag sie vielleicht auf dem Weg in die Stadt? Wieso konnte das intellektuelle Interesse des Sohnes ein solches Problem bereiten? Wenn er der einzige Sohn war, mag dies für den Vater sicherlich relevant gewesen sein, da er als Arbeitskraft ausfiel und man für den Fortbestand des Landgutes fürchten musste. Die negative Einstellung zur Philosophie wird dem Antagonismus zwischen Rhetorik und Philosophie geschuldet sein, der für die Zweite Sophistik prägend war. Die Flötenspielerin Leirion (2,14) hat den Landmann Chairestratos, der in der Stadt Tongefäße besorgen sollte, derart in den Bann gezogen, dass er die Nacht bei ihr verbrachte und bis in den Tag hinein schlief. Alkohol und Musik gelten als Ablenkungen für Städter, entsprechende Räumlichkeiten boten sich im Umfeld des Kerameikos an. Die Verantwortung für sein Benehmen sucht Chairestratos natürlich nicht bei sich, sondern bei der Künstlerin, der im Wiederholungsfall Schreckliches angedroht wird. Es bleibt aber die Frage offen, wieso die benötigten Tonwaren nicht auf dem Land selbst zu besorgen waren. Gab es keine ländlichen Märkte? Waren es ganz spezielle Produkte? Anscheinend stellt der städtische Markt das Versorgungszentrum auch für den ländlichen Raum dar; Qualität, Vielfalt des Angebots und Preise ließen sich nur hier vergleichen. Dazu kommt der Vorteil prompter Lieferung, denn die verspätete Rückkehr des Chairestratos scheint ein Problem verursacht zu haben. Geriet etwa die Verarbeitung oder Einlagerung des Erntegutes ins Stocken? Den umgekehrten Prozess schildert Brief 2,17: Napaios hatte auf seiner Eselin Feigen und Feigenkuchen in die Stadt geliefert, der Verkauf geschieht indes nicht selbst auf dem Obstmarkt direkt an die Endverbraucher, sondern erfolgt en gros an einen Bekannten. Die erwähnten Pro18 19

HARRISON 1968, 255 Anm. 3; vgl. auch Theophr. fr. 97,1. ROSENMEYER 2001, 288 geht ebenfalls von einem „lonely farmer“ aus.

76

Herbert Graßl

dukte verraten das Bemühen des Produzenten um eine möglichst hohe Wertschöpfung; die Feigenkuchen wurden im bäuerlichen Haushalt von den weiblichen Familienmitgliedern hergestellt und waren sicherlich eine nachgefragte Spezialität. Doch wieso versorgt sich der Zwischenhändler nicht selbst auf dem Land? Es fehlt ihm wohl an Transportmöglichkeiten, über die allein der Bauer verfügt. Dieser Zwischenhändler, der auch den Endverkauf in Händen hatte, war ständiger Geschäftspartner des Bauern und mit diesem auch bekannt. Da sich der Lieferant also nicht um die Detailvermarktung seiner Waren weiter kümmern musste, konnte er seine Freizeit in Athen genießen und wurde zu einem Theaterbesuch verleitet. Dort erlebte er freilich kein klassisches Theaterstück, sondern bestaunte die Kunststücke eines Zauberers. Dieses Unterhaltungsgenre erlebte erst in der römischen Kaiserzeit seine Blüte.20 Der Besucher vom Land war ob der gebotenen Zaubertricks verblüfft. Er fürchtete sogar, dass ein solcher Meisterdieb, der alles verschwinden lassen könne, ihn bestehlen könnte, ohne je erwischt zu werden. Vor solchen Tricksern möge das Land verschont bleiben. Die Trennung von Spiel und Ernst, ein Wesenszug im Theater, war dem Bauern nicht bewusst. Im Brief 2,18 ist die Bäuerin Eunape wegen einer schon dreitägigen Abwesenheit ihres Mannes in der Stadt sehr besorgt, da der Lohnarbeiter (misthotós) Parmenon aus Verschlafenheit nicht verhindert hat, dass ein Wolf die schönste Ziege gerissen hat. Nach der Rückkehr des Mannes erwartet Eunape, dass der Arbeiter an die nächste Fichte geknüpft und der Wolf unschädlich gemacht wird. In diesen Zeilen wird das Problem der Lohnarbeit auf dem Land thematisiert. Es scheint, dass verlässliche Landarbeiter nicht leicht zu finden waren und manche Frau mit der Rolle einer strengen Arbeitgeberin überfordert war. Die Abwesenheit des Mannes in der Stadt wird leider nicht begründet. Das Schicksal eines Gutsverwalters im Sklavenstand21 ist in Brief 2,19 angesprochen. Da Füchse den Weingarten heimsuchten, wurde eine Falle aufgestellt, in die aber nicht der diebische Fuchs, sondern das Lieblingstier der Herrin 22, ein Malteserhündchen tappte und verendete. Da nun der gestrenge Herr, der alle Facetten des öffentlichen Lebens in Athen auskostet, seinen Besuch auf dem Landgut angekündigt hat, bleibt nur die Flucht offen. Die Inszenierung der Stadt mit ihrem Politikgetriebe und den Prozessen wird als Negativfolie zum Landleben aufgebaut, das aber seine eigenen – tierischen – Räuber kennt. Dass auch in dieser Weise besorgte Gutsverwalter an Flucht denken mussten, mag doch verwundern. So wie sich im Brief 2,8 die Frau vom Landleben abwendet, macht es der Bauer Nomios im Brief 2,22 durch seine häufigen Aufenthalte in der Stadt. Während seine Frau mit der Sklavin Syra und den Kindern allein zurückblieb, verjüngt sich der alte Bauer in Athen, treibt sich in Skiros und im Kerameikos, bekannte Aufenthaltsorte von Dirnen, Hetären und Wüstlingen, herum. Der (zeitweilige?)

20 21 22

Vgl. Athen. 1,19b. Zur Funktion der Gutsverwalter AUDRING 1973; CARLSEN 2002; SCHÄFER 2017. Fälschlicherweise nimmt SCHMITZ 2004, 89 an, dass die Fuchsfalle das Lieblingstier des Herrn getötet hat.

Die Beziehungen zwischen Land und Stadt in Alkiphrons Bauernbriefen

77

Ausstieg aus der Landwirtschaft, verbunden mit dem Verlassen der Familie und zweifelhafte Vergnügungen in den Randbezirken Athens konnten selbst einen erfahrenen Landwirt (oder gerade deshalb?) treffen. Die männliche Abwanderung aus Attika in das städtische Zentrum war nach Ausweis epigraphischer Belege stets beträchtlich, der umgekehrte Vorgang sehr gering.23 In der jüngsten Migrationsforschung wird zu recht auf die „nicht-permanente“ Migration speziell im 5./4. Jh. v. Chr. hingewiesen.24 Klar ist, dass ein derartiges Ausbrechen aus der ländlichen Monotonie eher zu jüngeren Jahrgängen passt. Da der Acker nicht weiter bearbeitet wird und brach liegt, ist auch die wirtschaftliche Zukunft des oikos in Gefahr, was zum empörten Aufschrei der Frau führt. Im Briefpaar 2,24-25, das Gemellos25 und Salakonis austauschen, beschwert sich der Mann über den Undank seiner Sklavin26 Salakonis, die vom Dienst beim hinkenden Flickschneider herausgeholt, wohl freigekauft und hinter dem Rücken der Mutter wie eine rechtmäßige, erbberechtigte Verlobte (epikleros engyeté) behandelt wurde. Salakonis lehnt es aber ab, mit Gemellos zu schlafen und ist aus Verzweiflung zum Selbstmord entschlossen. Am Land mit seinem MehrGenerationen-Haushalt muss der Einfluss der Mutter auf die Partnerwahl des Sohnes, die natürlich im Interesse des Hofes zu erfolgen hatte, beachtlich gewesen sein. Der Aufstieg einer Sklavin zur Ehefrau war im attischen Recht ausgeschlossen. Im römischen Kaiserreich war dagegen die Freilassung einer Sklavin und folgende Eheschließung weit verbreitet. Da sich Gemellos das provozierende Verhalten seiner „Partnerin“ nicht länger gefallen lassen will, legt er die Rolle des Liebhabers (erastés) ab und kehrt den Herrn (despótes) gegenüber der jungen Sklavin (paidiskárion) heraus. Die unterschiedlichen Erwartungen des alten Bauern, der eine junge Frau an seiner Seite sehen wollte, und der Sklavin, die auf ein besseres Dienstverhältnis hoffen mochte, klafften zu weit auseinander. Daher versteckte sich Salakonis und ist zum Freitod entschlossen, der auch für Sklaven rechtlich zulässig war. Dies schien der einzige Ausweg, sich von sexuellen Dienstleistungen mit einem alten, dazu mit schwerem Mundgeruch belasteten Herrn zu befreien, dem die Verbindung mit einer triefäugigen alten Bäuerin mit nur einem wackeligen Zahn und stinkend von Harzöl empfohlen wird. Die mangelnde Kenntnis des Stadtlebens zeichnet den jungen Landwirt Philokomos aus (2,28), der sich aber für das Abenteuer Stadt (in diesem Text werden

23 24 25

26

JONES 2004, 54; DAMSGAARD-MADSEN 1988, 66 zeigt, dass auch die Migration in den ländlichen Distrikten untereinander gering war. TAYLOR 2011, 124. Es ist der einzige lateinische Personenname in den Bauernbriefen; dazu S ONDAG 1905, 45. Im kaiserzeitlichen Athen wurde dieser Name auch von Griechen getragen: T RAILL 1995, 246. Wieso PREVIALE 1932, 55 Anm. 65 annimmt, dass Salakonis im Bordell diente, bleibt unverständlich. CARUGNO 1960, 135 sieht in Gemellos und Salakonis gar ein Ehepaar und spricht von „marito“ und „moglie“! Es spricht alles dafür, dass Salakonis für die Rolle einer pallaké vorgesehen war; zu sexuellen Beziehungen von Sklavinnen mit ihren Herrn K LEES 1998, 161–6.

78

Herbert Graßl

polis und asty synonym für den Lebensraum innerhalb von Mauern und Toren verwendet) kompetente Hilfe bei Astylos (der Name spricht für sich!) sichert. Das Verlangen nach neuen Lebenserfahrungen, der Stadt und ihren Menschen, ließ sich nicht allein aus Erzählungen befriedigen, der Bauer will die Stadt als Sehenswürdigkeit (théama) erleben, wofür ein Führer wie in die Mysterien (mystagogós) nötig scheint. In Brief 2,32 sucht der Parasit Gnathon27 beim Bauern Kallikomides um die Aufnahme als bezahlter Landarbeiter nach, da ihn das Schmarotzerleben in Athen nicht mehr ernähren kann. Verdienstmöglichkeiten am Land boten sich besonders zur Erntezeit reichlich an, auch Städter besserten ihr Einkommen damit auf.28 Es bleibt aber die Frage im Raum, warum sich in der Stadt oder im Piräus keine Arbeit finden ließ, zumindest nicht ins Auge gefasst wurde. Vielleicht konnte man am Land leichter untertauchen, auch war die Lebenshaltung hier billiger, man zahlte keine Miete und hatte nur wenig Gelegenheit, Geld auszugeben. Der soziale Abstieg, am Beispiel des Timon drastisch vor Augen geführt29, dürfte nicht gerade viel Hoffnung machen, am Land seine sozialen Beziehungen weiter pflegen zu können und nicht zum Menschenfeind zu werden. Dass ein Leben in diesem Umfeld auch als tierhaft und ungesellig eingestuft werden konnte, sieht man am Brief 2,37, in dem Philometor30 die Mutter Epiphanion auffordert, die Landarbeit ruhen zu lassen31 und die Feste in Athen mitzuerleben. Denn sein Leben zu beschließen, ohne jemals die städtische Festkultur genossen zu haben, wäre ein Unglück. In den Warenverkehr vom Land in die Stadt führt Brief 2,38. Der Bauer Euthydikos hat seinen Sohn in die Stadt geschickt, um dort Holz und Gerste zu verkaufen. Diese Güter deuten darauf hin, dass die Wirtschaft im Gebirgsland Attikas gelegen haben muss. Es fällt auch auf, dass überschüssige Gerste produziert und dem Markt zugeführt wird. Der Sohn sollte mit dem Erlös noch am selben Tage zurückkehren, doch daraus wurde nichts. Er fiel in die Hände eines Kynikers, war von diesem Lebenswandel und den Lehrinhalten mit Verachtung des Geldes und der Landarbeit sofort angetan und zum Kyniker geworden, für den traditionelle Werte und Normen gegenstandslos sind; auch die Beziehung zur Familie wurde abgebrochen. Natürlich finden sich in diesem Text alle Vorbehalte gegen diese Philosophenschule, die sich in Athen sehr zum Ärger des Vaters frei entfalten kann, im Unterschied zur Todesstrafe für Traubendiebe. Texte wie diese gewin-

27 28 29 30

31

KÖNIG 2007, 278 weist mit Recht darauf hin, dass Gnathon („Die Kehle“), ein typischer Parasitenname, aus dem Rahmen der Bauernbriefe herausfällt. Dazu SHAW 2015, 31f., der die Rolle der Erntearbeit seit homerischer Zeit ausführlich beleuchtet. Ein bekannter und in spätere Legenden gehüllter Misanthrop im perikleischen Athen, der auch von Lukian und Shakespeare porträtiert wurde. ROSENMEYER 2001, 287f. sieht in Philometor ein „farm girl“. Die übrigen Interpreten gehen aber mit Recht von einem männlichen Namen aus, der als Herrscherbeiname in hellenistischer Zeit weite Verbreitung erlebte. Dazu SCHEIDEL 1990, der 421 auch diese Textstelle auswertet; zum größeren historischen Rahmen SCHEIDEL 1995.

Die Beziehungen zwischen Land und Stadt in Alkiphrons Bauernbriefen

79

nen angesichts rezenter Erfahrungen von Eltern mit radikalisierten Söhnen und Töchtern ungeahnte Aktualität. Als letzter Brief soll 2,39 näher beleuchtet werden. Der Schafzüchter 32 Dryades schickt Wolle aus Dekeleia an Melion33, der eine Textilmanufaktur betreibt. Dort sollen Kleider für die verschiedenen Jahreszeiten hergestellt werden, leicht gewebte für den Sommer, kräftigere und dickere für den Winter. Mit der Wolle kommt auch die schon heiratsfähige Tochter in den Textilbetrieb, um dort mit den Sklavinnen das Handwerk zu erlernen, um so für die Ehe und ein ordentliches, sittsames Leben vorbereitet zu sein. Bei der bestellten Kleidung zählt allein die Funktion, ein Größenunterschied, Geschlechtsspezifika oder Farbe spielen keine Rolle. Männer als Textilunternehmer und Sklavinnen als Textilarbeiterinnen sind ebenso bezeugt wie Sklaven als Textilarbeiter.34 Wenn die ehrbare Haustochter in der Fremde das Textilhandwerk erlernen soll, so können die Wollarbeiterinnen mit Sicherheit keine verkappten Prostituierten gewesen sein.35 Attische Wollkleidung für den Winter war sehr gefragt.36 Von Seiten der Archäologie konnte eine Textilmanufaktur am Kerameikos beim Heiligen Tor nachgewiesen werden.37 Die Erträge der Schafzucht werden durch Viehkrankheiten beeinträchtigt, die kranken Tiere erhält der Hirte Pyrrhias zur Verwertung. Land und Stadt, genauer gesagt das ländliche Attika und das Zentrum Athen werden in den Bauernbriefen Alkiphrons in ihren unterschiedlichen Funktionen deutlich markiert, bisweilen werden scharfe Gegensätze aufgebaut und die Kontraste zugespitzt. Am Land dominieren ein intaktes soziales Netzwerk und eine traditionelle Moral, getragen von Nachbarschaftsbeziehungen, Hilfsbereitschaft, Ehrlichkeit und einer ungeschminkten offenen Sprache. Hier wird die traditionelle Götterwelt hochgehalten, der Körper auf einfache und natürliche Weise gepflegt. Die Bindung an die Nutztiere ist emotional, gefährliche und schädliche Tiere wie Wölfe oder Füchse werden dagegen verfolgt. Gewalt gegen untergebene Personen

32 33

34

35 36 37

Die Ansprache als Hirte (pastor) bei UREÑA BRACERO 1993, 273 Anm. 26 ist unkorrekt. Die Schafzucht wurde im Rahmen von landwirtschaftlichen Gütern mit Sklaven betrieben. Es besteht keine Notwendigkeit, den handschriftlich überlieferten Namen des Adressaten Μηλίωνι, im Nominativ Μηλίων, zu ändern, wie das alle Herausgeber praktizieren. Dieser männliche Personenname ist in der Literatur nur bei Alkiphron bezeugt, inschriftlich ist er im hellenistischen Hierapytna auf Kreta nachgewiesen. Eine Ableitung von melon „Schaf“ ist wahrscheinlich. Es ist forschungsgeschichtlich erhellend, dass manchen Philologen ein Mann als Wollproduzent nicht vertretbar schien und daher zu Konjekturen mit weiblichen Namen gegriffen wurde. Bei W. PAPE/G. BENSELER, Wörterbuch der griechischen Eigennamen (1911, ND Graz 1959) 914 wird Μηλίων fälschlicherweise als Frauenname verzeichnet. Zur Textilwirtschaft in Athen und ihren Arbeitskräften B ETTALLI 1982, 261–78; REUTHNER 2006, 256–67; REUTHNER 2013, 16–46; ACTON 2014, 147–62; TSAKIRGIS 2016, 166–86; SPANTIDAKI 2016, 13 mit Hinweis auf Xen. mem. 2,7,6, wo Männer Manufakturen mit Sklavinnen betreiben; Aischin. Tim. 97 erwähnt eine Flachsarbeiterin im Haus des Timarchos. Männliche Sklaven erwähnt Demosth. Ol. 12f., Plat. rep. 308d6–11. So WRENHAVEN 2009. DAY 1942, 208; BELOCH 1985, 21f.; SPANTIDAKI 2016, 23f. SANIDAS 2013, 103f.

80

Herbert Graßl

ist weit verbreitet, auch gegen das eigene Leben. Ein körperlicher Pflegemangel bei Mann und Frau kommt bisweilen vor. Das Landleben ist aber auch durch einen Mangel an Abwechslung geprägt, auch wenn manche gescheiterte städtische Existenz dort ihren Rückzugsraum findet. Hier bleibt man von den Wirrungen der städtischen Politik unberührt, das soziale Gefüge ist von traditionellen Rollenbildern dominiert, die freilich durch Einflüsse von außen aufgeweicht werden. Der ländliche Raum gibt ständig Menschen in die Stadt ab, so wie er auch seine Rohstoffe und agrarischen Produkte in die Stadt liefert, die dort konsumiert werden oder in verarbeitetem Zustand den Weg zurück auf das Land finden. Die Stadt wiederum ist Schauplatz der Politik samt ihrer Begleitmusik, Kristallisationspunkt neuer geistiger Strömungen, Zentrum der Geldgeschäfte und Warenumschlagplatz, hier wird konsumiert, aber auch für Abnehmer auf dem Land produziert, besonders im spezialisierten Warensortiment. Hier findet auch die höhere berufliche Qualifikation statt. Die Stadt bietet Unterhaltung und Zerstreuung, eine beeindruckende und aufwendige Festkultur, setzt Trends in allen Formen des Luxus, bietet einer neuen Götterwelt einen fruchtbaren Boden. Doch vermisst man hier traditionelle Formen der Höflichkeit, ständige Ablenkungen lassen Beschaulichkeit kaum gedeihen. Trotz aller Gegensätzlichkeit und Unterschiede wird aber auch die wechselseitige Abhängigkeit in vielerlei Hinsicht deutlich. Es fällt positiv auf, dass Alkiphron weder Land noch Stadt einseitig idealisiert, einen offenen Blick auf beide Arbeits- und Lebensbereiche mitsamt dem prägenden personellen Inventar wirft. Abschließend soll das Problem der Relevanz dieser Texte als historische Quelle berührt werden. Alkiphron ist der sprachlichen und literarischen Tradition des 5. bis 3. Jh. v. Chr. verpflichtet, spielt auch mit Personen und Institutionen dieser Zeit, wie sie aus der Literatur, besonders der attischen Komödie, vermittelt wurden. Der literarisch gebildeten Leserschaft der römischen Kaiserzeit waren diese Muster natürlich hinlänglich vertraut, was sich auch an der Beliebtheit und Verehrung der klassischen Dichter etwa als Büsten oder in Mosaiken widerspiegelt. Kaiserzeitliche Autoren wie Alkiphron haben aber ihre Textinhalte auch aus dem Lebensmilieu ihrer Schaffenszeit heraus gespeist und dabei unbewusst oder bewusst Szenerien einfließen lassen, die sie so nicht ihren Vorbildern entnommen haben können, was von der bisherigen Forschung vielfach nicht ausreichend wahrgenommen wurde. Dies gilt auch für Themen des Landlebens, das nicht gerade im Ruf bedeutender Innovationen steht. Natürlich ist dem Vertreter der sogenannten Zweiten Sophistik das Spiel mit eingeführten Mustern und Werthaltungen, z.B. der Typ des agroikos vertraut, zumal das literarische Feld dafür längst vorbereitet war. Dion von Prusa lässt an der Wende vom 1. zum 2. Jh. in seiner Euboiischen Rede (or. 7) einen Jäger und Hirten vor der Volksversammlung in der Polis eine Verteidigungsrede halten, die in launiger Weise die urbanen Perspektiven auf das Landleben und alle gegenseitigen Missverständnisse aufs Korn nimmt. Dies ist natürlich ein Produkt bester griechischer Rhetorik, die, in eine Musterrede Dions eingeflochten, so niemals aus dem Munde eines Jägers zu hören war. Dion lässt seine ländliche Idylle in der eigenen Lebenszeit spielen, ja gibt sich sogar als Augenzeuge aus. Alkiphrons Bauern und Bäuerinnen sind literari-

Die Beziehungen zwischen Land und Stadt in Alkiphrons Bauernbriefen

81

sche Produkte - nicht zuletzt die Namengebung bringt dies unmissverständlich zum Ausdruck -, denen ausgefeilte Brieftexte zugeordnet werden. An diesem Thema konnte die gelehrte Wissenskultur all ihre intellektuelle Brillanz demonstrieren.38 Die Landleute Alkiphrons werden aber nicht als wieder auferstandene Bühnenfiguren des klassischen Athen präsentiert, sondern in einer Art und Weise, wie sie auch im kaiserzeitlichen Attika lebten und agierten. Dabei spielen die Beziehungen zum städtischen Zentrum eine nicht unwesentliche Rolle, im Unterschied etwa zu den Bauernbriefen Älians, wo die bäuerliche Bevölkerung ganz unter sich bleibt. Die enge soziale, ökonomische, mentale und personelle Verflechtung von Stadt und Umland, deren Unterschiede in römischer Zeit zunehmend verflachen39, ist auch bei Alkiphron spürbar, etwa im Verzicht auf einseitige stereotype Lobgesänge des einen oder anderen Lebensraumes, was immer in schwarz-weiß-Gemälden endet. Da Alkiphron verschiedene Zeitstufen in eine originelle neue Komposition verwebt und dies noch dazu in der dem Zeitgeschmack ganz entsprechenden Briefform, was nach unserer Kenntnis der antiken Literatur zum ersten Mal in dieser Form nachweisbar ist, sollten auch über den historischen Wert dieser Texte besonders zu den strukturellen Entwicklungen des Stadt-Land-Verhältnisses alle bisherigen Zweifel zerstreut werden. Dieses literarische Produkt der sogenannten Zweiten Sophistik verdient es, auch von sozial- und wirtschaftsgeschichtlicher Seite ernst genommen zu werden. Literaturverzeichnis ACTON 2014 = P. H. ACTON, Poiesis: manufacturing in classical Athens, Oxford 2014. ANDERSON 1997 = G. ANDERSON, Alciphron’s Miniatures, in: ANRW II 34,3, Berlin/New York 1997, 2188–206. AUDRING 1973 = G. AUDRING, Über den Gutsverwalter (epitropos) in der attischen Landwirtschaft des 5. und 4. Jh. v. u. Z., Klio 55 (1973) 109–16. AUDRING 1977 = G. AUDRING, Zur wirtschaftlichen und sozialen Lage der attischen Bauern im ausgehenden 5. und im 4. Jahrhundert v. u. Z., in: Studien zur athenischen Sozialstruktur und römischen Wirtschaftspolitik in Kleinasien. Jahrbuch für Wirtschaftsgeschichte. Sonderband 1977, Berlin 1977, 10–86. BALDWIN 1982 = B. BALDWIN, The Date of Alciphron, Hermes 110 (1982) 253f. BELOCH 1985 = K. J. BELOCH, Die Landwirtschaft Athens, OPVS 4 (1985) 9–24. BETTALLI 1982 = M. BETTALLI, Note sulla produzione tessile ad Atene in età classica, OPVS 1 (1982) 261–78. CARLSEN 2002 = J. CARLSEN, Estate Managers in Ancient Greek Agriculture, in: Ancient History Matters: Studies Presented to Jens Erik Skydsgaard on his Seventieth Birthday. Anal. Rom. Instituti Danici Romae, Suppl. XXX, Rom 2002, 117–26. CARUGNO 1960 = G. CARUGNO, Intrighi familiari, inesperienza ed ignoranza dei contadini nelle „epistole rustiche“ di Alcifrone, Giornale italiano di filologia 13 (1960) 135–43.

38 39

Vgl. dazu WHITMARSH 2001, 100 zu Alkiphrons „irony of constructing a rustic perspective … in a context suffused with Atticist sophistication and intertextual refecence“. Vgl. dazu GOODMAN 2007, die freilich allein den westlichen Mittelmeerraum in den Blick nimmt.

82

Herbert Graßl

CZEBE 1909 = J. CZEBE, Die athenische Gesellschaft in den Briefen Alkiphrons, Egyetemes Philologiai Közlöny 33 (1909), 188–96; 250–76; 350–82. DAMSGAARD-MADSEN 1988 = A. DAMSGAARD-MADSEN, Attic Funeral Inscriptions. Their Use as Historical Sources and some Preliminary Results, in: Studies in Ancient History and Numismatics presented to Rudi Thomsen, Aarhus 1988, 55–68. DAY 1942 = J. DAY, An Economic History of Athens Under Roman Domination, 1942/ND New York 1973. FINLEY 1952 = M. I. FINLEY, Studies in land and credit in ancient Athens, 500-200 B. C. The horos-inscriptions, 1952/ND New York 1973. FÖGEN 2007 = T. FÖGEN, Zur Charakterzeichnung in den Hetärenbriefen Alkiphrons, WJA 31 (2007) 181–205. FUNKE 2016 = M. FUNKE, The Menandrian World of Alciphron’s Letters, in: C. W. MARSHALL/T. HAWKINS (Hg.), Athenian Comedy in the Roman Empire, London 2016, 223–38. GALLEGO 2016 = J. GALLEGO, El campesinado y la distribución de la tierra en la Atenas del siglo IV a.C., Gerión 34 (2016) 43–75. GOODMAN 2007 = P. GOODMAN, The Roman City and its Periphery. From Rome to Gaul, London/New York 2007. HANSON 1995 = V. D. HANSON, The other Greeks. The family farm and the agrarian roots of western civilization, New York 1995. HARRISON 1968 = A. R. W. HARRISON, The Law of Athens. The Family and Property, Oxford 1968. HODKINSON 2012 = O. HODKINSON, Attic idylls: hierarchies of herdsmen and social status in Alciphron and Longus, JHS 132 (2012) 41–53. JONES 2004 = N. F. JONES, Rural Athens Under the Democracy, Philadelphia 2004. KONSTAN 2011= D. KONSTAN, Alciphron and the invention of pornography, in: S. D. LAMBERT (Ed.), Sociable Man. Essays on ancient Greek social behaviour in honour of Nick Fisher, Swansea 2011, 323–35. KLEES 1998 = H. KLEES, Sklavenleben im klassischen Griechenland, Stuttgart 1998. KÖNIG 2007 = J. KÖNIG, Alciphron’s Epistolarity, in: R. MORELLO/A. D. MORRISON (eds), Ancient Letters. Classical and Late Antique Epistolography, Oxford 2007, 257–82. KÖNIG 2013 = J. KÖNIG, Alciphron and the Sympotic Letter Tradition, in: O. HODGKINSON/P. A. ROSENMEYER/E. BRACKE, Epistolary Narratives in Ancient Greek Literature. Mnemosyne Supplements 359, Leiden/Boston 2013, 187–206. LALONDE 1991 = G. V. LALONDE in: The Athenian Agora Vol. XIX, Princeton/NJ 1991, 18–21. LEPPIN 2002 = H. LEPPIN, Theophrasts „Charaktere“ und die Bürgermentalität in Athen im Übergang zum Hellenismus, Klio 84 (2002) 37–56. MCHUGH 2017 = M. MCHUGH, The Ancient Greek Farmstead, Oxford/Philadelphia 2017. MILLETT 1982 = P. MILLETT, The Attic Horoi Reconsidered in the Light of Recent Discoveries, OPVS 1 (1982) 219–49. MILLETT 1991 = P. MILLETT, Lending and borrowing in ancient Athens, Cambridge 1991. PREVIALE 1932 = L. PREVIALE, L’epistolario di Alcifrone, Il mondo classico 2 (1932) 38–72. REUTHNER 2006 = R. REUTHNER, Wer webte Athenes Gewänder? Die Arbeit von Frauen im antiken Griechenland, Frankfurt/New York 2006. REUTHNER 2013 = R. REUTHNER, Platons Schwestern. Lebenswelten antiker Griechinnen, Köln/Weimar/Wien 2013. ROSENMEYER 2001 = P. A. ROSENMEYER, Ancient epistolary fictions: the letter in Greek literature, Cambridge 2001. SANIDAS 2013 = G. M. SANIDAS, La production artisanale en Grèce. Une approche spatiale et topographique à partir des exemples de l’Attique et du Péloponnèse du VIIe au Ier siècle avant J.-C., Lille 2013. SCHÄFER 2017 = C. SCHÄFER, Verwalter/Verwaltung, in: H. HEINEN (ed.), Handwörterbuch der antiken Sklaverei, Stuttgart 2017, Bd. 3, 3192–8.

Die Beziehungen zwischen Land und Stadt in Alkiphrons Bauernbriefen

83

SCHEIDEL 1990 = W. SCHEIDEL, Feldarbeit von Frauen in der antiken Landwirtschaft, Gymnasium 97 (1990) 405–31. SCHEIDEL 1995 = W. SCHEIDEL, The most silent women of Greece and Rome: Rural labour and women’s life in the ancient world (I), Greece & Rome 42 (1995) 202–17. SCHMITZ 2004 = T. A. SCHMITZ, Alciphron’s letters as a sophistic text, in: B. E. BORG (ed.), Paideia: the World of the Second Sophistic. Millenium-Studien 2, Berlin/New York 2004, 87– 104. SCHMITZ 2014 = W. SCHMITZ, Der ‚Knigge‘ der besseren Gesellschaft – Theophrasts Charaktere oder Noblesse oblige, in: R. KINSKY/J. TIMMER (ed.), Fröhliche Altertumswissenschaft. Festbuch für Wolfgang Will zum 65. Geburtstag, Bonn 2014, 1–26. SHAW 2015 = B. D. SHAW, Bringing In the Sheaves. Economy and Metaphor in the Roman World, Toronto/Buffalo/London 2015. SONDAG 1905 = C. Th. SONDAG, De nominibus apud Alciphronem propriis, Diss. Bonn 1905. SPANTIDAKI 2016 = S. SPANTIDAKI, Textile production in classical Athens, Oxford 2016. TAYLOR 2011 = C. TAYLOR, Migration and the demes of Attica, in: C. HOLLERAN/A. PUDSEY (ed.), Demography and the Graeco-Roman World. New Insights and Approaches, Cambridge 2011, 117–34. TRAILL 1995 = J. S. TRAILL, Persons of Ancient Athens 4, Toronto 1995. TSAKIRGIS 2016 = B. TSAKIRGIS, Whole Cloth: Exploring the Question of Self-Sufficiency through the Evidence for Textile Manufacture and Purchase in Greek Houses, in: E. M. HARRIS/D. M. LEWIS/M. WOOLMER (eds), The Ancient Greek Economy: Markets, Households and CityStates, Cambridge 2016, 166–86. UREÑA BRACERO 1993 = J. UREÑA BRACERO, La carta ficticia griega: los nombres de personajes y el uso del encabezamiento en Alcifrón, Aristéneto y Teofilacto, Emerita 61 (1993) 267–98. WHITMARSH 2001 = T. WHITMARSH, Greek Literature and the Roman Empire. The Politics of Imitation, Oxford 2001. VIEILLEFOND 1979 = J.-R. VIEILLEFOND, L’invention chez Alciphron, REG 92 (1979) 120–40. WRENHAVEN 2009 = K. L. WRENHAVEN, The Identity of the „Wool-Workers“ in the Attic Manumissions, Hesperia 78 (2009) 367–86. ZUIDERHOEK 2017 = A. ZUIDERHOEK, The Ancient City, Cambridge 2017.

Em. O. Univ. Prof. Dr. Herbert Graßl [email protected]

THE POLITICS OF SCIENCE: ERATOSTHENESʼ GEOGRAPHY AND PTOLEMAIC IMPERIALISM Paul J. Kosmin Abstract This article proposes that the method and purpose of the “scientific” geography pioneered by Eratosthenes in third-century BCE Alexandria had a close alignment with the imperial interests and institutional procedures of the Ptolemaic court. Keywords: Eratosthenes, Strabo, Hellenistic geography, Ptolemaic kingdom, Seleucid kingdom. 1. Introduction The role of geographical representation in naturalizing ancient and post-antique imperial territories has attracted a great deal of attention in recent decades. 1 Research on this relationship has concentrated on the more obviously discursive and transparently ideology-bearing genres of ethnography and travel writing.2 But the emergence of “scientific” geography in the third century BCE – understandings of the world that privileged the mathematics of spheres and the articulation of geometric forms – has generally been considered an autonomous and unimplicated development: the ivory-tower convergence of advances in astronomy and mathematics with an Aristotelian collation and organization of empirical geographic data.3 In this article, I will suggest that such a scientific turn in fact had a close alignment with the imperial interests and institutional procedures of the Ptolemaic court. This newly scientific discipline of geography was the product, above all, of the Cyrenean polymath Eratosthenes. After an early career in philosophy and mathematics at Athens, Eratosthenes relocated in middle age to Alexandria at the invitation of Ptolemy III Euergetes; his geographic investigations belong entirely

This article is dedicated to Benjamin Isaac. Eratosthenes fragments according to R OLLER 2010. 1 See, e.g., KOSMIN 2014, EDNEY 1997, GREENBLATT 1991 and NICOLET 1988. 2 See, e.g., the articles collected in ALMAGOR & SKINNER 2013. 3 See, e.g., RUSSO 2004: 273–277.

86

Paul J. Kosmin

to this Ptolemaic tenure in the second half of the third century.4 There is no doubt both that Eratosthenes was closely incorporated into Ptolemaic court life, serving as Chief Librarian and Tutor to the young Ptolemy IV, and that he deliberately emphasized this biographical condition of his work: his Arsinoe was either an encomiastic biography of Arsinoe III or a philosophical dialogue featuring Arsinoe II5; his solution to the so-called Delian Problem – a mechanical instrument that automatically calculated the doubling by volume of a cube – was dedicated to Ptolemy III with an eighteen-line epigram and (possibly inauthentic) framing letter.6 Indeed, it is tempting to read the poemʼs otherwise unmotivated closing distichs, in which Eratosthenes praises the filial similarity and vertical inheritance between Ptolemy III and Ptolemy IV – “Blessed are you, Ptolemy, since you stand as father in the same youthful bloom as your son, and you have secured for him all that the Muses and kings love. Some day, heavenly Zeus, he will receive the scepter from your hand. And so may it happen!” – as a translation of this mathematical doubling to the dynastic sphere. In more direct ways, Eratosthenesʼ geographic writings engaged closely with his Ptolemaic environment and his patrons’ interests. This can be seen in each of Eratosthenesʼ lost but much cited geographical treatises – On the Measurement of the Earth (π ὶ ἀ α ω ), which calculated the circumference of the globe, and the subsequent Geographica ( ω αφ ), which explored in three books the history of geographic thinking and the shape and divisions of the oikoumenē. I will suggest, first, that Eratosthenes deliberately selected PtolemaicEgyptian reference points for his global calculation, second, that he employed Ptolemaic metaphoric and institutional language for conceiving the shape of the oikoumēne, and, third, that he divided this inhabited world according to a Ptolemaic, anti-Seleucid agenda. 2. The Ptolemaic “Given” The fullest description of Eratosthenesʼ method for measuring the globeʼs circumference comes from the imperial-period astronomer Cleomedes.7 In brief, since the Summer Solstice sun casts no shadow at Syene (or Elephantine), lying just north of the Nileʼs First Cataract on the Tropic of Cancer, but casts a shadow of measurable angle at Alexandria, the known distance between these two locations 4

5 6

7

The evidence is well known; see, e.g., BLOMQVIST 1992: 53–60. It is possible that Eratosthenesʼ poem Hermes, which may predate his move to Alexandria, describes the planetary spheres and the earthly zones seen from the air; see GEUS 2002: 111–24 and AUJAC 2001: 41. Eratosthenes BNJ 241 F16 = Ath. 7.276a–c; see BERREY 2017: 40–1 and GEUS 2002: 61–8. On the “double sight” of the letter, appropriate for a Graeco-Egyptian context, see BERREY 2017: 135–8, 164–79. On the supposed literary qualities of the epigram, see A GOSTI 1997. On the questionable authenticity of the framing letter, see ROLLER 2010: 12, GEUS 2002: 133–4 and FRASER 1972: 412. Cleomedes, De motu corp. cael. (Teubner), p. 94 1.23 – p. 100 1.23.

The Politics of Science

87

could be identified as a multipliable arc of the globeʼs full circumference; and since the distance from Syene to Alexandria was reckoned as 5,000 stades, and the angle of the shadow at Alexandria was calculated as one fiftieth of a circle (or 7° 12'), the total circumference came out as 250,000 stades.8 The brilliance of this calculation has obscured Eratosthenesʼ choices. For, while the computing required one zero-shadow location on the Tropic of Cancer – and Syene was the most accessible of all of these9 – the second location, for the angle of the cast shadow, could have been measured at any point north of this; in fact, the farther north, the better. Eratosthenes had been anticipated in his calculation by a similar attempt in the late fourth or early third century, associated either with Dicaearchus of Messana or Aristarchus of Samos.10 This used for the two ends of the arc the cities Syene and Lysimachia, the eponymous capital of king Lysimachus and then a provincial center of the Seleucid kingdom on the Thracian Chersonese.11 Accordingly, Eratosthenes had replaced a city identified with the Ptolemiesʼ competitor dynasties with the royal capital of his patrons and his adoptive home.12 Furthermore, the southern location was significant for other than mere astronomical convenience. The region of the First Cataract had long served as the traditional frontier of effective sovereignty in Egypt13, with Elephantine and Syene identified as the landʼs southern border.14 This delimiting role found elaborate theological and cosmogonic expression: Elephantine, the mid-river island opposite Syene that may have been the actual site of Eratosthenesʼ calculation, was honored as Egyptʼs “zero-point”, where Khnum created the world, where Osiris was buried, and, consequently, where the Nile flood began.15 According to Herodotus, the site had already been the location of royal geographic experiment, when the Saite ruler Psammetichus here attempted to plumb the depths of the

8

9 10 11

12 13 14 15

It has been suggested that Eratosthenes simply added 2,000 stades for ease of computation, since 252,000 is divisible by every number between 1 and 10; see, e.g., D AN 2017: 206–7, RUSSO 2004: 276–7 and GEUS 2002: 234. The same phenomenon could be observed south of the Hyphasis river in India and at Berenice Trogodytica, according to Plin. HN 2.183. See KEYSER 2001: 362–5 and COLLINDER 1964. On the history of Lysimachia and European Thrace in the third century, see, e.g., K OSMIN 2014: 89–91 and DELEV 2003. Note that Eratosthenes also placed Lysimachia on the same north-south meridian as Syene and Alexandria; see Strabo 2.5.7-9 (F 34), with ROLLER 2010: 24–6. ROLLER 2010: 151 notes that Pelusium would have made better astronomical sense than Alexandria. See, e.g., RAUE, SEIDLMAYER & SPEISER 2013; and, e.g., Hdt. 2.17.2, Diod. Sic. 1.32.11, Strabo 17.1.48, Tac. Ann. 2.61. Strabo 17.1.5. LASKOWSKA-KUSTZAL 2013 and 1996; BONNEAU 1964: 232–4. Note that this mythology is recounted in the “Famine Stele”, attributed to the reign of Djoser but of Ptolemaic date, inscribed on a cliff-face of Sehel island, near Elephantine; for translation, see L ICHTHEIM 1980: 94–100.

88

Paul J. Kosmin

Nileʼs sources.16 Furthermore, archaeological evidence indicates that Ptolemy III, Eratosthenesʼ patron, was the earliest of the Macedonian pharaohs to sponsor building activity in Elephantineʼs Khnum sanctuary and at Syene.17 In Hellenic thought, the First Cataract played a similar “edge of the world” role, as the epistemological boundary for Herodotus between autopsy and oral report18 and as the farthest terminus of exile under Alexander.19 Accordingly, in the spatial and political imagination, the two extremes of Eratosthenesʼ arc, from Syene-Elephantine to Alexandria, marked both the southern and northern horizons of Ptolemaic Egypt and the two cultural poles of this Janusfaced kingdom, Egyptian and Graeco-Macedonian. That the 5,000 stade distance between the two cities was measured for Eratosthenes by Ptolemaic bematists added further imperial imprimatur.20 In sum, the base unit of Eratosthenesʼ calculation, the mathematical “given” for inferring the circumference of the un-known and barely explored globe, was the Egyptian kingdom at its traditional length: the Nile river, from its theological source at the tomb of Osiris to its Mediterranean mouth at the tomb of Alexander, functioned as the globeʼs prime meridian. This combination of mathematical, theological, and global associations is demonstrated by a newly invented hieroglyphic sign for Elephantine, which first appeared during the reign of Ptolemy III, presumably to memorialize Eratosthenesʼ achievement: the handheld instruments of calculation, a gnomon and masonʼs level, alongside the source of cosmic knowledge, the rising sun: .21 3. Ptolemaic Models The use of Ptolemaic Egypt as a model or paradigm for Eratosthenesʼ spatial thinking continued in his Geographica. This treatise moved away from the grand astronomical calculations of the full globe and its climatic zones to a cartographically-oriented description of the oikoumenē, the known and inhabited “island” in its northern hemisphere. We will see that the imagery framing Eratosthenesʼ discussions derived directly from the Ptolemaic state.

16 17

18 19 20 21

Hdt. 2.28. See MÜLLER 2013 and JARITZ 1998. It is striking that a line of Indian elephants, carved from local pink granite, were erected at Syene by Ptolemy III; no doubt a memorial to the Third Syrian War, in which at least part of the Seleucid elephant force was captured, they also marked at this key geographic site the eastern edge of the oikoumenē. Hdt. 2.29.1. Arr. Anab. 3.2.7. ROLLER 2010: 13n67; BLOMQVIST 1992: 65; DESANGES 1978: 250–1, 257–62; FRASER 1972: 1.415. LASKOWSKA-KUSTZAL 1996: 151–2, WINTER 1987: 74–5. The hieroglyph has been located nine times, on the fragments of complexes V (which incorporated the tomb of Osiris), X, XIV and XVIII.

The Politics of Science

89

In order to give his readers a graspable sense of the overall shape and position of the inhabited part of the globeʼs surface Eratosthenes repeatedly used the phrase ἡ ἰ υ χ α υ , “the chlamys-shaped oikoumenē”. The metaphor is attested five times in Strabo and directly attributed to the Ptolemaic geographer.22 The chlamys was a short cloak, worn around the shoulders of a horseman, and Zimmermann has persuasively suggested that Eratosthenes intended the image to signify both the curved nature of the oikoumenē, wrapped around part of a spherical surface, and its supposedly tapering extremities in India and Iberia.23 Importantly, the only other use of a chlamys metaphor in all of extant ancient literature was for the city plan of Alexandria. Strabo24, Pliny the Elder25, Plutarch26, Diodorus Siculus27, Eustathius28, and the scholia to Aratus29 attest that Alexandria was constructed in the shape of a chlamys. While the image does not appear in Arrianʼs account of Alexandriaʼs foundation30, its use in these otherwise contradictory descriptions of the city indicates that it was a common, widely known metaphor31. In other words, it seems likely that Eratosthenes adopted an axiomatic image of Alexandria to describe the shape of the oikoumenē. Eratosthenes went on to divide this chlamys-shaped landmass by two perpendicular axes. He adopted from Dicaearchus a prime east-west parallel to divide the oikoumenē into northern and southern parts, extending from the Pillars of Heracles, across the Mediterranean Sea, and along a unified Taurus-Elburz-Kopet Dagh-Hindu Kush-Himalaya mountain chain.32 To this, he added a prime north-

22 23 24 25

26

27 28 29 30 31

32

Strabo 2.5.6 (F 30), 2.5.9 (F 34), 2.5.14 (F 53), 2.5.18, 11.11.7; see D AN 2017: 196, DUECK 2005: 45–6 and ZIMMERMANN 2002. ZIMMERMANN 2002. Strabo 17.1.8: ἔ ὲχ α υ ὲ ὸ χ α ῦἐ φ υ π ω . Plin. HN 5.11.62: metatus est eam Dinochares architectus pluribus modis memorabili ingenio, v p. laxitate insessa ad effigiem Macedonicae chlamydis orbe gyrato laciniosam, dextra laevaque anguloso procursu, iam tum tamen quinta situs parte regiae dicata. Plut. Alex. 26.5: αὶ ὲ πα υ , ' ἀ φ ω α ἐ π ῳ α ῳ υ π ἦ , ὗ ὴ ἐ ὸ π φ α ῖα ὥ π ἀπὸ α π ω ἰ χ αχ α π α ἐ ἴ υ υ υ α ὸ . Diod. Sic. 17.52.3: ὸ ὲ π ἀπ χ α πα απ ἔχ π α ῖα χ ὸ ὴ π υ α αὶ αὶ αυ α . Eustathius, Commentarii in Dionysium periegeten 157: ὴ Ἀ α ἰ υ χ α α ω . Sch. Aratus 236: ἐ φ ὴ ὰ ἡ Αἴ υπ ω χ α , ἡ Ἀ α χ α α ω . Noted by PRÉAUX 1968: 177. With BIANCHETTI 2016: 137–8, pace ROLLER 2010: 23n98, ZIMMERMANN 2002: 34 and PRÉAUX 1968: 177, who suggest that the figure was invented by Eratosthenes and then subsequently applied to the city of Alexandria. But its several attestations, in sources that, with the exception of Eustathius and the Aratus scholia, cannot depend on each other, indicate the reverse. On Dicaearchus, see DAN 2017: 177–80, GEUS 2004: 20, KEYSER 2001: 365–8, PRONTERA 2000: 98–105, PÉDECH 1976: 97–100 and THOMSON 1948: 134–5, with Agathemerus, Geographiae informatio, prooem. 5 (F 110 WEHRLI).

90

Paul J. Kosmin

south meridian, extending the Nile arc, which had formed the basis of his circumference calculation, southward to Meroë and northward along the Ionian coast and the Hellespont to the Borysthenes river. To these prime axes, crossing at Rhodes, he added further parallels and meridians, thereby constructing a mesh of geometric lines crossing at right angles: the parallels passed through, at least, Meroë, Syene, Alexandria, Rhodes, Lysimachia, Borysthenes, and Thule, and the meridians through, at least, the Pillars of Heracles, Messana, Thapsacus, the Caspian Gates, and India.33 This systematized assemblage of bisecting geometric lines, to either side of the north-south and east-west prime axes, was unprecedented in ancient geography. Given the shared chlamys figure for the oikoumenē and the city of Alexandria, it is suggestive that Strabo, who provides our most detailed account of the Ptolemaic capital, follows his metaphor with the report that “the whole city is divided by streets for horsemen and for chariots, two of which are particularly wide, being more than a plethron in width, and intersecting each other at right angles”.34 Is Eratosthenesʼ chlamys-shaped, gridded oikoumenē to be visualized in the manner of Alexandria? In a final unprecedented operation, Eratosthenes divided up the eastern hemisphere of the oikoumenē – we do not know whether this was continued for its western parts – into geometric shapes called sphragides, “seal-stones”. Four are attested in our fragments: the first sphragis was approximate with India, the second with Ariana, that is, upper Iran and Central Asia, the third with Mesopotamia and western Iran, and the fourth with Arabia, Syria, Egypt, and Ethiopia.35 Since WILCKEN, it has been recognized that Eratosthenes derived this terminology of ordinally numbered sphragides-from the Ptolemaic cadastral administration, where it was employed for surveyed and allotted parcels of agricultural land:36 royal surveys referred to an estate situated, for instance, “in the second sphragis”. Eratosthenesʼ adoption of this terminology demonstrates, at the very least, the borrowing of Ptolemaic administrative language for his new discourse of scientific geography and, if we wanted to go further, perhaps implies an identification between Eratosthenesʼ formulation of a rationally divided oikoumenē and the imperial organization of the Egyptian landscape. All this adds up to an admittedly speculative but nonetheless fairly coherent picture: the Ptolemaic kingdom functioned as a kind of microcosm or paradigm for at least part of Eratosthenesʼ geographic project. Egypt and its Nile-based meridian formed the knowable arc for calculating the size of the world; the royal capital offered the metaphors and, perhaps, inspiration for outlining and enmesh33 34 35 36

See ROLLER 2010: 24–6. Strabo 17.1.8. See BIANCHETTI 2016: 147–8, DUECK 2005: 26–8, GUES 2004: 20–4, PRONTERA 2000: 101– 2. BIANCHETTI 2016: 138, MARCOTTE 2005: 151–3, WILCKEN 1970: 210n1; BOUCHÉLECLERCQ 1903–7: 3.293; THALAMAS 1921: 150. FRASER 1972: 2.762–763n95 suggests the term is a calque from Demotic htm-t. BERGER 1880, followed by GEUS 2004: 21, suggested the image is that of a seal-stone.

The Politics of Science

91

ing the oikoumenē; and the Ptolemaic organization of Egypt provided the language for Eratosthenesʼ partitioning of territory. 4. Against Seleucid Asia If Eratosthenesʼ imagery and method reflect an internal Ptolemaic perspective, these had further significance within their international context of peer-kingdom competition. For Eratosthenesʼ discourse can also be seen to have undermined the developed geographic ideas, and so territorial claims, of the Seleucid empire, the Ptolemiesʼ perennial rival for control of the southern Levant and the coastlands of Asia Minor. We see this in two ways, one descriptive, in how Eratosthenes outlined his divisions of the oikoumenē, and one axiomatic, in his invalidating of continental thinking. While the fragmentary survival of Eratosthenesʼ Geography cannot sustain an argument about his detailed chorographic accounts, we are sufficiently informed about the points that he selected for his geometric schema – the handful of places through which the lines of his meridians and parallels ran and with which the borders of his sphragides were fixed – to observe his unusual treatment of Seleucid lands. In Egypt and Africa, in the western Mediterranean, and in the old Greek world of the Aegean Eratosthenes outlined his seals with and directed his lines through some of the most significant contemporary cities, including new Ptolemaic foundations: Alexandria, Ptolemaïs-in-Phoenicia, Syene, Meroë, Cyrene, Carthage, Rome, Massalia, Rhodes, Athens, Byzantium, and so on. But in his description of the territories that lay under the Seleucid scepter Eratosthenes employed a strikingly anachronistic urban geography, preferring for the points and lines of his geographical scheme the old, defunct, or subsequently refounded settlements over the new Seleucid colonies that had reshaped the regionʼs urban physiognomy. For instance, Strabo reports that Eratosthenes drew the southern line of his second sphragis through the cities Babylon, Susa, and Persepolis:37 at the time of writing Babylon had been overshadowed by the new “city of kingship”, Seleucia-on-theTigris; Susa was refounded with the dynastic name Seleucia-on-the-Eulaeus; and Persepolis lay abandoned after Alexanderʼs destruction. He measured distances from Thapsacus, the bridging point on the Euphrates that had long been surpassed by the new Seleucid foundation of Seleucia-on-the-Euphrates, also known as Zeugma, to Babylon,38 to Pelusium,39 to the place where Alexander crossed the Tigris, to Gaugamela, to the Lycus river, to Arbela, to Ecbatana, and to the Caspian Gates,40 not mentioning a single Seleucid foundation. Antioch-by-Daphne and

37 38 39 40

Strabo 2.1.23, 2.1.25 (F 83). Strabo 2.1.36 (F 62); on the role of Thapsacus in ancient geography and historiography, including Eratosthenes, see REYNIERS 1963: 215–27. Strabo 2.1.36 (F 62). Strabo 2.1.24 (F 83), 2.1.29 (F 63), 2.1.36 (F 62).

92

Paul J. Kosmin

the other Tetrapolis cities of northern Syria are not mentioned,41 nor the new Seleucid colonies in Central Asia.42 Even if the preference for old names over Seleucid metonomasy, as in the case of Susa, can be explained away as a generic inheritance, the repeated omission of significant new Seleucid colonies and the use of their smaller, earlier neighbors can amount to nothing other than deliberate geographic erasure. It would be equivalent to Eratosthenesʼ choosing Rhakotis, instead of Alexandria, for a description of Egypt.43 Functioning alongside Eratosthenesʼ sphragides and parallel-meridian mesh was his explicit rejection of the traditional division of the oikoumenē into three continents. Strabo directly preserves Eratosthenesʼ programmatic statement on this matter: Saying that there has been much written about the continents, and that some divide them by rivers, such as the Nile and the Tanaïs, representing them as islands, and others by isthmuses, such as that between the Caspian and Pontic Seas or between the Erythraean Sea and the Ecregma, saying that they are peninsulas, [Eratosthenes] says that he does not see how this examination can result in anything consequential except for those living contentiously in the fashion of Democritus. If there are no exact boundaries ( ὴ ω ὰ ἀ ω ) – as with Colyttus and Melite – such as stelae or enclosures, we can only say that “this is Colyttus” or “this is Melite” ( ῦ ὲ ἔχ φ α ἡ ᾶ υὶ ἐ Κ υ ὸ υὶ ὲ Μ ), but do not have the boundaries. It is for this reason that there are often disputes about such districts ( ὸ αὶ υ α π π ὶ χω ω ), such as between the Argives and Lacedaemonians over Thyrea, or between the Athenians and Boeotians over Oropus. The Hellenes named three continents differently because they did not pay attention to the inhabited world but only to their own area and what was directly opposite, Caria, where there are now Ionians and their neighbors. In time, advancing further and learning more about territories, they have focused on this (i.e., the tripartite) division. 44

This remarkable if dense passage is, to my knowledge, our most extensive ancient theorization on the nature and history of geographic division. Eratosthenes moves from a simple criticism of the pre-existing and traditional methods of tripartite demarcation, a trope of geographic writing since Herodotus,45 to make three original arguments. First, he historicizes such continental thinking as a story of the progressive Greek encounter with the outside world: this began, according to his argument, with a bipartite model, based on the experience of a land mass on the eastern side of the Aegean, and then increased in complexity, as Greek knowledge improved, to the familiar tripartite division; the developmental trajectory may be intended to situate Eratosthenesʼ own model, born of the discoveries of Alexander 41 42 43

44 45

I am grateful to the anonymous reader for emphasizing this point. Strabo 11.8.9 (F 108), mentioning Hecatompylus, Alexandria among the Arii, Prophthasia in Drange, the city of the Arachoti, Ortosapana, and the roads to Bactra. This onomastic game works in similar ways to a proposal of FRASER 1996: 46 that the Ptolemaic author of a supposed list of Alexanderʼs city foundations deliberately assigned Seleucid colonies to Alexander as part of the “concerted and contorted propaganda of the Ptolemies against the Seleucids”. Strabo 1.4.7 (F 33). Hdt. 4.36 and 4.45; see, e.g., ROMM 2010: 216–20 and THOMAS 2000: 75–82.

The Politics of Science

93

and the Hellenistic kingdoms, as the inevitable and better-informed replacement. Second, he suggests that, since regional divisions are neither natural nor marked out on the ground, they amount to a political and socio-psychological phenomenon. Using the example of the Athenian demes Colyttus and Melite, he seems to be arguing that the identification of geographic spaces consists only of enunciated claims – Melite is identified by stating the fact. Indeed, as his audience would have known, the Athenian demes were an artificial creation of the sixth-century reformer Cleisthenes. From this follows his third observation, that the conventionor politics-based origin of regional borders was generative of unresolvable dispute and so repeated hostility between neighbors. Despite Eratosthenesʼ standardly Hellenistic use of Old World exempla for illustrating this phenomenon – the Thyrean plain and the sanctuary of Oropus – his audience would of, course, have had a more immediate border-conflict in mind, namely, the recurring Syrian Wars between the Ptolemaic and Seleucid empires for control of Coele Syria and Phoenicia.46 The significance of Eratosthenesʼ theoretical assault on continental division is that it directly confronted contemporary Seleucid arguments for rightful possession of disputed regions. I have demonstrated elsewhere that the Seleucid court attempted to legitimize its territorial claims through a combination of historical and geographic arguments. On the one hand, an official mnemonic tradition presented Seleucid provincial territory as the outcome of Seleucus I's spear-won conquests and, for the Levantine coast, the division of Antigonus Monophthalmusʼ kingdom that followed the Battle of Ipsus: according to the Seleucid narrative, the entirety of Syria, Coele Syria, and Phoenicia had been awarded as a prize of war to Seleucus I, but its central and southern parts had been illegitimately seized by Ptolemy I and retained by his descendants. On the other hand, and more germane to this discussion, a host of ethnographic and geographic writings and imperial behaviors gave a territorial coherence and “natural” integrity to the Seleucid kingdom by identifying it with the continent of Asia: Greek texts dependent on court historiography title Seleucus I and his successors “king of Asia”; a Seleucid road survey, cited by Strabo, Athenaeus, and Aelian, was called the Stations of Asia; in his negotiations with Rome Antiochus III deployed this continental thinking to legitimize Seleucid possession of the Hellespont, Aeolis, and Ionia; Antiochus IV was hailed as “savior of Asia” in an inscription from Babylonia; Seleucid kings were crowned with the “diadem of Asia”. If Catullus 66 accurately renders the geopolitical terminology of Callimachusʼ Coma Berenices, then we may even see in the line is haud in tempore longo / captam Asiam Aegypti finibus addiderat a Ptolemaic redeploying of this very concept.47 Eratosthenesʼ geometric partition by sphragides and the theoretical undermining of continental division, which of course it implied, worked together to rein-

46 47

As Strabo recognizes in his response to Eratosthenesʼ comments. For details and references, see KOSMIN 2014: 121–5.

94

Paul J. Kosmin

force the Ptolemaic possession of these disputed territories. 48 The fourth sphragis, the last we hear of, extending from the Euphrates over Coele Syria and Phoenicia, Egypt, Ethiopia, and Arabia Eudaemon, managed both to override the traditional (and Seleucid) continental divide between Libya and Asia and to incorporate into a single geometric unit all contiguous Ptolemaic territories in Africa, the Levant, and the Red Sea.49 Whether as a guiding motivation or a felicitous after-effect, Eratosthenesʼ method fitted the Syrian Warsʼ contest of legitimacy and, indeed, the fabric of Ptolemaic imperial territory – enclaval and segmentary provinces along the coastlands of all three continents – far better than the traditional geography of coherent and organic spaces. 5. Conclusion Such an interpretation of the peculiarities of Eratosthenesʼ geography bears on the nature of the intellectual competition between the Ptolemaic and Seleucid houses. While a third-century “war of books” has been identified between Megasthenes and Hecataeus or Berossus and Manetho over respective claims to superiority, antiquity, and social perfection,50 Eratosthenesʼ undertaking works differently. Rather than arguing for Egyptian or Ptolemaic primacy within the same framework as Seleucid court geographers, Eratosthenes constructed a new, geometrybased paradigm better suited to a conceptualization of the world from Alexandria. Its interaction with Seleucid geography is closer to the kind of symmetrical schismogenesis proposed in the 1930s by the anthropologist Gregory Bateson and subsequently developed by Marshall Sahlins: that is, the interdependent and synchronous competition by contradiction through which two rivals come to be cultural antitypes.51 Accordingly, Eratosthenesʼ development of “scientific” geography must be understood within, and perhaps took part of its motivation from, the geopolitical competition between Seleucid Asia – a contiguous, bounded, and “organic” continental territory – and the kingdom of his Ptolemaic sponsors – the Nile arc, the Levantine buffer, and discontiguous enclaves across the sea. 6. Bibliography AGOSTI, GIANFRANCO. 1997. Eratostene sulle Muse e il re, Hermes 125: 118–23. ALMAGOR, ERAN & JOSEPH SKINNER. 2013. Ancient Ethnography: New Approaches. New York. AUJAC, GERMAINE. 2001. Ératosthène de Cyrène, le pionnier de la géographie. Paris. BATESON, GREGORY. 1935. Culture Contact and Schismogenesis, Man 35: 593–7. BERGER, HUGO. 1880. Die geographischen Fragmente des Eratosthenes. Leipzig.

48 49 50 51

See BIANCHETTI 2016: 138–9. Strabo 2.1.23, 26 (F 83), 2.1.27 (F 84), and 2.1.32 (F 92). ROLLER 2010: 26; FRASER 1972: 533; DICKS 1960: 138. MURRAY 1970: 166. SAHLINS 2004: 69–82; BATESON 1935.

The Politics of Science

95

BIANCHETTI, SERENA. 2016. The ‘Invention’ of Geography: Eratosthenes of Cyrene, in SERENA BIANCHETTI, MICHELE CATAUDELLA & HANS-JOACHIM GEHRKE (eds.), Brill’s Companion to Ancient Geography: The Inhabited World in Greek and Roman Tradition: 132–49. Leiden. BLOMQVIST, JERKER. 1992. Alexandrian Science: The Case of Eratosthenes, in PER BILDE, TROELS ENGBERG-PEDERSEN, LISE HANNESTAD & JAN ZAHLE (eds.), Ethnicity in Hellenistic Egypt: 53–69. Aarhus. BONNEAU, DANIELLE. 1964. La crue du Nil, divinité égyptienne à travers mille ans d'histoire (332 av. – 641 ap. J.-C.). Paris. BOUCHE-LECLERCQ, AUGUSTE. 1903–1907. Histoire des Lagides. Paris. COLLINDER, PER. 1964. Dicaearchus and the ‘Lysimachian’ Measurement of the Earth, Sudhoffs Archiv für Geschichte der Medezin und der Naturwissenschaften 48: 63–78. DAN, ANCA. 2017. The First of the Bēta: Notes on Eratosthenes’ Invention of Geography, in CHRISTOPHE RICO AND ANCA DAN (eds.), The Library of Alexandria: A Cultural Crossroads of the Ancient World. Proceedings of the Second Polis Institute Interdisciplinary Conference: 165–222. Jerusalem. DELEV, PETER. 2003. From Corupedium towards Pydna: Thrace in the Third Century, Thracia 15: 107–20. DESANGES, JEHAN. 1978. Recherches sur l’activité des méditerranéens aux confins de l’Afrique (VIe siècle avant J.-C. – IVe siècle après J.-C.). Paris. DICKS, D. 1960. Geographical Fragments of Hipparchus. London. DUECK, DANIELA. 2005. The Parallelogram and the Pinecone: Definition of Geographical Shapes in Greek and Roman Geography on the Evidence of Strabo, Ancient Society 35: 19–57. EDNEY, MATTHEW. 1997. Mapping an Empire: The Geographical Construction of British India, 1765–1843. Chicago. FRASER, PETER. 1972. Ptolemaic Alexandria. Oxford. FRASER, PETER. 1996. Cities of Alexander the Great. Oxford. GEUS, KLAUS. 2002. Eratosthenes von Kyrene: Studien zur hellenistischen Kultur- und Wissenschaftsgeschichte. Munich. GEUS, KLAUS. 2004. Measuring the Earth and the Oikoumene: zones, meridians, sphragides and some other geographical terms used by Eratosthenes of Cyrene, in RICHARD TALBERT & KAI BRODERSEN (eds.), Space in the Roman World: Its Perception and Presentation: 11–26. Münster. GREENBLATT, STEPHEN. 1991. Marvelous Possessions: The Wonder of the New World. Chicago. JARITZ, HORST. 1998. Eine Elefantenstatue aus Syene – Gott oder Gott-geweiht?, in Heike Guksch and Daniel Polz (eds.), Stationen. Beiträge zur Kulturgeshichte Ägyptens: 459–67. Mainz. KEYSER, PAUL. 2001. The Geographical Work of Dikaiarchos, in WILLIAM FORTENBAUGH AND ECKART SCHÜTRUMPF (eds.), Dicaearchus of Messana. Text, Translation, and Discussion: 353–72. London. KOSMIN, PAUL. 2014. The Land of the Elephant Kings: Space, Territory, and Ideology in the Seleucid Empire. Cambridge, MA. LASKOWSKA-KUSTZAL, EWA. 1996. Elephantine XV. Die Dekorfragmente der ptolemäischrömischen Tempel von Elephantine. Mainz. LASKOWSKA-KUSTZAL, EWA. 2013. The Contribution of Graeco-Roman Elephantine to the Theology of the First Cataract Region, in DIETRICH RAUE, STEPHAN SEIDLMAYER & PHILIPP SPEISER (eds.), The First Cataract of the Nile: One Region – Diverse Perspectives: 103–9. Berlin. LICHTHEIM, MIRIAM. 1980. Ancient Egyptian Literature: A Book of Readings III: 94–100. Berkeley. MARCOTTE, DIDIER. 2005. ‘Aux quatre coins du mond’: La Terre vue comme un arpent, in DANIELE CONSO, ANTONIO GONZALES & JEAN-YVES GUILLAUMIN (eds.), Les vocabulaires techniques des arpenteurs romains: 149–55. Besançon.

96

Paul J. Kosmin

MÜLLER, WOLFGANG. 2013. Hellenistic Aswan, in DIETRICH RAUE, STEPHAN SEIDLMAYER & PHILIPP SPEISER (eds.), The First Cataract of the Nile: One Region – Diverse Perspectives: 123–33. Berlin. MURRAY, OSWYN. 1970. Hecataeus of Abdera and Phaoronic Kingship, JEA 56: 141–71. NICOLET, CLAUDE. 1988. L’inventaire du monde: Géographie et politique aux origines de l’Empire romain. Paris. PEDECH, PAUL. 1976. La géographie des Grecs. Paris. PREAUX, CLAIRE. 1968. Alexandrie et la chlamyde, Chronique d’Égypte 43: 176–87. PRONTERA, FRANCESCO. 2000. Dall’Halys al Tauro. Descrizione e rappresentazione nell’Asia minore di Strabone, in ANNA BIRASCHI AND GIOVANNI SALMERI (eds.), Strabone e l’Asia minore: 93–112. Naples. RAUE, DIETRICH, STEPHAN SEIDLMAYER & PHILIPP SPEISER (eds.). 2013. The First Cataract of the Nile: One Region – Diverse Perspectives. Berlin. REYNIERS, F. 1963. Importance de Thapsaque dans la géographie antique, ou l’intérêt que présentent certains toponymes de Syrie ou d’Egypte dans la triangulation d’Eratosthène, Revue internationale d’onomastique 15: 211–27. ROLLER, DUANE. 2010. Eratosthenes’ Geography: Fragments Collected and Translated, with Additional Material. Princeton. ROMM, JAMES. 2010. Continents, Climates, and Cultures: Greek Theories of Global Structure, in KURT RAAFLAUB & RICHARD TALBERT (eds.), Geography and Ethnography: Perceptions of the World in Pre-Modern Societies: 215–35. Oxford. RUSSO, LUCIO. 2004. The Forgotten Revolution: How Science Was Born in 300 BC and Why It Had to Be Reborn. Trans. Silvio Levy. Berlin. SAHLINS, MARSHALL. 2004. Apologies to Thucydides: Understanding History as Culture and Vice Versa. Chicago. THALAMAS, ARMÉDÉE. 1921. La géographie d’Ératosthène. Versailles. THOMAS, ROSALIND. 2000. Herodotus in Context: Ethnography, Science, and the Art of Persuasion. Cambridge. THOMSON, JAMES. 1948. History of Ancient Geography. Cambridge. WILCKEN, ULRICH. 1970. Griechische Ostraka aus Aegypten und Nubien. Amsterdam. ZIMMERMANN, KLAUS. 2002. Eratosthenes’ Chlamys-Shaped World: A Misunderstood Metaphor, in DANIEL OGDEN (ed.), The Hellenistic World: New Perspectives: 23–40. London.

Paul J. Kosmin John L. Loeb Associate Professor of the Humanities 215 Boylston Hall Harvard University [email protected]

OLTRE LE PORTE DELLA CITTÀ: LA CAMPAGNA COME BENE MATERIALE ED ESTETICO NEL ROMANZO DI LONGO SOFISTA Alessandro Novati Abstract This paper analyses the relationship between town and country as it emerges from Longus’ novel, focusing specifically on the role and the functions of rurality. How does the town benefit from the countryside? On the one hand, town dwellers can profit from the production of agricultural goods; on the other hand, they can retire to the countryside for recreational purposes: the countryside, consequently, has a not only economic but also aesthetic value. Therefore, countrymen must not only cultivate the land, but also embellish the pastoral landscape, so that the landowner might enjoy the loveliness of countryside. Questo articolo analizza la relazione tra città e campagna che emerge dal romanzo di Longo Sofista, concentrandosi specificatamente sulle funzioni e sul ruolo della ruralità. In che modo la città fruisce della campagna? Quest’ultima non si limita a rappresentare un bene atto a produrre ricchezza materiale che la città può sfruttare per il proprio sostentamento: essa diventa anche – o meglio, soprattutto – un bene estetico in cui il ricco cittadino può ritirarsi a scopo ricreativo. I campagnoli, pertanto, non devono solo lavorare la campagna, ma anche acconciarla opportunamente affinché il padrone, allorché vi si rechi, possa trarne il massimo diletto. Keywords: literary geography, town and country, pastoral landscape, Longus’ Lesbos, greek novels.

98

Alessandro Novati

Con la denominazione moderna di “romanzo greco” si è soliti designare un corpus di testi, taluni pervenutici integri e talaltri in stato frammentario, nei quali i temi su cui si incardina la narrazione sono principalmente l’amore e i viaggi avventurosi: due giovani, di norma bellissimi, si incontrano in una qualche circostanza e si innamorano, spesso a prima vista; separati dagli dei o dalla sorte, dovranno affrontare una serie di peripezie e lunghi viaggi per terra e per mare prima di potersi ricongiungere e prima che la storia possa concludersi con il consueto lieto fine.1 Limitandosi a considerare i cinque romanzi conservati integralmente, è facile notare come ben quattro, cioè quelli di Caritone, Senofonte Efesio, Achille Tazio ed Eliodoro – pur risalendo a epoche di composizione sicuramente diverse2 e pur essendo ambientati in tempi e luoghi differenti (dalla Sicilia e dall’Italia peninsulare alla Grecia, dal vicino Oriente all’Egitto e all’Etiopia) – siano contraddistinti da una predominante atmosfera urbana.3 I protagonisti sono sempre esponenti dell’élite cittadina e le loro peripezie – quando avvengono sulla terra e non, come spesso accade, sul mare – si svolgono quasi unicamente in ambienti urbani: si pensi, tra i molti esempi che si potrebbero addurre, a Siracusa, Mileto e Babilonia in Caritone, a Efeso, Antiochia e Rodi in Senofonte, a Tiro, Sidone e Alessandria in Achille Tazio, a Delfi, Menfi e Meroe in Eliodoro. Come scrive MARGHERITA ORLANDINI, nel romanzo greco “il paesaggio urbano è osservato, rispetto al paesaggio naturale, con un’attenzione di gran lunga superiore”.4 Questo non significa, tuttavia, che i romanzieri (perché dovrebbero, d’altronde?) si impegnino in una descrizione geografica precisa e sistematica delle realtà urbane dei romanzi. In alcuni casi le città sono descritte più o meno brevemente, in altri si fa riferimento ad alcuni loro elementi (mura, templi, teatri, porti, palazzi), in altri ancora esse sono soltanto menzionate fuggevolmente: insomma, se è senz’altro vero che “the cities are above all landmarks that allow for rooting the heroes’ travels in the real world”,5 rappresentando pertanto l’ossatura geografica su cui si impianta la storia, è altrettanto vero che “the city in Greek novels remains a stereotype and its individuation is limited to place names and abstract, paradoxical features”.6 In altre 1 2

3

4 5 6

Si rimanda per un’introduzione al romanzo e per un’ampia bibliografia a L. GRAVERINI-W. KEULEN-A. BARCHIESI, Il romanzo antico. Forme, testi, problemi, Roma 2006. La cronologia dei romanzieri greci è un tema dibattutissimo e di assai difficile soluzione. Essendo impossibile riassumere in questa sede le numerose proposte avanzate, ci si limita a segnalare che Caritone potrebbe risalire alla metà o alla fine del I secolo d.C., Senofonte Efesio e Achille Tazio al II secolo d.C., Longo alla fine del II o alla prima metà del III secolo d.C. ed Eliodoro al III o al IV secolo d.C. Per un’analisi generale della città e delle sue caratteristiche nel romanzo greco si veda S. SAÏD, The city in the greek novel, in J. TATUM (a cura di), The search for the ancient novel, Baltimora 1994, 216–36. Molto utili inoltre M. ORLANDINI, Note sul romanzo greco: il paesaggio urbano tra retorica e storiografia, A&R 38,2/3 (1993), 57–78 e D. BERRANGERAUSERVE, La ville comme cadre du roman grec, in B. POUDERON (a cura di), Lieux, décors et paysages de l’ancien roman des origines à Byzance, Lyon 2005, 43–55. ORLANDINI 1993, 58. SAÏD 1994, 218. SAÏD 1994, 232.

Oltre le porte della città

99

parole, “il paesaggio urbano è seguito più da vicino” rispetto al mondo naturale, “ma neanche dietro di esso esiste un progetto, una strategia narratologica coalizzata ed organica”.7 Il mondo rurale, viceversa, in queste opere è posto decisamente in secondo piano: ben poco numerosi sono, infatti, gli episodi ambientati nella campagna, considerata spesso come una zona di insicurezza e brutalità contrapposta alla sicurezza e alla civilizzazione delle città, e altrettanto scarsi sono i personaggi di estrazione non cittadina. Ciò premesso, il romanzo pastorale di Longo Sofista si differenzia per alcune evidenti caratteristiche peculiari. In primo luogo, “Longus se distingue des autres romanciers grecs par le choix qu’il fait de l’unité de lieu”.8 Se gli altri autori presentano l’amore come un qualcosa di fisso e di statico, immutabile dal principio alla fine della narrazione, sul quale si impernia l’intreccio costituito da una concatenazione di episodi che provocano numerosi spostamenti geografici;9 Longo, diversamente, pone al centro del Dafni e Cloe l’evoluzione dell’amore, e sostituisce al viaggio fisico attraverso i continenti lo sviluppo psicologico ed emozionale dei protagonisti, che culmina, alla fine, nel loro matrimonio e nella loro unione carnale: come afferma GEORG ROHDE, “diese Liebe aber wird nicht wie in den anderen Romanen als etwas Bestehendes gezeigt oder vorausgesetzt, sondern – und damit treffen wir das Zentrum des Loungusromans – ihre Entstehung und ihr Wachsen wird dargestellt”.10 Rinunciando quasi totalmente al tema delle peripezie per terra e per mare e concentrandosi piuttosto sulla nascita e sulla maturazione della relazione erotica tra i protagonisti, il romanziere ha in questo modo la possibilità di ambientare la storia in un unico luogo, l’isola di Lesbo, che Dafni e Cloe non abbandonano mai.11 In secondo luogo, in quest’opera Longo “inverse le rapport quantitatif entre la ville et les champs”:12 il romanziere, infatti, differenzian-

7 8 9

10 11

12

ORLANDINI 1993, 78. A. BILLAULT, La nature dans Daphnis et Chloé, REG 109,2 (1996), 506–26. Citazione a pagina 507. Sul tema del viaggio nel romanzo si vedano M. BRIOSO SÁNCHEZ, Aspectos del viaje en la novela griega antigua: los medios de transporte, Habis 33 (2002), 373–87; M. BRIOSO SÁNCHEZ, El viaje en la novela griega antigua, in M. BRIOSO SÁNCHEZ-A. VILLARRUBIA MEDINA (a cura di), Estudios sobre el viaje en la literatura de la Grecia antigua, Sevilla 2002, 185-262; J.R. MORGAN, Travel in the Greek novels: function and interpretation, in C. ADAMS-J. ROY (a cura di), Travel, geography and culture in ancient Greece, Egypt and the Near East, Leicester-Nottingham 2007, 139–60. G. ROHDE, Longus und die Bukolik, RhM 86 (1937), 23–49. Citazione a pagina 37. J.R MORGAN, Longus, in I.J.F. DE JONG (a cura di), Space in ancient Greek literature: studies in ancient Greek narrative, Leiden 2012, 537-55. Si vedano anche sull’insularità nel romanzo A. BILLAULT, Les amants dans l’île: Longus, Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, Mishima, BAGB 1 (1985), 73–86 (in particolare 73–9); F. CONCA, L’isola nel romanzo greco, in N. BRAZZELLI (a cura di), Isole. Coordinate geografiche e immaginazione letteraria, Milano-Udine 2012, 67–79 (in particolare 75–8). S. SAÏD, La société rurale dans le roman grec, ou la campagne vue de la ville, in E. FREZOULS (a cura di), Sociétés urbaines, sociétés rurales dans l’Asie Mineure et la Syrie hellénistiques et romaines, Strasbourg 1987, 149–71. Citazione a pagina 163.

