“per hunc,” inquit [L. Iunius Brutus], “castissimum ante regiam iniuriam sanguinem iuro, vosque, di, testes facio, me L. Tarquinium Superbum cum scelerata coniuge et omni liberorum stirpe ferro, igni, quacumque denique vi possim, exsecuturum nec illos nec alium quemquam regnare Romae passurum.”
“By this” he said “blood most pure – before its royal defilement – I swear, and you gods I call upon as witnesses, that I will drive out Lucius Tarquinius Superbus, his sordid wife, and his progeny with steel, fire, and with whatever strength I am able. I will not suffer them [the Tarquinii] or any other to reign in Rome.”
A heavy oath: Brutus died for it. Certainly heavier than the one sworn by his feckless descendent still wet with Caesar’s blood. The traditional account of the founding of the Republic should be familiar to all readers of this blog, even if only in Tacitus’ bravura precis (“urbem Romam a principio reges habuere; libertatem et consulatum L. Brutus instituit”). The Tarquinii were expelled, no single man would ever again hold power due to a genius mix of monarchy, aristocracy, and democracy, and the nascent Republic won legitimacy in the only political theatre that actually matters, the battlefield. But the Romans were about to find out what the Athenians recently did with King Cleomenes’ feet upon the sacred concrete soil of the Acropolis and what many would be revolutionaries have found out since: internal revolutions seldom stay, well, internal.
Lars Porsenna was king of the Etruscan city Clevsi (Latin Clusium, Italian Chiusi), whose life seemed to have echoed and rhymed with that of many archaic age aristocrats up and down the Italic peninsula. The exact manner of relationship between Lars Porsenna and Tarquinius Superbus, his actions in and around Rome, and their aftermath is of course lost to time. Classicists have diligently teased out a (perhaps) more creditable narrative than what the tradition has handed down to us but, whilst that is an interesting story in and of itself, it is not the purpose of this blogpost. For our present needs, we are going to more or less work with the traditional narrative. Porsenna seems to have struck some sort of deal with the exiled Tarquin, correctly intimating that there would be some aristocratic elements at Rome who would not entirely welcome the new Republic. With this in mind, he set out for Rome with his army, Tarquin in the train, hoping to intimidate them into acquiescence. Not a bad strategy and not at all alien to the classical Mediterranean: The Persians had old man Hippias in tow as they set out to subdue Athens; The Spartans loved installing puppet oligarchies; Alexander would force cities to accept their own exiles as a sort of fifth-column/domestic terrorists in waiting. Ah well, plus ça change…
Instead, the Romans decided to fight. Livy’s account presents a larger-than-life narrative with colourful heroes who were once current amongst our educated classes. Horatius Cocles at the bridge; the unfortunately named C. Mucius Scaevola; Cloelia. None of it is true, but none of it is unimportant either. Porsenna’s forces must have been an intimidating sight. It is a rhetorical commonplace to state that kings in the archaic period were little more than thugs. But these were thugs with good equipment, discipline, and numbers. They struck like lightning and soon held the Janiculum. This was disastrous. The Romans must have thought that between their hills and the Tiber they could mitigate some of the enemy’s strength. They thought wrong. It soon looked like the Etruscans would take the Pons Sublicius, a bridge that forded the Tiber and gave easy access to the Aventinus and to the Roman heartland. Horatius Cocles had other ideas and having ordered his men to break the bridge he set to defending it by himself.
circumferens inde truces minaciter oculos ad proceres Etruscorum nunc singulos provocare, nunc increpare omnes: servitia regum superborum, suae libertatis immemores alienam oppugnatum venire.
There, casting his grim eyes about threateningly at the leaders of the Etruscans, now he challenges them single file, now he insults them all at once, for their servitude towards proud kings, heedless of their own liberty, they have come to oppress that of another people’s.
A heroic moment. Perhaps English and Norwegian readers will be reminded of the Battle of Stamford Bridge, though in this case Horatius got away at the last minute under a hail of missiles. You can see why painters and poets have been inspired by this story. Nevertheless, Porsenna was victorious in the field and the remaining Romans now locked behind their gates (“Porsenna ad portaaaas!”). The Romans had been beaten on the field. Trickery might do. Since the Romans had inherited a congenital allergy to wooden horses, they decided that the next best thing would be to send a youth into Persona’s camp to assassinate the king.
