2010.03.41

Version at BMCR home site
Kiichiro Itsumi, Pindaric Metre: 'The Other Half'. Oxford/New York: Oxford University Press, 2009. Pp. xix, 464. ISBN 9780199229611. $190.00.
Reviewed by Andrew Kelly, University of Melbourne

With this work Kiichiro Itsumi sets out to reconfigure the landscape of Pindaric metre. The 'other half' in his title are the non-dactylo-epitrite poems of the corpus that having long ago shed the designation logaoedic now usually go by the name of 'aeolic.' This, if it at least points to something real (asymmetric cola and sometimes actually aeolic ones), has been a very broad church for the range of metrical sequences it has had to cover. It has been a term more of convenience than of understanding. We may, Itsumi suspects, have been hoodwinked by the uniformity of the dactylo-epitrite (D/e) half into putting up with a single name for the rest.

He posits two 'metres', aeolic and freer dactylo-epitrite, which are combined in three 'styles.' In place of the familiar twins the corpus is to become a lopsided foursome. Alongside D/e Itsumi posits three classes:

Class I: Aeolic
(e.g. Olympian 9 strophe, Isthmian 7 epode)

Class II: Freer Dactylo-Epitrite
(e.g. Olympian 9 epode, Olympian 10)

Class III: Amalgamated Style
(e.g. Olympian 1 strophe, Nemean 7 epode)

There is no question that in these groupings Itsumi has put his finger onto threads of significant commonality.

The category of freer D/e may well be one of the book's most important contributions. His preliminary summary of its differences from standard D/e runs as follows (p. 23):

i) the basic phrase of double-short movement is not D (- u u - u u -) but d (- u u -);

ii) other less common phrases are extensively used;

iii) link anceps is not used so frequently as in D/e, especially within the verse, rather phrases tend to be juxtaposed without a link between them;

iv) verses in freer D/e tend to be shorter.

The scheme as a whole is subtle and multi-layered, inevitably: otherwise someone would have come up with it before. It rests on a vast enterprise of observations, comparisons and statistics generally presented with exemplary clarity. Whether or not it catches on as a way of naming, in presenting and justifying his scheme, and above all with his metrical portraits of each poem, Itsumi has opened a new window on Pindar. The work is an incomparable resource.

The book is divided into three parts. The introduction that constitutes Part I is not the gentle survey that the word often suggests but a full scale induction into his method: 108 pages, not including the substantial appendix attached to it. This, twenty-six pages long and printed in small type to discourage the faint-hearted, is a test case study of modern emendations in relation to metre of, in his notation, N6s6-7, that is, lines 6-7 of the strophes/antistrophes of Nemean 6.

Part II, much the largest, contains his analyses of what he calls the eighteen Majors, that is, the eighteen non-D/e poems long enough to provide sufficient responsions to reach plausibly reliable conclusions. Appendices to this Part treat those that are not, his four Minors and a series of longer fragments.

These metrical portraits run from anywhere between a few pages up to almost twenty. They come with seven features: a metrical scheme accompanied by the Greek text for the first strophe and epode; a roster showing which verses are secured by hiatus/brevis in longo; separate metrical discussions focusing in turn on the poem as a whole, then the strophe and epode, and then line by line. This zeroing in is a particularly effective piece of organisation. Preceding the line-by-line comment sits a discussion of any text-critical issues that interact with metrical considerations.

Apart from postponing the four minors until after the eighteen majors, the poems are presented in their traditional order rather than in one of Itsumi's exposition. This orients the work as one of reference rather than simply a study. Thus the introduction can be studied before turning to poems of current interest. Or indeed, if you are willing to take him on trust, the discussions of individual poems are quite comprehensible on their own without following the systematic justifications of the introduction. Or for a fuller engagement one can work on poems class by class. Follow that trail and the book becomes an invitation to re-experience Pindar.

Part III entitled Miscellanea is in effect a long run of appendices, namely six short essays on some key metrical phenomena and five lists tabulating statistics, both sets on features that have cropped up piecemeal though the course of the study.

Itsumi contrasts what he dubs static and dynamic approaches to the analysis of Pindaric metre. Static refers to an approach where the essential thing is to name: with little regard to context, fixed sequences are given labels drawn from the cavalcade of cola that come to us in the ancient metrical handbooks and the further proliferations of modern enumerators. This caricature is never realised absolutely, but Itsumi points to the polymetric analyses of Turyn where names drawn from unrelated types of metre can make them seem, to those of dynamic inclinations, like 'an assorted box of chocolates.' The risk in this style is that (and here Itsumi invokes A. M. Dale) it can lead to 'inorganic dissection.' On the other side dynamic analysis aspires, in a phrase Itsumi quotes from Martin West, 'to follow a train of thought.' Already suggested by the generative permutations of aeolic cola outside Pindar, this approach reads very much like structural criticism of classical music. It is effectively a narrative analysis and thereby generates a good narrative in itself (as in the appealing expositions of West and Dale), and it certainly gives the impression of deeper engagement than a point-and-name metrics. It can be seen at a glance in the schemas given by Snell in the Teubner editions where verses are set out in broken spacings to line up the 'choriambic nuclei', driving columns of affinity down through the centre of the stanza, with the other material dangling off either side, or in pits in the middle if the scheme applies, as it often does, to more than one column of aligned positions.

The static approach can seem mechanical and barren, but the unease about the dynamic alternative is that it is ad hoc, shedding only vague illumination over the generic background from which an individual occurrence emerges.

Itsumi presents himself as a sort of neo-static, albeit evidently a dynamic or organic one: his own analyses in Part II are anything but insensitive to context. Fundamental are his Rules for consistent analysis (p. 10) through which he seeks to set phrase division onto an objective basis: phrase division is to precede analysis, not be produced by it. (He prefers the term phrase to colon for Pindar, and verse to period.) He asserts the principles that phrase boundary should fall 'automatically and exclusively' between true (non-anceps) longs (... - | - ...) and before anceps flanked by longs (... - | x - ...). Based on these 'and other principles' he sets out eight rules for fixing phrase boundary. What those other principles are we are not told, and while it is not hard to think of justications for the first two principles above, it would have been better for the reader's ease of mind if these crucial pages had set out more explicitly how he decided to proceed as he did. But the proof in the end must of course be in the eating. In any case, the eight rules are to guard against the temptation to divide, on the spot as it were, to come up with comfortingly familiar sequences. So for instance, by the first principle above mid-verse phrases with pendant ending (...u - - | ...) become impossible: so a pherecratean (oo - u u - - ) will only be found at verse end. One overall result is that he is much more cautious than Snell at labeling sequences as the standard aeolic cola, even where a stanza belongs to his Class I Aeolic. Another is that his verses can end up longer and shorter than page decorum or practicality would invite: Alexandrian colometry, he suggests, was sometimes just chopping up for layout.

Itsumi characterises Pindaric metre at three successive levels: phrase, verse and 'stanza-form' (by which is meant the metrical pattern underlying the actual strophes/antistrophes or epodes in responsion within a particular poem). Phrases (cola) can be categorised as aeolic or as freer D/e. These then combine variously to produce verses that are either pure or composite aeolic or freer D/e. Aeolic verses are composite when they contain D/e phrases, most commonly the shorter d and e style phrases attached as suffix or prefix. Of the 235 verses, as Itsumi enumerates them, that make up the eighteen majors, 62 are pure aeolic, 72 composite aeolic and 101 freer D/e. As expressed on these two levels aeolic and freer D/e constitute the two 'metres' deployed in the non-D/e half of Pindar.

Then, up onto the final level, that of the stanza-form, where the two metres combine to form the three Classes. (Stanza-form not poem, since epode does not necessarily follow strophe/antistrophe; and occasionally a stanza-form is itself mixed.) The Classes can be thought of as styles: so they are numbered and tagged rather than simply named. Notably too, each Class has more or less certain instances and Class I comes with ambiguous cases (which might belong to III). With the two 'metres' feeding into the three Classes the assignment of stanza-forms to Classes is not always a straightforward affair. Itsumi sets up a roster of twenty-one factors, helpfully tabulated on a chart on p. 107, that are used to shepherd a stanza-form into the most appropriate Class. For instance, 'aeolic base of two longs' is a feature of Class I, 'longer verses' occur in Classes I and III, and 'reversed dodrans with a tribrach opening' occurs in Classes II and III. One notable factor of statistical subtlety is 'RSS,' the ratio of short to long syllables expressed as a percentage, lowest in Class I, highest in Class III. Of the twenty-one factors about half point only to one Class (and overridingly these refer to the uncontroversial Class I Aeolic) while the rest are common to two Classes (and likewise overridingly these commonalities are shared between Classes II and III.) As Classes I and II share no features in common, the question is always between membership in either I or III or II or III.

Even if it is an accurate account of the state of affairs there is something a little disconcerting about the recycling of names up through the three levels. There are aeolic verses that contain D/e phrases and stanzas of the freer D/e class that can contain aeolic verses. Presenting this system in a classroom might not be a happy chore. It's a pity we couldn't have ended up with kiichironics and itsumians.

Many readers will be comparing Itsumi's treatments in the first instance with the schemas set out by Snell in the Teubner editions. The divergence in the case of stanzas belonging to Itsumi's Class I aeolic tends naturally to be more modest as these have always been relatively unproblematic. But especially in terms of labelling it can seem as if hardly a line is unchanged. Some of the changes are of course more significant than others. Here is a sample of the difference that meets the eye:

Isthmian 7 strophe line 2

Snell: ^gl ia cr
Itsumi: tel u e e

Pythian 2 epode line 3

Snell: gl pher ia
Itsumi: gl rdod e2

Pythian 5 strophe line 11

Snell: ba cr ia
Itsumi: ^e - e3

Pythian 5 epode line 6

Snell: cho (^chodim) cr
Itsumi: d rdod e

Gone is Snell's practice of bracketing variant cola, where gl means glyconic but (gl) something resembling one in a glyconic-plausible context; or worse ((^chodim)) where an already dubious colon is supposed to be seen lurking behind further layers of perturbation. Thankfully, choriambic dimeter (oooo - u u -, rejected elsewhere by Itsumi as a bogus format¹) is replaced by the Wilamowitzianum (o o - u - u u - ) or, with the base reduced or removed, the reversed dodrans (rdod) or the heptasyllable. This brings the sequence into cleaner relation with the glyconic. Itsumi prefers gl + 3 to Snell's gl ba, giving us an organically extended pendant phrase rather than suggesting a further entity has been plugged on to the end. In general Itsumi finds fewer aeolic phrases than Snell: in their place sit freer D/e phrases. Similarly, Snell's cretics, choriambs and iambs are now also covered by Maasian notation, which allows a more fluid visualisation of the play of single and double shorts and has the effect of bringing these sequences into relation with the D/e half of the corpus.