100

Alessandro Novati

dosi decisamente dagli altri autori, relega la città sullo sfondo della narrazione ed eleva lo spazio rurale ad ambientazione principale della vicenda. La storia si sviluppa pressoché interamente nella campagna dell’isola di Lesbo, in un possedimento situato a duecento stadi (circa trentacinque chilometri) da Mitilene, e solo verso la fine dell’opera si assisterà a uno spostamento dei protagonisti in città, nella stessa Mitilene, dove soggiorneranno per un lasso di tempo, peraltro molto breve, prima di fare ritorno alla vita agreste. Conseguentemente, quello di Longo è in prevalenza un mondo di rustici. Anche gli stessi Dafni e Cloe sono due giovanissimi pastori, figli l’uno del capraio Lamone e l’altra del pecoraio Driante: bisogna aspettare le ultime pagine del romanzo perché essi scoprano di essere in realtà figli naturali di due maggiorenti di Mitilene, rispettivamente Dionisofane – signore del possedimento stesso – e Megacle, dai quali erano stati esposti ancora infanti, e di essere stati trovati, salvati e allevati dai genitori putativi. Tutta l’opera, dunque, è pervasa da un’evidente aura di ruralità e se le due maggiori città di Lesbo, Mitilene e Metimna, sono presenti nel romanzo, esse rimangono quasi sempre in secondo piano. In terzo luogo, in Longo è quasi del tutto assente l’immagine negativa di una campagna pericolosa, popolata da barbari e briganti per i quali non si prova che timore e disprezzo, idea ben presente, invece, nelle altre opere. Infine, se negli altri quattro romanzi gli autori non si soffermano mai sulla rappresentazione dell’uomo impegnato nelle cure campestri e il lettore si trova quindi di fronte alla “exclusion … des champs cultivés, du travail agricole et de ceux qui le pratiquent”,13 questo, come si vedrà, non vale certamente per Longo. Il romanzo longhiano sottopone a un costante ed evidente confronto l’ambiente della città e quello della campagna, due elementi al contempo antitetici e complementari, il cui rapporto, che rappresenta indubbiamente uno dei temi principali dell’opera, ha da molti anni stimolato le indagini solerti degli studiosi di antichistica. Se BERND EFFE ha scritto che “die Hirtenwelt von Daphnis und Chloe hat die Aufgabe eines positiven Gegenbildes zu einer als defizient empfundenen und deshalb grundsätzlich (oder mindestens temporär) negativ bewerteten städtischen Lebenswirklichkeit”.14 EWEN BOWIE ha dimostrato che nei Pastoralia il sistema morale della campagna è presentato dal romanziere come del tutto analogo a quello della città e che l’opera di Longo, quindi, “n’assigne pas les vertus à la campagne et les vices à la cité, mais elle offre dans sa peinture de la campagne un univers moral parallèle à celui de la cité”.15 Senza soffermarsi ulteriormente 13 14 15

SAÏD 1987, 151. B. EFFE, Longos. Zur Funktionsgeschichte der Bukolik in der römischen Kaiserzeit, Hermes 110,1 (1982), 65–84. Citazione a pagina 76. Si veda anche ROHDE 1937, 48–9. E. BOWIE, Vertus de la campagne, vices de la cité dans Daphnis et Chloé de Longus, in B. POUDERON-C. BOST-POUDERON (a cura di), Passions, vertus et vices dans l’ancien roman, Lyon 2009, 13–22. Citazione a pagina 19. Si vedano anche le considerazioni di D. TESKE, Der Roman des Longos als Werk der Kunst, Münster 1991, in particolare il paragrafo Stadt und Land, alle pagine 61–72, con un interessante paragone tra l’opera di Longo e quelle coeve di Dione Crisostomo, Eliano e Alcifrone.

Oltre le porte della città

101

su questo punto di vista, che si potrebbe forse definire “etico”, questo articolo vorrebbe concentrarsi, piuttosto, su una tematica intrinsecamente geografica, vale a dire il tipo di rapporto tra città e campagna che emerge dalle pagine del romanzo.16 Quali sono il ruolo e le funzioni della ruralità all’interno dell’opera? In che modo, in particolare, la città e i suoi abitanti fruiscono della campagna?17 La campagna rappresenta un bene di cui i cittadini di Longo possono godere in due modi. Occorre premettere che in questo genere letterario, tanto in Longo quanto nelle rare scene rurali degli altri romanzi, essa è sempre possedimento di un ricco cittadino aristocratico, lavorata da contadini e pastori che la devono fare fruttare secondo le intenzioni e per i bisogni del proprietario. La campagna longhiana costituisce, quindi, un bene innanzitutto materiale, poiché le attività produttive in essa presenti possono essere sfruttate dalla città per il proprio sostentamento: “città”, quindi, “intesa come luogo di residenza del proprietario latifondista, e da leggersi … come centro di sfruttamento della campagna”.18 La struttura economica della campagna longhiana si basa prevalentemente sulla manodopera

16

17

18

I rapporti tra città e campagna costituiscono un tema fondamentale per i geografi che studiano il mondo contemporaneo. Si vedano, exempli gratia, due opere molto interessanti di un geografo francese, allievo di PIERRE GEORGE: J.-B. CHARRIER, Citadins et ruraux, Paris, 1970 e J.-B. CHARRIER, Villes et campagnes, Paris, 1988. Spostandosi in una corrente geografica completamente diversa, anche nelle innumerevoli fatiche di YI-FU TUAN la relazione città-campagna gode di particolare attenzione: Y.-F. TUAN, The good life, Madison, 1986 e Y.-F. TUAN, Morality and imagination. Paradoxes of progress, Madison, 1989. È doveroso sottolineare senza indugio che questa tematica ha già attirato l’attenzione dei ricercatori. Presupposti fondamentali per questa mia analisi sono il già citato SAÏD 1987 e O. LONGO, Paesaggio di Longo Sofista, QS 8 (1978), 99–120, il quale conosce e cita geografi come EMILIO SERENI, LUCIO GAMBI, MASSIMO QUAINI, EUGENIO TURRI, ANDRÉ MEYNIER e PIERRE GEORGE. Non è mia intenzione, in questa sede, tentare di rintracciare all’interno dell’opera un eventuale realismo topografico che possa far pensare a una conoscenza diretta delle aree rurali di Lesbo da parte di Longo. Su questo punto si sono già soffermati alcuni studiosi. Tra coloro che vedono nella Lesbo di Longo una trasposizione fedele dell’isola reale si possono annoverare I.D. KONTIS, α π π υ . Απ α, α α, Atene, 1973, 122–36; H.J. MASON, Longus and the topography of Lesbos, TAPhA 109 (1979), 149–63; P. GREEN, Longus, Antiphon, and the topography of Lesbos, JHS 102 (1982), 210–4; E.L BOWIE, Theocritus’ seventh idyll, Philetas and Longus, CQ 35,1 (1985), 67–91; H. KLOFT, Imagination und Realität: Überlegungen zur Wirtschaftsstruktur des Romans Daphnis und Chloe, in H. HOFMANN (a cura di), Groningen colloquia on the novel, volume II, Groningen 1989, 45–61. Utili anche H.J. MASON, Romance in a limestone landscape, CPh 116,3 (1995), 263–6; H.J. MASON, Winter on Lesbos: imagination and reality, Mouseion 3,3 (2003), 285–93; H.J. MASON, The ‘aura of Lesbos’ and the opening of Daphnis and Chloe, in S.N. BYRNE-E.P. CUEVA-J. ALVARES (a cura di), Authors, authority, and interpreters in the ancient novel: essays in honor of Gareth L. Schmeling, Groningen 2006, 185–95; K. EHLING, Numismatische Anmerkungen zu Longos’ Daphnis und Chloe, Hermes 138,3 (2010), 352–60. Molto più critico su questo punto è, invece, SCARCELLA, che considera quella di Longo un’isola totalmente irreale: A.M. SCARCELLA, La Lesbo di Longo Sofista, Roma, 1968 (ristampato in A.M. SCARCELLA, Romanzo e romanzieri. Note di narratologia greca. Napoli, 285–312). LONGO 1978, 101.

102

Alessandro Novati

schiavile. Se non mancano i lavoratori autonomi e liberi, ad esempio Cromide, che coltiva terreni di sua proprietà,19 essi rappresentano senz’altro un’esigua minoranza; i campagnoli del romanzo, infatti, sono perlopiù schiavi, sui quali i padroni “esercitano diritto di vita e di morte” e dei quali “hanno facoltà di decidere della condizione e della sorte”:20 in effetti, Lamone stesso confessa di non poter disporre delle cose che ha, essendo di condizione servile.21 Pertanto, come afferma ODDONE LONGO, tutti i prodotti di questi contadini e di questi pastori “sono proprietà del Grundbesitzer cittadino assenteista, che ‘succhia’ il plusprodotto per investirlo in beni di godimento più o meno durevole, per costruirvi sopra la propria vita di ‘gran signore’ di città. Il rapporto è dunque quello padrone/schiavo”.22 Conviene ora aprire una breve parentesi per rimarcare che nel genere romanzesco non compaiono quasi mai né la povertà delle aree rurali né la brutalità dello sfruttamento dei contadini: questo vale certamente anche per l’opera di Longo, nella quale, anzi, le condizioni di vita di questi lavoratori dipendenti sono descritte come floride e prospere, anche se sembra francamente eccessivo parlare di “una campagna idealizzata in cui non esiste la fatica e il lavoro si trasforma in gioco”. 23 Questi rustici hanno la possibilità di nutrirsi in modo regolare e non certo scarso – addirittura non mancano feste e banchetti –, di scambiarsi frequentemente doni, per quanto semplici e agresti,24 e di sacrificare le bestie a un qualche nume in segno di gratitudine.25 Inoltre, godono di abbondante tempo libero: l’apparato di controllo, d’altronde, è assai poco presente. Come ha notato ANTONIO SCARCELLA, “i rapporti d’affari fra padroni e servi sono diretti, non appare cioè la persona di un amministratore o di un sorvegliante … anzi il padrone si appaga di qualche ispezione rara e superficiale”:26 quando nel quarto libro, verso la fine della storia, Dionisofane compare in occasione di un’ispezione ai suoi possedimenti, non si presenta certo come un padrone temibile e minaccioso, bensì si dimostra in ogni occasione benevolo e indulgente. Tutto questo, naturalmente, trova la propria ragione d’essere nelle norme letterarie del genere bucolico: attraverso il “travestimento ideologico” dell’idillio agreste, Longo tenta di celare dietro un mondo di benessere e letizia “i reali rapporti di produzione” e “i processi di sfruttamento

19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26

Longus, Pastoralia, 3,15,1 (d’ora in poi i riferimenti al romanzo di Longo saranno segnalati mediante il solo passo). A.M. SCARCELLA, Realtà e letteratura nel paesaggio sociale ed economico del romanzo di Longo Sofista, Maia 22 (1970), 103–31. Citazione a pagina 108. 3,31,3. LONGO 1978, 102. È forse superfluo notare che anche i contadini e i pastori stessi, se di status schiavile, sono possesso del proprietario terriero. L.R. CRESCI, Il romanzo di Longo Sofista e la tradizione bucolica, A&R 26 (1981), 1–25. Citazione a pagina 23. 4,6,1; 4,10,3. 2,30,5; 2,31,2; 3, 10, 1. In un’altra occasione, però, per giustificare la perdita di un caprone, si deve inventare la storia di un’aggressione lupina (1,12,5). SCARCELLA 1970, 110–1.

Oltre le porte della città

103

dell’uomo sull’uomo” che l’opera sottende.27 Operazione che il romanziere conduce con perizia e certamente non senza successo. Una rapida panoramica sulle attività produttive della campagna longhiana può a questo punto rivelarsi utile. Il romanzo di Longo si apre con una suggestiva descrizione della città di Mitilene, cui segue immediatamente quella della splendida tenuta in cui si svolge la vicenda: ἦ α π υ π α α α , α · φα, π α πυ φ α, φ , α π · α α απ υ π' α υ α α .28 La tenuta, quindi, è introdotta sin da subito nel romanzo nel suo ruolo di centro di produzione di beni appartenente a un ricco cittadino ed è suddivisa in base alle diverse attività: la cerealicoltura praticata in pianura, la viticoltura in collina e l’allevamento. Tra le attività produttive della campagna di Longo, quella maggiormente presente è senz’altro rappresentata dall’allevamento, soprattutto ovino e caprino, ma anche bovino. Dafni e Cloe, infatti, iniziano a prendersi cura rispettivamente di un gregge di capre e di uno di pecore quando sono ancora molto giovani, quindicenne lui e tredicenne lei. Naturalmente, Lamone e Driante si premuniscono di istruirli in ogni cosa: Π ῖ π α, π π π α ῦ α α , π ἄ π π , π π π ῖ · π α α π , π φ ῃ.29 Da questo momento in poi la sorveglianza delle greggi diviene la mansione principale dei due giovani, adempiuta sempre con grande coscienziosità,30 e i riferimenti alla pastorizia si trovano continuamente: al 27

28

29

30

LONGO 1978, 103. Il rapporto tra l’opera di Longo e la tradizione bucolica è già stato affrontato da più prospettive da diversi studiosi: E. VACCARELLO, L’eredità della poesia bucolica nel romanzo di Longo, Il Mondo Classico 5 (1935), 307–25; ROHDE 1937; M.C. MITTELSTADT, Longus: Daphnis and Chloe and the pastoral tradition, C&M 27 (1966), 162–77; M.C. MITTELSTADT, Bucolic-lyric motifs and dramatic narrative in Longus’ Daphnis and Chloe, RhM 113 (1970), 211–27; CRESCI 1981; EFFE 1982; C. CUSSET, Fonctions du décor bucolique dans les Pastorales de Longus, in B. POUDERON (a cura di), Lieux, décors et paysages de l’ancien roman des origines à Byzance, Lyon 2005, 163–78. A questo proposito si vedano anche le interpretazioni A. PARK, The pastoral parents of Daphnis and Chloe, Arethusa 48,2 (2015), 253–81. 1,1,2: “A circa duecento stadi da questa città di Mitilene si trovava la campagna di un ricco signore, un magnifico possedimento: monti ricchi di selvaggina, pianure feconde di grano, colline di viti, pascoli per le greggi; e il mare s’infrangeva su un’ampia distesa di spiaggia dalla soffice rena”. Il testo greco riportato è quello curato da J.-R. VIEILLEFOND (a cura di), Longus. Pastorales. Daphnis et Chloé, Paris, 1987. La traduzione offerta è quella, a mio parere eccellente, di M.P. PATTONI (a cura di), Longo Sofista. Dafni e Cloe, Milano, 2005. 1,8, 2–3: “Come bisognasse condurle al pascolo prima di mezzogiorno, come tornare a pascolare quando la calura meridiana s’attenuava, quando portarle all’abbeverata, quando ricondurle all’ovile, in quali casi si dovesse far uso della verga, in quali altri della sola voce”. Anche i padri putativi dei protagonisti sono pastori: entrambi stanno pascolando le greggi quando, all’inizio dell’opera, rinvengono i neonati esposti (1,2-6). In un’occasione Dafni sorveglia le bestie persino durante un banchetto (2,31,1) e anche dopo l’agnizione finale il pastorello continua a preoccuparsi del gregge (4,25,1). Solo le pene d’amore riescono a distogliere Dafni e Cloe dai propri doveri (1,13,6; 1,17,4).

104

Alessandro Novati

mattino Dafni e Cloe devono condurre le bestie al pascolo, nel corso della giornata all’abbeverata e in serata devono ricondurle all’ovile. Ma i compiti dei protagonisti non si esauriscono qui. Pur essendo abituate a obbedire ai richiami, alla zampogna e al battito delle mani, accade talvolta che le pecore e le capre si disperdano: in tal caso devono essere radunate.31 Le capre temerarie devono essere allontanate dai precipizi.32 Quando fa la sua comparsa una lupa che decima le greggi, i campagnoli decidono di scavare buche per tentare, senza successo in verità, di acciuffarla.33 Si tagliano verdi frasche con cui nutrire i capretti dopo il pascolo e durante l’inverno.34 Dorcone, uno dei bovari del romanzo, deve difendere la propria mandria dall’assalto di alcuni pirati, trovando la morte nello scon-tro.35 Per Dafni è sicuramente un vanto poter dire di pascolare bene le capre. 36 Quando sopraggiunge l’inverno, e con esso la neve, non è più possibile condurre le bestie al pascolo:37 Τ π φ α φ ἦ ἄ υ , α α π ῖ ῖ φυ α, ῖ υφ ῖ ἄ υ α α υ .38 Ovviamente, le capre e le pecore devono essere munte e si fa rap-prendere il latte per farne formaggio.39 Dall’allevamento, dunque, si ricavano – oltre al latte, che i pastorelli consumano abitualmente durante il lavoro, e i for-maggi, spesso fatti oggetto di dono tra i campagnoli – carne, pelli e lana, che viene cardata durante l’inverno.40 Per quanto concerne l’agricoltura, l’attività maggiormente attestata nel romanzo è senz’altro la vitivinicoltura. In primavera si devono rincalzare le propaggini delle viti,41 mentre l’autunno è, naturalmente, il gioioso periodo della vendemmia: Ἤ π α ἔ ῳ· π π ᾶ υ α υ α ἄ ῳ φ .Ἀ α

31 32 33 34 35 36 37

38 39 40 41

α

π π υ α υ ᾶ π αῖ α α Δ φ α α υ

,

α

ῦ υ ῦ πᾶ ἦ α α , υ ἔπ ῳ υ ῖ α ἔ α α , π φ Χ α α π

·ἔ ,

ῦ

1,10,1; 1,22,1–2. 1,10,1. 1,11,1-2. 1,21,1; 2,20,2; 2,24,3. 1,29,1. 1,16,3; 2,16,1; 3,29,2. L’inverno risulta gradito ai personaggi di Longo, poiché concede loro di riposarsi dal lavoro dei campi (3,4,1). Questa stagione, ciononostante, non è certo caratterizzata da un completo ozio: si fila il lino, si carda la lana, si fabbricano reti per gli uccelli (3,3,3). Nape durante l’inverno insegna a Cloe a cardare la lana e a riavvolgere i fusi (3,4,5). 3,3,4: “Allora ci si preoccupava che i buoi mangiassero paglia presso le greppie, le capre e le pecore fogliame negli stazzi, i maiali ghiande di leccio e di quercia nei porcili”. 1,23,3; 2,33,1–2. 3,3,3; 3,4,5. 1,19,1. Seguo l’interpretazione di C. DOBIAS-LALOU, Que faisait Dryas en sa vigne? Longus, Daphnis et Chloè I, 19, 1, in P. BRILLET-DUBOIS-É. PARMENTIER (a cura di), Filología. Mélanges offerts à Michel Casevitz, Lyon 2006, 253–9.

105

Oltre le porte della città φ

α π

α α

ῖ π

π

α .Ὁ υ ἔφ ἶ

α

ἶ

α ·

π

φ

πα

υ απ

α π α ῖ α π

αῖ υ

α. 42

ῖ α

Erano quindi praticate sia la pigiatura con i piedi sia la torchiatura.43 Longo attesta la produzione di due tipi di vino, uno bianco e uno aromatico.44 Poco presenti sono invece i riferimenti alle attività legate alla cerealicoltura. È ricordata la trebbiatura del grano: Driante e sua moglie Nape fanno girare le giovenche per frantumare le spighe con la trebbia.45 Lamone e Mirtale misurano l’orzo vagliato da poco, mesti perché il raccolto è quasi inferiore a quel che avevano seminato: lamentela comune, aggiunge Driante.46 Dafni, tentando di convincere i genitori di Cloe a concedergliela in sposa, esalta le proprie capacità lavorative, sottolineando la propria perizia anche in alcune mansioni legate alla cerealicoltura, pur non essendo esse esplicitate mai nel corso del romanzo: il fanciullo afferma infatti di saper mietere bene,47 arare la terra e ventilare il grano, oltreché potare le viti e piantare gli alberi.48 Nella tenuta di Dionisofane si producono quindi orzo e grano in abbondanza, dal momento che viene razziato in gran quantità durante un’incursione piratesca e un attacco metimnese.49 Da ultimo, allusioni rapide e fuggevoli testimoniano la presenza nella tenuta di apicoltura e frutticoltura.50 Il mondo agreste di Longo è “strettamente dipendente dai reali rapporti di produzione”.51 La campagna deve produrre, e non solo per il proprio sostentamento ma anche per il benessere della città, nella quale “esiste una classe sociale, abbastanza numerosa, benestante, che vive di rendita”.52 Un’immagine del romanzo è in questo senso indicativa:

42

43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52

2,1,1-3: “Poiché l’autunno era ormai al suo colmo e incalzava la vendemmia, tutti nei campi erano all’opera: chi approntava i tini, chi ripuliva le botti, chi intrecciava canestri; uno si preoccupava del falcetto per il taglio dei grappoli, un altro della pietra per schiacciare i chicchi rigonfi di succo, un altro ancora del vetrice secco, scortecciato a furia di colpi, perché alla sua luce si potesse, durante la notte, trasportare il mosto. Dafni e Cloe, lasciata la cura delle capre e delle pecore, si rendevano utili agli altri con l’opera delle loro mani. Lui trasportava i grappoli in canestri e dopo averli gettati nei tini li pigiava con i piedi e poi trasferiva il vino nelle botti. Lei preparava da mangiare ai vendemmiatori e mesceva loro da bere il vino vecchio e vendemmiava le viti più basse”. 2,13,1. 1,16,4; 1,28,1; 4,10,3. 3,29,1; 3,30,2. 3,30,3. È presente anche un accenno ai canti dei mietitori in 4,38,3. 3,29,2. 1,28,1; 2,20,1. 1,28,1; 3,33-34. LONGO 1978, 102. SCARCELLA 1970, 107.

106

Alessandro Novati Ἐ πα απ

α υ α. Ἄ · π

α

π

α φ ἦ , α α ῖ ῦ π

ἦ

α

ὧ α

ἤ α

, α

αῦ

. α ἤ π υ . 53

φ

Proprio come succede per questo carico di pesce, la città, in quanto centro di consumo, attrae flussi di merci dal luogo di produzione, ovverosia il contado. La prospettiva longhiana, dunque, è quella del cittadino che assorbe le risorse della campagna e vede nella terra una fonte di reddito: emblematico, in questo caso, che Dionisofane stesso, elencando i propri beni, collochi la terra in prima posizione, prima di oro e argento.54 Nel romanzo di Longo Sofista, tuttavia, la campagna non si limita a essere solamente un bene atto a produrre ricchezza materiale. Per l’abitante della città, infatti, essa è anche il luogo in cui ci si può ritirare per concedersi alla ricreazione e ai piaceri.55 Tra questi rientra a tutti gli effetti anche la semplice contemplazione del paesaggio rurale stesso, al quale, dunque, si riconosce un valore di tipo estetico. In questo modo, la campagna si trasforma da bene materiale a bene estetico e, per questo motivo, non deve essere soltanto redditizia, ma anche – e in certi casi soprattutto – esteticamente godibile. Nondimeno, sia chiaro, essa non lo è di per se stessa: perché sia tale, i rustici non devono soltanto farla fruttare, ma anche acconciarla opportunamente affinché il padrone, allorché vi si rechi, possa trarne il massimo godimento. Il soggiorno campestre del cittadino deve essere improntato alla piacevolezza. Ciò appare con grande evidenza in tutto il quarto libro, quando Dionisofane entra in scena e visita la tenuta per accertarsi che la spedizione navale dei Metimnesi non abbia provocato danni nelle campagne.56 Innanzitutto, il romanziere afferma espressamente che Lamone si adopera perché il soggiorno del padrone possa risultare il più piacevole possibile alla vista: ripulisce le sorgenti affinché abbiano acqua limpida e rimuove il letame dalla corte, perché non indisponga Dionisofane con il suo lezzo.57 Questo evento olfattivo, uno dei pochi riferimenti espliciti di Longo allo smellscape58, è assolutamente realistico ed è assai significativo che un elemento del mondo agreste affatto fondamentale per la pratica agricola sia portato altrove affinché il suo odore non arrechi fastidio. Oltre a ciò, Dafni, per

53

54 55 56 57 58

3,21,1: “Mentre [Dafni e Cloe] erano intenti a mangiare, e ancor più a baciarsi, si vide una barca di pescatori che costeggiava il litorale. Non spirava alito di vento, il mare era in bonaccia, e avevano deciso di ricorrere ai remi. Vogavano dunque energicamente: s’affrettavano a portare ancor vivo in città del pesce appena preso, destinato a qualche ricco signore”. 4,24,4. Questo accade anche, parzialmente, in altri romanzi: SAÏD 1987, 154–6. 4,1,1. 4,1,2–3. A tal proposito si rimanda al pionieristico J.D. PORTEOUS, Smellscape, Progress in Human Geography 9,3 (1985), 356–78 e al più recente F. LUCCHESI, Dai luoghi della natura a quelli dell’anima: esplorazioni meta-geografiche dei paesaggi sonori e olfattivi, in A.G. DAL BORGO-D. GAVINELLI (a cura di), Il paesaggio nelle scienze umane. Approcci, prospettive e casi di studio. Milano-Udine 2012, 41–65.

107

Oltre le porte della città

impressionare il padrone, si dedica con la massima solerzia alla cura delle capre – pur avendone già raddoppiato il numero – e, su consiglio del patrigno, le fa ingrassare il più possibile.59 Secondo MARIA PIA PATTONI, “questo particolare dell’ingrassamento del gregge tradirebbe l’origine letteraria del mondo pastorale di Longo: stando alle prescrizioni di Plinio e di Columella, infatti, le capre per essere feconde e in buona salute dovrebbero restare magre e non alimentarsi in pascoli troppo pingui”.60 Tuttavia, in un contesto come questo, si potrebbe forse leggere in modo diverso questo dettaglio: esso potrebbe indicare che le capre sono qui considerate non tanto come vero e proprio bestiame, quanto come un bene estetico che contribuisce alla bellezza della campagna e che deve soddisfare innanzitutto gli occhi del padrone. Ecco perché il pastorello arriva addirittura a ungerne le corna e a pettinarne il vello:61 quello che importa è che le bestie risultino belle e ben pasciute, persino a scapito della loro salute e, di conseguenza, della loro produttività. Infine, anche la breve descrizione della seconda vendemmia del romanzo si rivela eloquente da questo punto di vista: π υ π , υ , ῦ π υ φ , α π φα ῦ , ἴ α ῖ π ῦ α α υ ῦ.62 Tutto ciò testimonia che con l’arrivo del padrone dalla città la funzione meramente produttiva dell’ambiente rurale passa in secondo piano, mentre acquista importanza sempre maggiore la sua funzione di bene di consumo estetico: ai contadini e ai pastori, perciò, non rimane che accomodare debitamente la realtà agreste in modo che risulti gradita alla vista (ma anche all’olfatto, come abbiamo visto) del padrone. In questa campagna opportunamente assettata ha luogo uno degli svaghi campestri di cui godono usualmente i cittadini, ovverosia la caccia: i ricchi giovanotti di Metimna decidono per puro diletto di organizzare un’allegra scampagnata durante la quale pescano, si dedicano all’uccellagione e cacciano le lepri, attività, quest’ultima, con la quale si trastulla pure Astilo, figlio di Dionisofane e fratello di Dafni, φ π αυ .63 Anche il governo delle capre diventa per i cittadini motivo di piacere e di divertimento a-greste: essendo venuta a conoscenza dell’abilità di Dafni nel condurre il gregge al suono della siringa, Clearista, moglie di Dionisofane, pretende una dimostrazione: Ὁ π

59 60 61 62

63

α

α α α,π α

π υ α α

π

, α α αἶ α ·

α

, π φ π υ · α α αἶ ἔ α α α ,α π

α α · α

υπ

π α φα υ

α α· ἶ α , α

4,4,2–4. PATTONI 2005, 439 (nota 20). 4,4,4. 4,5,2: “Subito diedero inizio alla vendemmia: staccavano i grappoli dalle viti, li mettevano nei tini e versavano mosto nelle botti, recidevano grappoli rigogliosi ancora sui tralci, perché anche chi proveniva dalla città potesse avere l’immagine e il piacere della vendemmia”. 2,12,1–4; 4,11,1: “Giunto in campagna per gustare nuovi piaceri”. Ben diversa è la caccia per diletto dei cittadini dalla caccia di sussistenza dei campagnoli (3,3,3; 3,5–6,2).

108

Alessandro Novati α φυ · π υ

α

'

.64

α

φ

α , α

ῦ α

π

α

ῦ

In questo caso, un’attività legata strettamente alla sfera della pastorizia diventa un piacevole passatempo per gli abitanti della città. Dunque, il valore economico del mondo rurale è senz’altro importante per Dionisofane, il quale, compiuti i rituali preliminari, ispeziona effettivamente i lavori di Lamone,65 ma rimane in una posizione marginale rispetto a quello estetico, che pare accentrare su di sé l’attenzione dei cittadini. È bene sottolineare, tuttavia, che ciò che affascina gli abitanti della città non è assolutamente la campagna reale: quello che li delizia e che conseguentemente essi vogliono gustare, piuttosto, è la campagna abilmente artefatta e sofisticata dagli schiavi. La ruralità autentica non solo non interessa, ma può addirittura infastidire. Un esempio può a tal riguardo rivelarsi utile. Alla festa nuziale dei due fanciulli, che ha luogo alla fine del romanzo, prendono parte anche le capre di Dafni – in precedenza tanto apprezzate nelle vesti di giullari pronti a obbedire al suono della siringa – che pascolano vicino agli invitati; ebbene, Longo dichiara esplicitamente che la loro presenza non risulta particolarmente gradita a coloro che vengono dalla città.66 Insomma, la campagna è un bene estetico solamente nella misura in cui essa sia opportunamente acconciata e ai rustici non resta che adulterarla secondo la volontà e le aspettative dei cittadini che hanno la possibilità di goderne. La funzione ludico-estetica della campagna traspare con chiarezza anche dalla presenza all’interno del possedimento di un giardino, di cui Dionisofane si compiace grandemente, vero e proprio luogo consacrato al piacere e al diletto del cittadino.67 È un giardino splendido, costruito a immagine di quelli regali,68 con molti alberi da frutto e infruttiferi e aiuole di fiori, recintato da un muretto di pietra; al suo centro si trovano un altare e un tempietto consacrati a Dioniso. La cura di questo πα , da cui si gode una vista superba sui pascoli e sul mare, è affidata a Lamone, il quale, venuto a sapere dell'arrivo del padrone, pota i rami secchi, rialza i tralci dei rampicanti e irriga le aiuole mediante canali:69 la sua presen-

64

65 66 67

68 69

4,15,2-3: “Egli [Dafni] allora li fece disporre come a teatro e stando in piedi sotto la quercia trasse la siringa dalla bisaccia. Dapprima vi soffiò dentro lievemente, e le capre si fermarono sollevando la testa; poi modulò l’aria della pastura, e le capre si misero a pascolare a capo chino; poi intonò un motivo dolce e melodioso, ed esse si sdraiarono tutte insieme. Quindi emise un suono acuto, ed esse, come se arrivasse il lupo, si rifugiarono nel bosco; poco dopo suonò a raccolta, e quelle, uscite dalla macchia, accorsero ai suoi piedi”. 4,13,4. 4,38,4. L’altro giardino presente nel romanzo è quello di Fileta (2,3). W.E. FOREHAND, Symbolic gardens in Longus’ Daphnis and Chloe, Eranos 74 (1976), 103–12 vede in questi giardini dei tratti simbolici che, a suo parere, farebbero pensare a una matrice platonica che pervaderebbe il romanzo. P. GRIMAL, Le jardin de Lamon à Lesbos, RA 49 (1957), 211–4 ipotizza che si tratti di un giardino persiano. 4,1,3–4,4,1.

Oltre le porte della città

109

za nella tenuta, dunque, non può che sottolineare ulteriormente il ruolo di bene estetico giocato dalla campagna all’interno del romanzo. Se il giardino è certamente uno dei simboli che maggiormente rimandano all’opera di “domesticación de la naturaleza”70 da parte dell’uomo, nondimeno esiste una differenza fondamentale rispetto a un qualsiasi paesaggio rurale come quello del romanzo, che parimenti testimonia l’azione dell’uomo sulla natura: nel caso del giardino essa viene addomesticata per trarne non un beneficio materiale, bensì un godimento estetico. Come scrive il geografo YI-FU TUAN: Il ‘giardino di piacere’ è un prodotto dell’uomo; anzi, potremmo addirittura sostenere che è una manifestazione della volontà dell’uomo ancora più pura di quanto non lo siano i campi arabili e i villaggi, in quanto, a differenza di questi ultimi, non risponde a una necessità. Ovviamente, esso è una realtà plausibile solo per le persone che abbiano soddisfatto le loro esigenze più pressanti: è un jeu d’esprit, un modo allegro e giocoso di usare ed esprimere il potere in eccesso.71

Il giardino, quindi, non manifesta soltanto la volontà umana di modificare la natura in modo da poterne godere da un punto di vista puramente estetico, ma soprattutto quella di soggiogarla e dominarla, dimostrandosi così anche un mezzo raffinato con cui il cittadino stabilisce la propria superiorità sul campagnolo, il quale, libero o schiavo, è costretto a lavorare la terra per la propria sopravvivenza. Il cittadino di Longo, come non vuole la natura selvaggia e incontrollata, ma ben addomesticata nelle forme del giardino, allo stesso modo non vuole la campagna reale, ma quella destramente camuffata dai rustici. Per concludere, in Longo la ruralità riveste un ruolo di grande rilevanza, contrariamente a quanto avviene negli altri quattro romanzi, nei quali essa si trova costantemente relegata sullo sfondo. In quest’opera il cittadino fruisce in due modi della campagna, cui è riconosciuta pertanto una duplice funzione: essa rappresenta un bene materiale che il cittadino può sfruttare per il proprio sostentamento, come pure – e soprattutto – un bene estetico di cui egli può godere. In ogni caso, essa è sempre “possesso della città, è suo oggetto”.72 Conviene evidenziare che non sono solo i cittadini immaginari dell’opera a godere della campagna come bene estetico: spostandosi su un altro livello, infatti, il paesaggio rurale tratteggiato dal romanziere costituisce un bene estetico anche per il cittadino greco-romano reale, il quale attraverso la lettura del romanzo gode della campagna longhiana al pari di Dionisofane, poiché il paesaggio idilliaco “trova la sua funzionalità nell’intrattenimento del lettore cittadino, che viene trasportato fantasticamente, in un mondo che è altro da quello della sua quotidianità;

70

71 72

P. GÓMEZ, El jardín y la cueva en la novela de Longo, in M.J. GARCÍA SOLER (a cura di), Times charin. Homenaje al profesor Pedro A. Gainzarain, Vitoria 2002, 143–52. Citazione a pagina 149. Y.-F. TUAN, La natura forzata, Como 1993. Citazione alle pagine 43–4. LONGO 1978, 106.

110

Alessandro Novati

l’‘ideologia pastorale’ distrae, consola il lettore come alternativa, come negazione dell’ambiente quotidiano”.73 È forse inutile rimarcare che sarebbe ardito, se non del tutto scorretto, tentare di interpretare la descrizione longhiana del mondo rurale come la fedele trasposizione di una situazione reale. D’altronde: Le roman grec ne nous donne pas, et ne cherche pas à nous donner, un reflet non déformé de la réalité. Il veut au contraire construire une image ‘plausible’ de celle-ci, c’est-à-dire une image conforme aux préjugés d’un auteur qui est un homme de la ville et à l’attente d’un lecteur qui est lui aussi un citadin aisé … Cette image est nécessairement sélective et, par certains côtés, faussée, mais elle est très révélatrice de l’attitude de l’élite hellénisée de l’Empire à l’égard de la campagne.74

Longo, perciò, testimoniando ancora una volta come nel romanzo greco il punto di vista urbano sia assolutamente predominante, crea artificiosamente una campagna, da sfruttare materialmente e soprattutto esteticamente, “qui coïncide exactement avec l’image que le citadin s’en fait”.75 E i geografi umanistici ci hanno insegnato che un’immagine geografica – nozione “divenuta centrale nella geografia umana e culturale odierna perché proprio essa è diventata uno strumento cru-ciale nell’interpretazione della ‘realtà territoriale’, quasi l’elemento tramite cui la co-

73

74 75

LONGO 1978, 100. A questo punto si rende necessaria una precisazione in merito alla questione piuttosto problematica dei lettori antichi del romanzo greco: chi fruiva di questo genere letterario nell’antichità? O, ancora meglio, che tipo di destinatario immaginava il romanziere mentre redigeva la propria opera? In questa sede è impossibile soffermarsi con particolare scrupolosità sull’argomento: basti tenere presente, comunque, che il romanzo greco era sicuramente un genere letterario scritto da autori colti per lettori altrettanto colti. È ragionevole ipotizzare, pertanto, che il lettore ideale del romanzo fosse un esponente delle élites cittadine di età imperiale, sufficientemente benestante da potersi permettere questo tipo di prodotto editoriale e sufficientemente colto da essere in grado di cogliere e gustare i numerosi richiami letterari disseminati nel testo (ciò non esclude, naturalmente, che anche persone meno preparate potessero accostarsi a queste opere). Sulla readership del romanzo greco si vedano soprattutto B. WESSELING, The audience of the ancient novels, in H. HOFMANN (a cura di), Groningen colloquia on the novel, volume I, Groningen 1988, 67–79; K. TREU, Der antike Roman und sein Publikum, in H. KUCH (a cura di), Der antike Roman: Untersuchungen zur literarischen Kommunikation und Gattungsgeschichte, Berlin 1989, 178–97; E. BOWIE, Les lecteurs du roman grec, in M.-F. BASLEZ – P. HOFFMANN – M. TRÉDÉ (a cura di), Le monde du roman grec, Paris 1992, 55–61; S.A. STEPHENS, Who read ancient novels?, in J. TATUM (a cura di), The search for the ancient novel, Baltimora-London 1994, 405–18; E. BOWIE, The readership of greek novels in the ancient world, in J. TATUM (a cura di), The search for the ancient novel, Baltimora-London 1994, 435–59; P. CAUDERLIER, Pour quels lecteurs le romancier grec écrit-il?, in F. POLI – G. VOTTÉRO (a cura di), De Cyrène à Catherine: trois mille ans de Libyennes. Études grecques et latines offertes à Catherine Dobias-Lalou, Nancy 2005, 75–86. SAÏD 1987, 150–1. SAÏD 1987, 170.

Oltre le porte della città

111

gnizione umana ricostruisce la realtà stessa”76 – è senz’altro degna di essere studiata e indagata geograficamente tanto quanto il territorio reale.

Alessandro Novati Università degli Studi di Milano Dipartimento di Beni Culturali e Ambientali Settore di Beni Ambientali Via Festa del Perdono 7, 20122 Milano [email protected]

76

G. SCARAMELLINI, Paesaggi di carta, paesaggi di parole. Luoghi e ambienti geografici nei resoconti di viaggio (secoli XVIII-XIX), Torino 2008. Citazione a pagina 25. Negli ultimi decenni la nozione di “immagine geografica” ha goduto di grande fortuna negli studi di geografia della percezione e di geografia umanistica. Per un’ottima introduzione a questo concetto e per una ricca bibliografia si veda il secondo capitolo dello splendido volume di Scaramellini appena citato (Immagini geografiche, costruzione e trasmissione del sapere territoriale, alle pagine 25–50).

PELOPS AND THE PELOPONNESE András Patay-Horváth Abstract All the extant ancient sources agree that the name of the Peloponnese was taken to mean the island of Pelops, a mythical ancestor of the Atreids. The problem is, however, that island names with a similar structure (noun + nesos) never contain the name of an important mythical person, but very often that of an animal. Starting from this observation, it is argued that Pelops originally denoted an animal, the aurochs or wild ox, which became extinct already during the Early Iron Age. This idea is also corroborated by the analysis of the mythical tales concerning the human Pelops and by the archaeological finds from Olympia, the most important cult centre of Pelops. Keywords: toponyms, animals, myths, historical geography, Olympia, Thucydides. 1. Introduction: the problem of the name ‘Peloponnese’ The geographical term Peloponnese is encountered for the first time during the 7th or 6th century,1 and it obviously denoted already from this time the entire peninsula. Contrary to their ethnic, cultural and political diversity, at least some of the inhabitants developed some kind of common Peloponnesian identity and this idea was variously exploited in myths and politics.2 It was also observed that the meaning of the term may show slight variations even if used by the same author.3 The etymology of the word, however, seems to have been so obvious that its strangeness has never been recognized. When and why the term was actually coined, has never been discussed since our extant sources seem to provide an answer to all

1 2 3

Tyrtaeus Eunomia apud Strabo 8.4.10 (= Frg. 2 WEST = Frg. 1a GENTILI / PRATO); Homeric Hymn to Apollo 250, 290, 419, 430, 432; Cypr. frg. 15; Hekataios Frg. 119 (= Strabo 7.7.1). ALONSO TRONCOSO 2007. WICK 1978 argued that Thucydides most often used the term in its geographic sense, but in a few cases, Peloponnese denoted Sparta and her allies, i.e. the so-called Peloponnesian League.

114

András Patay-Horváth

these questions in sufficient detail. This generally accepted view on the genesis of the term is best described in a famous passage by Thucydides (1.9.2):4 υ ὲ αὶ ὰ αφ α α Π π π π π ,ἃ ἦ ἐ α π π ὴ ἐπ υ α α ῖ ἐ ἔ υ α, Ε υ ἀπ α , Ἀ ὲ ὸ ἀ φ α ἐ υ , Μυ α αὶ ὴ ἀ ὴ α ὰ ὸ ῖ ὸ πα α ὰ ὸ Χ υ ππ υ α ), αὶ ὡ αὶ Μυ α φ ῳ Ἡ α αὶ ἅ α απ υ α Μυ α αὶ Ε πα α α ῖ , αὶ Π ὺ Π π α Π

ῃ πα ὰ π Ἀ α ἔ ἐ ἀ π υ ἀπ υ, ἔπ υ α ῖ , αὶ ὲ ἐ Ἀ πὸ Ἡ α , αὶ ἐπ α Ε υ , ' Ἀ ῖ( υ ὲα ὸ φ α ἀ Ε υ , υ υ α ὸ α ἶ α αὶ ὸ π υ ὺ ἦ ὴ α α Ἀ α υ α α α.

Indeed, the account given by those Peloponnesians who have been the recipients of the most credible tradition is this. First of all, Pelops, arriving among a needy population from Asia with vast wealth, acquired such power that, stranger though he was, the country was called after him; and this power fortune saw fit materially to increase in the hands of his descendants. Eurystheus had been killed in Attica by the Heraclids. Atreus was his mother's brother; and to the hands of his relation, who had left his father on account of the death of Chrysippus, Eurystheus, when he set out on his expedition, had committed Mycenae and the government. As time went on and Eurystheus did not return, Atreus complied with the wishes of the Mycenaeans, who were influenced by fear of the Heraclids, - besides, his power seemed considerable, and he had not neglected to court the favour of the populace, - and assumed the sceptre of Mycenae and the rest of the dominions of Eurystheus. And so the power of the descendants of Pelops came to be greater than that of the descendants of Perseus. (English translation by RICHARD CRAWLEY)

Perhaps it should be noted first that in this case Thucydides clearly intends to reconstruct the earliest Greek history on the basis of mythology. He tries to rationalize the traditional tales about Pelops who is unhesitatingly taken as a real historical personality. Even though this procedure was, of course, common in Antiquity, nowadays it is, quite correctly, not accepted as valid any more. The explanation offered by the great historian here is, therefore, nothing more than an aetiological speculation and should not be taken at face value. What is strange about this aetiological interpretation, is not so much the fact that the Peloponnese is actually not an island (as the name would imply5) but a peninsula, for which the Greeks generally used another term (chersonesos); but rather it is the meaning attached to the name. Similar compounds show that the interpretation given by Thucydides and his sources would be an absolutely exceptional one: Alopekonnesos, Arkonesos/Arktonesos, Artymnesos, Hipponesos,

4

5

For a commentary on this passage see HORNBLOWER 1991, 32 (discussing mainly the possible sources of Thucydides and briefly mentioning some anachronistic features of the tradition). One of the anonymous reviewers pointed out that the word nesos does not only apply to islands as we conceive them nowadays (surrounded by water on all sides), but also to places that are stuck between an expanse of water and a desert. See the case of Soknopaiou Nesos in the Arsinoite nome (Fayum, Middle Egypt).

Pelops and the Peloponnese

115

Korakonnesos, Prokonnesos, Elaphonesos, Myonnesos and Halonnesos are clearly identical concerning their structure,6 but the nouns preceding the geographical term are obviously not the (supposed) owners or rulers of the islands, nor the ancestors of the inhabitants, but rather widely known living creatures or objects (salt, condiment), which the island is thought to resemble in form (antler of a deer) or colour (salt, i.e. white; raven, i.e black). That islands were thought to resemble animals is clearly shown by Archilochus frg. 21, where the poet compares Thasos to the backbone of an ass ( υ ). As shown by Hipponesos, Arktonesos, Elaphonesos, the first noun is not explicitly in genitive and the reason for the double 'n' was unclear already in antiquity (Strabo 13.2.5). Although it can derive linguistically from ‘Pelopos nesos’7, it may also stem from the desire to fit the name ‘Peloponesos’ into a hexameter. In grammatical terms, the compound noun + nesos is therefore not necessarily of the genitive tatpurusha, but can be of the karmadharaya type,8 like υ ῐ (= topaz) or staphylodendron (= bladder nut tree) and ‘eggplant’ or ‘horsepower’ in English. 2. Island names: general rules and exceptional cases Islands in general often take their names from their form (e.g. Strongyle, Ichnoussa, Theganoussa, Kromyoussa, Phakousai, Phaseloussa, Ophioussa), colour (e.g. Kyaneai, Leuke, Leukosia, Arginoussai) or from plants and animals living on them (e.g. Peuke, Phoinikodes, Erikodes, Elaioussa, Pityoussa, Narthekis, Oinoussa, Pithekoussai, Porphyroussa, Ophiodes);9 human personal names, whether mythological or historical ones are on the contrary very rarely found in comparable cases. There are in fact only very few instances where a mythical figure’s name is found in the common designation of an island. For instance, a few rocks in the Malean Gulf were called Lichades (Strabo 9.4.6) after Lichas, who allegedly brought the lethal garment for Heracles and was thrown by the hero into the near-

6

7 8

9

The parallels were already assembled by Strabo 13.2.5 and Aelius Herodianus de prosodia catholica 3,1. 211–2. Alopekonnesos is also found e.g. in Demosthenes In Aristocratem 166– 8 and Strabo 7.1.52. Elaphonnesos (sic!) is mentioned by Scylax Periplous 94 as an island different from Prokonnesos, other sources (e.g. Stephanus) suggest Elaphonesos was identical with it. There were many different islands called Arkonesos (Strabo 14.1. 29 and 14.2.16) and Arktonesos was reported by Herodianus to be the older name of Kyzikos. BUCK 1928, 66. Tatpurusha is the Sanskrit term for determinative compound words, while karmadharaya stands for descriptive ones. These types are frequent in all branches of Indo-European languages. Cf. WHITNEY 1889, 489; BALDI 1983, 59. Pausanias 2.34.8, 4.34.12; Strabo 16.4; Aelius Herodianus de prosodia catholica 3,1. 269–70 and Pliny Naturalis Historia 4.19–23 (52–74) with several examples. Other adjectives like Hiera, Euonymos, Lipara, Hydrousa, Kalliste or Makris are also used as island names.

116

András Patay-Horváth

by sea. These tiny islands were uninhabited, barely mentioned by extant sources and the mythical figure itself is a totally unimportant one. He was most probably simply created as an aetiology for this special case, in parallel with many other similar mythical figures who bear the names of different geographical formations.10 It is only to be assumed that Icarus was also created in this way to account for the name of the island Icaria, and Theras, the mythical founder of Thera; similarly, the eponymous nymphs/heroines like Aigina, Korkyra, Salamis, Rhodos clearly belong to the same category.11 The two small islands bearing the name of Atalante seem to differ from the usual pattern because there are no tales connecting them with the mythical person, so the resemblance to the mythical huntress is most probably a mere coincidence.12 A group of nine small islands mentioned by Pausanias 2.34.2 in the Saronic gulf off Methana as the islands of Pelops also represent a special case: ὰ ὲ

ὲ

ῖ α α π α ἐ α

α

φα

α ἀ α.

ὸ ἐ

α

α Π

π

ὲ

α

,

The islets, nine in number, lying off the land are called the Isles of Pelops, and they say that when it rains one of them is not touched. (English translation W. H. S. JONES)

This isolated piece of evidence is sometimes taken to refer to the mythical Pelops13, but this interpretation is not particularly plausible. Pausanias was certainly interested in Pelops (5.13.7), and wherever he mentions Pelops, it is clear from the context that he is referring to this famous hero because he gives some details related to his myth or his mythical family.14 In this case, however, there is nothing to suggest that he had the mythical person in mind because on the contrary, he mentions only a strange meteorological observation. This strongly suggests that

10

11

12 13 14

Pausanias 3.1 where Eurotas and Taygetos are also mythical persons along with Lakedaimon, Sparte and Amyklas. Pausanias 3.14.2 also mentions a certain Tainaros, giving the name for the famous cape. Helle and the Hellespontus or king Aegeus and the Aegean see are obviously similar in character and the same is true for minor parts of that sea deriving their names from king Saron (Pausanias 2.30.7) and from the otherwise absolutely unknown Myrto (Pausanias 8.14.12). For this interpretation and many examples see FICK / BECHTEL 1894, 363–5. Already in Od. 17.207 there is an Ithakos derived from Ithake. Real people were quite often (not only in ancient Greece but quite naturally almost in every other region and period) named after mountains, rivers and geographical regions or cities (FICK / BECHTEL 1894, 346–50). The inversion of this practice, i.e. naming geographical formations or regions after certain personalities (e.g. America, Victoria Falls), is quite rare and was practiced only in areas, which are very far from the home of the honoured person (and at the same time the country of those, who give the name). This is apparently not only a modern practice but has nice parallels already in Antiquity, such as the Pillars of Heracles or the Racecourse of Achilles. Thucydides 2.32; 3.89.3; 5.18; Strabo 9.4.2; Pausanias 10.20.4 (between Lokris and Euboea) and Strabo 9.1.14 (Atalante in the Saronic Gulf near Psyttaleia). HERRMANN 1980. The mythical Pelops is most often mentioned in books 5 and 6, but he is equally referred to in other books of the Periegesis: 1.41.3; 2.14.4; 15.1; 18.2; 22.3; 26.2; 30.8; 33.1.

Pelops and the Peloponnese

117

the islands had nothing to do with the mythical Pelops, but were named relatively recently after some historical person who bore this name. From the Hellenistic period, the name Pelops enjoyed a certain popularity and Pelops, son of Alexandros, a Macedonian in the service of Ptolemy II, is a particularly good candidate for this.15 After all, it is explicitly attested by Pausanias himself (6.10.3) that an island was named after a historical person, Glaukos of Karystos, the famous pugilist, and not after his mythical namesake and the island of Patroclus (Pausanias 1.1.1) was also named after a Hellenistic general and not after the mythical hero. The island of Helene near Attica was reported to bear its name after Helene, but the various and equally unlikely explanations clearly show that this was rather a literary construct, based on the interpretation of a passage in Homer (Iliad 3.445).16 Small islands devoted exclusively to the cult of a major hero can occasionally bear his name,17 but in the case of the Peloponnese, there is no reason to suppose such a procedure: the peninsula is very large, hosting many different cults and the cult of Pelops itself is not very widespread nor demonstrably older than the name itself. There was a small island called Hera on the fringes of the inhabited world and one of the Echinades was called Dionysia, but theophoric names are otherwise not attested as island names.18 The most important islands bearing the name of a veritable mythical person are the islands of Aiolos, still known by the same name, which are first mentioned by Thucydides (3.88.1–3). But the passage makes clear, and all the ancient sources agree, that the individual islands had different names on their own (Lipara, Didyme, Strongyle, Hiera, Erikodes/Erikoussa, Euonymos, Phoinikodes), and the most important natural phenomenon, the volcanic activity of Stromboli, was connected not to Aiolos, but to Hephaistos. Moreover, the connection with Aiolos, the lord of the winds known from the Od-

15 16 17

18

For the popularity of the name in general see GANGLOFF 2012, 97–8, for the identification AMELING 2000, 510. Strabo 9.1.22 and Pausanias 1.35.2 (two different explanations of the name); Pausanias 3.22.1 for the real island of Kranae (near Gytheion) mentioned by Homer. A small island near Carthage is called both the island of Herakles (owing to the cult of Melkart) and Skombraria (i.e. Mackerel island), because of the garum production there (Strabo 3.4.6). There is also a small island called Heraclia near Naxos (Pliny Naturalis Historia 4.70), but there is no cult of Heracles attested there. Another small but important island in the middle of the Adriatic sea (actually a pair of islands, today called Palagruza and belonging to Croatia) was called Diomedeia and it was supposed that the famous hero was buried here. According to the extant sources (e.g. Aristoteles De mirabilibus auscultationibus 836a; Claudius Aelianus De natura animalium 1.1), it became famous because of the strange habits exhibited by birds living there, but Diomedes’ cult is equally attested by a number of inscriptions from the late Archaic period. Most probably the island’s importance resulted from its location and the island served as a meteorological observation point for sailors traveling to the north. (personal communication by the excavator Lucijana Seselj, Rijeka) Hera: Strabo 3.5.5; Dionysia: Pliny Naturalis Historia 4.53. There were some islands called Dia (Strabo 10.5.1; 16.4.18) but they have apparently nothing to do with Zeus.

118

András Patay-Horváth

yssey (found e.g. in Diod. 5.7.6–7) was not universally accepted and was explicitly denied by some ancient commentators.19 In general, important mythical persons’ names are almost never used in geographical terms, the only notable exception being Heracles. But, similarly to the Pillars of Heracles, all the cities called Heracleia are located on the outskirts of the world known by the Greeks (except for Heracleia Trachinia, which is, however, a late foundation) and not in the central part of it. Assuming therefore that the Peloponnese was named after the mythical Pelops, the explanation would be exceptional both for the use of the hero’s personal name and also because of the location of the peninsula. Of course, one can accept the explanation given by Thucydides and the unknown experts he is referring to, but it is equally legitimate to suppose that the geographical term originally had another meaning, similar to the other examples. This possibility has never been considered and will be explored here. 3. The hypothesis: Pelops, the animal Except for Halonnesos and Artymnesos, all the island names with the same basic structure (noun + nesos) share one conspicuous feature: the first part of the compound is that of an animal. Starting from this observation, it naturally follows that Pelops should most probably also denote an animal. This suggestion is not as absurd as it might seem at first. Apart from the ancient parallels of Prokonnesos, Elaphonesos, Myonnesos, etc. which all have their modern counterparts such as Elaphonisi or Pontikonisi, there is a wide range of animals which are employed for describing islands like Alopekia, Echinai/Echinades, Pithekousai, Euboia, Ortygia, Chelidoniai, Ichthyousa, Ophioussa, Elaphoussa, or other geographical formations like Kynoskephalai, Aigospotamoi, Bosporus, Hippoukrene, Onougnathos, Korakos petra, Kriou metopon or the mountains simply named Korax, Taurus and Elephas. Moreover, substantives ending in –ops like π / (locust), π (wild duck), (woodpecker), ἔπ (hoopoe) or / /ἀ (bee-eater) most often denote animals.20 Some of them, like Dryops or Merops, were used as personal names for various mythical persons, and were occasionally even regarded as ancestors of certain tribes (Dryopes), 21 or eponymous heroes of geographic formations (Meropis, i.e. Kos)22 as well, but there is 19 20

21 22

Schol. vet. Od. 10 hypothesis. Further examples include some species of fish (ἔ , ,a ), birds (α π , ἔ ) and (blind-rat). Other substantives ending in -ops are very few: , , ᾰ α , , . Strabo 8.6.13; Pausanias 4.34.9. Merops, son of Triopas, the first ruler of Kos is only mentioned by Stephanus of Byzantium (s.v. Merops and Kos), but the island is occasionally called Meropis already much earlier (Thucydides 8.41) and another Merops, king of Percote is already mentioned in the Iliad (2.831 and 11.329). Thus the eponymous hero was most probably derived from the geograph-

Pelops and the Peloponnese

119

certainly no recorded tribe or group called “Pelopes” and even if the Peloponnese is occasionally called “Pelopia (chora/chthon)”,23 the most likely meaning of Pelops remains some kind of animal.24 For the identification of the animal, we have relatively few data, but they are sufficient in my view to formulate a reasonable guess. Homeros (Iliad 2.104–5) mentioned Pelops as a human ancestor of the Atreids, the Cypria (frg. 15) mentioned the peninsula as ἅπα α Τα α < > Π π and Tyrtaios already used the term “Pelopos nesos” in its common geographic sense, without any additional commentary. So it is very likely that by the 7th cent. BC this meaning was widespread and Pelops was generally considered as a human figure.25 Moreover, since afterwards no written source ever refers to an animal called pelops, it is reasonable to assume that the animal species originally denoted by this name was very rare and even extinct in Greece from the earliest Archaic period. As the other animals whose names were used in similar cases were usually not exotic but commonly found and often of distinctive shape or colour, the same should be true for pelops as well in an earlier phase of history, most probably during the Bronze Age. Since there were very few domesticated animals and the extinction of such a species is hardly plausible, one can safely conclude that the animal, which became extinct by the early Iron Age, must have been a wild one. In addition, it is likely to have been very large, since the peninsula denoted by the name is exceptionally large. If this were the only data upon which to rely, it would be quite hard, or even impossible to find out the meaning of the name.26 But we also have the myths

23

24

25 26

ical term, which in turn originated from the name of the bird, since the hero is not connected to the bird directly. According to Pliny Naturalis Historia 4.66 Siphnos was also called originally Meropia. Euripides Hippolyte 374; Ion 1591; Supplices 184, 263; Frg. 515, most probably in analogy to Attica, which is often called “Kekropia (ge/chthon)” after Kekrops, another eponymous hero with a similar name (and also without real “Kekropes”). Kekrops is not connected to some known animal, but he was certainly imagined as half-human and half-animal. Of course, Pelops might be a personal name with a totally unknown meaning or derivation borrowed from a foreign or pre-Greek language, as shown by the Egyptian pharao called Cheops by Herodotus (2.124–7), but there is no parallel for using such a name in a geographical term, composed similarly to the name of the Peloponnese. The same objection applies to the mythical ancestors’ names ending in –ops: there is no Meropos nesos, only Meropis. Dolops, the mythical ancestor of the Dolopes seems to be known only to Stephanus of Byzantium (s.v. Dolopes). The name itself was given to many different (but invariously unimportant) Greek and ungreek mythical persons, all of whom were apparently not regarded as the ancestors of the Dolopes or as the rulers of Dolopia. Given the severe anthropomorphism of Greek myths, this is no surprise after all. Cf. KIRK 1974, 50–2. The first animal which comes to mind is perhaps the lion. But even if it is not impossible that lions were living on the Peloponnese during the Mycenaean Age, and even if they certainly became extinct here later on, the species was never very widespread. Moreover, lions were often depicted in art and mentioned by their common name in literature later on. So, if there

120

András Patay-Horváth

about the human Pelops and many revealing finds from Olympia, where he was most venerated from the 6th century BC onwards.27 While the myths can simply corroborate the idea that Pelops was actually the name of an animal, the finds offer a decisive argument for identifying the species. 4. Greek mythology: the anthropomorphisation of Pelops The myth of Pelops is made up of two distinct parts, which are not closely related to each other in extant sources,28 but were likely to have formed a coherent narrative:29 (1) the resurrection from the cauldron and (2) the winning of Hippodameia by defeating Oinomaos in the chariot race.30 Previous scholars attempting to elucidate the genesis of the myth and its connection with ritual practices (most commentators concentrating on either the first or on the second part of the myth without attempting a coherent interpretation31) reached very different and apparently inconclusive results32 so it is worth reconsidering the case.

27 28

29

30 31

32

had been another name for them, it is unlikely that it would have been completely forgotten or replaced by the usual one. KYRIELEIS 2006, 55–61, EKROTH 2012. Pindaros, the only one who attempted to create a link between them in his first Olympic ode, did so by explicitly declaring the cauldron story as false, even though he ostentatiously referred to the vessel and to the shoulder blade of Pelops in his ‘true’ version as well. Cf. NAGY 1986. This assumption will be substantiated below in detail. It is, of course, much easier to assume, as done most recently by EKROTH 2012, 96 that “the mythic background of Pelops is diverse and inconsistent.” This sequence of the two episodes seems to be fixed in the ancient sources, but as the discussion below will show, originally it was most probably in the opposite way. NAGY 1986 and HUBBARD 1987 are the only ones to attempt this. Nagy declares both parts as an aition for the Olympic Games (for the footrace and for the chariot race respectively). Hubbard tries to explain the Oinomaos episode as a logical extension of the cauldron story, similar to the Hesiodic myth about Prometheus, Epimetheus and Pandora, but although the structural similarities in general seem to be close enough, they are especially weak regarding the chariot race. (Cf. HALM-TISSERANT 1993, 145–51.) The myth is usually discussed in connection with the Olympic Games and both are considered to derive from some kind of initiation ceremonies (e.g. NAGY 1986, HUBBARD 1987). This idea is based on BURKERT 1972, 108–19 accepting the interpretation of the chariot race proposed by DEVEREUX 1965 (a work which is otherwise barely cited) and dealing practically exclusively with the cauldron story. The theory of Devereux connecting the mythical chariot race with taboos surrounding a curious habit in animal husbandry observed in Elis, (cf. Herodotus 4.31; Pausanias 5.9.2) is therefore of fundamental importance and its basic problems deserve to be mentioned here: the real reason for the taboo is not explained (in general, some sort of pastoral rites are assumed, but such a hypothesis is highly unlikely, since there are no parallels for the custom observed at Elis, and a specific reason in Elis is not given either), the cauldron story is dismissed altogether and possible parallels for the chariot race are entirely left out of discussion. Another, quite isolated attempt at interpretation is represented by BUTTERWORTH 1966, 135–45 and ELIADE 1968, 68–9 who connect the cauldron myth

Pelops and the Peloponnese

121

It is not surprising that the cauldron story, which has many parallels in Greek mythology and ethnography in general,33 has been discussed more often than that of the chariot race, which seemed to be closely or even exclusively connected with the Olympic Games and was even regarded as an aition for the games in general or for the chariot race in particular.34 But in fact, there is a striking parallel for the famous race of Pelops and Oinomaos, which is mentioned only sporadically, and shows that this is not necessarily true: the footrace, by which the suitors of Atalante were challenged.35 In both cases the basic plot is the same: there is a beautiful girl, who can be won only by passing an impossibly difficult race, in which the suitor either loses his life or wins the bride. After a large number of unsuccessful attempts, the one who eventually wins is aided by a god and uses a trick. So far, the story follows a structure commonly found in folktales,36 but contrary to the usual pattern, even though the bride is won, the resulting marriage is not a happy one and the story ends with divine punishment or internal strife for the couple, and in the case of the Pelopids even a curse pursuing the descendants as well.37 This unhappy ending is not unique in Greek mythology (e.g. Theseus and Ariadne or Iason and Medeia can be seen as parallels in this respect), but there are some specific, significant and perfectly matching details, which thus connect the myth of the chariot race and the footrace: Atalante gives a head start for the suitor, as Oinomaos does, and the heads of the many unsuccessful suitors are similarly displayed for deterring future candidates.38 The difference is only that Pelops drives

33 34

35

36

37

38

with shamanistic initiation practices. The dismemberment, then cooking in a cauldron followed by resurrection often appears in fairy tales and finds evidently very good parallels in shamanistic initiations (see PROPP 1987, 112–8), but the derivation of this motif from prehistoric initiation rituals is not a likely proposition: RÖHRICH 2002, 380–1. SCHMIDT 1963, 113–55; BUTTERWORTH 1966, 137–42; UHSADEL-GÜLKE 1972, 22–30; PROPP 1987, 114–5. It was only BUTTERWORTH and DEVEREUX who sought its origin in a different realm, but the theories did not find a wide acceptance. Apart from BURKERT 1972, 110 n. 11, DEVEREUX is only mentioned by WEILER 1974, 211 n. 429, but even in this case, it is not cited for its main thesis. BUTTERWORTH is never cited, except for CANOSA 1994, 56–8. As far as I can see, besides PROPP 1987, 408, who explicitly but very briefly refers to both contests in the same context, it is only FRAZER 1911, 1/2. 299–301 and WEILER 1974, 256–8 who discuss them together, declaring that they both belong to the type of matrimonial contests found in various cultures around the world. PROPP 1972, 64–5, 1987, 436. A nice parallel is given by PROPP 1987, 406: the daughter of the tzar is running a contest with her suitors. If one of them is able to overtake her, she will marry him; those who fail, hovewer, loose their heads. Chrysippos, an illegitimate son of Pelops was killed on the instigation of Hippodameia, who committed suicide (Hyginus fabulae 85) or moved to Midea to escape the wrath of Pelops (Pausanias 6.20.7). Hyginus fabulae 84.3 (Oinomaos) and 185.2 (Atalante). The usage made of the heads in adorning or building a temple is early attested for Oinomaos (Sophokles frg. 432) and Euenos (Bakchylides frg. 61). The similarity with the suitors of Atalante has been noted only by GUIDORIZZI 2000, 465 n. 871. Others (GRUPPE 1906, 839, n. 1; CORNFORD 1927, 219–20, WEILER 1974, 135 n. 29) referred only to the similar practice attested for Antaios (Pindaros

122

András Patay-Horváth

a chariot, whereas the suitors of Atalante have to run, and that it is Atalante herself and not her father who kills the unsuccessful suitors. It is unlikely that the two stories would have influenced each other directly; rather they can be regarded as two variants of the same theme. What can be learned from their comparison? First of all, it should be asked, whether the designation ‘race’ is correct at all. It has already been noted,39 that in the case of Atalante, the race, as it is conventionally called, seems originally to have been a chase and the mythical chariot race is also more of a chase than a real race. The myths concerning the rape or abduction of a bride (Idas – Marpessa, Iason – Medeia), which are structurally also closely related to the myth of Pelops and Hippodameia, are similar in this respect: there is absolutely no race or contest, only a chase in which the father of the bride (Euenos, Aietes) tries but ultimately fails to catch the couple.40 The goal of the chase was primarily to catch and to kill the “suitors”, who on the other hand tried in both cases to escape. If they succeeded in this, they won the (favour of the) virgin (deity). As the pursuer was in the case of Atalante a huntress par excellence, the chase can be plausibly called a real hunt, implying that the virgin goddess was the mistress of the wild animals, and the pursued “person” was meant actually to be an animal.41 That the grave of Hippodameia's suitors was located along with the bones of Pelops in a shrine of Artemis Kordax at Pisa (Pausanias 6.22.1) clearly shows the strong connection of the myth with Artemis as well. Similarly, that the outcome of the chase was in most cases fatal for the chased “suitors” and that their heads were displayed like trophies of veritable game animals,42 is consistent with this hypothesis. It is also worth noting that the rape of a human bride by an animal is a widely attested motif of fairy tales and is nothing exceptional in itself.43 The assumption that animals and humans were not strictly divided in early human thought is clear-

39 40

41

42 43

Isthmian 3/4, 70–1), Euenos, Phorbas, Diomedes and Kyknos, all of which are conveniently assembled by ancient commentators (Scholia in Pindari Isthmiaca 4.92a; Tzetzes in Lykophronos Alexandram 160). The motif is well attested in fairy tales of different cultures (but not all over the world) and seems to be employed specifically and exclusively for the unsuccessful suitors of a mythical bride: GOBRECHT 1996. WEILER 1974, 191; FONTENROSE 1981, 176. As noticed long ago (TAMBORNINO 1930, 1917), Idas, Marpessa and Euenos (Apollodorus 1.59-60) can be regarded as exact doublettes of Pelops, Hippodameia and Oinomaos. It is probable that the story known from Olympia was adapted in this case to account for the name of the river Euenios. A similarly late derivative (Sithon and his daughter Pallene) is discussed by WEILER 1974, 217–9. BUTTERWORTH 1966, 140 also assumed that Pelops was identified with an animal ancestor of the Pelopidae, “which seemed to have been the horse.” SCHMIDT 1963, 152 on the contrary, made the following suggestion: “Pelops ist wohl auf der Stufe knapp vor der Begegnung des Tantalidenhauses mit den Olympiern noch theriomorph gewesen. Es war wohl ein göttlicher Schafbock, dem da in Pisa schwarze Widder geopfert wurden.” Hyginus fabulae 84, 3 and 185,2. For a collection of Greek mythical examples see ROBSON 2002.

Pelops and the Peloponnese

123

ly reflected by many tales in which humans and animals confront each other as equals (i.e. they can understand each other and can marry and have children).44 The similarities with the myth of Sedna, an important mistress of the wild animals, which is widespread among contemporary hunter-gatherers of the arctic region may also be adduced as a general corroboration of the idea. Here Sedna is said to have been a young girl reluctant to marry, who is abducted by some kind of animal. Her father either kills her husband or tries but fails to rescue her from the unhappy marriage, and Sedna eventually becomes the mistress of the animals and of the nether world.45 The similarities with the myth of Hippodameia are obvious and striking and it is clear that the myth is not primarily concerned with marriage. In a similar way, human virgins are often associated in myth as brides with the quarry of the hunt.46 The assumed identification of Pelops with an animal also provides a clue to the other part of the myth. The best ethnographic parallels for the boiling and resurrection of Pelops from a cauldron concern in fact not human figures but animals47 and even in Greek mythology, there is a parallel in which the cauldron is successfully employed for the resurrection of an animal, but fails to rejuvenate a human being, Pelias. This latter name seems to derive from the same root as that of Pelops48 and therefore the connection with the cauldron is unlikely to be a mere coincidence. The implication is that Pelops, who could be resurrected from the boiling cauldron, was not human, but an animal. That eating from a cauldron may have the effect of turning a man into an animal (as assumed in the rituals on mount Lykaion),49 points in the same direction. The last famous myth concerning the boiling and resurrection from a cauldron is the orphic myth of the infant Dio-

44

45

46 47

48

49

BREDNICH 1977, 592–4, DALGAT 1979, 756–7, BAUER 1993, 428. The genesis of mankind out of animals and stories about animals changing their appearance in human beings is also widespread. FISHER 1975; HAASE 1987, 54–8.The difference that it is often the animal-husband who pursues the father and his daughter and that Sedna dies during the chase, has a clear parallel in the myth of Hyrnetho, which shows certain similarities with Hippodameia. Hyrnetho, to whom a grove of wild olive trees was dedicated (Pausanias 2.32), was abducted in a chariot by her brothers and pursued by her husband and eventually lost her life during the chase. BURKERT 1972, 76 n. 25 listing several examples and previous literature. A detailed description of a single case (Blackfoot Indians) in ROBSON 2002, 67–8. UHSADEL-GÜLKE 1972, 28–9; RÖHRICH 1993; PUCHNER 2002. The most striking parallel, which has also been termed as a doublette of the myth of Pelops, is about Thor and Thjalfi in the Edda cf. SCHMIDT 1963, 127–8. It is notable that in the famous story of the „Machandelboom”, the dismembered and cooked boy is resurrected only after being transformed into an animal. Already GRUPPE 1906, 145 considered Pelops and Pelias as two variants of the same name (cf. KRETSCHMER 1938, 5). A different etymology seems out of question. The name Pelopeia occurred in both families and Pelias is even referred to by Pausanias 5.8.2 as one of the founders of the Olympic Games. The similarities could not be stronger. BURKERT 1972, 98–108, JOST 1985, 249–69.

124

András Patay-Horváth

nysos50 and it is remarkable that this god was definitely identified, and exactly in Elis, with an animal, the bull.51 The famous shoulder-blade of Pelops, eaten by Demeter and replaced by the gods in ivory, finds many parallels in folktales involving resurrections and the motif of the missing part (often a bone) occurs almost exclusively with animals.52 The fact that the famous bone of Pelops itself was thought in antiquity (Pausanias 5.13.5) to be larger than lifesize, strongly suggests that it actually belonged to an animal which was larger than a human.53 Moreover the name of the mythical persons cooked and resurrected from a cauldron may plausibly be seen as referring to wild animals: Arkas, the grandson of Lykaon, cooked by the latter for the gods was clearly (even if etymologically incorrectly) associated with the common Indo-European name of the bear54 and Melikertes, the son of Athamas, thrown in a boiling cauldron and resurrected afterwards as Palaimon, can equally be seen as denoting a bear, disguised in a way which is typically used by hunters and generally applied to this (and other) dangerous species.55 Shall we, therefore, conclude that pelops was yet another name for the bear? While this would not be completely impossible, it would not accord with the initial assumption that the species must have been fairly well-known, but one which became almost or completely extinct during the early Iron Age. I think that by examining the finds from early Olympia one can find a better candidate, even if the evidence is circumstantial and definitive proof is beyond reach.

50 51

52 53

54

55

DETIENNE 1977, HALM-TISSERANT 1993, 165–72. Plutarchus moralia 299B (PMG 871) with BROWN 1982. Plutarchus de Iside et Osiride 35 (moralia 364 F) refers to tauromorphic statues of Dionysos among the Greeks and the god was occasionally called “son of a cow” or referred to as having horns. Cf. FARNELL 1896, Vol. V. 126 and 284 with note 34; DIETRICH 1974, 116–7. The only exception is the “Haselshexe”. SCHMIDT 1963, 113–55; UHSADEL-GÜLKE 1972, 28–9. MAYOR 2000, 104–10 supposed that the bone actually was a fossil, originally perhaps belonging to a mammoth. The theory would explain the large size of the bone, but since there are many other and apparently richer fossil deposits on the Peloponnese, the single piece in Olympia does not seem to be a sufficient ground for attracting much interest in Antiquity. Bones of famous heroes, like Orestes (Herodotus 1.67–8) were generally thought to have been larger than lifesize. The etymological derivation from arktos is uncertain (FRISK 1973, 142, BEEKES 2010, 133 s.v. arktos; following SOMMER 1934, 63–4), but not impossible and ancient tradition clearly connected Arkas and Arcadians with bears. Cf. BURKERT 1972, 105–6; BORGEAUD 1979, 48– 9. It is beyond doubt that the name Melikertes is connected etymologically with honey; the exact meaning is however unclear (LESKY 1931, 519). The substitute name for bear, widely used for tabooistic reasons in many languages is in fact the honey-eater . RÖHRICH 1993, 397–8.

Pelops and the Peloponnese

125

5. Pelops, the beast: a tentative identification As explained in detail elsewhere,56 the numerous bronze cattle figurines found at Olympia are likely to depict aurochs or feral cattle which were hunted by the visitors of the sanctuary until approximately the end of the Geometric Age. Afterwards, these special game animals seem to have become extinct here, as in other regions of southern Greece and indeed throughout the Mediterranean. But earlier, the species was well-known and had a special significance in the Bronze Age and was certainly present both on Crete and on the Peloponnese. 57 The name of the aurochs is found in several toponyms in Europe58 and therefore it is not unlikely that it could have been similarly used in this way in prehistoric Greece. Moreover, its horns had a distinct shape, which might have been considered a good parallel to describe the form and the position of the peninsula’s two southern capes, i.e. Tainaron and Malea. It is noteworthy in this respect that both Prokonnesos and Elaphonesos are named after animals with a distinctively shaped antler; an island was called Karnos and Bruttium was called Elaphoussa by the Greeks; and Cyprus was also called Kerastis because of its many promontories.59 It is not certain that the name Pelops has a Greek etymology since this is not true for many similar animal names either,60 but it is at least possible to suggest an etymology, which seems to be perfectly suitable for denoting the aurochs: darkfaced.61 There is no other way to explain the name; its meaning applied to a human person has caused some perplexity.62 However, the dark colour of the aur56 57

58 59

60

61

62

PATAY-HORVÁTH 2015, 30–60. PILALI 1985, 124 with references; NOBIS 1996. VAN VUURE 2005, 51 denies the possibility of an aurochs population on Crete, but he is apparently unaware of the finds proving the contrary. To be fair, it must be admitted that the osteological evidence does not show that the aurochs was an indigenous species on the island; it is actually more probable that it was introduced artificially by man. The Swiss canton Uri is the most well-known example; others are collected and thoroughly discussed by SZALAY 1919, 36–80. Cyprus: Aelius Herodianus de prosodia catholica 3, 1. 104,15 giving explicitly the reason for the name; Bruttium: Stephanus Byz. Ethnica (epitome) 185.20; Karnos: Scylax Periplous 34,16 (cf. Hesychius s.v. karnos). Some might simply derive from the voice of the animal, like the ἔπ and ungreek (e.g. thraco-phrygian or illyrian) origins were also variously suggested (CHANTRAINE 1936, 125 n. 3) for ,ἀ , etc. but some similar composita ending have a clear greek etymology e.g. α ἶ , . KRETSCHMER 1938, 5 and 1940, 236–7 most recently accepted by ROBERTSON 2010, 74. The meaning supposed by DREES 1967, 15 („der die Fülle erzeugt”) seems to be singular and unsubstantiated. FRISK 1973, 498 (s.v. pelidnos) is cautious and terms this etymology „ganz unsicher”, BEEKES 2010, 1167 (s.v. pelidnos) does not include any reference to Pelops, perhaps for the same reason. CHANTRAINE 1999, 876 added correctly, but clearly rhetorically „mais avec quel sens?”, since the explanation given by Kretschmer (light-coloured Indo-European newcomers designating the dark-coloured original inhabitants of the south in this way) is clearly out of question (although apparently accepted as such by VON KAMPTZ 1982, 331). BURKERT 1972,

126

András Patay-Horváth

ochs is a defining characteristic of this animal compared to domesticated cattle, which usually have spotted or a light coloured coat.63 It is relevant to remember in this context that the successful suitor of Atalante was, according to a widespread version, Melanion, with a clearly similar meaning.64 6. Conclusion: some parallels Pelops is, therefore, likely to have been originally the name of an animal, like merops or dryops and was anthropomorphized only secondarily. It most probably denoted the aurochs or wild ox, already during the Bronze Age and was used in analogy for the unusually large peninsula with two large and nearly parallel promontories or just for this southern part. Since the animal became extinct, the meaning of the name was forgotten and misunderstood or deliberately misinterpreted soon afterwards. The case of the Csepel island on the Danube (to the south of Budapest) seems to be a very close parallel: as early as the Middle Ages (not more than 300 years after the arrival of the Hungarians) the unusually large island was reported to be named after a certain man of this name and this explanation was generally accepted for centuries but actually the word is very likely to derive from a common Hungarian noun meaning ‘bush’.65 In a similar way, the first part of the geographical name Peloponnese also called for an explanation and thus a remote human ancestor of royal blood was created, who was thought to be the eponymous hero of the peninsula because his descendants became the most powerful kings there. Apis, a mythical healer was also created in the same way, artificially and secondarily, from the Homeric word apia and was supposed to have become an eponym of the Peloponnese.66 The aetiological story of Pelops ruling over the entire Peloponnesos, already found in Hekataios (Frg. 119 = Strabo 7.7.1) and popularized by Thucycides, is thus only a relatively late, rationalizing explanation of the name, which obliterated the etymologically correct meaning of the word already in Antiquity. In this sense Eleios, eponymous king of Elis (Pausanias 5.1.8) or Ellops for Ellopia (i.e. Euboia) are clearly good parallels, but Italos, the eponymous hero of Italy is an even better one: the aetiology is briefly mentioned already by Thucydides (6.2.4)67 and the name of the peninsula derived

63 64 65 66 67

112 n. 19 thus accepting the etymology attempted to give a symbolic meaning, deriving from the ritual, which does not seem to be convincing either. VAN LENGERKEN 1955, VAN VUURE 2005. Apollodorus 3.9.2, Pausanias 3.12.9, Xenophon Kynegetica 1.2; Cf. FONTENROSE 1981, 176– 8. BENKO 1966. Aeschylus Supplices 260, cf. Pausanias 2.5.7. More detailed version: Dionysius Halicarnasseus Antiquitates Romanae 1.35 referring to Antiochos of Syracuse.