Gaius Mucius slipped into the king’s camp unnoticed. After all, there were quite a few Latins on Porsenna’s side, who would notice one more? He chanced to be there when the king was distributing salaries to the soldiery. As an aside, I am struck by how eternal this image of warlord personally redistributing wealth would be in Italy. Germanic ring givers, Anglo/Italian condottieri captains, Garibaldi and his merry …it is the later Roman bureaucracy that is the rare aberration. Anyway. Mucius, however, has no idea which man is the king and mistakenly kills the secretary instead. He is, of course, apprehended and brought before the king. Porsenna at least was a man and instead of squirrelling young Mucius to some proto-Guantanamo and lying about it to the Tyrhennian Observer, he addresses him directly. The response is intransigent.
hostis hostem occidere volui, nec ad mortem minus animi est quam fuit ad caedem: et facere et pati fortia Romanum est. nec unus in te ego hos animos gessi; longus post me ordo est idem petentium decus. proinde in hoc discrimen, si iuvat, accingere, ut in singulas horas capite dimices tuo, ferrum hostemque in vestibulo habeas regiae. hoc tibi iuventus Romana indicimus bellum. nullam aciem, nullum proelium timueris; uni tibi et cum singulis res erit.”
“I am an enemy and wanted to kill an enemy. I will not face my death with less courage than I would in killing you. To act and suffer bravely, this is Roman nature. I am not alone in girding my soul against you: there is a large number after me seeking the same honour. So then if it pleases you, proceed in this contest wherein you must fight for your head every hour and withstand an armed foe in your palace. This is the war that we Roman youth declare against you. You will fear no formation, no pitched battle, the war will be between you and each one of us singly.”
Non iam acta est fabula. After having demonstrated a seemingly endless enmity, sworn the Roman youth to forever war, and threatened guerrilla warfare, Mucius then thrusts his right hand into the altar fire. He calls this self-immolation a great glory and his descendants will forever carry the name “Scaevola” (lefty) in honour of this. The king, of course, is horrified and impressed in equal measure and dismisses G. Mucius Scaevola from his camp. He would soon withdraw. Porsenna had the numbers, he had the equipment, he even seems to have had the tactical nous. But he did not have victory. Who could hope to win against such a people? After all, they were suckled on wolf’s milk.
What was Porsenna’s mistake? In Livy’s bed time story I mean. In reality, he seems to have stormed Rome, reduced it to slavery, used it as a launch pad for his raids before abandoning it after a defeat or two. One might say that his mistake was underestimating his enemy and pursuing an unwinnable war. But, following Livy, Porsenna seeks a cessation of hostilities with the Romans more or less as soon as he realises that they can’t be reduced in war. No, his mistake was that neither he nor his staff (nor the traitorous Tarquin in his train) seemed to know the Romans in any meaningful way.
Livy was a Roman writer, writing for Romans. We might chalk up his depiction of the Roman character here to mere chauvinism, especially given what we (think we) know about the actual events of the archaic age. It is true that all peoples at all times lionise themselves and their national character in this way. Herodotus, for example, as an Asiatic Greek had more experience of the Persians than most, yet all throughout his Histories he has them marvel at the Hellenic character. Consider the reaction he ascribes to the Persians upon their discovery of the Olympic games:
For, learning that the prize was a crown [of laurel leaves] and not money, he could not hold his silence and said to them all: “Oh Mardonius! What sort of men have you brought us to war against? They do not contend for money, but for virtue!”. In this way he spoke.
In fact, this may even be the literary inspiration behind Livy’s depiction of the events we are currently discussing. The major difference is that all our historical data point towards there being some truth in Livy’s patriotic scribbling. Consider Pyrrhus’ victory, Aurelian’s resurgent empire, Aetius’ grinding resistance to Atilla, Justinian’s Reconquista, Heraclius’ generational war against the Persians…all the way to Constantine XI at the walls of Constantinople and perhaps to the klephts in the hills beyond. There is something fundamental, foundational, to the Roman character that could be found in pseudohistorical archetypes like Horatius Cocles and Mucius Scaevola. As I said earlier, these stories contained in Livy’s early books are false historically, true in the ways that matter.
