Bryn Mawr Classical Review

Elizabeth Marlowe, Shaky Ground: Context, Connoisseurship and the History of Roman Art. Debates in archaeology. London; New York: Bloomsbury Academic, 2013. Pp. x, 168. ISBN 9780715640647. $78.00.

Reviewed by Josephine Shaya, The College of Wooster (jshaya@wooster.edu)

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Preview

Shaky Ground arose out of Marlowe's teaching, in particular from the discrepancy she experienced between her lower-level Roman art survey and her upper-level seminar on looting, faking, and collecting antiquities. While students in her survey learned about Roman art through its canonical works, many of which (somewhere between one third to one half of freestanding sculpture in leading Roman art textbooks) have no reliable data about their ancient settings, those in her seminar quickly realized the degree to which a statue's historical interpretation depends on knowledge of its ancient context. During the semester, Marlowe writes, the epistemological contradictions between her two classes became impossible to ignore.

Shaky Ground is a call for a critical conversation about the methods and canon of Roman art history. It advocates for the foregrounding in teaching and scholarship of artworks for which we have more contextual data over those for which we have less or none at all; for consistent and full itemizing of find-spot data and ownership history of all objects discussed; and for paying more attention to the reception history of canonical but archaeologically undocumented objects. Marlowe argues that the field must recognize and address the risks of relying on artifacts that lack archaeological context. Such artifacts are "shaky ground" upon which to build histories of Roman art.

The terms "grounded" and "ungrounded" are key to the study. A grounded work has a known find-spot. While find-spot data vary dramatically, any evidence that exists about an object's final deposition should play a central role in decisions about which objects are the focus of teaching and scholarship. At the very least, "groundedness" helps ensure a work's authenticity. For artworks lacking a recorded find-spot, or ungrounded objects, we have to depend on connoisseurship, or the attribution of artifacts to particular hands, places and times through comparison to works with known historical or archaeological contexts. While formal analysis can be a powerful tool, it is by no means perfect. It presumes a great deal about the consistency and development of style and the methods and desires of artists and patrons.

Chapter one, "Histories Modern and Ancient" demonstrates Marlowe's case by comparing and contrasting historical interpretations of grounded and ungrounded works. For instance, Marlowe juxtaposes the ungrounded Fonseca bust (a.k.a. the "Flavian Beauty") with two female figures uncovered between the south agora and the Hadrianic baths at Aphrodisias. While the Fonseca bust is one of the most frequently reproduced works of Roman art, we have to depend on connoisseurship to answer questions about its date, origins, and possible identity of its subject. Its coy demeanor is peculiar in Roman portraiture as is its tall crown of curling locks, both of which warrant caution. The modern history of the bust within the Museo Capitolino, by contrast, is well attested, making it a rich piece of evidence not for ancient portraiture but for the history of collecting. The figures from Aphrodisias, on the other hand, with their nearly complete bodies, concrete urban context, and other statues that stood by, allow for a much more nuanced reading, especially in regard to public self-fashioning and viewers' shifting experiences of images over time. The statues were a pair, perhaps a mother and daughter, that stood together for centuries in celebration of matronly virtue and youthful modesty. The contrast between the ungrounded and the grounded examples highlights how much knowledge is lost when works lose their archaeological context and the degree to which ancient settings shaped the meanings of Roman art.

Indifference to context is a deep-rooted problem in Roman art history, Marlowe argues. The discipline developed in part around the study of collections of freestanding sculpture. Early Roman art historians valued these objects as beautiful artworks endowed with the ability to transcend time and space. Their interests centered on artists and forms, not archeological context. Chapter 2, "Indifference to Context," examines some of the ways in which early preoccupations of Roman art history continue to resonate today. Despite the vast expansion of the corpus of Roman art in the last half century, visually spectacular but archaeologically ungrounded masterpieces still star in textbooks and handbooks rather than their grounded but less stunning counterparts.

Discussions of these ungrounded masterpieces typically focus on artists, stylistic evolutions, and iconography, topics that do not depend on knowledge of ancient context. Other practices within the discipline that point to the field's indifference to archaeological context include "tombstone" labels that do not distinguish between secure archaeological context and tenuous "said to be" or "alleged" find spots; the undifferentiated presentations of grounded and ungrounded objects; the breaking up of known ensembles (i.e., the tritons discovered with the bust of Commodus as Hercules); and the dramatic, solitary display of ungrounded but splendid fragments (i.e. the headless bronze philosopher in the Cleveland Museum of Art).

What are the methodological and intellectual consequences of the field's indifference to archaeological context? Chapter 3, "Lessons Learned and Not Learned," argues that connoisseurship is still alive and well in Roman art history despite its dismissal by much of the discipline. Roman art historians who practice connoisseurship stand accused of all too often failing to explicitly lay out the evidence behind their attributions. Worse, these attributions are built on the shaky assumptions that Roman art followed consistent styles and iconographies over time. However, one of the hallmarks of Roman art is its multiplicity of styles; many Roman artists and patrons deliberately chose particular styles that they thought were appropriate to the ideas they wished to express. In addition, attributions based on style can only confirm and reinforce existing patterns of knowledge; by necessity they cannot surprise us or challenge preconceived ideas.

Connoisseurship has wider repercussions. When Roman art historians practice it, they share in and legitimize the intellectual premises of the art market which depends upon connoisseurship to identity ungrounded antiquities. While much blame has been cast upon collectors and museums in the debate on looting, the complicity of academia has largely been ignored. If scholars were more critical of the ways in which they handle ungrounded antiquities, Marlowe argues, they would reveal the shaky foundations of connoisseurship and thereby destabilize working assumptions of dealers and collectors.

Indifference to context remains a stubborn problem in the field, despite its move toward the social history of art. Chapter 4, "Connoisseurship and Class," contends that ungrounded antiquities continue to feature in much new scholarship and undermine its objectives. Roman art historians cannot shift their focus from artists and styles to patrons and viewers if they base their arguments on ungrounded artifacts. Style tells us what artists did; to understand why they did so and for whom, we need grounded archaeological information: where the object was displayed, who commissioned it, what it was displayed with, when, and how it diverges from or conforms to contemporary models and prototypes.