Pelops and the Peloponnese

127

most probably also from the name of an animal (vitulus, i.e. calf)68 which is moreover almost identical with the species suggested here for pelops. Bibliography ALONSO TRONCOSO 2007 = VICTOR ALONSO TRONCOSO, The Idea of the Peloponnese in the Spartan Diplomatic Tradition, in: N. BIRGALIAS / K. BURASELIS / P. CARTLEDGE (eds.), The Contribution of Ancient Sparta to Political Thought and Practice, Athens, 63–74. AMELING 2000 = WALTER AMELING, Pelops [2], DNP 9, 510. BAUER 1993 = JOSEF BAUER, Jägerzeitliche Vorstellungen, in: R. W. BREDNICH (ed.), Enzyclopädie des Märchens Vol. 7, Berlin, 427–32. BALDI 1983 = PHILIPP BALDI, An Introduction to Indo-European Languages, Southern Illinois University. BEEKES 2010 = ROBERT S. P. BEEKES, Etymological dictionary of Greek I–II, Leiden. BENKŐ 1966 = LORÁND BENKŐ, Az anonymusi hagyomány - és a Csepel név eredete, Magyar Nyelv 62, 134–46; 292–305. BREDNICH 1977 = ROLF WILHELM BREDNICH, Anthropomorphisierung, in: R. W. BREDNICH (ed.), Enzyclopädie des Märchens, Vol. 1, Berlin, 591–6. BROWN 1982 = CHRISTOPHER BROWN, Dionysus and the Women of Elis: PMG 871, GRBS 23, 305–14. BUCK 1928 = CARL DARLING BUCK, The Greek Dialects, Chicago. BURKERT 1972 = WALTER BURKERT, Homo necans, Berlin. BUTTERWORTH 1966 = EDRIC ALAN SCHOFIELD BUTTERWORTH, Some Traces of the PreOlympian World in Greek Literature and Myth, Berlin. CANOSA 1994 = JOSE ANGEL FERNANDEZ CANOSA, Pélope: la maduración de un país, Polis 6, 53–74. CHANTRAINE 1936 = PIERRE CHANTRAINE, Homérique MEPO ΩN ANΘPΩ ΩN, in: Mélanges Franz Cumont (Annuaires de l’Insitut de Philologi et d’Histoire Orientales et Slaves IV), Brussels, Vol. 1, 121–8. CORNFORD 1927 = FRANCIS MACDONALD CORNFORD, The Origin of the Olympic Games, in: J. E. HARRISON (ed.), Themis. A Study of the Social Origins of Greek Religion, Cambridge, 212– 59. DALGAT 1979 = UZDIAT BASHIROVNA DALGAT, Brautraub, in: R. W. BREDNICH (ed.), Enzyclopädie des Märchens, Vol. 2, Berlin, 753–62. DETIENNE 1977 = MARCEL DETIENNE, Dionysos mis à mort, Paris. DEVEREUX 1965 = GEORGES DEVEREUX, The abduction of Hippodameia as aition of a Greek animal husbandry rite, Studi e Materiali di Storia delle Religioni 36, 3–25 (= Femme et mythe, Paris 1982, 216–34 / Frau und Mythos, München 1986, 241–67). DIETRICH 1974 = BERNARD C. DIETRICH, The Origins of Greek Religion, Berlin. DREES 1967 = LUDWIG DREES, Olympia. Götter, Künstler und Athleten, Stuttgart. EKROTH 2012 = GUNNEL EKROTH, Pelops Joins the Party. Transformations of a Hero Cult within the Festival at Olympia, in: J. R. BRANDT / J. W. IDDENG (eds.), Greek and Roman Festivals. Content, Meaning and Practice, Oxford 2012, 95–137. FARNELL 1896 = LEWIS RICHARD FARNELL, The Cults of the Greek States, Oxford 1896–909. FICK / BECHTEL 1894 = AUGUST FICK / FRITZ BECHTEL, Die griechischen Personennamen nach ihrer Bildung erklärt und systematisch geordnet, Göttingen.

68

WOJTYLAK 2003 and most recently, with a thorough discussion of the entire research history MANCO 2009, 157–232.

128

András Patay-Horváth

FISHER 1975 = JOHN F. FISHER, An Analysis of the Central Eskimo Sedna Myth, Temenos 11, 27– 42. FONTENROSE 1981 = JOSEPH FONTENROSE, Orion: The Myth of the Hunter and the Huntress, Berkeley. FRAZER 1911 = JAMES GEORGE FRAZER, The Golden bough, London. FRISK 1973 = HJALMAR FRISK, Griechisches etymologisches Wörterbuch, Heidelberg. GANGLOFF 2012 = ANNE GANGLOFF, La dévoration de Pélops: de l’infanticide au modèle politique et social, in: S. DUBEL / A. MONTANDON (eds.), Mythes sacrificiels et ragoûts d’enfants, Clermont-Ferrand, 87–99. GOBRECHT 1996 = BARBARA GOBRECHT, 1996. Köpfe auf Pfählen, in: R. W. BREDNICH (ed.), Enzyclopädie des Märchens, Vol. 8, Berlin, 264–8. GRUPPE 1906 = OTTO GRUPPE, Griechische Mythologie und Religionsgeschichte, München. HAASE 1987 = EVELIN HAASE, Der Schmanismus der Eskimos, Aachen. HALM-TISSERANT 1993 = MONIQUE HALM-TISSERANT, Cannibalism et immortalité. L’enfant dans le chaudron en Grèce ancienne, Paris. HERRMANN 1980 = HANS-VOLKMAR HERRMANN, Pelops in Olympia, in: Stele. Tomos eis mnemen N. Kontoleontos, Athens, 59–74. HORNBLOWER 1991 = SIMON HORNBLOWER, A Commentary on Thucydides Books I–III, Oxford. HUBBARD 1987 = THOMAS K. HUBBARD, The “cooking” of Pelops: Pindar and the process of mythological revisionism, Helios 14, 3–21. JOST 1985 = MADELEINE JOST, Sanctuaires et cultes d’ Arcadie. Paris. KIRK 1974 = GEOFFREY S. KIRK, The Nature of Greek Myths, Harmondsworth. KRETSCHMER 1938 = PAUL KRETSCHMER, Literaturbericht für das Jahr 1935: Griechisch, Glotta 27, 1–40. KRETSCHMER 1940 = PAUL KRETSCHMER, Die vorgriechischen Sprach- und Volksschichten, Glotta 28, 231–78. KYRIELEIS 2006 = HELMUT KYRIELEIS, Anfänge und Frühzeit des Heiligtums von Olympia (Olympische Forschungen 31), Berlin. VON LENGERKEN 1955 = HANNS VON LENGERKEN, Ur, Hausrind und Mensch, Berlin. LESKY 1931 = ALBIN LESKY, Melikertes, RE XV.1, 514–20. MANCO 2009 = ALBERTO MANCO, Italia. Disegno storico-linguistico, Napoli. MAYOR 2000 = ADRIENNE MAYOR, The first fossil hunters. Paleontology in Greek and Roman Times, Princeton. NAGY 1986 = GREGORY NAGY, Pindar’s Olympian I and the aetiology of the Olympic Games, Transactions of the American Philological Association 116, 71–88. NOBIS 1996 = GÜNTHER NOBIS, Der Auerochse oder Ur (Bos primigenius) auf Kreta, in D. S. REESE (ed.), Pleistocene and Holocene Fauna of Crete and its Forst Settlers (Monographs in World Archaeology No. 28), Madison, 263–72. PATAY-HORVÁTH 2015 = ANDRÁS PATAY-HORVÁTH, The Origins of the Olympic Games, Budapest. PILALI-PAPASTERIOU 1985 = ANGELIKI PILALI-PAPASTERIOU, Die bronzenen Tierfiguren aus Kreta (PBF I.3), München. PROPP 1972 = VLADIMIR PROPP, Morphologie des Märchens, München. PROPP 1987 = VLADIMIR PROPP, Die historischen Wurzeln des Zaubermärchens, München. PUCHNER 2002 = WALTER PUCHNER, Pelops, in: R. W. BREDNICH (ed.), Enzyclopädie des Märchens, Vol. 10, Berlin, 704–7. ROBSON 2002 = JAMES E. ROBSON, Bestiality and bestial rape in Greek myth, in: S. DEACY / K. F. PIERCE (eds.), Rape in Antiquity, London, 65–96. RÖHRICH 1993 = LUTZ RÖHRICH, Jagd, Jagen, Jäger, in: R. W. BREDNICH (ed.), Enzyclopädie des Märchens, Vol. 7, Berlin, 394–411. RÖHRICH 2002 = LUTZ RÖHRICH, „und weil sie nicht gestorben sind ...” Anthropologie, Kulturgeschichte und Deutung von Märchen, Köln / Weimar / Wien.

Pelops and the Peloponnese

129

SCHMIDT 1963 = LEOPOLD SCHMIDT, Die Volkserzählung. Märchen – Sage – Legende – Schwank, Berlin. SOMMER 1934 = FERDINAND SOMMER, Aẖẖijavāfrage und Sprachwissenschaft, (Abhandlungen der Bayerischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, Philosophisch-Historische Abteilung: Neue Folge 9) München. SZALAY 1919 = ADALBERT B. SZALAY, Der Wisent in Orstnamen. Ein Beitrag zur Kenntnis der Verbreitung dieses Tieres sowie des Ures im Mittelalter, Zoologische Annalen 7, 1–80. TAMBORNINO 1930 = J. TAMBORNINO, Marpessa, RE XIV.2, 1916–8. UHSADEL-Gülke 1972 = CHRISTINA UHSADEL-GÜLKE, Knochen und Kessel (Beiträge zur klassischen Philologie Bd. 43) Meisenheim. VAN VUURE 2005 = CIS VAN VUURE, Retracing the aurochs: history, morphology and ecology of an extinct wild ox, Sofia. VON KAMPTZ 1982 = HANS VON KAMPTZ, Homerische Personennamen. Sprachwissenschaftliche und historische Klassifikation, Göttingen. WEILER 1974 = INGOMAR WEILER, Der Agon im Mythos, Darmstadt. WHITNEY 1889 = WILLIAM DWIGHT WHITNEY, Sanskrit Grammar, Oxford. WICK 1978 = T. WICK, The Meaning of ΕΛ ΝΝΗΣ Σ in Thucydides, CPh 73, 45–7. WOJTYLAK 2003 = ŁUKASZ WOJTYLAK, On the etymology of the name Italia, Incontri linguistici 26, 87–96.

András Patay-Horváth University Eötvös Loránd Institute for Ancient History / Hungarian Academy of Sciences Research Centre for the Humanities, Archaeological Institute Budapest

LISTS VERSUS PLANS AND MAPS The Ancient Near Eastern approach to geographical and topographical information – and its possible importance for the history of cartography1 David A. Warburton Abstract The last five centuries have seen the emergence of the map as the dominant means of recording, storing and conveying geographical information – and this tendency may well have been incipiently developing from the Palaeolithic onwards. However, for at least two or three millennia after the invention of writing in ancient Mesopotamia, geographical information was usually recorded verbally, particularly in the form of lists. Such lists take the form of simple lists of names, cadastre surveys, itineraries, and the like. These lists are frequently quite brief, offering a minimum of information. The tradition is shared by the Mesopotamians and the Egyptians, but lives on in the geographical and celestial work of Ptolemy as well as the routières of the Mediæval Arab Sea Farers. Maps remained rare for most of this time, and only gradually began to encroach on the dominance of the lists from the late Middle Ages onwards. Keywords: Maps, lists, ancient world, information, cognition. 1. Introduction The basic arguments here are (a) that reliable and important geographical information was encoded more generally in written verbal form or in lists rather than maps and charts at the beginning of history, and (b) that this form of recording was developed by the Mesopotamians and diffused by them to the rest of the world. This argument is premised on the idea (c) that discourses based on the transfer and circulation of information united the ancient world to a higher degree than is generally accepted today. In this sense, it is argued that for most of the period before the beginning of our era, the verbal form was the most important 1

Mein aufrichtiger Dank gilt vor allem Michael Rathmann für seine Unterstützung, aber auch den peer-reviewers. Alle haben wertvolle Bemerkungen und einige auch wichtige Hinweise auf vernachlässigte Literatur geliefert.

132

David A. Warburton

means of recording geographical information and that maps only came into common usage gradually and later. And only much later – in recent centuries – did the idea of reliable, accurate and objective mapping begin to develop as a guiding principle of map-making in the West. I suggest that the powerfully ideological role of imagery in the Ancient and Medieval periods of Western history (including the Ancient Near East) probably deterred the ancients from entrusting objective geographical knowledge to this category of information bearer, and that (d) this is the reason Harley recognized the highly polarising ideological character of early modern map-making.2 Beyond that, understanding the history of map-making in purely Western terms is also dangerous. This Western approach contrasted with the Chinese approach to early maps, and it is possible that the relevance of early Chinese maps has been unjustly neglected in modern studies of European cartography – to the detriment of understanding how “knowledge” works. The Chinese probably played a crucial role in the development of coordinate and grid systems, and this should be borne in mind when delving into the development of maps during what is Eurocentrically designated the “Mediæval” era (which term is completely irrelevant to the Asian world. Although this issue is beyond our immediate scope here, it is discussed parenthetically to sketch out the edges of the picture). In this sense, the discussion is partially about the resolution of determining access to and understanding of information, partially about subjective judgements about how information was best stored, conveyed and presented – and also about intercultural contact. Despite my stressing the pre-eminence of verbal or list form, I thus recognize that there were indeed predecessors of maps long before maps came into widespread usage. In this fashion, the presentation of the argument follows several different paths to establish the route, taking account of the existing early maps and exploring the usage of the lists. What I stress is that the editors of The History of Cartography state that: As visual embodiments of these various conceptions of space, maps have deepened and expanded the consciousness of many societies. They are the primary medium for transmitting ideas and knowledge about space.3

HARLEY goes on to say that “As mediators between an inner mental world and an outer physical world, maps […] are undoubtedly one of the oldest forms of human communication”.4 In this sense, it is asserted that maps (a) are the “primary medium”, (b) go back into the distant past, and (c) influenced social development. What is not generally appreciated in this discourse is that the early history of mapmaking is largely a matter of “finding unambiguous evidence” to support such

2 3 4

Cf. HARLEY 2001a–d. HARLEY / WOODWARD 1987, xv. HARLEY 1987, 1.

Lists versus Plans and Maps

133

“speculation”.5 Thus, in fact, those alleging the ancient prominent role of maps are not building their argument on facts, but rather on “speculation”. What I argue is that there is real – as opposed to speculative – documentation of how geographical knowledge was recorded and stored during the early historical period. Regardless of whether prehistoric imagery served the role of maps, the assertions cited above are certainly not true for the greatest part of the era of historical societies, i.e., from ca. 3500 BC to the 16th century AD. Instead, I contend that geographical information was more commonly stored in lists (or rather written verbal form) and that this means had an influence on the presentation and manipulation of knowledge in both written and graphic form. Rather than beginning with the earliest obscure sources, it is easier to begin with the most familiar. Most of the preserved ancient documentation for Ptolemy’s Almagest and Geography implies that these treatises were composed in the form of detailed lists. Virtually all of the known maps and charts intended to illustrate Ptolemy’s works are of recent vintage, rather than rescued from ancient scraps. GRASSHOFF correctly uses “star catalogue”,6 to refer to the source of what is occasionally referred to as Ptolemy’s star charts, stressing the list-like (rather than map-like) character of the gazetteer. On the whole, it seems that it is assumed that Ptolemy’s geographical text was accompanied by maps, or even that the main work was the maps and that the text accompanied these: Moreover, that ancient work comprised not only a collection of maps – with indications as to how they were to be drawn – but also a text, most of which is in the form of a list of placenames.7

Indeed authors such as JONES still seem to blithely assume that Ptolemy’s map had an “austere, unpolitical character”8 – suggesting that he is certain not only of the existence of a map (or rather maps) but also that he understood its ultramodern revolutionary quality. These are but recent examples, not far distant from HARLEY’S position of decades ago where the existence of maps was taken for granted, as the term “reconstruction” (rather than “extrapolation”) is used to describe the newly created “maps”.9 And thus I have the impression that others likewise assume that Ptolemy’s gazetteers were accompanied by images (i.e., star charts and maps). However, as noted, virtually all of the copies of the lists that are preserved are themselves quite late (in comparison to the alleged date of composition) and none of the actual charts or maps of Ptolemy’s schemes can be attributed to Ptolemy. One lone exception is DILKE who perceptively and cautiously remarks: 5 6 7 8 9

LEWIS 1987, 53. GRASSHOFF, 1990. E.g. DALCHÉ 2007, 285. JONES, 2012, 125. HARLEY / WOODWARD 1987, 131, 135, 138, 153, 157, 163, 172, 175. Their first example of a “reconstruction” is drawn from the text (sic) of Homer’s description of “the shield of Achilles”.

134

David A. Warburton A knowledge of the pattern of mapping in the Byzantine manuscripts, for example, may at least enable us to visualize the sort of maps Ptolemy may have had in front of him […] even if we do not accept that he drew such maps himself.10

I tend to concord with DILKE’S underlying assumption – that it is possible that Ptolemy did not draw maps, but instead formulated elaborate lists, accompanied by a theoretical apparatus which would allow others to draw maps, based on his lists. My contention is that this tradition of lists was dominant and that in this sense Ptolemy remained true to tradition. Significantly, most of the “star charts” of Classical Antiquity depict constellations rather than stars. It would appear that the Arab tradition of translating included at least some drawings, but these could have appeared in the process of translation and cultural exchange, involving China as well as the Classical World. However, as preserved, Ptolemy’s works take the form of text. I consider this to be as important as the fact that the astronomical work of Antiquity is largely devoted to constellations rather than the stars. To my mind this implies that the graphic representations are understood as being more “ideologically charged” and the lists less so. In this sense, the unpartisan reliable way of recording geographical knowledge was in verbal form. There is an entirely different possibility which would explain the failure of Western map-making in comparison to the seemingly precocious success of early Chinese map-making. The Greeks realised that the earth was spherical and that they had to take account of the curvature of the earth when making their ambitious maps of the world: doing so proved beyond their means. By contrast, the Chinese understood the earth as flat. As they aimed at little more than mapping their own world, geometrical means and measurements allowed them to make relatively precise maps. In this sense, I would assign the Chinese a leading role in the history of map-making. However, although we will return to this on occasion, the later history of maps is not my main concern – except where relevant to think about the general history of maps. My main concern is arguing that the tradition of the lists was the principal means of recording geographical information and that this continued at least as far as Ptolemy. Regardless of whether or not he may have made maps, he did bequeath lists to us. And these lists have a long history, one which actually takes us back to the day of the invention of writing, before the birth of history in the strictest sense. And in terms of geographical history, this history of the lists is more important than the history of early map-making. My major point is that understanding both the early lists and early maps is highly relevant to understanding both the early history of geography and the study of cartography. The earliest written lexical lists from Mesopotamia date to Uruk IV, 11 and thus probably to before ca. 3500 BC (calibrated radiocarbon dates).12 The earliest 10 11 12

DILKE 1987, 190. ENGLUND / NISSEN 1993, 12. WENCEL 2017.

Lists versus Plans and Maps

135

written list from Egypt dates to Dyn. III, 13 and thus to ca. 2550 BC (historical dating)14 or 2650 BC (statistically adjusted calibrated radiocarbon).15 However, the earliest Egyptian lists are more a matter of accounting than of the scholarly ordering of concepts as is true of the earliest Mesopotamian lexical lists. Whereas city names16 appear among the earliest lists, geographical names17 only appear in the Uruk III lists (which would be calibrated radiocarbon, ca. 3200 BC).18 The earliest Egyptian lexical list is an “exception”.19 It includes geographical names and probably dates to Dyn. XIII–XIV20 (and thus ca. 1700–1600 BC).21 However, there is a geographical description of Egypt22 which appears in list form a bit earlier, at the beginning of Dyn. XII, ca. 1950–1850 BC.23 In this sense, the first records of geographical information encoded in list form appeared in Egypt well over a millennium after the earliest geographical lists of Mesopotamia. And virtually all of the geographical information we have from the Bronze Age (3000–1200 BC) is in text or list form – and does not take the form of seemingly “objective” cartographic images. In effect, it should be evident that the “scientific” list tradition started in early or mid–4th millennium BC Mesopotamia and it appears only as an exception and later in Egypt. However, in both Mesopotamia and Egypt, geographical information was commonly encoded in list form from the second millennium BC onwards. For me, it is evident that chronologically speaking the borrowing can only have been by Egypt from Mesopotamia, and the pre-eminence of Mesopotamia in Listenwissenschaft as a means of storing knowledge suggests that what the Egyptians adopted was a simplified version of the Mesopotamian tradition. That the Greeks continued the tradition implies that borrowing from Mesopotamia continued that tradition which was maintained until early modern times – when the Western world turned a new leaf and created something new.24

13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21

22 23 24

DREYER 2015, 41–2. HORNUNG / KRAUSS / WARBURTON 2006, 490. SHORTLAND / BRONK RAMSEY 2013, 287. ENGLUND / NISSEN 1993, 12. ENGLUND / NISSEN 1993, 12. WENCEL 2017, 641. QUACK 2015, 56. GARDINER 1947a, 6. Precise dates are not available and thus this is a guess based on radiocarbon and historical dates (cf. SHORTLAND / BRONK RAMSEY 2013, 286; HORNUNG / KRAUSS / WARBURTON 2006, 492. LEITZ 2006. Again, precise dates are not available, cf. SHORTLAND / BRONK RAMSEY 2013, 286; HORNUNG / KRAUSS / WARBURTON 2006, 491. I see no reason to argue the tradition that the Greeks borrowed or adopted Babylonian methods as this is widely recognized. Given the acceptance of this situation, the insistence that the Egyptians developed lists independently seems superfluous. However, this seems to be a widely held assumption.

136

David A. Warburton

Mesopotamian knowledge (dubsar umun) is intimately associated with the scribes (with the Akkadian ṭupšarru for “scribe” a transliteration of the Sumerian dubsar). As we will see below, the Egyptian list states specifically that the Egyptian list was a “(written) teaching” (sbȝy.t) which was “recorded (in writing)” (s:pẖr) by Thoth, the god of writing.25 Thus, knowledge was expressed in lists composed by professional scribes. It is hardly an accident that the lists were an outgrowth of the bureaucratic temple economy in 4th millennium BC southern Mesopotamia. The Mesopotamian versions were definitely systems of organising knowledge in a conscious fashion.26 This would largely correspond to Goody’s understanding of lists as not having corresponding forms in oral communication.27 I thus agree with DEICHER who maintains that when things were first put into order – through written lists from around 5000 years ago (according to her) – this represented not only a new medium, but it would also appear that the lists may have been “instruments opening historically new fields of practice”.28 In this sense, she assumes that both the medium and the instrument were bound up with writing. For her, it follows that the countless brief and unelaborated written lists which were discarded in the distant past – virtually immediately after having served some unknown purpose – testify to the role of the new practice. Her tacit assumption seems to be that there would have been no reason to consign such useless “information” to writing if oral lists had been as widespread as many assume they were before the invention of writing. I agree that writing and list move in tandem – and that the written form was itself a new instrument and not merely a new medium. For me, it follows that the transmission will have been from the writing cultures to their neighbours, spreading out from Mesopotamia.29 Beyond that, however, I contend that the domain of imagery was unconsciously neglected in the specific domain of geographical information because of the tendency to encode information in writing. Thus, the invention of writing left imagery as the favoured domain of the vague while writing became the domain of 25 26 27 28

29

GARDINER 1947a, 1*. SODEN 1936. Cf. ECHTERHÖLTER 2015. DEICHER 2015, 9 (“weil es

möglich erscheint, daß sie [d.h. die Listen] Instrumente waren um historisch neue Praxisfelder zu eröffnen”). It is not irrelevant that the Egyptologist BEINLICH (1976) unthinkingly recognised that the only real source material for the study of ancient Egyptian geography were the ancient Egyptian texts – “geographical inscriptions” as he terms them. One could argue that the Greek ἐπ is derived from Akkadian epištu(m) (“rite, deed, creation”), just as Indo-European ἴ ω, οἶ α, Ϝοῖ α, Ϝ ἲ ο , videre, véda, Wissen are probably related to Akkadian (w)adûm, edûm (“know, identify, direct, instruct”) – where knowledge, activity and authority are consolidated. In this sense, “knowledge” is implicitly related to an act of authority, and thus linked to writing rather than to mere “knowing”. Thus, the probability that the ancients understood their lists as being ordinary casual knowledge is not great. On the contrary, knowledge was presumably structured and written – and understood and transmitted in this fashion.

Lists versus Plans and Maps

137

the clear and certain. Only much later was imagery called up to serve as a platform for information – and it is significant that Harley stresses the ideological role of maps in early modern history.30 In this sense, the concept of understanding information encoded in lists, rather than images, is probably extremely important in terms of grasping the history of knowledge. Thus, as preserved, Ptolemy’s system consisted of lists. Indisputably, the origins of the system of making lists go back to the Sumerians (or their predecessors – if any – in Mesopotamia), who in my view bequeathed the idea to the Babylonians and the Egyptians (and thus to the Greeks). I argue that in the Ancient Near East, the accompanying illustrations were either schematic or classificatory, i.e., the illustrations were not viewed as “representing the data”, but rather the textual catalogues were the representations of the information, and even where present, the rare illustrations mere schematic representations to be understood in a different way. Furthermore, it can also be argued that the concept of using diagrams or sketches was also transmitted from one culture to another and not simply an ordinary feat for the human mind. Those who assume that making diagrams is simply a completely ordinary means of noting down ideas should take a glimpse at (a) a sketch on a Linear B, Mycenaean, clay tablet from Pylos (ca. 12th century BC) and (b) the comparable labyrinth sketches on clay tablets from second millennium BC Mesopotamia.31 Although transmitted throughout the Mediterranean in Antiquity, the labyrinth seems not to have caught on in China until recent times. Even if seemingly almost ubiquitous in Asia today, it seems to have been related to a transfer due to the work of the Jesuits.32 Thus, I argue, not only (a) that lists served long as the means of storing information, and (b) that this means of storing information was transferred from one culture to another, but also (c) that maps only spread in the same fashion – but far more recently. This argument thus varies from the conventional assumption that making maps to depict geographical landscapes is the ordinary means of encoding such information and that verbal renderings are less natural. My argument also stresses that the actual act of writing was decisive for the creation of the list. 2. Conditions 2.1 The exchange of knowledge in early history Before going into the actual presentation of the evidence and the argument, we must deal with the scepticism addressed to the very argument presented here. Peer-reviewers have identified two major obstacles to accepting the arguments 30 31 32

HARLEY 2001a–d. FRIBERG / PHILIPPS Cf. ZOU 2012.

2016, 519–36, esp. 524.

138

David A. Warburton

presented in the discussion, in the sense that they reject the arguments based on their disbelief in my underlying assumptions. One objection concerns the general nature of writing and language, the other concerns the diffusion of concepts in the ancient world. As the doubts of the peer-reviewers emerged while reading the article, it is necessary to confront the issue at the outset, rather than while presenting the argument. Thus, I have composed some lines here to deal with these two ideas, trying to represent the situation as I understand it. Those who have doubts about these matters can peruse these lines to at least grasp what I think (being fully conscious that they will not be persuaded, although hopefully slightly dismayed at the behaviour of their like-minded colleagues). In this first note, I will go into the matter of the diffusion of knowledge. Those opposing the concept of exchange between ancient civilisations correctly point out that: Suggestions of cultural exchanges between China and the West in remote antiquity have been made from time to time, but these are largely based on inference rather than on authentic records.33

Thus, one argument opposing an early idea of exchange demands that one find documented evidence of exchange. To some degree this is reasonable. However, those working with the ancient world are obliged to work in a different fashion: we look for evidence of the exchange, and base our claims on that evidence. Thus inference is the only means available. Below, I will mention the list of Aegean placenames from an Egyptian temple of the 14th century BC. Needless to say, this is the oldest list of European place names known in history and we have no reason to believe that the existing copy is a true copy of an ancient European list of toponyms. We have no testimony from any Aegean that he explained the geography of the Aegean to the Egyptians. We can only speculate that Egyptian traders or envoys collected and organised the relevant information. Indeed, we cannot know whether they picked up the information in some Levantine trading harbour, or whether they actually assembled the information based on first-hand experience. Yet, we would contend that the list itself offers a legitimate basis for inferences, while recognising that the list is not itself testimony of the type sought by Stephenson – precisely because such documentation is not available. The list groups together Mycenae, Knossos and Troy among other cities and the gradual acceptance that the list is a true list is partially based on the epigraphic and philological arguments, and partially based on the fact that parallel lists of placenames listing places in neighbouring Western Asia are also known. Thus, an inference is made that since the names of neighbouring countries are presented in list form, then the Aegean list might be reasonable – if the philological arguments are persuasive. However, the list itself is probably an Egyptian invention reflect-

33

STEPHENSON

1994, 512.

Lists versus Plans and Maps

139

ing familiarity with the urban and ethnic geography of the Aegean in Antiquity. As far as I am concerned it demonstrates exchange. However, this allusion deals only with the principle of evidence as opposed to testimony. I will also be arguing that the Egyptians adopted the concept of using lists from the Mesopotamians – in this case based on the chronological priority of the Mesopotamians, and the prominence lists played in their way of storing knowledge. But I do not argue that the actual lists were copied word for word in Egypt. There is little evidence for that (although as we will see, one could indeed infer that this may also have influenced the formulation of the lists). In any case, the parallels suggest more than mere influence. Given the limited range of genres in ancient writings (decrees, letters, rituals, counsels, and lists are among the shared genres of the Bronze Age), it is highly probable that there was at least minimal stimulation – and near copying on occasion. Thus, it is possible that more than the mere idea was transferred, but the Assyriologist von Soden is cited below, waxing lyrically sarcastic when dismissing the infantile character of the Egyptian lists (when compared to the Mesopotamian lists). The Egyptians adopted the lists in their own cultural fashion, as is common when cultures are prouder and further apart: the Assyrians were far more precise in their copying of the Babylonian texts. Yet, indeed, for the Egyptians and the Aegean we have no documentary proof of such exchanges: only archaeological and philological evidence and the ensuing inferences. Insisting upon a documentary confirmation of exchange would deny the value of the archaeological detective work. In this sense, for these distant times, we must study the evidence and draw as much as possible out of it. Obviously, some will feel that we are exaggerating and postulating more than the data can offer. It would be better to adopt a more realistic critical attitude towards the methodology and the material and the conclusions than to dismiss the method itself or to overestimate what can be postulated. However, there is another far greater problem involved in opposing diffusion of the exchange of ideas. It is frequently assumed that independent invention rather than diffusion explains the appearance of certain phenomena in different places. This argument assumes that individuals in different cultures will independently invent something that was invented in another culture without any stimulation from outside, i.e., based on (a) pure necessity, (b) extraordinary intelligence, (c) improbable coincidence, or (d) postulating that the attainment of a particular level of social complexity automatically leads to the invention of similar items. I am rather sceptical about the idea itself – and particularly the last variation. One of my favourite examples is recalling an internationally esteemed New Archaeologist who seriously suggested that the usage of cylinder seals in Iran, Mesopotamia, Syria and Egypt around 3000 BC might not have been the result of the exchange of an object and an idea invented in Mesopotamia, but rather may have been the inevitable result of social developments that led to the independent invention and use of the cylinder seal simultaneously in neighbouring lands. To my mind this would have been evidence of dementia, but the colleague was highly

140

David A. Warburton

intelligent, absolutely healthy and evidently really believed that it was possible. And, of course, I know many colleagues who would unhesitatingly propose this particular type of explanation for parallel developments. By contrast, I have no doubt that this was a matter of diffusion – and in the same fashion, I assume that the use of stamp seals (which spread to Egypt, Europe, India and China from Anatolia, on the northern fringe of the ancient Near Eastern civilisations) was also a matter of diffusion. In this sense, the idea of tagging and marking objects generated several different systems of documenting ownership or authorship, each culture following its own needs – but based on the diffusion of an idea which stimulated imitations and applications. In fact, I myself am very sceptical of simultaneous independent invention as a phenomenon in general. One indisputable case concerns the situation where different teams are racing in a competition to invent something which it is widely assumed could exist but does not yet (electric & driverless cars, telephones, light bulbs, and rockets come to mind). However, while this is a common phenomenon in the modern world where information about techniques and progress are exchanged rapidly, it is rather doubtful that this was common before the modern era. Most important, however, is that even with this rapid transfer of information, the number of cases in the modern world where two teams independently invented something is probably still quite limited. In the case of fighter jets, it may be assumed that the Germans, Russians, Americans and Japanese were conscious of the activities of the others. More disputable are cases such as calculus where it is alleged that Newton and Leibniz invented it simultaneously without one having knowledge of the activities of the other (but based on inference I am persuaded that Newton was kept abreast of some of what Leibniz was doing). Far more common are devices such as the wheel where the actual phenomenon is invented and spreads so quickly that one cannot identify the place where it was invented, but can assume that it was invented but once and spread quickly (and here I argue in favour of an invention somewhere in Eurasia which spread to the Near East). For myself, I simply assume that the evidence assures us that exchanges took place between different civilisations and that this covered many different areas, but particularly the realm of knowledge, which was subsumed under accounting and religion in Early Antiquity. My remarks about the exchange of myths and epithets between the various civilisations of the Ancient Near East fall into the category of religion.34 Beyond that, J. F. QUACK has also demonstrated that the Egyptians exchanged gods with their neighbours, and also shown that textual genres were probably translated from Sumerian into Egyptian. 35 In my own view, the evidence implies the transfer of information and in my view, the weak position is that of proposing “independent simultaneous parallel invention” – a view which I roundly reject as not compatible with the evidence we have (both about what happened in the past, and concerning what we know about the rarity of human origi34 35

E.g. WARBURTON 2012, p. 48 (with QUACK 2015b; QUACK 1997.

footnote 186) & pp. 98–104.

Lists versus Plans and Maps

141

nality in the modern world, a world which abounds with stimulating information but seems to produce a lot of clones and few original ideas). However, it would seem that situation is not as clear to others as to myself. Therefore, in this context, I draw on two phenomena to illustrate the point, namely (a) the means of understanding time & space and (b) the development of balances and scales (i.e., the conceptual bases of measurement upon which science depends). In both cases it concerns the exchange of information between cultures which was not immediately recognized for reasons which are difficult to understand but easy to follow. 2.2 Space & Time Concerning the first: for some reason NEUGEBAUER thought that the Egyptians invented (1) the calendar of a year of 360 days, which is “the only intelligent calendar which ever existed in human history” and (2) “the division of the day into 24 hours”.36 In fact, however, both are based on the sexagesimal system used by the Mesopotamians and not the decimal system used by the Egyptians. Thus, it is hardly surprising that ENGLUND concludes that both the 12-hour day (with 60 minutes to the hour) and “30-day month, and a 360-day year” were probably developed in Mesopotamia during the Uruk IV period,37 before the development of writing in Egypt.38 At the time that he was writing, NEUGEBAUER was unaware that the Mesopotamians ever used such a calendar as the system he attributed to the Egyptians (since the later Mesopotamian systems were compromises using intercalary lunar months in irregular synthetic years). NEUGEBAUER who always endeavoured to dismiss the contributions of the Egyptians would have been overjoyed at the discovery that the only accomplishment he attributed to the Egyptians was a Mesopotamian invention transmitted to Egypt. Significantly, NEUGEBAUER’S fundamental assumption was that the Mesopotamians were always the first and that if the Egyptians learnt anything, it was after and from the Mesopotamians. In this sense, he assumed diffusion as a means of denying Egyptian originality. Some aspects of his way of thinking need to be modified to accept two-way traffic, but in principle, what I am advocating is not that different from what NEUGEBAUER contended. Thus, there should not be that much debate – and scholars should adjust to recognizing the premises underlying Neugebauer’s claims (which have been widely if incorrectly accepted). In that sense, what I am advocating is nothing new: only the details.

36 37 38

NEUGEBAUER 1957, 81. ENGLUND 1998, 121. I note that the radiocarbon dates for the earliest writing in Egypt post-date the invention of writing in Mesopotamia by several centuries (cf. WARBURTON 2009, 297–9; and WENCEL 2017) and thus it is highly probable that the invention of writing took place in Mesopotamia and was transmitted to Egypt.

142

David A. Warburton

That the parallel development of two separate concepts of measuring time (hours in a day and days in a year) were developed simultaneously and independently is highly unlikely, especially as both are arbitrary systems imposed on time (i.e., the solar year is not 360 days long. Dividing the day into 12 or 24 hours is an absolutely arbitrary decision – but one that was transmitted to us from the Mesopotamians who conceived of it some five and a half or six millennia ago). Thus, either the concept was invented in Egypt and shifted to Mesopotamia, or – more likely, based on the 14C dates and the use of the sexagesimal system – the concept was developed in Mesopotamia and transferred to Egypt. As noted, NEUGEBAUER generally disregarded the possibility that the Egyptians did anything before the Mesopotamians, assigning the Mesopotamians virtually exclusive responsibility for all important scientific developments. In a recent article, GRASSHOFF calls upon NEUGEBAUER when discussing the history of longitude.39 He therefore cites a map (coincidentally my Fig. 1) which has indications of the cardinal directions expressed in terms of the winds. From there, GRASSHOFF goes on to cite a text from ca. 2000 BC as being “One of the earliest known texts in which geographical places are located in relation to the cardinal directions”.40 In terms of Mesopotamia, this might be correct. However, the Egyptians used words for the cardinal directions in the first half of the third millennium: 𓎔 m , North; jȝb, East; 𓇔 rs, South; and jmn, West.41 Aside from this, one can note that texts are not necessarily the best sources, as some Egyptian architecture also demonstrates familiarity with the cardinal directions. Regardless, in real historical terms, the earliest proof of consciousness of the cardinal directions must be assigned to the Egyptians rather than the Mesopotamians as GRASSHOFF would have us believe. Furthermore, the Egyptians would seem to have grasped the abstract concept of a direction before the Mesopotamians, who used winds, weather, mountains and peoples to indicate the directions. Just when the Mesopotamians began to understand the concept abstractly is not clear – but the idea of consciously and consistently orienting oneself according to the directions seems to have originated in Egypt and spread from there. In contrast to this, GRASSHOFF seems to believe that the concept of longitude can be treated by using only Mediterranean and Mesopotamian sources without Egypt. However, this course neglects the beginning of the story – as occurs far too often in the history of the emergence of science and knowledge as practiced by GRASSHOFF and the followers of NEUGEBAUER. Yet the situation of the transfer of information about numerical calculations of distances as a means of encoding geographical information – which is relevant to the concept of “longitude” GRASSHOFF stresses – is a far more complicated matter. Although YEE superficially disputed NEEDHAM’S claim for ancient Chinese

39 40 41

GRASSHOFF 2016. GRASSHOFF 2016, 636. KAHL 1994, 909, 912, 921,

927.

Lists versus Plans and Maps

143

grids,42 the situation is slightly more complicated. YEE states that: “Some, including Joseph Needham, have interpreted Pei’s statement as advocating the use of the cartographic grid, but there is no evidence for this”.43 Yet what NEEDHAM wrote was that later authors (as e.g., Liu Xianting 劉獻廷 of the Qin Dynasty, ca. 1695 AD) “fully recognised that the rectangular grid was at least as old as Phei Hsiu [= Pei Xiu 裴秀, ca. 224–271 AD, of the Jin Dynasty]”.44 Thus, NEEDHAM was persuaded that the tradition was continuous because of his reading of the Chinese sources. Certainly, there can be no doubt that PEI XIU was consciously trying to transpose three-dimensional geographical and topographical information onto the plane surface of a map, working with scales and thinking numerically. In this sense, he was fully in accord with the development of the Chinese system – but far ahead of his time when compared to the direction that developments took in the West in the millennium after his death. The grid system certainly emerged in China, and YEE actually stresses that numerical aspects were always included in Chinese map-making: In state service, those involved in astrology and water conservancy employed a number of mensurational techniques that had cartographic applications. By the Han dynasty (206 BC – AD 220), properties of right triangles and circles and their applications in astronomy, especially for determining distances between celestial objects and the earth and calculating the periodicity of certain celestial phenomena, were already understood.45

Beyond that, the Chinese seemingly had maps (ditu, 地圖) since around the fourth or third century BC, and were using numerical systems during the earlier Han in the final centuries BC.46 In the West, during the third and second centuries BC, Eratosthenes and Hipparchus were both inching towards the idea of the numerical analysis of geography. GEUS confirms that Eratosthenes (ca. 275–195 BC) was designing a completely new system based upon N–S and E–W lines crossing at Rhodes.47 However, while Eratosthenes used parallels for North and South orientation, his system of E–W measurement was based on measurements, rather than a theoretical grid. This concept of measuring points lasted until Ptolemy. And, this leads to a curious conclusion: It was not until Ptolemy that geographical longitude was systematically quantified through angular differences. It is demonstrated that the ancient scholars failed in their attempts to determine geographical longitude by astronomical means […] 48

42 43 44 45 46 47 48

SIVIN / LEDYARD 1994, 28. YEE 1994a, 48. NEEDHAM 1959, 541, with notes

a, b, 9, 10. I have supplemented or revised Needham’s transliterations, and added modern versions of the characters. YEE 1994c, 97. Reading from SIVIN / LEDYARD 1994 and YEE 1994a–e, 35–202. GEUS 2002, 275. GRASSHOFF 2016, 634.

144

David A. Warburton

GRASSHOFF’S point of departure was that astronomical measurements would contribute to geographical understanding, and he demonstrated that this did not occur; it follows that the development of Western map-making then came to an end, only for the project to be revived in the Middle Ages and Renaissance – obviously under completely different conditions. In doing so, one of our key points is that GRASSHOFF is only considering developments in the West, and thus GRASSHOFF posited that Ptolemy was the first to exploit angles. Thus, the introduction of angles is inserted, but the failure of Western map-making is clearly announced. Therefore, it would appear that the situation is clear – with the history of Western map-making simply suffering an eclipse before the genius of the West overcame the obstacles and brought about a new vision of the world. Significantly, from early on, Chinese map-making was guided by several different fundamental principles. Among the most important was the motivation, which was far more militarily guided than the scientific and mercantile interests of the Greeks. This meant that map-making was an industry, one funded by the state – and one where map-making and map-use were given priority. At the opposite end of the range of principles was the fact that, when transposing their points onto maps, a grid system was more reasonable for Chinese bureaucrats: their assumption of a flat-earth meant that triangulating points, using angles, was a natural means of overcoming the problem of projecting topography on a two-dimensional surface. As YEE pointed out, since the Han Dynasty (and probably before) angles and astronomical observations played a role in Chinese map-making. In this sense, GRASSHOFF’S unconscious assumption is that the straight line of the history of map-making took place in Mesopotamia and the Aegean – and he does not include either Egypt or China, while nevertheless conceding that the ancient map-makers did not make the real leap and neglecting the origins of the cardinal directions. If, however, we shift to Chinese history, we find a consistent line of thought. The Chinese had the great advantage that their main problem was dealing with the distances while taking account of the mountains. Thus, the accuracy of the early Chinese maps is not without interest. In the case of some maps derived from Mawangdui, found in a tomb where the “burial took place in 168 BC; thus the maps must have been drawn somewhat earlier”,49 one finds some variations in scale: As for the Mawangdui maps, the scale has been found to vary between 1:150,000 and 1:200,000 in the central portion of the topographic map and between 1:80,000 and 1:100,000 in the central portion of the military map. This is a “remarkably small” scale error, in the words of one researcher.50

Considering that recent American military maps reveal that the elevations in the region covered by one of the maps (ca. 23°–26° N, 110°–112° 30’ E) range from

49 50

YEE YEE

1994a, 40. 1994a, 43, 46.

Lists versus Plans and Maps

145

under around 500 feet (ca. 150 metres) to around 7500 feet (ca. 2300 metres),51 one must concede that these maps are relatively accurate and that scaling can only have been possible using angles and coordinates. The curvature of the earth has but a minor impact here, but the topography will have meant that measurements and the angles will have been decisive in creating such reliable maps. It follows that Chinese cartography was onto numerical systems several centuries before Ptolemy (2nd century BC as opposed to 2nd century AD). And Chinese cartography continued to develop while the West fell into the Middle Ages. Then, miraculously, the Western tradition was revived and went on. However, there is a very different possibility which could explain the later history of Western map-making. Significantly in his work on Mesopotamian and Greek mapping, GRASSHOFF stresses the importance of maritime navigation as an influence on geographical thought.52 Obviously, astronomical observations of the stars will have been as important as actual measurements, but in the long run, measurements were the way that map-making would proceed. This concept of E– W systems of measurement remained fixed to measurements and conceptual points. This led to the failure of Western map-making in Antiquity, and the endurance of its inadequacy through the Middle Ages. Yet sea-faring involves both measurement and observation of the skies, and is thus relevant to the history of map-making, and GRASSHOFF is right to stress it (even if this did not guarantee success in Antiquity). Yet precisely here the failure to consider connections to the East is quite remarkable, as the era included within the range of GRASSHOFF’S purvey also includes the era of the Periplus, which guided Greek merchants to India – and China lay beyond India. India had two land routes to China: one going North around Nanga Parbat, in the West, and one going North across northern Burma in the East. Beyond that, there was coastal trade around the Southeast Asian peninsula. This sea-faring and trade bound East and West – and the interest in geographical information grew as mercenaries, merchants, pilgrims and priests moved in various directions and exchanged experiences in different languages. If we disregard the possibility that the grid system was developed between the Qin and Jin dynasties (ca. 5th c. BC – 5th c. AD), one must accept the fact that the grid was developed sometime during the Tang and Song dynasties (7th–13th centuries AD) at the latest (which is demonstrated by the 12th century AD Song Dynasty maps; e.g., Fig. 6 below). When looking at the traditions from the Jin to Ming Dynasties (3rd–17th centuries AD), it has been argued that some 12th century Song Dynasty maps may have been copies of Tang Dynasty (6th–10th centuries AD) maps.53 Thus, it is reasonable to assume that a grid pattern of map-making was developed in China by the time that the Silk Road began to flourish: denying links between East and West at the time would be absurd. 51 52 53

ONC (Operational Naval GRASSHOFF 2016, 644. YEE 1994a, 46–51.

Charts) H–11, J–11 (Defense Mapping Agency, 1984, 1989).

146

David A. Warburton

Significantly, when discussing the Portolan charts (13th–15th centuries) Campbell stresses the history of the grid in very clear terms. He observes: Though a linear scale was implied on Ptolemy’s maps by their grid of longitude and latitude, the medieval sea charts were the first cartographic documents to regularly display one. 54

And, at the same time he notes (a) that “Contact with China […] ceased after the mid-fourteenth century” and (b) that “the Portolan charts of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries provide the best” data we have from Europe.55 Since the 12th century Song Dynasty maps indisputably had grids, and the contact with China ceased after those, with the fall of the following Yuan Dynasty, it follows that the Chinese may have had a decisive influence on Western map-making. Three decades ago, HARVEY remarked on the possible influences on Medieval and Renaissance European map-making: Nor, of course, did classical antiquity provide the only possible external influence on medieval mapping: there may have been some connections with Arab cartography, though this is harder to maintain now than it was once, and the possibility of even remoter links with the cartography of China cannot be entirely ruled out. 56

Of course, the realisation of connections between European and Arab mapmaking are less hesitant today – but it would seem that the attitude towards Chinese influences remains sceptical. One wonders why? It is quite clear that the Chinese map makers invented the cartographic grid, based on their experience of numerical and geometric map-making. Whether the invention took place before the end of the first millennium BC or around the beginning of the second millennium AD makes little difference: in any case, it preceded the European development – and was used at a time of contact between East and West. Yet, of crucial importance is the not the issue of whether Chinese mapmaking influenced Medieval European map-making, but rather whether ancient Chinese map-making might have provided the straight path from the origins of precise maps (as opposed to the Ancient Near Eastern ones) to the key components of Early Modern European maps? And once this question is posed, one needs to ask (a) whether the traditions of Classical Antiquity are irrelevant, and (b) whether or not the Chinese traditions might have had an influence in the Mediterranean in Antiquity? As stated, the concept of independent invention at times of exchange looks improbable to me. Obviously, it was easier for the Chinese to develop the idea of a grid, assuming that the earth was flat meant that their problem was the mountains (rather than the curvature of the earth, which was the problem for the Greeks). Once the Medieval Europeans realised that the ancients were right, and that the earth was more spherical than flat, the Europeans could adopt the Chinese grid system and advance their map-making in a fashion that the Chinese could 54 55 56

CAMPBELL 1987, 371. CAMPBELL 1987, 372. HARVEY 1987, 283–4.

Lists versus Plans and Maps

147

not. In this sense, I see a typical example of exchange and stimulation where one culture exhausts its capacities and another is stimulated but not constrained by the limits of the other culture – and this allows another step forwards. Although DILKE remarks that “some existing authorities tend to eulogise Ptolemy excessively”,57 his own view is representative: The remarkable influence of Ptolemy on the development of European, Arabic, and ultimately world cartography can hardly be denied. 58

In this sense, Ptolemy is viewed at once as (a) the outcome of the combination of Greek and Roman cartography, and (b) the main contributor to modern mapmaking. The Chinese are entirely edged out – but by neglect (as with GRASSHOFF), rather than by argument. In my conception of early history, within each culture it is usually the states which led, with the poets and scholars following. Between the collapse of the power of the Zhou dynasty (around 770 BC) and the emergence of the Han Dynasty (since ca. 205 BC – the very beginning of which is incidentally associated with the plundering of maps59), China fell into a state of perpetual internecine warfare. During this half-millennium of chaotic history, contemporary strategists appreciated the importance of geographical knowledge in carrying out their campaigns.60 Thus, the concept of map-making may have been driven by military requirements, and only gradually become a matter of commerce and scholarship. The question is just why at this particular time – when Alexander was heading East – geometrical and numerical concepts began to figure in Greek and Chinese scholarship at the same time? Given my own attitude – and the evidence of earlier centuries of scientific thought – I consider it to be highly improbable that one could argue simultaneous independent invention. I am thus inclined to believe that it is more reasonable to accept diffusion, especially as one can generally see the leading actor initiating something first and then followed by others later (as with the calendar first in Mesopotamia and the directions first in Egypt). These examples are probably among the first instances of the significant transfer of information technology in history. Inevitably, it will be appreciated that the early third millennium Egyptian recognition of the fundamental importance of the cardinal directions as a guide to orientation was among the fundamental discoveries at the dawn of history. The later maps – Mesopotamian, Egyptian, Aegean, Chinese, and European – frequently rely on orientation expressed in the form of the cardinal directions. This likewise suggests a form of the diffusion of orientation.

57 58 59 60

DILKE 1987, 177, Note 1. DILKE 1987, 177. YEE 1994b, 75. E.g. YEE 1994b, 73.

148

David A. Warburton

However, improving map-making required more than that. Understanding how to measure distances and exploit the use of angles when projecting a spherical earth onto a two-dimensional surface required flexibility. Without the advan-ces in Egypt, Mesopotamia, China and Greece, the advances of Early Modern Europe would have been impossible. Assuming that each culture made advances as far as its intellectual world allowed – and that the baton was passed on to another culture which made another advance is the most economical fashion of understanding the expansion of the realm of science. On the one hand, this should make it easier to understand how modern mapmaking developed – and on the other, it might hint at just why the Ancient Near Eastern civilisations may have found that encoding geographical information in verbal form was the most objective means of storing it. For most of human history, map-making remained a difficult, challenging and unrewarding enterprise. 2.3 Balances & scales The second case concerns the development of balances and scales. The precision balance (with two pans suspended from a single beam with a fulcrum in the middle) was developed somewhere in the Near East around 3000 BC. Within a few centuries, it was in use in the Indus Culture, Mesopotamia and Egypt. The diffusion of a complex system – whereby a beam, a pair of suspended balance pans, and a set of uniform weights are combined together – can only be understood as a case of the simultaneous transfer of the mechanism and the conceptual system upon which it was based (instrument & weights) and the conceptual system for which it was used (estimating value by weight – and calculating conversion rates for capacity and surface measures). The independent invention – within centuries – of such a system is highly improbable. And the use of the system expanded into the Aegean in the second millennium BC, and certainly into China in the early first millennium, if not the late second.61 To my mind it is indisputable that the invention of such a complicated technology (involving both conceptual and technological aspects) must have been diffused and could hardly have been invented simultaneously by accident in different places. However, the tale of scales and weights does not end there. During the first millennium BC, a different system of weighing was developed: the steelyard based on a beam with a scale and a single pan (or hook) and a weight. Ultimately, this developed into the steelyard familiar to us, with a moving weight. However, there was an intermediate step whereby the weight was fixed or concentrated at one end of a beam and the fulcrum of the beam was gradually shifted until equilibrium was reached. There were thus two different developments during the second half of the first millennium BC – based on complicated technical devices used in very different ways from (a) each other, and (b) from the precision balance.

61

Cf. WARBURTON 2018.

Lists versus Plans and Maps

149

There must have been a discourse behind these developments – quite aside from the diffusion of the instruments. As NEEDHAM pointed out a half century ago, there are a number of strange coincidences in scientific discourse in Greece and China in the mid-first millennium BC.62 NEEDHAM was hesitant about interpreting the presence of parallel understandings of paradoxes and sea animals in the Greek and Chinese worlds as the transmission of knowledge. However, in terms of the levers (which are intimately related to the use of balances), NEEDHAM was relatively certain that the discussion in China depended upon knowledge of Archimedes’ laws in China. Yet NEEDHAM dates the Chinese texts to the 4th century BC, whereas Archimedes is firmly in the 3rd century. Thus, we are talking about discussions of mechanical problems couched in similar terms in different parts of the world at the same time. And seemingly, the knowledge was moving in both directions. Yet, the usual approach to cultural interaction across Eurasia is to deny it: even where the evidence seems to be proof that scholars were discussing the same questions. Thus SCHEMMEL, a contributor to a volume of essays about the Globalization of Knowledge, states that the earliest treatises on mechanics “were written independently at about the same time” in Greece and China.63 This means that the early “globalization of knowledge” is excluded – and thus the very subject of the book disregarded by positing an improbable coincidence (primarily because the book is really about the diffusion of Western science and not the exchange of knowledge among lesser civilisations). Yet the certainly of this claim is slightly compromised by a very peculiar error. To support his arguments, SCHEMMEL cites a work (to which he made the massive contribution)64 to deny the presence of the steelyard in China in the first millennium BC, stating that “the balance with unequal arms” was used “possibly as early as […] the Jin dynasty (265–420 CE)”.65 Yet, in the work to which he contributed (and cited) we find that a Chinese source is cited to argue in favour of the late Eastern Han, which takes us back a couple of decades before his date for the beginning of the Jin Dynasty.66 NEEDHAM dates this latter text to 210 AD and thus takes us back to the same era67 – which most assuredly does not correspond to the date in the text of the article (where it could be postulated that SCHEMMEL insinuates that we should understand that the steelyard may have only appeared more than two centuries later). Furthermore, however, Needham contends that the steelyard (Chinese cheng 秤), actually dates to the 4th century BC in China,68 but RENN & SCHEMMEL dispute the interpretation of this reference on grounds which are not necessarily 62 63 64 65 66 67 68

NEEDHAM 1954, 150; NEEDHAM SCHEMMEL 2012, 271. RENN / SCHEMMEL 2000, 22–3. SCHEMMEL 2012, 272. RENN / SCHEMMEL 2000, 23. NEEDHAM 1962, 24, notes j, 2. NEEDHAM 1962, 24.

1956, 21–3, 190–5.

150

David A. Warburton

compelling: their actual claim is that the conclusion that a Mohist text refers to the steelyard “is not absolutely clear”.69 This latter statement differs significantly from the statement in the book where SCHEMMEL dismissed the earlier attestations, stating instead that “the oldest attestations do not reach back to the time of the Mohists”.70 In fact, however, this is far from what RENN & SCHEMMEL claim in the text they wrote and to which SCHEMMEL refers. There, RENN & SCHEMMEL merely argue that the text need not be understood as referring to a steelyard, but then remark, “should the order so described actually be related to a device for measuring weight, then it is probable that one should interpret this as referring to a balance of the Bismer type […]”71 – and thus concede that the Mohist text could in fact refer to a Bismer, which is a type of balance with “unequal arms” as they put it. And, significantly enough, decades ago, HAEBERLE suggested that the Bismer was precisely the type of balance to which (Pseudo-) Aristotle referred in Mechanical Problems chapter 18.72 Thus, it would seem that in Greece and China, philosophers might have been discussing the same problems using the same instruments – which would be a bizarre coincidence if all were doing so independently at roughly the same time (as SCHEMMEL claims). Beyond that, however, NEEDHAM also cites the Huai Nan Tzu which refers to the steelyard in the second century BC. 73 In RENN & SCHEMMEL, we also find a reference to this latter text,74 admitting that, pace NEEDHAM, the word heng is correctly translated as “beam (of a balance)” – but the reference to the steelyard is not mentioned by SCHEMMEL and thus not disputed. Thus, the sophistry is not particularly successful, since by citing a demonstrably wrong date, SCHEMMEL actually encouraged us to demonstrate the errors of his methodology. More important, however, might be an observation by R ICKETT to the effect that quan 權, “originally referred to the weight on a steelyard, is usually translated as ‘political power’”.75 In fact, “authority, power, right, expedient” are also used, with RICKETT stressing the latter in particular. The age of the Guanzi is of course a matter of debate, but clearly such a central concept could hardly have been inserted into the text after the Western Han. Let us therefore say that the word could certainly not have been inserted after the birth of Christ, and more likely goes back to the second or third century BC – if not to the 7th century (which is actually possible, but improbable). In any case, the word is used in these figurative senses in the Guanzi, meaning that the steelyard itself must be older than Han, and prob69 70 71

72 73 74 75

RENN / SCHEMMEL 2000, 29. SCHEMMEL 2012, 272. RENN / SCHEMMEL 2000, 29

(„Sollte es sich bei der beschriebenen Anordnung aber tatsächlich um einen Wägegerät handeln, so liegt die Interpretation nahe, daß es sich um eine Waage vom Typ des Besmers handelt, ….“). HAEBERLE 1967, 29–31, 39–41. NEEDHAM 1962, iii. RENN / SCHEMMEL 2000, 29. RICKETT 2001, 44.

Lists versus Plans and Maps

151

ably goes back to the Warring states period (i.e., a half millennium before the Jin date SCHEMMEL would sell us). Significantly, SCHUESSLER gives “fist” as another very early meaning of the Chinese word quan76 – which RICKETT understood as i.a. “steelyard weight” and “expedient”. Curiously, the fist would be a perfect description of the weight of the Bismer balance (since here the weight is fixed to the end of the beam, rather than swinging from it), but the concept of “expediency” would match the later type steelyard where the weight rather than the fulcrum moves. Thus, one has the impression that the development of the balance – from precision balance through Bismer to standard steelyard – seems to have moved in exact parallel in China and the eastern Mediterranean at the same time. It would be improbable that such a development took place in both places independently, especially when we can suggest that the discourses in both lands not only touched on the principles of Archimedes and Aristotle, but may also have concerned the Bismer. To my mind, it follows that the parallel discourses identified by NEEDHAM and SCHEMMEL actually did have some roots in some kind of transfer of information. What is extremely important in this context is that in Chapter XIX of Book II of the Arthashastra (a book on Hindu statecraft, probably dating to the centuries around the beginning of our era), there are clear references to steelyards with scales along their beams.77 This certainly means that at a minimum a bismer type balance (or possibly, the familiar steelyard with the shifting weight) was familiar at the time the text reached its present form, i.e., the third century AD at the latest. As the reference might have been added later, this means that it is not clear that this section of the text must date to the second century BC. However, such a mundane feature (as the role of the superintendent of measures, which is where the references appear) may well actually antedate the development of the treatise as a work of philosophy – and thus reach back to the 4th century BC. In any case, we can be certain that some kind of steelyard was familiar in India around the beginning of our era. Its presence in China and Greece may also be assumed – and the transmission of knowledge and technology between these countries assured. And, in case this was not apparent, the argument advanced by RENN and SCHEMMEL was merely designed to refute the existence of the steelyard at an early time in Ancient China: they recognized that the precision balance had already diffused from Egypt, Babylonia or the Indus region to China long before the steelyard. Thus even their heroic efforts cannot deny that the most ancient and basic system of precision weighing had been diffused to China, which itself deserves attention (and more so when denying the diffusion of the steelyard along 76 77

2007, 437. The Sanskrit text of the Arthashastra was discovered (1906) and translated (Bangalore, 1915) by R. SHAMASASTRY at the beginning of the 20th century. It is now largely agreed that it is a compilation with several authors, dating to the era between the 2 nd century BC and the 3rd century AD. The alleged author Kautiliya (also known as Chanakya and Vishnugupta) was an advisor of Chandragupta in the 4th century BC. Obviously it would be quite interesting to date a fully formed steelyard in India to the era of Aristotle, but this cannot be assumed. SCHUESSLER

152

David A. Warburton

the Silk Road – as the earlier balance apparently reached China long before these more comfortable mercantile developments rendered communications easier). 2.4 Measurement: summing up Thus, these two examples – the measurement of time and space at the beginning of the third millennium in Egypt and Mesopotamia and the development of weighing technology and discourse in Greece and China – hit at the core of the diffusion of knowledge (in both material and textual form) in Antiquity. In the case of mapmaking, the potential role of Chinese influence on Western map-making tends to be discounted – but there can be little doubt about the connections between Egypt, Mesopotamia and the Aegean. Significantly, the case of the steelyards in China hints at the degree to which evidence of contact is denied or dismissed by cloaking it in a pseudo-scientific argument which actually serves to conceal the fact that the discourse and the technological developments betray both parallel thoughts and practices which are expressed in parallel tracts – at roughly the same time. To my mind, this is typical of the attitudes towards the diffusion of knowledge before modern times, as presented by the opponents of diffusion (including those peer-reviewers who simply reject the possibility of exchange out of hand). In fact RENN, the editor of the book on Globalization of Knowledge in History (in which SCHEMMEL’S contribution appeared) is (a) seemingly capable of recognizing exchange in early times while being (b) distinctly sceptical about recognizing the importance of science in early times. In this fashion, he can argue that the globalisation of knowledge is actually the tale of the dissemination of what he considers to be Western science to the rest of the world because what was exchanged earlier was not that important. RENN has little patience for knowledge in Antiquity, assigning what we identify as Western science a “privileged” position.78 Thus, the title of SCHEMMEL’S chapter is programmatically “The Transmission of Scientific Knowledge from Europe to China in the Early Modern Period” – and it is the first chapter devoted to China in the book, implying that this passive role is characteristic of China and that it did not have a significant role in the dissemination of knowledge earlier.79 Given this conceptual framework, it is hardly surprising that RENN deftly avoids discussing the camera obscura – which was also apparently known and discussed in both China and Greece in Antiquity. When analysing the phenomenon of how light was understood NEEDHAM observes that in the second half of the first millennium BC, the “Greek theory” of light implied “the emission of rays from the eye” whereas (based on the practical experience of the camera obscura) the Chinese correctly realised that images “reflected light”.80 Thus, the Chinese 78 79 80

Cf. WARBURTON 2015. SCHEMMEL 2012, 269. NEEDHAM 1962, 82.

Lists versus Plans and Maps

153

understanding of light betrayed in the preserved writings was superior to Plato’s. This is not in accordance with RENN’S doctrine of the superiority of Western science, but entirely compatible with RENN’S vision as summarised in SCHEMMEL’S remark that “modern science […] originated in early modern Europe and spread from there”.81 Needless to say, it is everywhere accepted that Western science spread and that “parallel independent inventions” in the development of Western science did not take place – and certainly not that developments elsewhere contributed to Western science. The rest of the world adopted Western science through diffusion: other cultures did not contribute to it. Readers should be conscious of the significance of this assumption when postulating independent developments elsewhere at other times. Disregarding the evidence of any kind of science in the ancient world facilitates this argument enormously – and here RENN takes full advantage of this. In fact, however, accepting the transfer of information between the various cultures of the ancient world would mean that ancient science did actually contribute to the emergence of modern Western science (which depended upon the accomplishments of Antiquity in order to overcome them and move onwards) and this would upend the argument that Western science is alone totally different in (a) being distinctly different from ancient science and (b) being exclusively a question of a spread from the West to the Rest. Thus, this issue of technology transfer is fundamental to understanding the history and nature of science. To my mind, the mendacity of RENN’S exploitation of SCHEMMEL’S ineptitude in obscuring the Eurasian dialogue is exemplary of the behaviour of those who oppose recognizing the exchange of knowledge in ancient times. To me, such behaviour suggests that those who favour simultaneous independent invention (such as the numerous hostile peer-reviewers I encounter) are the ones who deserve to be thrown onto the defensive. (In this case, I am responding directly to those peerreviewers who viewed assuming contacts between east and west as being sufficient cause to prevent this paper from being published – not to those who were merely sceptical about the claims). There are, in fact many more parallels revealing the exchange of thought – but these could all be discounted by those who prefer to obscure the real situation and represent their own interpretation of the resolution of debate by sloppy scholarship as RENN & SCHEMMEL practice it.82 It is significant that COLIN RENFREW – who was long very hostile to the concept of exchange between the ancient Near East and the Aegean in the third millennium BC – readily welcomes exchange across the Eurasian steppe.83 Fortunately, if paradoxically, SCHEMMEL also suggests that “Chinese indigenous science […] was the result of a multi-millennial history of knowledge transmission 81 82 83

SCHEMMEL 2012, 269. Further evidence of links between civilisations will be found in F RIBERG 2007 and FRIBERG 2005. I have also argued such links in W ARBURTON 2016a. BOYLE / RENFREW / LEVINE 2002.

154

David A. Warburton

throughout the Eurasian and (northern) African continents”84 – and thereby skilfully (if unwittingly) forestalls the complaints of the narrow-minded reviewers, who, like SCHEMMEL himself, deny the exchange and posit “independent invention”. It is significant that one notes parallel arguments when discussing the diffusion of ideas. On the one hand, authors (such as GRASSHOFF) will simply keep to the traditional links between Mesopotamia and Greece – and simply disregard Egypt. In such cases, the argument is accomplished by neglect, while (significantly for the argument here) accepting the diffusion of ideas. On the other hand are authors (such as SCHEMMEL) who simply dismiss the possibility of diffusion, and then reveal through their own scholarship that the possibility of communication is excluded by rather unfortunate errors. Thus, I rest my case, citing (a) SCHEMMEL in support of the claim that such exchanges had been going on for millennia – and (b) my discussion of SCHEMMEL’S work as an example of the unreflected inconsistencies one finds in the texts of those seemingly unaware that they are making incompatible and unscholarly remarks when opposing diffusion. 2.5 Writing versus oral traditions & maps Another rather disconcerting issue for peer-reviewers is my assumption that the appearance of writing was isochronous with the invention of lists. Some of the peer-reviewers took the attitude that the contest should have been understood in terms of oral traditions as opposed to written traditions, contending that the prehistoric oral traditions may have included conceptual lists. I have my doubts about this, but I also see that there was a divergence in understanding, as I contend that the imagery of the few maps that are preserved from Antiquity probably did not have the role we assign maps – but rather that the role was more in line with HARLEY’S attitude that maps are inherently ideological rather than objective. Thus, in effect there are three different issues involved: the differing cognitive roles and differing histories of (a) oral transmission, (b) textual written recording and (c) imagery in the form of sketches and maps. I can argue my case that lists probably arose with writing. To my mind, one of the most persuasive arguments for the simultaneous emergence of lists and writing is that both (a) different kinds of officials and (b) cities appear in the earliest lists, along with (c) metals.85 Officials, cities and metals belong to urban civilisations and not to prehistory. The other categories listed in the very earliest, midfourth millennium lists are vessels and foodstuffs, i.e., exactly what was being recorded in the contemporary economic tablets. In this sense, one can confirm that the earliest lists are intimately linked to the new urban civilisation. Other catego-

84 85

SCHEMMEL 2012, 269. Cf. ENGLUND / NISSEN 1993, 69–70, 134–41, 145–50.

Lists versus Plans and Maps

155

ries were only added in the later lists: these earliest lists were part of the urban administration. Thus, to my mind the link is clear: the composition of the early lists did not begin with earth, fire, water, wind/air and the other phenomena which characterise the Greek lists of elements composed in the first millennium BC. Curiously, the Chinese – but not the Greeks – did include metal and wood in their systems of elements, and metal and wood played an important role in the early Mesopotamian lists, suggesting diffusion and inheritance to me. In this sense, the Chinese lists are less abstract. For us, these abstract Greek categories are the rational ones. According to the evidence, and thus to my mind historically, they came at the end of the traditions, not the beginning. The issue of the extent to which oral discussions preceding the invention of writing can be assumed to have had much value in terms of exchanging information appears to appeal to the human mind (or at to least peer-reviewers battering colleagues – and philosophers speaking off the cuff to lay audiences) as much as the concept of independent invention of various ideas and items in different parts of the world. In fact, even today with extensive literacy, and easily available dictionaries and encyclopaedias, people do not seem to be able to agree that they are talking about the same thing. Anyone with any doubts about my contention is invited to visit a Protestant theological library to appreciate the degree to which a couple of thousand pages of text can give rise to polemical disputes producing millions of words of different versions of exegesis and myriads of incompatible interpretations. This is extremely important as most knowledge before the modern era was not indisputable scientific knowledge as we understand it, but conceptual, disputable, discursive knowledge as routinely familiar to philosophers today (and the philosophers generally restrict their discussions to works in the historical, literate world [except when – extremely exceptionally – extrapolating wildly beyond their own domain to contend that this is the way the mind works86]). Given this objective reality, I am not highly inclined to believe that in prehistory two people could actually have developed a meaningful discourse in which each of the participants could be certain that any sound bore some particular meaning and that they both shared the concept of that meaning. I will readily concede that before the invention of writing words such as “water”, “knife” and “tree” could have existed – but I am far from certain that even something like a “house” could have been a matter of real agreement, let alone complex phenomena such as different officials, which is what we see in the earliest form of the written lists of early Mesopotamia. However, I am not persuaded that it will be as easy to convince readers of this. While persuaded of the validity of my argument, I contend that it is not essential to share my interpretation in order to understand the gist of my argument about the importance of encoding knowledge in lists or verbal form rather than maps for most of human history as this is based on facts, and by itself the paucity 86

E.g. FAUCONNIER / TURNER 2002.

156

David A. Warburton

of maps preserved from Antiquity speaks volumes (sic). However, I will make an effort. It is apparently difficult for us to imagine living virtually without maps that one could use in the fashion that we generally regard them (i.e., as useful tools). We moderns are seemingly inclined to assume that the ancients understood maps as we do – as a useful way of charting spatial information. This “we” is specifically the result of my conversations in those circles where maps and the history of science collided in the Berlin Excellence Cluster Topoi – and certainly does not represent my opinion. I am inclined to believe that we should take the paucity of ancient maps seriously, and recognize that in the Ancient World this was not their primary means of understanding how to usefully encode spatial information. And this leads to a question about their understanding of knowledge and their understanding of imagery. 3. Early maps and geographical knowledge in the Premodern World Thus, I contend that for most of world history maps were not really very important. HARVEY, a proponent of the idea that maps must have been far more abundant than the scant remains that testify to their existence in Medieval Europe, still stresses: [T]he pattern of medieval maps known to us makes it clear that maps were not simply drawn for the multitude of everyday purposes for which they might have been used. 87

In this sense, even those who might speculate that there were more maps in Antiquity and the Middle Ages recognize not only that the evidence is not abundant, but they do not really contend that maps were common. From this, it follows that that geographical information which was verbally (rather than graphically) encoded could have been as important as it was demonstrably abundant. Relevant here is that in Western Asian Antiquity, there were occasional plans and maps, of which HALLO remarks: All such [Mesopotamian] maps and plans had a practical purpose in the determination of ownership; some were presumably on deposit at administrative centers […] They were little more than “topographical maps” which, like their Egyptian and medieval European successors, were characterized by indifference to angles, variable scales, mixture of elevations and birds-eye views, inconsistent orientation, and limited areal coverage. 88

Thus HALLO implies that the reason is the “practical” nature of Near Eastern plans, particularly relating to ownership. It is not insignificant that decades after HALLO made this statement, F. ROCHBERG echoes HALLO’S assumption when suggesting that what is probably the oldest map in the world (my Fig. 1) simply

87 88

HARVEY 1987, 283. HALLO 1964, 57.

Lists versus Plans and Maps

157

recorded “cultivated land and its owner”.89 In this context, one should recall that the maritime routières were all intended to be practical in the same way that some of the Babylonian itineraries were. However, more importantly, I suspect that there is something deeper: the Ancient Near Eastern lists had a disarming tendency to include what we would call “dictionaries” – but there were only occasional glosses, and no systematic attempt to develop definitions. They had only bi- and trilingual dictionaries which offered equivalent words in other languages. The mere word lists offer no explanations: it is only through the position in the list that the reader can judge the rough meaning of a word (if one does not know it). One has the impression that in the Ancient Near East, virtually any elucidation was avoided. One can imagine that when they viewed the works of art contemporary at that time, the ancient scholars can only have appreciated that the messages conveyed in the works of art were polyvalent and ambiguous – consciously ideological and certainly not objective depictions “free of subjectivity” (and modern historians of art will probably eventually reach the same conclusions). On the contrary, virtually all imagery and every verbal “explanation” was embedded in a social system, and designed to express a subjective interpretation. The bureaucrat-scholar-poets were conscious of the compatibility of their literary creations and the creative masterpieces of the craftsmen commissioned to proclaim vague ideologies. And for this HALLO also offers a very relevant thought: [Assyrian and other Babylonian maps and plans] show the same mastery of detail and failure to cope with larger configurations as do the ground plans of buildings […] Indeed, if cartography were the measure of geography, the Babylonian achievement in the latter discipline would appear relatively modest.90

Briefly stated: one could suspect that the plans and maps were intended to contain a minimum of precise information, albeit consciously embedded in sketches with potentially misleading interpretations. More relatable were the “dictionaries” which offer no definitions, but only long lists of words. And here HALLO reminds us: Geography, however, can thrive even without cartography, and there is evidence for both theoretical and applied geography in what may be called one-dimensional cuneiform texts. The former expressed itself in lists, the medium which characterized all phases of speculative thought in Babylonia from its written beginnings. Such lists are essentially taxonomic in orientation; more specifically, they are linguistically or even orthographically oriented systems of classification.91

Thus, the uncommented text seems to have been authoritative, and it was tacitly assumed that the imagery could not be: the image always involves some interpretation (as HARLEY would stress). And this is the weak point of O’CONNOR’S treatment of the ancient Egyptian maps. While recognising that a considerable

89 90 91

ROCHBERG 2012, 30. HALLO 1964, 61. HALLO 1964, 61.

158

David A. Warburton

amount of geographical information was encoded in list or textual form, O’CONNOR nevertheless seems to try to postulate that it might be a mere accident that few maps are preserved from Egypt.92 Yet – aside from the Turin Map (my Fig. 5) – his examples are the use of cartographic-like depictions of ideological positions. It is remarkable that in his “final observations”, O’CONNOR refers to “maps and diagrams […] and the actual application of the knowledge they provided”93 while failing to realise that he has actually repeatedly referred to lists and the textual treatment of geographical information.94 The fact that O’CONNOR has but one map is rather striking – and this one map (Fig. 5 here) appears at the end of the Bronze Age. Curiously, he quotes others to assert that the quality “is perhaps better than might be expected for the earliest example of cartography”.95 It is entirely possible that this Turin “map” is indeed the beginning of a new tradition – one which followed a different and elusive path for the following two millennia, before flowering in recent times. In contrast to this, the lists have a long history. However, this sole Bronze Age Egyptian map is not the “earliest example of cartography”, but rather simply the oldest preserved Egyptian map. The oldest preserved Mesopotamian map is at least a millennium older – and it is highly probable that an exchange of ideas between Egypt and Mesopotamia contributed to the developments in both regions. What is significant is that if lists can be traced back to oral traditions (as some peer reviewers contend), it is quite remarkable that the pictorial traditions of prehistory were abandoned for most of the period during which writing was used to record knowledge and that it is only in recent centuries that knowledge has come to be recorded pictorially in a routine form, as graphs, charts, schemes, maps, etc. I thus suggest that there was a cognitive burst at the time of the invention of writing (in the literal sense of ca. 3500 BC in Mesopotamia) and that in the following centuries this took the form of an explosion of texts expressed in language and that graphic means were not immediately used as a primary means of storing and conveying knowledge. Thus, for me it is striking that graphic depictions – which would have continued the traditions of prehistory – were exploited for ideological purposes (such as demonstrations of power), rather than for expressing coherent thought. In this sense, I see a transformation of thought linked to language and writing since the time of the invention of writing. I thus argue in this paper that the lists can be understood as representing a means of arguing this transformation – and also that the use of graphics to depict real knowledge and thought is a more recent innovation. However, even if one disputes my claims in the excursus here, this does not transform the potential importance of the material I present.

92 93 94 95

O’CONNOR O’CONNOR O’CONNOR O’CONNOR

2012, 48–9, 51, 56, 77. 2012, 77. 2012, 55 (“lists”), 56 (“lists”), 57 (“lists”), 58 (“lists”). 2012, 50.