This brings us, at last, to recent events. If others too see reflections of the Romans’ contumacy, dissolution into guerrilla warfare, and willingness to literally self-immolate in the Taliban, good. I have feinted clumsily at this. I do not draw this parallel with any sense of approbation, I certainly do not think the Taliban are just a bunch of good chaps hard done by, but I do think Livy offers us a good hermeneutic framework with which to play about. Does that make the US Lars Porsenna? With the same caveats I have just laid out – I think that too is a helpful parallel. Certainly, they both committed the same fatal flaw as not knowing their erstwhile enemy.
Why did I write this? The telchines will crow that no matter what I post, they are of no account. When I first put that poll up (pretend I did not forget about the blog and posted this within 3-5 days…) I suspect many where expecting something a bit more historically grounded. After all, I have a variable but serviceable grasp of some of the ancient languages pertinent to the area: People will kind hearts, big brains, but low pattern recognition might have expected me to produce something on the Hellenistic kingdoms or the Kushanas or even the Sasanids. It was tempting, it still is, but part of the vitality of a discipline like Classics relies on the ability of its practitioners (whosoever they may be) to make credible links with the present and offer us. The Romans, who knew a thing or two about empire, colonisation, and assimilation proved to be an irresistible source of comparison.
The link, with however light a hand it was done, between the early Romans and the Taliban will doubtless prove too provocative for some. The Romans represent for much of us all that is best, foundational, to Western civilisation and the Taliban its antonym. But I put it to those offended that If your reading of the past only ever reinforces your current worldview, if the broad stretch of history looks like a series of steps leading comfortably to your own politics, then you are not doing history, you are constructing just so stories. If 20 years of Western failure in Afghanistan has proven anything, its that self-indulgence is ever more than merely self-destructive.
 “De li altri due c’hanno il capo di sotto/ quel che pende dal nero ceffo è/ vedi come si storce, e non fa motto!” Dante Inferno 34.64-66 enjoy asshole. His ancestor is, of course, listed amongst the honourable pagans (4.127-9) along with poor Lucretia.
 You can rig elections; you can’t rig wars. War is a horrid, lamentable, and sadly unavoidable phenomenon. Πόλεμος πάντων μὲν πατήρ ἐστι πάντων δὲ βασιλεύς.
 Hillary Clinton upon the smoking bones of Libyan children…
 Anecdotally, this is one of the few Etruscan toponyms I remember since one of the textbooks I used pointed out that what we take to be the Etruscan endonym – rasna – simply meant people in their tongue and was more often compounded with toponyms e.g Rasneas Clevsinsl. I said it was an anecdote, not an interesting anecdote.
 I genuinely hate this kind of disclaimer and feel that this is getting close to detestable academic hedging. But one must ward off the bugmen. Please, if you are reading this, stop assuming I am unfamiliar with the books on your first-year reading list. Spend the time you waste sending e-mails learning Latin or Greek instead.
 For those of you who cannot yet read Latin, use the use of now, nunc, is translated literally despite the subject matter being something you would expect to be very past tense. This is an affectation that helps build a sense of vivacity. I know right? Read Livy.
 He even, unlike Achilles, had the good manners to address the river in prayer before jumping in.
 We moderns take this to be evidence of a certain oriental effeteness about Porsenna and his court. Artists love this theme. Look at the pampered Asiatic despots against the hardy, simplistic, Roman sons of the soil. Not only is this moronic and ahistorical, it belies a complete ignorance about the role of a secretarius in ancient armies. Likewise, Hellenistic “historians”, stop writing about the “soft Eumenes of Cardia”. Imbeciles.
 Why yes, I do subscribe to the Lucanian school of historiography. How can you tell?
Have you heard? In a PCP and coke fuelled rage, ragamuffin, vagabond, and all round roisterer about YOUR town Gavin Williamson has broken into Battersea dogs’ home, killed all the puppies and then interrupted a WWII veteran’s funeral playing an instrument of his own design nomine ass-trumpet. This has been roundly condemned by the most accomplished, most virtuous, members of our society: Surgeons have stopped midway through Aortic Dissection Repairs, Conservationists from freeing trapped animals, and Firemen stand in contrite silence against the roaring backdrop of a house ablaze. “No” they tell themselves, “No, we will not put out this fire only for Williamson to set a yet greater one”. Suntne lacrima rerum?