Some readers may regret that in the initial graphic layout of each of his metrical schemes Itsumi drops Snell's practice of aligning the 'choriambs.' He does in fact make frequent use of the practice in the discussions following, often combining it with a variety of alterations (as for instance by removing the resolutions) which allow it to become a supple exploratory tool. But in the first full laying out he uses space breaks to show phrase boundaries, rather than the punctuation marks performing the same task in his Greek text. There are no doubt good reasons for this abstention, but in terms of reader fatigue it seems a pity that where, especially for the simpler aeolic cases, the column of phrase labels shows such clear patterning, as for instance his O9s3-9,

gl reiz
gl reiz
gl reiz
wil reiz
gl
reiz,

the layout does not manifest this with quite the same ease of recognition. Instead the eye has to delve to see where exactly this order sits in the rows of notated positions.

On the other hand, in the frequent cases where clusters of neighbouring lines share a common character Itsumi numbers them as subsections of the stanza. This, like so many others throughout this book, is an extremely helpful feature.

Itsumi is a master at clear exposition. Where the risk with metrical studies (especially ones nearly 500 pages long!) is losing the forest for the trees, he sketches beforehand and summarises afterward; and the elaborate signposting makes it an easy work to navigate in. The reader can choose between studying the data and reasoning, or simply making off with the conclusions. The index is a little on the skimpy side. This is not a real defect in such a methodically arranged work. But on the other hand, there are so many intriguing observations along the way and it would nice if the index could be used to draw them together: entries on composition and performance would have been welcome. His use of English is very occasionally unidiomatic, but this is more than compensated for by the verve and colour of much of the writing.

The whole way through I wanted to hear Itsumi, or his understudy, reading the verses as he understands them, aloud. It may be unfair to complain that a book is not more than a book. Earlier books on metre have not spoken aloud to their readers, though they not infrequently invite them to hum English nursery rhymes or Scottish ballads. But the technological situation has evolved: a companion website, a recording available on iTunes. The elucidation of acoustic phenomena on the silent page alone has begun to seem an anomaly.

Of course there can be no question of authentic reperformance. And what we need is not the full boxed set, but exploratory demonstrations. What is at stake in one metrical analysis as against another? Is a labelled sequence to be heard and felt as an event, or is it more an historical-generative building block, or nothing but notational brevity? The difficulty in holding apart categories like these on the page plagues many metrical disagreements that are never going to be resolved in a footnote: as in note 11 on page 5 of the present work where the link anceps is either "a revolution in the history of metrical study" (Itsumi) or "merely a convenient method of notation" (West).

Itsumi frequently draws attention to points of doubt relating to the articulation of sequences: Is the final syllable of catalectic clausulae a triseme? (If so, as he is inclined to believe, then the aeolic reizianum sounded different from the freer D/e phrase x d x, both of which might transcribe as - - u u - -.) Is the double short of the resolved aeolic half-base different from the double short in the following 'choriamb?' What is the pronunciation of a long anceps as against a true long? These are uncertainties rather than pits of absolute unknowing: there would be no harm, in fact great benefit, in multiple and opposed renditions. Vocal illustration is really the only way to make clear what is and what is not at stake.

We can ask what is metre for, now? The nearest thing to an explicit comment on this is the book's very first sentence: 'Some understanding of metre is necessary for the full appreciation of poetry', which does not take us very far. If no more than an aid to textual criticism, metrical study can be left on the other side of a veil of silence. But this is clearly not the end of Itsumi's engagement. He tells us that sequential resolutions have a bright, dazzling effect. He uses words like beautiful, astonishing, sophisticated. In these he does not seem to be speaking from a cerebral realm sundered from sensory experience, or as someone for whom metre is only for the solving of metrical problems.

Long ago Paul Shorey wrote about metre and Greek verses: "If, on the other hand, one does not or cannot read them at all one is free to say what one pleases about them on paper. But what does it mean?"² The statistical apparatus Itsumi brings so revealingly to bear refutes any recrimination of arbitrariness. But I, like my students, want to hear, and we would like to refine our own efforts against those provided by metrical experts. In and of itself this book is going to be a tremendous resource for engaging metrically with Pindar, but I wish it conducted its investigations not only in silence. Of course metricians of choral lyric face an added danger and may be well advised to keep their lips sealed in case someone asks them to dance as well.

---

Notes:

1.   "The 'Choriambic Dimeter' of Euripides," The Classical Quarterly, New Series, Vol. 32, No. 1 (1982), pp. 59-74.
2.   "The Issue in Greek Metric," Classical Philology, Vol. 19, No. 2 (Apr., 1924), p. 172.

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2010.03.40

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Robert Harris, Lustrum. Blinded by Ambition. Seduced by Power. Destroyed by Rome. London: Hutchinson, 2009. Pp. 454. ISBN 9780091801304. £18.99.
Reviewed by Andrea Schuetze, Ludwig-Maximilians Universität München

"The body of a child was pulled from the River Tiber, close to the boat sheds of the republican war fleet". He was felled from behind by a hammer, his throat was cut and his body eviscerated. A dense atmosphere full of mystery and horror wafts through the opening of Robert Harris' Lustrum, the second part of his trilogy about the life of Marcus Tullius Cicero, the man from Arpinum, the homo novus, the pater patriae.

For those who know the story of Cicero's life, the story-line of this trilogy can be told very easily: Imperium, the first part, described the hard and stony way of Cicero's career, Lustrum, the second part, broaches the issue of Cicero's rise and fall, his consulship and exile and the third part will one day treat the last years of his life. Harris doesn't just write a biographical romance, he offers his reader a special mixture of historical truth and historical possibility. In the manner of Graves' "I Claudius" Tiro puts down his memory at the end of his life and gives a look through his old eyes into a past that had disappeared a long time ago. History becomes alive in rich (and accurately developed) atmosphere: The character of the homo novus Cicero appears to be quite modern, resembling very much one of John Grisham's lawyers. But this also turns out what Cicero actually is -- a lawyer and politician, always ready for good deals, able to catch and capture people with the power of his words. Maybe Harris suggests a bit too much the modern self-made man. On the other side Harris shows a man working all night in his office, vomiting after great speeches and leaning on his strong wife Terentia.

Those of the upper-class with less talent and genius, but more family-tradition and connection try not only to dim his brilliance by spite and neglect at every opportunity, they also try to use him and rope him into sinister political intrigues. Harris provides through Lustrum great insight into this exciting period of Roman history not only by echoing historical sources but by numerous psychologic zooms: a glimpse or a blink of an eye here, a whisper or a rumor there, and over all the ancient truth of evil omen.

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2010.03.39

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Jean-Baptiste Gourinat, Jonathan Barnes (ed.), Lire les stoïciens. Philosophie ancienne. Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 2009. Pp. vi, 234. ISBN 9782130573739. €15.00 (pb).
Reviewed by Ilaria L. E. Ramelli, Catholic University of the Sacred Heart, Milan

[Authors and titles are listed at the end of the review.]

The small size and cost of this dense book should not be taken to suggest that it is not rich and of high scholarly profile. The contributors are experts and their treatments -- although limited to providing overviews and preparing readers ("like an appetizer", 2) for the Stoics' often difficult technical works -- are rigorous and clear, and sometimes original. They disclose the complexity of the Stoic philosophical system and reflect different approaches.

The book's structure is based on a synchronic view of the system, although diachronic developments are also taken into account. After an introduction, the book consists of two parts, which are based not on the traditional division of Stoicism into Old, Middle, and New (Roman Stoicism), which is problematic, especially for the demarcation of Middle Stoicism, but on a division into Hellenistic and Imperial Stoicism respectively. Nevertheless, the editors warn readers that periodizations, absent as they are from ancient sources, are "une fiction commode" (7). Within each part, individual chapters focus on the main branches of Stoic philosophy.

In the introduction, the editors rightly highlight the paradoxical nature of Stoicism and observe that the Stoics are the first philosophers who conceived their philosophy as a system and expounded it in an elaborated systematic form, but also insisted, following in Socrates' footsteps, on the necessity of practicing philosophy. The editors correctly remark that the division of the system into logic, physics, and ethics is not originally Stoic, but the Stoics had a peculiar way of explaining it, basing it on a division of virtue. The statement that the true Stoic extirpates his/her emotions (7) is correct in that it translates the Stoic idea of ἀπάθεια -- inherited by several Patristic philosophers --, but it should be borne in mind, with Margaret Graver,¹ that Stoicism did not advocate the extirpation of προπάθειαι (which are not evil), or, even less, of εὐπάθειαι (which are good).

Gourinat and Barnes underline the fact that orthodoxy was less important for Stoicism than it was for Epicureanism, and that there were doctrinal developments over time; however, the Stoic system has constants, well summarized for the fields of logic, physics, and ethics (8-9). Gourinat and Barnes provide a history of the school and an outline of its representatives, with notes on the progressive disappearance of Stoic writings by the sixth century. For imperial Stoicism, Seneca, Epictetus, and Marcus Aurelius are included, but not "minor" Stoics such as Hierocles, Musonius, Cornutus, Persius, Lucan, or Chaeremon; some of these briefly appear later in the book. Finally, Gourinat and Barnes expound the main sources, distinguishing literal quotations from paraphrases and allusions. Separate treatments are devoted to the authors from whom most fragments in SVF come.

Gourinat treats epistemology (the part of logic that deals with the criterion of truth),² rhetoric, and grammar. These all belong to 'logic', which has to do with λόγος (word, argument, and reason). Gourinat points out that the dialectic / rhetoric distinction was introduced by Zeno, but it is Chrysippus who shaped Stoic logic. Gourinat's exposition is clear and accurate. In the treatment of grammar (33), he tentatively accepts the Suda's characterization of Crates as a Stoic. He interprets the word κριτικός, by which Crates designated himself, as referring to a philologist devoted to the edition and study of texts. This is right, provided that this study is understood as involving wide-ranging exegetical issues, including philosophical interpretation.