Lists versus Plans and Maps

159

4. The use of maps and lists for recording geographical knowledge Thus in my view, before the invention of writing, such lists were impossible to make. It was only long after the end of the Near Eastern Bronze Age that adequate maps and charts began to substitute or supplement the list form, in Tang Dynasty China and towards the end of the Middle Ages in Europe.96 Thus, the “catalogue” form of Ptolemy’s Almagest corresponds to the ancient Near Eastern way of recording spatial information. The Arab translation’s illustrations may have emerged under Chinese influence. Thus, I argue that making lists was the typical form of recording information in the Ancient Near East – and that (as illustrated with Ptolemy) this remained the norm for Classical Antiquity as well. As an historical cognitive development, the development of maps and charts as a suitable means of representing spatial information was as revolutionary as the development of lists. This concept of transmitting information in textual form – rather than the chart or map form to which we are accustomed – is familiar from the ancient Near East where sales deeds for land, cadastre surveys and routes are more frequently preserved in textual rather than graphic form. My own personal experience is that in conversations with colleagues and lectures by learned experts, it is frequently suggested that there were more maps, but that they are not that well preserved, and thus missing due to historical rather than cognitive developments. Some scholars have expressed reservations about this assumption, but there is a real challenge in convincing those outside ancient history that the absence of infor-

96

One peer-reviewer correctly observed that the Artemidorus Papyrus ( GALLAZZI / KRAMER 1998) was neglected in this discussion. However, the “map” is a sketch rather than a plan – and incomplete; aside from the debate about its authenticity (e.g. C ANFORA 2007; RATHMANN 2011), the papyrus definitely does not belong in the Bronze Age Near Eastern tradition as it belongs to the Græco-Roman world. That said, the papyrus seems to have a written description of the geography of the Iberian Peninsula (in Greek, allegedly being a copy of a text by Artemidorus of Ephesus), accompanied by an incomplete map. Artemidorus apparently wrote a kind of periplus as well as his geography, but the papyrus probably belongs to the geographical tradition. Maps are frequently associated with military activities while the periplus tradition is usually associated more with the commercial world. However, having mentioned Artemidorus, we can touch on the periplus tradition as well, which is alluded to later. The Periplus of the Erythraean Sea (CASSON 1989) is a text without illustrations, describing navigation in the Indian Ocean, probably dating to the 1 st century AD. The Arab successor (TIBBETS 1971) is likewise not accompanied by illustrations – although tables were known to have accompanied some of the Arab navigational texts. Thus, even for navigation, the tradition of dispensing with maps survived until the Renaissance when the Portuguese began to prepare maps enthusiastically. By that time the Tabula Peutingeriana was already a millennium old. In the sense that the Artemidorus Papyrus should probably be related to the geographic rather than the navigational tradition, it will have been exceptional: exceptions to the use of textual diffusion did exist. However, as noted, they are rare and this one is not from the Bronze Age Near East. I stress the rarity – and those discussing the papyrus likewise underscore my point.

160

David A. Warburton

mation is evidence of absence, as opposed to absence of evidence which is then hypothetically presumed to have existed. To understand Mesopotamian and Egyptian systems of knowledge, one must understand something of the languages and the civilisations. The Mesopotamians created the basis for science with their systems of measurement established during the fourth and early third millennia. These achievements were probably those the Sumerians, but we cannot be certain.97 From there it would seem that the Egyptians made some progress in medicine and astronomy and thus effectively opened the way to science in a way that was foreign to the Mesopotamians of the fourth and third millennia.98 But from the second millennium onwards, the most important strain of science was not that of the Sumerians of the third millennium, but rather that of the Mesopotamian Babylonians. During the first millennium, some Assyrians kings – in particular Assurbanipal of the third quarter of the 7th century BC, who strove to create a comprehensive library, much like that desired by the Ptolemies several centuries later – supported science as well. Yet the Semitic idea that the Sumerians had the superior civilisation was never seriously thrown into doubt, even though the Semitic religion was decisively different from the Sumerian, let alone the Indo-European. In this sense, Mesopotamia was accustomed to several competing and parallel systems of conceptions and values. There are indeed some maps and plans that uncontestably resemble what we understand as such.99 Indeed, the tradition seems to range from a local plan of Gasur/Nuzi in the 3rd millennium (see Fig. 1) to a mappa mundi of the first millennium (see Fig. 3). HALLO remarks of one such second-millennium plan (see Fig. 2), that “The Old Babylonian map of Nippur is perhaps the best cuneiform map of all time”.100 Similar plans are known from Ancient Egypt.101 Yet such maps are rare in comparison to the list-like forms, meaning that the capacity to create maps existed, but was not viewed as the norm by which one chose to represent spatial concepts and information.

I should probably note that the “Sumerians” were the rulers of southern Mesopotamia for most of the third millennium BC, using cuneiform signs to write an agglutinative language which seems not to be related to any other known language. Whether they were the same people who invented the cuneiform script is not absolutely certain as the earliest 4 th millennium Proto-Cuneiform texts do not reveal many traces of grammar. During the third millennium, the Sumerians shared the Mesopotamian plain with Semitic speaking peoples (Akkadians, Amorites), whose language (with conjugations and declinations, like Indo-European) was very different. During the 2nd and 1st millennia BC, the Babylonian and Assyrian Semites ruled Mesopotamia (with interruptions, the last of which were the successive conquests of the plains by the Indo-European Persians and Macedonians). 98 Cf. WARBURTON 2016a. 99 RÖLLIG 1980–3; GUNDLACH 1980. 100 HALLO 1964, 61. For orientation, I note that Nippur was a major city in southern Mesopotamia, but one which had the distinction of having been a centre of learning, finance and religion – but not of political or military power. Thus Nippur is a very special place. 101 Cf. QUACK 2016. 97

Lists versus Plans and Maps

161

Thus, my own attitude is that the mid-second-millennium (either Old Babylonian or Kassite) plan of Nippur does represent our “ideal” of what a plan should look like. This is really what HALLO betrays with his remark. He does not understand that this is what we look for, and that our criteria of evaluation are applied to the map. It is true that this corresponds to what has since become the norm for judging a map. In fact, however, it stands alone in the mid-second millennium BC and the first millennium maps (Fig. 3) and plans take a different – more schematic than representative – route. This was clearly not the “best cuneiform map” in the eyes of the Babylonians for it was not used or understood as an ideal template from which one could produce improved plans. Significantly, the Babylonian world took another route: that of mathematics, whereby spatial plans were conceptually represented with text-like numbers. The best example being the recent discovery of very late Babylonian (probably Hellenistic) use of advanced mathematical formulae to represent the movement of celestial bodies in space. The calculations take the form of a text and there is no accompanying graphic in the ancient text.102 Significantly, in their publication, Science used images to accompany the modern account, but stressed that the source had only text – although recording that OSSENDRIJVER realised that the text was mathematically calculating a trapezoid (i.e., geometric) figure. Thus, here, where a geometrical figure was being calculated, one finds only text. It should be realised that this is hardly insignificant. Otherwise, one does encounter sketches which probably reflected mathematical ideals rather than the realities of the terrain.103 Thus, here, the “absence of evidence” might actually mean “evidence of absence”. After all there are many images, usually termed objets d’art, preserved from Mesopotamia, the Levant and Egypt – but very few map-like representations. And certainly none that earn our acclaim in the way that HALLO can relate to the mid-second-millennium plan of Nippur. I therefore have the impression that in Antiquity, the concept of understanding space was accomplished primarily verbally in written form rather than with images. I assume that the textual form was considered to be the normal means of recording, storing and communicating spatial information, and that the plans and maps are exceptional. Thus, while the surviving images mean that there was an incipient tradition of graphic illustration that contributed to our modern way of depicting the world, this does not mean that that was the mainstream idea. Indeed, I see several different traditions which flowed into our modern understanding of cartography. Yet, most importantly, I am persuaded that there was a cognitive development which eventually reached the stage whereby maps came to be viewed as the most convenient and appropriate means of storing and conveying such information – but that this was part of a cognitive development, and the scarcity of ancient and 102 OSSENDRIJVER 2016. 103 Cf. OSING 1998, pl. 14.

162

David A. Warburton

medieval map-like images does not reflect an accident of preservation. On the contrary, students of Antiquity and cartography should understand that it is probably no accident that Ptolemy’s data was composed, and is preserved, in list – rather than map – form.104 5. Bronze Age Listenwissenschaft The Ancient Near East is renowned for “knowledge/science through lists”, Listenwissenschaft, a means by which information was compiled in long lists, generally without any of the required accompanying information.105 The origins of the 104 One observant peer-reviewer suggested that “text is more stable and less liable to corruption in copying than graphic representation before the advent of printing”. For those of us familiar with texts from Antiquity, this seems to be a rather bold statement, as most of the texts which have been copied are full of errors. Thus, I am disinclined to accept the peer-reviewer’s opinion that reliability encouraged copying of texts. At the same time, however, I take advantage of the opportunity to remind those favouring the hypothesis of simultaneous independent invention (a) that the multitude of copying errors we find indicate not only that people are not very original (since they copy other texts), but also (b) that the errors reveal that people are not even capable of such a simple task, and finally (c) that new ideas are usually encouraged by encounters with earlier ones (as with Thucydides’s understanding of history following Herodotus’s). In this sense, innovation follows from the diffusion of ideas disseminated by copying. For a number of decades in the 20 th century AD, the dissemination (sic) of the idea of simultaneous independent invention among those concerned with the past was revived to oppose diffusion – but it is gradually dawning on most concerned that contact between civilisations was far more important than was appreciated during the dark ages of archaeological thought. Drawing the necessary conclusions will apparently still require some time. 105 Cf. CAVIGNEAUX 1980–3; EDZARD 2007. One peripheral issue here is the question of “science” in Antiquity. There is a real debate about whether the various steps undertaken in Antiquity represented preliminary forms of science or whether it was real science. Those who believe that real science is that Western science developed since the late Middle Ages and Renaissance tend to disregard ancient science, whereas those who appreciate that Renaissance science would not have been able to take off without the early efforts of Antiquity include it in. Beyond that, there is the problem of distinguishing between “knowledge” and “science”. In the English-speaking world, the lists being discussed here lie on the borderline between “knowledge” and “science” – but are really more in the domain of “knowledge”. And here we come to a problem related to modern languages. There is an unfortunate ambiguity present in the German word Listenwissenschaft (literally “list-science”) which is quite regrettable, as contemporary German usage is rather sloppy and tends not to sharply distinguish between “science” (properly Wissenschaft) and “knowledge” (properly Erkenntnis, Wissen) in the fashion which is relatively ordinary in English, and thus Wissen and Wissenschaft are used loosely, sometimes meaning “science” and sometimes meaning “knowledge”. And this leads to further confusion since a great deal of what in English is understood as “knowledge” ends up not being accounted for under Wissen, but is instead dismissed as being Erkenntnis (“knowledge” in the sense of “knowing”) or Verständnis (“Understanding”), since it is not “science”. Ironically in German, γ ῶ (“seeking to know”, but in English also sematically and etymologically related to “knowledge”, “means of knowing”) is rendered as Erkenntnis rather than Wissen – and thus the etymological development of the same word

Lists versus Plans and Maps

163

concept lie in fourth millennium BC Mesopotamian lists of Proto-Cuneiform signs.106 These earliest Uruk lists thus go back to before the dawn of history, for the earliest ones were prepared before writing served any purpose except administrative records (i.e., recording, not communicating).107 Although these earliest lists (dating to the era ca. 3600–2900 BC) could have served as reference works, it is assumed that they were used to learn the signs. In any case, in the third millennium, the Sumerians continued the tradition, but understood the so-called lexicallists as offering a means of grasping the world through order. One constant in the thought-patterns of the late fourth and third millennia was that developing a means of naming phenomena was fundamental to the creation of order. And naming required measurement in the cases of phenomena such as the year. This meant that a two-fold transformation was taking place as the world was measured and named. In this sense, the lists themselves served a purpose simply by virtue of their existence alone. Although this basic Sumerian principle was not appreciated by the Egyptians or the Semitic Mesopotamians, both adopted the custom of organising knowledge in lists, and thus this was the basic principle according to which knowledge was organised in the Bronze and Iron Age Near East, i.e., for over three thousand years. However, for the Babylonians in the later period, it was not the list alone which mattered, but rather the fashion in which the list was prepared, and the decision of assigning particular phenomena to particular lists. To a considerable ex-

branched into two different directions. This led to different types of understanding – but both different from “science”. Yet γ ῶ probably comes closer to “science” in the sense of “investigation” than does ἐπ which is Verstehen, Wissen, Kenntnis in German but “understanding”, “scientific knowledge” in English (Greek definitions from LSJ and H. MENGE, Grosswörterbuch Griechisch Deutsch [Berlin]). Thus in fact, what VON SODEN meant with Listenwissenschaft was not “science” but rather “knowledge” (in the sense of Erkenntnis). Yet the term Listenwissenschaft has survived and is thus maintained (since the designation “lexical lists” preferred by the philologists today is not as programmatic as Listenwissenschaft – and this aspect is certainly spot on in summarising the goals of the ancients). One should bear all this in mind when reflecting on whether these lists transgress the boundaries of knowledge and trespass into the domain of science. I would tend to argue that for the Bronze Age (i.e., from the invention of writing until ca. 1200 BC), we are generally talking about “knowledge” – but the way that the Babylonians organised knowledge may well have been an essential step on the way to creating the classificatory systems of early modern science. 106 ENGLUND / NISSEN 1993. 107 One astute peer-reviewer noted that this sentence was not persuasive, remarking “recording is surely communicating with posterity”. One may be absolutely certain that these scribes were not at that time thinking that they had derailed the path of prehistory and that we would be greedily reading their notes five millennia on. They wrote their notes for their own purposes and did not intend to communicate with anyone who was not initiated. (It need hardly be mentioned that the extremely complicated forms used to encode this insider information were ultimately the cause of the century-long delay between the discovery of the texts and their decipherment – which has not yet really ended).

164

David A. Warburton

tent, this latter decision can be viewed as having been decisive for the emergence of science as we understand it. Over the course of time, the earliest sign lists were supplemented with the earliest bilingual dictionaries, in which the Sumerian text was given an Akkadian translation. The Akkadians also added in alternative and supplementary translations – and later even primitive commentaries. VON SODEN summarises: Sumerian ‘science’ is thus […] a pure s c i e n c e o f l i s t s / k n o w l e d g e t h r o u g h l i s t s which does not express knowledge in sentences […] The idea of going beyond this, seeking to render the order comprehensible, was as alien to the Sumerians as the longing for a comprehensively valid formulation; even without this, they were able to reach a living understanding. [… T]he factually organised Sumerian lexical lists [are] much more than mere philology […] The ordering of vocabulary was certainly one of their goals […] The Sumerians never attempted the systematic organisation of activities, forms of existence and properties which would have demanded that verbs and adjectives also be included […] By contrast, in their thousands they gathered and organised […] the names of everything that in any way whatsoever existed or had ever existed.108

This ancient tradition began with the birth of writing and continued throughout Mesopotamian history. However, what VON SODEN emphasises is that the Babylonians inherited the system from the Sumerians, but twisted it for their own purposes into something that the Sumerians had never sought: the Akkadians assumed that the lists were mere lists and could not understand that the Sumerian lists incorporated an ideological conception of the organisation of the world. In Mesopotamia, the first stage of the evolution meant that the lists were transformed into bilingual dictionaries – and both concepts reached Egypt (where we find the list we will cite below, as well as a bilingual Egyptian-Akkadian dictionary). But in principle, even when the Akkadian entries were extended to include several words (rather than one) to match the various different meanings of a Sumerian word – or even going so far as to insert a fictive Sumerian word for an Akkadian word which was added to the Sumerian column of the lists – the lists remained lists. 6. The conceptual implications of the Semitic encounter with the Sumerian lists Yet, at least parenthetically, one must stress that something else also took place. In the course of their struggle with the lists, the Akkadians neglected topics that were of no interest to them – but in the course of the confrontation they also invented the concept of grammar and carried out grammatical analysis in order to find a means to master the Sumerian (a variant of what would happen in Alexandria two millennia later), and thus the Akkadians transformed the underlying idea of the lists as representing an organisation of the world into an inspiration for fur-

108 VON SODEN 1936, 424–6.

Lists versus Plans and Maps

165

ther research. And, beyond the confrontation with Sumerian grammar, this seems to have led to glossing and commentaries. In the Babylonian world, the form of the confrontation – in two columns with matching words, where the Sumerians had (obviously) but one – probably also gave birth to the concept of equivalencies, and thus offered a completely different way of dealing with and understanding the world. Beyond that, the Babylonians also transformed the Sumerian lists of dynasties into the beginnings of historiography. And one could even claim that – unconsciously and on a purely verbal textual level – the Babylonians actually began to deal with “abstraction” (through their reflecting on the meanings of the Sumerian words they sought to translate). Yet, these various efforts were in their infancy when the lists were gradually canonised in the second and first millennia BC – leaving the lists as the fossilised skeletons of the first attempts at science. Of interest is that the lists of people and professions was one of the oldest known from Mesopotamia, taking us back to the fourth millennium BC. These lists were but one type: others included different types of animals, plants, vessels, etc. – along with cities and geographical names. In contrast to this, before the Hellenistic era, the Egyptian lists were all made in one document, whereas the Mesopotamian lists were separate: lists of people, lists of professions, lists of animals, wood, etc. But the conceptual framework is the same – a simple list without explanations. This phenomenon of list-form appears in several other domains aside from word-lists, including a particular variety of geographical texts. 7. Mesopotamian itineraries Striking are the Mesopotamian itineraries. I just take two examples. In the one case, the document has the appearance of simply being a description of a route passing through a number of cities stretching from Babylonia to the Euphrates bend in Syria, via Assur and the north Syrian plains. The original version probably dates to the Old Babylonian period (probably the second quarter of the second millennium BC). More or less a day’s march takes one from one city to another, travelling about 25 km/day. In some cases, the distance is a bit longer (ca. 30 km or more), and in some cases, the party apparently rests for up to ten days (as at Babylon). In all, the return trip – from Larsa to Emar to Larsa – takes about 3 ½ months. The text is rather dreary reading – half in Sumerian and half in Akkadian, consisting of little but city-names and numbered days. Thus, given the sheer banality of this text, the ordinary reader might be surprised to learn that there are at least three copies of the text preserved, which are more or less identical. Even more remarkable is the comment of the first scholar to appreciate the importance of the several copies: The discovery that the Urbana text has a virtual duplicate is itself of prime importance, for it would seem to remove it at a stroke from the category of a simple administrative record and to suggest that it belongs rather to a literary genre. We are dealing, it would seem, not with a strictly archival but rather with a kind of canonical text […However,] the canonical text as we

166

David A. Warburton have it is not far removed in time from the archival prototype and the event on which it was based.109

We are thus in the position of realising that we have an historical document of no small importance before us – probably describing the march of an army to a battle on the Syrian Euphrates and the return of the victorious army to Babylonia – but the text is so short of details that we can only imagine the context (although plausibly). For us, however, important is not that the text is barren, but rather that the king (or general) must have known exactly which cities lay at the correct distance for a day’s march covering a distance of far more than the 600-odd km which separate the two ends of the march “as the crow flies” – and how to link up the entire system, without a map. The seemingly successful outcome of the journey (deduced from the existence of copies meant to celebrate something) means that those responsible for the organisation must have understood the location of their goal, and also the best route along which to send the soldiers. They were certainly not simply following a bee-line to their goal, but rather aiming for cities where the troops could rest in security (and not pushing on into the unknown as Caesar did in Gaul, setting up camps and building bridges as he deemed strategically and tactically reasonable). Thus, this text is extremely informative – but only when analysed for the kinds of knowledge that it betrays, but were not recorded. Another text is slightly more informative. It describes how a military unit is to move, proceeding from one provincial town to another. It states that the soldiers will leave from Taidi, and spend the night at the Bitter Waters; from there they spend the night at Makrisi, from there they spend the night at Napriṣi, from there they spend the night at Latiḫi, from there they spend the night at Qattun, whence they march to Dūr–Katlimmu.110

The route goes roughly along part of the later Roman limes south of Nisibis, and covers about 150 km down the wadi Jaghjagh to an Assyrian provincial capital on the Lower Habur in north-eastern Syria sometime in the last quarter of the second millennium BC. The text does have a bit more grammar than the last itinerary, but obviously, the modern scholars who have discussed these two itineraries have added in their own sketches of the routes – as this is the way that we digest such information. But this was not the case in the Bronze Age Near East.

109 HALLO 1964, 84. 110 My translation following W ÄFLER / HAAS 1985, 66–7.

Lists versus Plans and Maps

167

8. Mesopotamian Sales Deeds and Cadastre Surveys As is familiar, some sales deeds from the Near East did include plans, but one student laconically remarks of one case that the first millennium BC (sic) “plans are neither drawn to scale nor are they in relative proportion to one another”.111 GRASSHOFF’S group also stresses that the use of geometric figures in texts relating to fields from the third millennium is schematic and not representative: “From these numbers it is clear that the drawings were not done to scale and that they only represent the spatial relations within the field in a quantitative, topological sense”.112 Thus, the descriptions aimed at precision while the plans did not: the verbal form was decisive. Thus, throughout the cuneiform development of cartography, the plans do not aim at providing an image of the field as we understand it, but rather a mathematical and geometrical representation which served their purposes. More unsettling is a case of a series of plots of land which are assigned a size and then a specification naming the owners of two (sic) of the adjoining plots, or naming roads, ponds, streams where relevant.113 Needless to say, the scholar who prepared the study prepared his own map in order to make sense of where the plots lay in relation to one another (which could be done with the roads, streams and ponds). However, it is obvious that this is educated guesswork whereas the scribes in Antiquity could simply have measured the fields and prepared a rough sketch or plan. They did not. In their work, GRASSHOFF ET AL. also mention some of the earliest Mesopotamian texts describing land, among them, one a possible description from the third millennium BC of the size Ur III Empire (a form which is generally reproduced in the form of a map today).114 These are thus textual representations of geographical information, and not intended to accompany graphic depictions. 9. An Egyptian Cadastre Survey Having taken this last example, I will simply mention that the same phenomenon exists in Egypt (before taking up the theme of Egypt itself). In this case, we have a survey of lands along around a hundred km of the Nile, south of the Fayum, in the middle of the 12th century BC (i.e., roughly from the Fayum to Oxyrhynchus, but a millennium earlier). The survey was probably initiated by the temple of AmunRe at Karnak, and carried out year for year. From some references – such as “soand-so who died” – it may be assumed that when wandering around in the fields the scribes had a list of proprietors and the plots associated with them. While

111 112 113 114

NEMET-NEJAT 1982, 271. GRASSHOFF 2016, 638. FALES 1989, 194. GRASSHOFF 2016, 636–8.

168

David A. Warburton

crossing the fields, they checked the measurements and updated the new document. The entries read like this: The Landing place of pharaoh in Hardai Measure made to the southeast of the villa of the father The chief … Amen-imnt=f 5, ½ grain 1 2/4 The chief … Seth-mes 5, ½ grain 1 2/4 Measurement made east of this place, Haymša Its chief, R-pay, 5, ½ grain 1 2/4 Its chief, Pa-n-jwn 5 ½ grain 1 2/4 White Mountain of the god of Pharaoh under the authority of Ramose who is dead 80 arouras, 10, ½ grain 1 ½ Measurement made to the southeast of Hynjwti Priest, Seth-ḥr-ḫpš=f 5, ½ grain 1 2/4 Bearer of the god, Jn-way 5, ½ grain 1 2/4 Soldier, Iry-aa, 3, ½ grain 1 2/4 Priest Pakhar, 5, ½, grain 1 2/4 Chief, Sobek-m-heb, 3, ½, grain 1 2/4 Measurement made northeast of the Creative Greens Land of chief called P-n-jb-ndm, 5, ½ grain 1 2/4 Measurement made west of Ijidh Chief Seth-ḫau 5, ½, grain 1 2/4 Priest, Seth-qen 5, 1/2 grain 1 2/4 Measurement East of this place reaching as far as the sky of the lower Soldier, Seth-naḫt, son of Mry-Re 3, grain 1 2/4 Soldier Mer-m-ope, 3, grain, 1 2/4 Soldier Imn-ḥtp, so of Seth-ha-jb, 4, grain White mountain of the god of Pharaoh (l.p.h.), Sḫt-qnj, Seth-ḥr–ḫpš=f, 5 half, grain, 1 2/4115 Or this The temple of Re-mesu-mery-amun in the House of Re Domain of this house the bend of Hardai Measurement taken west to the sky Cultivator, Tjapakemu, cultivator of this house Domain of the controller Amen-hotep, 20, 5, 1/2/4 Cultivator Seth-ha-jb, cultivator of the House of Heqa-maa-Re setep-n-Jmn Domain of Djhuty-mes, 1 grain 1 2/4 Measurement taken north of this place The chief … Sen-nefer 5, ½ grain 1 2/4 The chief … Aha-aa 5, ½ grain 1 2/4 Soldier, Pa-n-Jmn, 3, ½ grain 1 2/4 Measurement taken west of this place Chief, Mery-Saḫmet 5, 1 grain 1 2/4 Chief Aha-aa, Mery-Saḫmet 5 1 grain 1 2/4 Team of the chief of the retainers of his majesty, Sobek-naḫt, 30116

The entire papyrus – as preserved – is slightly more than 10 metres long (and a bit more than 40 cm high), covered with more than 5200 lines of almost unreadable and extremely repetitive entries. And there is no sketch anywhere. It may be as115 My translation, from GARDINER 1941, § 154. 116 My translation, from GARDINER 1941, § 145.

Lists versus Plans and Maps

169

sumed that hundreds of such papyrus scrolls will have been prepared year for year for millennia (excepting only periods and regions of unrest). In this case, the concern was with the quantities of grain and not the fields or the institutional owners – but even so, it meant that the scribes had to orient themselves in the fields based on the data that they had from the previous year. And here we have no indication that a plan was prepared. Apparently, they were able to function perfectly well with geographical information encoded in verbal written form. The texts make it absolutely clear that this means of storing geographical information was quite adequate – and that in those distant days (which extend up to the Domesday Book and beyond) maps were entirely dispensable. Those few ancient maps which existed probably played entirely different roles – like those ideological ones which HARLEY ascribes to early modern and recent maps. In this sense, the written word was the last word on the matter of geographical knowledge. 10. Egyptian lists And this example allows us to take a step back and look at Egyptian lists. The entire genre has recently been discussed with a volume edited by S. D EICHER and E. MAROKO in the fashion these texts have always deserved.117 The classic philological case is that of the documents published by Sir ALAN GARDINER under the title Ancient Egyptian Onomastica. The oldest text is quite badly preserved, but at least confirms that well before the middle of the second millennium BC, the concept of word lists had been adopted in Egypt as well. This earliest list includes cities (but not comprehensively) and foreign peoples as well as people and professions, etc. As the reader will have gathered by this time, I assume that the idea owed its origins to Mesopotamia and was transmitted to Egypt. Of extreme importance in this respect is that this earliest list includes a detailed list of cattle distinguished by colours, a phenomenon which is one of the rare examples of the use of colours as a means of classification in the ancient world – and typical (almost) exclusively of the Mesopotamian lists of animals.118 As can be expected, the title and beginning of the earliest text is lost. Thus, we move straight to the more complete, later, Egyptian, text dating from the early first millennium BC. It begins something like this: Beginning of the teaching for freeing the spirit, testimony for the ignorant, knowing all things that exist, what Ptah created, what Thoth has cultivated, heaven with its affairs, earth (and) what is in it, what the mountains belch forth, what is watered by the flood, all things upon

117 DEICHER / MAROKO 2015. 118 Cf. GARDINER 1947a, 23 (for the Egyptian); ENGLUND / NISSEN 1993, 90–1 (for the earliest Mesopotamian, where colours are otherwise practically absent as a means of classification of anything).

170

David A. Warburton which Re has shone, all that flourishes on the back of the earth, listed by the Scribe of the Sacred Books in the House of Life, Amenope, son of Amenope. He says […]. 119

The beginning is “promising” enough as it suggests that we will learn something from a scribe who has digested the teachings of his father. The continuation leads, however, to an abrupt surprise, as he literally means “listed”: […] Heaven, solar disk, moon, star, Orion, Big Dipper, Baboon, Victory, Swine, storm, tempest, dawn, dusk, light, shadow, sunlight, rays of the sun, storm cloud, dew, snow, rainstorm, primeval waters, canal, river, sea […]. 120

And thus the list goes on – without any explanations at all. Significantly, even in such a short excerpt from such a terse document, the learned will find loanwords such as “snow” (srq for Akkadian šalgum, Arabic ‫ثلج‬, similar to Hebrew) and “sea” (ywm for Hebrew yom). In the case of srq “snow” (which will have been unknown in Egypt and southern Mesopotamia), it is not surprising that they took a Semitic loanword known in northern Mesopotamia and the Levant. This could be viewed as esoteric knowledge. However, the case is quite different with Egyptian ym 𓇌𓅓 , Hebrew yom, for the sea. Firstly, because this Semitic loanword was not the Akkadian term tâmtum (which appears in Genesis 1, 2 as “depths”), but rather the colloquial but poetic Levantine Semitic found as “waters” in Genesis 1, 2 (and also in Ugaritic). But even more bizarrely, the usual translation of the Biblical text actually matches the native Egyptian word mw for water which (along with Hebrew and Arabic), has the same etymological origin as the Akkadian mû, and thus there was no need for a loanword, unless this designated the Mediterranean. It is thus evident that the word reached Egypt from the neighbouring Levant. And, secondly and bizarrely, this use of a loan-word to classify a familiar geographical phenomenon is peculiar as the Egyptians had their own generic term for the Sea, wȝḏ-wr, the “Great Green”, complementing tȝ-dšr the “red land” of the desert and km.t the “black land” of the fertile soil spread and flooded by the Nile. Thirdly, because yom, the Levantine Semitic word for “sea” rendered in Egyptian transliteration as ym, was effectively widely used in Egyptian literature during the second half of the second millennium BC and would thus have been familiar to any educated person of the late second millennium BC – but not before.121 To sum up, this means that in the Egyptian lists, they were constantly updating, with the foreign loanwords simply listed with the other Egyptian words, without a translation (as in the bilingual dictionaries of Mesopotamia) – even though in the case of “sea” an older Egyptian word existed. Evidently, it was as119 My translation diverging slightly from that of G ARDINER 1947a, 2*, but using his text, G ARDINER 1947b, Pl. VIIA: lines 1–4. 120 GARDINER 1947b., Pl. VIIA: lines 4–7. 121 As the peer-reviewers seem to be generally universally hostile to the idea of diffusion and in favour of independent parallel developments (concerning the idea of lists in this particular case), I can just add that I view the mere presence of the loan-words in the Egyptian list as a mark in favour of the exchange of ideas being common in Antiquity.

Lists versus Plans and Maps

171

sumed that the words a scribe should know would appear in the lists, and these would be those of the educated elite, speaking colloquially. As I understand it, the Egyptians adopted the tradition of the lists, but abandoned the idea of glossing, so that they entered the Egyptian and Semitic foreign words they used – and did not allow the Sumerian substrate to play a role in their system (in contrast to the Babylonians). Thus, the lists reached Egypt (a) from the Sumerian era, as there is no hint at the Akkadian tradition of translating here (i.e., basing the text on a Sumerian original and offering Egyptian equivalents), and (b) that they were evolving as this Egyptian list dates to around 1000 BC, more than two millennia after the earliest Mesopotamian proto–cuneiform lists – and uses terms that will not have been known (or at least widely used) in Egyptian a half millennium earlier. In the same sense, the constellations will have been known. “Big Dipper” is my translation of the Egyptian msḫtyw, “foreleg”, which was their term for that constellation. Orion is the constellation associated with Osiris and called sȝ . The Swine and Baboon were names for constellations we have not yet identified. “Victory” is probably too strong a rendering of the word nḫt (which may have been the etymological origin of ί ), occasionally translated “giant”, but meaning “strong” or “victorious” as well – here I assume it is a constellation which remains to be identified. These celestial phenomena are followed by some meteorological phenomena and waters, types of land, and then the lists of types of people and professions. Among the pieces of evidence for my arguments that the Egyptians “copied” or “translated” or “rendered” an Egyptian written version of a literary genre which originated in Mesopotamia is the concept of organising knowledge in this fashion (words, without explanations). There is really very little sense in simply making lists without glosses – as was the Mesopotamian tradition. Another important detail is that such lexical lists are far rarer in Egypt than in the Mesopotamian world, suggesting a certain novelty. Beyond that is the already noted fact that colours appear in the cattle markings in the Egyptian list122 as they also appear in the Mesopotamian lists123 – colours generally being rare elsewhere. For me the temporal precedence of Mesopotamian lists also suggests a transfer from the earlier tradition in Mesopotamia to the later tradition in Egypt. I cannot claim that the following is evidence, but it is striking that the cardinal directions are missing from the Egyptian list. However, in the Egyptian list cited above, two words for “storm” appear between the celestial phenomena and the terms for the opposites of light and dark. I argue that it is significant that in Sumerian the terms for “north” (IM.MIR) and “south” (IM.GAN2.UH.ME.U) were both associated with “storms” and “winds” (for elucidation, cf. the caption to Fig. 1, below). Being persuaded of my own argument, I can at least imagine that the Egyptian list reveals two unthinking translations of the Sumerian where in the translation the stress was on “weather” rather than the “direction” associated with the 122 GARDINER 1947b, pl. V. 123 ENGLUND / N ISSEN 1993, 89–93.

172

David A. Warburton

wind in Sumerian – with the result that the cardinal directions were omitted (and thus the string of opposites broken). 11. Egyptian medical texts Although this last argument will hardly persuade, the medical texts might be viewed as being of greater relevance for such an argument: both the Egyptian and Babylonian begin with the head and go down through the body. GELLER refers to the “head-to-foot format … we expect from first-millennium BC diagnostic texts” of Mesopotamia.124 Breasted refers to the one of oldest Egyptian medical texts (probably third millennium, but a copy of second millennium date), as “Beginning at the top of the head, and proceeding systematically downward”.125 It is important that the earliest Egyptian medical texts probably date to the third millennium whereas there is no evidence of contemporary Sumerian medicine: while physicians are known, their practice is not. Mesopotamian medical texts begin with the Babylonians. Here I would argue that (a) the fundamental concept of the list was developed in Mesopotamia and adopted in Egypt, but that with (b) the specific genre of the medical texts, the transfer was in the opposite direction: from Egypt to Mesopotamia. Thus, I argue that we can easily understand that the first lists were prepared in Mesopotamia in the 4th millennium BC, and that this concept of organising knowledge in lists was passed on to the Egyptians. We noted that in the terse Mesopotamian itineraries, the list form was likewise chosen (rather than plotting a sketch or map). The Egyptians were the first to record medical information – systematic descriptions, observations, diagnosis, prescriptions & treatment – in world history. Here, it must be admitted that we encounter verbs and adjectives, and even observations and explanations. Yet the form of the list – in the sense of a series of reflections without graphic illustrations – is maintained: there were no illustrations, just texts. We take one simple example from the teaching of the “vessels” (which were understood as the means through which air, materials and infections were passed through the body). There are 4 vessels in the interior of his two temples, which ultimately assure that the two eyes receive blood, and through these all of the maladies of the eyes happen because they are open to the two eyes […] There are 4 vessels, distributors of the head […] There are 4 vessels for his two ears together with 2 vessels on the right shoulder and 2 vessels on the left shoulder. The wind of life enters into the right ear, the wind of death enters into the left ear […] There are 6 vessels leading to the two arms, 3 for the right and three for the left, leading to the fingers […].126

124 GELLER 2010, 68. 125 BREASTED 1930, xvii. 126 Translated from GRAPOW 1958, 2–3; DEINES / GRAPOW / WESTENDORF 1958, 1–2.

Lists versus Plans and Maps

173

More complicated examples describe the analysis and treatment of wounds, offer prescriptions for medications, etc. Thus, here the Egyptians went far beyond the Sumerians and the Babylonians – but maintained the verbal form – without illustrations. Even if the text is too elaborate to classify as a list, it is not illustrated with a schematic sketch. NB: I should note parenthetically here that these Egyptian texts dealing with “vessels” date to the third and early second millennia BC – before Chinese writing is documented. When the Chinese developed their own analysis of the “vessels” (導管 dāo guǎn – meaning the “conduits” fundamental to, e.g., the 經絡 jīngluò “meridians” or “energy channels”, of acupuncture, and not our vessels in the sense of “arteries”, etc.), they likewise encoded these in text – and the sophisticated plans only emerged much later (in relatively recent times). This is yet another example of the delay between the development of the recording of information textually and the wide-spread use of plans or sketches (which is a recent phenomenon, certainly absent even in the European Middle Ages, for which we cited Harvey above). 12. Geographical knowledge It is thus logical that geographical knowledge was also organised in the form of lists. We have several different types of list. The Ancient Egyptian list of professions (in the text cited above) continues from the highest officials, e.g., Treasurer, to occupations like “carpenter” – and then moves on. Among the important aspects of the list are the brief entries simply listing Egyptian cities – one after another along the Nile. Before the Egyptian cities, there were also different types of foreign peoples. Thus we have geography and humanity intermingled, with the Libyans and the Hittites, and a selection from the myriads of people known from Syria. This throws some light on the means by which knowledge was organised. Thus, at the end of the second millennium BC, the Egyptians felt themselves in a position of being able to list the names of all the necessary foreign peoples and lands. By contrast, the Mesopotamians began with lists of different peoples, but over time realised that they would never be able to compile a list of everything in the world which included all of the foreign lands with which they were familiar. The Egyptians had fewer neighbours, and were seemingly more optimistic. However, although all the neighbours of the Egyptians may not have appeared in the academic lists written on papyri, some of those not listed in the academic literature did appear in the lists of enemies engraved on the stone gates of their temples. Some of these lists give (seemingly) endless names of insignificant ethnic groups in Western Asia or in Nubia. One example is, however, well worth mentioning. From a temple of King Amenophis III (father of the famous Akhenaten, middle of the 14th century BC) in western Thebes (in Egypt), we have a list written in hieroglyphic Egyptian, but which – transcribed – includes Mwkjnw, Myḏȝnȝj, Nwpyrjyj, Kȝtjr, Wȝjwry,

174

David A. Warburton

Kȝnywšȝ, Jmnyšȝ, Bȝyšȝtj, Kȝtwnȝy. At first sight this might appear to be meaningless gibberish. The words are certainly not Egyptian. Indeed, what we have are Egyptian transcriptions of Mycenae (Mwkjnw, υ ῆ α , Linear B Mu-k-’á-nu), Messene (Myḏȝnȝj, Linear B Me-za-na), Nauplia (Nwpyrjyj, αυπ α), Kythera (Kȝtjr, Κ α), Wilion (Wȝjwry, Ἴ ο /Troy with digamma, also preserved in Hittite Wilusa), Knossos (Kȝnywšȝ, Κ ω , Linear B Ko-no-so), Amnisos (Jmnyšȝ, Ἀ , Linear B A-mi-ni-so), Phaistos (Bȝyšȝtj, Φα , Linear B Pa-i-to), and Kydonia (Kȝtwnȝy, Κῠ ω α, Linear B Ku-do-ni-ja).127 These toponyms are in a line including the designation of the peoples apparently related to these cities: the Tjnȝjw “people”, the Δά α ο , and the Kftyw “people”, the latter being Caphtor of the Bible, and Cretans to us. Yet there is no explanation of where these places are or why they are grouped together: only the initiated could understand the true significance. And obviously, few Minoans or Mycenaeans will have been wandering around Egyptian mortuary temples, and among the hundreds of inscriptions even fewer could have recognized the relevant hieroglyphs to read. I would rather doubt that – apart from a few scribes – any Egyptians cared, or would have if they had understood any of this. Needless to say, the first Egyptologists to read the names were not prepared for the surprise. There was just a list, but a list that betrays an extraordinary mastery of political geography, combining as it does (a) the harbours (Nauplia and Amnisos) of both Mycenae and Knossos, as well as (b) the Minoan and the Mycenaean centres at that moment (Late Helladic IIIA) when the Mycenaeans were gradually eliminating the memory of the Minoan palaces. In fact, the prominence of Mycenae itself among the names is remarkable as it implies some kind of special political position for Mycenae – one that Bronze Age Aegeanists have hitherto sought in vain. If it really does assign Mycenae such an outstanding position (given the pairing with the harbour, it parallels Knossos), it is literally an image of history expressed in geographical terms, but one which virtually no one could have appreciated in the way it was presented. Thus, this would have been incomprehensible if we (wrongly) attribute our own expectations of the convenient way

127 For the discussions, cf. EDEL / GÖRG 2005, 191, pls. 13–4, and passim. In the text, I have taken only the certain geographical names. There are some problems with the list. Among these are that there were changes in Antiquity by which the name of Phaistos was removed and replaced by another (potentially Pisaia), but through the palimpsest both names could be recognized – yet the position ultimately occupied by Phaistos has been lost. Thus, only by pure chance is Phaistos documented. There are also a couple of other names which could be Mycenaean or Minoan palaces or ports e.g., Sitia – but for the moment these are either (a) rather speculative or (b) cannot be linked to recognizably important Bronze Age names. EDEL has linked Dyqȝjȝs to the Thebais, but this does not seem to be accepted; I would propose an unknown Dikaios, Δ α ο , but this is speculative and certainly not helpful. A Rykȝtj could be transcribed as Lyktos (which must be a Greek word – in contrast to Mycenae), and thus Lyktos would be Egyptian Rykȝti and Linear B Ru-ki-to – and could potentially be, e.g., a Greek designation for the Minoan palace of Malia, ά α, but this is hardly well grounded.

Lists versus Plans and Maps

175

to record and transmit geographical information to the ancient Egyptians. What they did was, however, normal for the Egyptians. The fact that – almost two centuries before the Trojan War – the most important cities listed are Knossos, Mycenae and Troy is also rather interesting. The prominence assigned to the harbours of the fading Minoan world is understandable (as Phaistos, Kydonia and Kythera were doubtless Egyptian trading partners). The omission of Miletus in itself renders the recognition of the rise of Mycenae in particular significant.128 Yet what are we to make of Troy being assigned such prominence? Was this merely because of the trading relations? Or did the Egyptians have better information about the political situation in the Aegean than did the Hittites who were apparently both surprised and unnerved by the encroachments of the Achaeans?129 There is certainly no map anywhere, nor a hint of what these inscriptions meant: just a list that provides both analytical insights and information. As long as we have touched this subject, at the risk of tiring readers I will draw on another example of profound familiarity with geographical, topographical and political knowledge for which there is neither list nor map. As is probably familiar, the end of the Amarna period was characterised by (a) the Hittite overthrow of the Mitanni Empire, and (b) the power of the Egyptian kingship falling into the hands of several generals (rather than members of the royal family, i.e., Aya, Horemhab, Ramesses I and Sethi I, who ruled altogether for a couple of decades, ca. 1300 BC). The celebrated Ramesses II – he of the battle of Kadesh and the peace treaty with the Hittites in the middle of the 13th century BC – was the son of Sethi I, a competent general (in contrast to his son).130 Sethi I ruled for a bit more than a decade, but secured the frontiers of Egypt against the advance of the Hittites in Western Asia. Among other places, he left monuments at Kadesh, Tyre, Tell esh-Shehab and Beth-Shan. Distributed on a map, these monuments look like the random scatter typical of archaeological distribution maps. In reality, however: (a) Kadesh lies on the Orontes (leading straight into the Beqa Valley, occasionally the Κο Συ α of the classical authors) in the military zone separating Syria and Lebanon, (b) Tyre lies roughly on the Israeli “green line” (of the late 20th century AD) in southern Lebanon, (c) Tell esh-Shehab lies on the Yarmuk river between modern Jordan and Syria, near a bridge Lawrence of Arabia sought to destroy during the First World War, and (d) Beth-Shan lies at that point across the river Jordan where in 634 AD Omar defeated the Byzantine armies, and thus opened the way into Palestine (and just south of where Saladin defeated the Crusaders at Hattin in 1187). 128 One peer-reviewer noted that there is another list from the same temple covering Asia Minor and that Miletus might have been there. This point is valid. But it must be noted that Troy is aligned with the Mycenaean world in the list as it stands, and one would expect Miletus to have been included as well. 129 For the Achaeans as Mycenaeans, known in the Hittite texts as the Aḫḫijawa: FISCHER 2010; BECKMAN / BRYCE / CLINE 2011. 130 For the tale, cf. REDFORD 1992, 166–237; WARBURTON 2001 69–90.

176

David A. Warburton

Thus, early in the 13th century BC, Sethi I had a very clear idea of the strategic importance of the urban and topographical features in the landscape of Western Asia – in a fashion which corresponds to our modern conceptions of militarily defensible lines. In this fashion, he established forward perimeter defences corresponding to the changing political situation whereby the Hittites and their vassals were now the neighbours of the Egyptian vassals in the southern Levant, i.e., as a unit, these lines only made sense in Sethi’s own lifetime. Just how Sethi I was able to understand exactly where his outposts should stand is a mystery to me. In fact, it is as much of a mystery as exactly how less than a century earlier, Amenophis III was able to line up the politically and historically important major cities and harbours of the Mycenaean Aegean. Certainly there were at that time no topographical maps showing mountains, rivers, passes, fords and harbours. Nor can there have been military handbooks describing exactly where the borders of various fiefdoms and empires were. Until now, nothing like the Periplus of the Erythraean Sea131 has been found from the Bronze Age. Yet again: I stress that the Periplus is precisely such a list-like document, rather than a map. However, in contrast to the Bronze Age Near Eastern lists – which avoided comments, or kept them brief – the Greek and Roman lists include volumes of compact information expressed verbally (as in the Periplus), rather than in map form. Evidently, the concept that complicated geographical and commercial (or military) information could be verbally encoded in such a fashion that the listener (or reader) would be able to draw reasonable conclusions of farreaching political and economic significance was regarded as an adequate norm. 13. Maps in Egypt In Mesopotamia, there were long lists of gods, lists that were so tiring that the Babylonians did not see the point of continuing the tradition. The situation in Egypt was quite different: they created lists of gods and lists of epithets of gods, and combined these together to create entire books. The most important of these is the New Kingdom Amduat (literally “What is in the Beyond”), possibly composed well before the earliest preserved copies, but more probably dating to the first half of the 15th century BC when the copies are preserved.132 The Amduat provides very schematic maps of the Beyond, as the background to the lists of gods and demons which make up the greatest part of the text. Beyond that, there are a few explanatory comments. Significantly, there is also a schematic sketch-map for each of the twelve hours of the Egyptian conception of the night. These maps depict what happens during the twelve hours during which the Sun-god passes from the western horizon (“first hour”) to the eastern horizon (“twelfth hour”). Our image (Fig. 4) 131 CASSON 1989. 132 WARBURTON / HORNUNG / ABT 2007; ABT / HORNUNG 2003; HORNUNG 1992.

Lists versus Plans and Maps

177

shows the “third hour” of the night. In the middle is a waterway, marked by lines bordering waves of water above and below the convoy of barques accompanying the Sun-god – who is himself the missing figure and the headless figure in the final and second boats (respectively, counting from right) in the middle register – presumably floating on the surface of the Netherworldly river. The figures in the upper and lower registers will have been standing on the banks greeting the Sungod as he arrives and bemoaning his departure as he takes leave of them, moving from one hour to enter the next. The origins of these schematic religious maps may lie in The Book of Two Ways, part of the Middle Kingdom “coffin texts”, dating to perhaps ca. 2000 BC.133 Like most ancient Egyptian funerary literature, in the broadest sense, these texts consisted of a series of spells for reaching the Beyond, accompanied by a highly schematic map, i.e., the “map” was a complement to a text. Just what the map and the texts aimed at in another sense is not clear.134 In the case of the Amduat, the plans or “maps” were made to accompany the lists of gods (amounting to more than 900 altogether. In the original, each is named. The most important feature is that for the most part, the schematic representation of the Netherworld in the Amduat consists of three registers: as noted, in my view the central register is the river of the Netherworld on which the Sun-god travels, with the other two registers representing the two banks of that river. What is unnerving is that the Egyptian map of the gold mines in the Eastern desert, today in Turin (Fig. 5), likewise shares the tripartite structure of the Amduat, with a path in the middle and desert mountains on each side.135 This map is a few centuries younger than the earliest known copies of the Amduat – and is also the oldest map known from Ancient Egypt – i.e., none of the precursors has been preserved. And we have noted that the tradition of recording geographical knowledge reflected the system of the Listenwissenschaft. It is thus possible that what we view as a “map” was not generated by the landscape, but rather by the conceptions of how a landscape should be depicted graphically. Most of the Egyptian representations of the real Nile Valley consisted of list-like texts, such as the Middle Kingdom (ca. end 20th century BC) lists on a barque shrine of King Sesostris I.136 Here we find a series of boxes containing diverse geographical information including both gods and dimensions. There is nothing like a map. 14. The significance of geographical information encoded in list form Hitherto, we have simply reviewed some of the evidence against the importance of maps in Antiquity. The stress was on the custom of handling all information in

133 134 135 136

BACKES 2005. QUACK 2006. HARRELL / BROWN 1992. Cf. LEITZ 2006.

178

David A. Warburton

the form of lists – and the evidence that geographical information was also treated in this same fashion. We also noted that they seem to have managed quite well without maps, revealing political understanding dependent on cognitive understanding without the use of geographic information encoded in maps. We noted that the Babylonian map of Nippur might be appealing to us as an ideal – but that the Mesopotamians hardly shared this attitude. They did not build on this, and instead disregarded it, pursuing a more mathematically systematic programme which produced schematic representations. Ironically, the Egyptian “map” might have been inspired by religious concepts rather than topography. 15. Lists We will not go into this any further, but simply summarise the situation, and try to see how one can account for the transformational importance of maps in Western culture in more recent times. As suggested at the outset, this implies a cognitive transformation in historical times. At the beginning of the first millennium BC, the Egyptian list is organised thus: Introductory Heading Sky, water, earth Persons, court, offices, occupations Classes, tribes, and types of human being The towns of Egypt Buildings, their parts, and types of land Agricultural land, cereals and their products Beverages Parts of an ox and kinds of meat

It must be conceded that the Egyptian list is not complete. But we actually have very few copies, in great contrast to the abundance of lists known from Mesopotamia, and thus we can appreciate that the Egyptians did not assign the list itself the same role that the Mesopotamians did. However, here we can stress that the Egyptians did encode more information in list form than in imagery. So the comparison is with imagery and not the “scientific” quality and social role of the lists, where Egypt and Mesopotamia differed substantially. In this sense, there is a contrast between the importance of listing and the recording of knowledge in lists. By contrast, already two millennia earlier (i.e., by 3000 BC), the Mesopotamian lists had progressed far further: People Officials Animals Fish Birds Swine

Lists versus Plans and Maps

179

Wood Tribute Plants Vessels Metal Grain Cities Geography

The Mesopotamian lists went through a series of transformations. But the list form remained definitive, so that they never became “encyclopaedias”. VON SODEN merely confirms: Sumerian ‘science’ is doubtless the ‘first preliminary step’, in the sense of preceding Babylonian [science], its essential precondition that cannot be denied […] But we must ask whether what the Babylonians did with Sumerian ‘science’ really represents the exhaustion of certain of its inherent possibilities that the Sumerians were unable to perceive simply because the time was not yet ripe, or whether they [the Babylonians] did not instead twist it in a fashion which was utterly foreign to it. The Sumerians came to their science through lists while striving to organise everything in the world. 137

VON SODEN had difficulties in separating the accomplishments of the Babylonians from the Sumerians. The Babylonians were inevitably condemned to stand half way between the Sumerians and the Greeks. And in this sense one could only recognize that what the Babylonians did with the Sumerian lists was not the last word, and fell short of what the Greeks did. Yet VON SODEN takes a different path and observes that in Egypt Among the works preserved [from Ancient Egypt], there are none dealing with its subject thoroughly and exhaustively, as was the custom in Babylonia; if a rather wretched schoolbook claims to teach ‘everything existing, what Ptah created and Thoth recorded’ [i.e., that Egyptian text cited above, DAW], a comparison of what is on offer as opposed to this presumptuous assertion reveals only that the author never really reflected about e v e r y t h i n g that existed. In Egypt, we find little or no trace of that broad and in-depth ‘scientific’ treatment that prevailed in Babylonia […].138

137 VON SODEN 1936, 550 (“Die sumerische „Wissenschaft“ ist also […] eine reine L i s t e n w i s s e n s c h a f t , die ihre Kenntnisse nicht in Sätzen formuliert […] Die Idee der Ordnung darüber hinaus auch begreiflich klar zu erfassen zu wollen, lag den Sumerern offenbar ebenso fern wie der Wunsch nach ihrer allgemeingültige Formulierung; zu lebendigem Verstehen konnte sie auch ohne dies gelangen. […D]ie sachlich geordneten sumerischen Wortlisten [sind] sehr viel mehr als die bloße Philologie […] Die Ordnung des Wortschatzes war gewiß eines ihrer Ziele […] Eine systematische Ordnung der Tätigkeiten, Seinsweisen und Eigenschaften, die ja auch Verben und Adjektive mit hätte einbeziehen müssen, haben die Sumerer [aber…] nie versucht […] Die Namen hingegen von allen, was in irgendeiner Weise vorhanden war oder existierte, haben sie zu vielen Tausenden […] zusammengetragen und geordnet.”). 138 VON SODEN 1936, 553 (“Unter den uns erhaltenen Werken befindet sich aber auch keines, das sein Gebiet mit der Vollständigkeit und Gründlichkeit abhandelte, die in Babylonien üblich ist; wenn ein ziemlich dürftiges Schulbuch behauptet, “alles Vorhandene, was Ptah geschaf-

180

David A. Warburton

It is no surprise that the Assyriologist VON SODEN looks with utter contempt at the miserable Egyptian imitation of Sumerian science, seemingly unable to accept that it really was but a pale reflection of what the Sumerians had aimed at a little more than a millennium earlier – and not a conscious attempt to reflect the state of Babylonian science as it was being canonized during the second millennium BC. 16. From list to text and diagram: Exchange in East and West Thus the Sumerians formalised the use of lists to understand the world. The Babylonians transformed the Sumerian lists into a system of orderly classification. Somehow one has the impression that the Egyptians began with Sumerian (rather than Babylonian) lists although, chronologically, the day of the Sumerian lists was long gone when the best preserved Egyptian lists appear. However, the Egyptians adopted the concept of lists as being a way of organising information, but did not view the list itself as an important tool, so much as the information conveyed. Thus we find that in Egypt the use of the list is widespread (for place names, for cadastre surveys, for medical treatments, inventories, etc.) and graphic depictions of geographical (or even medical) contexts are as rare as in Mesopotamia. Yet the form of the list as a means of storing information did not catch on to the same degree as in Mesopotamia. Strangely, the Egyptians did not dwell on the implications of the reality that lists without commentaries might well be inadequate. As the Babylonians did not share the Sumerian conception of a “World Order”, they adopted the Sumerian lists, but used the lists to explore other avenues of ordering knowledge. Their contribution was expansion through the exploration of details, expressed verbally in texts with short comments. Thus the lists themselves were seemingly a dead end. Yet neither in Mesopotamia nor in Egypt did a graphic tradition of storing and transmitting precise information develop. Thus, on the one hand, one notes the tendency to use lists in both Mesopotamia and Egypt, and on the other, one notes the disdain for the graphic form, at least for the presentation or organisation of geographical information. Beyond that, in both Mesopotamia and Egypt, the graphic forms of imagery were exploited to the full for ideological purposes – on both small seals and monumental temple walls. The fact that the two intellectual traditions moved in parallel is quite striking and I view this as hardly accidental. Beyond that tendency for the two traditions to move in parallel, one can also note that the Palaeolithic and Neolithic traditions of imagery (as this was the only possible means of storing and transmitting information, in the absence of writing) were largely abandoned for precise

fen und Thot aufgezeichnet hat”, zu lehren [d.h., das soeben zitierte ägyptisches Onomasticon – DAW], so zeigt der Vergleich dieses anmaßenden Anspruchs mit dem wirklich Gebotenen nur, daß der Verfasser nie darüber nachgedacht hat, w a s alles vorhanden ist. Von der “wissenschaftlichen” Behandlung mancher in Babylonien ausgiebig gepflegter Gebiete finden wir in Ägypten keine oder nur doch geringe Spuren ….”).

Lists versus Plans and Maps

181

information in both regions. It was only much later that serious maps began to appear. Thus, I view the development of the lists as being part of a process whereby Egypt and Mesopotamia had influence on one another. The astonishing thing was that in the middle of the first millennium BC, through extreme oversimplification, in the East in China and in the West in Greece, the “lists” were reduced to a minimum – and then placed at the centre of a system of organising the world. Just as the Sumerians had aimed at “World Order” through exhaustive detail, the Greeks and the Chinese sought unity in simplicity – by turning to the “elements” ( ο χ ο , 行 xíng).139 Thus earth, air, fire and water sufficed for the Greeks; the Chinese used wood, fire, earth, metal and water. Common to both lists are “earth”, “fire” and “water”; “air” would have been foreign to the Sumerians. The specification of metal and wood would be odd to the Greeks.140 Yet this latter is important as precisely these elements of the Chinese list bring it closer to the Sumerian system where wood and metal figure as decisive categories. Earth and water would be recognized as categories used in classifying things in the geographical lists. Regardless, both the Greek and Chinese systems were based on transpositions, whereby the various elements gave rise to each other (rather than simply being lined up in parallel as in the Sumerian system). Thus a completely new way of understanding the world arose in the mid-first millennium BC. Yet, neither in China nor in Greece did this new conceptual approach lead to an immediate escape from the textual world into the world of graphics as a means of transmitting information. Ultimately, however, (a) the Chinese 5-phase system (with its transpositions) and (b) the Chinese I Jing with its 8 trigrams and 64 hexagrams (and its assertion to being an exhaustive account of the world in time, space and action) laid out a framework for the “scientific” use of graphics. The way was open to the “scientific” use of graphics on a completely different level than that hitherto known. Above I have elaborated on the subsequent development of maps. In this context, the evolutionary development can be recognized as a system whereby the Chinese established a system of thought, which was complemented by the graphic 139 Several peer-reviewers have taken issue with this suggestion of (a) a link between the refinement of the lists to a small group of elements and (b) a connection between Greece and China. There can be no doubt that the concept of a short list is a vast improvement on the endlessly growing Babylonian lists; obviously I assume that the concept of the lists had an origin and that this diffused. For me, it is relatively clear that the system whereby the world is reduced to four or five (virtually identical) elements appears roughly simultaneously in China and Greece – and it follows for me that there must have been some connection. Others are not persuaded. And I assume that they will not be persuaded about the diffusion if I add that the “elements” were associated with colours in the systems of the Greeks and Chinese (as well as the Hindus and the Mayas) – and all were also associated with the cardinal directions. For me this is too much in the way of coincidences (cf. W ARBURTON 2016b, 89–90). 140 I hasten to clarify that the Fengshui (風水 fēng shuĭ) system worked in parallel with the five phases (五行 wŭ xíng), and fengshui literally means “wind water” and thus “wind” or “air” appears here, outside the five elements, but part of the larger cosmology.

182

David A. Warburton

depictions of landscapes in the form of early maps. These maps were developed using angles and grids – and may well have had a decisive influence on Western map-making. As noted, Western map-making basically ceased with Ptolemy and the expansion took place in the Late Middle Ages and Renaissance, when the links between the various parts of the world can hardly be denied. Certainly, Western map-making must have been influenced by more than Ptolemy. In the Palaeolithic, images were used as virtually the only means of communication. With the invention of writing, the creation of lists was not only made possible – but exploited to the maximum. In historical times, artwork served ideological – not scientific – purposes. Somehow, the Greek and Chinese simplification of the lists was accompanied by the enormous compendia of the GræcoRoman world (where Pliny and Ptolemy are just two of those involved – and among the others one should not forget the 120-volume catalogue of the library at Alexandria put together by Callimachus). Much of this seems to have been textual with few – if any – illustrations. Maps had been known since the third millennium, but remained rare exceptions through traditional Græco-Roman Antiquity. Yet somehow, ironically, some of the Arab translations of the Greek authors were gradually supplied with maps, charts and plans. And from these Arabs (and Persians), these “maps” and “charts” reached the Europeans in the early Middle Ages. In order to grasp the importance of “lists” and maps, one must grasp the detailed history of the star charts. The oldest existing Star Chart is assumed to be a Tang Dynasty document from Dunhuang on the Silk Road (ca. mid-7th or early 8th century AD),141 and the later Arab and European charts may have been influenced by the Chinese traditions (as all come later). Obviously, a crucial issue is whether some of the mediaeval charts are in fact copies of documents which were actually created in Classical Antiquity. The earliest Chinese records from the first millennium BC seem to consist of lists, or charts sorting out constellations (as in the Greek world), but there is an enormous difference between the charts of constellations and charts of stars. Significantly, Orion takes the central position not only on the Farnese celestial globe,142 and the Dunhuang document, but also in SENENMUT’S Egyptian astronomical ceiling143 and perhaps in an Upper Palaeolithic ivory.144 It is only with the Dunhuang document that we have a conjunction of both the constellations and the stars in a detailed fashion, presented in the form of a map or chart. In discussing, with enthusiasm, the most elaborate of the Ancient Egyptian star charts, POGO – probably unconsciously – writes, “The planet Venus occupies its traditional position at the end of the list,” and thereby betrays a fine under-

141 142 143 144

QIU 2009. E.g. SCHAEFFER 2005. POGO 1930; DORMAN 1988, 83–4; DORMAN1991, 138–48, pls. 84–6. TRIMBLE / ASCHWANDEN 2004, 245.

Lists versus Plans and Maps

183

standing of the nature of the document.145 The important part was the list in textual form, not the drawing. Usefully, NEUGEBAUER stresses that evidence of small adjustments in the layout of the figures on SENENMUT’S ceiling are significant: These details are of interest because they demonstrate drastically that artistic principles determined the arrangement of astronomical ceiling decorations. Thus it is a hopeless task to try to find, on the sky, groups of stars whose arrangement might have been the same as the depicted constellations seem to require. Astronomical accuracy was nowhere seriously attempted in these documents.146

In fact, it is the Ancient Near Eastern and Egyptian figures that are schematic and unreliable, exactly as NEUGEBAUER points out. It follows that, for the Egyptians and the Mesopotamians the textual elements in list form were authoritative and reliable. This is an essential insight.147 The key to understanding this development is that with the dawn of history and the invention of writing in Ancient Near East, there is a significant break from the tradition of imagery as a means of recording and conveying spatial information. In the very broad sense that information was encoded at all, images were used in the Palaeolithic and again in the Classical World (and since) – but for the three millennia after the invention of writing in the Near East, the authoritative means of recording “scientific” information was the list, or documents using text rather than images to convey information. Only gradually were the images revived in the Classical World, and thus we have images of the Zodiac and the constellations, but not the star charts. The lists began in the Ancient Near East. Exactly what was transmitted to China and how is not clear. Needham seems to recognise a resemblance of some Chinese charts to the Babylonian planispheres, suggesting that the communication may have taken place via Persia in the first millennium BC.148 Certainly the system of Chinese star charts – depicting stars in a complicated system, including lists and schematic charts – developed largely without Greek influence. It is entirely possible that the star charts emerged in China and then – over the Silk Road – spread to the Western world as a means of reliably recording spatial information. The Chinese concept of using imagery to encode spatial information reliably was probably fundamental for developments in the Medieval West. For maps, the history must have been much more complicated. Firstly, it would appear that in China, the equivalent of the textual (rather than image based) geographic tradition of Strabo and Ptolemy was continued (rather than dying out

145 POGO 1930. 146 NEUGEBAUER 1957, 89. 147 Ironically, while correct about the unreliability of the figures, N EUGEBAUER’S failure to understand the importance the Egyptians ascribed to recording information textually meant that he neglected essential aspects of the early history of science, which were encoded only in textual form, cf. W ARBURTON 2016a. 148 NEEDHAM 1959, 254–7.

184

David A. Warburton

as happened with Christianity in the West). Secondly, it would appear that this remained largely textual: descriptive rather than diagrammatic. And thirdly, it was only around the time of the Song Dynasty that diagrams and maps became prevalent149 – just at the time that Idrisi and Roger produced their map of the world.150 Thus, the convergence of traditions – of star charts and geographical maps – took place along the Silk Road in the last centuries of the first millennium AD, leading to a preliminary flourishing of map culture in East and West alike. Yet it is important to note that al-Mājid, the Arab pilot who led the Portuguese across the Indian Ocean, left a heavy tome behind him – describing Indian Ocean maritime routes in textual form.151 Even in the 15th century, maps and charts were still not the norm – even in the Arab world where map–making may have reached an early pinnacle. And this leads to a question: if the Arabs were still clinging to the listtradition (as al-Mājid confirms), is it possible that the tradition of cartography has other roots? Obviously, without developing a serious cartographic tradition, the Arabs had crossed the Indian Ocean from Africa to India long before the Europeans. In fact, movement between Africa, Oman and the Indus Valley can be traced back at least barely beyond the third millennium, and has continued intermittently ever since. The Romans certainly contributed to early exchanges moving between Africa and India. However, the first major change was not the arrival of the Portuguese, but rather the arrival of the fleets of the early 15th century Chinese admiral, Zheng He, sailing directly from China to Africa (and probably also to the Americas). Together with his Chinese predecessors, Zheng He contributed to an increase in knowledge. Ever since the Mongol conquest of the Song Dynasty in the 13th century, China had been incorporated into a far larger world than the Chinese had imagined. Obviously, the Arabs contributed to Chinese cartographic knowledge during the Mongol Yuan era – and during the early Ming Dynasty the voyages of Zheng He likewise contributed to an increase in knowledge and cartography.152 Thus, NEEDHAM points to that rather remarkable Chinese map dating to 1137 (Fig. 6), i.e., a decade or so earlier that Idrisi’s – but probably dating to still a few decades (or even centuries) earlier.153 To say that the detail and precision of the Chinese coastline and the major rivers depicted on this map is unprecedented is an understatement. Based on a grid system, it is far superior to virtually anything else on offer during the coming centuries. Obviously Chinese cartography improved during the subsequent centuries. As is familiar, after the memory of the voyages of Zheng He was suppressed and the documentation destroyed, few traces of the operation survived. However: did Zheng He have an influence of Western cartog-

149 150 151 152 153

NEEDHAM1959, 514. MILLER1928. TIBBETS 1971. For examples of early maritime interaction, cf. al-HIJI / CHRISTIDES 2002. NEEDHAM 1959, Fig. 226 (facing p. 548) and Fig. 239 (facing p. 564).

Lists versus Plans and Maps

185

raphy in the 15th century? – at precisely that time that the Portuguese were rounding Africa? Could Chinese cartography – like the compass – have changed Western sailing, as well as Western maps? Certainly, the European voyages of discovery were accompanied by a revolution in cartography which transformed our understanding of the world in the same way that Kepler and Newton would change our understanding of the universe. 17. Conclusions Before the Renaissance and Enlightenment, however, the usual form of recording spatial information was in lists, or in textual form (rather than images). This had originally begun in the ancient Near East, where images were not understood as being a reliable means of recording and conveying spatial information, in the sense of “reproducing” or depicting information. The Near Eastern tradition of textual knowledge compiled in list form was considered to be authoritative until sometime in the mid-first millennium AD. The star charts were one part of this. The plans of the “vessels” in the human body were probably another – and finally came the real Chinese maps, beginning in the second half of the first millennium BC, and reaching far beyond Western capacities both then, and again ca. 1100 AD. Probably based on these early Chinese schematic graphics, the concept of both star charts and maps began to take on a life of its own – but only much later in Europe, as Europe began that gradual escape from the Middle Ages, and was able to profit from direct contacts with the Chinese, Indian and Arab merchants – and also from their contacts with one another. Under the unique circumstances of the European voyages of discovery followed by the era of European commerce and imperialism, the Europeans developed cartography far beyond what had been done by any nation before. Before that time, maps and images were not viewed as having the reliability of texts. And there was little interest in maps as a store of information (as opposed to a representation of ideological interpretations). Before the middle of the second millennium AD, most reliable geographical knowledge was textual, not cartographic. The textual form of recording geographical knowledge was long the dominant form, and owes its origins to Ancient Near Eastern Listenwissenschaft. This began in Mesopotamia and spread to Egypt – and then onwards East and West, and at some point the ways converged again, leading to the modern blossoming of cartography.

186

David A. Warburton

Fig. 1 Late 3rd millennium map of Gazur (Nuzi in the 2nd millennium). I have twisted the map so that the North arrow points upwards, with the East and West arrows likewise aligned. My arrows correspond to textually expressed cuneiform inscriptions (for IM.MIR Storm Wind = North; IM.KUR Mountain Wind = East; and IM.MAR.TU Amorite Wind = West [IM.GAN2.UH.ME.U Storm-demon Wind = South is missing], my own translations). The city in the centre (with its palace or temple) lies on a river, one branch of which flows off to the East, just south of the eastern mountains, which are situated symmetrically opposed to the western mountains, with the river branching off in the South. The solid line is the edge of the tablet; the broken line represents the edge of the damaged parts. (Image: author’s sketch from original and other sketches).

Lists versus Plans and Maps

187

Fig. 2. The mid-second-millennium BC map of Nippur; HALLO’S “best cuneiform map”. Here, oriented with the Northwest at the top, the Euphrates is on the left with the city itself (surrounded by walls) taking up the greatest part of what remains of the tablet. A canal runs through the city with the major temple of Enlil just barely preserved on the right hand edge. Hilprecht Collection, Friedrich-Schiller-Universität, Jena. (Image: Public Domain).

188

David A. Warburton

Fig. 3. Babylonain mappa mundi, 6 th century BC. A completely schematic, ideological representation of the world, at the end of Babylonian history. British Museum. (Image: Public domain).

Fig. 4. Third Hour of the night in the Egyptian Netherworld (Image: Hornung 1963, with kind consent of Harrassowitz Verlag)

Lists versus Plans and Maps

189

Fig. 5 Map of Egyptian Eastern Desert. Late 2 nd millennium BC. A road meanders through a wadi with mountains on either side. Turin Egyptological Museum. (Image: Public Domain)

190 David A. Warburton

Lists versus Plans and Maps

191

Fig. 6. Chinese map 1137 AD; coastline & rivers. A grid system (with units of 100 li) allowed the precision. Pei Lin Museum. (Image: Public domain)

Bibliography ABT, TH. / HORNUNG, E., Knowledge for the Afterlife: The Egyptian Amduat – A Quest for Immortality, Zürich 2003. BACKES, B., Das altägyptische „Zweiwegebuch“. Studien zu den Sargtext–Sprüchen 1029–1130, (Ägyptologische Abhandlungen, 69) Wiesbaden 2005. BECKMAN, G.M. / BRYCE, T.R. / CLINE, E.H., The Ahhiyawa Texts (Writings from the Ancient World, 28), Atlanta 2011. BEINLICH, H., Studien zu den “Geographischen Inschriften” (10. – 14. O. Äg. Gau). (Tübinger Ägyptologische Beiträge 2), Bonn 1976. BOYLE, K. / RENEFREW, C. / LEVINE, M. (eds.), Ancient Interactions: east and west in Eurasia (McDonald Institute monographs) Cambridge 2002.

192

David A. Warburton

BREASTED, J. H., The Edwin Smith Surgical Papyrus. Published in facsimile and hieroglyphic transliteration with translation and commentary in 2 volumes by James Henry Breasted, Vol. 1 (Publications, The University of Chicago Oriental Institute. Vols. 3.4) Chicago 1930. CAMPBELL, T., Portolan Charts from the Late Thirteenth Century to 1500, in J. B. HARLEY / D. WOODWARD (eds.), The History of Cartography. Vol. 1 Cartography in prehistoric, ancient and medieval Europe and the Mediterranean, Chicago 1987, 371–463. CANFORA, L., The true history of the so–called Artemidorus Papyrus, with an interim text, ed. by Luciano Canfora, (Ekdosis, 5) Bari 2007. CAVIGNEAUX, A., Lexikalische Listen, in RlA 6 (1980–83), 609–41. CASSON, L., The Periplus Maris Erythraei. Text with Introduction, Translation, and Commentary by Lionel Casson, Princeton 1989. DALCHÉ, P. G., The Reception of Ptolemy’s Geography (End of the Fourteenth to Beginning of the Sixteenth Century), in J. B. HARLEY / D. WOODWARD (eds.), The History of Cartography. Vol. 3 Cartography in the European Renaissance. part 1, Chicago 2007, 285–364. DEICHER, S. / MAROKO, E. (eds.), Die Liste: Ordnungen von Dingen und Menschen in Ägypten, Berlin 2015. DEICHER, S., Einführung, in S. DEICHER / E. MAROKO (eds.), Die Liste: Ordnungen von Dingen und Menschen in Ägypten, Berlin 2015, 7–28. DEINES, H. v. / GRAPOW, H. / WESTENDORF, W., Grundriss der Medizin der alten Ägypter. Band 4,1 Übersetzung der medizinischen Texte, Berlin 1958. DILKE, O.A.W., The Culmination of Greek Cartography in Ptolemy, with additional material supplied by the editors, in J.B. HARLEY / D. WOODWARD (eds.), The History of Cartography. Vol. 1 Cartography in prehistoric, ancient and medieval Europe and the Mediterranean, Chicago 1987, 177–200. DORMAN, P.F., The Monuments of Senenmut. Problems in Historical Methodology, (Studies in Egyptology) London 1988. DORMAN, P.F., The Tombs of Senenmut. The architecture and decoration of tombs 71 and 353, (Publications of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, Egyptian Expedition, 24) New York 1991. DREYER, G., Die Erfassung und Klassifizierung der Welt durch Bild und Schrift in der ägyptischen Frühzeit, in S. DEICHER / E. MAROKO (eds.), Die Liste: Ordnungen von Dingen und Menschen in Ägypten, Berlin 2015, 29–50. ECHTERHÖLTER, A., Jack Goody: Die Liste als Praktik, in S. DEICHER / E. MAROKO (eds.), Die Liste: Ordnungen von Dingen und Menschen in Ägypten, Berlin 2015, 243–62. EDEL, E. / GÖRG, M., Die Ortsnamenlisten im nördlichen Säulenhof des Totentempels Amenophis’ III., (Ägypten und Altes Testament, 50), Wiesbaden 2005. EDZARD, D.O., Die altmesopotamischen lexikalischen Listen – verkannte Kunstwerke?, in C. WILCKE (ed.), Das geistige Erfassen der Welt im Alten Orient, Wiesbaden 2007, 17–26. ENGLUND, R. K. / NISSEN, H. J., Die lexikalischen Listen der Archaischen Texte aus Uruk (Archaische Texte aus Uruk, 3. Ausgrabungen der Deutschen Forschungsgemeinschaft in Uruk– Warka, 13) Berlin 1993. ENGLUND, R. K., Texts from the Late Uruk Period, in P. ATTINGER / M. WÄFLER (eds.), Mesopotamien. Späturuk–Zeit und Frühdynastische Zeit, Annäherungen 1, (Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis 160/1) Freiburg 1998, 15–233. FALES, F. M., Assyrian village of Bit Abu–Ila'a, in C. ZACCAGNINI (ed.), Production and Consumption in the Ancient Near East, (Chair d’Egyptologie de l’université Eötvös Lorand) Budapest 1989, 169–200. FAUCONNIER, G. / TURNER, M., The Way We Think. Conceptual blending and the mind's hidden complexities, New York 2002. FISCHER, R., Die Aḫḫijawa–Frage. Mit einer kommentierten Bibliographie, (Dresdner Beiträge zur Hethitologie, 26) Wiesbaden 2010. FRIBERG, J., Unexpected Links between Egyptian and Babylonian Mathematics, Singapore 2005. FRIBERG, J., Amazing Traces of a Babylonian Origin in Greek Mathematics, Singapore 2007.

Lists versus Plans and Maps

193

FRIBERG, J. / PHILIPPS, A., Fragments of Thee Tablets from Ur III Nippur with Drawings of Labyrinths, in J. FRIBERG, J. / AL–RAWI, F. N. H., New Mathematical Cuneiform Texts, (Sources and studies in the history of mathematics and physical sciences) Cham 2016, 519–36. GALLAZZI, C. / KRAMER, B., Artemidor im Zeichensaal: Eine Papyrusrolle mit Text, Landkarte und Skizzenbüchern aus späthellenistischer Zeit, in ArchPF 44,2 (1998), 189–208. GARDINER, A. H., The Wilbour Papyrus, Vol. 1, Oxford 1941. GARDINER, A. H., Ancient Egyptian Onomastica, Vol. 1 Text, part 1, Oxford 1947a. GARDINER, A. H., Ancient Egyptian Onomastica. Vol. 3, plates, Oxford 1947b. GELLER, M. J., Ancient Babylonian Medicine. Theory and practice, (Ancient cultures) Chichester 2010. GEUS, K., Eratosthenes von Kyrene. Studien zur hellenistischen Kultur- und Wirtschaftsgeschichte, (Münchener Beiträge zur Papyrusforschung und antiken Rechtsgeschichte, 92) München 2002. GRAPOW, H., Die medizinischen Texte in hieroglyphischer Umschreibung autographiert, (Grundriss der Medizin der alten Ägypter, 5) Berlin 1958. GRASSHOFF, G., The History of Ptolemy’s Star Catalogue, (Studies in the History of Mathematics and Physical Sciences, 14) New York 1990. GRASSHOFF, G. et al., Longitude, in eTopoi. Journal for Ancient Studies 6 (2016), 634–77. GUNDLACH, R., Landkarte, in LÄ 3 (1980), 922–3. HAEBERLE, K. E., 10000 Jahre Waage. Aus der Entwicklungsgeschichte der Wägetechnik, Balingen 1967. HALLO, W. W., The Road to Emar, in JCS 18 (1964), 57–88. HARLEY, J. B. / WOODWARD, D. (eds.), The History of Cartography. Vol. 1 Cartography in prehistoric, ancient and medieval Europe and the Mediterranean, Chicago 1987. HARLEY J. B., The Map and the Development of the History of Cartography, in J. B. HARLEY / D. WOODWARD (eds.), The History of Cartography. Vol. 1 Cartography in prehistoric, ancient and medieval Europe and the Mediterranean, Chicago 1987, 1–42. HARLEY, J. B. / WOODWARD, D., The Foundations of Theoretical Cartography in Archaic and Classical Greece, prepared by the editors from materials supplied by Germaine Aujac, in: J. B. HARLEY / D. WOODWARD (eds.), The History of Cartography. Vol. 1 Cartography in prehistoric, ancient and medieval Europe and the Mediterranean, Chicago 1987, 130–47. HARLEY, J. B. / WOODWARD, D., The Growth of an Empirical Cartography in Hellenistic Greece, prepared by the editors from materials supplied by Germaine Aujac, in: J.B. HARLEY / D. WOODWARD (eds.), The History of Cartography. Vol. 1 Cartography in prehistoric, ancient and medieval Europe and the Mediterranean, Chicago 1987, 148–60. HARLEY, J. B. / WOODWARD, D., Greek Cartography in the Early Roman World, prepared by the editors from materials supplied by Germaine Aujac, in: J. B. HARLEY / D. WOODWARD (eds.), The History of Cartography. Vol. 1 Cartography in prehistoric, ancient and medieval Europe and the Mediterranean, Chicago 1987, 161–76. HARLEY J. B., Text and Contexts in the Interpretation of Early Maps, in: P. LAXTON (ed.), The New Nature of Maps: Essays in the History of Cartography, Baltimore 2001a, 33–50. HARLEY, J. B., Maps, Knowledge, and Power, in: P. LAXTON (ed.), The New Nature of Maps: Essays in the History of Cartography, Baltimore 2001b, 51–82. HARLEY J. B., Silences and Secrecy. The Hidden Agenda of Cartography in Early Modern Europe, in: P. LAXTON (ed.), The New Nature of Maps: Essays in the History of Cartography, Baltimore 2001c, 83–108. HARLEY J. B., Power and Legitimation in the English Geographical Atlases of the Eighteenth Century, in: P. LAXTON (ed.), The New Nature of Maps: Essays in the History of Cartography, Baltimore 2001, 109–48. HARRELL J. A. / BROWN, V. M., The oldest surviving topographical map from ancient Egypt (Turin Papyri 1879, 1899 and 1969), in JARCE 29 (1992), 81–105.