Among Marlowe's many examples is the case of veristic portraiture. Scholars have identified ungrounded high quality veristic portraits as images of nobles based on the assumption that style corresponds to social class; they then read these portraits as evidence for elite values. But the logic is circular. Furthermore, grounded examples like the freedmen portraits from Columbarium II at Vigna Codini tell a different story. Had these images surfaced on the art market, Marlowe writes, neither their style nor their quality would have identified their subjects as freedmen. Archaeological context, not style, points to the subjects' status. The portraits offer new insights into the self-representation of freedmen and call the supposedly elite status of other veristic portraits into question.

The final chapter, "Red Herrings", argues that debates over collecting and looting threaten to draw attention away from these deep epistemological and methodological problems. A focus on forgeries, Marlowe argues, obscures just how much we do not know about canonical ungrounded antiquities whose authenticity is widely unquestioned. The instability in the corpus of Roman art lies not in fakes but in its multitude of ungrounded works. Questions over the treatment of "licit" vs. "illicit" antiquities (that is, antiquities acquired without proof of legal exportation after the 1970 UNESCO Convention) are a second red herring. Many scholarly journals will not serve as venues for the initial publication of illicit antiquities, but for Roman art historians, all ungrounded antiquities — even those that were collected generations ago — should be seen as problematic. Publication policies, Marlowe suggests, should recognize this and require a full account of the origins and ownership history of all pieces discussed. The repatriation debate is a third red herring. While repatriation claims may decrease the incentive for looting, repatriation itself rarely restores lost archaeological context. Unfortunately, in most cases we never learn the find-spots of looted antiquities, even after they have been returned to their countries of origin.

The conclusion, "Best Practices," advocates for change. Scholars should commit, Marlowe argues, to consistently articulating find-spot data and ownership history of all objects discussed. They should explicitly lay out evidence behind attributions of date and place. The most fully contextualized objects should hold pride of place in scholarship and the classroom. Museums should emphasize the value of the archaeological context of grounded works and should pay more attention to the reception history of ungrounded ones. And they should let visitors know how objects came to be part of their collections. Such practices would encourage scholars and students to think deliberately about what exactly we know and do not know about ancient objects and how we go from evidence to interpretation. Such changes would move the field onto firmer ground. And they might help reduce looting by educating collectors and museum audiences about the importance of archaeological context.

Shaky Ground offers compelling arguments for change in the classroom, scholarship and museum. It is a must read for its critique of the use of ungrounded canonical works in textbooks, survey courses, and exhibits. Shaky Ground is also an important work of synthesis that brings together scholarship on the historiography of Roman art, the history of collecting, and debates over cultural property. Its concise discussions of these topics, together with their bibliographies, will make excellent introductions to interested readers.

The book belongs to the Duckworth Debates in Archaeology Series, devoted to exploring theoretical and methodological questions and their larger consequences. To be sure, not many in the field would argue against the fundamental significance of archaeological context. Yet Marlowe's work is important as a rallying cry and a rich exploration of the risks of relying on ungrounded artifacts. It is remarkable the degree to which, despite all of our attention to context, the field is still beholden to elements of connoisseurship.

We are left to reflect upon the question of the place of canonical ungrounded works in teaching, scholarship and museums. Marlowe would relegate them to discussions about art and artists, the lives of objects, the histories of collecting, connoisseurship, reception — all of which are central topics in the field today. In introductions to Roman art, are we ready to replace the "Flavian Beauty" with better grounded but less enchanting examples? To this historically minded archaeologist the answer is yes, but others might be more hesitant. And there is much to be said about the wonder evoked by ancient "masterpieces"; the visual aesthetics of some ungrounded objects together with their long-standing canonical status can stir students to want to know more, which can be a powerful teaching tool.

While Shaky Ground will provoke discussion among students, art historians, archaeologists and curators, it should also be read by epigraphers and ancient historians for Marlowe's argument about the groundedness applies equally well to inscriptions. In this regard, Marlowe left some ground untraveled; her discussion of archaeological context could have paid more attention to inscriptions and statue bases.

All told, the great merit of Marlowe's work lies in the critical eye that she holds up to epistemological and methodological problems that continue in the field, despite the best efforts of scholars. These problems deserve serious scrutiny, reflection and response. Marlowe is to be thanked for putting them so clearly before us.

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Alberto Bernabé, Miguel Herrero de Jáuregui, Ana Isabel Jiménez San Cristóbal, Raquel Martín Hernández (ed.), Redefining Dionysos. MythosEikonPoiesis, Bd 5. Berlin; Boston: De Gruyter, 2013. Pp. ix, 649; 37 p. of plates. ISBN 9783110300918. $182.00.

Reviewed by J. R. C. Cousland, University of British Columbia (cousland@mail.ubc.ca)

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Table of Contents

Scholars interested in matters Dionysiac have considerable cause to be grateful to de Gruyter. No sooner had they put out the fine collection of essays edited by Renate Schlesier, A Different God? Dionysos and Ancient Polytheism (2012: see the review by Radcliffe Edmonds, BMCR 2013.07.38) than they have capped it with this outstanding collection, originating as a 2010 conference held at the Universidad Complutense de Madrid, devoted to "redefining Dionysus." Both volumes are indispensable. My review of this second volume will offer a brief précis of each of the thirty essays contained in the volume, followed by a brief afterword.

Except for a preliminary article by Jan Bremmer on Walter Otto and a concluding evaluative summation by Albert Henrichs, the rest of the articles follow a basically chronological format, ranging from the Mycenaeans to the Romans and Late Antiquity, and finishing with Dionysian iconography. Bremmer's article offers a timely re-evaluation of Otto's Meisterwerk, Dionysos. Mythos und Kultus (1933). While he hesitates to subscribe to all of Otto's arguments, he acknowledges that Otto's work was prescient, and that "his ideas on myth and ritual as well as his conceptualisation of Dionysus were really adventurous in the early 1930s"(19).

Alberto Bernabé contributes an overview of Dionysus in the Mycenaean world, and demonstrates how Rohde's influential view about Dionysus being a latecomer to the Greek pantheon has been systematically eroded by recent scholarship.

Marco Antonio Santamaría undertakes a detailed examination of the terms Bacchos and Dionysus Bacchios in archaic and classical texts. He argues against the supposition that the followers of Dionysus had taken on the name Bacchos to identify with the deity, concluding instead that the converse is the case: the term, meaning "insane" or "frantic," originally referred to the worshippers of Dionysus and only latterly came to be applied to the god himself.