Crivelli provides a careful account of Stoic dialectic, including propositions, arguments and modes, syllogisms, and sophisms. This is a difficult task given the catastrophic state of sources on Stoic logic. Gourinat offers a survey of Stoic physics, i.e. the investigation into the world and what is therein. The Stoics have no metaphysics; their physics includes ontology, since their "supreme genus" includes being and non-being, i.e., bodies and incorporeal realities. Gourinat argues that the Stoics arrived at the conception of incorporeal realities as non-beings because they transferred Plato's characterization of a being, as that which is susceptible to action and passion, to bodies.³ The exposition of palingenesis, ἐκπύρωσις, and ἀποκατάστασις is very good; Gourinat has already published on this.⁴ Origen is opportunely adduced as an important source.⁵ One more interesting point: on the basis of a study by David Sedley,⁶ Gourinat mentions the paradox known as "the growing argument", which involves the criterion of identity of a person: a person, during his/her growth, becomes a different individual, since his/her size changes.⁷

Sedley focuses on theology. Stoic cosmology is a rereading of Plato's Timaeus, with a momentous difference: the immanence of the Stoic god, which entails that theology is coextensive with physics. Sedley interestingly highlights the fact that Zeno took up Plato's argument in the Timaeus concerning the intelligence of the world, seen as a living being, only changing "intelligent" into "rational". For Plato and the Stoics, the world is animate. In his cosmological discussion, based on an analysis of Diogenes Laertius 7.65, Sedley raises an important question: the moral character of a person may be seen as a datum, a part of a situation ("external"), which one cannot change, rather than something that depends on one's choice ("internal"). This issue is pivotal to the fate / free will relationship, and the suggestion outlined seems to me close to the objection raised by Brennan in his review of Bobzien's book.⁸ The latter includes a detailed exposition of Chrysippus' compatibilism, according to which everything happens in accord with fate, but the moral agent is responsible for his/her deeds insofar as these are not forced by external coercion. The weak link in Chrysippus' argument is the question of what should be considered as external coercion: psychological factors, whose coercion can be regarded as external to the moral subject just as other external factors, may influence one's assent.

Bénatouïl, who has published a volume on Stoic ethics, and one related to it on some imperial Stoics,⁹ discusses ethics in his chapter on virtue, happiness, and nature. Stoic ethics is naturalistic and rigorous, a combination deemed paradoxical already in antiquity. The rigor was expressed in systematic expositions and demonstrations, following a methodical order. It is this (Chrysippean) order that Bénatouïl, unlike most modern scholars, aptly decides to follow. He thus treats impulses (touching upon the doctrine of οἰκείωσις); goods, evils, and ἀδιάφορα, relating respectively to virtue, vice, and what is neither virtuous nor vicious; passions (πάθη); virtue; the τέλος (moral end), i.e. living in accord with nature; the value ascribed to ἀδιάφορα and the selection (ἐκλογή) of what is preferable (ἀδιάφορα); and actions.

Husson too examines ethics, with a different focus: on καθήκοντα (of which a table is provided: 118) and κατορθώματα, which are perfect καθήκοντα; on passions, with the relevant classification, aetiology, and therapy; the wise, who, as Husson opportunely remarks, feel emotions which the Stoics called εὐπάθειαι and Husson translates "bons affects" (125), and are liable to προπάθειαι; the rarity of the sage; the possession of all good qualities and abilities by the sage alone; and the city. Thus, the essay covers politics as well. Attention is paid to Zeno's Republic, Platonic and Cynic influences upon it, and later developments in Stoic political thought. Husson renders πάθη as "passions". Terminology is important: "emotions" and "émotions", although widely employed to translate πάθη, may be misleading, in that they tend to cover εὐπάθειαι and sometimes προπάθειαι, and therefore suggest that the Stoic, who pursued ἀπάθεια, was called to extirpate these as well as πάθη, which is not the case. The Stoic sage is not without emotions, but does have good emotions, and extirpates bad emotions, i.e. passions.

Barnes deals with grammar, rhetoric, epistemology, and dialectic in Imperial Stoicism. He challenges the assumption that in this period there was no interest in logic. The main focus was ethics, but Epictetus and others cultivated logic; Epictetus recognized that logic is the basis of all philosophy. Moreover, logic was taught at school in every philosophy program. What is lacking in this period are true developments in logic, rhetoric, or grammar. The section on epistemology is almost entirely concerned with Epictetus. Barnes pointedly questions the idea that he changed the traditional theory of "pre-notions", but this is not a necessary interpretation of the scarce sources available. Epictetus is again the protagonist of the section on dialectics, but Barnes is quick to remark that he, like Seneca, followed the Peripatetic line in deeming it an instrument of philosophy, not necessary per se.

Algra treats cosmology and theology. As I mentioned, it makes good sense to consider them together, given Stoic immanentism and pantheism. As for physics, after remarking upon its close relationship to ethics in Stoicism, Algra focuses on its treatment in Seneca's Naturales Quaestiones (aetiology) and Cleomedes' Caelestia (cosmology), rightly underscoring the necessity of studying physics according to Seneca; Manilius also, I think, may deserve a mention: his poem is a Stoic hymn to the Logos and nature.¹⁰ Concerning Stoic theology, Algra accurately remarks that it is a mix of pantheism and theism: Marcus Aurelius emphasizes the former, Epictetus the latter. Another question dealt with is the soul's immortality: Epictetus is negative on this score, Seneca and Marcus are deemed more ambiguous. Algra also examines the critique of traditional cults in Seneca, who recommends that the wise participate in them, but with the awareness that they are prescribed by positive laws rather than pleasing the gods. I add that Cornutus, who disagreed with Seneca on the use of allegory in theology, also prescribes participation in cultic acts, in Compendium 35, after interpreting cults, myths, iconographical representations of deities, and the deities themselves allegorically.

Long studies how Stoic ethics evolved in the imperial age and in which respects it shows continuity with preceding theory. He observes the prevalence of ethics -- moral theory and practice -- in imperial Stoicism. Its common characters are identified with its being descriptive, hortatory, and therapeutic. The οἰκείωσις doctrine is finely expounded; the main text adduced is a fragment of Hierocles using the image of concentric circles. Long then treats the soul, the rejection of its tripartition in Old Stoicism, and the probable acceptance of Plato's tripartition by Posidonius, and examines Seneca, Letter 92, denying that the depiction of the soul's structure therein depends on Plato. The notion of προαίρεσις in Epictetus, he argues, does not contradict Chrysippus' determinism. In Marcus Aurelius, the use of πνευμάτιον to distinguish the human being's intellectual essence from its vital soul is interpreted as a rhetorical expedient rather than a Platonizing trait. Seneca's love for technical details of Stoic doctrine is rightly highlighted, just as Epictetus' choice of Socrates as a model (I observe that he was the disciple of "the Roman Socrates", Musonius), and Marcus Aurelius' cosmopolitanism.

Gourinat examines the wise in imperial Stoicism and philosophical exercises. Cato the Younger is adduced by Seneca as a model of the wise person, which leads to a discussion of suicide in Stoicism, admitted by Epictetus in case of a sign from the deity. Gourinat stresses Seneca's distinction (against Aristo) between decreta and praecepta, and Epictetus' and Marcus Aurelius' insistence on philosophy as ἄσκησις. Gourinat explains well how, among ἀδιάφορα, Epictetus seems to deprive "preferables" of value, but for him detachment does not mean insensitivity: exterior things are meaningless, but relationships with people must be cultivated according to καθήκοντα.

Veillard offers a good survey of Stoicism and politics at Rome. Among Stoic opponents to Nero, Thrasea, Burrus, Seneca, Musonius, Agrippinus, and Helvidius are listed (201 n. 4), to whom I add Cornutus, who was exiled by Nero, and arguably his disciple Lucan, whose death was caused by Nero. The point of departure of the essay is the philosophers' embassy of 155 BC and Diogenes of Babylonia's and Antipater of Tarsus' divergent views on politics. I agree with Veillard that their disagreement cannot simplistically be projected onto the opposition between the aristocrats and populares (who both had Stoic allegiances: Panaetius and Blossius). The evaluation of marriage by Antipater, followed by Hierocles and Musonius, is rightly underlined by Veillard, who draws on Gretchen Reydams-Schils' work,¹¹ albeit with minor disagreements. Finally, Seneca's and Marcus Aurelius' political thought and praxis are examined. Seneca's De Beneficiis and De Clementia are discussed, as well as Marcus' success in applying Stoic principles to his political action, including his care for public education and dislike of gladiatorial combats. Veillard observes that an exception to his philanthropic practice was his persection of the Christians, deriving from his disapproval of Christian martyrs' irrational conduct. I note that he was probably influenced by the excesses of Montanism (which also explains the difference between his and Epictetus' judgment), and might have ceased from persecution.¹²

This is a complete survey of Stoic philosophy. A special treatment should perhaps have been devoted to allegory, which in Stoicism assumes a philosophical stance and is part of philosophy itself, as I have argued; in particular, it belongs to theology, according to Chrysippus' theorization.¹³

Notwithstanding this very partial shortcoming, this is a laudable and useful book, which excellently serves its declared purpose -- and exceeds it. This is more than an introduction for non-experts; it is also a clear and insightful synthesis for scholars in Stoicism, providing a comprehensive view of one of the most coherent and stable philosophical systems of antiquity (with a rich afterlife in modern times: this is the object of Gourinat's work elsewhere).¹⁴ This is a careful work: I found extremely few typos.¹⁵ Gratitude is due to the editors and authors of this rich book.

Table of Contents

FIRST PART
Jean-Baptiste Gourinat - Jonathan Barnes, "Introduction"
Jean-Baptiste Gourinat, "Épistèmologie, rhétorique et grammaire"
Paolo Crivelli, "La dialectique"
Jean-Baptiste Gourinat, "Le monde"
David Sedley, "Les dieux et les hommes"
Thomas Bénatouïl, "La vertu, le bonheur et la nature"
Suzanne Husson, "Le convenable, les passions, le sage et la cité"
SECOND PART
Jonathan Barnes, "Grammaire, rhétorique, épistémologie et dialectique"
Keimpe Algra, "Cosmologie et théologie"
Anthony A. Long, "L'éthique: continuité et innovations"
Jean-Baptiste Gourinat, "La sagesse et les exercises philosophiques"
Christelle Veillard, "L'empreinte du stoïcisme sur la politique romaine"

---

Notes:

1.   Stoicism and Emotion (Chicago: University of Chicago, 2007).
2.   προλήψεις are treated, on which see Henry Dyson, Prolepsis and Ennoia in the Early Stoa (Berlin / New York: de Gruyter, 2009).
3.   This, I note, is not the only example of how the Stoics received and transformed Plato's thought; to cite another, I mention their notion of νόμος ἔμψυχος: see my Il βασιλεύς come νόμος ἔμψυχος tra diritto naturale e diritto divino (Naples: Bibliopolis, 2006).
4.   "Éternel retour et temps périodique dans la philosophie stoïcienne", Revue philosophique de la France et de l'étranger 127 (2002) 213-227.
5.   I only add that Origen is also clear in underlining the differences between the Stoic conception of apokatastasis and his own. See my Apocatastasi (Milan: Vita and Pensiero, 2010), introduction.
6.   "Le critère d'identité", Revue de métaphysique et de moral 94 (1989) 513-533.
7.   This still constituted a problem for a Christian philosopher steeped in Platonism and Stoicism, Gregory of Nyssa. When he supports the identity of a person's earthly body with the same person's resurrected body in De Anima, the "growing argument" is a threat to the continuity of individual identity. See my commentary in my Gregorio di Nissa Sull'Anima e la Resurrezione (Milan: Bompiani-Catholic University, 2007); reviews by Panayiotis Tzamalikos, Vigiliae Christianae 62 (2008) 515-523, and Mark Edwards, Journal of Ecclesiastical History 60 (2009) 764-765.
8.   Susanne Bobzien, Determinism and Freedom in Stoic Philosophy (Oxford: OUP, 1998); review by Tad Brennan, Oxford Studies in Ancient Philosophy 21 (2001) 259-282: 268ff.
9.   Faire usage (Paris: Vrin, 2006); idem, Les Stoïciens III: Musonius, Épictète, Marc Aurèle (Paris: Belles Lettres, 2009).
10.   On Manilius see my Stoici Romani Minori (Milan: Bompiani, 2008), 1-688; Alexander MacGregor, "Which Art in Heaven", Illinois Classical Studies 29 (2004) 143-157, esp. 143-144; Katharina Volk, Manilius and His Intellectual Background (Oxford: University Press, 2009). That the study of physics is necessary according to Seneca, and necessary to ethics, is now also illustrated by Brad Inwood, "Why Physics?" in God and Cosmos in Stoicism ed. Ricardo Salles (Oxford: University Press, 2009) 201-233.
11.   The Roman Stoics (Chicago: University Press, 2005). For further demonstrations of how positive marriage was for Hierocles and Musonius, and associated by them with true goods not merely "indifferents", see my "Ierocle Neostoico in Stobeo," in Stobaeus: The Implications of His Doxographical Method, ed. G. Reydams-Schils (Turnhout: Brepols, 2010).
12.   As I argued in, respectively, "Montanismo e Impero Romano nel giudizio di Marco Aurelio" in Fazioni e congiure nel mondo antico, ed. M. Sordi (Milan: Vita and Pensiero, 1999), 81-97, and "Protector Christianorum (Tert. Apol. V 4)", Aevum 76 (2002) 101-112.
13.   See Allegoria (Milan: Vita and Pensiero, 2004), chapters 2 and 9, and Allegoristi dell'etá classica (Milan: Bompiani, 2007); see also Jean-Baptiste Gourinat, "Explicatio fabularum," in Gilbert Dahan-Richard Goulet (éds.), Allégorie des poètes, allégorie des philosophes (Paris: Vrin, 2005) 9-34.
14.   "La disparition et la reconstitution du stoïcisme," in G. Romeyer Dherbey and J.-B. Gourinat, Les stoïciens (Paris: Vrin, 2005) 13-28; F. Ogereau, Essai sur le système philosophique des stoïciens (1885) (reprinted Fougères: Encre Marine, 2002); Théodore Colardeau, Étude sur Épictète (1903) (reprinted Fougères: Encre Marine, 2004).
15.   E.g. ἄργος λόγος for ἀργὸς λόγος (96).

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2010.03.38

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William Wians (ed.), Logos and Muthos: Philosophical Essays in Greek Literature. SUNY Series in Ancient Greek Philosophy. Albany: SUNY Press, 2009. Pp. vii, 281. ISBN 9781438427355. $75.00.
Reviewed by Christopher Moore, The University of Texas at Austin

[Authors and titles are listed at the end of the review.]

This book's cover wonders whether literature and philosophy "are in fact two rival forms of discourse mutually opposed to one another." But really its dozen essays take on less programmatic issues. Each submits an early Greek text--frequently the Homeric epics or the Agamemnon, but also archaic poetry and classical tragedy--to the sort of careful reading such texts, by themselves, occasion. As a loosely coordinated collection of readings, a couple of which I would recommend to others, this collection proves satisfactory. As an argument about the position of philosophy in works outside the philosophical canon, it proves less so.

The book, according to its editor, means to "explore philosophical dimensions of literary authors." This goal gets haphazardly glossed across the first several pages as, e.g., (i) to "consider philosophical issues and ideas as they arise from or can be applied to literary... texts"; (ii) to "challenge [the] assumption ... that literary texts are somehow lacking when measured against standards of philosophical reasoning and argument"; or (iii) to "demonstrate that the poets... exhibit a high degree of critical self-awareness and reflection on issues more typically associated with ancient philosophers" (1-2).

The last of these glosses best reflects the success of the book: the poets come out looking highly well-worth reading by people concerned about their own self-knowledge and all those topics such a concern could entail. The second gloss, about the relative rigor of argument, is never addressed, and struck me as almost by definition impossible (if a philosophical text is called so just because of its preponderance of explicit argument). The first gloss, with no attention to what would make an "issue" philosophical, as opposed simply to what reasonable people would think about, struck me as vacuous.

By leaving "philosophy" undefined, or, at best, by treating it as claiming things about knowledge, or identity, or the soul, or the four elements, the book forewent a chance, I think, to ask as seriously as possible what role the appreciation of literature could have played in a classical Greek philosophical life. Assume, for instance, that philosophy is an activity that involves bringing ourselves to have only those commitments (i.e., about truth and value) for which we can find good reasons to maintain. Or assume that it's a practice meant to achieve self-knowledge, whatever self-knowledge might be. From either of those perspectives, the question about the philosophicality of a text would be a question about how that text could contribute to living rationally or to developing self-recognition. Homer's or Aeschylus's occupation with problems of ignorance or fate or virtue could then be judged perspicuous or not, mature or not, persuasive or not, rigorous or not, from some common viewpoint. The analysis of will this text give me a productive site for philosophizing? seems to me often more fruitful (as, in part, the question is answered mainly by trying) than does this text have a high philosophical quotient? In most of the cases developed in this book, the answer to the first question is "yes," and to the second question, so it seems to me, is "I'm still not quite sure what's being asked."

The collection's first essay, J.H. Lesher's "Archaic Knowledge," shows, perhaps accidentally, how to use ancient literature as a corrective to philosophy's habit of undue simplification. The opening page identifies the key terms of Greek epistemology--epistêmê, gnôsis, sophia, nous (13)--and goes on to catalogue their most telling uses in archaic poetry. Lesher takes this catalogue to justify working out an "'early Greek concept of knowledge'" (14), and begins this project by establishing three big themes: humanity's limited awareness, our trials in gaining comprehensive understanding of the past and future, and the poet's special access to divine wisdom. But, it seems to me, the real benefit in acknowledging the synonyms for "to know" might not be in their systemization. Lesher's reminder that "early Greek poets spoke often and in different ways of individuals who discover, notice, realize, and come to know about various matters and, perhaps more often, of those who fail to do so" (14) recalls that there is not just one epistemological activity or attitude. To understand the theoretical relationship between humans and the world we need to attend to the variety of those relationships. Further, by remembering the range of mistakes or limitations to which our familiarity with the world is liable or bound, we might better appreciate the sources of traditional philosophical aporia. And because most poetry has interests beyond conceptual analysis, we may come to see the ethical relevance of such epistemic puzzles, and especially the relevance to living one's life well, in concrete rather than generic "don't be epistemically hubristic!" cases. The poetry Lesher cites could help an everyday thoughtful reader by putting into excellent wording worries about certainty that he or she may have barely begun thinking about, or may expand the scope of what seemed a minor puzzle, or may legitimate one's worries by putting them in the mouth of ideal personages. For the philosophical reader, Lesher's work should provide an antidote to those who without proper grounding conflate all kinds of epistemic attitudes and states, or who assume prematurely that ancient philosophical authors who use epistemic language must themselves be making such conflations.

Fred D. Miller Jr.'s "Homer's Challenge to Philosophical Psychology" calls Homer's poems "aporetic," especially in the tricky relationships between autos, kradiê, thumos, phrenes, and between fate and responsibility. But I was not convinced that something's aporeticity--the fact that a long work seems to include incompatible positions about interesting subjects--is a criterion of philosophicality. After all, its opposites--clarity, or ease of inquiry, or coordination--don't seem very counter-philosophical. It's true that the epics prompt Miller to ask interesting questions (e.g., 33, 39, 42)--"a careful reading of Homer reveals serious aporiai" (43)--but this seems mostly to reveal something about Miller's curiosity, practice interrogating texts, and uptake of a long history of "careful reading." It would perhaps be more interesting to establish whether any of the poems' characters recognize, worry about, or try to eliminate in a thoughtful way the aporiai. Or one could ask what kind of readers would be benefited from the discovery--in Homer--of such apparently incommensurable psychological claims. After all, we're already accustomed to hearing seemingly inconsistent claims being made about souls or selves, given the range of occasions we have for talking about them. Sometimes Miller does recognize what I say: "Homer's purpose was of course not to present a theory of agency and responsibility, but to tell a story in the course of which many characters--mortal and divine--seek to justify their actions or excuse themselves, attempt to change the course of fate, and reconcile themselves to unexpected misfortunes" (39, cf. 45). But it might've been better to continue by wondering whether Homer (therefore?) doesn't dogmatically misrepresent the range of ways we view the actions of ourselves and of others, or by showing whether to understand the plot we have to make some acute (and perhaps not text-constrained) distinctions between types of responsibility.

Rose Cherubin's "Alêtheia from Poetry into Philosophy: Homer to Parmenides" inquires into the meaning of lêthê's apparent opposite by looking at its use in Homer, Pindar, and Bacchlyides (53-58). Cherubin's useful analysis shows that alêtheia means not just "true" or "revealed" or "not false" but instead something like "a comprehensive account," whatever omits all "lies, mistakes, errors, misapprehensions, gaps, or other inaccuracies [, and being sure not to] distort, conceal, omit, or ignore anything pertinent to the topic at hand" (58). She applies her analysis to questions about Parmenides' to eon (59-67). This essay exhibits how the complexity of actual word-use should inform one's philosophical interpretation.

Ramona Naddaff's "No Second Troy: Imagining Helen in Greek Antiquity" details Helen as a shifting exemplar, from the Homeric Helen's strategic or normative self-censure, to the blameless victim of erotic desire, to the wife unfailingly faithful to her husband. This essay might suggest a clever sort of syllabus for an ancient philosophy and literature class.

Gerard Naddaf's "Allegory and the Origins of Philosophy" describes the relatively seamless transition from Homeric-Hesiodic poetry to Milesian physiology thanks to the allegorists' "saving of the appearances." Emphasizing the role of Theagenes (108-111), the essay shows that Xenophanes' and Heraclitus's clumsy dismissal of epic yielded to others' (sometimes self-legitimating) claims that the poets should not be taken so absurdly literally. Drawing on Tony Long's distinction between strong and weak allegorization, Naddaf lays out some ways the stories about clashing heroes and gods got read as (intentionally or accidentally) metaphorical for clashing cosmic elements. He admits that we still don't know much about the theological or mythopoetic commitments of the pre-Socratics, but seems justified in thinking that early conceptions of philosophy involved attempts at systematizing or naturalizing the reading of authoritative literature.