194

David A. Warburton

HARVEY, P. D. A., Medieval Maps: An Introduction, in J.B. HARLEY / D. WOODWARD (eds.), The History of Cartography. Vol. 1 Cartography in prehistoric, ancient and medieval Europe and the Mediterranean, Chicago 1987, 283–5. AL–HIJI, Y. Y. / CHRISTIDES, V. (eds.), Aspects of Arab Seafaring. An attempt to fill in the gaps of maritime history, (Graeco Arabica: Supplement B) Athens 2002. HORNUNG, E., Das Amduat Teil I: Texte, (Ägyptologische Abhandlungen 7) Wiesbaden 1963. HORNUNG, E., Die Unterweltsbücher der Ägypter. Eingeleitet, übersetzt und erläutert von Erik Hornung, München 1992. HORNUNG, E. / KRAUSS, R. / WARBURTON, D. A. (eds.), Ancient Egyptian Chronology, (Handbuch der Orientalistik, Erste Abteilung, Der Nahe und Mittlere Osten, 83) Leiden 2006. JONES, A., Ptolemy's Geography. Mapmaking and the Scientific Enterprise, in R. J. TALBERT (ed.), Ancient Perspectives. Maps and Their Place in Mesopotamia, Egypt, Greece and Rome, (The Kenneth Nebenzahl Jr. Lectures in the History of Cartography, 16) Chicago 2012, 109–128. KAHL, J., Das System der ägyptischen Hieroglyphenschrift in der 0.–3. Dynastie, (Göttinger Orientforschungen, Reihe 4: Ägypten, 29) Wiesbaden 1994. LEITZ, CH., Die Größe Ägyptens nach dem Sesostris–Kiosk in Karnak, in G. MOERS et al. (eds.), jn.t dr.w: Festschrift für Friedrich Junge, Vol. 2, Göttingen 2006, 409–27. LEWIS G. M., The Origins of Cartography, in J. B. HARLEY / D. WOODWARD (eds.), The History of Cartography. Vol. 1 Cartography in prehistoric, ancient and medieval Europe and the Mediterranean, Chicago 1987, 50–3. MILLER, K., Weltkarte des Arabers Idrisi vom Jahre 1154, Stuttgart 1928. NEMET–NEJAT, K.R., Late Babylonian Field Plans in the British Museum (Studia Pohl, Series Major, 11) Rom 1982. NEEDHAM, J., Science and Civilisation in China, Vol. 1 Introductory orientations, Cambridge 1954. NEEDHAM, J., Science and Civilisation in China, Vol. 2 History of scientific thought, Cambridge 1956. NEEDHAM, J., Science and Civilisation in China, Vol. 3 Mathematics and the sciences of the heavens and the earth, Cambridge 1959. NEEDHAM J., Science and Civilisation in China, Vol. 4 Physics and physical technology, part 1 Physics, Cambridge 1962. NEUGEBAUER, O., The Exact Sciences in Antiquity, Providence 1957. O´CONNOR, D., From Topography to Cosmos. Ancient Egypt's Multiple Maps, in R.J. TALBERT (ed.), Ancient Perspectives. Maps and Their Place in Mesopotamia, Egypt, Greece and Rome, (The Kenneth Nebenzahl Jr. Lectures in the History of Cartography, 16) Chicago 2012, 47– 80. OSSENDRIJVER, M., Ancient Babylonian astronomers calculated Jupiter’s position from the area under a time–velocity graph, in Science 351, iss. 6272 (2016), 482–4. OSING, J., The Carlsberg papyri 2. Hieratische Papyri aus Tebtunis, Vol. 1 Text, (Carsten Niebuhr Institute Publications, 17) Copenhagen 1998. POGO, A., The Astronomical Ceiling–Decoration in the Tomb of Senmut (XVIII th Dynasty), in Isis 14 (1930), 301–25. QUACK, J.F., Die Klagen über die Zerstörung Ägyptens. Versuch einer Neudeutung der „Admonitions“ im Vergleich zu den altorientalischen Städteklagen, in B. PONGRATZ–LEISTEN / H. KÜHNE / P. XELLA (eds.), Ana šadî Labnāni lū allik: Beiträge zu altorientalischen und Mittelmeerischen Kulturen, (Alter Orient und Altes Testament, 247) Kevelaer 1997, 345–54. QUACK, J. F., Review of: B. Backes, Das altägyptische „Zweiwegebuch“. Studien zu den Sargtext– Sprüchen 1029–1130, (Ägyptologische Abhandlungen, 69) Wiesbaden 2005, in JAOS 126,4 (2006), 594–6. QUACK, J. F., Ägyptische Listen und ihre Expansion in Unterricht und Repräsentation, in S. DEICHER / E. MAROKO (eds.), Die Liste: Ordnungen von Dingen und Menschen in Ägypten, Berlin 2015a, 51–86.

Lists versus Plans and Maps

195

QUACK, J. F., Importing and Exporting Gods? On the Flow of Deities Between Egypt and Its Neighboring Countries, in A. FLÜCHTER / J. SCHÖTTLI (eds.), The Dynamics of Transculturality. Concepts and Institutions in Motion (Transcultural research – Heidelberg studies on Asia and Europe in a global context) Cham 2015b, 255–77. QUACK, J. F., Von der schematischen Charakteristik bis zur ausgefeilten Ethnographie. Der Blick auf die Fremden durch die Alten Ägypter, in ZDMG 166 (2016), 289–316. QIU, J., Charting the Heavens from China, in Nature 459 (11 June 2009), 778–9. RATHMANN M., Der Artemidorpapryus (P.Artemid.) im Spiegel der Forschung, in Klio 93 (2011), 350–68. REDFORD, D. B., Egypt, Canaan, and Israel in Ancient Times, Princeton 1992. RENN, J. / SCHEMMEL, M., Waagen und Wissen in China. Bericht einer Forschungsreise, Berlin 2000. RICKETT, W. A., Guanzi. Political, Economic, and Philosophical Essays from Early China. A Study and Translation. Vol. 1 Chapter I,1 – XI,34 and XX,64 – XXI,65 – 66, (C & T Asian Translation Series) Boston ²2001. ROCHBERG, F., The Expression of Terrestrial and Celestial Order in Ancient Mesopotamia, in R. J. TALBERT (ed.), Ancient Perspectives. Maps and Their Place in Mesopotamia, Egypt, Greece and Rome, (The Kenneth Nebenzahl Jr. Lectures in the History of Cartography, 16) Chicago 2012, 9–46. RÖLLIG, W., Landkarten, in RlA 6 (1980–3), 464–7. SCHAEFFER, B. E., The epoch of the constellations on the Farnese atlas and their origin in Hipparchus’ lost catalogue, in JHA 36,2 (2005), 167–96. SCHEMMEL, M., The Transmission of Scientific Knowledge from Europe to China in the Early Modern Period, in J. RENN (ed.), The Globalization of Knowledge in History. Based on the 97th Dahlem Workshop, (Max Planck research library for the history and development of knowledge: Studies, 1) Berlin 2012, 269–94. SCHUESSLER, A., ABC Etymological Dictionary of Old Chinese, Honolulu 2007. SHORTLAND A. J. / BRONK RAMSEY, C. (eds.), Radiocarbon Chronologies of Ancient Egypt, Oxford 2013. SIVIN, N. / LEDYARD, G., Introduction to East Asian Cartography, in J. B. HARLEY / D. WOODWARD (eds.), The History of Cartography. Vol. 2, Book 2 Cartography in the Traditional East and Southeast Asian Societies, Chicago 1994, 23–31. SODEN, W. v., Leistung und Grenze sumerischer und babylonischer Wissenschaft, in WeltGesch 2 (1936), 411–64, 509–57; reprinted in B. LANDSBERGER / W. v. SODEN, Die Eigenbegrifflichkeit der babylonischen Welt. Leistung und Grenze sumerischer und babylonischer Wissenschaft, (Libelli, 142) Darmstadt 1965, 21–133. STEPHENSON, F. R., Chinese and Korean Star Maps and Catalogs, in J. B. HARLEY / D. WOODWARD (eds.), The History of Cartography. Vol. 2, Book 2 Cartography in the Traditional East and Southeast Asian Societies, Chicago 1994, 511–78. TIBBETS, G. R., Arab Navigation in the Indian Ocean before the Coming of the Portuguese, (Oriental Translation Fund New Series, 42) London 1971. TRIMBLE, V. / ASCHWANDEN, M. J., Astrophysics in 2003, in PASP 116, No. 817 (March 2004), 187–265. WÄFLER, M. / HAAS, V., Möglichkeiten der Identifizierung des Tall al–Hamīdīya, in S. EICHLER et al., Tall al– amīdīya, Band 1 Vorbericht 1984, (Orbis biblicus et orientalis: Series archaeological, 4), Fribourg 1985, 53–76. WARBURTON, D. A., Egypt and the Near East. Politics in the Bronze Age, (Civilisations du Proche–Orient: Serie IV Histoire – Essais, 1) Neuchâtel 2001. WARBURTON, D. A., Egyptian History: Definitely! Myth as the Link between Event and History, in M. FITZENREITER (ed.), Das Ereignis. Geschichtsschreibung zwischen Vorfall und Befund, (Internet Beiträge zur Ägyptologie und Sudanarchäologie, 10) Berlin / London 2009, 283– 307.

196

David A. Warburton

WARBURTON, D. A., Architecture, Power, and Religion. Hatshepsut, Amun and Karnak in Context, (Beiträge zur Archäologie, 7) Berlin 2012. WARBURTON, D. A., Review of J. RENN (ed.), The Globalization of Knowledge in History. Based on the 97th Dahlem Workshop (Max Planck research library for the history and development of knowledge: Studies, 1) Berlin 2012, in Journal of Global History 10 (2015), 198–200. WARBURTON, D. A., Egypt’s Role in the Origins of Science, in JAEI 9 (2016a), 72–94. WARBURTON, D. A., The Origins, Development, Diffusion and Significance of Early Color Terminology, in R. B. GOLDMAN (ed.), Essays in Global Color History. Interpreting the ancient spectrum, (Gorgias Studies in Classical and Late Antiquity, 19) Piscataway 2016b, 65–94. WARBURTON, D. A., Prices and Values: Origins and early history in the Near East, in K. KRISTIANSEN / TH. LINDKVIST / J. MYRDAL (eds.), Trade and Civilization, Cambridge 2018, 65– 101. WABURTON, D. A. / HORNUNG E. / ABT, TH., The Egyptian Amduat. The Book of the Hidden Chamber, translated by David Warburton, reviewed and edited by Erik Hornung and Theodor Abt, Zürich 2007. WENCEL, M. M., Radiocarbon Dating of Early Dynastic Mesopotamia: Results, Limitations, and Prospects, in Radiocarbon 59,2 (2017), 635–45. YEE, C. D. K., Reinterpreting Traditional Chinese Geographical Maps, in J. B. HARLEY / D. WOODWARD (eds.), The History of Cartography. Vol. 2, Book 2 Cartography in the Traditional East and Southeast Asian Societies, Chicago 1994a, 35–70. YEE, C. D. K., Chinese Maps in Political Culture, in J. B. HARLEY / D. WOODWARD (eds.), The History of Cartography. Vol. 2, Book 2 Cartography in the Traditional East and Southeast Asian Societies, Chicago 1994b, 71–95. YEE, C. D. K., Taking the World's Measure: Chinese Maps between Observation and Text, in J. B. HARLEY / D. WOODWARD (eds.), The History of Cartography. Vol. 2, Book 2 Cartography in the Traditional East and Southeast Asian Societies, Chicago 1994c, 96–127. YEE, C. D. K., Chinese Cartography among the Arts: Objectivity, Subjectivity, Representation, in J. B. HARLEY / D. WOODWARD (eds.), The History of Cartography. Vol. 2, Book 2 Cartography in the Traditional East and Southeast Asian Societies, Chicago 1994d, 128–69. YEE, C. D. K., Traditional Chinese Cartography and the Myth of Westernization, in J. B. HARLEY / D. WOODWARD (eds.), The History of Cartography. Vol. 2, Book 2 Cartography in the Traditional East and Southeast Asian Societies, Chicago 1994e, 170–202. ZOU, H., The Idea of Labyrinth (Migong) in Chinese Building Tradition, in JAE 46 (2012), 80–95.

Prof. Dr. David Alan Warburton Institute for the History of Ancient Civilizations Northeast Normal University Changchun, Peopleʼs Republic of China [email protected]

PIRATERIE IN DER ANTIKEN MITTELMEERWELT Ein Forschungsbericht zum Seeraub von der griechischen Frühzeit bis zur Begründung des Prinzipats Bernadette Descharmes Abstract Early scholarship regarded ancient privateers as criminals and morally inferior protagonists, disrupting maritime traffic and trade in the Mediterranean. In contrast, current research perceives piracy not only as an essential component of the economic network but also as an important element of political and military affairs between various states of antiquity. This assumption rests on a critical consideration of political and economic motives of ancient piracy as well as on the deconstruction of terms like “pirate” and “brigand”, which are used in our sources. The present survey explores this paradigmatic shift in research concerning ancient piracy from the Greek Archaic age until the early Principate. Die frühe Forschung betrachtete die Seeräuber der Antike als kriminelle und moralisch minderwertige Akteure, die den Seeverkehr und Handel im Mittelmeerraum bedrohten. Demgegenüber begreift die jüngere Forschung den Seeraub als essentiellen Bestandteil nicht nur des ökonomischen Geflechts, sondern auch als wesentlichen Faktor im Rahmen politischer und militärischer Konflikte zwischen den Staaten des Altertums. Grundlegend hierfür ist, die politischen und ökonomischen Motivationen der Akteure kritisch zu beleuchten sowie die Bezeichnungen „Räuber“ und „Pirat“ in den Quellen als pejorative Etiketten zu verstehen. Der vorliegende Forschungsbericht skizziert diesen Paradigmenwechsel für die Epochen der griechischen und römischen Geschichte von der archaischen Zeit bis in das Frühe Prinzipat. Schlüsselbegriffe: Piraterie, Seemacht, Seeraub, Sklavenhandel, Söldnerwesen.

198

Bernadette Descharmes

1. Einleitung „Gefahr auf See: Piraten in der Antike“ – so lautete der Titel einer Sonderausstellung, mit der das Museum im niedersächsischen Kalkriese im Jahr 2016 „den einzigartigen Kulturraum des Mittelmeers der Antike lebendig werden“ ließ.1 Das Motto war geschickt gewählt, besteht doch seitens der Öffentlichkeit ein großes Interesse am Thema: Die Hollywood-Filmreihe Pirates of the Caribbean zieht Millionen Besucher ins Kino. Merchandise-Waren mit dem Bild des freundlichen Piraten Käpt'n Sharky füllen in manchen Spielwarenläden mehrere Quadratmeter mit Kinderrucksäcken, Brotdosen und Partybesteck. Der Besucherstrom nach Kalkriese und die Vermarktung von Figuren wie Jack Sparrow und Käpt'n Sharky zeugen zum einen von der Popularität des Piraten-Themas, zum anderen von einer unangemessenen Romantisierung und Verharmlosung des Gegenstands in der Alltagskultur. Denn wenn wir von Piraterie sprechen, müssen wir bedenken, dass diese die Ausübung von Gewalthandlungen impliziert. Charakteristisch ist dabei in erster Linie der Gebrauch eines Wasserfahrzeugs. Im Seerechtsübereinkommen der Vereinten Nationen wird Piraterie darüber hinaus als Handlung definiert, die ohne staatliche Autorität erfolgt – ein Kriterium, das insbesondere für die griechische Antike nicht galt. Die Griechen bezeichneten auch diejenigen als leistes oder peirates, die mit staatlicher Befugnis, das heißt unter dem Befehl eines Königs oder einer Polis, Städte plünderten und Menschen gefangen nahmen. Die lateinische Terminologie (praedones und piratae) ermöglicht ebenfalls keinen differenzierten Einblick in die Praxis des Seeraubs, denn auch sie unterscheidet weder zwischen „staatlichen“ und „privaten“ Plünderern, noch zwischen „großer“ oder „kleiner“ Piraterie. Unter Seeraub fallen in der Antike gleichermaßen militärische Aktionen größerer Flottenverbände wie Überfälle durch einzelne Schiffe. Hinzu tritt das methodische Problem, dass sich Seeräuber selbst nicht als solche bezeichneten, sondern dass es sich in den Quellen um Fremdzuschreibungen handelt. Doch damit nicht genug: Die Termini leistes und praedones erlauben an sich noch nicht einmal eine Unterscheidung zwischen Land- und Seeraub. Da es sich bei der antiken Piraterie demzufolge um ein schwer fassbares, ambivalentes und wechselhaftes Phänomen handelt, ist sie als historischer Gegenstand nur schwer unter modernen Begrifflichkeiten und Kategorien einzuordnen. Das wissenschaftliche Interesse an der Piraterie des Altertums kommt aus zwei Richtungen. Einerseits ist das Thema innerhalb der Forschung zu antiker Gewalt verortet.2 Andererseits ist es – wie auch die Ausstellung in Kalkriese – an Bemühungen angebunden, das Meer als Erfahrungs-, Wissens- und Lebensraum

1 2

http://www.kalkriese-varusschlacht.de/museum/sonderausstellung2016/ (9.9.2016). LENNART GILHAUS, Physische Gewalt in der griechisch-römischen Antike – Ein Forschungsbericht, in: H-Soz-Kult, 13.7.2017, www.hsozkult.de/literaturereview/id/forschungsberichte3014 (21.9.2017).

Piraterie in der antiken Mittelmeerwelt

199

historischer Akteure zu verstehen.3 Insbesondere aufgrund der anhaltenden Relevanz des maritimen Raumes als historischem Forschungsgegenstand möchte der vorliegende Beitrag den derzeitigen Erkenntnisstand, zentrale Problemfelder sowie aktuelle Thesen zur antiken Piraterie skizzieren.4 Dabei sind dem Unterfangen selbstverständlich Grenzen gesteckt: Räumlich konzentriert sich der Bericht auf die Region des Mittelmeers. Zeitlich wird er sich auf die Forschung zum Seeraub von der archaischen Epoche bis zum Beginn der Kaiserzeit beschränken. Dem chronologischen Durchgang ist zunächst eine Besprechung der Überblickswerke vorgeschaltet, da diese sich durch ihren epochenübergreifenden Zugang einer exakten zeitlichen Einordnung entziehen. Danach soll die Forschungslandschaft entlang einer chronologischen Anordnung der antiken Epochen und einer regionalen Differenzierung erschlossen und geordnet werden. Dieses Vorgehen lässt unschwer erkennen, dass einzelne „Konjunkturphasen“ antiker Piraterie recht gut erforscht sind, während für andere eine intensive Betrachtung bislang ausblieb. Es ermöglicht außerdem, einige überzeitliche Grundprobleme des Themas herauszufiltern. Denn wiederholt stellen sich die gleichen Fragen nach dem Zusammenhang beziehungsweise der Abgrenzung von Krieg und Seeraub sowie der Verbindung von Handel und Piraterie. Auch die Identität, Herkunft und Handlungsspielräume antiker Seeräuber bilden immer wieder Problemfelder der Forschung, die in einem abschließenden Teil („Wer waren die Piraten?“) besprochen werden. 2. Überblicksdarstellungen zum antiken Seeraub im Mittelmeer Die Sicherheit und Freiheit der Seefahrt waren unabdingbare Voraussetzungen für einen prosperierenden Handel im Mittelmeerraum. Diesen Zusammenhang sahen die Griechen selbst. Einen Eindruck hiervon bietet die Archäologie des Thukydides, der eine maritime Vorherrschaft in der erfolgreichen Bekämpfung des See-

3

4

Das große Interesse an der Erforschung des Meeres spiegelt sich in der Tagungs- und Publikationsaktivität wider. So stand bspw. 2016 bei der Gießener Tagung „Auf segelbeflügelten Schiffen das Meer befahren“ das Erlebnis der Schiffsreise im späten Hellenismus und in der römischen Kaiserzeit im Mittelpunkt. Im selben Jahr erschien u.a. auch: M.-C. BEAULIEU, The Sea in the Greek Imagination, Philadelphia 2016. Des Weiteren betrieb das Zentrum für Mittelmeerstudien (ZMS) in Bochum seit 2009 unter Einbeziehung der Altertumswissenschaften die transepochale und transdisziplinäre Erforschung des Mittelmeerraumes. Verwiesen sei auch auf die Arbeit der Forschergruppe Routes, Water, Knowledge des Berliner Exzellenzclusters Topoi. Die Autorin hat sich gewissenhaft bemüht, sich die – mit den ihr gegebenen fremdsprachlichen Fähigkeiten und technischen Mitteln zu erschließende – Literatur zusammenzutragen. Trotz aller Sorgfalt dürfte unvermeidbar sein, dass ihr bei der Recherche auch einschlägige Titel entgangen sind. Der aufmerksame Leser möge dies verzeihen.

200

Bernadette Descharmes

raubs begründet sah.5 Schon die frühen Thalassokratien – namentlich die sagenhafte Herrschaft des Minos auf Kreta und die Tyrannen von Korinth – hätten mithilfe großer und effektiver Flotten den Seeraub zurückgedrängt, so dass Leben und Handel florieren konnten.6 Dies bildete Thukydides zufolge die Basis für eine außerordentliche Stellung innerhalb der Kulturen des Mittelmeers. Völker, die sich hingegen vom Seeraub ernährten und bei denen diese Praxis eventuell sogar Ehre einbrachte, galten ihm als unzivilisiert.7 Die evolutionistische Sichtweise des Thukydides, die darüber hinaus von einer Trennung zivilisierter und unzivilisierter Sphären ausging, prägte die Forschung bis in das frühe 20. Jahrhundert hinein. Die Werke von JULES SESTIER (1880)8, PAUL STEIN (1891 und 1894)9, FRANZ BECKER (1923)10 und HENRY A. ORMEROD (1924)11 waren in ihrer Deutung des Seeraubs als Kennzeichen unzivilisierter und primitiver Gesellschaften, die durch die antiken Staatsmächte zu „züchtigen“ seien, zudem von den imperialistischen Ideologien ihrer Zeit beeinflusst.12 Nichtsdestoweniger verdienen die Studien von ELLEN SEMPLE (1916) und ORMEROD (1924) besondere Erwähnung, da sie nach den geographischen Gegebenheiten des Mittelmeerraums und deren Einfluss auf eine antike (und mittelalterliche) Piraterie fragten.13 Erst 1999 wurde mit der Monographie von PHILIPP DE SOUZA wieder ein chronologischer Gesamtabriss publiziert, der sich dem antiken Seeraub mit einer deutlich kritischen Haltung gegenüber den Quellen näherte und einen Paradigmenwechsel einleitete.14 Piracy in the Graeco-Roman World wird von der These

5

6 7 8 9

10 11 12 13 14

Zum Verhältnis von Seeherrschaft und Seeraub in der Archäologie des Thukydides vgl. jetzt auch H. KOPP, Das Meer als Versprechen. Bedeutung und Funktion von Seeherrschaft bei Thukydides, Göttingen 2017, 58–64. Thuk. I 4; 13. Thuk. I 5. J. M. SESTIER, La Piraterie dans l’antiquité, Paris 1880. P. STEIN, Über Piraterie im Altertume (1. Teil: Zur Geschichte der Piraterie bis auf die Begründung der römischen Weltherrschaft), Cothen 1891; Ders., Über Piraterie im Altertume (2. Teil: Zur Geschichte der Piraterie im Altertume), Bernburg 1894. F. BECKER, Der Seeraub im Mittelmeer in den ersten zwei Jahrhunderten nach Alexander des Großen Tode, Greifswald (Diss.) 1923. R. ORMEROD, Piracy in the Ancient World, Liverpool 1924. Hierzu: SESTIER (1880), ii; STEIN (1891), 4; ORMEROD (1924), 13; BECKER (1923), 18; 106. E. C. SEMPLE, Pirate Coasts of the Mediterranean, in: Geographical Review 2 (1916), 134– 51. P. DE SOUZA, Piracy in the Graeco-Roman World, Cambridge 1999. In seiner PhD-thesis von 1992 wählte DE SOUZA einen themenorientieren, nicht-chronologischen Zugang: Ders., Piracy in the Ancient World: from Minos to Mohammed, London (Diss.) 1992 http://discovery.ucl.ac.uk/1318048/1/321277.pdf (22.7.2016). Die überblickshaften Festschriftbeiträge, die zwischen ORMERODS und DE SOUZAS Monographien erschienen waren, boten bedauerlicherweise keinen analytischen Zugang: H. KALETSCH, Seeraub und Seeräubergeschichten des Altertums, in: H. KALCYK (Hg.), Studien zur Alten Geschichte. Festschrift für Siegfried Lauffer (Teil 2), Rom 1986, 469–500; F. BERBER, Von der Piraterie in der Anti-

Piraterie in der antiken Mittelmeerwelt

201

dominiert, dass der Kampf gegen Piraten in erster Linie der Rechtfertigung einer imperialistischen Politik diente. Die Gegner seien nicht tatsächlich Seeräuber gewesen, sondern lediglich als solche bezeichnet worden, um von der Notwendigkeit militärischer Kampagnen zu überzeugen. Diese These hat DE SOUZA wiederholt in verschiedenen Aufsätzen vertreten.15 Eine monographische Gesamtschau bot ferner die Doktorarbeit von CLÉMENT VARENNE (2013)16, der nicht nur der in Frankreich beheimateten historiographischen Tradition der longue durée Rechnung trug, sondern vielmehr durch den von PEREGRINE HORDEN und NICHOLAS PURCELL in ihrem Buch The Corrupting Sea gewählten Zugriff inspiriert wurde.17 In diesem Sinne wurde VARENNES langfristige historische Untersuchung durch eine mikrohistorische Betrachtung Kilikiens und der Balearen ergänzt. VARENNE entwarf letztlich eine Typologie, die den pirate imaginé vom pirate commerçant und pirate opportuniste unterscheidet.18 Befreie man das Bild des antiken Piraten von den literarischen Topoi, so präsentierten sich die Seeräuber nicht als soziale Außenseiter, sondern als integrale Akteure innerhalb eines das Mittelmeer umspannenden Handelsgeflechts. Beispielsweise habe Raubgut nur durch die Zusammenarbeit mit verlässlichen Handelspartnern sowie durch die Kenntnis der maritimen Verkehrswege in den Warenverkehr überführt werden können.19 Abgesehen von den eben genannten Überblickswerken erschienen auch epochenspezifische Abrisse zur griechischen beziehungsweise römischen Zeit. Das älteste Werk zum Seeraub der griechischen Epoche stammt von ERICH ZIEBARTH (1929)20 und steht in der Tradition antiquarischen Sammelns, hat er seine Quellen doch sogar in einem gesonderten, 40-seitigen Anhang zusammengestellt. Auch das 1991 erschienene, äußerst umfangreiche Werk zur griechischen Militärpraxis, von WILLIAM KENDRICK PRITCHETT (1991)21 stellt in einem Kapitel Raids and

15

16

17 18 19 20 21

ke, in: H. P. IPSEN / K.-H. NECKER (Hg.), Recht über See. Festschrift für Rolf Stödter, Hamburg 1979, 147–53. P. DE SOUZA, „They are the enemies of all mankind“: justifying Roman imperialism in the Late Republic, in: J. WEBSTER / N. COOPER (Hg.), Roman Imperialism: Post-Colonial Perspectives, Leicester 1996, 125–33; Ders., Rome‘s contribution to the development of piracy, in: R. HOHLFELDER (Hg.), The Maritime World of Ancient Rome, Ann Arbor 2007, 69–94; Ders., Pirates and politics in the Roman world, in: V. GRIEB / S. TODT (Hg.), Piraterie von der Antike bis zur Gegenwart, Stuttgart 2012, 47–73. C. VARENNE, La piraterie dans la Méditerranée antique: représentations et insertion dans les structures économiques, Toulouse (Diss.) 2013. https://tel.archives-ouvertes.fr/tel00936571/document (20.7.2016). P. HORDEN / N. PURCELL, The corrupting sea: a study of Mediterranean history, Oxford 2000. VARENNE (2013), 103f; 203f. Ebd., 104. E. ZIEBARTH, Beiträge zur Geschichte des Seeraubs und Seehandels im alten Griechenland, Hamburg 1929. W. K. PRITCHETT, The Greek State at War (Teil 5), Berkeley / Los Angeles 1991, 312–63.

202

Bernadette Descharmes

Pirates in erster Linie eine chronologische Sammlung epigraphischer und historiographischer Belege bereit. Einen ebenfalls chronologischen Überblick über die Piraterie im antiken Griechenland – angefangen bei den homerischen Seeräubern, über die klassische Zeit hin zum Hellenismus – liefert der Aufsatz von BURKHARD MEIßNER (2012),22 der vor allem auf die Verknüpfung von Piraterie und politischer Instabilität abhob.23 DE SOUZA (1995)24 dagegen ging in seinem kurzen Beitrag zur griechischen Piraterie thematisch vor und behandelte sukzessiv die Zusammenhänge zwischen Piraterie, Krieg und Handel sowie die Bemühungen griechischer Stadtstaaten, sich vor Seeraub zu schützen.25 Neben den Überblicken über die einzelnen Epochen verdiente die antike Piraterie auch immer wieder im Rahmen der Behandlung größerer Themenkomplexe wie Seeherrschaft, Handelsgeschichte und geographischer Geschichte Beachtung. So widmete LIONEL CASSON (1959)26 in seinem Standardwerk über die antike Seefahrt ein Kapitel der antiken Piraterie, RAIMUND SCHULZ (2005) griff in seinem Buch Die Antike und das Meer27 die verschiedenen Erscheinungsformen mediterraner Piraterie auf und auch der jüngst erschienene Sammelband Seemacht, Seeherrschaft und die Antike berücksichtigte das Thema mit dem Beitrag von CHRISTIAN WENDT.28 In einer dichotomen Wahrnehmungsstruktur von Ordnung und Chaos, so WENDT, habe man Seemacht als Gegensatz zur Seeräuberei definiert. Seemacht und Piraterie seien demnach keine Kategorien zur Rekonstruktion historischen Realität, sondern Kategorien ihrer Interpretation.29 Abgesehen von der wissenschaftlichen Literatur erschien auch auf dem populärwissenschaftlichen Feld eine Zahl informativer, wenn auch meist nur knapper Texte, die einen ersten ungefähren Einstieg in das Thema bieten. An erster Stelle ist der umfassende Begleitband zur Kalkrieser Sonderausstellung von HEIDRUN

22

23 24 25 26

27

28 29

B. MEIßNER, Kidnapping und Plündern. Piraterie und Failing States im antiken Griechenland, in: V. GRIEB / S. TODT (Hg.), Piraterie von der Antike bis zur Gegenwart, Stuttgart 2012, 21–45. Ebd., 43. P. DE SOUZA, Greek Piracy, in: A. POWELL (Hg.), The Greek World, London 1995, 179–98. Ebd., 180–6 (Krieg und Piraterie), 186–9 (Handel und Piraterie), 189–93 (Kampf gegen Piraterie). Bei CASSON lässt sich eine unkritische und pauschalisierende Haltung den Quellen gegenüber erkennen, etwa wenn er davon ausgeht, dass der Pirat in der antiken Literatur eine „von Romantik umwitterte Gestalt“ verkörpere. L. CASSON, Die Seefahrer der Antike, München 1979 [engl. Original 1959], 317–27, hier: 317. R. SCHULZ, Die Antike und das Meer, Darmstadt 2005, 130ff; 151–5, 176ff. Man beachte auch die neue Monographie des Autors zum Thema der maritimen Erkundungsfahrten: Ders., Abenteurer der Ferne. Die großen Entdeckungsfahrten und das Weltwissen der Antike, Stuttgart 2016. C. WENDT, Piraterie als definitorisches Moment von Seeherrschaft, in: E. BALTRUSCH / H. KOPP / C. WENDT (Hg.), Seemacht, Seeherrschaft und die Antike, Stuttgart 2016, 79–91. Ebd., 90.

Piraterie in der antiken Mittelmeerwelt

203

DERKS (2016)30 zu nennen, der sich, anders als beispielsweise der Sammelband von JANN M. WITT (2011)31, in seiner vollen Gänze dem Altertum widmete. THOMAS GRÜNEWALDS (2008)32 Beitrag zu den Piraten in der Welt des Asterix, der 2008 in KAI BRODERSENS unterhaltsamen Bändchen Asterix und seine Zeit erschien, stellte wichtige Strukturmerkmale heraus und auch der deutschsprachige Katalog-Beitrag von CHRISTIAN GOLÜKE (2011)33 vermittelte durch eine systematische Vorstellung von Quellen, Akteuren, juristischen Grundlagen und geographischen Räumen einen verständlichen Einblick in die Beziehung der Römer zur Piraterie. 3. Seeraub im antiken Griechenland 3.1 Helden, Tyrannen und Seeräuber im frühen Griechenland Speziell zum Seeraub der frühen Griechen entstanden bisher, auch sicher aufgrund der Quellenlage, vergleichsweise wenige Studien. Diese beschäftigten sich unter anderem mit der Frage nach der Ehrhaftigkeit des Seeraubs, schließlich hatte Thukydides behauptet, dass er unter den ältesten Hellenen keine Schande, sondern Ruhm eingebracht habe.34 PETER WALCOT (1979)35 erkannte, dass der Raub von Vieh in der Tat ein ganz und gar wesentliches Element archaischer Heldendichtung bildete. Die frühen Griechen hätten den Viehraub, der den Quellen nach regelmäßig auch über See erfolgte, als Teil eines rituellen Initiationsprozesses und damit als ein Zeichen von Männlichkeit verstanden. Seine Erkenntnisse erschloss sich WALCOT, indem er vergleichbare Praktiken rezenter Stammeskulturen an das antike Textmaterial anlegte.36 Zu einer ganz anderen Einschätzung kam WERNER NOWAG (1983),37 der behauptete, dass in der homerischen Gesellschaft „nicht Raub die originäre Quelle von Ansehen war, sondern der hierbei erzielte materielle Erfolg“.38 Die Frage, ob

30 31 32 33

34 35 36 37 38

H. DERKS, Gefahr auf See. Piraten in der Antike, Darmstadt 2016. J. M. WITT, Piraten. Eine Geschichte von der Antike bis heute, Darmstadt 2011. T. GRÜNEWALD, Piraten in der Welt des Asterix, in: K. BRODERSEN (Hg.), Asterix und seine Zeit. Die große Welt des kleinen Galliers, München 2008, 90–104 (3. Aufl.). C. GOLÜKE, Mare pacavi a praedonibus - Die römische Vision von einem piratenfreien Meer, in: MARCUS REUTER / ROMINA SCHIAVONE (Hg.), Gefährliches Pflaster. Kriminalität im Römischen Reich (Xantener Berichte. Grabung – Forschung – Präsentation 21), Mainz 2011, 197–211. Thuk. I 5. P. WALCOT, Cattle Raiding. Heroic tradition and ritual: The Greek evidence, in: History of Religion 18 (1979), 326–51. Ebd. 349. W. NOWAG, Raub und Beute in der archaischen Zeit der Griechen, Frankfurt a.M. (Diss.) 1983. Ebd., 165.

204

Bernadette Descharmes

unter den Angehörigen des frühgriechischen Adels die Piraterie als ehrenhafte Tätigkeit galt, wurde also ganz unterschiedlich bewertet. NOWAG berührte mit seiner Studie noch weitere Problemfelder der Forschung wie das der Unterscheidung zwischen Krieg und Raub. Anders als MOSES I. FINLEY (1979)39, der den für die homerische Welt typischen Krieg als Plünderungszug beschrieben hatte,40 verortete NOWAG diese Form der Kriegführung in eine heroische Vergangenheit, die selbst der Lebenswirklichkeit des Dichter schon fremd gewesen sei.41 Auch ALASTAR H. JACKSON (1993)42 bemühte sich um eine klare Grenzziehung zwischen Krieg und Raub. Er sah die Plünderungen, wie sie von den homerischen Helden praktiziert wurden, von Profit und Gier motiviert. In Kriegen hingegen sei es – und hier spielt erneut das bereits oben genannte Thema mit rein – um Ehre gegangen.43 Da JACKSON aber an anderer Stelle auf die Möglichkeit des Prestigegewinns durch Beutefahrten hingewiesen hatte, verstrickte er sich letztlich im Widerspruch und bietet keinen überzeugenden Ansatz zur Unterscheidung von Piraterie und Krieg.44 Ein weiteres Thema, das NOWAG in seiner Dissertation untersuchte, betraf die Durchführung des Raubes an sich. Piraterie verstand er ganz konkret als eine Praxis, die das Entern eines Schiffes auf offener See voraussetzte.45 Für die homerische Zeit sei ein solches Vorgehen nicht nachweisbar, vielmehr seien die Helden der homerischen Dichtung Küstenräuber gewesen. Der Überfall auf offener See sei vielmehr erst ab der Mitte des sechsten Jahrhunderts praktiziert worden, anfänglich vermutlich von den Samiern.46 Dass Polykrates von Samos eigens für diesen Zweck einen neuen Schiffstypen entwickelte, unterstrich SCHOSCHANA HETZEL (2001) in ihrer Arbeit zur Seepolitik archaischer Tyrannen.47 Einen Teil seines Reichtums habe er durch Seeraub gewonnen, einen anderen durch Handel. Dementsprechend habe ihm zwar daran gelegen, die Wegesicherheit der zu Lande und zu Wasser reisenden Händler und Einwohner in der Region zu schützen. Es habe ihn aber nicht daran gehindert, außerhalb dieses Gebiets selbst Seeraub zu betreiben.48 Diese Doppelgestalt des archaischen Tyrannen zeigt deutlich ein weiteres Grundproblem der Forschung zur antiken Piraterie auf: die Frage nach der Identität des „Piraten“.

39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48

MOSES I. FINLEY, The World of Odysseus, Harmondsworth 1978 [engl. Original 1954]. Ebd., 46. Ebd., 200. A. H. JACKSON, War and raids for booty in the world of Odysseus, in: J. RICH / G. SHIPLEY (Hg.), War and Society in the Greek World, London 1993, 64–76. Ebd., 74. Ebd., 72. NOWAG (1983), 113. Ebd., 127. S. HETZEL, Die Seepolitik archaischer Tyrannen, Dresden (unveröff. Diss.) 2001, hier: 125– 8. Ebd., 119–28.

Piraterie in der antiken Mittelmeerwelt

205

3.2 Seeraub unter der Hegemonie Athens Da der Seeraub für Thukydides wie auch für seine Zeitgenossen als barbarische Praxis galt, verstünden sich die Athener als Stellvertreter einer höher entwickelten Lebensart, SO GIOIETTA BIRAGHI.49 Als Ausdruck ihrer Zivilisiertheit hätten sie nicht nur selbst keine Piraterie betrieben, sondern sich vielmehr der Piratenbekämpfung verschrieben, worauf auch die Gründung des Delisch-Attischen Seebundes und die Expeditionen des Kimon und Perikles hindeuteten.50 DE SOUZA kam in seiner Monographie hingegen zur gegenteiligen Einschätzung: Im fünften Jahrhundert hätten die Athener kein politisches Programm verfolgt, das Piraterie generell hätte ausradieren sollen.51 Dies unterstützend demonstrierte ALFONSO MORENO, dass die Zerstörung eines vermeintlichen Piratennestes auf Skyros durch Kimon in eine Tradition der gewaltsamen Landaneignung durch athenische Aristokraten einzuordnen sei.52 Diese hätten in der Ägäis bereits seit dem 6. Jahrhundert systematisch Bodenbesitz und landwirtschaftliche Ressourcen an sich gebracht, so dass sich athenische Kleruchien im 5. Jahrhundert letztlich wie Perlen an einer Schnur von Kolchis bis in den Piräus reihten. 53 MORENO zeigte außerdem, dass Euboia als Kornkammer Athens eine wichtige Rolle spielte und der Stadtstaat um den sicheren Transport des Getreides bemüht war.54 Bislang hatten in der Forschung insbesondere die Meerengen des Bosporus und Hellespont als „Lebensader der Athener“55 gegolten. Wie ALEXANDER RUBEL (2001 und 2009)56 wiederholt gezeigt hatte, statteten die Athener die Getreidetransporte aus dem Schwarzmeergebiet mit Geleitschutz aus, um die Beförderung von Getreide und anderer wichtiger Güter von und nach Attika zu garantieren. Das Flottenkontingent des Seebundes konnte aber nicht gewährleisten, dass die Küsten Attikas von Überfällen verschont blieben, wie DE SOUZA in einer chronologischen Übersicht dokumentierte.57 Es verwundert also nicht, dass Piraterie aus dieser Sicht ausschließlich als bedrohliches Übel gesehen wurde. Trotzdem war das Verhältnis Athens zur Piraterie keineswegs eindeutig. So unterstellte RAPHAEL SEALEY (1966),58 dass der Seebund seeräuberische Aktivitäten be49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58

G. BIRAGHI, La Pirateria Greca in Tucidide, in: ACME 5 (1952), 471–77. Ebd., 476f. DE SOUZA (1999), 35. A. MORENO, Feeding the Democracy. The Athenian Grain Supply in the Fifth and Fourth Centuries BC, Oxford 2012, hier: 142. Ebd., 140ff. Ebd., 77–143. A. RUBEL, Hellespontophylakes – Zöllner am Bosporos? Überlegungen zur Fiskalpolitik des attischen Seebundes (IG I3 61), in: Klio 83 (2001), 39–51, hier: 41. RUBEL (2001), 48; Ders., Die ökonomische und politische Bedeutung von Bosporos und Hellenspont in der Antike, in: Historia 58 (2009), 336–55. P. DE SOUZA, Raids on the coast of Attica, in: N. SEKUNDA (Hg.), Ergasteria: Works Presented to John Ellis Jones on his 80th Birthday, Danzig 2010, 82–93. R. SEALEY, The Origin of the Delian League, in: E. BADIAN (Hg.), Ancient Society and Institutions. Studies presented to V. Ehrenberg on his 75 th birthday, Oxford 1966, 233–55.

206

Bernadette Descharmes

zweckte und beförderte.59 JACKSON (1969)60 reagierte auf diese provokante These und sprach sich dafür aus, dass es den Athenern bei der Gründung des Seebundes nicht um Beute, sondern um Eroberung ging.61 Die Zielsetzungen des Bundes wurden vielfach auch andernorts diskutiert, wobei die ökonomische Motivlage der Athener jedoch weitgehend ausgeblendet wurde, wie LISA KALLETT (2013) anmerkte.62 Aus wirtschaftlichen Interessen hätten die Athener zwar die Piraten der Insel Skyros bekämpft, aber auch selbst Seeraub betrieben.63 Auch am Beispiel Athens hat die Forschung demzufolge die Identität antiker Piraten kritisch hinterfragt. Die Phase des Peloponnesischen Krieges war Gegenstand von HENRY D. WESTLAKE (1945)64 und B. R. MACDONALD (1984),65 die vor allem das Geschichtswerk des Thukydides im Hinblick auf (see-)räuberische Vorfälle durchleuchteten. Beide Studien zeigten, dass der Konflikt zwischen dem Peloponnesischen Bund und dem Attisch-Delischen Seebund nicht nur in offenen Schlachten ausgetragen wurde, sondern auch mithilfe von Überfällen. Zur Durchsetzung einer Vorherrschaft in Griechenland hätten die Athener die landwirtschaftlichen Flächen der Peloponnesier planmäßig verwüstet, um den ökonomischen Druck auf den Gegner zu erhöhen, so WESTLAKE (1945).66 Dieses Vorgehen charakterisierte MACDONALD (1984) als typische Taktik des Guerilla-Kriegs, welche von den Griechen selbst zumindest begrifflich von traditionellen Formen der Kriegführung unterschieden worden sei.67 CLAUDIO FERONE (1997) stellte indes fest, dass der Begriff lesteia in den Quellen des fünften und vierten Jahrhunderts auf Praktiken angewendet wurde, die nicht seiner ursprünglichen Bedeutung entsprachen. Demzufolge seien ganz unterschiedliche Formen des Seeraubs, eine durch politische Exilanten, eine traditionelle und eine kriegerische, als lesteia bezeichnet worden.68 Auch seine Untersuchung war demnach von der Frage geleitet, ob es möglich ist, in der griechischen Welt zwischen Piraterie und Kaperkrieg zu unterscheiden.69

59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69

Ebd., 238. A. H. JACKSON, The original purpose of the Delian League, in: Historia 18 (1969), 12–6. Ebd., 15. L. KALLET, The Origins of the Athenian Economic Arche, in: JHS 133 (2013), 43–60, hier: 43. Ebd., 51. H. D. WESTLAKE, Seaborne Raids in Periclean Strategy, in: The Classical Quarterly 39 (1945), 75–84. B. R. MACDONALD, Lesteia and leizomai in Thucydides, in: AJP 105 (1984), 77–84. WESTLAKE (1945), 81f; 84. Ebd., 77 und Anm. 4. C. FERONE, Lesteia: forme di predazione nell’ Egeo in età classica, Neapel 1997, hier: 73. Ebd., 35.

Piraterie in der antiken Mittelmeerwelt

207

3.3 Piraterie im vierten Jahrhundert v. Chr. Das vierte Jahrhundert war davon gekennzeichnet, dass sich die unterschiedlichsten Mächte bemühten, eine Vorherrschaft im östlichen Mittelmeer zu etablieren. Als Begleiterscheinung dieser krisenhaften Prozesse gewann das Söldnerwesen an Bedeutung. Angeheuerte Seemänner operierten als Freibeuter im Auftrag griechischer Staaten und nahmen in diesen Konflikten eine nicht unbedeutende Rolle ein, wie JACKSON (1973)70 und JANICE J. GABBERT (1986) hervorhoben.71 Beide beleuchteten das Söldnerdasein zudem von einem sozialgeschichtlichen Standpunkt aus, indem sie fragten, welche Vorteile und Aufstiegschancen diese Tätigkeit ermöglichte.72 Auch PAUL MCKECHNIE (1989)73 näherte sich dem Söldnerwesen mit einer zunächst sozialhistorischen Fragestellung. Im Mittelpunkt seiner Studie stand aber letztlich weniger die soziale Zusammensetzung der Seeräuber sondern deren Einbindung in den Sklavenhandel sowie in die außenpolitischen Vorgänge des vierten Jahrhunderts.74 Am Beispiel Makedoniens hat die Forschung nicht nur den Zusammenhang von Krieg und Piraterie veranschaulichen können, sondern einmal mehr auf die Doppelgestalt der historischen Akteure hingewiesen. Wie HANS HAUBEN (1975),75 NICHOLAS G. L. HAMMOND (1992)76 und MARTIN PAZDERA (2006)77 zeigten, wurde die Eroberung der Ägäis unter Philipp II letztlich durch Kaperfahrten ermöglicht. Indem er die Mitglieder des Korinthischen Bundes zugleich verpflichtete, ihre Häfen für Piraten zu sperren, habe er – in Konkurrenz zu Athen – die Vorstellung verbreitet, für ein befriedetes und piratenfreies Seegebiet zu sorgen.78 Die vertragliche Delegitimierung der Piraterie durch die Vereinbarungen des Korinthischen Bundes brachte, so MEIßNER (2012), ein „Moment der Universalisierung“ mit sich.79 Damit meinte er, dass der Zugang zur See und die Sicherheit auf dem Meer kein exklusives, sondern ein universelles Recht darstellten. In 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77

78 79

A. H. JACKSON, Privateers in the Ancient Greek World, in: M. R. D. FOOT (Hg.), War and society: historical essays in honour and memory of J. R. Western, New York 1973, 241–53. J. J. GABBERT, Piracy in the Early Hellenistic Period: a Career Open to Talents, in: Greece & Rome 33 (1986), 156–63. JACKSON (1973), 244–8; GABBERT (1986), 158. P. MCKECHNIE, Outsiders in the Greek Cities in the fourth century B.C., London / New York 1989. Ebd., 101–28. H. HAUBEN, Philippe II. Fondateur de la marine macédonienne, in: Ancient Society 6 (1975), 51–9. N. G. L. HAMMOND, The Macedonian Navies of Philip and Alexander until 330 B.C., in: Antichthon 26 (1992), 30–41. M. PAZDERA, Getreide für Griechenland. Untersuchungen zu den Ursachen der Versorgungskrisen im Zeitalter Alexanders des Großen und der Diadochen (Antike Kultur und Geschichte 9), Berlin (Diss.) 2006. Darin das Kapitel zur Piraterie: 68–83. HAUBEN (1975), 55; HAMMOND (1992), 34f; PAZDERA (2006), 78. MEIßNER (2012), 32.

208

Bernadette Descharmes

Wirklichkeit hätte Makedonien – genauso wie Athen, oder später auch Rhodos oder Rom – Piraterie nicht „um der Sicherheit auf See an sich willen, sondern im Interesse der eigenen Sicherheit“ bekämpft, so MEIßNER (2012).80 3.4 Piraterie in hellenistischer Zeit Die Piraterie im Hellenismus ist breit untersucht worden. Dies liegt vor allem daran, dass diese Zeit als Hochphase antiken Seeraubs gelten kann und Piraterie einerseits als wirtschaftlicher Faktor andererseits im Rahmen der Konflikte zwischen den hellenistischen Reichen eine enorme Rolle spielte. JOHN K. DAVIES (1984)81 hatte schon unterstrichen, dass Piraterie keine marginale Erscheinung der hellenistischen Gesellschaft, sondern fest in dieser verwoben sei.82 Zum einen hätten sich die Kriegs-Flotten der hellenistischen Mächte wesentlich aus Seeräubern rekrutiert83, zum anderen sei Piraterie geradezu elementarer Bestandteil politisch-diplomatischer Konvention gewesen. Die Praxis der Beutenahme bilde schließlich die Grundvoraussetzung der zahlreichen AsylieVerträge zwischen griechischen Gemeinden.84 Insbesondere der Fall der Insel Teos, die sich durch Asylie-Abkommen vor Überfällen vor allem durch kretische Seefahrer zu schützen versuchte, wurde in diesem Zusammenhang hinreichend untersucht.85 Auch im Rahmen wirtschaftsgeschichtlicher Fragen nahm man Seeräuber nicht mehr nur als bedrohliche Störfaktoren, sondern auch als bedeutende wirtschaftliche Akteure der hellenistischen Zeit wahr. YVON GARLAN (1978; 1987 und leicht verändert 1989)86 und VINCENT GABRIELSEN (2001; 2003 und 2013),87 die vor allem die Verkettung von Seeraub und Sklavenhandel untersuchten, sahen

80 81 82 83 84 85

86

87

MEIßNER (2012), 41. J. K. DAVIES, Cultural, social and economic features of the Hellenistic world, in: CAH 7, Cambridge 1984, 257–320 (2. Aufl.), hier: 285–90. Ebd., 286. Ebd., 286. Ebd., 290. S. ŞAHIN, Piratenüberfall auf Teos. Volksbeschluß über die Finanzierung der Erpressungsgelder, in: Epigraphica Anatolica 23 (1994), 1–36; S. BUSSI, Attaco di pirati a Teos ellenistica, in: Studi Ellenistici 12 (1999), 159–71; R. MERKELBACH, Der Überfall der Piraten auf Teos, in: Epigraphica Anatolica 32 (2000), 101–14. Y. GARLAN, Signification historique de la piraterie grecque, in: Dialogues d’histoire ancienne 4 (1978), 1–16; Ders., War, Piracy and Slavery in the Greek World, in: M. I. FINLEY (Hg.), Classical Slavery, London 1987, 7–21; Ders., Guerre et économie en Grèce ancienne, Paris 1989. V. GABRIELSEN, Economic activity, maritime trade and piracy in the Hellenistic Aegean, in: Revue des Études Anciennes 103 (2001), 219–40; Ders., Piracy and the Slave Trade, in: A. ERSKINE (Hg.), A Companion to the Hellenistic World, Oxford / Malden (Ma.) 2003, 389– 404; Ders., Warfare, Statehood and Piracy in the Greek World, in: N. JASPERT / S. KOLDITZ (Hg.), Seeraub im Mittelmeerraum. Piraterie, Korsarentum und maritime Gewalt von der Antike bis zur Neuzeit (Mittelmeerstudien 3), Paderborn 2013, 133–53.

Piraterie in der antiken Mittelmeerwelt

209

die Raub- und Handelsaktivität der Piraten in ein weites ökonomisches Netz eingebunden, das vom Prinzip des Angebots und der Nachfrage bestimmt wurde.88 Warum in Kreta gerade zwischen der Mitte des vierten und der Mitte des zweiten Jahrhunderts v. Chr. der Seeraub seine Blüten trieb, versuchte PIERRE BRULÉ (1978)89 zu erklären. Geographische Aspekte boten ihm keine hinreichende Begründung. Er machte vielmehr das Zusammenspiel von Bevölkerungszunahme und Landknappheit für diese Entwicklung verantwortlich.90 Auch ANGELIKE PETROPOULOU (1985) bot in ihrer Dissertation zur Wirtschafts- und Sozialgeschichte des hellenistischen Kretas ein eigenes Kapitel zum Seeraub. 91 Sie zeigte, dass sich kretische Söldner von den hellenistischen Mächten in großer Zahl für Plünderungszüge in der Ägäis rekrutieren ließen. Zugleich stellte sie fest, dass die kretischen Städte regelmäßig ihre Nachbarorte überfielen. PETROPOULOU kam deshalb zu dem Ergebnis, dass „die Piraterie zusammen mit dem eng damit verbundenen Handel mit Gefangenen und Beute zu den wichtigsten ökonomischen Faktoren des Lebens auf der Insel gehörten.“92 Ausgehend von den Gründen für den Kretischen Krieg 205/4 mit Rhodos, bemühte sich PAULA PERLMAN (1998)93 um ein nuanciertes Bild der Kreter, die in den Quellen einseitig der Piraterie beschuldigt werden. Kretische Seefahrer hätten sich gewiss nicht auf den Seeraub beschränkt, vielmehr unterhielten kretische Städte Handelsbeziehungen – vor allem mit Ägypten – und zogen wichtige Einnahmen aus Zöllen und Hafensteuern. Es sei nicht auszuschließen, dass sich Rhodos vor allem deswegen zu einem militärischen Schlag gegen die Kreter bewogen sah.94 Jüngst hat LUCIA CRISCUOLO (2013)95 auch die ptolemäische Politik gegenüber der Piraterie in den Blick genommen. Die Ptolemäer hätten ihre Flotte zwar gegen Seeräuber und zum Schutz vor Überfällen in der Ägäis eingesetzt, aber auch mit „Piraten“, unter anderem mit aitolischen Flottenkommandanten kollaboriert.96 Die Aitoler ihrerseits zeigten in der Ägäis verstärkt Präsenz, nachdem die

88 89 90 91

92 93

94 95 96

GARLAN (1978), 5f; Ders., (1989), 189–4; GABRIELSEN (2001), 237f; Ders. (2003), 389; Ders. (2013), 137. P. BRULÉ, La piraterie crétoise hellénistique, Paris 1978. Ebd., 162. A. PETROPOULOU, Beiträge zur Wirtschafts- und Gesellschaftsgeschichte Kretas in hellenistischer Zeit (Europäische Hochschulschriften Reihe 3. Geschichte und ihre Hilfswissenschaften 240), Frankfurt a. M. 1985, 35–45. Ebd., 45. P. PERLMAN, KRETES AIEI LEISTAI? The Marginalization of Crete in Greek Thought and the Role of Piracy in the Outbreak of the First Cretan War, in: V. GABRIELSEN (Hg.), Hellenistic Rhodes: Politics, Culture and Society, Aarhus 1998, 132–61. Ebd., 153. L. CRISCUOLO, Ptolemies and piracy, in: K. BURASELIS / M. STEFANOU / D. J. THOMPSON, (Hg.), The Ptolemies, the Sea and the Nile, Cambridge 2013, 160–71. Ebd., 163–6 bzw. 166–9.

210

Bernadette Descharmes

Ptolemäer dort an Einfluss verloren hatten, so PETER FUNKE (2008).97 Sie hätten dabei durchaus hegemoniale Bestrebungen an den Tag gelegt. Piraterie sei deshalb aber nicht notwendigerweise ein essentieller Bestandteil der aitolischen Außenpolitik gewesen.98 Damit wandte sich FUNKE gegen die These von JOSEPH B. SCHOLTEN (2000),99 der den aitolischen Aristokraten den Hang zur Freibeuterei bescheinigt hatte, die ihnen großen Wohlstand beschert habe.100 JOHN GRAINGER (1999)101 hingegen führte den Reichtum der Aitoler auf deren Handelsaktivitäten und Agrarwirtschaft zurück. Ihren Ruf als Piraten hätten sie den Diffamierungen feindlicher griechischer Staaten sowie der Historiographie zu verdanken.102 Die Aitoler selbst hätten sich wiederum, um Bündnispartner für ihre expansiven Zwecke zu gewinnen, als Retter des Heiligtums von Delphi stilisiert, so CLEMENS KOEHN (2007)103 in seiner Dissertation zur Außenpolitik und Ideologie sogenannter Mittelstaaten. In ähnlicher Weise hätten auch die Rhodier ihren politischen Führungsanspruch durch die Bekämpfung der Piraterie betont. Rhodos habe sich mit einer gut bestückten Flotte als Herrin über das Meer und als Protektorin von Händlern und der umliegenden Region präsentiert.104 HANS-ULRICH WIEMER (2002)105 hingegen hat die Ausrichtung des Inselstaates an seiner propagierten Rolle als Seepolizei sowie seine Effektivität in der Bekämpfung der Piraterie in Frage gestellt. In Wirklichkeit habe Rhodos die Seeräuber nur im Rahmen von Einzelaktionen bekämpft und zwar dann, wenn es die eigenen Interessen gefährdet sah. Von einer systematischen „Säuberung“ des Mittelmeers könne jedoch nicht die Rede sein. Rhodos sei weit hinter dem eigenen Anspruch zurückgeblieben, habe aber das Image der Seepolizei genutzt, um den Glauben an die militärische und wirtschaftliche Macht nach innen und außen hin aufrecht zu erhalten.106 An den Beispielen Rhodos, Aitolien und Kreta hat die Forschung demnach deutlich machen können, dass es zur Identifikation von „Seeräubern“ und „Seepolizei“ in hellenistischer Zeit einer präzisen Analyse bedarf.

97

98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106

P. FUNKE, Die Aitoler in der Ägäis. Untersuchungen zur sogenannten Seepolitik der Aitoler im 3. Jh. v. Chr., in: E. WINTER (Hg.), Vom Euphrat bis zum Bosporus. Kleinasien in der Antike. Festschrift für E. Schwertheim zum 65. Geburtstag, Bonn 2008, S. 253–67. Ebd., 256. J. SCHOLTEN, The politics of plunder: Aitolians and their koinon in the early Hellenistic era, Berkeley 2000. Ebd., 96–130. J.D. GRAINGER, The League of Aitolians, Leiden / Boston / Köln 1999. Ebd., 188–201. C. KOEHN, Krieg, Diplomatie, Ideologie. Zur Außenpolitik hellenistischer Mittelstaaten (Historia Einzelschriften 195), Stuttgart 2007. Ebd., 155–68. H.-U. WIEMER, Krieg, Handel und Piraterie. Untersuchungen zur Geschichte des hellenistischen Rhodos (Klio Beihefte N.F. 6), Berlin 2002. Ebd., 111–42.

Piraterie in der antiken Mittelmeerwelt

211

4. Das antike Rom und die Piraten 4.1 Die Republik Rom und die Piraterie im westlichen Mittelmeer Im westlichen Mittelmeerraum entwickelte sich Rom bis zur Mitte des dritten Jahrhunderts zur dominierenden Macht. Die Forschung zum antiken Seeraub hat dabei gezeigt, dass auch die Römer ihre Expansionskriege wiederholt als Kriege gegen den Seeraub rechtfertigten und inszenierten, obgleich sie sich selbst immer wieder der Piraterie bedient hatten. RAIMUND SCHULZ (2000a)107 wies darauf hin, dass die Römer – auf die gleiche Art wie einzelne Machthaber im Hellenismus – mit Piraten zusammenarbeiteten, um ihre Macht zu sichern beziehungsweise zu erweitern. Im fünften und vierten Jahrhundert hätten sie die Küsten Latiums mehrfach entweder eigenhändig geplündert oder durch kampanische und karthagische Piraten für sich plündern lassen.108 Das Beispiel der Piraten von Antium deute außerdem darauf hin, dass die Römer auch private Kaperfahrten ihrer eigenen Bürger duldeten, so MARIA LUISA SCEVOLA (1969).109 KARL-WILHELM WELWEI (2004)110 ging folglich davon aus, dass die Römer sich – ähnlich wie auch die Karthager – in adeligen Gefolgschaftsverbänden gruppierten, um Raubzüge zu unternehmen und dass bereits der zu Beginn des 5. Jahrhunderts v. Chr. mit den Karthagern geschlossene Vertrag den Seeraub von beiden Seiten voraussetzte.111 Die Karthager seien aufgrund ihrer phönizischen Wurzeln schon immer als Seeräuber aktiv gewesen, wie WALTER AMELING (1993)112 betonte. Er nahm in seiner Studie zur Geschichte Karthagos nicht nur die Frühphase phönizischer beziehungsweise karthagischer Piraterie ins Auge, sondern zeigte auch, dass bis in die Zeit der Punischen Kriege Beispiele karthagischer Seeräuberei (Hannibal der Rhodier) nachweisbar sind.113 Demzufolge unterschieden sich die Römer in Bezug auf ihre Militärpraxis zur See nicht von ihren – als Piraten deklarierten – Gegnern, so die These von EDWARD BRAGG (2010),114 der römische Raubzüge im dritten Makedonischen Krieg und auch im Krieg gegen Karthago untersuchte. BRAGG (2010), WELWEI 107 R. SCHULZ, Zwischen Kooperation und Konfrontation. Die römische Weltreichsbildung und die Piraterie, in: Klio 82 (2000), 426–40. Diese These findet sich in verdichteter Form auch in: Ders. (2005), 176–78. 108 Ebd., 431. 109 M. L. SCEVOLA, Pirateria anziate, in: Studi di Storia Antica in memoria di Luca de Regibus (Pubblicazioni dellʼIstituto di Storia Antica e Scienze Ausiliarie dellʼUniversità di Genova 6), Genua 1969, 135–44. 110 K.-W. WELWEI, Piraterie und Sklavenhandel in der frühen römischen Republik, in: Ders. (Hg.), Res publica und Imperium. Kleine Schriften zur römischen Geschichte (Historia Einzelschriften 177), Stuttgart 2004, 65–73. 111 Ebd., 77. 112 W. AMELING, Karthago. Studien zu Militär, Staat und Gesellschaft, München 1993. 113 Ebd., 119–40 114 E. BRAGG, Roman Seaborne Raids During the Mid-Republic: Sideshow or Headline Feature?, in: Greece & Rome 57 (2010), 47–64.

212

Bernadette Descharmes

(2004) und SCHULZ (2000a) wiesen mit ihren Thesen zum römischen Seeraub in eine Richtung, die in der Forschungslandschaft bis dahin weitgehend ignoriert wurde, weil die römische Propaganda die Rolle der Römer als Befreier von der Piraterie erfolgreich unterstrichen, ihre Rolle als Kaperfahrer jedoch verschwiegen hatte. Ferner lässt sich beobachten, dass Roms Feldzüge gegen die Piraterie im westlichen Mittelmeer von der Forschung neu eingeordnet wurden. M. GWYN MORGAN (1969)115 entlarvte die einzelnen Kampagnen gegen den Seeraub, wie beispielsweise die des Q. Metellus Balearicus, als Teil einer größer angelegten Militärstrategie, die Gallia Narbonensis, Sardinien und Spanien betraf. Speziell mit den römischen „Piratenkriegen“ in den Gewässern vor der iberischen Halbinsel befasste sich ALFONSO ÁLVAREZ-OSSORIO RIVAS (2008).116 Trotz der räuberischen Umtriebe wie etwa durch Sertorius oder auch Sextus Pompeius seien Handel und Schifffahrt in dieser Region bis ins erste Jahrhundert n. Chr. kaum durch Seeraub gestört worden. Dies habe sich geändert, als aufständische Stämme aus Nord-Afrika ab der Mitte des zweiten Jahrhunderts die Küsten der Provinz Baetica bedrohten.117 Abgesehen von diesen vereinzelten Aufsätzen und der bereits oben erwähnten Studie von VARENNE (2013), blieben die „Piratenkriege“ der Römer im Gebiet der iberischen Halbinsel und der Balearen in der Forschung jedoch weitgehend unbeachtet. 4.2 Die Republik Rom und die Piraterie im östlichen Mittelmeer Besser beleuchtet ist dagegen die Piraterie im östlichen Mittelmeer. Zur illyrischen Piraterie erschien 2004 ein italienisch-sprachiger Sammelband, dessen zwar knappe Beiträge ein dennoch zeitlich und methodisch breites Spektrum erfassten.118 Hervorgehoben sei der Beitrag von NERITAN CEKA (Roma e lʼimmaginario del pirata illirico)119, weil er an die Thesen von HARRY J. DELL (1967)120 und EDWARD BRAGG (2005)121 anknüpfte. Diese hatten die grundlegende negative Wahrnehmung der Illyrer in den römischen Quellen hinterfragt und waren zu dem Schluss gekommen, dass es sich bei der illyrischen Piraterie in erster Linie um ein

115 M. G. MORGAN, The Roman Conquest of the Balearic Isles, in: CSCA 2 (1969), 217–31; VARENNE (2013). 116 A. ÁLVAREZ-OSSORIO RIVAS, Seguridad, Pratería y Legislación en el Tráfico comercial Romano en la Península Ibérica durante la República y el alto Imperio, in: Mainake 30 (2008), 91–107. 117 Ebd., 97f. 118 L. BRACCESI (Hg.), La pirateria nell’ Adriatico antico (Incontro di Studio La Pirateria nell’ Adriatico Antico Venedig 2002), Rom 2004. 119 N. CEKA, Roma e lʼimmaginario del pirata illirico, in: ebd., 69–73. 120 H. J. DELL, The Origin and Nature of Illyrian Piracy, in: Historia 16 (1967), 344–58. 121 E. BRAGG, Illyrian Piracy – Ancient Endemic or Historical Construct?, in: DAEDALUS 5 (2005), http://www.unisa.ac.za/contents/faculties/humanities/classical/docs/daedalusillyrian %20piracy.pdf (28.9.2016).

Piraterie in der antiken Mittelmeerwelt

213

Konstrukt handelte, das ein militärisches Kommando der Römer an den Küsten der Adria rechtfertigte.122 BRAGG (2005) betonte zudem, das Eingreifen der Römer hätte symbolische, ökonomische und politische Gründe gehabt. Ein erfolgreicher Feldzug habe Beute und Ruhm versprochen, und sich zudem förderlich für die weitere Karriere erwiesen.123 Die expansive Politik und das Wettbewerbsdenken der römischen Nobilität seien schließlich in einer dynamischen Wechselbeziehung gestanden, wie auch HARTEL POHL (1993)124 im Hinblick auf die zahlreichen „Piratenkriege“ der Römer demonstrierte.125 Im Fall der Flottenunternehmen gegen die Kreter gaben vor allem finanzielle Gründe den Ausschlag, so DE SOUZA (1998).126 Er deutete die Offensive des Quintus Caecilius Metellus Creticus (69 v. Chr.) als imperialistischen Akt zur Ausbeutung des blühenden wirtschaftlichen Wohlstands der kretischen Städte. Bei Geschichtsschreibern wie Diodor, Florus und Appian sei der Angriff hingegen damit begründet worden, dass kretische Städte den pontischen König Mithridates unterstützt und Piraten Unterschlupf in ihren Häfen gewährt hätten.127 Besondere Aufmerksamkeit widmete die Forschung dem Vorgehen gegen die kilikische Piraterie.128 Unkonventionelle, auf die Gegenwart bezogene Ansätze boten dabei TERESA MODLER (2013)129 und SCHULZ (2006).130 Beide Texte erörterten verschiedene Problemlösungsansätze der Römer am Fallbeispiel der kiliki-

122 DELL (1967), 354; BRAGG (2005), 1–9. 123 BRAGG (2005), 11f. 124 H. POHL, Die römische Politik und die Piraterie im östlichen Mittelmeer vom 3. bis zum 1. Jh. v. Chr., Berlin 1993. 125 Ebd., 139–207. Zu dieser Wechselbeziehung siehe u.a. auch: K.-J. HÖLKESKAMP, Conquest, Competition and Consensus: Roman Expansion in Italy and the Rise of the Nobilitas, in: Historia 42 (1993),12–39; B. BLECKMANN, Die römische Nobilität im Ersten Punischen Krieg. Untersuchungen zur aristokratischen Konkurrenz in der Republik (Klio Beihefte Bd. 5), Berlin 2002. 126 P. DE SOUZA, Late Hellenistic Crete and the Roman conquest, in: W. G. CAVANAGH / M. CURTIS (Hg.), Post-Minoan Crete: Proceedings of the First Colloquium on Post-Minoan Crete held by the British School of Athens and the Institute of Archaeology, University College London, 10.–11. November 1995, London 1998, 112–6. 127 Ebd., 112. 128 H. A. ORMEROD, The campaigns of Servilius Isauricus against the pirates, in: JRS 12 (1922), 35–56; G. MARASCO, Rome et la pirateria Cilicia, in: RSI 99 (1987), 122–46; Ders., Aspetti della pirateria cilicia nel I sec. a.C., in: GFRF 10 (1987), 129–45; M. CRAWFORD / J. REYNOLDS, Rome and the eastern provinces at the end of the second century B.C.. The so-called ‘piracy-law’ and a new inscription from Cnidos, in: JRS (1974), 195–220; I. SAMOTTA, Störungen antiker Verkehrswege: Kilikische Piraten im östlichen Mittelmeerraum, in: A. OBENAUS / E. PFISTER / B. TREMML (Hg.), Schrecken der Händler und Herrscher. Piratengemeinschaften in der Geschichte, Wien 2012, 9–32. 129 T. MODLER, „Feinde aller“ – Wie Staaten gegen Piraten vorgehen. Eine Darstellung antiker Problemlösungsansätze mit Blick auf die Gegenwart, in: M. HOFBAUER (Hg.), Piraterie in der Geschichte (Potsdamer Schriften zur Militärgeschichte 21), Potsdam 2013, 9–26. 130 R. SCHULZ, Roms Kampf gegen die mediterrane Piraterie: ein Beispiel für einen asymmetrischen Krieg in der Antike?, in: Geschichte, Politik und ihre Didaktik 34 (2006), 76–84.

214

Bernadette Descharmes

schen Piraterie und zogen Parallelen zu heutigen Strategien der Piratenbekämpfung beziehungsweise der asymmetrischen Kriegführung.131 Vermutlich waren es auch kilikische Piraten, die den jungen Caesar entführt hatten. Verschiedene Quellen berichten, wie Caesar auf einer Bildungsreise von kilikischen Seeräubern gefangen genommen wurde und diese ein Lösegeld von 20 Talenten forderten. Nach seiner Befreiung habe er die Kidnapper verfolgt und hingerichtet.132 LINDA-MARIE GÜNTHER (1999)133 arbeitete in einer quellenkritischen Analyse die Überlieferungsgeschichte dieser Erzählung auf. SCHULZ (2000b)134 und JOSIAH OSGOOD (2010)135 interpretierten das Piraten-Abenteuer Caesars hingegen vor dem Hintergrund römischer Innenpolitik und werteten das Eingreifen Caesars im östlichen Mittelmeer als wichtigen Schritt in dessen militärischer Karriere.136 In Rom wurden militärische Erfolge gegen die sogenannten Piraten beworben, gefeiert und überhöht. Dabei habe die Politik Roms der Piraterie überhaupt erst neuen Nährboden gegeben, da die Römer die Region nach dem Krieg gegen Antiochos III weitestgehend sich selbst überlassen hatten. Die wechselhafte Lage im Seleukidenreich sowie die Kriege gegen Mithridates VI von Pontos hätten den Piraten ein reges Betätigungsfeld geboten, wie MURAT ARSLAN (2005)137 und EGON MARÓTI (1970)138 demonstrierten. BERNHARD LINKE (2013) sprach in diesem Zusammenhang aber nicht von „Piraten“, sondern von einer „Entstehung protostaatlicher Substrukturen im maritimen Bereich“139, die durch Roms Verzicht auf die Rolle einer Ordnungsmacht auf dem Meer ermöglicht worden sei. 131 Das Innovative am Vorgehen des Pompeius habe letztlich darin bestanden, dass er einen „multidimensionalen Ansatz“ (MODLER (2013), 21) verfolgte. Er habe die Piraten nicht nur militärisch bekämpft, sondern auch durch diplomatische Absprachen und Ansiedlungsmaßnahmen in seine Klientel und in die Infrastruktur der kilikischen Küsten eingebunden. Solche „soft-power“-Ansätze seien auch bei der Bekämpfung beispielsweise der somalischen Piraterie unabdinglich. Auch der nicht ganz unumstrittene Jurist FRIEDRICH BERBER urteilte, dass eine Betrachtung der Maßnahmen des Pompeius für die Gegenwart von Nutzen sei. BERBER (1979), 153. 132 Vell. Pat. II 41, 3–42, 3; Suet. Caesar 4, 1–2; 74, 1; Plut. Caesar 2. 133 L.-M. GÜNTHER, Caesar und die Seeräuber – eine Quellenanalyse, in: Chiron 29 (1999), 321–38. 134 R. SCHULZ, Caesar und das Meer, in: HZ 271 (2000), 281–309. 135 J. OSGOOD, Caesar and the Pirates; or How to Make (and Break) an Ancient Life, in: Greece & Rome 57 (2010), 319–36. 136 SCHULZ (2000b), 304f; OSGOOD (2010), 333. 137 M. ARSLAN, Piracy on the Southern Coast of Asia Minor and Mithridates Eupator, in: Olba 8 (2005), 195–211; hier: 207f. 138 E. MARÓTI, Diodotos Tryphon et la piraterie, in: AantHung 10 (1962), 187–94; Ders., Die Rolle der Seeräuberei zur Zeit der römischen Bürgerkriege, in: Das Altertum 7 (1961), 32– 41, hier: 36; Ders., Die Rolle der Seeräuber in der Zeit des Mithridatischen Krieges, in: L. DI ROSA (Hg.), Ricerche stroriche ed economiche in memoria di Corradi Barbagallo (Bd. 1), Neapel 1970, 479–93. 139 B. LINKE, Meer ohne Ordnung. Seerüstung und Piraterie in der Römischen Republik, in: N. JASPERT / S. KOLDITZ (Hg.), Seeraub im Mittelmeerraum. Piraterie, Korsarentum und mari-

Piraterie in der antiken Mittelmeerwelt

215

Die Römer als kategorische Feinde der Piraterie einzustufen wäre also etwas eindimensional gedacht, war doch ihr Verhältnis zum Seeraub eher eines zwischen „Kooperation und Konfrontation“, wie SCHULZ (2000) es beschrieb.140 Die Forschung konnte das ambivalente Verhältnis der Römer zur Piraterie insbesondere auch dadurch unterstreichen, dass sie die ökonomische Interaktion zwischen den Akteuren offenlegte. Zahlreiche Studien betonten, dass die Piraten die römischen Sklavenmärkte belieferten.141 Für die Phase der mittleren und späten Republik zeigte sich also, dass der Seeraub ebenso in wirtschaftlichen Zusammenhängen eine Rolle spielte wie in politisch-militärischen, und dass die Frage nach der Identität der Piraten die Sicht auf die militärischen Aktionen der Römer gegen Piraterie entscheidend beeinflusste. 4.3 Piraterie in der Zeit der Bürgerkriege Den römischen Quellen nach war das Netz der Seeräuber im ersten Jahrhundert so verdichtet und wohlorganisiert, dass sein Wirken im Innern Roms spürbar war. Aus diesem Grund sei M. Antonius Creticus bereits 75 v. Chr. ein militärisches Kommando über die Küsten Italiens und der Provinzen übertragen worden, um diese zu befrieden und die Getreidelieferungen zu sichern, so SIMON DAY (2017).142 Das imperium des Antonius habe sogar als Vorlage für die lex Gabinia gedient, auf deren Grundlage der Senat im Jahr 67 v. Chr. Pompeius mit einem außerordentlichen Kommando ausgestattet gegen die Seeräuber schickte. 143 Schon zehn Jahre vor Pompeius sei also bereits der Kampf gegen die Piraten mit einem Konzept der Herrschaft über den Erdkreis und das Meer (imperium orbis terrarum und terra marique) verbunden gewesen.144 Mit deutlich mehr Erfolg als sein Vorgänger bewältigte Pompeius die Aufgabe angeblich nicht nur in bemerkenswerter Geschwindigkeit, sondern auch mit einer außerordentlichen Durchdachtheit. Nicht nur die Zeitgenossen wie Cicero, auch moderne Gelehrte feierten Pompeius zeitweilig als Bezwinger der Piraterie, ohne an seinen Motiven oder Erfolgen zu zweifeln.145 Doch gerade angesichts der

140 141

142 143 144 145

time Gewalt von der Antike bis zur Neuzeit (Mittelmeerstudien 3), Paderborn 2013, 265–80; hier: 274f. SCHULZ (2000). Z.B.: E. MARÓTI, Der Sklavenmarkt auf Delos und die Piraterie, in: Helikon 9 (1969), 24– 42; M. CRAWFORD, Republican Denarii in Romania: The suppression of piracy and the slave-trade, in: JRS 67 (1977), 117–24; ARSLAN (2005), 198; DE SOUZA (1999), 64f; B. SHAW, Bandits in the Roman Empire, in: Past and Present 105 (1984), 3–52, hier: 39. S. DAY, The Date and Scope of M. Antonius Creticus‘ Command against the Pirates, in: Historia 66 (2017), 298–330, hier: 305f. Ebd., 314. Ebd., 323. Man vergleiche die ehrfurchtsvolle Würdigung bei CASSON (1979), 325ff mit der Dekonstruktion bei DE SOUZA (1999) 161–77. Siehe ebd., 169 Anm. 73 für entsprechende Quellenverweise zur Durchführung und Bewertung der Kampagne.