At least that is what you would think.
Instead, Williamson has managed to earmark a minor amount of money for a rather important aim: getting a little bit more Latin into the country. The dismissive people I can understand. They are dysgenic, degenerate, and dysfunctional. They represent nothing we should wish to strive to be or cultivate. We can mark them as enemies and move on. Society needs such people. It is the so-called friends of the subject who are dangerous. The ones who have wormed their way into positions due to the impotent acquiescence of its so-called guardians, who now wear all of the subject’s trappings like some sort of skin suit, who constantly presume to speak for us when all they want is to speak at and not with we polloi.
“OH NO NOT THE HECKERINOO UNIVERSITIES!?!” is it not always the same refrain? “What about us! What about us!”. Even if we have reached (surpassed?) Tony “ethnically cleansing Iraq” Blair’s target of 50% students heading to universities, how many end up in the Humanities? How many of those end up in Classics? Listen, by any reasonable metric Classics departments in universities are over, not under, funded. Yes, you heard that right. The amount of PhD studentships, early career fellowships, expensive EU, AHRC, etc etc funded research projects is unconscionable in light of the current rates of enrolment and all forecasted trends. Twitter has taught me that PhD’s are uniquely resistant to understanding market economics – I suppose they need that brain space for social striving – but looked at objectively, this is patently true. Depts. now graduate fewer people with markedly worse skills in Latin (let us not mention Greek!) annis volventibus but, hey, at least we have studies like The Eroticism of Foot-fetishes in Terence’s Andria and Noli me tangere: The Racial Politics of Hair in the Later Roman Empire.
Classics depts. have singularly failed at their core functions, and we are sick of being treated like tax-serfs, forced to subsidise mediocrities. There are good scholars, geniuses really, somehow still teaching at the tertiary level. We must, however, cut out the canker, trim the fat, balance the pocketbook. If this was not apparent before, it should be now (ἦτε γάρ ποτε σκότος, νῦν δὲ φῶς) when you see the serried ranks of those arrayed against what is really a tiny expenditure and a modest tincture, meant to give some glimmer of culture and opportunity to our least privileged. Who could honestly be against this? How much do you have to actively hate the poor?
Yes, why this disjunction? Part sheer cravenness (people desperate to get their share of an ever-shrinking pie) and part status anxiety. Teach enough people Latin, give them direct access to antiquity and suddenly they can see how feckless and useless most of the current batch of academics are. They were meant to serve as midwives and handmaidens of our classical patrimony – and it is our patrimony – instead they have set themselves up as the worst kind of malignant, doddering, clerisy. Even a smattering of Latin, some time carved out with the Greco-Roman past, will expose them, and allow we unwashed masses to eschew their little narratives. Gone will be the dreaded cry of “historian/classicist/ancient historian here!”; gone, too, the attempts to copyright Galla Placidia’s birthday and bugmen “well aktschyyalallylylyl…” may be met per force with “well, in the text…”. It will be hard to justify not being able to read a page of Latin, unaided, until well into your PhD years when an increasing number of school children can do so with ease. Classics, incidentally, is the only discipline where we accept this. Students of French or Russian are not afforded the same privilege.
The special interest groups of course carry on unabated in the face of all this. I mean are you really funding Classics if you’re not burning more money on the altar of whatever pseudo-intellectual cause du jour? The following is symptomatic:
I am not even 100% against this idea in principle, however the correct response right now is really just “WTF?”. This, this is going to get bums in seats and kids interested? Not Miltiades and the lads charging down the Persians at Marathon, not the unlikely life and conquest of Alexander, nor Caesar weeping at things not yet done, but…this? No, it is not just the theoreticians, but even the real philologists are being stupidly obtuse. I also came across a tweet of some idiot lamenting that Latin is taught “without context” and we should make space for linking it to the broader PIE family (!!!) and teach the basics of linguistics. Elsewhere people are excitedly discussing the chance to utilise medieval and neo-Latin. This is…almost charming in how naïve it is. But now is not the time for charming.