Catherine Collobert's "Philosophical Readings of Homer: Ancient and Contemporary Insights" looks more broadly at the practice of appropriating Homer to "philosophy." The chapter's bulk sets out, later to dismiss, three interpretative positions: that Homer writes allegorically; that he is somehow a philosopher; and that we can understand the West or ourselves, which is a project of philosophy's, only by or through understanding Homer. As a replacement Collobert urges "collecting and gathering elements in a text and making sense of them in a coherent way"; she ends up sketching a claim about "epic immortality... as the negation of time's destructive force." Reading an epic, for Collobert, gives one material to theorize about the human condition. She is not very clear about what in Homer's text accommodates such fruitful reflection, but would presumably accept that it's unusually clear-eyed and forceful about certain aspects of the human condition: the desire for glory, the possibility of heroism, and so forth. A weakness of this chapter is its failure adequately to distance itself from the language of the interpreters it discusses; it includes, with neither scare-quotes nor definitional gloss, "philosophers['] discourse," "philosophical assertions," "philosophical doctrines," "philosophical rationality," "disclos[ing] a philosophy," "an implicit philosophy," "under[standing] reality dialectically," "an unconscious protophilosopher," "philosophical properties in epics," and "imputing... philosophical meaning." I got no sense for what the authors to whom she's responding--or she herself--thought the family of "philosophy" terms meant, delimited, or added to a sentence.

Sara Brill's "Violence and Vulnerability in Aeschylus's Suppliants" gives a useful reading of the Danaids' inner conflict and their strategic use of myth's legitimating power, especially the myth of Io.

William Wians's "The Agamemnon and Human Knowledge" argues that Aeschylus displays a pessimism about the limits of human knowledge deeper than that of Homer or the archaic poets, and quite opposed to the optimism of the Ionian natural philosophers. We see this especially in people's attempts to read and interpret and to know ta megista. "Human knowledge depends not simply on what we experience, but on what the gods allow--or force--us to experience. ... There is no method of patient inquiry a la Xenophanes, no Heraclitean unveiling of hidden nature. The ignorance of the fate of Menelaus is a potent reminder that human beings know nothing that is not taught to them by the gods" (192). But this epistemological skepticism might not wholly moot human rationality: it's possible that "memory of what has been suffered ... teaches human beings the limits of their humanity and the necessity to be moderate." And the poet may help people not by mobilizing his special access to the divine but by writing of the past: "Muthoi ... trace patterns and purposes of what was previously experienced without full comprehension" (193). Of course we might not want to see in Aeschlyus's plays warnings against philosophical optimism, but rather lessons about the usual sort of human overconfidence.

P. Christopher Smith's "Poetic Peithô as Original Speech" argues that people have not always tried to move others to action through rational, articulated argument. Its main example is Cassandra's speech in the Agamemnon, and the paper shows how highly equivocal, temporally jostled, and linguistically innovative it is. Aeschlyus, Smith argues in this "Heideggerian" interpretation, is trying to show us what persuasive speech might really have sounded like.

C.D.C. Reeve's "Luck and Virtue in Pindar, Aeschylus, and Sophocles" gives perceptive readings of the eighth Nemean, Agamemnon in the Agamemnon, and Creon in the Antigone, asking in what way virtue is susceptible to luck, and in what cases luck might neutralize one's responsibility. Reeve differentiates between four kinds of assault on virtue. (i) Chance may overpower underdeveloped virtues; resulting harm ought not to be blamed on happenstance but on the immature or thoughtless person with such bendable dispositions. (ii) A person might, because of mere accidents of birth, fail to have the requisite starting materials for virtue. (iii) Unfortunate institutional arrangements could be so powerful as to prevent virtuous action. (iv) One might exercise virtue but, due to ill luck, reap no benefit. Pindar, Reeve argues, observes that the poet's job is to ensure virtue receives its benefit; virtue causes happiness through the mediation of recognition by friends and gods. Aeschylus shows that Agamemnon's apparent compulsion, his seeming victimization by fate, in fact reflects his easily-overcome sense of morality; he is weak, and the doom that comes to him reflects his childishness. Sophocles' Creon fails both to minimize his exposure to luck and to maximize his control over affairs. His frustrations reflect his own unsympathetic, defective character. Overall, this is the most pleasantly written article, and Reeve puts his texts to a good 'philosophical' use: seeing whether he can develop, on the basis of his reading, some consistent judgment about particular moral qualities.

Paul Woodruff's "Sophocles' Humanism," also finely written, argues that "for every action [Sophocles] puts on his stage he shows a human cause" (234); and that, unlike Thucydides, "Sophocles was able to satisfy humanistic criteria without any disrespect for the background of divine sovereignty" (242). Sophocles depicted only human causes because doing so makes for a better play. But this did not require abandoning the gods, or his "reverence"; they were simply retired to the foundational myth or to ensuring oracular truth.

The final essay, Michael Davis's "The Fake That Launched a Thousand Ships: The Question of Identity in Euripides' Helen," suggests a promising view of tragedy, that it could foster self-recognition and self-knowledge, and shows--in a sort of neat elaboration of Naddaff's earlier paper--how attention to Helen, as phantom, as mistaken, as doubled, prompts rich questions about what it means to be someone.

Disappointingly, given the overlap in ancient authors under consideration, Logos and Muthos contains no subject or passages index; and despite the bulky endnotes for each chapter, and consequent difficulty finding the full information for an abbreviated reference, there is no bibliography.

Table of Contents

Acknowledgments

Introduction: From Muthos to . . .
William Wians

I: Homer and the Philosophers

1. Archaic Knowledge
J. H. Lesher

2. Homer's Challenge to Philosophical Psychology
Fred D. Miller Jr.

3. Aletheia from Poetry into Philosophy: Homer to Parmenides
Rose Cherubin 4. No Second Troy: Imagining Helen in Greek Antiquity
Ramona Naddaff

5. Allegory and the Origins of Philosophy
Gerard Naddaf

6. Philosophical Readings of Homer: Ancient and Contemporary Insights
Catherine Collobert

II: Philosophy and Tragedy

7. Violence and Vulnerability in Aeschylus's Suppliants
Sara Brill

8. The Agamemnon and Human Knowledge
William Wians

9. Poetic Peitho as Original Speech
P. Christopher Smith

10. Luck and Virtue in Pindar, Aeschylus, and Sophocles
C. D. C. Reeve

11. Sophocles' Humanism
Paul Woodruff

12. The Fake That Launched a Thousand Ships: The Question of Identity in Euripides' Helen
Michael Davis

About the Contributors
Index of Ancient Passages
Index of Names
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2010.03.37

Version at BMCR home site
Marcus Junkelmann, Hollywoods Traum von Rom: "Gladiator" und die Tradition des Monumentalfilms. Kulturgeschichte der antiken Welt; Bd. 94. Mainz am Rhein: Philipp von Zabern, 2004. Pp. viii, 462. ISBN 9783805329057. €34.90.
Reviewed by Filippo Carlà, Ruprecht-Karls Universität Heidelberg

Table of Contents

Gli studi di ricezione dell'antico--ed in particolare quelli relativi al cinema--hanno avuto negli ultimi anni, come è noto, un grandissimo successo. Il volume di Junkelmann si inserisce con originalità e in modo fruibile da un ampio pubblico in un florido filone, che ha accompagnato per così dire dal lato accademico la "rinascita" del genere del film storico di antichità. Proprio questa rinascita--e il desiderio di trovarne le ragioni--costituisce la causa scatenante della riflessione di Junkelmann, come appare chiaro dal primo capitolo, Wiedergeburt eines totgeglaubten Genres.

Il film di ambientazione antica, dopo un quarantennio di quasi scomparsa, in seguito agli insuccessi di Cleopatra e de La caduta dell'Impero romano è infatti tornato con il XXI secolo a nuova vita. Primo esempio di tale rinascita è naturalmente Gladiator di R. Scott, film che costituisce in sostanza l'oggetto dell'analisi dell'autore: gli altri riferimenti sono tutti concepiti in relazione ad una migliore contestualizzazione e comprensione di questo lungometraggio, analizzato in alcune parti sequenza per sequenza.

L'autore si dedica così esclusivamente alla ricezione dell'antica Roma, seguendo in questo senso le impostazioni di ricerca più recenti, che superando la più generale formula "ricezione dell'antico" si sono impegnate a ricostruire le specifiche caratteristiche, nell'immaginario popolare, del mondo greco e del mondo romano.¹ Questo aspetto è messo in luce dall'autore piuttosto brevemente nel corso del secondo capitolo, Das Bild der Geschichte in einer postliteraten Welt, ove sottolinea come non si possa parlare di un genere "film storico", dal momento che il film di ambientazione antica--e quello di ambientazione romana in particolare--mostra, rispetto agli altri, caratteri del tutto specifici. Su questo punto la riflessione può essere ancora condotta oltre: è possibile infatti identificare sostanzialmente in tutti i film "romani", che si riferiscano all'età monarchica, repubblicana, tardo imperiale, alcune costanti, che andrebbero studiate approfonditamente per arrivare alla vera e propria definizione di un genere.

L'immagine di Roma, nella sua oscillazione tra un polo "positivo" ed un polo "negativo", è analizzata dall'autore nei capitoli settimo, "Wir fürchten keine Konkurrenz"--Vom Aufstieg und Niedergang des schwierigsten Filmgenres, una vera e propria completa storia del film storico romano, e quindicesimo, Rom als Traum und Rom als Alptraum. La ricostruzione proposta dall'autore è accurata e convincente, anche se restano aperte alcune domande. Manca ad esempio qualsiasi riferimento a produzioni cinematografiche di ambientazione tardo imperiale, che pure sarebbero di grandissima rilevanza nel definire se la tematizzazione di questa epoca è letta nella luce dell'indipendenza dei popoli dall'Impero universale e sopraffattore o invece in quella del collasso della civiltà.² Basti pensare all'elevato numero di produzioni ruotanti intorno alla figura di Attila (primo tra tutti il film omonimo di P. Francisci del 1954).

L'analisi del significato simbolico di Roma permette di spiegare almeno in parte il declino del successo del genere negli anni '60-2000: l'A. mette in luce come con Spartacus e Cleopatra si sia verificata una sorta di inversioni di ruoli, che ha portato da un immagine di Roma "polo del male" ad una identificazione Roma-America, che al pubblico americano non poteva piacere. La spiegazione sembra troppo netta: tentativi di rappresentazione di questo genere già erano stati fatti in passato, ma non erano andati a buon fine (si pensi al travagliato rapporto di collaborazione tra Gore Vidal e William Wyler nel Ben Hur del 1959). Il cambiamento politico interno americano va dunque messo in stretta relazione con il cambiamento nella produzione cinematografica, e nella sua accoglienza presso il pubblico, nonché, forse più banalmente, con un cambiamento di mode e di gusti.