Emilio Suárez de la Torre sets out to investigate the interconnections between Apollo and Dionysus. In a wide-ranging discussion, he isolates four key forces that he deems relatively constant even if their interactions vary depending on the time and place, namely: Athenian Dionysism, Delphic Apollonism, Orphism, and other Apollonian/Dionysiac forces.

Claude Calame investigates the dithyramb and its relation to Dionysus. After an analysis of the dithyramb's genre and a discussion of examples drawn from Pindar and Bacchylides, he suggests that it is the poem's discourse and its modes that ultimately distinguish the dithyramb from other types of poetry such as the paean. Apollo is the god of song and Dionysus is the god of dramatic poetic narrative, but there are frequent overlaps and interactions between the two.

Miriam Valdés Guía examines the Lenaia in Athens and its associations with women. Though the evidence is fragmentary, she surmises on the analogy of the Thyiads' celebration in Delphi that during the Lenaia Athenian women would have celebrated the sparagmos and rebirth of Dionysus with singing and dancing.

Christopher Faraone argues that the mythic account of the attack on Dionysus and his nurses furnishes the etiology for initiation into the Dionysiac mysteries in Thrace and Thessaly, with Dionysus serving as the model for male initiates and his nurses for females. The plunge into the sea did not simply signify the normal rite of passage to adulthood, but the more fundamental transition from mortality to immortality.

Marisa Tortorelli Ghidini addresses an "imbalance" in the relation between Orphism and Dionysiac mystery religion. Though the two display considerable overlap, some texts, such as Aeschylus' Bassarides, document a clash between Dionysus and Orpheus. She therefore stresses the need to consider those theological and ethical features of Orphism that show an indebtedness to the cult of Apollo, and also to Pythagoreanism.

Two articles usefully ask whether maenadic ecstasy was fact or fiction: were the maenads real or mythical women, and were they truly inspired? The first article, by Silvia Porres Caballero focuses on Greece, the second, by Zoa Alonso Fernández, on Rome. Caballero argues persuasively that historical maenads modeled themselves on mythical maenads, particularly those represented in Euripides' Bacchae. Fernández argues that a similar form of historical maenadism also occurred in Rome, but gradually became theatricalized, culminating in Bacchic pantomime where, ironically, the performance may have occasioned real ecstasy on the part of the performer.

Andrea Debiasi examines the Actaeon myth as it is represented a papyrus fragment from Oxyrhynchus (P.Oxy. XXX 2509). This fragment seems to associate Actaeon's crime with an attempt to woo Semele, and it has been repeatedly conjectured that this fragment might have belonged to Hesiod's Catalogue of Women. Debiasi, however, makes a detailed case for attributing the fragment instead to Eumelos of Corinth.

The three Homeric Hymns to Dionysus are the subject of Miguel Herrero de Jáuregui's contribution. He stresses the complementarity of the three hymns in their representation and theology of the god, and emphasizes that prior to dramatic portrayals of Dionysus they furnished the most authoritative image of the deity. The image they present is that of a majestic deity worthy of Olympos.

Herodotus is the focus of two of the essays. Raquel Martín Hernández examines Herodotus' "Egyptian Dionysus", i.e. Osiris, and in particular why Herodotus is so reticent to speak of the death of Osiris. She attributes it to his reluctance to pronounce the god's name in a funerary context, and to the similarities he perceived between Osiris' rites and Greek mysteries. Paola Corrente examines the Nabatean deities Orotalt (= Dushara) and Allilat (Hdt. 3.8.3) and substantiates Herodotus' inference that the pair should be regarded as oriental counterparts of Dionysus and Aphrodite Urania.

Not surprisingly, a significant portion of the volume is given over to Dionysus' associations with drama. Ana Isabel Jiménez San Cristóbal opens with a substantive discussion of the "Sophoclean" Dionysus. She determines that despite the absence of an explicit focus on Dionysus, the plays nevertheless reveal a rich variety of the god's mythic and cultic aspects. Euripides' Bacchae also receives extensive treatment. Nina Schwartz starts with a consideration of the "xenos attributes" in the play. She concludes that, "the persona of the stranger, both that of the xenos god coming from afar and that of the estranged ruler of the city is a fundamental theme for the understanding of the play, which carries meta-tragic significance" (324). In a related study, Sara Macías Otero discusses the epiphanies of the god, arguing that the revelation of Dionysus as a god is the main subject of the play. This revelation achieves its climax in the death of Pentheus and in Dionysus' appearance as the deus ex machina. M. Carmen Encinas Reguero analyses the different nuances underlying the names of Dionysus in the Bacchae. Bromios relates to the god's positive side, including his birth and epiphany. Bacchos, by contrast, refers to the destructive side of the god, while Dionysus is the neutral name of the deity. Finally, Anton Bierl addresses the Dionysus of Old Comedy, both of which he sees as embodying the carnivalesque and involving the interpenetration of Dionysian festivals with comedy. He demonstrates that, far from "having nothing to do with Dionysus," Old Comedy has a great deal to do with him.

Dionysian Enthusiasm in Plato is addressed by Francesc Casadesús Bordoy. Like other scholars, he regards Plato's references to the "titanic nature of humans" as of central importance to his theology. Dionysus is able to restore the souls of humans to their former divine status through his divine enthusiasm, but only if humans receive this enthusiasm appropriately, not by means of enthusiastic drunkenness but through philosophical initiation.

Kerasia A. Stratiki investigates Pausanias' descriptions of the Dionysiac myths and cults associated with Patras. While Pausanias suggests that the associations of Dionysus with the region were a relatively recent innovation, Stratiki argues instead that these myths and cults were in fact foundational for Patras.

The Epaphian Dionysus of the Orphic Hymns is the subject of Radcliffe Edmonds' contribution. He notes that the identification of Dionysus with Epaphos is perplexing, but can be resolved when one dispenses with doctrinal conceptions in favor of parallels in ritual: "To invoke Dionysus as Epaphian, then, is to evoke the kind of rituals for Dionysus which Greek thinkers for centuries had connected with rites of Osiris and Apis in Egypt" (431). For her part, Giulia Sfameni Gasparro approaches the Orphic Hymns from the perspective of polyonomia and henotheism. She observes that the Orphic Dionysus is "agglutinative," in that he takes on the qualities or identities of other figures in the divine pantheon. This process naturally raises the question of the extent to which Dionysus constitutes one god or one god among many.