216

Bernadette Descharmes

Bürgerkriegszeit und der propagandistischen Überhöhung des Pompeius wurde dessen Seeräuberkrieg in der Forschung auch kritisch hinterfragt. Vor allem die rechtlichen Grundlagen boten immer wieder Anlass zur Diskussion der Quellen, um der Frage nach der juristischen Terminologie und damit den normativen Grundlagen sogenannter Seeräuberkriege näherzukommen.146 Die Notwendigkeit, dass die Hegemonialmacht Rom mit dem Kommando des Pompeius gegen nicht-staatliche Gewaltakteure vorging, hatte MANUEL TRÖSTER (2009)147 betont. DE SOUZA (2012) reagierte scharf auf diese Einschätzung, weil er, wie auch bereits AVI AVIDOV (1997)148, die Bezeichnung „Pirat“ vor allem als ideologisch aufgeladene Invektive verstand, die dazu diente, militärische Aktionen im Sinne einer imperialistisch ausgerichteten Politik zu rechtfertigen149 und gewisse Gemeinwesen aus dem System zwischenstaatlicher Beziehungen auszuschließen.150 Die politische Instrumentalisierung der Termini praedo und pirata war bereits von MONIQUE CLAVEL-LÉVÊQUE (1978)151 erarbeitet worden, die sie aber vor allem als Schimpfworte innerhalb von Klassenkämpfen interpretierte.152 THOMAS GRÜNEWALD (1999)153 verstand dann Räuber wie Piraten vor allem als topische Figuren innerhalb römischer Texte,154 was zusätzlichen Zweifel daran schürte, dass es sich bei allen „Piraten“ auch tatsächlich um kriminelle oder überhaupt um historische Akteure handelte. Offensichtlich hatte AVIDOV (1997) den Titel seiner Untersuchung über die Kilikier zu Recht als Frage formuliert: „Were the Cilicians a Nation of pirates?“ Gegen einen kilikischen Piratenstaat sprach nach AVIDOV (1997) auch, dass Pompeius die Kilikier nach seinem Oberkommando nicht hinrichten ließ, wie es für Kriminelle angemessen gewesen wäre.155 Stattdessen soll er sie in Städten angesiedelt und als Klienten an sich gebunden haben, um sie im Falle eines Bürgerkriegs als Spezialisten zur See mobilisieren zu können. Während ALOIS DREI-

146 P. GROEBE, Zum Seeräuberkriege des Pompeius Magnus, in: Klio 10 (1910), 374–89; K.-H. ZIEGLER, Pirata communis hostis omnium, in: M. HARDER (Hg.), De iustitia et iure. Festgabe für Ulrich v. Lübtow zum 80. Geburtstag, Berlin 1980, 93–103; A. TARWACKA, Romans and Pirates. Legal Perspective, Warschau 2009; C. KOEHN, Pompey’s Command against the pirates in 67 B.C.: A reconfiguration, in: Е 9 (2010), 193–206. 147 M. TRÖSTER, Roman Hegemony and Non-State Violence: A Fresh Look at Pompey’s Campaign against the Pirates, in: Greece & Rome 56 (2009), 14–33. 148 A. AVIDOV, Were the Cilicians a Nation of Pirates?, in: Mediterranean historical review 12 (1997), 5–55. 149 DE SOUZA (2012), 63ff. 150 AVIDOV (1997), 54. 151 M. CLAVEL-LEVEQUE, Brigandage et piraterie: représentations idéologiques et pratiques impérialistes au dernier siècle de la République, in: DHA 4 (1978), 17–31. 152 Ebd, 27. 153 T. GRÜNEWALD, Räuber, Rebellen, Rivalen, Rächer: Studien zu Latrones im römischen Reich, Stuttgart 1999. 154 Ebd., 231. 155 AVIDOV (1997), 54.

Piraterie in der antiken Mittelmeerwelt

217

(1975)156 sich jedoch bereits dezidiert gegen die These gewendet hatte, Pompeius habe die Seeräuber damit „resozialisiert“, bezweifelte MATTHIAS DINGMANN (2005)157, dass er die Seeräuber in Konfliktfällen wirksam einsetzen konnte.158 Die Frage nach dieser Klientel taucht dann wieder im Zusammenhang mit dem Bürgerkrieg zwischen Octavian und Sextus Pompeius auf. Sextusʼ Verbindung zur Klientel seines Vaters wurde von EGON MARÓTI (1961)159 diskutiert. Er kam zu dem Ergebnis, dass sich die Mannschaften des Sextus tatsächlich aus Piraten und Sklaven rekrutiert haben müssen und dass dies nicht nur der negativen Propaganda des Octavian entsprang.160 Im Jahre 36 besiegte Octavian die Flotte des Sextus in der Schlacht bei Naulochos. Als Sieger inszenierte er sich vor allem zu Beginn seiner Alleinherrschaft als Herr über die Meere und, wie DE SOUZA (2008)161 betonte, als Garant der Sicherheit auf See.162 In Octavians Tatenbericht heißt es später: Mare a praedonibus pacavi („Dem Meer habe ich Frieden vor den Räubern gebracht.“).163 Dass es sich bei den „Räubern“ um die Flotten des Sextus Pompeius handelte, der damals als Flottenpräfekt der Republik eingesetzt war, verschwieg Octavian. Er habe damit nicht nur jede Erinnerung an die blutige Zeit der Bürgerkriege vermieden, sondern auch an die Leistung des Pompeius anknüpfen beziehungsweise diese sogar übertreffen können, wie JOACHIM FUGMANN (1991) zeigte.164 STEFANO TRAMONTI (1999)165 bemerkte, dass Augustus zwar an die Erfolgen des Pompeius anschloss, aber seine Politik um einen entscheidenden Aspekt erweitert habe, indem er die Betonung auf die Wahrung der Sicherheit und der pax legte, die zugleich eine pax maritima war.166 Bezeichnenderweise endet auch ZEHNTER

156 A. DREIZEHNTER, Pompeius als Städtegründer, in: Chiron 5 (1975), 213–45; hier: 243. 157 M. DINGMANN, Das Bindungsverhältnis zwischen Pompeius Magnus und den Piraten, in: W. SPICKERMANN / K. MATIJEVIĆ / H. H. STEENKEN (Hg.), Rom, Germanien und das Reich. FS R. Wiegels (Pharos. Studien zur griechisch-römischen Antike 18), St. Katharinen 2005, 30– 45. 158 Ebd., 44. 159 E. MARÓTI, Die Rolle der Seeräuber unter den Anhängern des Sextus Pompeius, in: R. GÜNTHER / G. SCHROT (Hg.), Sozialökonomische Verhältnisse im Alten Orient und im Klassischen Altertum, Berlin 1961, 208–16. 160 Ebd., 211. Die Berliner Tagung „Rector maris: Sextus Pompeius und das Meer“ befasste sich im Juli 2017 erneut mit dessen Rolle im Bürgerkrieg und in der Historiographie sowie mit der maritimen Kriegsstrategie, die einer, für die Antike typischen, „raid mentality“ entsprochen habe. Tagungsbericht: https://www.hsozkult.de/conferencereport/id/tagungsberichte7311 (13.3.2018). 161 P. DE SOUZA, Parta victoriis pax: Roman Emperors as Peacemakers, in: Ders. / J. FRANCE (Hg.). War and Peace in Ancient and Medieval History. Cambridge 2008, 76–106. 162 Ebd, 86f. 163 R. Gest. div. Aug. 25,1. 164 J. FUGMANN, Mare a praedonibus pacavi (R.G. 25,1). Zum Gedanken der aemulatio in den Res gestae des Augustus, in: Historia 40 (1991) 307–17; hier: 316f. 165 S. TRAMONTI, Hostes communes omnium: la pirateria e la fine della republicca Romana 145–33 a.c., Ferrara 1994. 166 Ebd., 135.

218

Bernadette Descharmes

TRAMONTIS Studie, in der er die römischen Kampagnen ab der Mitte des 2. Jahrhunderts schildert, mit Octavian – ganz so als markiere dessen Politik das Ende der Piraterie im Mittelmeer. 4.4 Piraterie im Mari Nostro Es gestaltet sich als ein schwieriges Unterfangen, nach dem Stellenwert der Piraterie in der frühen Kaiserzeit zu fragen, gilt das Mittelmeer zu diesem Zeitpunkt doch als ein Raum, der ganz und gar von den Piraten bereinigt, von den Römern kontrolliert und in diesem Sinne als mare nostrum verstanden wurde. Wohl aus diesem Grund ist die Zahl der Arbeiten zur Piraterie in der frühen und mittleren Kaiserzeit überschaubar. PETER HERZ (1995)167 zeigte anhand von Inschriften, dass Kriminalität und kleine Formen der Piraterie auch in der Römischen Kaiserzeit weiter bestanden, auch wenn diese „keine Bedrohung der allgemeinen Sicherheit des Reiches“168 darstellten. Gleichermaßen kommt DAVID BRAUND (1993)169 zu dem Schluss, dass die Behauptung, das Mittelmeer sei frei von Piraten, von der Vorstellung einer Piraterie im großen Stil getragen sei.170 Der pax romana zum Trotz hätten Piraterie und Banditentum auch in der Hohen Kaiserzeit fortexistiert, so LAURE ECHALIER (1998).171 Sie sah demnach bereits zu diesem Zeitpunkt die Grundlagen dafür angelegt, dass die Ordnungsmacht Rom schwächer und die Reichsbewohner nicht nur an den Grenzen, sondern auch im Innern durch Plünderungszüge bedroht wurden. Dass ECHALIER die griechischen und lateinischen Romane als Belege für eine alltägliche Piratengefahr anbringt, erscheint jedoch diskussionswürdig, dürfte doch schwer zu beurteilen sein, ob und inwiefern sich in diesen Texten Alltagserfahrung und romantische Fiktion vermischen. 5. Sozial- und kulturgeschichtliche Fragestellungen: Wer waren die Piraten? Der chronologische Überblick über die Forschungslandschaft hat aufgezeigt, dass Seeräuber in die militärischen und wirtschaftlichen Abläufe der antiken Mittelmeerwelt eingegliedert waren. Diese Einbindung beeinflusst die wissenschaftliche

167 P. HERZ, Kampf den Piraten? Zur Deutung zweier kaiserzeitlicher Inschriften, in: ZPE 107 (1995), 195–200. 168 Ebd., 200. 169 D. BRAUND, Piracy under the principate and the ideology of imperial eradication, in: J. RICH / G. SHIPLEY (Hg.), War and Society in the Roman World (Leicester-Nottingham Studies in Ancient Society 5), Oxford 1993, 195–212. 170 Ebd., 205. 171 L. ECHALIER, Recherches sur le banditisme et la piraterie dans la pensée et la culture du Haut Empire romain, Paris (Diss.) 1998. Bedauerlicherweise erschien die Dissertation nur auf Mikrofiche und ist in der produzierten Qualität nicht lesbar. Ich stütze mich auf eine Zusammenfassung der Thesen: http://www.theses.fr/1998PA040296 (16.11.2016).

Piraterie in der antiken Mittelmeerwelt

219

Perspektive auf das Wesen und die Identität, Motivlage und Kultur der Akteure in entscheidender Weise. In Bezug auf diese soziokulturellen Fragen sind in der Forschung zwei gegensätzliche Trends bestimmend, die an dieser Stelle genauer veranschaulicht werden sollen. Der erste geht von einer historischen Faktizität des antiken Seeraubs aus und untersucht die sozialen und wirtschaftlichen Rahmenbedingungen sowie die regionale Herkunft der Piraten.172 Dem zweiten liegt die Annahme zugrunde, dass es sich bei „Piraten“ und „Piraterie“ um pejorative Bezeichnungen und damit um politische Konstrukte handelt. Sowohl für die Piraterie im Tyrrhenischen Meer als auch für die kilikischen Seeräuber lassen sich diese beiden Trends ausmachen. Um eine genauere Bestimmung der geographischen Provenienz der frühen „Tyrrhenischen Piraten“ hat sich seit den 1970ern eine Vielzahl an Studien bemüht.173 Dass es sich bei diesen Gruppen eindeutig um Etrusker handelte, hat SIMON C. BAKHUIZEN (1988) 174 jedoch in Zweifel gezogen. Die Quellen zeugten von einem indifferenten Gebrauch der Bezeichnung und belegten keineswegs, dass Etrusker und Italiker im Adriatischen, Ägäischen und Tyrrhenischen Meer ihr Unwesen getrieben hätten. Beim „Tyrrhenischen Räuber“ handele es sich vielmehr um eine topische Figur innerhalb einer mythographischen Texttradition, innerhalb derer die Erzählung über die Entführung des Dionsysos wohl die prominenteste und in der Forschung meist beachtete darstellt.175 Letztlich sei die Tradition durchgängig von einem auffallend negativen Bild der Tyrrhener geprägt. Von der historischen Faktizität der Tyrrhenischen Piraterie ging indes STEFANO TRAMONTI (1995) aus.176 Ihre Ursache sah er in den schwierigen landschaftlichen Bedingungen in Ligurien und auf den Inseln Korsika und Sardinien. Aber auch aufgrund der ökonomischen Situation, die die römische Latifundienpolitik geschaffen hatte, hätten die Menschen der anliegenden Regionen mit Plünderungen den Lebensunterhalt zu sichern versucht.177

172 Auf die strukturellen Zusammenhänge von Armut und Piraterie hatten bereits bspw. JACKSON (1973), 248; BRULÉ (1978), 162f; POHL (1993), 54ff verwiesen. 173 M. GIUFFRIDA IENTILE, La „pirateria etrusca“ fino alla battaglia di Cuma, in: Kolakos 24 (1978), 175–200; Dies., La pirateria tirrenica momenti e fortuna, Roma 1983; M. GRAS, La piraterie tyrrhénnienne en mer Égée: mythe ou réalité?, in: A. BALLAND (Hg.), Mélanges offerts à Jacques Heurgon. L'Italie préromaine et la Rome républicaine (Collection de l'Ecole Française de Rome 27, 1), Rom 1976, 341–70; Ders., Trafics Tyrrhéniens Archaiques, Rom 1985. 174 S. C. BAKHUIZEN, The Tyrrhenian Pirates: Prolegomena to the Study of the Tyrrhenian Sea, in: T. HACKENS (Hg.), Navies and Commerce of the Greeks, the Carthagians and the Etruscans in the Tyrrhenian Sea, Rixensart 1988, 25–32. 175 Ebd., 31. Zur ikonographischen Tradition auch: M. HARARI, Dioniso, i pirati, i delfini, in: T. HACKENS (Hg.), Navies and Commerce of the Greeks, the Carthagians and the Etruscans in the Tyrrhenian Sea, Rixensart 1988, 33–45; zur literarischen Tradition: ALAN W. JAMES, Dionysus and the Tyrrhenian Pirates, in: Antichthon 9 (1975), 17–34. 176 S. TRAMONTI, La pirateria ligure e sardo-corsa nel Tirreno nel II sec. a.c., in: Atene e Roma 40 (1995), 197–212. 177 Ebd., 211.

220

Bernadette Descharmes

Blicken wir nun auf die kilikische Piraterie. Auch dieser haftete ein zwielichtiger Ruf an, was ALFONSO ÁLVAREZ-OSSORIO RIVAS (2010) nicht diskursgeschichtlich sondern mit den religiösen Vorstellungen der Seeleute begründete.178 Die von den fremden Seefahrern praktizierten Kulte hätten das Misstrauen der Römer geweckt, was die Wahrnehmung der Piraten als unzivilisiert und barbarisch förderte. Andererseits hätten diese Kulte den Zusammenhalt innerhalb der heterogenen Schiffsmannschaften erzeugt.179 Diesen Aspekt der religiösen Kultur und sozialen Kohäsion der kilikischen Piraten griff der Autor wiederholt an anderer Stelle auf, wo er neben „klassischen“ Themen wie der Bekämpfung durch die Römer und der Beteiligung am Sklavenhandel auch Fragen nach der sozialen Ordnung der Piratenbanden sowie nach deren ökonomischen Motiven behandelte.180 Trotz mangelnder Selbstzeugnisse antiker Seeleute sind die sozialgeschichtlichen Überlegungen, die NICHOLAS K. RAUH (1997 und 2000)181 mit Hilfe von neuzeitlichem Vergleichsmaterial und archäologischen Überresten anstellte, besonders bemerkenswert. Er wurde damit auch der Forderung KURT TOMASCHITZʼ (2013) 182 gerecht, dass zur Erforschung der kilikischen Piraterie stärker auf neues archäologisches Material zurückgegriffen werden müsse.183 So belegten RAUH / DILLON / ROTHAUS (2013)184 anhand eines dichten Netzes an befestigten Bebauungen sowie zahlreicher maritimer Funde, dass die Küste Kilikiens von kleineren seefahrenden Verbänden besiedelt war. Es fänden sich jedoch keine Indizien, die die Anwesenheit von Piraten eindeutig beweisen könnten.185 In einem früheren Aufsatz hatte RAUH (1997) hingegen weniger vorsichtig argumentiert und behaup178 A. ÁLVAREZ-OSSORIO RIVAS, Algunas consideraciones sobre la religiosidad de los piratas de la Antigüedad. in: Habis 41 (2010), 138–56. 179 Ebd., 139–52. 180 A. ÁLVAREZ-OSSORIO RIVAS, Los piratas contra Roma: esudio socieconómico y cultural de la piratería cilicia (143 – 36 a.C.), Ecija 2008; Ders., La piratería en Cilicia durante la Antigüedad: El paisaje como factor desencadenante de la práctica de la piratería por los indígenas y los foráneos, in: N. JASPERT / S. KOLDITZ (Hg.), Seeraub im Mittelmeerraum. Piraterie, Korsarentum und maritime Gewalt von der Antike bis zur Neuzeit (Mittelmeerstudien 3), Paderborn 2013, 156–73. 181 N. K. RAUH, Who were the Cilician Pirates?, in: S. SWINY / R. L. HOHLFELDER / H.W. SWINY (Hg.), Res Maritimae: Cyprus and the Eastern Mediterranean from Prehistory to Late Antiquity (American Schools of Oriental Research Archaeological Reports Bd. 4), Atlanta 1997, 263–83; Ders. et al., Pirates in the bay of Pamphylia: an archaeological inquiry, in: G. J. OLIVER et al. (Hg.), The Sea in Antiquity, Oxford 2000, 151–79; N. K. RAUH, Merchants, Sailors and Pirates in the Roman World, Stroud 2003. 182 K. TOMASCHITZ, The Cilician Pirates – how to approach an obscure phenomenon, in: M. C. HOFF / R. F: TOWNSEND (Hg.), Rough Cilicia. New historical and archaeological approaches, Oxford 2013, 55–8. 183 Ebd., 58. 184 N. RAUH. / M. J. DILLON / R. ROTHAUS, Anchors, Amphoras, and Ashlar Masonry: new evidence for the Cilician pirates, in: M. C. HOFF / R. F. TOWNSEND (Hg.), Rough Cilicia. New historical and archaeological approaches, Oxford 2013, 59–86. 185 RAUH / DILLON / ROTHAUS (2013), 78. So im Übrigen auch das Ergebnis bei VARENNE (2013), 200.

Piraterie in der antiken Mittelmeerwelt

221

tetet, dass die sogenannten kilikischen Piraten in Kilikien zwar ihre zentralen Anlaufpunkte (chief military base) fanden, ansonsten aber keineswegs zentral organisiert gewesen seien.186 Der Name Kilikes sei außerdem nur ein Label, das nichts über die geographische Provenienz der Seeleute aussage, denn die Piratenmannschaften hätten sich aus einem „vast international substratum of displaced naval warriors“187 rekrutiert, das heißt aus kriegserfahrenen Seemännern unterschiedlicher regionaler Herkunft. Problematisch ist jedoch, dass Rauh den Ausdruck Kilikes als Selbstbezeichnung deutete und damit als Zeichen einer geschlossenen Solidarität unter den Piraten interpretierte.188 Auch ist fraglich, ob seine Ansicht, in Kilikien habe sich eine maritime Widerstandsbewegung („full-scale maritime resistance movement“)189 etabliert, einer kritischen Überprüfung standhält. Zwar drückt sich die Verachtung für autoritäre Mächte in der Misshandlung und Verspottung römischer Aristokraten auch in den Quellen aus – einen lebhaften Eindruck davon liefert uns die Pompeius-Biographie Plutarchs190 – doch hier wie auch in Bezug auf die sozialen Verhaltensweisen der Seeleute überstrapazierte Rauh das Quellenmaterial hin und wieder. Seine Annahmen, dass sich auch Mitglieder der oberen Gesellschaftsschichten den Piraten anschlossen oder diese unterstützten, weil selbst diese unter römischen und pontischen Repressalien litten, überzeugen hingegen.191 Den Studien, die die kilikische Piraterie auf militärische, soziale und ökonomische Umstände zurückführen, steht der Ansatz von DE SOUZA (2013)192 gegenüber. Dieser betonte im Hinblick auf die Frage nach der Identität der kilikischen Seeräuber erneut, dass der Vorwurf der Piraterie als rhetorisches Konstrukt im politischen Diskurs zu betrachten sei.193 An anderer Stelle hatte DE SOUZA (1997)194 bereits auf die Notwendigkeit einer differenzierten Betrachtung der Kilikier hingewiesen. Ein Autor wie Strabon habe zu Unrecht alle Gemeinden

186 RAUH (1997), 273. 187 RAUH (1997), 280. Mit diesen Erkenntnissen knüpft RAUH an SHAW (1984) an, der nach der Identität der Banditen fragte, die in den wenig zugänglichen Regionen des Römischen Reiches in Unwesen trieben. Banditengruppen hätten sich aus „professionals of violence“ zusammengesetzt, aus Gewaltspezialisten wie Deserteuren und Veteranen. Räumlich hätten sie sich in Regionen bewegt, in denen Rom seine Macht nicht durchsetzen konnte. Durch eine (Wieder-)Eingliederung in die Armee habe aber auch die Möglichkeit zum sozialen (Wieder-)Aufstieg bestanden. B. D. SHAW, Bandits in the Roman Empire, in: Past and Present 105 (1984), 3–52. 188 RAUH (1997), 278f. 189 Ebd., 274. 190 Plut. Pompeius 24,7. 191 RAUH (1997), 274. 192 P. DE SOUZA, Who are you calling pirates?, in: M. C. HOFF / R. F. TOWNSEND (Hg.), Rough Cilicia. New historical and archaeological approaches, Oxford 2013, 43–54. 193 Ebd., 53. 194 P. DE SOUZA, Romans and Pirates in a late Hellenistic Oracle from Pamphylia, in: CQ 47 (1997), 477–81.

222

Bernadette Descharmes

Pamphyliens und Kilikiens als Seeräubernester gebrandmarkt 195. Syedra sei ein Beispiel dafür, dass auch kilikische Städte die Römer bei ihrer Piratenbekämpfung unterstützten, auch wenn es für einige aufgrund ihrer Schwäche und geographischen Lage ratsam gewesen sei, ihre Solidarität mit Rom nur zaghaft zu äußern.196 Einen gelungenen Spagat zwischen diesen beiden Trends, der Rekonstruktion sozio-politischer Rahmenbedingungen einerseits und Dekonstruktion des politischen Diskurses andererseits, schlug GABRIELSEN (2003).197 Er nahm antike Piraterie insofern als Fakt, dass gewisse Staaten das Recht zur Ausübung von Gewalt nicht monopolisiert, sondern ihren Bürgern zugestanden hätten. Seeraub sei in diesen Fällen kein Produkt staatlicher Unterdrückung oder wirtschaftlicher Rückständigkeit gewesen. Vielmehr seien Plünderungszüge von Mitgliedern der höheren sozialen Schicht organisiert worden.198 In Kulturen, in denen ausschließlich die zentrale politische Autorität das Recht zur Ausübung von Gewalt für sich beanspruchte, habe eine solche Praxis notwendigerweise als illegitim gegolten. Als Folge dieser unterschiedlichen Formen von Staatlichkeit seien Kreter, Aitoler, Illyrer und andere in stereotyper Weise als Schurkenstaaten („rogue states“) politisch marginalisiert und moralisch verunglimpft worden.199 6. Resumée Zusammenfassend erweist sich die aktuelle Forschung maßgeblich von einem Paradigmenwechsel geprägt. Antiker Seeraub wird nicht mehr nur als Störfaktor der Seefahrt, als eine den Handel bedrohende Größe und die Seeräuber selbst nicht mehr ausschließlich als kriminelle Akteure konzipiert. Vielmehr werden Piraterie und Piraten als Bestandteile des Handels und der Kriege innerhalb der antiken Mittelmeerwelt verstanden und der durch die antiken Texte geprägte Antagonismus zwischen Piraterie und Handel (beziehungsweise Krieg) folglich als eine gedankliche Grenzziehung definiert. Bestimmend für diesen Paradigmenwechsel war zunächst, dass man Seeraub nicht durch eine moralische Minderwertigkeit der Akteure, sondern durch konkrete ökonomische und politische Ursachen motiviert sah. Entscheidend war zudem, dass man „Pirat“ und „Räuber“ nunmehr als pejorative Bezeichnung verstand, die in den Quellen häufig zur Abwertung und Kriminalisierung benutzt wurden. Auch die Erkenntnis, dass nicht unbedingt nur soziale Außenseiter sondern vielmehr die Mitglieder der politischen, militärischen und gesellschaftlichen Elite zum Mittel des Seeraubs griffen, beeinflusste das Bild der Piraterie in der derzeitigen Forschung und führte zu einer grundsätzlichen Neukonzipierung des Phänomens.

195 196 197 198 199

Strab. XIV 3,2. Ebd., 479ff. GABRIELSEN (2003), 399. Ebd., 403; Ders., (2013), 137f. GABRIELSEN (2003), 403.

Piraterie in der antiken Mittelmeerwelt

223

Dr. Bernadette Descharmes Institut für Geschichtswissenschaft, TU Braunschweig Schleinitzstraße 13 D – 38106 Braunschweig [email protected]

BUCHBESPRECHUNGEN Der Orbis Terrarum informiert über Neuerscheinungen auf dem Gebiet der historischen Geographie der Alten Welt sowohl in der Form von Literaturberichten zu bestimmten Themen als auch von Rezensionen bzw. kurzen Notizen zu einzelnen Publikationen. Die geographischen und zeitlichen Grenzen der alten Welt sind, wie überhaupt in dieser Zeitschrift, nicht eng gefasst. Die Rezensionen sind in vier Rubriken unterteilt: I. Sammelbände mit übergreifender Thematik II. Monographien mit übergreifender Thematik III. Publikationen zu antiken und mittelalterlichen Autoren und Schriften IV. Publikationen zu antiken Landschaften

MARITIME PERSPECTIVES  BALTRUSCH, ERNST / KOPP, HANS / WENDT, GUIDO (eds): Seemacht, Seeherrschaft und die Antike, Stuttgart: Franz Steiner 2016. 348 p., ill. ISBN 978351 5114318. (Historia Einzelschriften 244).  DERKS, HEIDRUN: Gefahr auf See: Piraten in der Antike, Darmstadt: Konrad Theiss 2016. 112 p., ill. ISBN 9783806233131.  KLEU, MICHAEL: Die Seepolitik Philipps V. von Makedonien, Bochum: Verlag Dr. Dieter Winkler 2016. 252 p., colour maps, ill. ISBN 9783899112368 (Kleine Schriftenreihe zur Militär- und Marinegeschichte 24).  KOPP, HANS: Das Meer als Versprechen: Bedeutung und Funktion von Seeherrschaft bei Thukydides, Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht 2017. 303 p. ISBN 978 3525253243.  SCHULZ, RAIMUND: Abenteurer der Ferne: Die grossen Entdeckungsfahrten und das Weltwissen der Antike, Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta 2016. 654 p., ill. ISBN 978360 8948462. While Cicero may have been right to describe Herodotus as ‘the father of history’, 1 the title ‘father of naval history’ must surely go to Herodotus’ successor, Thucydides. The historiography of Mediterranean sea power begins with Thucydides, and vice versa: in the opening chapter of his History of the Peloponnesian War, Thucydides takes the advent of naval warfare (the Greek expedition to Troy and the creation of the first fleet by king Minos of Crete) as a decisive historical caesura, heralding both the dawn of ‘political’ history in the true sense of the word and the emergence of a collective Hellenic identity. 2 1 2

De leg. 1.5. Thuc. 1.3–4.

226

Buchbesprechungen

Numerous modern readers of his History have attempted to trace a direct line from the work of Thucydides to that of ALFRED THAYER MAHAN, the American rearadmiral whose works 3 laid the foundation for the modern strategic doctrine of warfare at sea. In the age of nineteenth-century imperialism, Thucydides was required reading for aspiring navy officers (as he still is at some naval colleges in the US)4 and research in the history of ancient sea warfare came to be dominated by countries pursuing global naval policies: France, Britain and the United States. Within the last two decades, however, researchers in central Europe have caught up with their colleagues and the field now boasts an impressive list of publications in the German language as well. The growth of the research field in central Europe has been facilitated by institutional initiatives such as the creation of a ‘Museum für Antike Schiffahrt’ (opened 1994 as a section of the Römisch-Germanisches Zentralmuseum in Mainz) and an interdisciplinary Schwerpunktprogramm (starting in 2012) of the Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft dedicated to ‘Häfen von der Römischen Kaiserzeit bis zum Mittelalter’. This ambitious research program spans a wide range of time and space: from Antiquity to the Middle Ages, from the Aegean to Iceland, with several subprojects focused on Roman or Byzantine harbours and trade routes. 5 The first of several volumes on ‘Häfen im 1. Millennium AD’ appeared in 2015. 6 Maritime space is also one of many topics covered by the TOPOI program established in 2007. 7 Furthermore, taking their cue from the successful reconstruction of an Athenian trireme by JOHN MORRISON, JOHN COATES and BORIS RANKOV, 8 German archaeologists have succeeded in re-creating two river craft of the Roman period. 9 In short, we are looking at a field of research that is both dynamic and vibrant, and the handful of books reviewed here represent only a selection from the rich bibliographic harvest of the last two years. The conference volume Seemacht, Seeherrschaft und die Antike, edited by BALTRUSCH, KOPP and WENDT, presents revised versions of papers presented at a TOPOI colloquium in December 2013. The contributions range widely in space and time, from Judaea (MONIKA SCHUOL, p. 205–15) and Persia (SABINE MÜLLER, p. 219–31) to Republican Rome (RAIMUND SCHULZ, p. 151–62, BERNHARD LINKE, p. 163–85 and VIRGINIA FABRIZI, p. 279–89), concluding with a chapter by ERNST 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

ALFRED T. MAHAN, The Influence of Sea Power upon History, 1600–1783, Boston 1890; The Influence of Sea Power upon the French Revolution and Empire, 1793–1812, Boston 1892; The Interest of America in Sea Power, Present and Future, Boston 1897. KOPP 2017, 26–9. For a list of projects, see http://www.spp-haefen.de/de/die-projekte. THOMAS SCHMIDTS / MARTIN M. VUČETIČ (eds.), Häfen im 1. Millennium AD: Bauliche Konzepte, herrschaftliche und religiöse Einflüsse, Mainz 2015, reviewed in OT 13, 278–9. For a list of TOPOI subjects and projects, see https://www.topoi.org/research. JOHN S. MORRISON / JOHN F. COATES et al.: The Athenian Trireme: The History and Reconstruction of an Ancient Greek Warship, second edition, Cambridge 2000. CHRISTOPH SCHÄFER, Lusoria: Ein Römerschiff im Experiment. Rekonstruktion, Tests, Ergebnisse, Hamburg 2008; CAROLIN GROSS, Victoria: Bautagebuch einer römischen Flussgaleere, Gutenberg 2012.

Literaturbericht: Maritime Perspectives

227

BALTRUSCH (p. 291–304), on naval spectacles (naumachiae) in early Imperial Rome. This is followed by a consolidated bibliography of works cited and a subject index which is detailed and useful, though no substitute for an index of sources, which the volume lacks. While space does not permit a detailed discussion of each and every contribution to this rich collection, some papers or their authors stand out for their willingness to confront established paradigms and received wisdom about the relationship of the ancients to the seas around them. Based on a thorough analysis of the extant geographical sources (Das Meer bei den antiken Geographen, p. 47–77), MICHAEL RATHMANN challenges the ‘neuzeitliche Bewertung, wonach das Mittelmeer der große, verbindende Faktor…gewesen sei’ (p. 75): ‘Auch auf der politischen Ebene…ist das Meer letztendlich keine wirkliche Größe’ (p. 76). The idea of the Mediterranean as a general historical-geographical-ecological-anthropological category was formulated by BRAUDEL 10 and taken up by PITT-RIVERS, 11 HORDEN, PURCELL 12 and ABULAFIA 13 among others (none of which, surprisingly, appear in the volume’s bibliography). RATHMANN’s paper is a valuable contribution to a growing body of research literature challenging the simplistic assumptions and inherited stereotypes underlying the ‘Mediterraneanist’ approach. 14 Another preconceived notion, now largely outdated, is the idea, going back to Polybius 15 and restated by LIONEL CASSON, among others: that the Romans were ‘a race of lubbers’ 16 who turned to the sea only when forced to do so by the events of the first Punic war. In his chapter, RAIMUND SCHULZ (p. 151–62) observes that while ‘Rom war in Bezug auf den organisierten Seekrieg ein Spätstarter’, this cannot be explained in psychological terms by a ‘generelle Abneigung’ towards the sea (p. 151) and that a re-orientation in Roman military policy had taken place well before the first Punic war: ‘Ein Umdenken setzte im zweiten Krieg gegen die Latiner 340–338 v. Chr. ein’ (p. 152). BERNHARD LINKE (p. 163–85) takes a different approach and sees third-century Rome as an ‘eruptive Seemacht’, a historical phenomenon comparable to the ephemeral thalassocracies of the Chinese Empire in the fifteenth century or the Ottoman Empire in the sixteenth (p. 163). While LINKE may

10 FERNAND BRAUDEL, La Méditerranée et le Monde méditerranéen à l’époque de Philippe II, Paris 1949. 11 JULIAN PITT-RIVERS (ed.), Mediterranean Countrymen: Essays in the Social Anthropology of the Mediterranean, The Hague 1963. 12 PEREGRINE HORDEN and NICHOLAS PURCELL, The Corrupting Sea: A Study of Mediterranean History, Oxford 2000. 13 DAVID ABULAFIA, The Great Sea: A Human History of the Mediterranean, London 2011. 14 For a critical discussion of ‘the Mediterranean’ as an analytical concept, see MICHAEL HERZFELD, Practical Mediterraneanism: Excuses for Everything, from Epistemology to Eating, in WILLIAM V. HARRIS (ed.), Rethinking the Mediterranean, Oxford 2005, 27–43. 15 Pol. 1.5.1–2. 16 LIONEL CASSON, The Ancient Mariners: Seafarers and Sea Fighters of the Mediterranean in Ancient Times, second edition, Princeton 1991, 143.

228

Buchbesprechungen

be criticized for failing to take account of earlier naval campaigns of the Romans (e.g., the capture of Antium in 334 BC or the expedition to Taras in 282), his model of the ‘eruptive thalassocracy’ is not without merits. It will go some way towards explaining the peculiar lacuna in Roman naval policy between the Second Macedonian War and Caecilius Metellus’ expedition to the Balearic islands, a period when Rome, in CASSON’s words, ‘treated the sea like an unwanted child’ and ‘let a mighty navy rot in its slips’. 17 SCHULZ, too, draws attention to this historical anomaly: ‘eine in der Geschichte des Mittelmeerraums einmalige Konstellation’ (p. 156). His attempt to explain this by an increased reliance on the naval forces of Rome’s allies comes up against the observation by LINKE that Rome, as far as we can tell, ‘im maritimen Bereich keine Strukturen analog zur Organisation der Bundesgenossen im Landkrieg schufen’ (p. 183). If one were to carry LINKE’s analysis beyond the second Punic war (which LINKE does not) one might see Rome’s position as a potential ‘eruptive Seemacht’ in the second century BC as an early parallel to the modern concept of the ‘fleet in being’: 18 a potential threat of naval action which functions as a deterrent even if it is never actually applied. Another dichotomic stereotype, going back to Thucydides himself, is the contraposition of Athens and Sparta as sea power vs. power on land, taken under critical scrutiny by MARTIN DREHER (p. 189–204). From a meticulous re-reading of the literary sources, it emerges that ‘Sparta so abstinent vom Seewesen, wie es auf dem ersten Blick scheint und wie Thukydides seine Leser glauben machen möchte, letztlich nicht war’ (p. 191). DREHER divides his analysis chronologically into five phases covering the period from the foundation of Taras c. 700 BC to the battle of Leuktra in 371, with a later, short-lived Spartan naval revival under Nabis c. 200 BC. The archaeological evidence is not discussed, and while the architectural remains at Gytheion are nowhere as spectacular as those of Delos (discussed by MONIKA TRÜMPER p. 233–51) they are far from unimpressive by Laconian standards and support DREHER’s identification of Gytheion as Sparta’s leading merchant port and naval base. BARRY STRAUSS (p. 93–9) questions the supposed continuity from the strategic thinking of Thucydides to that of MAHAN. Though both Themistocles and Pericles, as described by Thucydides, are what in modern parlance would be called ‘navalists’, i.e. advocates for a strong naval armament policy (p. 94), Thucydides himself was not: ‘what seems at first to be a naval theory turns out, on closer inspection, to be an illusion’ (p. 97). Far from being a naval visionary unique for his times, Thucydides ‘ends up sounding what would become a common theme in ancient writers: rowers and sailors are deficient in virtue and so is the regime based on their power. Isocrates, Plato, Aristotle, Polybius and Cicero would all write in a similar vein’ (p. 98). STRAUSS concludes that ‘neither Thucydides nor ancient Greek thought more generally was an advocate of sea power as Mahan was’ (p. 99).

17 CASSON 1991, 156; 143. 18 JULIAN S. CORBETT, Some Principles of Maritime Strategy, London 1918, 211–28.

Literaturbericht: Maritime Perspectives

229

Several of the points raised by STRAUSS are discussed in greater detail by HANS KOPP in Das Meer als Versprechen: Bedeutung und Funktion von Seeherrschaft bei Thukydides, a revised version of the author’s doctoral dissertation at the Free University of Berlin (2015). In the introductory section (p. 9–49), the author gives an overview of previous research, with special attention to the – real or imagined – parallelisms between the thinking of Thucydides and MAHAN (p. 21–30), followed by a methodological discussion. As KOPP observes, in an ideal world, the researcher would contextualize the work of Thucydides in relation to the author’s times, to the history of contemporary political thinking, to his social context and to the biography of the author himself. In actual fact, as any student of the period knows only too well, by far the largest part of our information about these and other aspects of Athenian life in the later fifth century BC – in other words, the Sitz im Leben of the text – derives directly or indirectly from Thucydides himself (p. 37–42). The researcher is faced with the choice between relying on the testimony of Thucydides (with the consequent risk of a circular argument) or complementing it with the far richer textual sources for early fourth-century Athens (with the consequent risk of anachronism). KOPP’s rejection of the second option (p. 39) leaves Herodotus and the Attic dramatists as his main sources apart from the work of Thucydides. Not even Xenophon’s Hellenika, conceived as the continuation of Thucydides’ history, enters the analysis save in rare cases. 19 Consequently, the investigation focuses less on the role of thalassokratia in fifth-century Athens than on the place of thalassokratia in the mental universe of Thucydides (p. 237) and the ways in which it is employed in his historical narrative. KOPP’s second chapter (p. 51–73) is devoted to Thucydides’ introductory section (Thuc. 1.2–1.19), the ‘archaeology’: an overview of Greek history where naval power, naval history and the evolution of shipbuilding are treated in some detail. This part of Thucydides’ work has often been taken as evidence for the ‘navalist’ views of its author, but KOPP offers a more sophisticated reading where Thucydides is not merely discussing sea power, but power in a more abstract sense, exploring the relationship between just (thalassocracy) and unjust (piracy) applications of violence at sea. As KOPP points out, the examples offered by Thucydides (Minos, Agamemnon, Corinth) reveal sea-power to be transitory (p. 72). Thalassocracy in itself will not ensure the long-term survival of a state: an early warning to Thucydides’ Athenian readers? Chapter 3 (p. 75–110) examines the vocabulary of naval dominance in Thucydides’ narrative, followed by the central chapter of the book (chapter 4, p. 111–207) exploring the relationship between sea power as theory (naval and political doctrines) and practice (the ugly realities of day-to-day warfare). The first section (p. 112–30) is devoted to Pericles, whose orations (as related, and quite possibly authored, by Thucydides) extol the virtues of Athenian civilization, sea power and

19 E.g., p. 140 and 187, both quoting Hell. 1.6.2 where Callicratides challenges Lysander to prove himself as thalassokrator.

230

Buchbesprechungen

democracy. It is easy to read Pericles as the mouthpiece of Thucydides and assume that the politician’s words reflect the historian’s own ‘navalist’ views, but Pericles’ rosy picture is – as KOPP notes – balanced by the clinically realistic narratives of plague, injustice and brutality which follow, erga as a counterpoint to the logoi of Pericles (p. 130–88), culminating in the Sicilian disaster (p. 189–207). The theme is continued in chapter 5 (p. 209–36) on the ‘function’ of sea power in Thucydides’ narrative: the Leitmotif of thalassocracy – or the illusion thereof – runs through the entire text of Thucydides because it is emblematic for the insidious erosion of Athenian political culture: ‘eine Art Verfallsprozess, bei dem sich die Kluft zwischen den Mitteln und den Zielen der Rhetorik immer weiter auftut’ (p. 235). Where Pericles had told his listeners to expect blood, sweat and heroic sacrifice leading to eventual victory, Alcibiades promises his audience ‘eine völlige Überlegenheit zur See…die sich unmittelbar anschließend als absolut trügerisch erweist’ (p. 236). The final chapter 6 (p. 237–72) attempts to place Thucydides ‘in context’. As KOPP himself acknowledged early on, this is no easy task, given the paucity of other sources. Even so, the themes which Thucydides explores may be taken as indicators for the nature of contemporary discourse in Athens (p. 239); the dramatists offer similar glimpses of insight into the collective Athenian Könnens-Bewusstsein (p. 246–7). It is precisely this complacent sense of maritime superiority vis-à-vis other Hellenes which Thucydides seeks to expose: ‘dass er diesen Realismus in seiner Darstellung aktiv nutzte, um dadurch einen Widerpart zu denjenigen Positionen zu formulieren, die sich – zumindest in seiner Sicht – zu weit von einer realistischen Beurteilung der Dinge entfernt hatten’ (p. 263). The situation facing MICHAEL KLEU in his study of Die Seepolitik Philipps V. von Makedonien (a revised version of the author’s doctoral dissertation, Cologne 2013) is the reverse of that encountered by KOPP. Whereas KOPP had a single text from the hand of his protagonist but few sources to provide context, KLEU has a wide range of textual sources describing the historical context of Philip’s actions, but few that offer any insights into his motives or his policy – if indeed he had one. Modern biographers of Philip tend to share Polybius’ view of the Macedonian king’s personality as quixotic and temperamental, prone to irrational decisions (BENGTSON 20) and with a sharp eye for the opportunities of the moment and for short-term gains (WALBANK 21), but with little long-term strategy or policy, maritime or otherwise. Nonetheless, as KLEU demonstrates in this detailed and well-argued study, there was some method to Philip’s maritime actions, even something approaching a naval policy – or perhaps rather a series of policies, changing in step with the king’s shifting alliances (‘Seepolitik ist somit auch eine Frage der Bündnispartner’, p. 15). These frequent shifts reflect not only Philip’s opportunistic approach to foreign policy but the volatile geopolitical environment of his time (well illustrated by the six colour maps which conclude the volume) where treaties were no more than scraps 20 HERMANN BENGTSON, Herrschergestalten des Hellenismus, Munich 1975, 232. 21 F. W. WALBANK, Philip V of Macedon, Cambridge 1940, 258–9.

Literaturbericht: Maritime Perspectives

231

of paper and alliances were made and broken at the drop of a helmet. In fairness to Philip it must also be said, as Polybius does on several occasions, 22 that while he may have been a mediocre strategist, he was a gifted tactician. The book opens with two very brief chapters introducing the main questions (p. 13–7) and setting the scene at Philip’s accession in 221 BC (p. 17–9). The central chapter (p. 23–183) is divided into five sections: the Social War (p. 23–42), Philip’s Illyrian campaign 217–216 BC (p. 42–52), the First Macedonian War (p. 52–90), Philip’s Aegean campaigns 205–200 BC (p. 90–151), and the Second Macedonian War (p. 151–83). This is followed by a short chapter on the problem of finance (p. 185–94) and the Conclusion (p. 195–201). KLEU concludes that as far as naval warfare was concerned, Philips’ finest hour was also his first: the Social War (p. 195), where he skilfully deployed his navy in coordinated operations with Macedonian land forces and the naval forces of his allies. Philip turned the apparent disadvantage of a small naval force (c. 50 warships in all, p. 41) to an advantage by exploiting the element of surprise, a tactic he also applied, though with less success, in Illyria (p. 48–9) and during the First Macedonian War (p. 69). The central theme of chapter 3 is Philip’s naval activity in the Aegean between 204 and 200 BC (p. 90–151). Unfortunately, long passages of Polybius’ history, our best source for the period, have been lost, leaving us to reconstruct the complex interplay of events from a variety of source texts which are open to a variety of interpretations. KLEU’s mastery of the sources and literature is impressive and he guides his reader expertly through a labyrinth of scholarly controversies and chronological uncertainties. The wealth of detail and references does not make for easy reading and the long narratives of individual campaigns and battles (p. 103–39) tend to draw the focus away from Philip’s policy, i.e. his motives, as distinct from his results. Did Philip achieve what he wanted; did he want what he achieved? Like all Hellenistic monarchs, Philip was haunted by the precedent set by the great Macedonian conqueror-king, Alexander. It could be argued that Macedonian expansion eastwards into Thrace and Asia Minor and the secret treaty by which Philip and Antiochus III agreed to divide the dominions of the Ptolemaic boy-king Ptolemy V between them – in German aptly known as the Raubvertrag – were all part of a grand vision, a Griff nach der Seemacht intended to re-establish Macedonian hegemony of the eastern Mediterranean (p. 142; 150; 196–7). 23 It could, however, equally well be argued that Philip’s apparent overall policy was in reality a sequence of disconnected events: first, Philip’s ambitions in the west are blocked by Rome (p. 86–7); second, he expands eastwards into Thrace and the Aegean

22 Pol. 4.77.1–3; 5.18.7–10. 23 According to Polybius’ version of the agreement (3.2.8) the intention was that Egypt should fall to Philip. This would have given the Macedonian king, who already controlled the Hellespont, a stranglehold on the grain supply of the eastern Mediterranean.

232

Buchbesprechungen

(p. 90); third, the death of Ptolemy IV presents a chance which Philip the opportunist cannot pass up. To choose between the two scenarios, one needs to look at the initiative for the Raubvertrag: did it come from Philip or from Antiochus? Most scholars since MAURICE HOLLEAUX 24 have seen Antiochus as the mastermind behind the Raubvertrag. According to KLEU, however, ‘Polybios selbst lässt die Frage nach der Urheberschaft des Vertrages … offen’ and the question cannot be settled in favour of one king or the other (p. 100). It is true that Polybius does not explicitly identify the initiator of the Raubvertrag, but when we first hear of the treaty in his History, it is mentioned in the same paragraph with the conflict between Antiochus III and Ptolemy IV over Coele-Syria 25 – suggesting that in the historian’s mind, the two events were linked by a common theme: unprovoked Seleucid aggression. All in all, KLEU’s study represents a praiseworthy and successful attempt to investigate an aspect of Macedonian military history which has often been overlooked. It will provide a solid foundation for further studies within this period of Hellenistic naval history. HEIDRUN DERKS’ history of ancient piracy, Gefahr auf See, takes us back to the ‘archaeology’ of Thucydides, according to which the very first thalassocrat, Minos, employed his navy to ‘clear the sea of pirates and protect his own revenues’. 26 Written in an easily accessible style, the book addresses not only an academic audience but the wider public. It is published jointly by the Konrad Theiss Verlag and the archaeological museum at Kalkriese near Osnabrück (now generally accepted as the site of Varus’ disastrous defeat in AD 9), of which the author is director. In fact, reading the book from end to end is not unlike walking through a well-organised museum: the text is compact and clearly structured; exhibits (illustrations) and text are integrated with one another; biographical thumbnail sketches of real or fictional ancient seamen (but no women) generate human interest and enliven the reading experience. Aficionados of Asterix will be especially pleased to meet an old friend, the fictional Phoenician trader-cum-pirate Epidemaïs, known to English readers as Ekonomikrisis (p. 32). DERKS traces the history of piracy from the earliest references to maritime raiders in the 14th century BC (in the Amarna letters 27) through archaic and classical Greece, Etruria, and the Roman Republic. The story ends with Pompey’s eradication of Mediterranean piracy in the last century BC (p. 95) though the author briefly acknowledges that pirates were still active, both locally and at the edges of the Empire, and that piracy resurfaced as a problem from the third century AD onwards (p. 96). A short review of the Roman attempts to defend the litus Saxonicum against raiders would have been a welcome addition. The penultimate chapter offers a very

24 MAURICE HOLLEAUX, Rome and Macedon, CAH 8 (1930), 150; also WALBANK 1940, 113. For the opposite view, see BENGTSON 1975, 220. 25 Pol. 3.2.4–8; the same seems to be implied by Pol. 15.25.13–9. 26 Thuc. 1.4., quoted by DERKS 2016, 17. 27 EA 28, Tushratta to Amenhoptep IV, quoted DERKS 2016, 19.

Literaturbericht: Maritime Perspectives

233

brief overview of Roman sea transport and the contribution of underwater archaeology, while the last (‘Wieder da! Piraterie heute’) highlights the resurgence of piracy in the twenty-first century (p. 107–9). Since the book is intended for a general readership, there are no footnotes in the text, but all ancient source quotes are referenced in brackets while a bibliography of recent research literature concludes the book (there is, alas, no index). Throughout, the presentation is well-informed, balanced and up to date with the latest research results. For the general reader but also for the undergraduate new to the field, the book provides an easily accessible introduction not only to ancient piracy but to shipping, maritime trade and shipbuilding technology. Ancient pirates roamed the sea in search of wealth, but so did traders and explorers (since exploration was often a prelude to colonisation) and the dividing lines between the three categories were far from clear-cut: when Odysseus is washed ashore on the island of Scheria, a local aristocrat takes him for a trader. 28 The hero, however, later identifies himself as an explorer who has travelled to the edge of the world, 29 but also as a pirate who plundered the city of the Ciconians. 30 The observation that sea travel, for whatever motives, was the prime source of geographical knowledge in the ancient world forms the starting-point for RAIMUND SCHULZ, Abenteurer der Ferne with the programmatic sub-title Die grossen Entdeckungsfahrten und das Weltwissen der Antike. The text is divided more or less chronologically into eight chapters, starting with the Bronze Age and the world of Odysseus (p. 21–98), Archaic Greece and the age of colonisation (p. 99–148), Persian and Carthaginian voyages of discovery (p. 149–203), the wider world of the Atlantic and Indian Oceans (p. 205–304), Hellenistic geographers (p. 269–304), the Romans in northern Europe (p. 305–52), the ‘globalisation’ of the Eurasian economy in the second century AD (p. 353–432) and the reception of ancient geographical knowledge through the Middle Ages and up to the Age of Discoveries (p. 433– 65), concluding with a short Epilogue (p. 466–85). Given the quasi-absence of narrative sources, the discussion of seafarers in Bronze Age Hellas (p. 23–56) must focus on traded objects rather than exploration, but with the fall of Mycenae and Troy, we enter the world of epic, inhabited by seafaring heroes the likes of Theseus and Jason, Odysseus and Menelaus. SCHULZ rejects the views of the ‘Spielverderber’ (p. 75) who see the Homeric world as a fictional universe like that of TOLKIEN or Harry Potter. Some of the regions visited by the Homeric heroes can be identified: the lands of the Laistrygones, where the sun never sets (p. 86) and that of the Cimmerians, where darkness reigns (p. 89) must be sought in the high northern latitudes. This is not to say that ‘Odysseus’ visited the Arctic regions, but it does imply that that the author of the Homeric epic was aware of their existence. Similarly, the voyage of Menelaus in book 3 of the Odyssey could be a patchwork of stories about the Red Sea and the Atlantic coasts, derived perhaps from Phoenician seafarers (p. 95–7). To SCHULZ, this implies that 28 Od. 8.157–64. 29 Od. 11.12–4. 30 Od. 9.39–41.

234

Buchbesprechungen

by the Archaic period, the Greeks possessed a ‘codiertes Weltwissen’ stretching far beyond the Pillars of Hercules (p. 97) and predating the voyage of Pytheas by several centuries. Pytheas himself extended the limits of the known world still further (p. 219–25), perhaps as far as Iceland (p. 224). Alexander the Great increased Greek geographical knowledge in the opposite direction, reaching the shores of the Caspian Sea (p. 248) and the Indian Ocean (p. 258–60), which opened a new perspective on the oikoumene: ‘Das kontinentale Denken wird spätestens jetzt durch ein okeanisches ergänzt, wenn nicht gar abgelöst’ (p. 265). The voyages of exploration commissioned by the early Hellenistic monarchs were, however, mostly overland (p. 271–98). Did the ‘oceanic’ vision die with Alexander, to be resuscitated during the naval arms race between the Hellenistic monarchs of the third century BC? The last centuries BC witnessed the last great ocean voyages recorded in our sources. By this time, more or less everything that could be explored by ship had been explored, at least on this side of the Atlantic. A transatlantic voyage by a Greek or Roman navigator is a tantalizing possibility which SCHULZ dangles before the reader’s eyes in several places without, however, committing himself (e.g., 315–9; 428–31). Otherwise, the focus now shifts from the sea to the land, as the Roman conquests of Gaul, Germany and Britain open unexplored regions in the north and west (p. 318–52). While the emphasis so far has been on captains and kings, chapter VII focuses on the role of the economy. The first century AD was a period of unprecedented economic growth within the imperium Romanum (p. 355–7, 475–6). Improved transport infrastructure, the integration of the rich eastern provinces into the Empire, new sources of gold and silver and the ‘peace dividend’ after the end of the civil wars all contributed to prosperity, though the degree to which this affected the lives of ordinary provincials remains an open question, as does the size of the ‘wohlhabende Mittelschicht’ (which SCHULZ optimistically estimates at no less than 10% of the total population). There is no doubt, however, that the Roman Empire of the first centuries AD provided a ready market for the luxuries of the East, with a consequent interest in the trade routes connecting the Levant to the Arabian Gulf, India and China (p. 358–413) – and, if the elder Pliny is to be believed, a consequent trade deficit in relation to Rome’s eastern neighbours. 31 Like Seemacht, Seeherrschaft und die Antike, Abenteurer der Ferne is heavily loaded on the Greek side: only two chapters are devoted to the history of Roman geography. As SCHULZ tells it, the evolution of ancient Weltwissen comes to an end in the second century AD (p. 483), and for two reasons: the breakdown of the Eurasian state system (p. 435–7) and a general Roman ‘Desinteresse in der Weiterentwicklung der Geographie im Sinne des Eratosthenes’ (p. 418). The exception to this rule is Claudius Ptolemy, working in the Greek East, unaffected by the pernicious influence of Rome: ‘Dort suchten Geographen in Alexandria noch weithin

31 Nat. 6.101; 12.84.

Literaturbericht: Maritime Perspectives

235

unbeeinflusst von römischen Interessen die bis nach China erweiterten Kenntnisse zu einer verbesserten kartographischen Sicht zusammenzufügen’ (p. 419). The contraposition of the ‘scientifically curious’ Greeks and the ‘practical’ but uninquisitive Romans has a long tradition in Classical studies, 32 though it has been called into question by some recent scholarship, as has the whole idea of ‘Greekness’. 33 It is certainly possible to see Ptolemy as a ‘Greek’ intellectual far removed from the banalities of daily Roman life, but his forerunner Marinus of Tyre may (if the identification recently proposed by KLAUS GEUS is correct) have been a senator, consul and provincial governor, 34 deeply involved in the practical and political life of Rome. It also needs to be remembered that today’s image of ‘Greek’ and ‘Roman’ intellectual life is defined by the literary texts which have been preserved: a small fraction of the total corpus that once existed. That a greater number of geographical works in Greek than in Latin are known, or are extant, today not only reflects a ‘Greek’ interest in geography during the Classical and Hellenistic periods, but also a continued interest in geography in medieval Byzantium. It is a testimony to the Byzantines’ esteem for geographical writing that one of the four literary works selected by Eustathius of Thessaloniki (12th century AD) for a detailed commentary was the Periegesis of the World by Dionysius (the other three being the Iliad, the Odyssey and the poems of Pindar). Despite its length, the text reads well and is complemented by maps and by a small selection of colour illustrations. The volume concludes with a chronological table, notes and references, an extensive bibliography and indices of persons and places, but no index of subjects or sources. Like the author’s previous monograph on Die Antike und das Meer (2005), this book will no doubt stimulate interest in a growing field of research that still has much to offer. TØNNES BEKKER-NIELSEN Classical Studies, Department of History University of Southern Denmark, Campusvej 55, DK-5230 Odense M [email protected]

32 ‘Wissenschaftliche Forschung im strengen Sinne ist und bleibt weitgehend eine griechische Domäne. Rein theoretische Fächer treten in Rom gegenüber angewandten Wissenschaften zurück…Bezeichnend ist die Reihenfolge, in der die verschiedenen Wissenschaften in Rom aufgenommen werden. An erster Stelle stehen Disziplinen, die sich unmittelbar im täglichen Leben anwenden lassen’, MICHAEL VON ALBRECHT, Geschichte der römischen Literatur, 3rd edition, Berlin 2012, 473–4. 33 See, e.g., JEREMY MCINERNEY (ed.), A Companion to Ethnicity in the Ancient Mediterranean, Oxford 2014, reviewed in OT 14, 282–4; JESPER MAJBOM MADSEN, Eager to be Roman: Greek Response to Roman Rule in Pontus and Bithynia, London 2009; THOMAS SCHMITZ, Bildung und Macht: Zur sozialen und politischen Funktion der zweiten Sophistik in der griechischen Welt der Kaiserzeit, Munich 1997. 34 KLAUS GEUS, Wer ist Marinos von Tyros? Zur Hauptquelle des Ptolemaios in seiner Geographie, Geographia Antiqua 26 (2017) 13–22.

236

Buchbesprechungen

I. SAMMELBÄNDE MIT ÜBERGREIFENDER THEMATIK  BRODERICK, LEE (ed.): People with Animals: Perspectives & Studies in Ethnozooarchaeology, Oxford: Oxbow 2016. 119 p., ill., tables. ISBN 9781785702471. Decoding the archaeological record, to paraphrase the title of LEWIS BINFORD’S seminal book, 1 is no straightforward task. That ‘decoding’ has been and still is the matter of much debate. Although a substantial portion of the debate deals with epistemological issues that transcend archaeology and impinge on the intricacies of historical science, one useful consequence of it has been the proposal of new theoretical frames of reference, analytical methods and research strategies. Ethnozooarchaeology, a sub-discipline of the ethnoarchaeology that developed from the mid1950s until the 1970s, belongs to the last category. As such, ethnozooarchaeology allows for a wide variety of theoretical and methodological approaches. For this reason, the definition proposed by ELIZABETH ARNOLD and DIANE LYONS (‘the study of contemporary material practices of human-animal interaction in ways that are useful in assisting archaeologists in interpreting the past’, p. 78) seems rather too restrictive. Restrictive, since ethnozooarchaeology, like its mother discipline, very often proceeds beyond the contemporary time to offer a diachronic perspective. the length of which can be variable. But restrictive also because the term ‘material practices’ excludes those ritual/symbolic elements that so often play a significant role in ethnozooarchaeological research, as the papers by G. ARGENT (Killing (constructed) horses – interspecies elders, empathy and emotion, and the Pazyryk horse sacrifices, p. 19–32) and by T. PERES and A. DETER-WOLF (Reinterpreting the use of garfish (Lepisosteidae) in the archaeological record of the American Southeast, p. 103–13) exemplify. The definition proposed by ARNOLD and LYONS does, however, conform to the scope of many early papers within the field. These aimed mostly at an understanding of activity areas and taphonomic pathways in settlements of hunter and gatherers, issues that ARNOLD and LYONS address for more complex societies. Those ‘original’ aims, in fact, reflected the historical contingency of ethnoarchaeology emerging from processualist approaches that have so often sought to produce general laws by concentrating on predictable, presumably objective phenomena. Although the heyday of general laws is over, and BRODERICK in his introductory chapter concedes that models are, in fact, tools to explore differences rather than universally applicable laws (p. 4), two papers in this volume are directly involved with models although with different aims in mind. In an essentially theoretical overview, COLLINS (p. 8–18) maintains that Neanderthal foraging patterns can be accurately inferred from the archaeological data set by means of optimal foraging models, refined with ethnographic and ethnoarchaeological studies of anatomically modern humans (AMH). The symbolic and cultural aspects of Neanderthal foraging behaviour, however, would be beyond the scope of

1

L. R. BINFORD, In Pursuit of the Past: Decoding the Archaeological Record, New York 1983.

I. Sammelbände mit übergreifender Thematik

237

such models, since the cognitive differences between Neanderthals and AMH are not yet understood. Being of the opinion that people behave as ‘simple’ (i.e., mammalian) predators only when cultural buffers fade away (e.g., under conditions of famine and starvation), this reviewer strongly doubts that ethnographic or ethnoarchaeological models developed for AMH could accurately re-create foraging patterns in our own species, let alone Neanderthals. One major problem here is how to cope with the sheer complexity, diversity and lability that human behaviour patterns exhibit today. Describing such a huge universe is well beyond the capabilities of an army of scholars, also because many patterns are defined by apparently minor details, often at the most intimate, personal level. Idiosyncrasy rules to a level that often proves difficult to tame. Why have the people from Asturias, my homeland in northern Spain, always considered sea urchins a delicacy when our western (Galician) and eastern (Castilian) neighbours despised them? And why have these neighbours changed their preferences in recent times? Just because sea urchins, now on the verge of extinction, have become very expensive? The ever-widening dichotomy between past and present practices is highlighted in the second paper dealing with models. BENDREY et al. (‘Seasonal rhythms’ of a rural Kurdish village: ethnozooarchaeological research in Bestansur, Iraq, p. 42–56) set out to find testable patterns for past husbandry practices in the Zagros, from present day data on animal management, herding and local land use gathered on the Iraqi Kurdistan. The interviews carried out by the authors evidenced how, within a mere 70 years, factors such as the introduction of cars, lowering of the water table or climate changes have caused dramatic shifts in husbandry practices including the disappearance of beasts of burden or of herd movements through space and time. The take home message here is clear. Yet one should refrain from thinking that this is always the case. Ethnozooarchaeology is at its most valuable when the heuristic tools chosen for research yield valuable insights in terms of archaeological interpretation. This has been particularly clearly achieved in three of the papers in this volume, two of which manage to refute long-established paradigms. Of these, the paper by HOULE (The killing season: ethnographic and zooarchaeological perspectives on residential mobility in Bronze Age Mongolia, p. 65–75) deals with mobility patterns of Mongolian nomads. In this case, faunal signatures derived from ethnological observations allow the author to differentiate between summer and winter camps within the Khanuy Valley region of Northern Mongolia. The author applies these criteria on Late Bronze Age sites from this same valley to evidence that residential mobility, then as now, was always in the order of 7–8km per year. The combination of ethnographic and archaeozoological data thus hints at some continuity linking ancient and modern populations in the region, refuting the prevalent dogma that prehistoric pastoral populations moved constantly and over great distances across the steppe. At the same time, the study demonstrates that permanent domestic features are not a requirement for residency as is so often argued to be the case in archaeological studies from this region. On completely different grounds, combining documents with modern ethnohistoric accounts and zooarchaeological data, PERES and DETER-WOLF manage to debunk another long-established paradigm for the Indian cultures of the American

238

Buchbesprechungen

Southeast (8000 BC–1450 AD). This is the idea that garfish (Lepisosteidae) was a regularly consumed item, often associated with feasting. Paradoxically, among the wide array of documented uses of garfish bones, teeth and scales – including costume-making, body tattooing, ritual tools, votive deposits or builder’s rites – food is either not mentioned or else considered ‘not good’ or taboo (Cherokee Indians refer to garfish as ‘the unclean/bloody fish’). The study reveals that, despite the criticisms analogy has so often received from some quarters, when applied thoughtfully, robust frames of reference emerge that help to better understand the ways in which human societies functioned in the past. The question is whether ethnographic and ethnohistoric data can be extrapolated to periods where none of that evidence is available. Partial answers to that question lie in not only avoiding rigid analogical correlates but also ensuring that the ones selected are truly pertinent. Less successful in the search for human signatures is the study presented by RUSS (To fish, or not to fish? Using observations of recent hunter-gatherer fishing in the interpretation of late Pleistocene fish bone assemblages, p. 87–102). Here, comparative ethnographic analyses from eight hunter and gatherer groups aimed at distinguishing fish assemblages that had accumulated naturally from those accumulated by human action. As it turned out, variability among groups was so high that, even with the (circumstantial?) exception of migratory species, no single signature existed which one could deem anthropic. Such a result impinges on the aforementioned idiosyncrasy of human behaviour as well as the need to look for proper analogues to insure meaningful correlations. Although the focus in this paper revolved around interpreting Paleolithic fish assemblages from Western Europe, all of the hunter-gatherer groups considered, apart from the Lapps, are North American. The author should have noted that substantial differences exist between the NE Atlantic and NE Pacific in terms of fish (e.g., salmon runs being, at best, something of the past in Europe), and the two major groups of Indian populations (i.e., coastal vs. inland) to render comparisons questionable at best. The paper by BRODERICK & WALLACE (Manure, valued by farmers, undervalued by zooarchaeologists, p. 34–41) presents the first, to my knowledge, ethnographic case study in which manure is of sufficient importance in and of itself to justify keeping livestock without reaping other advantages from the animals. As the authors stress, rarely would manure reach such importance in an economic system: most exhibit a pattern of mixed subsistence combining a variety of animal products. One agrees with the authors that the tendency to dismiss manure and interpret remains only in strict terms of conventional ‘material’ products is a side effect of a research framework shaped by the ‘Secondary Products Revolution’ (2PR) paradigm. Methodological problems that remain have to do with the invisibility of the product (i.e., how does one detect dung in archaeological deposits and how can one distinguish dung meant for manure from dung used as fuel). Given that absence of evidence is not evidence of absence, holistic zooarchaeological interpretations need to widen the scope of their subject to incorporate items of scant visibility. Such need is now very evident in the case of soil microfaunas and biomolecules, but the list should by no means end there.

I. Sammelbände mit übergreifender Thematik

239

The paper by LOVE (Canis Pastoralis and Maremmano-Abruzzese: Zooarchaeological and ethnographic parallels in ancient and modern livestock guardian dogs, p. 57–64) argues for the earliest evidence of dogs used for guarding (as distinct from herding) flocks of livestock, based on finds of large specimens at the Monte Pallano site (third to first centuries BC). Anatomical, genetic and contextual information combine with ethnohistorical data to frame those bone finds. Despite the multidisciplinary approach, the interpretation of the different strands of evidences is poorly integrated and to no small extent speculative. Only the morphological coincidences between a local Italian breed of guard dogs with the description provided by Varro (rust. 2.9.3) justify the inclusion in this volume. Having reached this point, one would need to call for a broadening of focus to incorporate an intersubjective perspective of human-animal relationships into the ethnozooarchaeological equation. This implies, among others, viewing animals as individuals rather than fixed sets. We all concede that animals are sentient beings yet, as O’CONNOR so aptly stresses in the conclusion chapter of this volume: ‘we easily accept the role of locally-contingent factors when dealing with people but seem to be more content to make species-wide generalisations when dealing with other animals’ (p. 117). Could this be because population-level specificity is one fundamental feature of that phenomenon we call culture and normally attribute in exclusive terms to humans? Be that as it may, ethnozooarchaeology can be a healthy reminder that animal remains cannot be treated as if they were inanimate objects. The third paper that, in my view, yields some of the most interesting information in this volume is that of GALA ARGENT (p. 19–32). This author presents a truly anthrozoological case study from the standpoint of individual horses. Assuming that, for analogies to work, some universal features must exist, ARGENT reviews the patterning of sacrificed horses in kurgans (burials) of the Iron Age Pazyryk culture (Central Asia) using her profound knowledge of horse behaviour (i.e. those essential elements she postulates define ‘horseness’ according to her nomenclature) to lead the reader through the labyrinth. Focusing on apparently minor details, the approach allows her to ‘reconstruct the scene of the crime’ demonstrating, among others, the deep respect for these horses felt by the people who killed them. Framing animals beyond material purposes is far from an easy task. Yet considering that appropriate contextualization is fundamental for ethnographic analogies to work, future work on this discipline needs to face the fact that there exist immaterial aspects to the study of animal-human relationships that have been neglected for the most part up until now and will need to be incorporated in the future. For this reason, allow me to conclude this overview by paraphrasing ARGENT again: ‘Refining a theoretically informed contextual approach that incorporates aspects of the animals themselves, their interactions with humans and their influences on past societies is a rewarding, if complicated, endeavour’ (p. 29). To such an end, books as the one reviewed here will no doubt pave the way. ARTURO MORALES MUÑIZ Laboratorio de Arqueozoologia, Universidad Autonoma de Madrid Edificio de Biologia, Campus de Cantobianco, E-28049 Madrid¨ [email protected]

240

Buchbesprechungen

 NAUDINOT, NICOLAS / MEIGNEN, LILIANE / BINDER, DIDIER / QUERRE, GUIREC (eds.) : Actes des XXXVe rencontres internationales d’archéologie et d’histoire d’Antibes : Les systèmes de mobilité de la Préhistoire au Moyen Âge. Antibes: APDCA 2015. 442 p., ill. ISBN 9782904110566. La movilidad constituye el núcleo fundamental de todos los procesos socioeconómicos y de los sistemas de intercambio desde la Antigüedad hasta nuestros días. En torno a esta idea fundamental gira la presente obra que, desde un punto de vista absolutamente interdisciplinario y heterogéneo, nos ofrece una visión de los procesos de movilidad que es útil tanto para arqueólogos como antropólogos, así como para historiadores en general. Y es aquí mismo donde reside la riqueza de estos Encuentros Internacionales de Historia y Arqueología de Antibes, en los que jóvenes investigadores de muy diversa procedencia exponen sus trabajos desde distintos puntos de vista, dando impulso a ideas novedosas con las que seguir profundizando en el estudio de los sistemas de movilidad y de transporte desde la Prehistoria. La riqueza de la discusión en encuentros de carácter interdisciplinar es siempre indiscutible. La metodología de trabajo es muy diversa dependiendo de la época sobre la que trabajemos y lo mismo ocurre con las fuentes de las que dispongamos. Es por ello también que la contribución al estudio de los sistemas de movilidad desde épocas y desde fuentes diversas significa una ventana abierta a otros aspectos que desde una perspectiva más restrictiva quedarían lamentablemente relegados. Los sistemas de movilidad, así como las vías de comunicación y los diversos sistemas de transporte implican con ellos el conocimiento de otros muchos temas que discurren paralelos y que en ningún caso pueden desligarse como son la sociedad, la economía e incluso la administración. Entender una red viaria o un sistema de intercambio como un conjunto de factores y no como un camino aislado es fundamental para poder adquirir esa perspectiva de conjunto de la que nos alejan los estudios lineares y que profundizan en un solo aspecto. Es por ello importante remarcar la importancia de lo multidisciplinar, lo diacrónico y lo heterogéneo en la investigación. Enmarcado en este tipo de encuentros con investigadores de diversa índole, el presente trabajo puede dividirse en cuatro partes: la primera la integran una serie de propuestas llevadas a cabo por etnólogos que estudian los factores que influyen o interfieren en los sistemas de movilidad. En este sentido debemos destacar que todos los trabajos presentados son de enorme riqueza para comprender el establecimiento de sistemas de movilidad y los agentes que interfieren en su desarrollo y evolución en muy distintas áreas. Especialmente interesantes nos resultan las hipótesis de HOULE (Occupation de longue durée et mobilité saisonnière en Mongolie, p. 45–59), en las que nos presenta sus estudios acerca del establecimiento de sociedades sedentarias y los factores que pudieron influir en la creación de sociedades organizadas en algunas regiones de Mongolia. La descripción del paisaje arqueológico y el uso de un lenguaje fácil y fácilmente accesible hacen de su estudio un texto de enorme utilidad para la comprensión de estas organizaciones sociales.

I. Sammelbände mit übergreifender Thematik

241

En la segunda parte se abarcan los trabajos que tratan sobre las dinámicas de poblamiento y evolución de las redes de intercambio, sus causas, motivaciones y consecuencias, desde las sociedades prehistóricas. La tesis que presenta HERMANN (Dynamique de peuplement et évolution des réseaux d’échange à longue distance en Océanie, p. 145–61) nos resulta especialmente rica por su profundización en el estudio de sistemas de intercambios de larga distancia. Este tipo de intercambios que abarca zonas diversas y épocas amplias permite estudiar ampliamente la evolución de las sociedades que los llevaron a cabo a lo largo del tiempo y permite la reconstrucción de redes comerciales y de las relaciones humanas de ellas derivadas, así como los lazos de unión de los distintos sistemas de intercambio de, en este caso, Oceanía. Los estudios etnológicos y antropológicos ofrecen, unidos, resultados de enorme riqueza. En la tercera parte encontramos los estudios dedicados a la organización territorial en relación a los sistemas de movilidad, las estrategias de aprovisionamiento en las sociedades prehistóricas y movilizaciones intraurbanas. En este caso, encontramos especialmente relevantes los estudios recogidos en esta parte, puesto que ofrecen una compresión clara de que la organización social está estrechamente relacionada con los movimientos e intercambios culturales y económicos. La elevada cantidad de datos científicos e informaciones contrastadas son dignas de mención en este grupo de trabajos que aúnan metodologías muy diversas y que permiten la formación de una valoración completa de estos sistemas de movilidad como factor de ordenamiento y regulación de las sociedades que se forman a su alrededor o viceversa. Para terminar, encontramos una última parte dedicada a la interculturalidad derivada de la movilidad de las sociedades, tema este de enorme importancia, como destacan especialmente las ponencias de MERY (Mobilité et interculturalité en Arabie orientale durant la Protohistoire ancienne : modalités de formation d’un ensemble culturel et d’entités régionales, p. 353–68) y de BINDER (Transferts et interculturalités en Méditerranée nord-occidentale : VIe–IVe millénaire cal. BCE, p. 369–86). La primera realiza una interesante investigación de los intercambios neolíticos en una zona en la que los estudios de este tipo no abundan. Su precisión al tratar las interacciones culturales de la región, las migraciones y el desarrollo de la producción tanto cerámica como metalúrgica hacen a este estudio uno de los más destacados, a nuestro entender, de esta última parte. El segundo, por su parte, presenta una investigación en la que demuestra la segmentación de la sociedad, así como la influencia que en el desarrollo de identidades culturales propias tuvo el aumento de los intercambios y de la expansión de los avances técnicos alrededor del VI y IV milenios a. C. En cualquier caso, el conocimiento de la historia y de la organización de las vías de comunicación y de los sistemas de movilidad es todavía muy imperfecto. Las investigaciones arqueológicas que se llevan a cabo en la actualidad permitirán, sin duda, grandes avances en este terreno. Gracias a encuentros como los que reúnen estas actas y al trabajo arduo de los investigadores que presentan sus proyectos en congresos internacionales podremos ampliar, de forma rápida y cada día más completa, las lagunas que todavía encontramos en este terreno. Debemos todo nuestro

242

Buchbesprechungen

agradecimiento a los organizadores y participantes de encuentros de este tipo en los que prima el trabajo interdisciplinar y diverso que, cada día más, está desplazando a los estudios de carácter individual y en los que se analizan los distintos sistemas de movilidad, vías de comunicación o sistemas de intercambio desde una metodología única y restringida. Pese a que su utilidad es indiscutible, debemos dejar paso a estudios de fronteras más amplias, puesto que está demostrado que la visión de conjunto es necesario para el conocimiento pleno y completo del tema de estudio. Confiamos en que así sea. AMANDA C. CASTELLÓ SÁNCHEZ Universidad de Valencia, Facultad de Geografía e Historia Av. de Blasco Ibáñez, 28, E-46010 Valencia [email protected]

 PALIOU, ELEFTHERIA / LIEBERWIRTH, UNDINE / POLLA, SILVIA (eds), Spatial analysis and social spaces: Interdisciplinary approaches to the interpretation of prehistoric and historic built environments, Berlin: De Gruyter, 2014. 328 p., ill. ISBN 9783110265941. (TOPOI Berlin Studies of the Ancient World / TOPOI Berliner Studien der Alten Welt 18). Spatial analysis has been part of the standard toolbox of archaeology for the past couple of decades, but the lowered costs of high computational power have recently taken this digital and spatial turn to new levels that often appear as goals in themselves. At the same time, and not without reason, phenomenological voices are gaining momentum as they argue that it is the culturally laden human perception of space, rather than its metrics, that needs to be taken into account. Even within quantitative analysis, approaches vary from metric-driven geographic information systems (GIS) applications to theory-driven space syntax methodologies, developed by HILLIER and HANSON in the 1980’s, 1 based on axial-analysis, topological depth (via justification graphs), and more recently visual graph analysis and Depthmap software. 2 This volume represents to some extent an attempt to bring these disparate worlds closer together. Based on a TOPOI workshop at the Free University of Berlin in 2010, specialists in archaeology, social theory, architecture, and urban planning focus here on quantitative ways of assessing human engagement with space and the built environment in the (mostly pre-) historic past. While this is not new in itself, PALIOU emphasizes in her lucid Introduction (p. 1–17) that the combination of quantitative intra-site analysis in interpreting social behavior, the focus on human experience in the built environment, and a multi-faceted approach of computational analytical techniques is what sets this volume apart. 1 2

W. HILLIER / J. HANSON, The social logic of space, Cambridge 1984. As developed by especially A. TURNER / M. DOXA / D. O’SULLIVAN / A. PENN, From isovists to visibility graphs. A methodology for analysis of architectural space, Environment and Planning B: Planning & Design 28 (2011), 103–21.