Lo stesso tipo di analisi andrebbe condotto anche per il primo decennio del XXI secolo, completamente trascurato verosimilmente per ragioni di tempo dall'autore, che si limita a menzionare il nuovo Quo vadis? polacco del 2001. Eppure sarebbe necessario analizzare e comprendere perché il film romano dopo Gladiator sia in sostanza di nuovo finito nel dimenticatoio (un unico annunciato Memoirs of Hadrian, tratto dal romanzo della Yourcenar, con A. Banderas nel ruolo principale, è sparito nel nulla), di contro all'enorme successo, post 11 settembre, del film greco, che ha portato sugli schermi blockbuster come Troy, Alexander, 300,³ e di quello tardo imperiale, pur se con assai inferiore successo di pubblico (The Priestess, Agorà). Allo stesso modo l'ultimo decennio ha visto, in contrasto con il cinema, il grande successo di Roma in televisione, con le due serie della Rome targata HBO e con i film per la tv Imperium: anche questo sarebbe un tema da investigare approfonditamente.

Al di là di questo aspetto, l'autore tocca due altri punti della ricezione dell'antico. Il primo, il più originale e il più interessante, è il tentativo di definire non solo gli sforzi intellettuali di autori, registi e consulenti storici (cui è dedicato il quarto capitolo, Die Leiden des historischen Beraters, accompagnato da un'interessante lettera di K. Coleman, che tale funzione ha svolto per Gladiator), ma anche le aspettative del pubblico e le sue reazioni, in particolare in rapporto al tema della verosimiglianza e dell'accuratezza della ricostruzione, anche attraverso sondaggi e inchieste.

Risiede proprio nel discorso pubblico--verosimiglianza--consulenza storica il punto più discutibile della posizione dell'autore, che rischia talora di scadere nell'antiquaria solipsistica. Se Junkelmann nel secondo (Das Bild der Geschichte in einer postliteraten Welt) e terzo (Past Imperfect) capitolo scrive che si possono tollerare alcune libertà nel film, una volta ammesso che anche l'opera dello storico non è ricostruire la verità, egli passa poi a sostenere che non bisogna esagerare in questo senso, e che non si può accettare qualsiasi falsificazione. È vero che tali immagini "falsate" restano poi nella cultura popolare per lungo periodo e che i film successivi devono rispettarle come topiche, ma il punto vero da discutere sarebbe se tutto questo ha poi grande importanza. Il pubblico sa benissimo che ciò che sta vedendo è un film, sa benissimo che esso non ha aspirazioni alla precisione storica, ed è spesso bombardato dalla critica, che a più riprese sottolinea tutti gli "errori" di queste pellicole. In sostanza, mi sembra eccessivo riconoscere a questi film una responsabilità nella diffusione di una disinformazione storica, così come mi sembra del tutto utopica l'aspirazione ad un maggiore coinvolgimento dei consulenti--come la Coleman stessa evidenzia nella menzionata lettera. L'auspicio che l'immagine di Roma diffuso nel XXI secolo non sia figlia di quella del XIX e XX ma una nuova, nata dalla popolarizzazione della scienza archeologica (pp. 293-294) finisce così per essere una sorta di invito ad abbandonare il film per il documentario. Più importante per gli studi di ricezione è invece definire cosa suscita nel pubblico determinate reazioni, come mostra ad esempio un esemplare recente studio di M. Lindner.⁴

Sembrerebbe inoltre necessario, ancora una volta, distinguere tra film e film, tra sottogenere e sottogenere, scopi e scopi: realismo, identificazione con il protagonismo, satira, comunicazione di un messaggio morale e / o religioso seguono naturalmente strade molto diverse e sarebbe del tutto assurdo pensare che Life of Brian, Ben Hur o Cleopatra abbiano lo stesso approccio al dato storico-archeologico e la stessa aspirazione alla verosimiglianza.

In sostanza l'autore mostra su questo aspetto una certa rigidità, che lo porta anche a prese di posizione preconcette nei confronti degli spettatori: si sostiene così che scene topiche e irrealistiche come le corse delle bighe (p. 37) vengano riproposte continuamente (ed all'elenco sarebbe da aggiungere quella della Teodora di R. Freda, tralasciata come tutti i film tardo antichi) solo perché gli spettatori se le aspettano e sarebbero delusi dalla loro assenza. Oppure critiche di inverosimiglianza che dimenticano completamente che stiamo parlando di cinema, come quando contesta il finale di The Fall of the Roman Empire perché nessun nuovo Imperatore avrebbe lasciato in vita la figlia di Marco Aurelio e suo marito per paura di moti legittimisti (p. 346).

Tre capitoli sono quindi dedicati interamente alla valutazione da un punto di vista antiquario delle incongruenze e degli errori dei film, nelle scene di battaglia (il dodicesimo), nelle scene dell'arena (il tredicesimo), nella rappresentazione di Roma e dei suoi monumenti (il quattordicesimo). Questi capitoli appaiono i meno interessanti del volume, nel loro essere in sostanza un elenco di elementi inappropriati, solo a tratti illuminato da alcune comparazioni con la pittura o altre arti figurative.

In questo costante confronto con le altre figurative, ed in particolare con la pittura Ottocentesca è l'altra grande ricchezza del libro. Il tema dell'influsso della pittura storica neoclassica e romantica sull'immaginario collettivo dell'antico, ancora nel XX secolo e nella sua trasposizione cinematografica, era infatti finora piuttosto trascurato, ed è affrontato con grande ricchezza di dettaglio nel capitolo sesto, Kino mit unzureichenden Mitteln--Das Erbe des 19. Jahrhunderts. Interessante è in particolare il caso dell'influsso di Siemiradzki sul Quo vadis? di Sienkiewicz, e quindi sulla sua versione cinematografica polacca del 2001, che apre il problema, ancora tutto da affrontare, delle "scuole nazionali" al di fuori del cinema americano e di quello italiano. Ancora da approfondire sarebbe anche la reciproca influenza cinema-teatro o più in generale spettacolo, vistosa, per fare solo un esempio, nell'influsso della Teodora di Sarah Bernardt e Victorien Sardou su tutti i film relativi all'Imperatrice bizantina.⁵ Anche i cosiddetti toga-plays, giustamente ricordati dall'autore, sono ancora troppo poco presi in considerazione negli studi di ricezione dell'antico.⁶

Il volume è corredato di un ricchissimo apparato iconografico, di grande qualità, tanto nella scelta delle immagini quanto nella loro riproduzione grafica, che è certamente da segnalare come modello da imitare per future pubblicazioni sul tema.

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Notes:

1.   Per la Grecia si vedano ad esempio E. Cavallini (ed.), I Greci al cinema, Bologna 2005; G. Nisbet (ed.), Ancient Greece in Film and Popular Culture, Bristol 2006 e I. Berti--M. Garcia Morcillo (edd.), Hellas on Screen, Stuttgart 2008.
2.   Sulla ricezione del V secolo nel teatro si vedano le mie considerazioni in "Il modello di ogni caduta: il V secolo d. C. nelle sue riduzioni teatrali tra XIX e XX secolo", in M. J. Castillo--M. Garcia Morcillo--S. Knippschild (edd.), Imagines. La Antiguedad en las artes escénicas y visuales, Logronntilde;o 2008, 91-114.
3.   D. S. Levene, "Xerxes goes to Hollywood", in E. Bridges--E. Hall--P. J. Rhodes (edd.), Cultural Responses to the Persian World. Antiquity to the Third Millennium, Oxford 2007, pp. 383-403. Su 300 un'interessante relazione, "Hollywood versus Ahmadinejad: conquering the east in the third-millennial western cinema" è stata tenuta da E. Hall nel convegno "Classical Empires in Contemporary Culture" (Londra, 23 maggio 2008).
4.   M. Linder, "Zwischen Anspruch und Wahrscheinlichkeit--Legitimationsstrategien des Antikfilms", in M. Lindner (ed.), Drehbuch Geschichte. Die antike Welt im Film, Münster 2005, pp. 67-85.
5.   S. Ronchey, "Teodora Femme Fatale", in S. Ronchey (ed.), La decadenza. Un seminario, Palermo 2003, pp. 19-43.
6.  D. Mayer, Playing out the Empire: Ben-Hur and Other Toga-Plays and Films, 1883-1908. A Critical Anthology, Oxford 1994.

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2010.03.36

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Seth Schwartz, Were the Jews a Mediterranean Society?: Reciprocity and Solidarity in Ancient Judaism. Princeton/Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2010. Pp. x, 212. ISBN 9780691140544. $29.95.
Reviewed by Benedikt Eckhardt, Westfälische Wilhelms-Universität Münster

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In this monograph, Seth Schwartz attempts to give one answer to what may well be the two questions most discussed by scholars who study the history of the Jews in Second Temple times and Late Antiquity: 1. What was the relationship between "Judaism and Hellenism"?; and 2. Why did the Roman Empire fail to integrate the Jews? As could be expected by any reader familiar with his last book Imperialism and Jewish Society,¹ Schwartz covers a very broad range of time (ca. 200 BCE until ca. 370 CE), follows a complex methodological approach (see below), makes up the lack of evidence by in-depth readings of the texts we do have, and never wastes a word. The analysis is confined to 177 pages of text. As with Imperialism and Jewish Society, the result may well be one of the most thought-provoking books written on the period in recent years.

Schwartz starts with stating his aims (p. 1-20). He seeks to uncover in what respect the Jews were "in their social relations, discourse, imagination, and even cultural practice, 'normal' inhabitants of the ancient Mediterranean world" (p. 5). He therefore focuses on the way social relations are conceptualized in a given society. The dichotomy used is called "Reciprocity and Solidarity". Taken as ideal-types, the two concepts describe different approaches to gift-giving and exchange. While the first concept demands that a gift is reciprocated, thereby establishing relations of social domination and dependence (vassalage, debt bondage, patronage), the second does not. Solidarity-based societies would describe themselves as standing in opposition to reciprocity-based societies: The gift should not establish dependencies, in fact, should not actually be seen as a gift in the way the reciprocity-theory would demand. In contrast, an ideal of "corporate solidarity" would obligate the members of a given society to love (and support) all its members, not just patrons, clients, "friends". While charity is obligatory, charity should not turn into a "dependency-generating gift" (p. 18). Such counter-models Schwartz finds in Classical Athens and in the Torah, while he attributes to the ancient Mediterranean world in general a culture of "institutionalized reciprocity". He does, however, acknowledge that both concepts cannot exist in purest form and need each other to be effective.