Mercedes López Salvá examines the dionysism of Ptolemy IV Philopator as portrayed by the apocryphal Third Book of Maccabees. Even if the book's direct references to the god are minimal, Dionysus is still viewed as a major contender with Yahweh, and the two are cast as rivals, each of whom can offer salvation and deliverance to his followers. David Hernández de la Fuente extends the discussion of salvation to Nonnus' Dionysiaca. Here, under the influence of late antique syncretism, Dionysus leaves off much of his pagan character and takes on characteristics of Christ, becoming a deity who shows compassion and pity for the sufferings of humans, and dedicates himself to allaying these sufferings.

Dionysian iconography is also well served in this volume. Paloma Cabrera focuses on the afterlife imagery found on many Apulian vases illustrating the blessed fate awaiting the initiates of Dionysus' mysteries. Fátima Díez-Platas examines those images of Dionysus as symposiast frequently found on archaic black-figure pottery. She concludes that this image is a result of the domestication of Dionysus, where he comes to be represented as if he were a human symposiast. Dionysus' feline entourage in Roman iconography is discussed by Patricia Melián Jácome, with special focus on their species and their sex. She argues that images of tigers predominate over those of lions and panthers because of that cat's exoticism, while the female sex of the cats predominates both because it is grammatical — tigris and pardos are feminine — and metaphorical in that the cats are associated with the maenads. Finally, Stéphanie Wyler looks at the painted frieze of the 'Auditorium of Maecenas' in relation to other Augustan friezes. Despite the frieze's poor state of preservation, she concludes that the Dionysiac motifs there and elsewhere are not explicitly religious but contribute to a solemn ambience characteristic of the Augustan agenda.

Albert Henrichs closes the volume by asking, "Dionysus: One or Many?" He concludes that, "any attempt to define or redefine the god, must be tempered by an awareness of the complexity and elusiveness of this multiple figure, who is at any moment both one and many" (554). His caution is salutary, but while it is true that many facets of the Dionysus figure remain undefined, these essays go some considerable distance in further defining this most elusive of gods. If the volume (inevitably) stops short of a detailed picture, it nevertheless does much to limn the god's familiar — and unfamiliar — features.

As for the book's production, there are more than a few solecisms in spelling and grammar — not unexpectedly in a volume where few of the contributors write in their native language — but they rarely affect meanings.¹ The book's only surprising omission is that, despite a detailed "Analytic Index" and an index of Greek and Roman Texts, there is no index of modern authors. Since there is also no comprehensive bibliography, it is difficult to know if and when a scholar's work has been cited. Apart from that omission, the book itself is beautifully produced, with high-quality plates and sturdy binding.

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Notes:

1.   One exception is in Wyler's essay, where there seems to be a clause missing on page 547: "an entirely draped character save his naked shoulder and crowned head, is putting her feet on a stone" (my italics). In addition, Wyler's Figure 30.2 does not seem to match what she describes in her text (547).

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J. C. Rolfe, John T. Ramsey, Sallust, I: The War with Catiline; The War with Jugurtha (edited and revised; first published 1921). Loeb classical library, 116. Cambridge, MA; London: Harvard University Press, 2013. Pp. lxxxviii, 440. ISBN 9780674996847. $26.00.

Reviewed by Michael S. Vasta, Indiana University (mivasta@indiana.edu)

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The last several years have seen a number of new Sallust translations. Versions containing the Catilina, Jugurtha, and selections from the fragmentary Histories have been produced by A. J. Woodman for Penguin and William W. Batstone for Oxford World's Classics, while Michael Comber and Catalina Balmaceda published a Jugurtha for Aris and Phillips.¹ John T. Ramsey has now joined this group with a new edition of Sallust for the Loeb Classical Library, revising J. C. Rolfe's original (1921, revised 1931). Ramsey marks out a spot within this crowded market with a comprehensive introduction, thorough notes, and a translation that preserves Sallust's unique voice.

This the new edition for the Loeb Library benefits from the decision to divide the Sallustian corpus between two volumes. This first volume contains only the monographs, but takes advantage of the additional space to enlarge the introductory material and footnotes. The second volume will contain the fragments of the Histories in their entirety, as well as the spurious Epistles to Caesar.² The new general introduction is adapted and greatly expanded from Ramsey's introduction to his commentary on the Bellum Catilinae published by the APA.³ It covers standard topics such as life and career, contribution to historiography, influences, choice of subject, style, and textual tradition, but stands out from the other recent editions thanks to its exhaustive detail. Ramsey synthesizes much of the Sallustian scholarship on these topics of the past century, condensing it and providing it all for his reader in one convenient location. It is, however, primarily a historical and conventional approach, reading like a modern update and summarizing of Syme's Sallust.⁴ While this is ideal for one's first exposure to Sallustian studies, I think Ramsey's introduction works best alongside an essay such as Kraus and Woodman's chapter from Latin Historians, providing a more literary approach to the author.⁵ That said, with its volume of information, Ramsey's essay ought to become the definitive introduction to Sallust.

Two other parts of introductory material deserve mention. The first, and a particular highlight for this reader, is a massive bibliography, organized into editions, translations, and commentaries on the Sallustian and pseudo-Sallustian texts, and modern publications on the individual monographs, the "First Conspiracy" of Catiline, and Sallust and Roman history and historiography in general. Like the introduction, this bibliography is an updated and expanded version of the one included in Ramsey's APA Catilina, now including publications on the Jugurtha. Furthermore, just as the introduction provides the student or scholar with all one might need for Sallust's historical background, this bibliography offers a comprehensive "what to read next," including the literary analysis that is absent from the introduction.⁶

Secondly, each of the monographs also receives a brief introductory discussion of Sallust's sources, a separate, extensive chronology keyed to outside sources (e.g. Cicero's Catilinarians or Plutarch's Lives) and an outline of the narrative. The chronology is especially helpful in the case of the Jugurtha with its notoriously ambiguous time-keeping. That monograph also benefits from a family tree of the Numidian royal house. After the translation of the monographs, there is an index of people and places, keyed to Pauly-Wissowa where appropriate, and maps of Rome, Italy, and North Africa.