Have…have you ever set foot in an underfunded working class school? I honestly do not know where to begin with these people. They are so out of touch as to the conditions on the ground (which I am told have worsened since I was a student – and we used to literary fight the teachers). Do you point out that personal research interests are no basis for a national curriculum? That underfunded and understaffed faculties, fighting for resources and scraping by on two or three periods a week, can barely cover the language as it is? Do you remind people that it is the ancients and not their valour stealing commentators who interest people? Where? Ah never mind. These people are convinced they can close the hermeneutic gap between themselves and the ancient Mediterranean but can’t even understand the situation affecting their poorer countrymen.
baina Krokodilo Jauna what about politicisation? Ah yes, the same people who claim “everything is political” are the first to use “politicisation” as a derogatory term. Take the following:
Burnham is, of course, living proof that sortition is likelier superior to voting for choosing elected officials. Yet, even by the standards of the anti-Semitic Labour party this is some low rhetoric. Where are the Tory boys politicising this? Believe me I have tried to find them. Instead, there are seemingly endless Labour/LibDem/#FBPE people keen to turn tribal. Incidentally this trifling support of Latin comes as part of a wider package where foreign languages such as Mandarin are given a commensurately larger share of the pie. So much for Little Englander Tories vaunting Latin’s superiority! People reacting with this unseemly petulance really need to sit down and ask themselves a few questions. I will highlight two I find somewhat pressing.
For starters, if you unflinchingly associate Latin/Classics with the Conservatives – why? What does it mean that there are never any equivalent movements of support from successive left-wing governments, funding bodies, and think-tanks? This is not an idle question. If this is a one-sided political issue, why?
Secondly, why do you feel that giving into your tribalism, that flying your team colours (“eeww nasty party bad, we good!”) is more important than supporting one of the handful of teeny tiny opportunities for poorer students to gain some exposure to the ancient world? I am not here to critique your priorities – though for the record I absolutely do not share them, I obviously think the Classics more important than political tribalism – but you should at least own them and be transparent about them.
I think it is time to start wrapping up. I can only say that as someone who came from a horrendously deprived background, I would have welcomed a similar initiative during my schooling. There were no such programmes, no emphasis on outreach, diversity, recruitment etc etc. The UK has come a long way. This programme will not change much, but if we are lucky it holds within it the seeds of a gradual transformation. If UK Classicists (stop looking towards the US!!) can come together, offer support and encouragement, do whatever to help make this a success then in future years we might create an environment where no child will think the treasures of the past beyond their reach.
How have the professional guardians of the discipline failed to remember this? I recently saw a tweet that said something like “discourse is only discourse if you let it be” and…they’re right. Even on this blog, it is easy to get weighed down with the sniping and the fighting and the defensiveness and lose sight of why so many of us got into Classics in the first place: not because we were unable to get into PPE or English, not because we saw a decrepit old field of which we could take advantage…but because it is fascinating, and enthralling, and challenging. It is time to get back to that joy, to eschew the niggling little telchines – νήιδες οἳ Μούσης οὐκ ποτέ ἐγένοντο φίλοι – and focus once more on the ancient world herself.
The study of antiquity is a demanding field, but there are few more rewarding and doubtless none more interesting. To those students about to commence on its study for the first time, I wish the absolute best. You will learn things that delight and shock you, you will discover why in the face of civilisational collapse, Viking raids, Arab piracy, religious persecution, revolution, and war monks, scholars, and scribblers fought to keep the light of learning burning. As for the naysayers, well…
 For the avoidance of doubt, do not mix these. I disavow.
 Not an ascending tricolon but much like Catullus 56 (pro telo rigida mea cecidi) it is the central element that counts.
 Don’t look away, coward. What exactly do you think Western governments were up to? “nation building”?
 Did you Google those? Fucking lol, your dad was right about you.
 Another unpopular opinion. I say that if something has been a fairly central preoccupation of your country’s intellectual climate for centuries, drawn a large share of the public purse in funding, and animates your culture….it is part of your intellectual inheritance.
 “group” is too ill defined. They are a group in so far as they share interests in the same topics being advanced. Why am I writing this note? Because some quasiliterate will always attack such comments as proof of an illogical belief in some shadowy cabal behind the scenes. There is no cabal, no conspiracy, mere cowardice, greed, and idiocy.
 Yes, hello, please, hello: can we decolonise European Classics’ depts. from this American garbage please?
 Congratulations you have found the secret footnote.