The second chapter defines more clearly what is meant by "Mediterranean". Contrary to anthropological claims, "Mediterranean culture" (thought to be marked by institutional reciprocity, honour-shame mentality, female sexuality perceived as dangerous, and more) is not a cultural reality, but a heuristic model. As such, it is useful despite its shortcomings. This is mainly because, although there may not have been an actual "Mediterranean culture", the Torah still reads like describing a "Mediterranean counterculture", denying the validity of exactly the values and institutions anthropologists have defined as typically Mediterranean. Thus, honour only resides with God, not with men. An Israelite cannot be in a position of dependence on anyone; therefore, even the family is not imagined as an entity creating social dependency (Schwartz mentions the lack of a concept of legitimate vendetta). The Torah knows no real aristocracy. Land is to be returned to the original owners every 50 years (Lev. 25.8-12). "Connectivity" is expressly forbidden: Israelites shall avoid even small-scale contacts with other peoples. These prescriptions react to widespread practices and constitute a (partly utopian) "counterculture". This is of some relevance for the Jews' integration into the Roman Empire, because Schwartz argues that Roman rule depended largely on exactly those aspects of reciprocity-based societies which the Torah regarded as illegitimate. By co-opting local systems of dependency and extending the patron-client relationship to include the emperor as the greatest benefactor, Rome managed to make use of the widespread praxis of institutionalized reciprocity. Schwartz therefore sees a structural problem in Roman-Jewish relations, because Jewish traditions did not allow this strategy to function (p. 33-42).

After having stated his general argument, Schwartz turns to three textual corpora in order to examine Jewish attitudes towards reciprocity and solidarity: The apocryphal (deuterocanonical) book of Ben Sira, the works of Flavius Josephus, and the Palestinian Talmud. Schwartz attributes to Ben Sira (ca. 190 BCE) a theory according to which there exist three types of law given by God, one for nature, one for mankind, one for Israel. This is based on a controversial reading of Sir 16:24-17:23 and would provide a solution for the curious fact that Ben Sira does, on the one hand, identify Torah and wisdom, and on the other hand gives (wisdom-based) advice how successfully to prevail in social contexts the Torah does not regard as legitimate. That Ben Sira does give much advice about how to behave in situations which may generate social dependency or shame shows that his wisdom aims at providing a method for dominating without being dominated. What others have regarded as mere expressions of piety is read by Schwartz in the light of his model. Charity is a social strategy (the poor won't hurt the one who gives); piety is a condition for social domination. In Schwartz's reading, Ben Sira tries to do justice both to the anti-reciprocal ideology of the Torah and to the fact that it is impossible to avoid the situations banned by this ideology. His aim is "to provide a Jewish, Torah-based justification for a set of social and cultural norms that in reality were radically at odds with the norms and ethos of the Torah" (p. 78).

The works of Josephus are very different; therefore Schwartz focuses on different aspects: Euergetism and memorialization (understood as the normal way of reciprocating benefactions in the Graeco-Roman world). Josephus does not present euergetism as a part of Jewish social life. Jews have their own way of life based in all respects on piety; charity is an obligation, which leaves little room for euergetism. While Schwartz is careful not to generalize (thus, Moses and Josephus himself appear as models of good euergetism), he emphasizes that Josephus regards monumental tombs and other forms of thankfulness as alien to Judaism. Even Herod's temple causes the people to thank not him, but God. In contrast, Jews do memorialize their benefactors (marked primarily not by deeds, but by arete) by inscribing them into texts (whether orally recited or written). Schwartz here incorporates archaeological findings from Jerusalem. While Josephus' claim that Jews never have monumental tombs does not stand the test, his general argument is judged to be correct: Where tombs are to be found, they are private buildings, and it is indeed remarkable that there are no inscriptions from Jerusalem commemorating the deeds of benefactors, quite in contrast to Greek cities or, for that matter, to Rome.

Turning to (Palestinian) Rabbinic texts, Schwartz presupposes the theory for which he argued in Imperialism and Jewish Society and which has caused considerable debate: That the Rabbis were a marginal group who sometimes claimed in their texts, but did not possess in reality authority over a majority of Jews. He does not, however, engage in polemics² and occupies himself instead with the Rabbis' rejection of Roman values. He often finds them exploiting the values of reciprocity and memorialization for their own, Jewish purposes. Thus, while for the Rabbis memorializing honours conveyed by humans are void, they may be used to convince non-rabbinic Jews to practice charity. Schwartz further investigates how honour is treated in inner-Rabbinic debates. Discussions about pupils citing their teachers (is it because they have to convey honour to them?) and rising for elders or those higher in rank (is someone higher in rank necessarily worth rising for?) show that the Rabbis asked some of the same questions as Ben Sira and Josephus. In sum, they do acknowledge the importance of honour, but regard the Roman way of achieving it as alien to Judaism.

In the end, Schwartz argues for a general adaptability of his model for scholars working on the history of (especially) pre-modern Judaism. He even sees a continuity of some anti-Mediterranean elements today (p. 171). In two appendices, relevant texts of Ben Sira and Josephus are printed in translation. While in the latter case the translations are adapted from LCL, for Ben Sira Schwartz gives his own. As he acknowledges early on, Ben Sira is most difficult to translate, partly because of considerably different versions (Hebrew, Greek, Syriac), partly because the parts of the text which have come down to us in Hebrew are not well preserved and sometimes incomprehensible. Not surprisingly, some decisions taken by Schwartz may be debated. In 7:18 he understands "Do not exchange a friend for money or a dependent [?] brother for the gold of Ophir", noting that talui ("dependent") "makes little sense here". He does not mention Ginzberg's solution which relates the verse to the praxis of weighing gold ("ausgewogen"); it is accepted in the most recent commentary by Sauer, which has also escaped the notion of Schwartz.³ 10:28 is given by Schwartz as "my son, in modesty honor yourself and He will give you political power as you deserve", but the reference to God is not necessary; it is based solely on MS A (wjtn), while both MS B (wtn) and the Greek (dós) leave the son in control. There will be other instances where different decisions are possible, but in general, this reviewer has found the translations to be helpful and accurate.

This is a great scholarly work, exemplary for the methodological caution and theoretical proficiency applied to texts often studied in the most conservative of ways. It is what Schwartz once says about Bickerman: "refreshingly nontheological" (p. 77 note 75). Often this reviewer has found himself admiring the originality and complexity of Schwartz's thought. Some observation, however, do seem in order.

While it is of course impossible to cover every possible aspect of the topic on 177 pages, an obvious weakness of the argument is the general limitation of the evidence. Arguments from silence (as in the case of the non-existence of certain inscriptions) do have some force. But the fact remains that Schwartz can hardly do more than to read texts and deduce culture from them. This is, to be sure, much more fruitful than the "materialist" approach which draws up inventories, mistaking artefacts for "culture".⁴ Schwartz has grown ever more sceptical about this concept of "Hellenization", which is indeed too simple. But if, as this reviewer believes, the only reasonable definition of "culture" takes it to be a mode of observation, which allows to treat perceived differences as information,⁵ even Schwartz might sometimes not be radical enough. Nevertheless, it is noteworthy that he can show for Josephus and the Rabbis that they are actually observing matters alongside the lines Schwartz's theory requires; thus his model is certainly a powerful one. It also helps to read Ben Sira in an entirely new light, which has its merits. One wonders, however, if the same model would have been applicable to other texts. While Schwartz's claim that the family is not a prominent social network in the Pentateuch is counterintuitive but possibly correct, it is hard to see how a text like the book of Tobit (usually thought to be contemporary with Ben Sira) would fit in here. What is more, the advantage of analyzing Ben Sira and Josephus (and not, say, Tobit, Judit, the Books of the Maccabees) is that we know at least something about the people who wrote these texts; this, however, raises the problem of how representative they are. Josephus is certainly an unusual man in many regards. The fact that, compared to archaeological findings, his statements about Jewish memorialization are "not completely wrong" (p. 106) provides a rather unstable basis for explaining the lack of Jewish integration into the Roman Empire. And although Schwartz has expressed caution against comparing Jewish ideals with Roman praxis⁶, one sometimes wonders what else it is when he compares Ben Sira's advice or Rabbinic discussions with the euergetic praxis of the Graeco-Roman world.

There are also some omissions which might affect the argument. For example, Herod (p. 99-102) could have received a more extensive treatment (apart from the question what Josephus thinks about him); it does not become clear why his attempts to integrate Judea into the Roman oikumene were not successfully continued by his successors, and why his euergetism seems to have functioned better than theirs (after all, Josephus claims the opposite). The discussion of different views on money (p. 70-74) could have been extended - Ben Sira does not provide a negative perspective on money; is this because the impersonal character of money stands against the dependency-generating personality of the gift? One could have incorporated the Dead Sea Scrolls (1QS v 14-20: All contact with outsiders is to be avoided, except where money is involved). More serious is the lack of reference to the Hasmoneans. Schwartz creates the impression that the Roman conquest brought about confrontation with euergetism, a praxis formerly alien to the Jews. But the Hasmoneans actually posed as benefactors already in the second century BCE. 1 Maccabees 14 transmits the honorary decree for Simon, which shares many characteristics with the kind of honorary decrees Schwartz did not find in Jerusalem. Note also that the Hasmoneans did build monumental tombs and may have influenced broader parts of the Judean aristocracy to do the same.⁷ Hasmonean propaganda at least seems to anticipate developments Schwartz sees at work only later. Also problematic is the sharp differentiation between mneme achieved through texts or through monuments. Certainly Romans were also keen on being inscribed into texts; suffice it to point to Pliny's correspondence with Tacitus.

Despite these objections, there can be no doubt that Schwartz's book is essential reading for anyone working in the field. The attempt to answer two big questions at once is laudable, the analysis is carefully done, and the conclusions are complex. We need more studies operating on such a high level of abstraction. I only fear that there are not too many scholars able to write them.