Sallust, by his very nature, is hard to translate into English. His archaic, abrupt style was dramatically different from the smooth periods advocated by Cicero, and no doubt would have seemed avant-garde to a contemporary Roman audience. But if a modern translator attempts to showcase that archaism, the "cutting edge" effect is lost to the English reader. However, if the translator chooses to render Sallust in a modern artistic prose style, the aesthetic may be present but fidelity to the original could be lost.

In the preface to this volume, Ramsey writes that the reader of a Loeb typically has "at least one eye on the left-hand page," ranging from a student who has a basic understanding of the language to the advanced scholar who consults a Loeb for help in rendering a difficult passage (x-xi). With this audience in mind, his translation adheres very closely to Sallust's Latin, maintaining original word order and sentence structure where possible and using an elevated vocabulary. This results in longer sentences with more clauses than are typical in modern American English, and, as such, a less smooth reading experience though truer to the original. The simple choice to translate using elevated vocabulary— polysyllabic words derived from Greek or Latin roots rather than words with a Germanic base that are more frequent in spoken English – appropriately replicates the effect Sallust must have had on Roman audiences. The language is "special" enough to draw attention, but nothing is so foreign that meaning is obscured.

One aspect of Ramsey's translation that I find particularly admirable is his treatment of Sallust's complex moral vocabulary. In his 1961 monograph, The Political Thought of Sallust, D. C. Earl attempted to find secure, distinct definitions for the historian's terminology, coming up with, for example, the conclusion that virtus is "the functioning of the ingenium to achieve egregia facinora and thus to win gloria by the exercise of bonae artes."⁷ Not only is this impossible to render in the succinct fashion required of a translation, more recent scholarship has also revealed that Sallust's moral thought is more complex and the vocabulary less secure than previously believed,⁸ though it is clear that he had something more precise in mind than simply "virtue." Ramsey finds a way to resolve this discrepancy. Instead of trying to come up with a single word to represent all of the different shades of meaning of virtus, he translates it as "excellence," "prowess," "merit," "valor," "bravery," as well as just "virtue." This seems to me to be the best solution as a 1:1 translation, while faithful to the Latin, cannot convey the multitude of implications inherent in the word, but if the translator is too loose or has too many different renditions, the precision in Sallust's vocabulary is lost. Ramsey's decision should appeal both to traditionalists and those who prefer a more post-modern approach to Sallust.

There are many notes within the text: the majority provide the chronological, geographical, legal, or cultural details one would expect from a historical commentary. They are brief, accurate, and helpful. They are especially welcome during the Jugurtha's battle scenes, providing the reader with a more solid grounding than can always be gained from Sallust's text. In other footnotes, Ramsey provides a literal rendition of the Latin when the translation within the main body is a bit looser. There are also a number of cross references, but the logic behind them can be somewhat inconsistent. For example, Sallust alludes to the story of Manlius Torquatus in the Catilina's archaeology (9.4), which Cato invokes as an exemplum during his oration (52.30-31). Neither location has a cross-reference note, despite the distance within the narrative between the two, and the importance of the re-occurring exemplum to the interpretation of the monograph. Indeed, the absence is conspicuous when Ramsey is thorough enough to remind us that Pompey was away commanding an army in the East twice within two chapters (Cat. 16.5, 17.7).

Beyond this, there are only two other complaints I have about the volume, both very minor. First, in his assessment of pre-Sallustian historiography in the general introduction, Ramsey merely reports what Cicero and Sallust have to say, that the early annalists were rather dull and bare. I think a brief observation from Ramsey that Cicero and Sallust might not have accurately represented those authors, confined, perhaps, just to a footnote, would be beneficial, so as not to give those less familiar with the genre the wrong impression. Secondly, the formatting within the general introduction could be improved, giving a better indication of the relationship between sections and subsections.⁹ Neither of these issues hampered my experience of the volume in the slightest. Errata are infrequent and minor.¹⁰

Ramsey provides a list of divergences from L. D. Reynolds' 1991 Oxford Text (20 in the Cat. and 32 in the Jug.), a brief critical apparatus, and includes explanatory notes for his textual reading. No readings seem particularly controversial.

In assessing Ramsey's success with this volume, I return to his comments about a Loeb reader as one who keeps an eye on the left-hand page. His translation, preserving many of Sallust's stylistic nuances, does not always make for the most fluid reading. As such, one of the other excellent English translations mentioned at the beginning of this review might be more suitable for an undergraduate history or political science student who has no real need to experience Sallust's Latin. For that reader who does pay attention to the left-hand page, though, Ramsey's Loeb is an excellent resource. His introduction helpfully provides all the information even an experienced scholar needs to be immediately grounded in this complex ancient historian. Furthermore, the thorough bibliography points in the right direction for further study of Sallust. Lastly, for the reader who does "occasionally turns to a Loeb to see how it renders some particular passage" (xi), Ramsey's faithful translation is a reliable companion. I eagerly await Ramsey's second Sallust volume and look forward to see how he handles the Histories.

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Notes:

1.   Woodman, A. J., ed. and trans. Sallust. Catiline's War, The Jugurthine War, Histories. Penguin Classics. London; New York: Penguin, 2007; Batstone, William W., ed. and trans. Sallust. Catiline's Conspiracy, The Jugurthine War, Histories. Oxford World's Classics. Oxford; New York: Oxford University Press, 2010; Comber, Michael, and Catalina Balmaceda, eds. and trans. Sallust. The War Against Jugurtha. Aris and Phillips Classical Texts. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 2009 (BMCR 2010.01.02).
2.   Two Invectives have been passed down by the manuscript tradition, purporting to be an exchange between Sallust and Cicero in the Senate. While the previous Sallust Loeb volume by J. C. Rolfe contained these texts, they were recently treated by D. R. Shackleton Bailey in his 2002 Loeb of Cicero's Letters of Quintus and Brutus (BMCR 2002.08.10). Therefore, Ramsey will not be including them in his volumes.
3.   Ramsey, John T., ed. Sallust's Bellum Catilinae. 2d ed. Oxford; New York: Oxford University Press, 2007 (BMCR 2009.03.22).
4.   Syme, Ronald. Sallust. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1964.
5.   Kraus, Christina Shuttleworth, and A. J. Woodman. "Sallust." In Latin Historians, 10–50. Greece and Rome: New Surveys in the Classics 27. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997.
6.   It is also worth mentioning that Ramsey has created a "companion website" for his APA edition of the Catilina, including, among other things, an annotated bibliography, covering many of the same works listed in the Loeb volume. Nearly every item is given a helpful one sentence summary. This is an outstanding resource for any scholar, new or experienced, who wants to get a quick grasp of Sallustian scholarship. It can be accessed here.
7.   Earl 1961: 16.
8.   e.g. Batstone, William W. "Intellectual Conflict and Mimesis in Sallust's Bellum Catilinae." In Conflict, Antithesis and the Ancient Historian, edited by J. W. Allison, 112–32. Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 1990.
9.   Specifically, under section 4, "Sallust's Style," one subsection is given as "Sallustian Traits: Brevity," followed with "Vocabulary," "Grammar and Syntax," and "Inconcinnity." Obviously, those three sections belong to the category of Sallustian traits, but a repetition of the header, or a further way to indicate hierarchy could make this clearer. The complaint is almost trivial, but it did cause this reader to think he had missed a section change.
10.   Cat. 3.1, "it is a fine thing to do serve the Republic…"; Cat. 47.4, "for at little earlier…"; Jug. 63.5, "in such as way"; Jug. 87.2, "that by means of arms liberty, country and parents."