I. Sammelbände mit übergreifender Thematik

243

Most of the contributions in fact centre on the digital advances now possible, although they largely acknowledge that there is still a long way to go in analyzing or even reconstructing a holistic experience of ancient space. But this volume is much more than about crunching more numbers. Several authors further pursue fundamental theories such as AMOS RAPOPORT’s nonverbal communication approach, 3 EDWARD HALL’s proxemics theory, 4 or the ‘imageability’ of KEVIN LYNCH 5 in the hope of overcoming some of the restrictions inherent to binary methods and space syntax theory. The volume starts with a generous article (p. 19–47) by one of the pioneers of space syntax. HILLIER explains in clear and precise terms the principles behind the theory, using informative diagrams and examples drawn from specific urban contexts. The fundamental axiom is that space is governed by laws, which in turn govern ways that people interact with it. Another key concept concerns the urban dialectic between the ‘generic’ foreground grid of public spaces, driven by micro-economic processes common to several cities, and the ‘conservative’ background grid of residential or private spaces, more locally and culturally oriented. How this dialectic might apply to non-urban or pre-urban communities is addressed in the rest of the volume. QUENTIN LETESSON draws directly on space syntax theory to analyse foreground and background uses of space with regard to the emergence of the Neopalatial style on Crete, specifically at the well-preserved Quartier Mu in Malia. In the context of ‘architecture’ versus the ‘vernacular’, he shows that this distinction was much more blurred in Middle Minoan II, and that the development of Neopalatial architecture should be considered from the bottomup, as a broad but local phenomenon resulting in the monumental spaces, rather than the traditional top-down view. Quartier Mu also serves as one of the case studies, together with Pylos, in the contribution by PIRAYE HACIGÜZELLER and ULRICH THALER (p. 203–62). After an insightful discussion of the development of spatial approaches, they set out their main goal: to test a new analytical methodology that incorporates space syntax with the metric (and more configurable) properties of GIS. They do this by subjecting their case studies to three parallel analyses of integration that include topological depth, visual analyses, and their new approach. This is based on a complex calculation of metric distances, their averages and standard deviations, to show degrees of integration. The initial results look promising and appear to complement the space syntax methods. PALIOU also combines different techniques in her overall goal of interpreting the social and symbolic relevance of space, with a variety of examples that will make this article (p. 91–113) more widely accessible than some of the others. RAPOPORT’s nonverbal communication and LYNCH’s imageability are her points of departure as she examines ways to incorporate aspects such as elevation and surface, 3 4 5

A. RAPOPORT, The meaning of the built environment. A nonverbal communication approach, Tucson 1990. E. T. HALL, The hidden dimension, Garden City, NY 1966. K. LYNCH, Good city form, Cambridge, MA 1984.

244

Buchbesprechungen

which are not taken into account by traditional space syntax analyses, in her visibility analyses. She uses 3D reconstructions with GIS viewshed analyses to show the visibility of wall murals from the Late Bronze Age West House of Akrotiri on Thera to passers-by from the street outside. A second example is visibility from the women’s upper galleries at the church of San Vitale in Ravenna, where visual integration analysis (via Depthmap) shows that despite the general restricted view to the male space of the main nave below, there were a few choice spots in the matroneum that afforded the most ‘transcendental’ views of the entire structure. In perhaps the most profound contribution to the volume (p. 115–34), DAVID WHEATLEY, a leading figure in the development of GIS for archaeology and viewshed analyses, 6 addresses the debate concerning the validity of visual analyses and digital, map-oriented approaches. Criticized as being embedded in the Cartesian primacy of vision and Euclidean approach to space (the ‘God-view’), these approaches are sometimes considered as wholly inadequate towards understanding the embodied experience of space in the ancient world. WHEATLEY counters this with several examples that demonstrate a definite reliance on vision, and even schematic map-like depictions of space in the distant past. He concurs, however, that vision should not be divorced from the other senses and suggests instead a more thorough integration of concepts such as HALL’s proxemics and HIGUCHI’s perception zones 7 in assessing how distance affects ways that a ‘sense of place’ is derived. Visibility is at the heart of PAPADOPOULOS and EARL’s analysis (p. 135–65) which uses 3D modelling, texture viewsheds, and lighting reconstructions to interpret architectural design through the lens of task-orientation, focusing on three case studies from Minoan Crete: burial chamber BB 19 from Phourni, the North House from the harbour town at Kommos and the ‘Ceramics Workshop’ at Zominthos. Their approach leads them to new hypotheses for some of the structures based on their visible properties, especially the low-lit ‘workshop’. They are careful to stress, however, that vision is only one aspect while a formal multi-sensory analysis would provide more depth and may well lead to alternative interpretations. FISHER (p. 167–202) draws on both RAPOPORT’s nonverbal communications theory and HALL’s proxemics in an effort to overcome some of the limitations of space syntax observed by PALIOU. Meaning was encoded not just in the articulation of space but in the fixed, semi-fixed, and non-fixed features of architecture as well. He argues that the Late Cycladic II–IIIA Building X at Kalavasos-Ayios Dhimitrios and Building II at Alassa-Palaiotaverna, both of which were organized around a central courtyard, would nonetheless have been ‘understood’ in very different ways. This is due not only to their widely differing degrees of integration with the rest of the architecture, but also other clues such as masonry and furnishings.

6 7

D. WHEATLEY, Spatial technology and archaeology: the archaeological applications of GIS, London 2002. T. HIGUCHI, The visual and spatial structure of landscapes, Cambridge, MA 1983.

I. Sammelbände mit übergreifender Thematik

245

The last three contributions of the volume centre on the historic built environment. JOHN BINTLIFF (p. 263–76) focuses on the increasing stratification of society from the Iron Age through the Hellenistic and Early Roman Aegean, relating these social developments to changes in increasing complexities of access in domestic architecture at a number of sites, although how representative these are for the larger region remains open. Nonetheless, this is one of the few attempts to apply this method to the classical world. While BINTLIFF is a classical archaeologist experimenting with space-syntax, AKKELIES VAN NES is a modern urban spatial analyst experimenting with Pompeii (p. 277–95). She applies her sophisticated methodology, based on space syntax, for analyzing urban layouts at the macro- and micro- scales, in which the topological depth of individual structures (i.e., filters of access), is weighted with the degree of constitudedness of the streets (i.e., frequency of access, or intervisibility) to arrive at spaces more typically public or private. The results are corroborated with agentanalysis modeling (Depthmap). Scale is also central to HANNA STÖGER’s penetrating study of Ostia (p. 297– 315), in which she uses space syntax to examine ways that background and foreground spaces merged in Insula IV.ii. Axial, access and visual analysis demonstrate the importance of the southern courtyard as an integrative space for the insula; maps in colour would have supported this interpretation even further. It would be interesting to see how this microcosm relates back to the Ostia as a whole. The contributions in this volume show several ways forward in the attempt to analyze the properties of physical space as well as the perception of place. Movement is a central theme, one that should be explored with more resolution than the rather clinical exercises of agent analysis in Depthmap, but with much closer attention to the variety of motivations and choice determinants. Gains are yet to be found via the theories presented here. Another observation is that advancements in the field of spatial analyses have largely been made in the context of prehistoric archaeology; with the exception of such well-preserved sites as Pompeii and Ostia, this direction of spatial analysis has yet to take hold in classical archaeology. Yet with the wealth of data available, this is surely an opportunity waiting for its moment. The volume creates an intelligible and logical whole, with rich illustrations that help guide the reader; the inconsistencies and errors are minimal and rarely distract. The ten contributions resonate with each other well and are organized in a largely coherent fashion. The analyses and concerns presented in this volume raise hope that, besides the attractive reconstructions, the spiralling current advances in the digitization of data will eventually allow for human experience to be put back into spatial analysis, thereby pursuing some of the larger questions in the humanities. CHRISTINA WILLIAMSON University of Groningen P.O. Box 716, NL-9700 AS Groningen [email protected]

246

Buchbesprechungen

 SCHÄFER, CHRISTOPH (ed.): Connecting the Ancient World: Mediterranean Shipping, Maritime Networks and Their Impact, Rahden: Verlag Marie Leidorf 2016. 257 p., ill. ISBN 9783867572668. One of the most useful recent books on Roman maritime trade is Connecting the Ancient World: Mediterranean Shipping, Maritime Networks and Their Impact. The rich blend of discussions in this volume (hereafter CTAW), based on papers from the eponymous conference held in Trier in 2014, aptly reflects the healthy diversity of scholarship that exists today in maritime research – with traditional text-based and archaeological approaches juxtaposed or integrated with cuttingedge, increasingly adopted strategies that include the use of hypothetical, quantitative modeling, modern navigational software and post-antique comparative data. Overlooking frequent typographical errors, 1 this collective volume’s depth of analysis, innovative, enlightening approaches and positive outlook for the future promise a fascinating read and its own lasting impact. CTAW’s wide-ranging essays deal with ships, sailing performance, harbors, port cities, trade routes, environmental influences, costs, profitability and how these factors relate to the nature of the ancient economy and the socio-economic connectivity of the Mediterranean world. Editor CHRISTOPH SCHÄFER offers a framework for the volume with his introductory remarks and a final paper concerning the Hispania-Germania oil trade. In outlining the book’s focus and themes, SCHÄFER elliptically refers to modern transaction cost economics (TCE), seemingly with the assumption that it forms a chief underpinning for the entire collection. 2 In the preface, however, he provides no bibliography for TCE, which is not mentioned again until his own paper at the end. 1

2

Beginning from the preface, with the erroneous date of the original conference (2014, not 2016 (p. viii)), there appear many typographical slips or other editorial oversights that ultimately detract from the volume’s otherwise excellent quality. P. ARNAUD’s paper, in particular, appears not to have been proofread. A tally of errata includes: p. 31: 40 m, not 40 min; p. 5: MedAtlas needs italics in sub-heading (cf. p. 53, penultimate line); p. 92: ments (incomplete word); p. 106: emergence, not emerge; p. 127, note 54: incomplete citation, question marks; p. 129: hind (incomplete word); p. 130: than, not then; p. 133: words, not worlds; p. 134: one, not an; p. 134: one, not a; p. 135: yields, not yelds; p. 139: delete ‘an’, insert ‘for a long time…’; p. 140: of, not at; p. 140: delete ‘Although’, capitalize ‘In’; p. 141, line 18: missing word (unknown); p. 141: who considered, not considering; p. 143: delete ‘our’; p. 143: may, not way; p. 148: beside, not aside; p. 148: together, not altogether; p. 148: citizens, not citisens; p. 149: of, not to; p. 152: one had, not onehad (needs space); p. 153: ‘passing through shippers and merchants’: needs hyphen (passing-through) or some other less awkward, ad hoc terminology/phraseology; p. 153: ‘TACO TEPSTRA’: needs correcting; apparent reference to ‘Terpstra, T. T.’ in bibliography; p. 154, line 18: in, not at; p. 157: ‘other stationes similar ones’: change to ‘…other similar stationes…’; p. 162: ‘…cosmopolitan structure gathering people sharing…’: meaning unclear, needs editing; p. 184, line 5: missing ‘in’; p. 213: adopted, not adapted; p. 231: polar plots, not pots. ‘In keeping with the tenets of modern Transaction Cost Theory, it is incumbent on us to closely examine not only the frame conditions of maritime transport and trade…, but also the means of transport..., the actors…, and finally cost relations themselves’ (p. viii).

I. Sammelbände mit übergreifender Thematik

247

There, he cites only a recent secondary discussion of this theoretical approach (‘a fashionably new avenue of research’, p. 211). From its first pages, then, one is left wondering about the overall vision for CTAW: whether it is a discussion among and aimed at already-informed specialists, or is meant as an instructive, inspiring discourse for a larger range of readers – as, on a practical level, it ultimately proves to be. More helpful would be references right from the start to fundamental works on transaction cost economics, 3 addressing especially TCE’s differences with mainstream neoclassical-Keynesian economics, and more fully illuminating why TCE might be a preferred basis for analyses of the ancient Mediterranean economy. As a framework for discussion, TCE is fitting, since it calls for examining essential factors involved in commercial exchange, including physical, infrastructural and technological conditions; commercial organizations; and the requirements and ease of decision-making. In Oil for Germany, SCHÄFER reinforces these themes through the question of which trade route may have been more profitable in Roman times for shipping Spanish olive oil to the German frontier. Was the Mediterranean/Arles/Rhône/Saône route preferred, as one traditional scholarly view holds, or did the alternative Atlantic/Rhine route offer greater advantages? SCHÄFER takes into account the ease of river trade, vessel types and capabilities, load size, costs, the organization of the oil trade, distances, trip durations and potential profitability. His arguments also highlight the recurring problem seen in other CTAW papers – the dearth of detailed primary data needed for accurate modeling. Nevertheless, SCHÄFER demonstrates that, through quantitative analysis, archaeological data, judicious modeling and an integrated approach, positive, informative results can be achieved. His conclusion (the Atlantic route was faster, equally risky, more profitable) resonates with the CTAW’s larger message: conventional views must be challenged and fresh approaches embraced. JULIAN WHITEWRIGHT’s Sails, Sailing and Seamanship in the Ancient Mediterranean (p. 1-26), reviews rigging systems and sailing practices from the Late Bronze Age through Late Antiquity. After presenting the main sources of evidence (texts, reliefs, paintings, other archaeological finds) and a chronology of major technological developments (square-rig, two sails, artemon foresail, sprit-rig mainsail, lateen sail), WHITEWRIGHT takes a closer look at these advances and their components. ‘The most satisfactory answer’ to why the artemon was adopted, he suggests, can be found in its apparent role as ‘…a technological means for refining sailing 3

E.g., O. E. WILLIAMSON, Transaction Cost Economics: An Introduction, Economics Discussion Papers, No. 2007-3, Kiel Institute for the World Economy (www.economics-ejournal.org/economics/discussionpapers/2007-3); O. E. WILLIAMSON, The Economics of Organization: The Transaction Cost Approach, American Journal of Sociology 87 (1981) 548–77; M. DIETRICH, Transaction Cost Economics and Beyond, London 1994, esp. p. 13–15; S. N. S. CHEUNG, Economic Organization and Transaction Costs, p. 77–82 in J. EARWELL et al. (eds.), Allocation, Information and Markets, New York 1989. See also now K. RUFFING, Neue Institutionenökonomik (NIÖ) und Antike Wirtschaft, p. 11–22 in K. DROß-KRÜPE / S. FÖLLINGER / K. RUFFING (eds), Antike Wirtschaft und ihre kulturelle Prägung: The Cultural Shaping of the Ancient Economy, Wiesbaden 2016.

248

Buchbesprechungen

performance with the aim of cementing in place the use of a new set of maritime routes’ (p. 13). Moreover, the later lateen sail allowed essentially the same level of performance, but for a lower cost. Technological changes, then, were a twofold response to change in the use of sailing ships and to new economic conditions. In our present era of significant climate change, T. V. FRANCONI’S study of Climatic Influences on Riverine Transport on the Roman Rhine (p. 27–41) is topical and telling. Ancient river trade was subject to difficult, uncontrollable variables and the Romans, it seems, were as vulnerable to environmental change as we are today. Riverine shippers had to be alert to local conditions, available infrastructure and the existence of taxes, duties and the pilfering of cargo – all of which could affect profitability. In addition, massive manpower (100–200 towmen for a heavily laden barge) was required for up-river travel. Downriver movement was 5–6 times faster, but currents, water levels and channel or harbor degradation – often due to seasonal floods, droughts, siltation or colder winters with resultantly increased ice flows – were constant factors to which the Romans had to adapt. Although the Rhine riverine network represented a valued link in the imperial transport system, the challenges of navigation, maintenance and profitability eventually became too much. Deteriorating conditions led to delays, higher costs, lower profits, decreasing volumes of trade, economic instability and a downturn of prosperity for the German frontier. On distances and speeds of shipping, PASCAL WARNKING’s chapter, Roman Trade Routes in the Mediterranean Sea: Modeling the Routes and Duration of Ancient Travel with Modern Offshore Regatta Software (p. 45–90) introduces a fresh alternative for computer-based reconstructions. Unlike earlier software (which the author critiques), the Expedition program, in combination with factual weather data generated at six-hour intervals along an entire route, allows a more flexible, precise, realistic approach, with more detailed wind and ship-performance data – the latter calibrated using information from ancient texts and present-day replicas. With some limitations, WARNKING’s new method better accounts for variability, incorporates premodern (18th/19th c.) sailing data for French square-rigged ships, and produces more rigorous estimates of voyage duration and the profitability of Roman trade. This is a judicious, balanced use of modern data and software, with abundant bibliography throughout. ROBERT L. HOHLFELDER’s Archaeological Addendum to the Res Gestae (p. 91– 104) draws attention to the ‘explosion of harbour construction’ during the reign of Augustus, who understated his achievements in this area in his own final record. HOHLFELDER, a collaborator in the Roman Maritime Concrete Study (ROMACONS, 2002–2009), traces the history of ancient marine concrete through its development as a large-scale structural material by Agrippa and its exploitation by Augustus for the development of Italian and other Mediterranean ports. The emperor’s far-sighted use of this convenient, effective material facilitated his harbourbuilding or improvement efforts, which in turn led to greater levels of Roman trade, prosperity and Mediterranean interconnectivity. HOHLFELDER’s core message, that Augustan ports were a foundation for economic growth and increased imperial unity, makes an important point, but the ‘addendum’

I. Sammelbände mit übergreifender Thematik

249

as a whole would be more useful to the reader if it occasionally provided more specific bibliography 4 and included at least a mention of the possible other commercial connectivity fostered by Augustan-era exportation of Italian pozzolana to destinations around the Mediterranean. In the overall context of CTAW’s economic discussions of trade as connectivity, one cannot help but ponder here too, what were the pozzolana ships from the Bay of Naples carrying to Italy after having delivered their loads of cement (or before they picked them up)? NEVILLE MORLEY’s Trade and the Integration of the Roman Empire (p. 105– 13) looks at Roman globalization. His intriguing commentary shows that, like today, ancient globalization presented socio-economic advantages and disadvantages, as well as detriments to the environment. It was a complex, contested and political process, which, nevertheless, can be distinguished from modern globalization by its opposite effect: making the world larger, not smaller. Through the growth of cities and ‘Romanization’, new centres and types of demand arose, along with expanded supply networks and improved organizational systems. Transaction costs and commercial risk seem to have been reduced, while local trade was enhanced. Globalized commerce (both supply and demand) acted as an agent of change – from which, however, traditional (already wealthy) elites chiefly gained, as individuals and regions became more vulnerable to external shocks and environmental uncertainties. PASCAL ARNAUD’s historiographical essay, Cities and Maritime Trade Under the Roman Empire (p. 115–72), is enormously insightful and a pillar of the CTAW volume. He stresses the significant role of cities – as semi-independent micro-states, markets and centers of services – for the development and organization of Roman imperial maritime trade. ARNAUD marshals a host of textual/epigraphical data and original terminology to examine topics including the role of cities as port authorities and settlers of commercial disputes; cities’ interrelations; trading diasporas and cultural integration; officials, such as the togati (verifiers of trade procedures); wholesale versus retail trade; units of volume; taxes and port fees; ships; city-based guilds and more. ARNAUD concludes that cities were essential components in Roman commerce and its support networks, but that for many port cities not enough attention has yet been paid to why and how they were involved or connected. PASCAL WARNKING enlists modern economic theory, in the form of ‘standard profit and loss analysis’ (P & L), to present A Business Model for Roman Maritime Trade (p. 173–210), with the aim of determining ‘specific factors that most greatly affected the profitability of ancient Roman maritime commerce.’ He focuses on the first century AD, citing its ideal, consistent conditions for commerce, and addresses questions of costs; profits; supply sources; sales markets; and ship construction (as a manageable factor in maximizing profit).

4

At several key points, when mentioning the results of research (e.g., ‘…archaeological research recently uncovered…now substantiates…’ p. 96) or specific harbour sites (e.g., Paphos, Kenchreai, p. 99), citations are either absent or the author sends readers to ROMACONS publications, rather than to primary reports.

250

Buchbesprechungen

However, WARNKING’s approach, as the author acknowledges repeatedly, is also fraught with limitations. Firstly, there is little specific, reliable data available concerning the financial requirements of ancient shipping, including capital costs; storage fees; personnel wages; provisions; crews’ extraordinary expenses; loading/unloading; ship depreciation and maintenance; and tolls, taxes and additional costs. WARNKING also notes the great variation that exists in historical sources. To counteract the weaknesses of the data, he considers only routes leading to Rome, only bulk cargoes, and concentrates on wheat (the best documented, most important trade good). WARNKING examines profitability under near-ideal conditions, employing hypotheses and assumptions ‘to establish ranges of plausible values for all items in the P & L’. The results ‘do not necessarily represent the business model of Roman maritime traders with precision, but come close enough to reality to offer a general framework…’ Despite these drawbacks, WARNKING’s analysis proves a fascinating discussion with striking conclusions. Rome’s trade was singular in Antiquity for its shipping of large quantities over long distances; despite an enormous number of smaller ships in operation, just over 50% of overall tonnage was carried by large ships (200– 400 tons); all ships over 200 tons found as wrecks date to 100 BC–AD 300; the Alexandrian wheat trade was only profitable when loads over 70 tons were shipped; wheat was less attractive as a profitable commodity than other trade goods; Roman businessmen were less adventurers than astute, conservative traders, who conducted themselves as efficiently as possible due to low profit margins; and price (like today) was the leading factor in profitability. In summary, CTAW offers fresh, instructive views, highlights a variety of significant, under-attended points and leads readers to valuable bibliography on ancient trade practices, seafaring and economy. While occasionally uneven in its editing, the volume is generally well presented and well worth investigating. JOHN LEONARD 42 Amaryllis, Ag. Paraskevi, GR-15341 Athens [email protected]

 DUMEZIL, BRUNO (Hg.), Les Barbares, Paris: Presses universitaires de France, 2016. 1520 S., Abb. ISBN 9782130749851. Das hier zu besprechende Werk präsentiert sich als Hybrid zwischen Sammelband und Fachlexikon. Der Anspruch, den der Herausgeber, der Pariser Mediävist BRUNO DUMÉZIL, und die übrigen 141 Beiträger mit dem Buch verfolgen, ist weit gesteckt: ‘Tout autant introduction historique que dictionnaire exhaustif, cet ouvrage explore, depuis l’Antiquité jusqu’à nos jours, trois mille ans d’histoire de la barbarie.’ Auf (inklusive Vorwort) insgesamt 1510 Seiten wird der Versuch unternommen, dem Ziel mithilfe eines zweigliedrigen Aufbaus nachzukommen.

I. Sammelbände mit übergreifender Thematik

251

Der erste, erheblich kürzere der beiden Teile stellt eine Reihe von fünf chronologisch angeordneten Einführungstexten zur Geschichte der Vorstellungen von Barbaren und Barbarei im Mittelmeerraum und in Europa dar. CHARLOTTE LEROUGECOHEN bietet mit Les conceptions grecques (S. 1–20) eine Übersicht zur diesbezüglichen griechischen (bzw. in griechischer Sprache überlieferten) Geistesgeschichte von Homer bis in die Hohe Kaiserzeit. Daran schließt sich das Kapitel Rome et les barbares : des origines (753 av. J.-C.) à l’apogée de l’Empire von LIZA MÉRY an, das grob denselben Zeitraum für die römisch-lateinische Tradition abdeckt (S. 21–41). Die Kapitel drei und vier (L’Antiquité tardive, discours et réalité des ‘Grandes Invasions’ (S. 43–65) und Le Moyen Âge ou l’éloignement de la barbarie (S. 67–87)) stammen dann aus der Feder des Herausgebers. Entsprechend dem Zuschnitt der vorangehenden Kapitel lässt DUMÉZIL die Spätantike im ersten der beiden Texte bereits mit dem 3. Jh. n. Chr. und der ‘Soldatenkaiserzeit’ beginnen, während der Endpunkt ganz traditionell auf 476 n. Chr. mit der Absetzung des Romulus ‘Augustulus’ gesetzt wird. Das zweite dieser beiden Kapitel behandelt dann mittelalterliche Vorstellungen von Barbaren und Barbarei, wobei nicht nur der europäische, sondern auch der byzantinische und der arabisch-islamische Raum Beachtung finden (letzteres Teilkapitel stammt aus der Feder von DANIEL KÖNIG). Der Schwerpunkt liegt hier wesentlich auf der Zeit vom Früh- bis ins Hochmittelalter. Geschlossen wird die Reihe dann von SYLVIE JOYE, die mit dem Kapitel Représentations modernes et contemporaines : barbares redécouverts, barbarie réinventée (S. 89–116; mit Beiträgen von ADRIEN BAYARD und WILLIAM BLANC) den Bogen von der Renaissance bis in die Gegenwart spannt. Den zweiten Teil und das eigentliche Herzstück des Buches stellt dann das enzyklopädische ‘Corpus’ dar (S. 133–1425), das von einer Übersicht der verzeichneten Artikel (S. 117–32) und dem Anhang (ab S. 1427, s.u.) eingerahmt wird. In 518 einzelnen Artikeln von Abrittus bis Zoroastre werden darin in offenbar möglichst großer Breite Themen behandelt, die sich direkt oder indirekt auf Vorstellungen von Barbarentum beziehen. Der chronologische Rahmen, der damit abgedeckt wird, entspricht dem der Einführungskapitel, sodass etwa ein Eintrag zu Homer (MARIE-JOSÉPHINE WERLINGS, S. 742–4) ebenso zu finden ist wie einer zu Traian (LIZA MÉRY, S. 1324–7), einer zu Beowulf (ALBAN GAUTIER, S. 305–8) ebenso besteht wie einer zu Montaigne (SYLVIE JOYE, S. 931–3) und dem deutschen Archäologen GUSTAV KOSSINNA (AGNÈS GRACEFFA, S. 835–6) gleichermaßen ein Artikel gewidmet ist wie der Serie ‘Game of Thrones’ (WILLIAM BLANC, S. 618–9). Grundsätzlich umfassen die Lemmata Personen, Plätze bzw. Orte und Siedlungen, Ereignisse, künstlerische Werke (im weitesten Sinne), aber auch Abstrakta (bspw. Décadence von AGNÈS GRACEFFA, S. 496–9). Jeder der Artikel bietet dabei an seinem Ende knappe weiterführende bibliographische Hinweise sowie Querverweise auf andere Lemmata mit thematischer Verbindung. Abgeschlossen wird das Buch durch einen recht umfänglichen Anhang. Darin zu finden ist zunächst eine thematisch geordnete und übersichtlich gegliederte Auswahlbibliographie, die chronologisch wie sachlich die Gegenstände des Buches abdeckt. Verweise etwa auf Darstellungen zu griechischen Konzepten von Barbarei sind darin ebenso enthalten wie solche zu einzelnen ‘barbarischen‘ Völkerschaften

252

Buchbesprechungen

oder zur modernen geschichtswissenschaftlichen Modellbildung. Sodann folgt eine Zeittafel mit ausgewählten Ereignissen und Daten zur Geschichte der (Vorstellungen von) Barbarei (S. 1437–40), die von Homer, der hier mit der Abfassung seiner Epen auf etwa 800 v. Chr. gesetzt wird, bis zur Veröffentlichung des Films ‘Conan der Barbar’ (1982) reicht. Im Anschluss daran finden sich sieben historische Karten zur Ereignisgeschichte des Mittelmeerraums und Europas, die den Zeitraum von etwa 1300 v. Chr. bis 1000 n. Chr. behandeln (S. 1443–9). Eine Übersicht der Beiträger des Bandes (S. 1451–4) sowie ein Register, das als bloßer ‘Index des noms’ die im Band erwähnten Personen und übernatürlichen sowie fiktiven Wesenheiten aufführt (S. 1455–93), runden scheinbar den Inhalt des Buches ab – ‘scheinbar’, weil mit Illustration de couverture : Le barbare dans l’art du XIXe siècle anschließend etwas überraschend noch ein Beitrag folgt (S. 1495–8), der weder im Inhaltsverzeichnis aufgeführt ist noch eine Pagination oder einen Hinweis auf seine Autorenschaft bietet, der aber zugleich ganz nach dem Muster der lexikalischen Artikel im Hauptteil des Buches gestaltet ist (inklusive bibliographischer Angaben). Sowohl die einführenden Kapitel als auch die im ‘Corpus’ versammelten Lemmata sind grundsätzlich von hoher inhaltlicher Qualität und ansprechend lektoriert. Weit überwiegend waren die Beiträger des Bandes bereits zuvor im Forschungsfeld ‘Barbarentum’ profiliert, 1 was sich auch darin widerspiegelt, dass sich sowohl Kapitel als auch Artikel im Wesentlichen nahe am Stand der Forschung bewegen. Die anhängende Bibliographie ist sehr knapp, aber prägnant gestaltet und verweist auf einschlägige Titel. Indes ließe sich gerade wegen der Kürze der Liste sicher Ergänzenswertes hinzusetzen, so etwa die ‘klassische’ Studie zu Primitivism and Related Ideas in Antiquity von A. O. LOVEJOY und G. BOAS oder die neuere Monographie von K. VLASSOPOULOS zu griechischen Barbarenbildern der Antike. 2 Auch am Kartenanhang ließe sich Kritik üben: Die enthaltenen Abbildungen sind sämtlich sehr grob und schematisch gehalten, sodass sie allenfalls dazu geeignet sind, eine allgemeine Vorstellung von den geographischen Dimensionen der behandelten Themen zu vermitteln – allein, zu mehr waren sie vermutlich auch nie bestimmt. Ähnlich ambivalent wirkt auch der reine Index des noms. Zweifellos hätte ein umfassenderes Register, das etwa Plätze, Orte, Ereignisse und Abstrakta mit aufgeführt hätte, zur leichteren Benutzbarkeit des Buches beigetragen.

1

2

Dies sei am Beispiel der Einführungskapitel verdeutlicht: Sämtliche Autoren derselben können auf frühere, auch monographische Publikationen verweisen, die sich auf thematisch wenigstens eng mit dem Spektrum des vorliegenden Bandes und speziell der je eigenen Beiträge verwandte Gegenstände beziehen – die einzige Ausnahme stellt dabei die Mediävistin SYLVIE JOYE mit ihrem Beitrag zur Geschichte der Vorstellungen von Barbarentum bis in die Gegenwart dar; auch JOYE kann aber vorherige Publikationen zu mittelalterlichen Barbarenbildern vorweisen. A. O. LOVEJOY / G. BOAS, Primitivism and Related Ideas in Antiquity, with supplementary essays by W. F. ALBRIGHT and P. E. DUMONT, Baltimore 1997 (Originalausgabe 1935); K. VLASSOPOULOS, Greeks and Barbarians, Cambridge 2013.

I. Sammelbände mit übergreifender Thematik

253

Handfestere Kritik ist allerdings in einer anderen Hinsicht angebracht – denn es stellt sich die Frage, für welche Zielgruppe ein Werk wie das vorliegende denn eigentlich gedacht und gemacht ist. Sowohl die Einführungskapitel als auch die lexikalischen Artikel sind unter weitgehendem Verzicht auf Fuß- oder Endnoten oder anderweitige spezifische Belege gestaltet. Stattdessen werden Referenzen auf einschlägige Quellen oder Forschungsarbeiten in den meisten Lemmata entweder gar nicht oder in völlig allgemeiner und daher kaum weiterführender Weise angegeben, 3 und auch die sämtlichen Artikeln nachgestellten pauschalen Literaturhinweise vermögen dies nicht wesentlich zu heilen. In diesem Sinne genügt das Werk aber letzten Endes nicht wissenschaftlichen Standards und kann daher auch nur eingeschränkt als zitierfähig gelten. Damit stellt es leider trotz seiner Qualitäten kein erstrangiges Instrument für Fachwissenschaftler dar. Für interessierte Laien hingegen mögen gerade die hohe inhaltliche Qualität und das korrespondierende sprachliche Niveau indes mehr Hürde als Vorzug sein. Es ließe sich also sagen, dass das Buch in inhaltlicher und sprachlicher Hinsicht auf ein Fachpublikum, bezüglich der formalen Gestaltung hingegen auf interessierte Laien abzuzielen scheint – und schlimmstenfalls werden beide Lesergruppen letztlich nur eingeschränkt zufriedengestellt sein. Dennoch verdient Les Barbares schlussendlich ein positives Urteil – denn auch wenn für fachwissenschaftliche Zwecke hinsichtlich der direkten Verwertbarkeit gewisse Abstriche zu machen sind, handelt es sich doch aufgrund der Aktualität, der thematischen Ausrichtung und Zuspitzung und der allgemeinen Qualität um ein empfehlenswertes Nachschlagewerk, das künftig für all jene mit Gewinn zu konsultieren sein wird, die zu Themen arbeiten, die in Verbindung mit Vorstellungen ‘vom Barbaren’ stehen. JONAS SCHERR Universität Stuttgart, Historisches Institut, Abt. Alte Geschichte Keplerstr. 17, D-70174 Stuttgart [email protected]

 BRICE, LEE L. / SLOOTJES, DANIËLLE (eds): Aspects of Ancient Institutions and Geography: Studies in Honor of Richard J. A. Talbert, Leiden: Brill 2015. 354 S., 10 Abb., 7 Karten. ISBN 9789004283718. (Impact of Empire: Roman Empire, c. 200 B.C.–A.D. 476, 19). Wenn man zentrale kartographische Werke zur Historischen Geographie der Alten Welt wie HEINRICH KIEPERTS Formae Orbis Antiqui, die Tabula Imperii Romani (TIR), die Tabula Imperii Byzantini (TIB) oder den Tübinger Atlas des Vorderen

3

In einzelnen Artikeln werden aber immerhin auf Sachaussagen bezogene, spezifische Referezen auf literarische Quellenstellen angebracht, so etwa im Artikel Hérodote (J. ALAUX, (S. 724–8); ein Beispiel für einen völlig beleglosen Artikel stellt etwa Héraclès von A. VERBANCKPIÉRARD dar (S. 717–20).

254

Buchbesprechungen

Orients (TAVO) vor sich Revue passieren lässt, kommt man schließlich am Barrington Atlas of the Greek and Roman World nicht vorbei, diesem eindrucksvollen an modernen Ansprüchen wissenschaftlicher Kartographie orientierten topographischen Atlas der Alten Welt. Das monumentale Werk entstand unter der Leitung von RICHARD J. A. TALBERT, zu dessen 70. Geburtstag diese Festschrift erschienen ist. Der Jubilar hat zuvor bereits wichtige Arbeiten aus verschiedenen altertumswissenschaftlichen Bereichen veröffentlicht, was schon die diesem Band vorausgestellte Cumulative Bibliography (S. 12–25) vor Augen führt. Unbestreitbar gilt sein Hauptinteresse aber doch der Kartographie der Alten Welt, der er sich nach Ausweis seiner Publikationen spätestens seit 1985 intensiver widmete. Folgerichtig gilt diesem Thema in der Festschrift mit ihren insgesamt 18 Beiträgen namhafter Wissenschaftlerinnen und Wissenschaftler der Hauptanteil mit acht Abhandlungen; sie finden sich im zweiten Teil der Inhaltsgliederung, während der erste Teil der römischen Institutionengeschichte vorbehalten ist. Hier werden diese Beiträge sinngemäß in der umgekehrten Reihenfolge vorgestellt. CHERYL L. GOLDEN, The Geography of Thucydides (S. 199–215): Thukydides befasst sich bekanntlich konsequent mit politischem Geschehen, bezieht also andere Bereiche wie etwa geographische Aspekte in seine Darstellung nur ein, wo sie zur Klärung politischer Tatbestände beitragen. So macht die Autorin im thukydideischen Bericht mehrere geographische Passagen ausfindig, mit denen der Historiker beispielsweise für den Sizilienfeldzug geographische Gesichtspunkte zur Erklärung der Erwartungen des Volks von Athen nutzbar macht. FRED S. NAIDEN, An Anatolian Itinerary, 334–333 BC (S. 216–34): Der Autor verfolgt mit verschiedenen Kommentaren den verschlungenen Weg, auf dem Alexander III. sein Heer durch Kleinasien führte, und macht deutlich, wie sich auf diesem Teil seines Feldzugs wichtige Einsichten in das Land und seine Kommunikationsmöglichkeiten gewinnen ließen. MARY T. BOATWRIGHT, Visualizing Empire in Imperial Rome (S. 235–59): Am Beispiel von sieben Monumenten in der Umgebung der Porticus Vipsania (dem Catabulum, dem Claudius-Bogen, dem Hadrians-Tempel samt Eingangs-Bogen, dem Arcus Novus bzw. Diokletians-Bogen, der Marcus-Säule und der TiridatesStatue) soll diese städtische Topographie den weltweiten Herrschaftsanspruch Roms versinnbildlichen; eine besonders methodisch anregende These. BRIAN TURNER, The Provinces and Worldview of Velleius Paterculus (S. 260– 79): Seine militärische Karriere führte Velleius Paterculus von Germanien nach Mesopotamien. Seine kurz gefasste ‘Römische Geschichte’ enthält zwei geographische Exkurse (1,14–15; 2,38–40), deren geographische Grundlagen und literarischer Zweck hier analysiert werden. JERZY LINDERSKI, Litterae Datae Blandenone: A Letter in Search of a Posting Address (S. 280–97): In diesem Beitrag geht es um die Korrektur einer Passage eines Briefs Ciceros an seinen Bruder (Cic. ad Q. fr. 2,14,1), an der scheinbar der Name einer nicht lokalisierten Ortschaft Blandeno (hier im Lokativ Blandenone) überliefert ist. Der Autor verbessert mit viel Phantasie und guten Argumenten den überlieferten Text zu ab Laude ad Nonum (‘die Strecke von Laus Pompeia nach Ad Nonum’, in Richtung Mediolanum).

I. Sammelbände mit übergreifender Thematik

255

GEORGE W. HOUSTON, Using Sundials (S. 298–313): Literarisch und archäologisch gestützte Beschreibung von Aussehen, Funktionsweise und Gebrauch römerzeitlicher Sonnenuhren im öffentlichen Bereich. Liste von 16 inschriftlich nachgewiesenen öffentlichen Sonnenuhren. JOHN F. DONAHUE, The Healing Springs of Latium and Etruria (S. 314–32): Die Römer schätzten Heilbäder jeder Badetemperatur sehr, was deren von Ärzten bestätigte Heilkraft, aber auch ihre religiöse Attraktivität betraf. Liste der 17 sicher nachgewiesenen Heilbäder in Etruria und Latium. MICHAEL MAAS, The Shaping Hand of the Environment: Three Phases of Development in Classical Antiquity (S. 333–44): Der Autor befasst sich mit dem Thema des Umweltdeterminismus in der Antike vom Hellenismus bis in die Spätantike. Er stellt dabei drei Entwicklungsphasen fest – von der theoretischen Befassung in Klassik und Hellenismus (Hippokrates, Polybios) über das Aufkommen einer Theorie, nach der das Römische Reich Umweltzwänge in einem zivilisatorischen Prozess überwinden könnte (Vitruv, Strabon), bis hin zum christlichen Glauben, in dem sich beide Pole miteinander verbinden (Prokop, Ps.-Caesarius). Themen, die sich an institutionengeschichtlichen Interessen des Jubilars orientieren, stehen im Mittelpunkt der folgenden Beiträge. PHILIP A. STADTER, Plutarchan Prosopography: The Cursus Honorum (S. 29– 47): Den Autor interessiert hier die Frage, wie Plutarch die für den Griechen eigentlich unverständlichen politischen Karrieren seiner 21 römischen Titelfiguren seinem griechischen Publikum verständlich zu machen versucht (vgl. deren auschlussreiche Auflistung samt Missverständnissen und Fehlern des Biographen, S. 43–5). JONATHAN SCOTT PERRY, The Lex Julia de Senatu Habendo: A View from the 1930s (S. 48–64): Man kann verschiedener Meinung sein über die Kommensurabilität antiker Verhältnisse zu bestimmten modernen Entwicklungen – ob überhaupt, und wenn, wie. Dieser Beitrag will in der Diskussion mit Arbeiten von SYME und TALBERT dazu ermutigen und ihre Praktikabilität erweisen. LEANNE BABLITZ, Tacitus on Trial(s) (S. 65–83): Tacitus lässt sich wie jeder antike Historiograph in seinem gesamten Werk und so auch in den Annalen von eigenen Vorstellungen und Absichten leiten – also auch bei der Darstellung von Senatsgerichtsprozessen. SARAH E. BOND, Curial Communiqué: Memory, Propaganda, and the Roman Senate House (S. 84–102): Die Autorin handelt hier von Neubau und Renovierung öffentlicher Gebäude als wesentlicher Elemente von Herrschaftsarchitektur, exemplarisch vorgeführt anhand der Curia Hostilia bzw. Cornelia bzw. Iulia von Tullus Hostilius über Sulla, Caesar und Augustus bis Diokletian, Theoderich, Papst Honorius I. und Mussolini. LEE L. BRICE, Second Chance for Valor: Restoration of Order After Mutinies and Indiscipline (S. 103–21): Mithilfe mehrerer historischer Fälle erläutert der Autor seine spezielle Definition von seditio – bei Placentia 49 v. Chr. unter Caesar, bei Brundisium 44 v. Chr. unter Octavian, im Illyricum bzw. in Italien 34/33 v. Chr. unter Octavian und am Niederrhein 14 n. Chr. unter Germanicus. Anhand seiner Analysen kommt er zu dem Schluss, dass derartige Fälle von Meuterei nicht not-

256

Buchbesprechungen

wendig zu einem Staatsnotstand führen mussten, es sei denn, die jeweiligen Befehlshaber wären unfähig gewesen, auf die Anforderungen der jeweiligen Situationen angemessen zu reagieren. GARRETT G. FAGAN, Training Gladiators: Life in the Ludus (S. 122–44): Dem Rätsel, wie Männer in ludi gladiatorii zusammen leben und gemeinsam einüben konnten, sich gegenseitig umzubringen, kommt der Autor nicht näher. Möglicher Weise hätte ihn die Erwägung, dass der Sinn von munera nicht der Tod des Gegners, sondern der gefahrvolle Kampf war, einer Antwort näher gebracht. Immerhin eine nützliche Übersicht über das Gladiatorenwesen. WERNER ECK, Statuenehrungen als Zeugnis für den Einfluss römischer Amtsträger im Leben einer Provinz (S. 145–60): Die Autorität von Provinzialstatthaltern bei den Provinzialen ging auch in der Kaiserzeit weit über deren amtliche Kompetenzen hinaus, was neben einigen literarischen Quellen auch die zahlreichen Statuen bezeugen, die man nicht ohne inschriftliche Angabe des Dedikantennamens in der Öffentlichkeit aufstellen ließ. CHRISTOPHER J. FUHRMANN, Dio Chrysostom as a Local Politician: A Critical Reappraisal (S. 161–76): Im Gegensatz zur allgemeinen Forschungsmeinung zeichnet der Autor ein ausgesprochen unvorteilhaftes Bild von Dion Chrysostomos als einem ‘corrupt, manipulative, and sometimes hypocritical bully’ (S. 162) – worüber seine unbestreitbaren rhetorischen Fähigkeiten nicht hinwegtäuschen sollten. Doch rät der Autor schließlich selbst zu fragen, inwiefern solche Machenschaften wie die eines Dion und der Gesellschaft von Prusa nicht auch in anderen Provinzialstädten üblich waren. DANIËLLE SLOOTJES, Late Antique Administrative Structures: On the Meaning of Dioceses and their Borders in the Fourth Century AD (S. 177–95): Die Autorin berührt mit ihrem Beitrag einen großen Bereich der spätantiken Verwaltungsgeschichte und will damit Hinweise für die weitere Erforschung des Wesens der dioeceses sowie der provinciae und praefecturae geben. Am Beispiel der dioecesis Asiana wird methodisch die Entstehung einer dioecesis vorgeführt. Dagegen erbrachte der sorgfältig angelegte Versuch, das Itinerarium Burdigalense, das Itinerarium Egeriae und die Expositio totius mundi et gentium für die Klärung der Dioecesangrenzen zu nutzen, zwar direkt nichts, aber auch hier mag auf der Basis anderer Quellen der methodisch gebotene Weg vorgezeichnet sein. Dieser von seinem engeren Freundeskreis gebundene bunte Strauß von Beiträgen gibt kaum eine angemessene Vorstellung von der Hochachtung und Zuneigung, die RICHARD TALBERT in aller Welt genießt. Man kann nur wünschen, dass ihm und der Altertumswissenschaft noch viele Jahre so erfolgreichen Schaffens und Wirkens bestimmt sind. ECKART OLSHAUSEN Mühlweg 6, D-72414 Rangendingen [email protected]

I. Sammelbände mit übergreifender Thematik

257

 ORFILA PONS, M. / CHAVEZ ÁLVAREZ, M. E. / SANCHEZ LOPEZ, E. H. (Hgg.): La orientación de las estructuras ortogonales de nueva planta en época romana. De la varatio y sus variaciones, Granada: Universidad de Granada 2014. 220 S., Abb. ISBN 9788433856883. Die ‘Monotonisierung der Welt’, die STEFAN ZWEIG in den 20er Jahren des 20. Jahrhunderts konstatiert hatte, bedurfte nicht einmal mehr ihrer ‘Amerikanisierung’. Im Prinzip zeigte sie sich bereits im 1. Jh. n. Chr. – als Resultat der Realisierung des ‘Roman Way of Life’: in der Uniformität römischer Stadtbilder, der Gleichförmigkeit der äußeren Lebensformen und der Einheitlichkeit kultureller Praktiken im Mittelmeerraum und darüber hinaus. Städte wie Augusta Emerita (Mérida) im Südwesten der Iberischen Halbinsel oder Augusta Praetoria (Aosta) in den mittleren Westalpen auf der Apennin-Halbinsel zeigten, wie Rom unter Augustus Regelhaftigkeit monumental in Szene setzte: durch ein orthogonales Straßensystem, zentrale, dominierende Heiligtümer, aufwendige, hoch aufragende Theaterbauten und nicht zuletzt solide Befestigungsanlagen. Der Weg durch das prunkvolle Haupttor führte in beiden Städten über Straßen mit Säulenreihen auf eine Platzanlage, deren Gestaltung den Tempel im Zentrum betont. An jeweils exponierter Stelle befanden sich die beiden großen Theaterbauten, die massiv und hoch gebaut auch über die Stadtmauer und die Häuser der Stadt hinweg nach außen gewirkt haben müssen. Die neue Lebensqualität der römischen Stadt spiegelte sich aber auch in der Wasserversorgung und Wasserentsorgung: in Aquädukten, Brunnenbauten, Thermenanlagen, in der Hausversorgung und in den Entwässerungskanälen. Derart attraktiv stellten sich diese ‘Vorposten’ und ‘Bollwerke’ Roms dar (Cic. Font. 13: specula populi Romani ac propugnaculum), dass sich die jeweilige lokale Bevölkerung in die lokale und regionale Verwaltung und damit in die politische Organisation der Stadt und Provinz integrierte. Der Zeitgenosse Strabo bezeichnete daher die Turduler der keltischen Baeturia, die den römischen Lebensstil so bereitwillig annahmen, dass sie nur innerhalb einer Generation sogar ihre eigene Sprache vergaßen, als togati. Die Städte der Balearen entwickelten sich trotz ihrer ‘Insellage’ – wie FERNAND BRAUDEL so treffend formuliert hat – hinsichtlich Urbanistik und Gesellschaftsstruktur im Gleichklang mit Städten wie diesen im Imperium Romanum. So hatte Rom Palma (Palma de Mallorca) im Westen und Pollentia (Alcudia) im Nordosten der größeren Baleareninsel Mallorca nach der ‘Bezwingung’ der Inseln durch Quintus Caecilius Metellus am Ende des 2. Jahrhunderts v. Chr. aus strategischen Erwägungen angelegt. Spätestens seit Nero ließ es sich hier wie auch in Guius/-um, Tucis und Bocchorus (Pedret de Bóquer, Port de Pollença) oder in Iamo (Ciutadella), Sanisera (Sanitja) und Mago (Maó) auf Menorca Dank der üblichen Elemente römischer Infrastruktur (Stadtmauern, Hafenanlagen, orthogonales Straßensystem, Aquädukte) und Stadtarchitektur (Platzanlagen mit curia, Basilika und tabernae; Tempelbauten, Theater, Thermen) ‘genussreich und behaglich’ leben (Tac. ann. 13,43,5). Es gab schlimmere Orte, an die man im Imperium Romanum verbannt werden konnte – immerhin dieser Trost blieb dem Senator Publius Suillius, dem seine Feindschaft zu Seneca dieses Schicksal eingetragen hatte.

258

Buchbesprechungen

Unter den Städten der Balearen fiel insbesondere die Hafenstadt Pollentia – ursprünglich als Garnison konzipiert, die die Kontrolle nicht nur der Nordostküste Mallorcas, sondern zudem der Schiffsroute nach Menorca erlaubte – durch ihre orthogonale und mithin modellhaft scheinende Anlage auf. Diese Tatsache nahmen Archäologen und Architekten unter der Leitung von MARGARITA ORFILA PONS (Universidad de Granada) zum Anlass, nach dem Ursprung der Orthogonalität zu fragen: Ihre Antworten liegen jetzt in Form der Abschlusspublikation des über einen Zeitraum von drei Jahren (2010–2013) vom spanischen Wissenschaftsministerium geförderten internationalen Projektes ‘Un sistema para orientar y trazar las estructuras ortogonales de época romana. Su identificación en Pollentia, su aplicación en otros yacimientos (SOTOER)’ vor. Ausgehend von der Prämisse, dass bei der Neugründung einer römischen Stadt – die die kosmische Ordnung, welche ihre Dauerhaftigkeit garantierte, als ‘Mikrokosmos’ zu spiegeln hatte – nichts zufällig geschah, suchte man neben den Kriterien, die die Auswahl des Ortes bestimmt hatten (Orographie, Wasserversorgung, etc.), den zentralen Messpunkt auszumachen, von dem die Stadtanlage aus konzipiert worden war. Denn – so die These – hätte man erst diesen locus gromae gefunden, dann ergäbe sich die Möglichkeit, von dort aus auf die Standorte der öffentlichen Bauten Pollentias zu schließen. Grundsätzlich lag er im Zentrum des zu vermessenden Geländes; denn mit Hilfe der groma pflegten die Feldmesser ein Koordinatensystem einzurichten, dessen senkrecht orientierte Hauptachse – die OstWest-Achse – sie als decumanus maximus und dessen zentrale waagerechte Achse – die Nord-Süd-Achse – sie als cardo maximus bezeichneten. Diese schnitten sich rechtwinklig im Vermessungszentrum. Parallel dazu wurden sodann weitere Linien gezogen, um eine Unterteilung in regelmäßige Flächeneinheiten zu gewährleisten, die von den Hauptachsen fortlaufend gezählt wurden. So erfolgte die Strukturierung des Territoriums in Quadranten rechts und links des decumanus respektive diesseits und jenseits des cardo. Doch entgegen des römischen Anspruchs, dass die Vermessung die kosmische Ordnung zu spiegeln habe, richtete man die Orientierungsachsen häufig nach den topographischen Gegebenheiten und mithin unabhängig von den Haupthimmelsrichtungen aus. Dann musste die Berechnung der Ausrichtung mit Hilfe rechtwinkliger Dreiecke von einer Referenzlinie – für gewöhnlich dem Meridian – aus erfolgen; diese Technik ist als so genannte varatio aus den Schriften des Agrimensors Marcus Iunius Nipsus bekannt. So auch in Pollentia. Dem Kapitol gegenüber fand sich eine bauliche Struktur in Form eines Rechtecks von 12x18 römischen Fuß – das ‘edículo pollentino’ – das die unterschiedlichsten Deutungen erfahren hatte: als Basis einer Reiterstatue, einer rostra oder auch als auguraculum, da es sich in der adäquaten Entfernung zu den Kardinalpunkten befände. Dann postulierte man, hier den locus gromae gefunden zu haben, bis man feststellte, dass die Ausrichtung nach Norden fehlte. Und schließlich stellte sich heraus, dass die geometrische Figur, die sich in die Struktur einzeichnen ließ, in ihrer Ausrichtung den restlichen Bauten von Pollentia entsprach. Damit war die Neugierde endgültig geweckt und die Projektmitglieder wandten sich der experimentellen Archäologie zu: Ein Gnomon wurde angefertigt und in Pollentia sowie einer Reihe weiterer Städte wurden die entsprechenden Messungen

II. Monographien mit übergreifender Thematik

259

nachvollzogen. Dortselbst hatte man die varatio praktiziert und die Fallstudien – Clunia (Burgos), Italica (Nova Urbs, Vetus Urbs)(Sevilla), Sanisera (Menorca, Balearen), Valeria (Cuenca), Puente Tablas (Jaén) – zeigten, dass die römischen Feldmesser offensichtlich pragmatisch vorgingen und einer Ausrichtung der Stadtanlage an den natürlichen Gegebenheiten, nicht aber an den Himmelsrichtungen den Vorzug gaben. Das Buch leistet mithin einen wichtigen Beitrag zur Erforschung des römischen Städtewesens; die Autorinnen führen am Beispiel von Pollentia mustergültig vor, inwiefern geometrische Äquivalenzen die Anlage der zentralen Bauten einer Stadt bestimmten, denn man war zwar pragmatisch, überließ aber trotzdem nichts dem Zufall. Ihm zog man die Monotonie vor. Ihre Leserschaft stellen sie allerdings auf eine harte Probe: Einen umfassenden Einblick in dieses Charakteristikum römischer Stadtanlagen gewinnt nur, wer bereit ist, sich auf seitenlange geometrische Berechnungen einzulassen. Diese Geduld – so steht zu befürchten – werden nur wenige aufbringen. SABINE PANZRAM Universität Hamburg, D-22297 Hamburg [email protected]

II. MONOGRAPHIEN MIT ÜBERGREIFENDER THEMATIK  HANSON, J. W: An Urban Geography of the Roman World, 100 BC to AD 300, Oxford: Archaeopress 2016. (Archaeopress Roman Archaeology 18). 817 p., ill. ISBN 9781784914721. This sizable book is a revised version of the author’s Ph.D. dissertation defended at Oxford. Its aim is to ‘bring the discussion of the urbanism of the Roman world into line with the type of work done in studies of the urban geography and urban history of other places or periods’ (p. 6). The scope of the book is broad: it sets out to study the whole Roman Empire over a period covering 100 BCE to 300 CE. In addition, it aims to link the debates on Romanurbanism with the debates on urbanism in other periods and places, a very ambitious plan. But HANSON has to be complimented for the sheer amount of work he has done collecting data on this subject. The book is divided into eight chapters dealing with different aspects of urbanism. The theory is found in two chapters. First, the Introduction gives the background of the discussion on urbanism and presents the definitions used in the study. Subsequently, in the third chapter, Numbers, Distributions and Change over Time (p. 33–48), HANSON introduces his source material. He shows himself to be sceptical of the classical sources: they cannot be trusted for their definitions of ‘urban’, whereas the Barrington Atlas and encyclopaedias are taken to be trustworthy sources. HANSON concludes that his total figure of 1388 cities represents the correct number of cities in the Roman Empire: it is ‘unlikely that many sites would have

260

Buchbesprechungen

been inappropriately included or excluded’ from his ‘comprehensive and consistent list of cities’ (p. 45). The remainder of the book consists of very short chapters treating subjects as monumentality, civic status and spatial patterns briefly. As such, the second chapter is a line-up of six theories on urbanism presented in six pages. The connection between the debate on Roman urbanism and other debates is absent: although both of these have been mentioned, separately, they are not brought together. In addition, the book appears less innovative than it claims to be, since only ideas which this reviewer would consider outdated are challenged. This is followed by an appendix of 145 figures. All are referred to in the main text, but the references are often given to an entire group of figures, in order to demonstrate a development over time. For instance, the development of the Roman urban system is shown for five different periods in three different ways: a simple geographical distribution, a heat map (in greyscale) and maps indicating change (figs. 50 to 63). On page 47, the author expresses his surprise that the Roman Empire had its peak of urban growth in the first century BC, an observation repeated in the conclusion (p. 97). However, this apparent ‘rise’ in the first century BC should be unsurprising. Firstly, when studying the development of an urban system by only looking at cities with ‘Roman’ monuments and ‘Roman’ civic status, the numbers increase in step with the extent of the territory conquered by the ‘Romans’. Secondly, the period of conquest started well before the first century BC; as this first map is dated well after the incorporation of several areas into the Roman sphere, a surge of ‘Roman’ cities on this map is to be expected. What follows is the catalogue of cities, taking up the larger part of the book. HANSON has collected 1388 sites which can be considered cities according to his definition, rather less than the canonical figure of 2000 cities (p. 33). A closer look is needed to verify this claim. For the three provinces of the Iberian Peninsula, a total of 127 cities have been recognized by HANSON, distributed as follows Baetica, 51; Citerior, 57; Lusitania, 19. This list cannot be considered complete. According to GALSTERER’s standard study of cities in the Iberian Peninsula, 1 the totals are Baetica, 90; Citerior, 75; Lusitania, 19. Obviously, the definition of ‘city’ is open to debate, and HANSON may be right to exclude some settlements; Complutum, however, should not have been omitted. Not only is this a city of some size – according to CARRERAS MONFORT, 2 it covered an area of 40 hectares – with a well-known archaeological record; it is also mentioned as a stipendiary oppidum by the elder Pliny (nat. 3.24). Furthermore, it has

1 2

HARTMUT GALSTERER, Untersuchungen zum römischen Städtewesen auf der iberischen Halbinsel, Berlin 1971. C. CARRERAS MONFORT, Nuevas tendencias y datos sobre la demografía romana en la Península Ibérica, Boletín del Seminario de Estudios de Arte y Arqueología 80 (2014), 53–82.

II. Monographien mit übergreifender Thematik

261

epigraphic evidence for magistracies and its assignment to the tribus Quirina, indicating that it was one of the Flavian municipia. 3 The omission of such important places raises doubts about the validity of HANSON’s criteria. On civic status, HANSON has missed the extensive debate on the grant of ius Latii by Vespasian and the subsequent municipalisation of the Iberian Peninsula, although he briefly mentions the fragments of the Flavian municipal laws found in the Iberian Peninsula (p. 82). As a result, he fails to identify the majority of municipia on the Iberian Peninsula. ANDREU PINTADO 2004 would have been a good starting point and work of reference. The selection of monumental buildings is rather ambitious. HANSON not only brings together the buildings often regarded as standard urban monuments, i.e., walls, baths, aqueducts, administrative buildings and buildings for spectacles, but includes other building types and monumental structures as well. His division of monuments into categories raises questions, especially as regards the ‘entertainment’ category. Were these buildings only used for recreation, as the author seems to assume? Interestingly, the categorization serves no function within the text or catalogue, other than stating how many buildings are found in each of these categories. A further problem is that in several cases we find monumentality mentioned for cities, though the sources are lacking. Taking the example of Pax Iulia, modernday Beja, the references to a possible amphitheatre, theatre and circus are not based on actual evidence, nor mentioned in the referenced secondary literature. It seems that the ‘significant monumentality’ of Pax Iulia is inferred from its colonial status and its function as conventus capital. From the sources most frequently cited in the catalogue: Brill’s Neue Pauly (2002), the Barrington Atlas (2000), the Princeton Encyclopedia of Classical Sites (1976) and A Dictionary of Greek and Roman Geography (1852–1857), it is clear that HANSON’S catalogue represents an update of the 20th century status quaestionis, though for some cities these data are complemented with publications on the specific sites or regions to which they belonged. Interestingly, HANSON misses the updated list of CARRERAS MONFORT published online in 2014 and the corrections offered by KEAY and EARL 4 in 2011 (in a volume to which HANSON himself contributed), indicating that the updating rarely extends into the 21st century. Furthermore, it is striking how many sites were only investigated by means of publications in English: for the Iberian dataset not one reference is to a publication in one of the languages of the Iberian Peninsula. Apart from the omissions, the bibliography and references would have benefited from additional editorial work and proofreading to avoid spelling mistakes in names of scholars and journals.

3 4

J. ANDREU PINTADO, Edictum, municipium y lex: Hispania en época flavia (69–96 d.C.). Oxford 2004, 151. S. KEAY / G. EARL, Towns and Territories in Roman Baetica, in A. BOWMAN / A. WILSON (eds), Settlement, Urbanization, and Population, Oxford 2011, 276–316.

262

Buchbesprechungen

Unfortunately, we must conclude that the book fails to meet its stated aim: to ‘bring the discussion of the urbanism of the Roman world into line with the type of work done in studies of the urban geography and urban history of other places or periods’ (p. 6). The study lacks an overall discussion of the different types of methodologies presented in the first two chapters. It merely mentions several different methods and debates on urbanism for other places and periods. Clearly, the Herculean task of investigating all urban settlements of the Roman Empire requires an effort that cannot be undertaken on an individual basis. As HANSON had already concluded before setting out to do his work, ‘it would not be possible to consult everything written on each and every one of these sites’ (p. 39). The linguistic challenges alone, posed by the number of languages used in academia within the boundaries of the former Roman Empire, makes it is impossible for one person to analyse all different debates and create a comprehensive and consistent list of cities for the whole Empire. Despite the major problems in the work, the sheer amount of work done should be applauded and hopefully it will stimulate other scholars to improve the catalogue to make it a reliable resource. PIETER HOUTEN Leiden University Doelensteeg 16, NL-2311 VL Leiden [email protected]

 ZACKOR, JUTTA: Alexander der Große auf mittelalterlichen Weltkarten: Alexander Macedo – domitor mundi? Berlin: Tectum Verlag 2013. 599 S., Abb. ISBN 978 3866245839. Auf 338 Textseiten zuzüglich einem aus fünf Exkursen bestehenden Anhang und einem mit 124 Kartendarstellungen beeindruckenden Abbildungsteil sucht sich die Verfasserin der gewählten Fragestellung zu nähern, inwieweit das Bild Alexanders der Großen das mittelalterliche Weltbild in Gestalt der mittelalterlichen mappae mundi prägte, die sie aus der Zeit vom 7. bis zum 17. Jh. zusammenträgt. Trotz des so dokumentierten Fleißes, nicht nur die Hauptlinien ihrer Argumentation, sondern auch viele Nebenaspekte detailliert zu thematisieren, ist ihr aber, dies sei hier schon einmal vorweggenommen, dabei vornehmlich aufgrund methodischer wie argumentativer Schwächen und der oft wenig stringenten Darstellung nur bedingter Erfolg beschieden. Dabei ist die Annäherung an die Themenstellung symptomatisch für die gesamte Arbeit, die sich weniger als analytisch geprägter Untersuchungsgang, sondern eher als kumulatives und assoziatives Verfahren erweist. So konstatiert die Verfasserin zunächst zwar das bemerkenswerte Interesse des Mittelalters an Alexander als einem heidnisch antiken Herrscher, selbst angesichts seiner Einbindung in die Heilsgeschichte (S. 19), doch fehlt eine einleitende systematische Betrachtung der postantiken Alexanderrezeption. Zumindest reichen der sehr knappe Forschungsüberblick (S. 18–9) und ein im weiteren Verlauf eingefügtes Kapitel über Ergänzende Quellen zum Wissen über Alexander (S. 88–98) zuzüglich einiger im

II. Monographien mit übergreifender Thematik

263

Untersuchungsgang immer wieder eingestreuter Einzelbeobachtungen (z.B. S. 123; 126; 135; 141…) vornehmlich aufgrund ihrer dezentralen Integration bei weitem nicht aus, um ein kohärentes Bild des Phänomens Alexander nach der Quellen- und Forschungslage zu entwickeln. Vielmehr konzentriert sich das Interesse der Verfasserin auf das grundlegende Konzept (Kap. I, S. 23–66) und die Inhalte einer mittelalterlichen Karte (Kap. II, S. 67–100). Dies meint jedoch nicht die Erschließung von Gestaltung und Kontext der gewählten Kartenbeispiele auf der Basis der aktuellen Forschungsergebnisse, sondern eine generalisierende Zusammenstellung mittelalterlicher terminologischer Definitionen über Geographie (S. 29–33), zur Gattung der mappa mundi (S. 33–43) und eine Interpretation der mappa mundi als Bild (S. 42–66). Letztere wird gegliedert hinsichtlich der Kriterien der didaktischen Motive bildlicher Darstellungen, Bilder/Karten für die illiterati und die litterati und die ‘Genealogien als Basis’, wohinter sich eine äußerst minimalistische Darstellung der Weltchronistik des Mittelalters verbirgt. Das Ergebnis dieser lediglich an der Oberfläche mittelalterlicher Kartographie kratzenden, 40 Seiten umfassenden Teiluntersuchung entspricht in seiner Belanglosigkeit dem gewählten Ansatz: ‘Zusammenfassend ist festzustellen: Die mappa mundi als Bild konnte sowohl die Funktion zu schmücken als auch zu belehren, zu erläutern und einzuprägen haben, wobei die Funktionen in verschiedenem Maße vertreten waren’ (S. 52). Ähnlich fruchtbar gestaltet sich die anschließende Diskussion der inhaltlichen Ausführung der mappae mundi. In diesem Kontext ist zunächst das hier präsentierte Verständnis des Mittelalter anzumerken, welches als eine 1000 Jahre umfassende, feststehende Einheit ohne Veränderungen und neue Implikationen erscheint; ähnlich undifferenziert scheint das eher im Forschungsstand des 19. Jh. fußende Verständnis mittelalterlicher Kartographie, als geprägt von einer statischen Konzeption und ebensolchen inhaltlichen Gestaltung der mappae mundi, die die Verfasserin vornehmlich in der Rezeption biblischer Inhalte verortet (S. 67–80). Daneben finden sich aber auch, beispielsweise im Abschnitt über die Erweiterung der biblischen Angaben (S. 80–100) mittels Anleihen aus heidnischem und ‘modernem’ Wissen (S. 83) höchst irritierende, da den Stand der kartographischen Forschung bewusst negierende Feststellungen wie die, dass, wiewohl keine antike Karte überliefert ist, die zeichnerischen Vorgaben römischer Karten dennoch Vorbild für die mittelalterlichen mappae mundi gewesen sein müssten, da ‘die ausführenden Mönche bzw. die späteren weltlichen Kartographen zu einer derartigen Darstellung nicht in der Lage gewesen sein konnten’, aus welchem Grund die Autorin ohne Beleg römische oder griechische Vorbilder reklamiert (S. 83). Desgleichen befremdlich, angesichts der vielen Untersuchungen zu Motiven, Intentionen und Kontextbindungen mittelalterlicher Karten (ARENTZEN, VON DEN BRINCKEN, EDSON…) ist die axiomatisch vorgetragene, allein theologisch motivierte und ausschließlich eschatologisch (hier (S. 65) genealogisch/chronologisch) konzipierte Zielrichtung jedes Kartenbildes (z.B. S. 52; 56; 65; 67); dem Faktum, dass es auch ganz anders gestaltete Karten wie die T-O-Karten (S. 55; 101), Zonen- oder auch Schemakarten in komputistischen oder dem Quadrivium zuzurechnenden Manuskripten existieren, wird zwar vereinzelt eingestreut Rechnung getragen (anschaulich z.B. S. 50–1), nicht

264

Buchbesprechungen

aber systematisch verfolgt oder gar für die Aufgabenstellung nutzbar gestaltet. Gerade an diesem Beispiel kann aber auch die sich häufig in Zirkelschlüssen oder aus Unkenntnis kartographischer Materialien in fehlerhaften Äußerungen verfangende Argumentation ZACKORS verdeutlicht werden. So sucht sie in unkritischer Rekursion auf die Definition SCAFIS, der als mappae mundi nur die Karten zulässt, die ein Paradies oder einen Verweis darauf wie die Paradiesflüsse aufweisen, sich eine hinlängliche Begründung für ihre Vorgehensweise zu verschaffen, da dann, in ihrer Interpretation, die meisten T-O-Karten und Zonenkarten keine mappae mundi seien, aber viele Portolankarten (S. 39). Ihr entgeht dabei zum einen, dass auch ein großer Teil der für die Abbildungsliste herangezogenen Karten (insbesondere des ausgehenden Mittelalters und der frühen Neuzeit) unter dieser Prämisse dann ebenfalls nicht für die Untersuchung zur Verfügung stehen. Zum anderen, und diese Kenntnislücke ist umso gravierender, wurden dergestalt viele Schemakarten aus dem 9.–12. Jh. sowohl in T-O als auch in Zonenform unzutreffend aus dem Untersuchungsgang getilgt, die durch einen Paradieseintrag oder die Paradiesflüsse gekennzeichnet sind (z.B. Einsiedeln SB 263, S. 182). Dies mag seine Ursache darin finden, dass zumindest der erste Teil der Untersuchung von einem speziellen Kartenbild dominiert und möglicherweise von diesem ausgehend – wie schon bei den Altvätern der historischen Kartographie MILLER und UHDEN – Rückschlüsse auf die gesamte Kartographie des Mittelalters gezogen werden: Die Ebstorfkarte, die im dritten Abschnitt für die Fragestellung ‘als strukturgebendes Beispiel’ herangezogen werden soll (S. 101–60). Die intensive Bezugnahme auf Alexander den Großen in diesem umfassendsten Exemplar der mittelalterlichen Großkarten ist indessen keine neue Entdeckung, sondern wurde gerade aufgrund der Vielfalt der Einträge bereits ausführlich thematisiert (z.B. HAHN-WOERNLE). ‘Innovativ‘ ist aber der von ZACKOR gewählte Ansatz, nach einer 17zeiligen (!) Reminiszenz zur enzyklopädischen Umschrift (S. 104) den Fokus zunächst allein auf das Christusbild (S. 105–16), das himmlische Jerusalem (S. 116–120) und das Paradies (S. 121–4) zu legen, um dann lediglich vor diesem Hintergrund die Alexandereinträge zu behandeln, die Orakelbäume (S. 124–29), die Prasier (S. 129–33), Gog und Magog (S. 133–7) sowie weitere Einträge, die möglicherweise mit Alexander in Verbindung gebracht werden können (S. 138–47). Man könnte eine solche direkte, mehr oder minder unkommentierte Gegenüberstellung der Analysebereiche Christus und Alexander als problematisch empfinden, würden nicht die doch sehr schlicht ausfallenden Ergebnisse deutlich machen, dass die dahinterstehende umfassende Problematik bezüglich des spätmittelalterlichen Geisteskontext hier nicht im Zentrum steht; vielmehr beschränkt sich ZACKOR auf die diesen Bereich beschließende Feststellung, dass ‘(…) die Texte bei der Christusfigur sehr Jerusalem- und endzeitorientiert sind. Es ist deshalb nur schlüssig, im Zentrum der Karte das Himmlische Jerusalem zu sehen’ (S. 115). Das Bindeglied zwischen Alexander und den Christusspezifischen Elementen der Karte ist lang bekannt und auch von ZACKOR zumindest in der Zusammenfassung präsentiert, die Heilsgeschichte, in die Alexander (S. 157) im mittelalterlichen Schrifttum seit dem 12. Jh. eingebettet wird.

II. Monographien mit übergreifender Thematik

265

Der fünfte Unterpunkt dieses Abschnitts soll in Vernachlässigung der Perspektive Alexanders grob die Grundthemen der Ebstorfkarte erörtern, für die Zackor die griechische Mythologie, biblische Orte und Begebenheiten, Fabelwesen-Thematik und Handel anführt, die sie auf 9 Seiten (S. 147–56) behandelt, indem immer wieder der Befund des 13. Jh. (z. B. S. 148; 158) mit den generellen Prämissen und Ausprägungen der Kartographie im frühen, hohen und späten Mittelalter gleichgesetzt wird. Dies ist methodisch umso gravierender, als von den hieraus entwickelten Leitfragen auch der Kriterienkatalog für die im nächsten Hauptteil vorgestellten Kartenbeispiele abgeleitet wird. Diese Liste der Kartenbeispiele bietet mit zwei Hauptkapiteln (IV. Auswertungskatalog, S. 162–274; V. Diskussion der Kartenauswertung, S. 275–335) vom Umfang her betrachtet den Hauptteil der Arbeit. Hier stellt die Verfasserin zunächst 96 Kartenbeispiele vor, die sie nach ‘Mappae mundi’ (Nr. 1–77) und ‘Spätere Karten’ (Nr. 78–99) differenziert, wobei das Jahr 1500 ohne wietere Reflexion die Zäsur markieren dürfte, da die Schedelsche Weltkarte und der Behaimglobus mit unter die mappae mundi gerechnet werden, wohingegen die Ptolemäus-Welt und Regionalkarten oder auch die Karte des Sebastian Münster zu den späteren kartographischen Beispiele zählen werden. All diese gewählten Exempel werden mittels des zuvor anhand der Ebstorfer Weltkarte erarbeiteten Kriterienkatalogs analysiert. Wiewohl die Verfasserin hier direkt mit den kartographischen Quellen arbeitet, so leidet auch dieses Kapitel unter konzeptionellen Mängeln. So ist der Kriterienkatalog selbst nicht immer eindeutig; so können Gog und Magog aufgrund ihrer Bindung an die Apokalypse auch ohne Verbindung zu Alexander in die Karte gelangen, wie auch die Säulen des Hercules/Gades ganz allgemein seit der Antike die Straße von Gibraltar markieren und somit als geographisches Standardmaterial zu bezeichnen sind. Dies räumt auch die Verfasserin (z.B. S. 138–9) ein, nutzt diese Bestandteile aber gleichwohl dennoch für den Alexandernachweis. Auch die Fabelwesen, möglicherweise ein Rudiment der Antipodendiskussion, die Nennung Indiens (z.B. S. 198–9) oder der gothia weisen keineswegs direkt auf Alexander. Dennoch werden sie auch in der Diskussion der Kartenauswertung allein unter diesem Aspekt betrachtet (S. 284–91). Des Weiteren muss man fragen, inwieweit es sinnvoll ist, ausführlich die frühmittelalterlichen Kartenbeispiele aus der Zeit vor der Wende vom 11./12. Jh. zu diskutieren und abzubilden, die, wie die Übersicht S. 271 sehr anschaulich demonstriert, nichts zur gewählten Fragestellung beitragen, was man in wenigen Sätzen hätte beschreiben können. Auch die breite Berücksichtigung der frühneuzeitlichen Kartentradition mit immerhin 19 Exemplaren von BLAEUW bis MERCATOR und ORTELIUS trägt außerhalb des Arguments, dass die heilsgeschichtliche Bedeutung Alexanders in den ‘späten Karten‘ zunehmend in Vergessenheit gerät, nichts zur Beantwortung der Themenstellung bei. Eine bessere Ausrichtung auf das Thema hätte es indes ermöglicht, alle relevanten Karten auch in Abbildung vorzuführen, deren Auslassung aus Kostengründen die Verfasserin selbst bedauert (S. 161). Gravierender für den wissenschaftlichen Ertrag der Studie ist aber die z.T. willkürliche Quellenauswahl durch die Autorin. So zitiert sie bei Kartengruppen, so aus dem reichen Fundus Sallustkarten (mehr als 60 überlieferte Exemplare), der Karten des Ranulph

266

Buchbesprechungen

von Higden (21 Exemplare) und der Beatuskarten nur einige, ohne ihre Auswahl zu begründen, die reiche Gruppe der Macrobiuskarten resp. Zonenkarten mit mehr als 150 überlieferten Exemplaren findet überhaupt keine Beachtung; der Verfasserin entgeht selbst der Zusammenhang mit den hierauf fußenden speziellen Exemplaren der Theodulfkarte (Nr. 14) und den Karten des Lambert von St-Omer (Nr. 18 und 19). Als Begründung hierfür kann die Adaption der Alexandertradition zumindest nicht als Motiv herangezogen werden, denn auch die beiden adaptierten Leipziger Sallustkarten (Nr. 12 und 13) aus dem frühen 11. Jh. erwähnen kein Rudiment der Alexandererzählung. Dass die Verfasserin das daraus resultierende Problem nicht realisiert, macht ihre Interpretation dieses Kapitels deutlich; so konstatiert sie (S. 591), dass zwei Drittel der untersuchten Karten eine direkte oder indirekte Alexanderreminiszenz aufwiesen (64 von 96 Karten) ohne sich bewusst zu machen, dass ihre Aussagen auf einer wenig reflektiert zusammengestellten Quellengrundlage fußen. Insofern besitzen die Diskussion der Kartenauswertung wie auch die erzielten Ergebnisse, die konsequent mit diesem quantifizierenden Argument arbeiten, keine allgemeine Geltung, sondern können allenfalls auf die behandelten 96 Karten bezogen werden. Innerhalb des fünften Kapitels findet sich dann, wenn auch knapp auf 4 Seiten unter der Überschrift Gedanken zu Alexander Macedo – domitor mundi (S. 327–31) erstmals weiterführende Darlegungen zur Themenstellung, die einleitend sicherlich weitaus besser platziert gewesen wären. Ergänzt werden diese Ausführungen durch fünf Exkurse, zu den biblischen Angaben für eine Weltkarte (1, S. 339–50), der Sequenz mappa dicitur forma auf der Ebstorfkarte (2, S. 350–4), den Pflanzen der Prasier auf der Ebstorfkarte (3, S. 355), Hic inclusit Dominus per magnum Alexandrum,… auf der Herefordkarte (4., S. 356) und arbor balsami id esr abor sicca auf der Herefordkarte (5., S. 356–9), worunter Materialen gefasst sind, die offenkundig im Hauptteil der Arbeit keinen Platz mehr gefunden haben. Insofern ist zusammenfassend festzuhalten, dass die Arbeit keine neuen Ergebnisse zeitigt, sondern lediglich noch einmal die bereits bekannten Beobachtungen sichert, dass seit dem 11./12 Jh. allmählich und im 13./14 Jh. verstärkt in den Großkarten die Alexandertradition Eingang in die mappae mundi findet, parallel durch das durch die Kreuzzüge intensivierten Interesse an fernen Regionen, erleichtert durch Alexanders Einbindung in den heilsgeschichtlichen Kontext. Man wird den Wert der Studie daher im reichen Abbildungsteil verorten können wie auch im verdienstvollen Bemühen, den interessanten Aspekt der Alexanderrezeption einmal mehr thematisiert zu haben. BRIGITTE ENGLISCH Historisches Institut, Fakultät 1 – Kulturwissenschaften Universität Paderborn Warburger Straße 100, D-33098 Paderborn [email protected]

II. Monographien mit übergreifender Thematik

267

 PALMA, P. / SANTHAKUMARAN, L. N.: Shipwrecks and Global ‘Worming’, Oxford: Archaeopress 2014. 62 p., ill. ISBN 9781784913151. Within marine environments, wood can be degraded by molluscan boring organisms, most commonly shipworm (teredo navalis), and also by piddocks, crustacean pill bugs and gribble. For wood-hulled ships, these organisms affect the integrity of planks, making them unseaworthy, and degrade the structures further once wrecked on the seabed. In this thin volume, P. PALMA and L. N. SANTHAKUMARAN aim to present historical evidence of these marine borer attacks, the steps taken to mitigate them, and summarize the archaeological investigations of these relating to shipwrecks. After a brief Introduction (p. 3–4), the historical knowledge of the dangers borers pose to wooden ships is outlined in the second chapter (p. 5–12). Shipworm is mentioned since Antiquity by playwrights, poets, kings and captains; the authors suggest here that the heavy losses of the Spanish Armada in 1588 might have been due to leaky ships rife with these organisms (p. 7). The chapter navigates around the globe and diachronically, concluding with a few historical solutions for preventing borer attack: sacrificial outer layers of wood planking, lead sheathing, copper nails, lime-paste and fish-oil. Chapter 3 describes the marine wood-boring organisms by family, their lifecycles and hence the scale of problems borers can cause (an expanded taxonomy comprises Appendices I–II). The references are dated, with more recent studies unfortunately not cited. 1 The ‘distribution’ of organisms in chapter 4 (p. 30–3) refers to depths of shipwreck finds with evidence of attack by borers – but the global extent is unclear and recent research discussing the important habitat factors of salinity and temperature are absent. Chapter 5 (p. 34–9) outlines how the organisms play a role in archaeological site formation processes once a ship begins to deteriorate on the seabed, with two wrecks in English waters – Mary Rose and the Swash Channel wreck – fleetingly exemplified as species distribution studies. Neither wreck is specifically located; an odd omission considering England’s lengthy coastline and exposure to three different marine systems – details that could benefit the reader’s knowledge. The concluding chapter might be informative, had clearer information been presented previously: shipworm distribution is noted as expanding northwards, but from where and to where remains imprecise. The authors state that archaeological wood should be monitored for distribution data – but no information is given as to

1

E.g., E. B. GARETH JONES / S. K. ELTRINGHAM (eds), Marine Borers, Fungi and Fouling organisms of wood: Proceedings of the OECD Workshop organised by the Committee Investigating the preservation of Wood in the Marine Environment, Paris 1971; C. GJELSTRUP BJÖRDAL / D. GREGORY (eds), Wreck Protect: Decay and protection of archaeological wooden shipwrecks, Oxford 2011.