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Notes:

1.   S. Schwartz: Imperialism and Jewish Society, 200 B.C.E. to 640 C.E., Princeton/Oxford 2001.
2.   Note the conservative reactions labelling him a "fundamentalist": H. I. Newman: The Normativity of Rabbinic Judaism: Obstacles on the Path to a New Consensus, in: L. I. Levine, D. R. Schwartz (ed.): Jewish Identities in Antiquity. Studies in Memory of Menahem Stern, Tübingen 2009, 165-171; M. D. Herr: The Identity of the Jewish People Before and After the Destruction of the Second Temple: Continuity or Change?, 211-236 in the same volume.
3.   L. Ginzberg: Randglossen zum hebräischen Ben Sira, in: C. Bezold (ed.): Orientalische Studien. Theodor Nöldeke zum 70. Geburtstag (2.3.06) gewidmet, Giessen 1906, 2:609-625, at 617; G. Sauer: Jesus Sirach / Ben Sira, Göttingen 2000, 90. Sauer's commentary clearly falls into the category of "pietistic, theologically oriented scholarship" justly criticized by Schwartz, 77.
4.   As in the magisterial study by M. Hengel: Judentum und Hellenismus. Judentum und Hellenismus. Studien zu ihrer Begegnung unter besonderer Berücksichtigung Palästinas bis zur Mitte des 2. Jahrhunderts v. Chr., 3rd ed. Tübingen 1988.
5.   Along the lines of N. Luhmann: Kultur als historischer Begriff, in: id.: Gesellschaftsstruktur und Semantik. Studien zur Wissenssoziologie der modernen Gesellschaft, vol. 4, Frankfurt am Main 1995, 31-54.
6.   Forcefully argued in his review of Goodman, see S. Schwartz: Sunt Lachrymae Rerum, Jewish Quarterly Review 99 (2009), 56-64, at 62.
7.   Cf. O. Tal: Hellenism in Transition from Empire to Kingdom: Changes in the Material Culture of Hellenistic Palestine, 55-73 in the volume cited above, no. 2.

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2010.03.35

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Frédérique Biville, Daniel Vallat (ed.), Onomastique et intertextualité dans la littérature latine. Actes de la journée d'étude tenue à la Maison de l'Orient et de la Méditerranée - Jean Pouilloux le 14 mars 2005. Collection de la Maison de l'Orient et de la Méditerranée 41. Série linguistique et philologique 5. Lyon: Maison de l'Orient et de la Méditerranée - Jean Pouilloux, 2009. Pp. 233. ISBN 9782356680068. €27.00 (pb).
Reviewed by Anne Sinha, Université Charles de Gaulle-Lille III

This book collects ten papers presented at a conference called "Onomastique et intertexualité dans la littérature latine" organised on the 14th of March 2005 at the Université Lumière-Lyon II. Though the topic of intertextuality has been already well studied and analyzed, the question of onomastics offers a new and a very rich angle. A brief but dense introduction of the volume shows the importance of bringing the two questions together and proposes a historical panorama in which the two major steps are two verse genres borrowed from the Greeks: comedy (first half of the second century B. C.) and classical poetry (second half of the first century). From its earliest appearance, in the comedies of Plautus, Latin onomastics is characterised by two phenomena, intertextuality and bilingualism, and is entirely dominated by Greek culture. This exchange takes place in only one direction, as there are almost no Latin names in Greek literature. The success of the palliata over the togata, which differ mostly in their use of Greek or Latin names, has to be interpreted not in terms of taste for exoticism or a need for cultural distance to allow real laughter but as an important mark of the real bilingualism of the Romans.

With the poets of the first century B.C. writing under the influence of both Callimachus and their Alexandrian contemporaries, the use of Greek names becomes one of the signs of the preciosity that is a trademark of Latin poetry. Similarly, later authors use those names in reference to major Latin works and no longer to Greek culture. In this way Greek onomastics became a tool for writing Latin poetry.

The introduction also proposes different directions of research. In a diachronic perspective, one can analyse the use of a name not only from one author to another (e.g., from Theocritus to Virgil's Bucolics) but also in different works of the same author, especially when their genres differ. Second, in a generic perspective, a name can refer to different types of works and therefore show a complex network of influence (in Virgil's Bucolics can be found names from epics or epigrams). The use of names can also be studied in reference to the characters to which they refer to see how the same name can be used for different characters or how a literary type changes. In the same perspective the question arises of the construction of a historical or mythical figure through its diverse mentions in texts. Intertextuality also has an axiological dimension, as a name can be reused to praise or denounce, therefore introducing a question of manipulation.

This book is divided into three parts. The first proposes two transversal approaches; the other two collect more focused papers: on the theatre and poetry in the second and on erudite and late literature in the third.

First part: transversal studies

Frédérique Biville (Université Lumière-Lyon 2); "Onomastique et intertextualité dans la littérature latine. Perspectives". Analyzing examples and evidence from Latin literature, the author uses two approaches to study the relationships between proper names and history . In the first, which is onomasiological, one starts from the person and sees which linguistic signs are used to refer to him (for example, the different ways in which Cicero refers to himself in his correspondence). The second, semiological, approach concentrates on the name itself, seeing its historical variations (for example, the Romans used both the Greek name Ganymedes and its Etruscan version Catmite). The use of a name must be placed on scales of notoriety (from being unknown elsewhere to being general in antique culture) and intertextuality (from referring to the immediate context to referring to the whole of Greco-Latin literature).

Daniel Vallat (Université Lumière-Lyon 2) : "La métaphore onomastique de Plaute à Juvénal". Studying a wide range of authors, this paper shows how the metaphorical use of a proper name has a strong oral dimension, whether the author or a character is speaking, as well as an axiological value. From the Plautine theater, where it was a burlesque tool, it becomes a way of attack in rhetoric, a fact that might have influenced its use in the epigram. For the Augustan poets it is mostly an ornament. Martial and Juvenal inherit all these different traditions, combining poetic, flattering and aggressive uses of proper names.

Second Part: theater and classical poetry

Matías López López (Université de Lleida, Espagne) : "Etymologies ouvertes chez Plaute". This paper distinguishes five levels of ratio, that is, types of relationship between the etymologies of the proper names of the characters and their roles in Plautus' plays. The interpretatio nominis itself is the first one, in which the name of a character is clearly explained in the play. The closed ratio, is the second, in which the explanation is given without specific introduction. The third , the open ratio, associates different levels of explanation for a name. The fourth is an implicit ratio, in which a name in itself carries a meaning. The fifth one is an antiphrastic ratio, in which the nature of a character is the opposite of what his name means. Some examples of the third, or open ratio (the names Agorastocles, Callicles, Colaphus, Libanus, Stalagmus, and Stratophanes) show how subtly Plautus interweaves different levels of reference in choosing the names of his characters.

Jean-Christophe Jolivet (Université Charles de Gaulle-Lille 3): "Questions d'onomastique homérique dans la poésie augustéenne". The Augustan poets seem to have taken into account the philological questions of the Hellenistic critics, especially their researches on the anonymous characters in Homer's works. Virgil responds in that way to the list of thirteen (or fourteen) unknown Thracian warriors killed by Diomedes in Iliad 10 by systematically naming the Rutulian warriors in Aeneid 9. In the same way, Heroides 13 answers the question, left pending in the Iliad, of the identity of Protesilaus'murderer. One can also find traces of the hellenistic etymological debates, as in Heroides 5 (131-132) about Iphigeneia and in Aeneid 7 (14) for Circe.

Emmanuel Plantade (Université Lumière-Lyon 2): "Heu... Theseu ! Le nom propre et son double (Catulle 64, 50-250 et Ovide Her. 10". In writing Heroides 10 (Ariadne to Theseus), Ovid has to emulate carmen 64 of Catullus and more precisely his famous paranomasia eheu/Theseu, the accentuation of which Plantade discusses in the last part of the paper. Although Ovid often uses the vocative, he avoids the exclamation eheu that appears in other poems, showing in this way a new system of significance based on metrics. The different places of the name in the verse symbolically modulate the distance between the hero and Ariadne.

Christian Nicolas (Université Jean Moulin-Lyon 3) : "La signature masquée du poète des Héroïdes." This paper investigates the strategies used by Ovid to sign his Heroides even though they were supposed to have been written by male and female heroes of Greek mythology. As he could not use the technique of sphragis, which the author illustrates by examples, Ovid may have hidden his name following a cryptographic code (that needs to be read from right to left and without breaking the words). More convincing is the suggestion that Ovid used intertextual allusions to other authors but also to his own works, allusions which are a kind of enigma inviting readers to find the real author.

Olivier Thévenaz (Université de Lausanne, Suisse), "Auctoris nomina Sapphus: noms et création d'une persona littéraire dans l'Héroïde XV ovidienne." Studying the construction of the identity of the author of He roi des 15, the author shows how Ovid uses names of characters from Sappho to create an effect of authenticity and, at the same time, underlines the difference in poetics between archaic poetry and his own through other intertextual echoes and the introduction of Sappho's signature. This investigation leads to a very interesting new proposition on the well known debate about the authenticity of the poem. The exiled Ovid could have rewritten this text and brought into it his new poetical conceptions.

Daniel Vallat (Université Lumière-Lyon 2) : "L'onomastique du genre bucolique." The onomastics of the bucolic genre is studied within its two major periods: the acculturation of the genre from Greek to Latin literature when Virgil deeply rewrites Theocritus and the imitation of Virgil by later Latin writers. The use of proper names (sometimes massively borrowed from Theocritus and sometimes totally different) perfectly illustrates Virgil's poetics, between imitation, underlined by the poem itself, and innovation. These names, which in Theocritus' work often came from the real world, are in Virgil's Bucolics not only foreign but therefore only poetical. Later Latin authors borrowed from the stock that by their time had become properly Latin but also played with the tradition by giving particular names to other characters or inventing new names.

Third Part: scholarship of late antiquity

Michèle Béjuis-Vallat : "Servius, interpres nominum Vergilianorum (ad Aen. 1)". This paper analyses all the commentaries made by Servius on the onomastics of Aeneid 1 to show the subtleties of the etymologies he suggests (eponymic, significant and often bilingual). Servius' interpretations (for example, when he rejects the idea of a 'cruel' Juno or of a fratricidal Romulus) have to be understood as determined by his project of defending the moral values of pagan Antiquity. Servius, by convincingly considering that Caesar...Iulius in Jupiter's prophecy refers to Caesar and not to Augustus, also goes against the idea of Virgil as court poet.

Marie-Karine Lhommé (Université Lumière-Lyon 2) : "De Mutinus Titinus à Priape: la métamorphose d'un dieu mineur". Mutinus Titinus is a minor god whose name is mentioned by Varro (Ant. div. XVI) and whose recently disappeared sanctuary is located by Verrius Flaccus. These texts are known to us only from later Christian writers who have used the nuptial rite devoted Mutinus Titinus to denounce the immorality of Roman pagan cults. This paper, through a linguistic study of the two names of the god, shows that Varro and Verrius, by using etymology, might have themselves reconstructed the identity of this half-forgotten god, who ironically owes his survival to the enemies of the religion that worshipped him..

This book, the presentation and editing of which must be praised, reaches two major goals. First it brings a real new approach to a major, and therefore well known, question. Secondly, it proves the importance of that approach through the variety and the high quality of the collected papers and invites us to further stimulating works.

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