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Christopher P. Jones, Between Pagan and Christian. Cambridge; London: Harvard University Press, 2014. Pp. xv, 207. ISBN 9780674725201. $39.95.

Reviewed by Scott G. Bruce, University of Colorado at Boulder (bruces@colorado.edu)

Version at BMCR home site

It has been just over fifty years since the publication of The Conflict between Paganism and Christianity in the Fourth Century, an influential collection of papers by leading historians of the late Roman Empire delivered at the Warburg Institute in 1959 and edited by Arnoldo Momigliano in 1963. It is a testimony to the enduring vitality of the field of study that we call late antiquity that many of the same questions occupy scholars today, but the terms of the conversation are remarkably different. In particular, the notion of a "conflict" between pagans and Christians in the fourth century has been replaced by something far more subtle.¹ Influenced by new trends in disciplines like sociology and the discovery of new texts that illuminate the later Empire ever more clearly, historians of religious culture are breaking down monolithic categories like "Christian" and "pagan" in order to represent more accurately the complexity and indeed the opportunism of the religious identity of late antique individuals. Christian identity has received the lion's share of attention in recent years. Éric Rebillard's Christians and Their Many Identities in Late Antiquity, North Africa, 200-450 CE (Cornell University Press, 2012) makes the strong case for identity salience in the Christian communities of North Africa from Tertullian to Augustine, while Jason Beduhn's massive three-volume project entitled Augustine's Manichaean Dilemma (two volumes have appeared; University of Pennsylvania Press, 2009 and 2013) offers a revisionist examination of the famous bishop's evolving religious self-presentation from his decade-long adherence to Manichaeism, his rejection of it, and his subsequent conversion to Nicene Christianity. Inquiry into the character of late ancient paganism has kept pace, in no small part due to Alan Cameron's magnum opus, The Last Pagans of Rome (Oxford University Press, 2011), which demolishes many of the myths surrounding the vitality of the so-called pagan revival of the late fourth century. In short, historians have all but abandoned "conflict" as an analytical category for the study of late ancient religion and have turned their attention instead to what Peter Brown has called "a solid middle ground, bathed in a radiance all of its own."²

Christopher P. Jones' Between Pagan and Christian is an important contribution to the on-going discussion of this middle ground between pagans and Christians in late antiquity. In ten short chapters, Jones makes the case "not only that Christianity and paganism had much in common, with Christianity drawing heavily on the beliefs and practices of paganism [but also that] Christians such as St. Paul could use the traditional culture of Greeks and Romans to build a bridge from their own side to the other" (p. xiv). Chapter One is a concise discussion of the Latin and Greek terminology employed by Christians to identity those nonbelievers who were not Jews, like "idolater" (eidôlolatrês) and "gentile" (gentilis) and especially "pagans" (Hellênes, pagani). Jones is admirably self-conscious about his use of the term "pagan" throughout the book, acknowledging that it is "a Latin term used primarily by an in-group [Christians] to denote an out-group [non-Christians], when the modern observer stands outside either group" (p. 6). The emphasis on paganism as a Christian construct raises the question of how so-called pagans referred to their own religious identity. Some discussion of the absence of Greek and Latin vocabulary for religious membership or the degree to which ancient people braided their religious loyalties with their political, regional or ethnic identities would have been welcome here. Chapters Two and Three survey the religious policies of Roman emperors from the ambivalence of Constantine to the "visible hardening of imperial attitudes toward paganism" (p. 26) under Theodosius I to the heavy-handed purges of Justinian, who in 529 ordered the closing of Plato's Academy in Athens. Jones observes that "[u]ntil Justinian, the evidence does not suggest that emperors used the laws to coerce pagans into conversion" (p. 29). Indeed, most emperors were more concerned with the delicate issue of Christian unity and were content to ban overt pagan actions like public sacrifice without troubling themselves about the persistence of pagan beliefs. Chapters Four, Five and Six treat religious ideas and practices held in common by pagans and Christians (the belief in God and a host of divine intermediaries; attitudes toward the representation of the divine; and the means by which late ancient believers communicated with their divinities, like sacrifice and prayer) and how their conceptions of these issues divided them. Chapter Seven treats the discursive strategies used by pagan and Christian authors in their debate about the "true" religion. Jones reads the persistence of Christian apologetics into the sixth century as evidence that paganism remained a tenacious concern among Christian intellectuals long after the closing of the temples mandated by Theodosius I. Chapter Eight is on the topic of conversion and concludes with a provocative consideration of how comprehensible certain aspects of Christianity would or would not have been to a convert from paganism. Unlike the rest of the book, the brevity of this chapter does not serve the complexity of this particular topic, on which so much has been written. The last two chapters of the book chart the divergent trajectories of paganism in the western and eastern Empires beyond the fourth century. Chapter Nine ("The West") is a litany of familiar Latin authors from Symmachus to Macrobius to Martin of Braga to Gregory the Great. Jones convincingly downplays the role of Symmachus as "a commander directing a last stand of Roman paganism" (p. 111) and compares him provocatively to his contemporary, the pagan historian Ammianus Marcellinus, "a religious traditionalist who does not write as one of a threatened minority" (p. 112). Marking the conversion of Clovis as a new Constantine as a turning point in this narrative strikes me as being a bit optimistic. The letters of Boniface and the sermons of Agobard of Lyons suggest that the countryside remained a sanctuary of non-Christian beliefs well into the Carolingian period. In contrast, Chapter Ten ("The East") presents a series of highly illuminating regional case studies of Greece, Asia Minor, the eastern provinces of Syria and Mesopotamia, and Egypt. Based on a wide range of sources from letters and sermons to inscriptions and archaeological evidence, Jones argues that "Christianity advanc[ed] at an unequal pace in different regions, with paganism more tenacious in rural districts and in cities with a strong tradition of Hellenic culture" (p. 131). The book closes with a short conclusion and an appendix ("Was Macrobius a Christian?") which argues that Macrobius was a pagan Neoplatonist.