268

Buchbesprechungen

how this could be done, and recent research focused on just this, aside from the MoSS Project, 2 is not referenced. 3 This pamphlet is a partial introduction to the topic of marine borers, and appears to be compiled from various articles. Historical anecdotes of borer attacks on ships make for interesting reading, but one is left wondering why there is no clear explanation of how the cellular structure of wood make some species more resistant to borers than others, and how marine environments affect borer presence. For such important factors in distribution, maps are curiously absent throughout. Most images are without scales, and a glossary would have clarified terms such as ‘aerobic conditions’ (p. 14), ‘anoxic’ (p. 36) and ‘Underwater Cultural Heritage’ (p. 40) for non-maritime archaeologists. ATHENA TRAKADAS Maritime Archaeology Programme, Department of History University of Southern Denmark Niels Bohrs vej 9, DK-6700 Esbjerg Environmental Archaeology and Materials Science, National Museum of Denmark I.C. Modewegsvej, Brede, DK-2800 Kgs. Lyngby [email protected]

III. PUBLIKATIONEN ZU ANTIKEN UND MITTELALTERLICHEN AUTOREN UND SCHRIFTEN  WIESEHÖFER, JOSEF / BRINKHAUS, HORST / BICHLER, REINHOLD (eds): Megasthenes und seine Zeit – Megasthenes and His Time: Akten der Internationalen Tagung ‘Megasthenes, Apollodoros and Isidoros, Greek Views of India and the Parthian Empire‘ Kiel, 27.–30.6.2012. Wiesbaden: Harrasowitz 2016. (Classica et Orientalia 13). 230 p., ill. ISBN 9783447106245. The student of contacts between India and the Graeco-Roman world would ideally have knowledge of Sanskrit, Prakrit, and Tamil, in addition to Greek, Latin, and of the archaeological and numismatic sources – at the least. While such scholars exist, most of us come to the subject from more restricted disciplinary backgrounds, but nevertheless need to deal with data and scholarship from this whole range of contexts. All the more welcome are edited volumes which bring scholars from different disciplines together to provide the reader with an updated state of the art. Megasthenes und seine Zeit is such a volume, the first of two resulting from a conference held in Kiel in 2012. The second volume, dealing with the Parthian Empire, was published in 2017. 1 2 3

MoSS: Monitoring of Shipwreck Sites http://moss.nba.fi/eng/whatismoss.html. R. KLAASSEN (ed.), BACPOLES: Preserving cultural heritage by preventing bacterial decay of wood in foundation piles and archaeological sites: Final report, Wageningen 2005.

III. Publikationen zu antiken und mittelalterlichen Autoren und Schriften

269

The present volume includes 12 cont ributions in German, Italian, and English on the work and times of Megasthenes, the envoy of Seleukos Nikator, who visited the court of Chandragupta Maurya at the turn of the third century BC. Megasthenes’ Indika was among the earliest eyewitness accounts of the subcontinent in Greek. Now lost, it was popular and influential in Antiquity, and numerous fragments are preserved by later authors. Most chapters in the reviewed book deal directly with Megasthenes’ lost work, while some address the literary, historical, and archaeological contexts of the period. The lack of coherence that sometimes characterizes conference volumes is not a problem in this case After a minimalistic introduction claimed by the editors not to be one (Anstelle einer Einleitung, p. 1–4) REINHOLD BICHLER addresses power and political organisation in early Greek texts on India and in classical accounts of Alexander. HORST BRINKHAUS summarises the state of research on the origin and textual history of the Arthashastra (p. 27–36). Tradition assigns the ancient Indian manual of statecraft the to the time of Chandragupta. As BRINKHAUS demonstrates, this date is generally not accepted by western Indologists. VERONICA BUCCIANTINI (p. 37– 62) juxtaposes the work of Megasthenes with other classical travel descriptions, while BRUNO JACOBS (p. 63–84) compares his description of Palibothra with the excavated ruins of the city and concludes against the longstanding theory of Achaemenid influence on early Indian stone architecture. SUSHMA JANSARI and RICHARD RICOT argue for the possible identification of Megasthenes’ astomoi (‘mouthless’) with Jain ascetics (p. 85–96). GRANT PARKER (p. 97–108) surveys the Roman reception of Megasthenes and discusses its influence on our modern impression of the Greek traveller, while DANIEL T. POTTS (p. 109–18) examines the evidence for pre-Alexandrine maritime contacts between Mesopotamia and India. DUANE W. ROLLER (p. 119–28) offers an outline of what is known about Megasthenes’ life and work; ROBERT ROLLINGER (p. 129–64) uses the fragments of Megasthenes as a source for Seleucid royal ideology and KAI RUFFING recapitulates Greek literature on India before Megasthenes (p. 165–90). In the last two chapters, OSCAR VON HINÜBER (p. 191–206) and JOSEF WIESEHÖFER (p. 207–20) elucidate the relations between Chandragupta’s grandson Ashoka and the Greeks, and between the Seleucids and the Mauryas respectively. Many of the contributions address issues that have been under debate for a century or more. They combine succinct and updated overviews of scholarship with well-argued points of view. In this respect, the book is reminiscent of a small companion volume, which in this reviewer’s opinion is its main strength. Considering that many readers will be interested in certain chapters only, abstracts would have been helpful, while readers looking for an introduction to Megasthenes and his times might have preferred to find the chapters providing background and historical narratives at the start of the book. This notwithstanding, the volume will be of great

1

JOSEF WIESEHÖFER / SABINE MÜLLER (eds), Parthika: Greek and Roman Authors’ Views of the Arsacid Empire – Griechisch-römische Bilder des Arsakidenreiches, Wiesbaden 2017.

270

Buchbesprechungen

use for scholars as well as for advanced students of the relations between India and the Greek world.

EIVIND HELDAAS SELAND Department of Archaeology, History, Cultural Studies and Religion University of Bergen, N-5020 Bergen [email protected]

 BALLESTEROS PASTOR, LUIS : Pompeyo Trogo, Justino y Mitrídates. Comentario

al « Epítome de las Historias Filípicas » (37,1,6 – 38,8,1), Hildesheim-Zürich-New York : Olms 2013. 368 p. ISBN 9783487150703. (Spudasmata 154). Depuis la publication de sa thèse (Mitrídates Eupátor, rey del Ponto, Granada 1996), LUIS BALLESTEROS PASTOR (désormais LBP) nous a habitué à des études extrêmement poussées et bien documentées sur l’histoire de Mithradate VI Eupator, des origines de la dynastie jusqu’à sa postérité bosporane et cappadocienne. Il est difficile aujourd’hui de trouver encore un aspect historique et historiographique concernant Mithradate qui n’ait pas été traité par LBP, en prenant en compte l’ensemble de la documentation historique gréco-romaine et de la bibliographie occidentale. De fait, cette œuvre imposante, à la mesure du « roi qui a dépassé en majesté non seulement ses contemporains mais aussi ses devanciers » (Justin 37.1.7), comporte aussi bien des synthèses (géographiques, chronologiques ou prosopographiques) que des analyses littéraires (sur différents discours ou gestes du roi, de ses proches et de ses ennemis). Ce volume réunit les deux genres : une synthèse de 102 pages offre une lecture nouvelle des passages concernant Mithradate VI Eupator dans l’épitomé rédigé par Justin à partir des Histoires philippiques de Trogue Pompée. Le texte latin de Justin (37.1.6–38.8.1) est reproduit d’après l’édition critique d’OTTO SEEL (p. 103–10).1 Le commentaire linéaire (p. 111–296) est, de fait, une biographie du roi, dans un style sobre et dense : il va plus loin que les commentaires de JOHN C. YARDLEY et WALDEMAR HECKEL, aux livres XI–XV de l’Épitomè. 2 La bibliographie (p. 297– 354) est exhaustive. Un index de noms anciens et le sommaire facilitent la consultation (p. 355–68). Nonobstant un objectif déclaré qui peut paraître assez modeste – expliquer la manière dont Trogue Pompée, résumé par Justin, présente l’histoire de Mithradate VI Eupator – LBP offre ici un livre fondamental pour l’histoire hellénistique et

1

2

O. SEEL, Epitoma historiarum Philippicarum Pompei Trogi, Leipzig 1972. Une nouvelle édition critique est actuellement en cours de publication, mais ne concerne pas encore les livres étudiés par LBP : B. MINEO, G. ZECCHINI, Abrégé des Histoires Philippiques de Trogue Pompée, Paris 2016–. J.C. YARDLEY / W. HECKEL, Epitome of the Philippic History of Pompeius Trogus. Books 11– 12, Alexander the Great, Oxford 1997 ; J.C. YARDLEY / P. WHEATLEY, W. HECKEL, Epitome of the Philippic History of Pompeius Trogus: Books 13–15, the Successors to Alexander the Great, Oxford 2011.

III. Publikationen zu antiken und mittelalterlichen Autoren und Schriften

271

l’historiographie latine. Dans les deux domaines, il propose des innovations. Mentionnons, à titre d’exemple, la chronologie de Mithradate (p. 76–95, 111–3, 128, 132–5, etc.) ou le rapport de Trogue Pompée avec les autres sources (p. 95–102). Il est difficile de critiquer un tel monument de savoir et de virtuosité. Contentons-nous de quelques points sur lesquels, nous semble-t-il, la discussion reste encore ouverte. Du point de vue historique, suite à l’article de STEPHEN MITCHELL, il est difficile de continuer à parler de Mithradate VI Eupator comme d’un roi « de Pont ». 3 Les premières attestations du Pont en tant que territoire nord-est micrasiatique ne datent que de la fin du règne. 4 La principale raison semble être que l’autorité royale de Mithradate et de ses ancêtres ne relevait pas d’un territoire originaire figé, mais s’appuyait sur la dynastie – d’où l’importance de l’hérédité et de la généalogie (p. 275–85), ou encore du titre de « roi des rois », attesté dans le Bosphore Cimmérien. 5 Certes, il y a au moins une inscription, découverte à Kerkinitis et datant de 113 av. J.-C., lors des guerres contre les Scythes de Taurikè, qui pouvait inclure l’ethnique des Pontikoi. 6 Mais ce témoignage ne saurait montrer, tout au plus, que l’existence d’un groupe de « Pontiques » (donc définis par une identité spatiale relativement vague, par abréviation du Pont-Euxin ou encore de la Cappadoce Pontique, suivant Polybe 5.43.1, cf. Strabon 12.1.4 ; cf. 11.8.4, 14.5.24, 16.1.2). L’affirmation d’une identité territoriale pontique en Asie Mineure semble être le résultat de la politique d’expansion et de consolidation de l’empire, menée par Mithradate VI Eupator, et mise en avant lors de la conquête romaine. 7

3

4

5

6

7

S. MITCHELL, In Search of the Pontic Community in Antiquity, dans A. K. BOWMAN / H. M. COTTON / M. GOODMAN / S. PRICE (éd.), Representations of Empire. Rome and the Mediterranean World, Oxford 2002 (2004²), 35–64. LBP a répondu dans son article Del Reino Mitridátida al Reino del Ponto : Orígenes de un término geográfico y un concepto politico, OT 9 (2003/2007), 3–10. Nous avons discuté cette thèse dans A. DAN, Ἔναν καιρόν κι ἔναν ζαμάν ...: remarques sur l’antiquité de l’identité grecque pontique, Il mar Nero 7 (2007–2009), 9–65 ; Pontische Mehrdeutigkeiten, ETopoi 3 (2014), en ligne edition-topoi.org/articles/details.746. Cic. Pomp. 7, 21–22, 45 ; Agr. 1.6 ; 2.51–53 ; Phil. 11.30 ; Caes. BC 3.3.1, 3.4.3 ; BA 34.5, 35.3, 41.1, 2, 65.2, 3, 67.1, 69.1, 70.7, 72.1, 77.2. César est le premier à célébrer un triomphe ex Ponto, selon Tite-Live (Per. 115), Ovide (Met. 15.752–9), Velleius Paterculus (2.56.2), Suétone (Caes. 37.1) et Florus (2.13). L. BALLESTEROS PASTOR, Notas sobre una inscripción de Ninfeo en honor de Mitrídates Eupátor, rey del Ponto, DHA 21 (1995) 111–7. Sur les questions généaologiques, voir e.g., Los príncipes del Ponto. La política onomástica de Mitrídates Eupátor como factor de propaganda dinástica, REA 117 (2015), 425–45 ; Los herederos de Artabazo. La satrapía de Dascilio en la tradición de la dinastía Mitridátida, Klio 112 (2012), 366–79 ; El reino del Ponto, dans V. A. TRONCOSO (éd.), ΔΙΑΔΟΧΟΣ ΤΗΣ ΒΑΣΙΛΕΙΑΣ. La figura del sucesor en la realza helenística, Madrid 2005, 127–37. J. G. VINOGRADOV, Eine bisher unbekannte Episode aus dem Krieg Mithridates’ VI. Eupators gegen die Krimskythen, Pontische Studien. Kleine Schriften zur Geschichte und Epigraphik des Schwarzmeerraumes, Mainz, 1997, 493–500 (SEG 47:1177, « Πον]τικοὶ [στρατιῶται(?)] »). C’est ce qui explique Str. 11.8.4 : « … οὓς Ποντικοὺς νῦν καλοῦσι ».

272

Buchbesprechungen

L’usage du nom « Pont » pour l’ensemble de la mer Noire chez Trogue Pompée et Justin doit donc s’expliquer par l’absence d’un pays anatolien nommé « Pont » dans des sources contemporaines au roi. À une seule exception près (38.7.2), ces auteurs ont donc résisté à l’anachronisme, alors même qu’on connait bien l’habitude des historiens romains à utiliser les noms de provinces (tels Asie, Afrique, Phrygie) pour désigner les royaumes qui les ont précédées. 8 Du point de vue historiographique, trois des propositions les plus audacieuses de ce livre méritent d’être examinées. Primo, LBP revient à un modèle de Quellenforschung qui privilégie la thèse d’une source majeure de Trogue Pompée : une histoire universelle qui aurait été rédigée en grande partie à la cour de Tigrane II et achevée à la cour d’Archélaos I de Cappadoce. Certes, les livres 37–38 conservent des informations uniques, et le caractère laudatif à l’adresse de Mithradate et de Tigrane ne peut être mis en doute. Toutefois, notre ignorance totale de la littérature écrite en Cappadoce et en Arménie (y compris des œuvres dramatiques et historiographiques d’Artavasdes II, fils de Tigrane II), l’absence de tout fragment de Métrodore de Scepsis chez Trogue/Justin (cf. Brill New Jacoby 184) ou encore l’inexistence d’une évidence positive sur le traitement de ces thèmes chez Juba II de Maurétanie (Brill New Jacoby 275) ne permettent guère de défendre cette position. Dans l’état actuel de la transmission des textes, il est plus prudent d’envisager la combinaison de plusieurs sources écrites et même orales, bien connues en Occident ou ramenées de l’Orient par le grand-père et le père de Trogue Pompée, qui a accompagné Caius César en Arménie. 9 Secundo, l’épitomé de Justin pose problème : nous ignorons presque tout de M. Iunian(i)us Iustinus, l’érudit qui aurait rédigé le florilège d’épisodes et passages d’intérêt rhétorique empruntés à Trogue Pompée, lors d’un séjour de loisirs à Rome, en compagnie du destinataire de l’épitomé (« per otium quo in Vrbe uersabamur, cognitione quaeque dignissima excerpsi », Pr. 1). 10 De plus, outre les résumés des livres transmis à la fin de l’épitomé, nous n’avons guère de témoignages nous permettant des comparaisons concluantes. Il n’y a aucune preuve historique pour affirmer que Justin venait du Nord-Ouest de la mer Noire, et en particulier d’Olbia ; il est même peu probable qu’un rhéteur originaire de cette région, après la retraite romaine au sud du Danube, aurait écrit en latin (« nostra lingua », Pr. 1), pour un public qui aurait consulté plutôt son épitomé que les historiens grecs. Or, RONALD SYME avait démontré que Trogue Pompée n’a été redécouvert qu’à la 8

LBP n’ignore pas ces questions : e.g. p. 147–8, 283–5, 293–4, pour la toponymie du Pont et de la Cappadoce chez Justin, et p. 152 pour les anachronismes d’autres noms de royaumes hellénistiques à partir des noms des provinces romaines. 9 Voir désormais les études rassemblées dans les volumes édités par C. BEARZOT / F. LANDUCCI, Studi sull’Epitome di Giustino. 1, Dagli Assiri a Filippo II di Macedonia, et Studi sull’Epitome di Giustino. 2, Da Alessandro Magno a Filippo V di Macedonia, Milano 2014–2015, et A. GALIMBERTI / G. ZECCHINI, Studi sull’Epitome di Giustino. III. Il tardo ellenismo. I Parti e i Romani, Milano 2016. Cf. aussi, les travaux d’A. BORGNA (dont sa thèse sous presse Ripensare la storia universale. Giustino e l’Epitome delle Storie Filippiche di Pompeo Trogo). 10 PIR² IV 713.

III. Publikationen zu antiken und mittelalterlichen Autoren und Schriften

273

fin du IVe siècle apr. J.-C. 11 Après JOSE MIGUEL ALONSO-NUÑEZ, GIUSEPPE ZECCHINI a apporté des preuves convaincantes en faveur d’une origine nord-africaine de l’auteur, qui aurait tenu à rendre hommage aux Goths, à travers les Scythes (non seulement de la mer Noire, mais de toute la steppe eurasiatique). 12 D’ailleurs, certains noms de province (comme la Phrygie majeure, attestée seulement chez Justin 11.7.3 ; 13.4.14 ; 38.5.3, cf. 37.1.2, et Orose 3.23.8) peuvent être des arguments supplémentaires en faveur de l’identification de Justin avec un contemporain d’Orose ; de plus, l’accent mis sur la géohistoire dans l’éloge de la péninsule ibérique pourrait s’expliquer sinon par un lien nord-africain (donc proche de Carthage et de ses anciens domaines) ou hispanique, du moins par une origine occidentale, liée aux Goths, avant le sac de Rome de 410. Tertio, la manière dont Justin aurait réélaboré le texte de Trogue Pompée est difficilement saisissable. Si l’on peut envisager que Justin a pu lire Appien et Memnon d’Héraclée (ou leurs sources), il est difficilement croyable qu’il aurait affirmé, directement et sans aucune raison connue, une contre-vérité. Ainsi, il n’y a guère de raison de penser que le discours de Mithradate (38.4–7) n’ait pas été rédigé en style indirect déjà par Trogue Pompée (38.3.11 : « quam obliquam Pompeius Trogus exposuit »). Même s’il n’est pas un discours à part entière et peut-être même pas de Mithradate lui-même (puisqu’on y trouve des thèmes chers à Trogue/Justin, comme les rois qui ont attaqué la Scythie, Darius et Philippe, 38.7, et puisqu’il est évident que l’auteur et l’épitomateur ont voulu marquer un climax par rapport aux rois antérieurs), il n’y a guère de preuve pour en faire une composition de Justin. 13 C’est le propre d’un ouvrage académique de susciter des débats. Le livre présenté ici appartient à ce genre : c’est le fruit d’une érudition hors pair, d’une grande intelligence, d’une fine élégance dans l’expression et d’une passion sans faille pour Mithradate, qui n’en sort qu’agrandi ! ANCA DAN CNRS-ENS, PSL 45 rue d’Ulm, F-75005 Paris [email protected]

11 R. SYME, The Date of Justin and the Discovery of Trogus, Historia 37.3 (1988), 358–71. 12 J. M. ALONSO-NÚÑEZ, Drei Autoren von Geschichtsabrissen der römischen Kaiserzeit : Florus, Iustinus, Orosius, Latomus 54 (1995), 346–60 ; G. ZECCHINI, Per la datazione di Giustino, dans A. GALIMBERTI / G. ZECCHINI (éd.), Studi sull’Epitome di Giustino. III. Il tardo ellenismo. I Parti e i Romani, Milano, 2016, 221–31. Une étude future pourrait prendre en compte les attestations prosopographiques des Iulii, Iuniani et Iustini dans l’Afrique romaine tardive à la suite de A. MANDOUZE, Prosopographie de l’Afrique chrétienne (305–533), Paris, 1982, 618–23. 13 Notons que sur ce point la position de LBP a considérablement évolué, au fur et à mesure de ses études : Observaciones sobre la biografía de Mitrídates Eupátor en el Epítome de Justino (37.6–38.8.1), Habis 27 (1996) 73–82 ; El discurso de Mitrídates en el Epítome de las Historias Filípicas de Pompeyo Trogo (Iust. XXXVIII 4–7) : un estudio sobre las fuentes, MedAnt 9 (2006), 581–96 ; Pompeyo Trogo, Justino y las críticas a Roma: a propósito del discurso etolio (Iust. XXVIII, 2), MedAnt 12 (2009), 381–92 ; Aproximación al estudio de los discursos en el epítome de Justino, Talia Dixit : Revista Interdisciplinar de Retórica e Historiografía (2009), 29–42.

274

Buchbesprechungen

 BUCCIANTINI, VERONICA: Studio su Nearco di Creta: Dalla descrizione geografica alla narrazione storica, Alessandria: Edizioni dell’Orso 2016, 252 p., ill., maps. ISBN 9788862746434. La figura storica e l’opera di Nearco di Creta sono al centro di questa monografia curata da VERONICA BUCCIANTINI, specialista di geografia storica e delle esplorazioni dell’India all’epoca della campagna di Alessandro Magno. Lo studio di BUCCIANTINI offre al lettore un’analisi dettagliata e rigorosa delle fonti e degli studi sull’ammiraglio cretese suddividendo la discussione in sei capitoli. Il primo capitolo (La vita, p. 9–28) ricostruisce le fasi salienti della biografia di Nearco (origini; esilio insieme ad Alessandro e altri compagni a seguito di contrasti con Filippo II; carriera come ufficiale al servizio di Alessandro e, dopo la sua morte, di Antigono Monoftalmo e Demetrio): di particolare interesse l’analisi dell’iscrizione delfica in cui un Nearco cretese figlio di Androtimo è onorato con la prossenia e altri privilegi per sé e i suoi discendenti. La datazione del documento è resa complessa a causa dell’incompletezza della stele di cui sussiste solo la parte iniziale, ma l’analisi storica condotta dall’autrice induce a ipotizzare che il personaggio onorato e l’ammiraglio di Alessandro siano la stessa persona e che il decreto delfico sia databile tra 336 e 334, periodo in cui Alessandro, divenuto re, inaugurava un nuovo corso politico e onorava il santuario donando 150 filippi d’oro destinati ai lavori del tempio di Apollo. Il secondo capitolo (Il periplo, p. 29–85) è dedicato alla ricostruzione dell’opera nearchea: apprendiamo così che in una prima fase l’ammiraglio aveva presentato ad Alessandro un “diario di bordo” poi rielaborato in una forma più ampia e dai toni epici negli anni successivi alla morte del Macedone. I frammenti e le testimonianze superstiti si riferiscono allo scritto di Nearco utilizzando i termini di periplo, paraplo e anaplo, lasciando intendere che il lavoro fosse incentrato sulla navigazione della flotta di Nearco dalle foci dell’Indo al Pasitigri. In realtà, BUCCIANTINI mostra in modo convincente come la sezione relativa alla navigazione fosse solo una parte di un lavoro più ampio in cui trovava spazio anche la narrazione di episodi precedenti al viaggio di ritorno della flotta. A questo proposito, l’autrice mette in luce la dimensione omerica della narrazione di Nearco: se Alessandro poteva essere assimilato ad Achille per la sua campagna orientale, il suo ritorno così come il viaggio dello stesso Nearco potevano essere accostati al nostos di Odisseo. Il capitolo presenta inoltre una dettagliata ricostruzione dell’itinerario di Nearco, delle sue tappe e delle distanze calcolate in nychtemeriai nel diario di bordo e che invece nella seconda stesura, rielaborata in una fase più tarda, vennero omologate agli stadi. La composizione dell’equipaggio, infine, è oggetto della parte finale del capitolo in cui l’autrice apporta ulteriori prove a sostegno dell’ipotesi che l’opera di Nearco non fosse un semplice periplo, ma si inquadrasse piuttosto nel genere dell’Alexandergeschichte. Oltre alla narrazione storica e alla descrizione della navigazione, l’opera di Nearco includeva argomenti di carattere scientifico che vengono illustrati da BUCCIANTINI nel terzo capitolo (Nearco osservatore ‘scientifico’, p. 87–110). I frammenti superstiti, in effetti, mostrano come Nearco avesse dedicato spazio alla

III. Publikationen zu antiken und mittelalterlichen Autoren und Schriften

275

descrizione di fenomeni astronomici come la posizione delle stelle e il variare delle ombre, tema che ha suscitato un annoso dibattito tra gli studiosi e che l’analisi dell’autrice cerca di mediare proponendo un’interpretazione secondo cui la «combinazione di informazioni raccolte e di conoscenze astronomiche può aver dunque prodotto una sorta di schema delle latitudini, fissate in relazione a quegli astri che N. aveva osservato nella sua esperienza e che gli consentivano di ipotizzare l’estensione di quell’oceano su cui si sarebbe svolta la navigazione della flotta da lui comandata» (p. 91). Un altro aspetto messo in evidenza dall’autrice è il ruolo svolto dagli indigeni nel fornire informazioni sull’idrografia, sui venti e sulla fauna locale, dati che si rivelarono di primaria importanza per il compimento dell’impresa. Per quanto riguarda l’aspetto etnografico, i tre sacrifici compiuti da Nearco sull’Idaspe, sulle coste della Carmania e sul Pasitigri suggeriscono la ricerca di un parallelismo con i sacrifici compiuti dal Macedone in onore di divinità greche e di fiumi indiani intesi come divinità fluviali. Questi sacrifici, inoltre, rappresentano un momento fondamentale del progetto di sincretismo tra cultura greco-macedone e locale che Alessandro intendeva promuovere nel suo impero. Al contrario, le informazioni sui Brahmani fornite da Nearco sembrano limitarsi alla loro appartenenza a una sottoclasse dei sophistai indiani insieme a un gruppo privo di nome il cui compito era quello di indagare la natura. I capitoli 4 (Nearco e Alessandro, p. 111–23) e 5 (Dal periplo alla narrazione storica, p. 125–37) analizzano più in profondità delle tematiche già evocate nelle pagine precedenti. Il rapporto di Alessandro con Nearco è presentato come una relazione privilegiata improntata all’amicizia e alla stima che il re nutriva per le capacità del suo ufficiale, un elemento che emerge nella descrizione dei tre incontri col sovrano macedone che Nearco narrava nella sua opera, nello specifico il colloquio in cui Alessandro assegnava a Nearco l’incarico della missione di esplorazione e successivamente gli incontri in Carmania e in Susiana. Nearco avrebbe posto l’accento sull’ottima opinione che il re aveva sempre avuto nei suoi confronti per promuovere la sua figura alla corte di Antigono Monoftalmo negli anni successivi alla morte di Alessandro. La patina omerica che caratterizzava l’opera di Nearco ricorre più volte in modo più o meno netto nella narrazione della missione di esplorazione, ad esempio nell’elenco dei trierarchi della flotta macedone, che riecheggia il Catalogo delle navi, o nell’episodio dell’avvistamento delle balene, in cui Nearco incoraggia i marinai terrorizzati e riesce ad allontanare i cetacei ordinando di fare più rumore possibile così come Odisseo rincuora i compagni quando si trovano a navigare tra Scilla e Cariddi. Echi dell’Odissea si riscontrano anche nella descrizione dell’isola di Nosala, luogo fatato abitato da una nereide che trasforma gli uomini in pesci, episodio che presenta affinità con la storia della maga Circe. Il modello omerico non era una caratteristica esclusiva del lavoro di Nearco, ma risulta evidente anche in alcune parti di quanto rimane delle memorie di Tolemeo, segno di un sostrato culturale comune che aveva le sue radici nella formazione aristotelica di Alessandro e dei suoi compagni. Omero tuttavia non è il solo modello seguito da Nearco nella composizione: il capitolo 6 (Nearco scrittore, p. 139–53) mette in luce influenze erodotee nel ricorso

276

Buchbesprechungen

di Nearco a dati provenienti dalla sua personale autopsia, mentre assenti o difficilmente dimostrabili sono gli influssi di due scrittori sull’India come Scilace di Carianda e Ctesia di Cnido. D’altra parte, l’assenza di Onesicrito di Astipalea, che pure aveva preso parte alla spedizione e aveva composto un resoconto sull’argomento per Alessandro, è giustificata dalla rivalità con Nearco. Che tra i due non corresse buon sangue lo dimostra ad esempio il diverbio avvenuto presso il capo Maceta a proposito della rotta da seguire. Con la sua opera Nearco intendeva da un lato mettere in luce la sua leadership, che gli era stata conferita e confermata da Alessandro in persona, e dall’altro contrastare il tentativo di Onesicrito di attribuirsi un ruolo di primo piano che in realtà non avrebbe avuto. Nelle Conclusioni (p. 155–6) BUCCIANTINI riassume in modo sintetico la personalità e il valore dell’opera nearchea così come emerge dall’analisi da lei condotta. Un aspetto precipuo che viene giustamente messo in evidenza dall’autrice è la consapevolezza dell’ammiraglio di aver trasformato, grazie alla sua impresa, un mare fino ad allora misterioso come l’Oceano Indiano in un luogo noto e di averlo così integrato nei nuovi orizzonti geografici resi più vasti dalla conquista di Alessandro. Il volume è corredato dal lungo frammento nearcheo incluso nell’Indike di Arriano (17.6–42.10), da una serie di carte e immagini (la cui risoluzione grafica non è sempre di ottima qualità), un indice di fonti, nomi, luoghi e cose notevoli e infine da una corposa bibliografia. In ultima analisi, lo studio di BUCCIANTINI si rivela un lavoro accurato e imprescindibile non solo nell’ambito della geografia storica, ma più in generale per chi si interessa a vari livelli (storico, filologico, letterario) ad Alessandro e alla sua campagna orientale. Sarebbe auspicabile una traduzione dello studio in inglese per permettere l’accesso a una più ampia platea di studiosi. OMAR COLORU Maison de l’Archéologie et de l’Ethnologie à Nanterre UMR 7041, ArScAn-HAROC, Paris, France Via di Picciorana tr. 2. 140, I-55100 Antraccoli [email protected]

IV. PUBLIKATIONEN ZU ANTIKEN LANDSCHAFTEN  MERRILLS, ANDY: Roman Geographies of the Nile: From the Late Republic to the Early Empire, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 2017. 352 p., 27 figs. ISBN 9781107177284. The book’s starting point, as explained by the author (p. 12–14) is with the work of CLAUDE NICOLET on imperial geographical knowledge, notably L’Inventaire du Monde later delivered as the Jerome Lectures and published in English as Space, Geography and Politics in the Early Roman Empire (the latter rather than the former is referenced in the footnotes of the book). MERRILLS questions this work firstly

IV. Publikationen zu antiken Landschaften

277

by suggesting that the Agrippan Map, triumphal geography, administrative materials and monumental inscriptions ‘cannot have provided a definitive archive of material in the way that is frequently assumed’; secondly that ‘the most prominent modes of geographical representation known from this period did not fit together seamlessly, as has frequently been assumed’; and, third, ‘the recognition of discordant or subversive geographies circulated in this period’. References are given later in the introduction, mostly to publications of PASCAL ARNAUD (p. 30–6) to support this view, but readers of this journal may have difficulty seeing these assumptions as widespread as MERRILLS claims (compare reviews, e.g., JRS 80, 178–82; AHR 94, 1351; CR 67, 579–80). To challenge these ‘assumptions’, MERRILLS chooses the Nile to work with, and the book sets out to chart the complexity of geographical representations of the Nile that he sees as ‘a useful starting point for examining the cultural cognitive and epistemological function of visual media’ (p. 38). There is a contradiction, though: ‘the Agrippa survey does not seem to have represented the Nile in any particular detail’ (p. 38). Thus, in some ways, the Agrippan map and geographical scholarship associated with the map becomes something of a strawman, when the means for objecting to it as a generator of interpretation is through what was not represented – the Nile. The book moves on from its introduction to texts, from Vitruvius through to Tacitus, and imagery from the Nile Mosaic in Palestrina to frescoes from Pompeii. These images of the Nile are seen as spectacles to be gazed upon and to be discussed, often in public rather than in private. The reading of the images was, MERRILLS argues, informed by knowledge that lay beyond any simple description found in Agrippa’s mapping project (p. 68). Although focused on the Late Republic and early Principate, readers will find discussion of the Antonine Itineraries and Peutinger Table. However, Ptolemy’s location using latitude and longitude of more than fifty Nile Valley sites is not discussed in the book – which seems to be a major omission. There is a fascinating discussion of the Nile in triumphal processions and monuments in Rome, in which the triumph is seen to have been ‘exceptionally important as a means of geographical cognition of the Roman people’, yet, that knowledge was fragmented and the display, it is suggested, may not have revealed the Nile to the spectators in any geographical sense. Instead, the triumphs were opportunities for collective engagement with the Nile that ‘only became meaningful when viewed as a citizen body’ (p. 104). The question arises, though, how did women and children view the Nile in a triumph? The book is at its weakest when discussing evidence from Pompeii, particularly in chapter 3, Gazing on the Nile: The Domestication of a River. The assumption that following the Battle of Actium representations of the Nile ‘dramatically increased’ can only be claimed due to the destruction of the Vesuvian sites in Campania in AD 79. This may be simply an example of the author’s love of adverbs to overblow a simple statement: there are many images of the Nile in Pompeii. The simple acceptance of the ownership of the House of the Ephebe with Publius Cornelius Tragus (rather than Trages) with no discussion of the evidence, or critique of

278

Buchbesprechungen

this attribution shows limited engagement with the evidence, here, and also in discussion of the House of the Cei (p. 120, see critique by H. MOURITSEN 1). The Praedia of Julia Felix is accepted uncritically as ‘an inn or some-sort of semi-public “clubhouse”’ (p. 113) without really investigating work on the property citation of the famous rental notice for flats, baths, and shops (CIL 4.1136). Male citizens are assumed to drive the imagery as the commissioners of Nilotic scenes in Pompeii (p. 128; 141) – ignoring the possibilities of female ownership of property and agency. Readers will need to go to VERSLUYS, Aegyptiaca Romana 2 for bibliography and a fuller catalogue of images of the Nile from Pompeii. There is much in this book though, for example chapter 4 manages to contain not just Ovid, Lucretius and Seneca, but also the Temple of Isis in Pompeii to set out a metaphysics of the Nile as an unknowable river. This sense of the unknowable river seems appropriate, given that the Nile in Antiquity was rather different to the lines drawn on maps of Egypt today. It is clear that the actual course of the river has been shown to have shifted by as much as 2–3km over the course of a millennium, 3 and the flood waters varied from year to year. 4 The river was by its very nature changing over the course of the period of study found in this book by more than 500m, and annually altered due to the variation in the volume of floodwater. This defines the Nile as a different form of geography with which the ancients wrestled, gazed at and contemplated. It is always unfortunate when the blurb on the back cover makes overinflated claims. ‘[T]his book provides a wholly original interpretation of the deeper significance of geographical knowledge during the later Roman Republic and early Principate’. The work is clearly built upon the scholarship of others, what it does put into clearer perspective are the variety and complexity of representations of the Nile that can be found. Whether we should shift seamlessly with the author’s polyvalent Nile to extend this view to the cognition of all geography in the late Republic and early Principate as intrinsically polyvalent is still open to question. The difficulty is to place the Nile into this wider context of geography, for example in the discussion of Aethiopiae forma (p. 209) made by Nero’s praetorians, more could have been elucidated with reference to the definition of the forma of Arabia under Trajan (CIL 3.14149, 21). Equally, does the representation of the river Volturnus in juxtaposition to a triumphal arch in Statius’ poem Via Domitiana (Silv. 4.3) substitute for a Nile in a Flavian context? How might the Augustan and JulioClaudian Nile compare or inform the Danube of the reign of Trajan and Hadrian?

1 2 3 4

H. MOURITSEN, Elections, Magistrates and Municipal Elite, Rome 1988, 18–9 with n. 60. M. J. VERSLUYS, Aegyptiaca Romana: Nilotic Scenes and the Roman Views of Egypt, Leiden 2002. JOHN K. HILLIER / JUDITH M. BUNBURY / ANGUS GRAHAM, Monuments on a migrating Nile, Journal of Archaeological Science 34 (2007), 1011–5. M. MCCORMICK / U. BÜNTGEN / M. A. CANE / E. R. COOK / K. HARPER / P. HUYBERS / T. LITT / S. W. MANNING / P. A. MAYEWSKI / A. F. M. MORE / K. NICOLUSSI / W. TEGEL, Climate Change during and after the Roman Empire: Reconstructing the Past from Scientific and Historical Evidence, Journal of Interdisciplinary History 43 (2012), 193 fig. 10.

IV. Publikationen zu antiken Landschaften

279

The book is well signposted with a clear structure and the author indicates the importance of key points with the use of the words ‘crucial/ly’, ‘significant/ly’, ‘important/ly’, ‘most striking’ and so on to signpost these (maybe to even over-use them, ‘crucial/ly’ appears three times in the space of four pages). There is much scholarship in this book; when it works well – mostly in the discussion of specific texts – it provides an insightful view of the Nile in Roman thought and is likely to be used by scholars seeking discussion of individual authors on the Nile. RAY LAURENCE Department of Ancient History, Macquarie University New South Wales 2109, Australia [email protected]

 GEBHARD, ELIZABETH R. / GREGORY, TIMOTHY E. (eds), Bridge of the Untiring Sea: The Corinthian Isthmus from Prehistory to Late Antiquity, 2015. 408 p., ill. ISBN 9780876615485. (Hesperia Supplement 48). The main body of articles in this volume derive from papers presented at a conference in 2007 celebrating 55 years of research on the Isthmus. Despite the title, the volume does not read like a comprehensive history of the Isthmia – more like a history of the scholarship of the Isthmia with the exceptions mentioned in the fine introduction by the editors, GEBHARD and GREGORY. The volume does not offer a holistic study of Isthmia, rather an attempt to present the many different types of research currently associated with the American project. Among the more obvious, there are no articles on the Classical temple, the stadium, the theatre or the settlement at Kenchreai. The 17 articles cover the settlement history of the Isthmus from the Early Mycenaean to the Late Antique period, although the majority of contributions fall into two main chronological periods: the pre-Classical period and the Roman period. The articles range from 10 to 53 pages. Connected only by the geographical location, the articles are very diverse in content focusing on specific sites or contexts (ELENI BALOMENOU and VASILIS TASSINOS on Kyras Vrysi; VIRGINIA R. ANDERSON-STOJANOVIĆ on Rachi; MARTHA K. RISSER on the Large Circular Pit in the Poseidon Sanctuary; and STEVEN J. R. ELLIS and ERIC E. PEOHLER on the East Field), find groups (LIANE HOUGHTALIN on coins; ARNE THOMSEN on figurines; MARY STURGEON on sculpture; ALASTAR H. JACKSON on arms; and BIRGITTA LINDROS WOHL on lamps, JACKSON and STURGEON providing a detailed catalogue), individual artefacts (K. W. ARAFAT on a Late Protocorinthian alabastron ascribed to the Chigi Painter; JAMES WISMAN on a herm from the gymnasium area in Corinth; WILLIAM R. CARAHER on the Isthmian Viktorinos inscription) or structures (FREDERIC P. HEMANS on the Archaic temple of Poseidon; FIKRET K. YEGÜL on the Roman baths; JON M. FREY on the fortress at Isthmia). The two remaining articles based on archaeological survey offer an interpretation of the settlement pattern in

280

Buchbesprechungen

the area in the Bronze Age (THOMAS F. TARTARON) and during the Roman period (DAVID K. PETTEGREW). In general, the articles maintain a high standard of scholarship, which should provide inspiration for a wide range of scholars as well as students of the Classical world. I can only draw specific attention to a selection of articles which apart from one exception all contextualize their topic in a broader historical framework. In chapter 2: The Settlement at Kalamianos: Bronze Age Small Worlds and the Saronic Coast of the Southeastern Corinthia (p. 25–38), THOMAS F. TARTARON discusses the development of coastal Bronze Age settlements in the southern part of the area. Drawing inspiration from Small-World network theory, TARTARON contextualizes the expansion of the site of Kalamianos in the change from Aiginetan to Mycenean influence in the Saronic region in LH II–LH IIIA. Chapter 3: The Archaic Temple of Poseidon: Problems of Design and Invention (p. 39–63), by FREDERICK P. HEMANS, chapter 5: City, Sanctuary, and Feast: Dining Vessels from the Archaic Reservoir in the Sanctuary of Poseidon, by MARTHA K. RISSER (p. 83–96) and chapter 6: The Temple Deposit at Isthmia and the Dating of Archaic and Early Classical Greek Coins, by LIANE HOUGHTALIN (p. 97–108) all deal with the Archaic temple. As a group the articles provide an excellent overview into the different methodologies of analyzing architecture, ceramics, and coins. HEMANS provides a detailed insight into the construction of one of the earliest peristyle temples in a period of transition between pre-monumental and monumental materials and techniques. The article is followed by an appendix describing the successful archaeological experiment of the author and JONATHAN STEVENS to understand the production of the impressive roof tiles dated around 690 BC. MARTHA RISSER discusses feasting in the Archaic sanctuary based on the pottery from the Large Circular Pit. The dates of the finds suggest that layers II–VII were deposited in the preparation for the construction of the Classical temple. The functional distribution of the pottery from layers VI–VII is identified by RISSER as a typical Archaic feasting assemblage with more than 20% of the pottery made up by drinking vessels produced in Corinth. This is supported locally by a comparison with the pottery from two subterranean hestiatoria. In an appendix, RISSER examines the refinement of the chronology of the burning of the Archaic temple around 460–450 BC. Following her analysis of the coin finds from three deposits in the pronaos foundation of the Archaic temple, LIANE HOUGHTALIN discusses specifically the repercussions of the revised lower date of the burning of the Archaic temple to the first coins from the Corinthian colony Ambrakia, the latest Aiginetan staters, and the beginning of coinage at Argos. Chapter 9: Arms from the Age of Philip and Alexander at Broneer’s West Foundation near Isthmia, by ALASTAR H. JACKSON (p. 133–57) is the only contribution dealing with the Hellenistic period. The so-called ‘West Foundation’ is a funerary monument constructed in three short-lived phases from 350 to 320 BC. A group of arms found in a shallow pit under the ‘West Foundation’, as well as the monument itself have no parallels in Corinthia, but in Macedonia. Based on the arms and the monument, JACKSON discusses the close relationship between two Corinthians,

IV. Publikationen zu antiken Landschaften

281

Demarathos and Deinarchos, and the Macedonian royal family under Philip II and Alexander the Great. In chapter 11: Agonistic Festivals, Victors, and Officials in the Time of Nero: An Inscribed Herm from the Gymnasium Area of Corinth (p. 193–246), JAMES WISEMAN revisits the Roman calendar of the agonistic festivals of Corinth. The new Herm from the Gymnasium Area provides a new fixed date for the Neronea Claudiea Caesarea Sebastea Germanicea Games in honour of Nero, the Isthmian Games and the Caesarea Games in 57 AD, which has implications for the understanding of the structure of the festival calendar. Based on his findings, WISEMAN urges scholars to accept a more flexible structure. In chapter 16: Epigraphy, Liturgy, and Imperial Policy on the Justinianic Isthmus (p. 327–40), WILLIAM R. CARAHER discusses Justinian’s attempts to root ecclesiastical unity in imperial authority through liturgical changes based on a contemporary inscription most probably from the Northeast gate of the fortress at Isthmia together with an associated inscription from Corinth. Both inscriptions are connected to the Justinianic reorganization of the fortification in the area. Based on the new date proposed by SLANE and SANDERS, 1 CARAHER links the architecture of the Lechaion basilica to the influence of the Constantinopolitan liturgy reflected in the Viktorinos inscriptions. Together with the articles of DAVID. K. PETTEGREW (p. 289–310), JON M. FREY (p. 311–26) and BIRGITTA LINDROS WOHL (p. 341–51) this article provides an excellent overview of the archaeology of Late Antique Isthmia and its historical significance. Lastly I want to draw attention to chapter 13: The Roman Buildings East of the Temple of Poseidon on the Isthmus (p. 271–87), by STEVEN J. R. ELLIS and ERIC E. POEHLER. This article only provides preliminary results, but it offers an excellent example of the potential of reevaluating old excavations aided by new technology. For this project the authors have successfully applied GIS to create a better understand of the buildings in the East Field and their phases. It would have been useful to mark the location of the ‘West Foundation’ on the map, which is not on Plan A as suggested in the text, and to include a compass rose on the plans in the article of ELLIS and POEHLER. However, these are very minor imperfections in a volume beautifully produced with high quality images. KRISTINA WINTHER-JACOBSEN The Danish Institute at Athens Herefondos 14, GR-10558 Athens [email protected]

1

K. W. SLANE / G. SANDERS, Corinth: Late Roman Horizons, Hesperia 74 (2005), 243–97.

282

Buchbesprechungen

 MORETTI, J.-CH. (dir.) / FADIN, L. / FINCKER, M. / PICARD, V. : Exploration Archéologique de Délos XLIII, Atlas, Paris : De Boccard 2015. 39 p., 51 cartes. ISBN 9782869582644. Commencées en 1873, les fouilles de Délos ont favorisé la production d’un ensemble de plans et de cartes archéologiques dessinés à différentes échelles. Mais il n’existait pas de relevé global et systématique de toute l’île et de chacun de ses nombreux monuments, repositionnés sur un même document. L’évolution des techniques et des supports numériques conjuguée à un fort investissement de l’École Française d’Athènes (EFA) l’a rendu possible. L’atlas dont nous rendons compte ici constitue l’aboutissement de ce travail de grande ampleur, entrepris sous la direction de JEAN-CHARLES MORETTI à partir de 2002. Il vient d’être prolongé par la mise en ligne du WEB SIG de Délos sur le site internet de l’EFA (https://sig-delos.efa.gr/). L’atlas se compose d’un jeu de 51 cartes et plans, accompagnés d’une notice explicative de 39 pages. Il comprend : deux plans qui permettent de situer les différents relevés sur la carte générale de l’île (1–2) ; la carte générale de l’île donnée au 1:5000 (3), ainsi qu’une carte simplifiée des parties fouillées de la ville antique et des zones où des vestiges antiques affleurent (4) ; le plan de la ville antique donné au 1:2000 (5), et également décomposé en quatre autres plans au 1:1000 qui font apparaître plus de détails (6–9) ; trente-sept plans de tous les monuments de l’île dessinés au 1:200 (10–46). Comme il est d’usage à Délos, ces monuments sont identifiés avec les numéros qu’ils portent dans le Guide de Délos publié par l’EFA. Les cinq dernières planches comportent treize profils au 1:200 (47–51) : du Quartier du stade et du Quartier de Skardhana ; du Sanctuaire d’Apollon et de ses abords ; du Quartier du Théâtre et de ses abords ; du Quartier de l’Inopos ; et enfin du Kynthion et du Sanctuaire des dieux d’Ascalon. Le résultat est remarquable. Il est rare de pouvoir disposer d’un instrument d’une telle qualité, surtout pour un site archéologique de grande superficie et exploré depuis longtemps comme c’est le cas de Délos. Ces nouveaux relevés ont permis de corriger ou de compléter les anciens et constituent désormais les plans de référence pour toute recherche sur l’île. Contrairement aux documents plus anciens, ils ont l’avantage d’être reproduits sur support numérique et peuvent être corrigés ou améliorés en fonction des nouvelles découvertes. Le WEB SIG permettra d’intégrer ces corrections dans des délais rapides et de les rendre disponibles. Les plans ont été conçus pour pouvoir être utilisés commodément, en recherchant le meilleur compromis entre le degré des détails, déterminé par le choix des échelles, et la maniabilité des documents. Ceux-ci peuvent atteindre 1 m de côté mais sont pliés dans le format des publications de l’Exploration Archéologique de Délos (25 sur 32 cm). Il est d’ailleurs possible de consulter les plans sans les déplier entièrement et chacun d’entre eux porte également au verso la représentation à petite échelle de la zone qu’il reproduit, ce qui permet de se repérer facilement. Les plans au 1:200 sont très complets et distinguent les fondations des élévations, les modes de construction des murs, le détail des portes et fenêtres, le mode de construction des sols, les aménagements divers, notamment tous ceux qui concernent la circulation et le stockage des eaux. Ils comportent aussi les altitudes. Les modes de représentation ont été

IV. Publikationen zu antiken Landschaften

283

soigneusement pensés pour permettre la meilleure lisibilité et une reproduction facile des planches. La même qualité se retrouve sur le WEB SIG où il est possible de zoomer jusqu’au 1:50, de sélectionner différents calques de détail et de superposer les plans de l’atlas aux plans plus anciens des mêmes secteurs, numérisés et recalés. La notice explicative précise la méthode utilisée tant pour le relevé que pour les techniques de dessin, et les raisons qui ont guidé le choix des informations prises en compte : fallait-il par exemple représenter les constructions modernes, les restaurations de monuments antiques, les monuments remblayés depuis leur découverte, les évolutions survenues depuis 2002, et si oui comment ? Seuls les monuments actuellement visibles l’ont été. La carte générale de l’île a été établie à la suite d’une restitution photogrammétrique obtenue à partir de clichés aériens produits par le Service géographique de l’armée grecque. Les opérations de relevé ont nécessité l’emploi d’un GPS différentiel et d’une station totale. Elles se sont déroulées pendant neuf campagnes de terrain de plusieurs semaines chacune, menées entre 2004 et 2010. La notice fournit aussi un catalogue commenté des cartes et plans dessinés depuis le début des fouilles, qui indique comment ils peuvent être utilisés ainsi que leur lieu de conservation actuel. Elle précise enfin les conventions retenues pour les plans aux différentes échelles, fournit la liste des planches et contient en outre un index très utile qui donne une correspondance entre les plans au 1:200 et les différents monuments de l’île. La réalisation de cet atlas a bénéficié de collaborations précieuses, notamment avec l’Institut de recherche sur l’architecture antique (IRAA) du CNRS, l’éphorie des Cyclades du Service Archéologique de la Grèce qui a fourni les données de ses propres fouilles, ou encore l’École supérieure des topographes du Mans. On ne peut douter qu’il deviendra une publication de référence et un outil de premier plan pour les spécialistes de Délos. Il constitue une étape importante dans la recherche sur cette île, en contribuant aussi à la conservation des découvertes qui y sont faites depuis la fin du XIXe siècle. LAURIANNE MARTINEZ-SÈVE Université de Lille, UMR HALMA 8164 (CNRS/MCC) 40 rue Louis Blanc, 75010, Paris, France [email protected]

 BAAS, PHILIPP: Landbevölkerung und Tod: Untersuchung zu den ländlichen Siedlungen und Nekropolen römischer Zeit auf Sizilien, Rahden: Verlag Marie Leidorf 2015. (Göttinger Studien zur Mediterranen Archäologie 7). 239 p., 20 ill. ISBN 9783867575061. The burial culture(s) of the Roman world has continued to attract scholarly attention for decades, resulting in numerous important contributions dealing with a wide range of aspects related to the ways people in the areas under Roman rule dealt with their dead and the disposal of the bodies.

284

Buchbesprechungen

The work under review is a revised version of a dissertation defended at the University of Göttingen in late 2013. The author’s goal is to shed light on the rural population of Roman Sicily through analysis of burial material in comparison with settlement material. The study aims to challenge traditional ways of studying the rural population, which have taken their point of departure in material from urban contexts rather than in the material of the rural areas themselves. Thus, the study includes a catalogue of 63 rural sites featuring settlements and adjacent cemeteries. The publication is structured in 13 chapters followed by a catalogue, summaries in English and Italian, a list of illustrations and an index. The text is accompanied by 20 plates of black/white illustrations. In the introduction (p. 11–9) BAAS sets the scene, presenting the reader with a very short introduction to the overall theme of his study with subchapters on burial cult (Totenkult), the material basis of the study, the methodology, and the research history of Roman burial cult and imaginings of afterlife, as well as the archaeological material of Roman Sicily pertaining to his area of study. The subchapter on the research history is, as is also acknowledged by the author himself, very sketchy. The extensive research history of Roman burials, rituals relating to death and burial, memory and ideas of life after death is treated in less than one page, with references to only five publications. The reader is left to wonder why these five publications have been singled out as representative of a vast area of research encompassing several subcategories and research trends, each important in their own right. Chapter 4 deals with the variation in the tomb types encountered in the material. BAAS is concerned with the typological representation of different grave types and their occurrences in time and place. Through an evaluation of the 63 sites, he arrives at the conclusion that the chronological observations can only be of a very general nature due to the problematic dating of many of the contexts, and that no clear differences between the rural and the urban material emerge. This leads on to the analyses of other aspects which might add to a fuller picture of his research question. Chapter 5 is focused on two aspects of what BAAS labels ‘ländlicher Totenkult’: cremation versus inhumation and reuse of existing tomb structures in the Roman period. The analysis reveals that the majority of rural burials were inhumations and that cremation seems to have been almost solely an urban elite phenomenon. The tombs designed for inhumation burials were likely to be reused in later periods and the examples from Lilybaeum even reveal Christian reuse of former Punic hypogea. In chapter 6, selected grave goods are presented and analysed. BAAS concludes that there are no discernible differences between rural and urban burial contexts in terms of the amount of grave goods, types of grave goods or in the assemblages of grave goods. However, as is also stated by the author the poor documentation and preservation of many of the rural sites pose a considerable source of error for this type of analysis and the results must be read with caution. Grave markers and epitaphs are found both in urban and rural contexts, which leads the author to conclude that they were not solely erected for communication with a wide audience but also served a purpose of a more private nature, thus targeting a much more limited audience. The analysis of the grave goods moreover underlines the region’s close relations with north Africa, which the author stresses through further observations on

IV. Publikationen zu antiken Landschaften

285

close similarities in, for instance, grave types and mosaics. These observations lead on to the following chapter 7 which deals with African mosaics in Sicily. The chapter is very short and has the nature of a nota bene rather than an actual chapter; it is a bit difficult to follow the rationale behind the dedication of a separate chapter to this very superficial 3½ page survey of various mosaics from rural contexts. It is understandable that the author is keen to demonstrate the importance of North Africa in the cultural landscapes of Sicily but unfortunately this short chapter does not add much in terms of further evidence of these contacts. The following two chapters, 8 and 9, deal with rural settlements leading up to the rather more substantial chapter 10, which treats settlements and their burial grounds from the Hellenistic period through Late Antiquity. This is a convincing chapter which demonstrates the author’s ability to analyse his material in a structured, coherent and cautious presentation with a clear embedment in the cultural and historical context of the material. In general, the analyses show that the urban burials from the Hellenistic period dominate markedly, both in numbers and in terms of the variation and quality of the grave goods. The material from the rural contexts is very meagre and BAAS is correct to be cautious in his conclusions from this part of the material. For the following period, the early Imperial Age/first century AD, only urban burial material is analysed as rural material is generally missing. The explanation for this is not clear-cut but BAAS points to other areas on the mainland of Southern Italy where similar situations are observed. BAAS concludes that this phenomenon could be explained by a continued use of tomb types and grave goods which were so uniform that they cannot be distinguished from other periods, or that the burial rites rely more or less solely on cremations which are harder to identify archaeologically and more easily overlooked or destroyed than more permanent tomb constructions and inhumations. In the next period, rural burials enter the scene again and the evidence consists of larger necropoleis and smaller burial plots, both types characterised by moderate or very simple assemblages of grave goods. With the introduction of catacombs, the visibility of tombs in urban contexts becomes more restricted; at the same time, the rural burial grounds become more visible. This means that the difference between urban and rural necropoleis in terms of visibility is now equalized considerably compared to previous periods. This leads BAAS to conclude that the development of the rural and urban burials was very different until the middle of the imperial period, but that the rise of Christianity in Late Antiquity seems to have created a more homogeneous appearance of rural and urban burials in all parts of Sicily (p. 147–9). Concerning the social aspects of the burials of the rural population BAAS makes an interesting observation about the middle imperial period, which shows a conspicuous lack of high status burials and monuments. While various ancient written sources inform us about renowned Roman senators as landowners in Sicily, there is no archaeological evidence for monumental tombs on the rural estates, as are commonly found in other provinces. Even after the Trajanic law requiring senators to hold at least one third of their land within Italy (Sicily included) there are no

286

Buchbesprechungen

indications that the tradition of erecting monumental tombs on one’s rural estate appealed to the landowning elite of Sicily. All in all, BAAS succeeds in presenting a thorough study of rural burial material analysed both in its own right and in comparison with the urban material. He tackles a large and sometimes patchy material, not previously treated as a whole, with a careful eye for the weaknesses in his evidence and never pushes conclusions too far. In places, the book would have benefitted from a stricter revision; there are some ‘leftovers’ from the dissertation where chapters have probably been shortened and thus stand out a bit superficial. However, this does not alter the fact that BAAS has successfully achieved what he set out to do, namely to shed light on the rural settlements and their burials setting them apart from the otherwise dominant urban material and thus highlighting the marked difference between city and rural area which prevailed until Late Antiquity.

JANE HJARL PETERSEN Classical Studies, Department of History University of Southern Denmark Campusvej 55, DK-5230 Odense M

 TRAKADAS, ATHENA: Fish-salting in the Northwest Maghreb in Antiquity: A Gazetteer of Sites and Resources, Oxford: Archaeopress 2015. 159 p., 129 figs. ISBN 9781784912413. Le lecteur a rarement l’occasion d’être confronté à un ouvrage basé sur l’archéologie, dont l’auteure s’avère aussi honnête et précise lorsqu’il s’agit de définir les objectifs, méthodes, approches et perspectives d’approfondissement envisagées. TRAKADAS indique, dès les premières pages d’introduction, que son livre a été conçu avec l’ambition d’établir une sorte de manuel de référence, facile d’accès, concernant les données – surtout archéologiques – fondamentales sur la production de salaisons de poissons, du sel et des amphores, dans le Nord-Ouest du Maghreb, durant l’Antiquité. L’auteure ajoute également qu’une rédaction en anglais a été envisagée afin de permettre la diffusion plus large, dans cette langue, des résultats des travaux scientifiques, passés ou en cours, qui ont été publiés en espagnol ou en français. La présentation de cet ouvrage pourrait s’achever par sa définition de catalogue. Il est à placer, dans une certaine mesure, dans le prolongement des travaux que M. TARRADELL 1 ou M. PONSICH 2 avaient initiés au milieu du XXe siècle dans la région. Sans aucun doute, l’auteure ne se trompe pas dans la description de son propre travail, lequel s’avère correspondre exactement à ce qui est annoncé au début de l’ouvrage, donnant lieu à un catalogue exhaustif de fabriques à salaison, d’ateliers 1 2

M. TARRADELL, Historia de Marruecos : Marruecos púnico, Tetuán 1960. M. PONSICH / M. TARRADELL, Garum et industries antiques de salaison dans la Méditerranée occidentale, París 1965 ; M. PONSICH, Aceite de oliva y salazones de pescado. Factores geoeconómicos de Betica y Tingitania, Madrid 1988.

IV. Publikationen zu antiken Landschaften

287

de potiers et de salines, répartis sur le territoire de la Maurétanie occidentale, en mettant à jour les données présentées dans les œuvres de référence citées auparavant. Ainsi, dans Fish-salting in the Northwest Maghreb in Antiquity, le lecteur, surtout celui qui n’est pas spécialiste de ces thématiques, se retrouve face à une sorte de base de données, laquelle vient remplir un « vide » spécifique à ce secteur. 3 Il s’agit d’une pierre à l’édifice scientifique, d’une utilité indiscutable, qui doit être associée à l’augmentation sensible, ces dernières années, de l’intérêt général pour ces thématiques halieutiques-amphoriques dans le monde méditerranéen (et en particulier dans le secteur du détroit de Gibraltar). Par ailleurs, l’auteure présente une approche méthodologique au goût du jour, en associant les données littéraires, géoarchéologiques (modification du trait de côte, salines, etc.), archéologiques (fabriques de salaisons, structures de production amphoriques, etc.), épigraphiques (timbres, tituli picti, etc.), cartographiques, ethnographiques, etc., et en suivant également le style des ouvrages de référence sur ce thème, l’ensemble conférant à cette œuvre un intérêt conséquent. La structure de l’ouvrage est cohérente avec ses objectifs, et permet une présentation et une discussion de l’information ordonnée et claire. Après avoir précisé que la publication reprenait une partie de ses travaux de doctorat (2009), TRAKADAS passe rapidement en revue l’historiographie antérieure sur la Maurétanie occidentale, tant d’un point de vue général que dans une optique plus régionale. Elle situe son étude dans la chronologie de la région et présente chacune des sections à venir. Après cette introduction presque purement formelle, l’auteure nous propose un essai de contextualisation de ce que constitue le cœur de l’ouvrage (les catalogues des fabriques, ateliers, salines et structures de coction céramiques de la section II). Ce chapitre est une large compilation, à des sujets variés, qui vont depuis les caractéristiques des produits halieutiques fabriqués (salaisons solides, en sauce ou en préparation salée), à la production des composants tinctoriaux à partir des Muricidae, jusqu’à des thèmes bien moins étudiés dans cette perspective, comme la quantification des volumes de production de la région ou la relation spatiale établie entre les fours à amphores, les salines et les fabriques. Bien que ce travail s’avère pertinent et abondamment référencé, que ce soit par des sources littéraires anciennes ou par une bibliographie scientifique actualisée, le premier chapitre (Section I, p. 7–22) est trop bref et schématique, laissant au lecteur le sentiment d’un traitement très général, au cours duquel la détermination de ce qui concerne concrètement la Maurétanie occidentale reste difficile à saisir. De plus, de nombreux points importants restent relégués au second plan, comme c’est le cas pour les précédents préromains de ces activités dans la région (auxquels ne sont accordés que quelques paragraphes) 4 ; on ne soucie pas trop non plus de certains 3 4

Un « vide » souligné depuis de nombreuses années par divers auteurs ; un exemple dans D. BERNAL, La industria pesquero-conservera en el Círculo del Estrecho. Consideraciones sobre la geografía de la producción, L’Africa Romana 16 (Rabat, 2004), II, 1351–94. Un thème qui dispose cependant d’une ample bibliographie ; pour exemple, E. FERRER / E. GARCIA, Producción y comercio de salazones y salsas de pescado de la costa malagueña en

288

Buchbesprechungen

thèmes qui font pourtant l’actualité historiographique, comme la nomenclature liée à la périodisation de ces activités, ou encore la notion de « Cercle du Détroit ». 5 Malgré tout, TRAKADAS parvient naturellement à orienter la discussion vers le principal centre d’intérêt de son ouvrage : la section dédiée à la présentation de la documentation archéologique et la discussion qui en découle. Les trois catalogues regroupés dans la Section II constituent, sans nul doute, le principal apport de ce livre. Ils représentent le plus complet et le plus pertinent des outils de ce type actuellement disponibles, facilitant l’accès à l’essentiel de la documentation relative aux fabriques, salines et fours céramiques de la côte méridionale du détroit de Gibraltar. 6 La composition de ce catalogue suit un schéma cohérent, basé sur une présentation des sites sous forme de fiche, le tout étant précédé d’une brève introduction et d’un plan général situant les différents établissements étudiés. Dans le cas des fabriques de salaisons et des ateliers d’amphores, l’auteure distingue, à juste titre, plusieurs groupes en fonction de la pertinence et de la fiabilité des données archéologiques disponibles : les sites sont donc classés selon qu’ils soient avérés, possibles ou qu’il s’agisse de propositions à vérifier. Le catalogue 1 est dédié aux fabriques à salaisons, et représente l’axe central de cette publication (p. 23–89). Cette liste inclut neuf établissements considérés comme sûrs, huit possibles et onze autres dans lesquels les activités liées aux produits halieutiques sont seulement soupçonnées. L’ensemble de ces sites représente une liste de chronologies, de dimensions de sites, de typologies et d’états de conservation particulièrement disparate, s’agissant dans tous les cas d’opérations de terrain qui n’ont pas été réalisées par l’auteure. Dans l’ensemble, ces différents points induisent des difficultés pour l’interprétation de ces divers établissements, ainsi que pour leur description. Il en résulte que ces sites ne devraient pas tous correspondre à des fabriques de salaisons préromaines ou romaines. Néanmoins, l’auteure apporte des informations très détaillées pour chaque site, en incluant la situation géographique, les principales structures mises au jour, la topographie, les amphores et ressources marines identifiées, l’association entre des fours et salines, et,

5 6

épocas púnica y romana republicana, in Actas del II Congreso de Historia Antigua de Málaga, Málaga 2001, 547–71 ; E. GARCIA / E. FERRER, Producción y comercio de salazones y salsas saladas de pescado del litoral andaluz en Época Fenicio-Púnica. Temas y problemas, in Simposio Internacional Producão e comércio de preparados piscícolas durante a Proto-história e a Época Romana no Ocidente da Península Ibérica : Homenagem a Françoise Mayet, Setúbal 2006 (Setúbal Arqueológica, 13), 19–38. M. COLTELLONI-TRANNOY / V. BRIDOUX / V. BROUQUIER-REDDE, Le Cercle du Détroit Dans l’Antiquité : l’héritage de Miguel Tarradell, Louvain 2016 (Karthago 29). Tout au moins jusqu’à ce que l’Atlas de Cetariae Atlántico-Mediterráneas (ACAM) et son laboratoire virtuel en ligne soient pleinement actifs. Cet atlas ambitionne de rassembler toute la documentation disponible sur les fabriques de salaisons de la Méditerranée occidentale et centrale, en associant la majorité des spécialistes dans l’élaboration de chaque fiche de description des sites, constituant l’un des principaux résultats du projet international Red de Excelencia Atlántico-Mediterránea del Patrimonio Pesquero en la Antigüedad (RAMPPA), dirigé par le Prof. DARIO BERNAL (Universidad de Cádiz, Espagne) (http://ramppa.ddns.net/).

IV. Publikationen zu antiken Landschaften

289

enfin, la chronologie. La documentation graphique présentée, lorsqu’elle s’est avérée disponible, fait de ce catalogue un outil particulièrement utile, notamment comme introduction à ces divers sites. Dans le chapitre suivant, TRAKADAS présente les données relatives aux possibles zones d’extraction du sel dans l’Antiquité (Catalogue 2, p. 91–107), en avertissant très justement des difficultés que l’étude et l’identification de ces salines antiques présentent. Elle revient opportunément sur la nécessité d’un examen des conditions géo-archéologiques de chaque site, pour déterminer les configurations dans lesquelles ces activités de production ont pu se dérouler, en revenant sur le constat (peu évident mais justement évité) d’un danger dans l’extrapolation des informations provenant des époques médiévales, modernes et contemporaines sur les phases antérieures. Le dernier catalogue (numéro 3, p. 109–24) est dédié à l’examen des ateliers céramiques associés à la fabrication des amphores, une activité essentielle pour la commercialisation des salaisons, liée à cette dernière, dans la région, depuis l’époque préromaine. Un total de quinze sites d’ateliers, ou de possibles fours identifiés, est envisagé dans ce chapitre ; chaque fiche apporte des précisions sur la localisation, les caractéristiques générales, la production et la chronologie des contextes avérés ou possibles. Comme pour les catalogues précédents, l’auteure ajoute de nombreuses références bibliographiques ; toutefois, celles-ci ne sont pas toujours des plus précises et des plus adaptées. Par rapport à ce chapitre, nous pourrions faire une suggestion méthodologique. Comme l’auteure le souligne très justement dans son introduction, il s’avère de plus en plus problématique d’associer un modèle spécifique d’amphore à un contenu. Cette remarque concerne l’essentiel du mobilier amphorique et la majorité des périodes historiques. Les preuves concernant la réutilisation fréquente des amphores sont de plus en plus nombreuses. En conséquence, l’usage des termes « salazón amphora » ou « salazón kiln » s’avère relativement peu indiqué, puisqu’il induit une identification conteneurs-contenus automatique, que les données historiques et archéologiques ne peuvent prouver. Il est à espérer que l’emploi de ces termes n’engendre pas une tendance malheureuse dans l’historiographie ultérieure. Dans le dernier chapitre (Section III), l’auteure présente rapidement des renseignements rassemblés dans les catalogues précédents, en abordant succinctement la question des produits fabriqués (p. 127), puis en passant de la discussion des données archéologiques (p. 127–35) à la présentation d’une série de conclusions et de perspectives de recherche (p. 135–7). Suite à l’attribution discutable de plusieurs produits aux contextes mauritaniens, TRAKADAS entreprend, au cours de la partie centrale de ce chapitre, une synthèse chronologique de la production du sel, des salaisons et des amphores dans le secteur étudié. Celle-ci est accompagnée de plusieurs cartes de distribution des sites et de tableaux, qui montrent l’évolution chronologique de ces activités, depuis le VIème siècle av. J.-C. jusqu’au VIIème siècle de notre ère.

290

Buchbesprechungen

Ce bilan diachronique permet de constater que l’auteure est davantage familière des registres des époques romaines et de l’Antiquité tardive que des étapes antérieures. 7 En tout état de cause, la discussion pour toutes les périodes envisagées en vient généralement à reprendre les recommandations et problématiques récurrentes dans la recherche sur ces thématiques dans le secteur : on retient l’absence de structures en rapport avec la production préromaine et les insuffisances de la documentation pour l’évaluation des hiérarchies, des modèles de fonctionnement et des chronologies d’activité dans le cas des installations postérieures aux années 40/42 de notre ère. TRAKADAS signale, au cours d’une discussion à caractère nécessairement hypothétique vu la faiblesse des données matérielles, que ces activités ont pu débuter dès la fin du VIème siècle av. J.-C. Il y a eu un floruit initié durant le Ier siècle avant notre ère, qui continua jusqu’au IIème siècle ap. J.-C. Vient ensuite une phase marquée par une réduction sensible de l’activité sur l’ensemble des sites étudiés (avec une poursuite avérée seulement pour des établissements comme Septem ou Lixus), durant le milieu de l’époque impériale et le Bas-Empire. La section Summary ajoute à ce panorama général de la documentation archéologique une étude des processus historiques de grande ampleur, à l’échelle méditerranéenne et régionale, mais avec un résultat similaire à celui du chapitre précédent. Comme on peut le déduire de ce chapitre de conclusion et des publications les plus récentes, 8 un important travail de prospection, de fouille et d’étude systématique du mobilier reste à accomplir sur le territoire maurétanien. Pour conclure, il s’agit d’un ouvrage facile d’accès, qui offre une bonne introduction aux problématiques de la production du sel, de la pourpre, des salaisons de poissons et des amphores en Maurétanie occidentale. Il devrait être présent dans la bibliothèque de tous ceux qui se montrent intéressés par l’étude de l’exploitation des ressources marines durant l’Antiquité. ANTONIO SÁEZ ROMERO Departamento de Prehistoria y Arqueología Universidad de Sevilla, Facultad de Geografía e Historia C/Doña María de Padilla s/n, E-41004 Sevilla [email protected]

7

8

L’un des problèmes de ce travail est l’usage des travaux sur les amphores préromaines ; plus particulièrement, on note l’absence d’indications relatives à la typologie de référence pour la Méditerranée, présentée dans RAMON TORRES, J. Las ánforas fenicio-púnicas del Mediterráneo Central y Occidental, Barcelona 1995 (Colección Instrumenta 2). L. CALLEGARIN / M. KBIRI ALAOUI / A. ICHKHAKH / J.-C. ROUX, Rirha: site antique et medieval du Maroc, I–IV, Madrid 2015 (Collection du Casa de Velázquez 150) ; J. RAMOS / D. BERNAL / M. ZOUAK / B. RAISSOUNI / A. KHAYARI, Carta Arqueológica del Norte de Marruecos (2008– 2012), I : Prospección y yacimientos, un primer avance, Cádiz 2016 (Villes et Sites Archéologiques du Maroc 5).

Klaus Tausend

Pylos und sein Heer Untersuchungen zum spätmykenischen Militärwesen Mit Beiträgen von Fritz Blakolmer, Andreas Konecny und Michaela Zinko

GeoGraphIca hIstorIca – banD 39 Der autor Klaus Tausend, Studium der Alten Geschichte und Klassischen Philologie, ist Leiter des Zentrums Antike der Universität Graz. Forschungsschwerpunkte: Mykenologie, Antike Militärgeschichte, Germanische Geschichte.

2018 361 Seiten mit 6 Karten und 31 s/w-Abbildungen 978-3-515-12120-0 kart. 978-3-515-12122-4 e-book

Am Beispiel des Reiches von Pylos und auf Basis der Linear B-Texte bietet dieser Band eine umfassende Darstellung des spätmykenischen Militärwesens, seiner Organisation und seiner wirtschaftlichen Implikationen. Ein kommentierter Überblick über die Funde von Waffen und Rüstungen der spätmykenischen Zeit veranschaulicht den letzten Stand der Forschung – ergänzt durch eine Zusammenstellung der bildlichen Darstellung von Waffen, Kriegern und vor allem Kampfszenen. Die gemeinsame Präsentation von Texten, Bildern und archäologischen Quellen ermöglicht so erstmals ein Gesamtbild der bisher wenig erforschten Militärgeschichte der spätmykenischen Zeit. Ein Anhang über das hethitische Militärwesen des 13. und 14. Jahrhunderts ermöglicht zudem den Vergleich zweier spätbronzezeitlicher Militärorganisationen im Hinblick auf Gemeinsamkeiten, aber auch Unterschiede im Heereswesen der beiden Kulturen – die gegenseitigen Einflüsse und der Austausch auf diesem Gebiet können so sichtbar gemacht werden. aus Dem Inhalt Spätmykenische Bewaffnung im archäologischen Befund | Die Ikonographie des Krieges in der mykenischen Palastzeit | Spätmykenische Bewaffnung nach Aussage der Linear B-Texte | Formen und Einsatz des mykenischen Streitwagens | Die o-ka-Tafeln | Pylos-Texte zur Militärorganisation außerhalb der o-ka-Tafeln | Als Vergleich: Texte militär-organisatorischen Inhalts aus Knossos | Der geographische Aspekt: Lokale Herkunft und räumliche Verteilung des pylischen Heeres | Das hethitische Militär: Struktur und Organisation | Mykenische und hethitische Militärorganisation: Ein Vergleich | Literatur | Register

Hier bestellen: www.steiner-verlag.de

Iris von Bredow

Kontaktzone Vorderer Orient und Ägypten Orte, Situationen und Bedingungen für primäre griechisch-orientalische Kontakte vom 10. bis zum 6. Jahrhundert v. Chr.

GeoGraphica historica – Band 38 die autorin Iris von Bredow hat Altphilologie, alte Geschichte und Sprachwissenschaft in Sofia (Bulgarien) studiert, wo sie auch promovierte und habilitierte. Sie arbeitete am Institut für Thrakologie und im Zentrum für alte Sprachen und Kulturen an der Sofioter Universität. Von 1997 bis 2016 war sie Privatdozentin am Institut für alte Geschichte in Stuttgart, mehrere Semester am Seminar für Alte Geschichte und Epigraphik in Heidelberg sowie am Institut für Allgemeine Sprachwissenschaft in Frankfurt.

Viele kulturelle Leistungen des antiken Griechenland wurden aus dem Osten übernommen. Iris von Bredow widmet sich nun erstmals der Frage nach dem Mechanismus dieses Kulturtransfers. Kleinteilige Gegenstände konnten die Griechen imitieren – für Monumentalarchitektur, Steinplastik, mythologische Narrationen, Vorstellungen über den Kosmos oder das Jenseits und vieles mehr sind jedoch besondere Rezeptionsgeschichten vorauszusetzen. Nur ein in einer östlichen Gesellschaft integrierter Grieche konnte durch Akkulturation und persönliche verbale Kontakte mit fremden Kulturträgern Kenntnisse erwerben, die nach ihrem Transfer die archaische Kultur in vielen Bereichen prägten. Bredow rekonstruiert anhand schriftlicher und archäologischer Quellen Kontaktsituationen für eine erfolgreiche Rezeption (z. B. Söldnertum, Handel, zivile Karrieren) und kann durch die Darstellung der politischen Geographie Syriens und Ägyptens in der Eisenzeit gleichzeitig die räumlichen und zeitlichen Parameter solcher Kontakte festlegen. aus dem inhalt Einleitung und Danksagung | Kurzer historischer Abriss Griechenlands, des Vorderen Orients und Ägyptens vom 12. bis zum 6. Jh. | Die Betrachtung der Quellen als Medien ihrer Zeit | Kommunikation und Rezeption | Kontaktsituationen | Rezeption und die Entwicklung neuer Identitäten durch primäre Kontakte und Kommunikation | Literatur | Register

394 Seiten mit 7 Karten 978-3-515-11860-6 kart. 978-3-515-11861-3 e-Book

Hier bestellen: www.steiner-verlag.de

Die Erforschung der Geographie der Alten Welt ist eine interdisziplinäre Wissenschaft. Der Orbis Terrarum bietet den Raum für entsprechende Studien von Historikern, Philologen, Geographen und Archäologen. Dabei ist das abgedeckte Spektrum bewusst breit angelegt: Forschungen zum geographisch-topographischen Profil haben hier ebenso Platz wie Untersuchungen zur Wechselwirkung zwischen Mensch und Landschaft sowie wissenschaftsgeschichtliche oder methodologische Arbeiten. Die Beiträge dieser Ausgabe erstrecken sich historisch-chronologisch von den frühen Hochkulturen Mesopotamiens

bis in die Spätantike. Einen Schwerpunkt legen die Autorinnen und Autoren dabei auf die Untersuchung von Texten zur antiken Geographie (Thukydides, Longos von Lesbos, Alkiphron, Periplus Maris Erythraei). Studien zum Potential von Raumerfassung durch Listen, dem Pontosgebiet, Eratosthenes sowie ein Forschungsbericht zur antiken Piraterie ergänzen den Band. Der Orbis Terrarum enthält einen umfangreichen Literaturteil mit Einzelrezensionen und Sammelbesprechungen zu Themen der historischen Geographie der Alten Welt.

www.steiner-verlag.de Franz Steiner Verlag

ISBN 978-3-515-12162-0

9

7835 1 5 1 2 1620