Between Pagan and Christian is a learned and lucid treatment of the persistence of paganism long after the sea-change of the fourth century that made Christianity the official religion of the Roman Empire. While scholars of late antique religion will ruminate at length and with great profit on Jones' many insights, the clarity of his presentation and the vividness of his historical examples make this book especially appealing for use by advanced undergraduates. For this reason, I hope that Harvard University Press will not delay in publishing an inexpensive paperback edition. This would also allow for the correction of two errant dates in Chapter Nine: Hilary was bishop of Poitiers in the fourth century, not the third (p. 121); and Clovis converted to Catholic Christianity in the late fifth century, not the late fourth (p. 125). Between Pagan and Christian is a provocative contribution to the current debates about religious identity and its salience in the fourth century and beyond that deserves to be widely read by scholars and students of late ancient religious culture.

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Notes:

1.   On the immediate post-war context that informed the tone of the Warburg papers, see Peter Brown, "Back to the Future: Pagans and Christians at the Warburg Institute in 1958," in Pagans and Christians in the Roman Empire: The Breaking of a Dialogue (IV^th-VI^th Century A.D.): Proceedings of the International Conference at the Monastery of Bose (October 2008), ed. Peter Brown and Rita Lizzi Testa (Zürich and Berlin, 2011), pp. 17-24.
2.   Ibid., p. 22.

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Raffaella Cribiore, Libanius the Sophist: Rhetoric, Reality, and Religion in the Fourth Century. Townsend lectures/Cornell studies in classical philology. Ithaca; London: Cornell University Press, 2013. Pp. x, 260. ISBN 9780801452079. $49.95.

Reviewed by Jan R. Stenger, University of Glasgow (jan.stenger@glasgow.ac.uk)

Version at BMCR home site

Libanius of Antioch (314-93 CE), one of the outstanding orators and teachers of the fourth century, has deservedly aroused growing interest among classical scholars in recent years. Many studies focus on Libanius as a historical figure, on his relationship to the Roman emperors, his position in the civic community and his epistolary network. Libanius' skill as an accomplished author, so highly valued in late antiquity and the Byzantine era, however, remains somewhat neglected. Thus the monograph by Raffaella Cribiore, a distinguished specialist on both Libanius and ancient education, promises to fill this striking gap by exploring the literary nature of the rhetorician's output. Based on the Townsend Lectures of 2010, the book is meant to complement Cribiore's previous study of Libanius' school by turning to his speeches and letters while excluding his school texts from consideration.¹ Three themes stand out: the complex interplay of literature and reality, the public dimension of Libanius' works, and the sophist's stance on religious matters. Cribiore raises huge and controversial issues that defy definitive answers. Wisely, Cribiore eschews dogmatic pronouncements but rather highlights the complexity of these questions.

The four parts of the book are structured around the key themes. The first chapter (pp. 25-75) addresses the relation of literature to historical reality, with special emphasis on Libanius' autobiographical Or. 1. By comparing the oration with statements in his letters, Cribiore shows how the more 'private' epistolary genre, when used as a corrective, sheds light on the tendentious self-fashioning found in the autobiographical account. After the discussion of Or. 1, the book provides a vast overview of autobiographical and hagiographical texts in late antiquity in order to contextualise Libanius' self-presentation. This section, however, is not especially illuminating, as most of these works, in particular those on philosophical and spiritual leaders, differ widely in nature from the rhetorician's effort.

In the second chapter (pp. 76-131), Cribiore singles out one striking feature of Libanius' speeches: his use of invective and slander. Again, the question of the public reception of Libanius' works comes to the fore. Cribiore here maintains that the publication of these works cannot be determined uniformly but, rather, we have to allow for varying degrees of publicity. In analysing sexual abuse in Libanius' invectives, Cribiore draws attention to the representation and elicitation of emotions, a point that has been largely overlooked. Further, Cribiore underlines these invectives' theatrical aspects and points to parallels in classical oratory. She thus makes her readers aware of the fact that Libanius' displays would have also been received and appreciated by his audiences as entertainment—this should make us cautious in assessing the sophist's malice.

With the third chapter (pp. 132-181), Cribiore moves on to the field of religion. Before discussing Libanius' personal religious practice, she reviews modern concepts of religion, perhaps more extensively than necessary. Her reading of numerous letters sheds light on Libanius' 'belief' and seeks to establish different types of religious references – formulaic, significant, literary and educational—which, when tested, often collapse. Most interestingly, Cribiore finds that Libanius' attitudes towards religion vary between historical periods. Under Theodosius, for example, Libanius makes surprisingly few direct references to the contemporary religious turmoil, other than in the period immediately after Julian's death. In order to contextualise Libanius' moderate stance on religious matters, Cribiore, in a lengthy treatment, reviews a series of conversions and cases of uncertain religious allegiance in the fourth century. Nothing of this is really original or new, as the view that this period was characterised by fluid identities and beliefs has already become a commonplace.

Chapter four (pp. 182-228) continues this investigation, again drawing attention to the religious and social environment in which Libanius was socialised. Cribiore presents some fascinating figures—especially Libanius' friend Olympius—that emerge from his correspondence and orations. The examination of these figures' religious affiliations demonstrates that, at least for educated men in the fourth century, issues other than religion—e.g. social status, friendship and culture—often mattered more in personal relationships. In the remaining part of this chapter Cribiore returns to Libanius' attitude to the traditional gods. Following an extended discussion of pagan monotheism in late antiquity, she reaches the conclusion that we cannot access his personal beliefs; yet it is clear that before the large audience of his hometown Libanius maintained the image of a traditional pagan.

The book concludes with a somewhat erratic appendix on Julian's teaching edict, which treads a well-trodden path. Contrary to Cribiore's claim, it has already been argued that the emperor, despite the grey areas between religious groups, sought to create coherence among pagans and draw a sharp line towards Christians.²

Cribiore advances three major observations about which any reader of Libanius' orations and letters needs to be aware. First, while previous scholarship tended to categorise his output into public and private works, she underlines how elusive these seemingly stable categories are when it comes to specific texts. Even though a definite solution can hardly be reached, it is essential to assess what audience the sophist had in mind for each of his works and how 'public' their forum of presentation was. Second, and consequently, the works display clear marks of the audience's awareness and expectations of genre: Libanius had to take into account the conventions with which his addressees were familiar and what they would have wanted to hear. These factors influenced the shape and content of the texts considerably. Third, Cribiore subscribes to the current prevailing view that there were no clear-cut religious identities and thus Libanius, in his belief, was emblematic of this period. Her major finding, therefore, is that the rhetorician's oeuvre should not be considered a homogeneous body: each work is carefully adapted to its specific occasion. The interaction between the texts and their audiences thus made an enormous impact on the content of both the speeches and letters and can account for their seeming contradictions.

As other recent large-scale projects on Libanius indicate,³ it is—after a period of studies on individual aspects of his life—time to bring together the accumulated findings on Libanius' career, social standing, religious belief, and rhetorical skills. Cribiore's monograph thus sits squarely within current scholarship on the Antiochene teacher. The author's familiarity with research on Libanius leaps from every page. That, however, does not prevent her from making the bold claim that her approach to the literary dimension of his works should be regarded as especially innovative; given that in recent years several publications have been drawing attention to Libanius as a literary author, this claim seems exaggerated. A similar observation holds true for Cribiore's view of Libanius' religiosity. It has already been argued that the sophist encapsulated the fuzziness of religious identities and the pragmatic approach to this issue that most of the educated elite in the fourth century displayed. Fanatics like the emperor Julian or Firmicus Maternus were rather the exception that proves the rule.

The major asset of Cribiore's book, then, lies in her impressive and magisterial command of the primary texts, especially Libanius' correspondence. Time and again she brings letters and speeches to life, yielding important insights into Libanius' thinking, actions, and oratory that have gone largely unnoticed by scholars. Further, Cribiore deserves praise for challenging long-held views on publication and audience: the extent of public circulation and, thus, the potential impact of each text has to be examined individually (although some patterns can be discerned). Related to this finding, the book demonstrates that, in order to judge Libanius' views and strategies accurately, it is indispensable to consider the wider context of the political, social, religious and cultural landscape during his lifetime. The value of a seemingly unremarkable missive often comes out only if contextualised in its original setting, illuminating its allusions. Further, Cribiore reminds us of the importance of the likely audience response to speeches as well as letters. In order to better understand how the intended audience would have received Libanius' thoughts and attitudes we must try to recover with what they were familiar and expected regarding, among other things, literary genres and ethical norms. Overall, the strength of this study is that it sheds light on Libanius' adaptability as an author and it highlights the dynamic nature of his oeuvre.

This merit notwithstanding, some weaknesses diminish the effectiveness of Cribiore's argument. As said in the beginning of this review, she raises big questions that cannot be easily settled. That said, it is still unsatisfactory that the chapters repeatedly end without a clear conclusion, leaving the reader wondering how to make sense of their loose ends. Likewise, although Cribiore claims to investigate the literary side of Libanius' works, she, in fact, engages in an in-depth discussion and close reading of the texts only occasionally. In a similar fashion (as in her previous book) she makes use of the letters and speeches primarily as evidence for social and religious history. This is particularly striking as she aims to illuminate the interaction of texts and audiences. This interplay needed to be shown in the texts more clearly. Further, Cribiore incorporates a vast amount of historical background information and draws in alleged literary parallels which then make only a minor contribution to our understanding of the Antiochene sophist. In some places, lengthy discussions are even out of place, for instance on Cicero and Roman oratory (pp. 91-93, 106-108).

Despite her wide-ranging reading of secondary literature, Cribiore's use of scholarship can be patchy, the limits of which emerge particularly in her discussion of religious matters. She singles out one scholar to argue against, without taking notice of other views relevant to the issue. In doing so, she tends to misrepresent differing views, e.g. when she discusses Sandwell's argument on Libanius' religious identity (p. 137-138).⁴ Cribiore's selective reading cannot lead to really new results. One might also doubt whether she is right in putting so much emphasis on religious aspects. For one thing, Libanius obviously did not attribute utmost significance to the issue of belief throughout his life, as Cribiore herself makes plain (p. 180). So, in this respect, the focus of the book might be misleading. Further, she seems to downplay late antique attempts to erect religious boundaries and establish clear-cut definitions. To be sure, the existence of fluid identities can hardly be explained away, but, as figures such as Julian, Ephraem and Chrysostom show, religious differences and conflicts made at least some people more conscious of their allegiance. This can also be argued for several passages in Libanius' works. In this context, it is also necessary to consider Hellenism and ethnic identity, a point that Cribiore fails to connect to her discussion. Finally, some readers might not want to follow her into highly problematic speculations, for instance, about the impact of Athanasius and other Christian models on Libanius (p. 74) or the direct influence of Salutius' treatise (p. 218-219). These points are unwarranted by the evidence.

Despite these objections, Cribiore's well-informed book is a welcome addition to Libanius scholarship. Although it does not offer a completely new picture of the sophist, it addresses major research questions and challenges some established opinions.

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Notes:

1.   R. Cribiore, The School of Libanius in Late Antique Antioch, Princeton, NJ, 2007.
2.   See J. Stenger, Hellenische Identität in der Spätantike, Berlin 2009, pp. 101-110.
3.   H.G. Nesselrath, Libanios: Zeuge einer schwindenden Welt, Stuttgart 2011, appeared too late to be considered by Cribiore; as did O. Lagacherie and P.-L. Malosse (eds.), Libanios: Le premiere humaniste, Alessandria 2011. L. Van Hoof will be editing a collection of essays on Libanius' life and work.
4.   I. Sandwell, Religious Identity in Late Antiquity, Cambridge 2007.

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