***So, some of you guys are clearly illiterate and seem to be thinking the take away is that you can be mean to transpeople/old women/whatever. No. Treat human beings, whoever they are, with the same dignity that you yourself would want. This is not, should not be, a difficult concept to understand. You can’t harass people for looking different. You can’t harass people for something they have not said.***
Was S. Severus a persecutor of Christians? You see I write this on the cusp of the Ανάσταση and, as always during this time of year, the role of suffering in faith and the development of Christianity under the Roman boot/aegis (delete depending on the century of your reading) is much on my mind. Though we debate the frequency, severity, timbre, and cause, persecutions were a major part of Christianity’s entstehung. If anything, such things are still a part of Christianity. In large swathes of the world Christians are still persecuted and, indeed, there have been periods (are still periods?) where the Christians were the ones doing the persecuting. Who now, after all, remembers the Albigeois? The women of Salem and elsewhere we reduce to a meme or a tourist attraction, and it seems that only a few dictionary botherers care for the summary extinction of Baltic paganism nowadays. The foot in the boot has changed, the kickings remain the same.
Which brings us back to Severus, whom later Christian tradition sometimes remembers as one of the persecutors along with Decius and Diocletian. One of the people persecuted and martyred during his reign was a young noblewoman called Vibia Perpetua. How do we know this? A text survives from the period which details her suffering. Called the Passio Perpetuae, the bulk of the text is seemingly her own prison dairy with some sort of homily appended to the beginning and an account of her death and that of her maidservant affixed to the tail. I think the little work has become something of an internet sensation. Certainly, I had never read it until a few years ago. Along with Sulpicia’s poetry, it must be amongst the earliest female authored Latin texts that we now possess. It is an interesting read and well suited to current tastes. Anyway, in the text Vibia Perpetua, along with her maidservant Felicitas, are apprehended by the authorities and put into prison, awaiting execution. Vibia Perpetua’s father is evidently a man of note and tries to intercede on her behalf, but she is intransient:
Parce, inquit, canis patris tui, parce infantiae pueri. fac sacrum pro salute imperatorum. et ego respondi: Non facio. Hilarianus: Christiana es? inquit. et ego respondi: Christiana sum. et cum staret pater ad me deiciendam, iussus est ab Hilariano proiciet uirga percussus est. et doluit mihi casus patris mei quasi ego fuissem percussa; sic dolui pro senecta eius misera. tunc nos uniuersos pronuntiat et damnat ad bestias; et hilares descendimus ad carcerem.
“Spare” he said “your father’s grey hairs, spare the infancy of the boy. Make sacrifice for the wellbeing of the Emperors”. And I responded, “I shall not”. Hilarianus asked “you are a Christian?” and I responded, “I am a Christian”. And then, when my father stood by for the casting down [of my faith], he was ordered thrown down and beaten with a staff by Hilarianus. The fall of my father saddened me as if I myself were beaten and I was saddened too by his miserable old age. Then he passed sentence on all of us: we were damned to the beasts, and happily went down to the prison.
Passio Perpetuae 6.
There are two relevant bits of the text to the current Mary Beard situation (and I swear, they are relevant): The command to just sacrifice to the emperors and Perpetua’s absolute stubbornness in both proclaiming her Christianity and refusal to perform a simple gesture. This little scene, the exasperated Roman governor, the fanatical Christian, is repeated across our sources and is misunderstood as often as it is commented upon. “You see!” says the modern commentator “this is proof that the pagan Romans were orthoprax as opposed to orthodox!”. In other words, believe what you like, just behave like we do. How cosmopolitan and modern! They probably voted Liberal Democrat in the local elections, too. Utter fucking nonsense. If there was no belief in the efficacy of ritual, they would not be at such pains to ensure it done. In addition to the religious, there was also a transparently secular motive, the kind we can recognise in any imperial project. The Romans knew, as we have forgotten, that orthodoxy follows orthopraxy.
Perpetua’s refusal to sacrifice (non facio), her repeated confession of her faith (Christiana sum) is a powerful gesture, again, not well understood in the modern world. We talk endlessly of inclusivity, but such things always by definition exclude someone or thing. In an environment where there are competing group interests, signifying your status vis a vis in and out groups can be costly, as poor Perpetua found out. Again, our modern society is anodyne. If I ask you to picture someone with tattoos you are much more likely to picture some risible hipster or even somehow you know rather than a hardened lifer. You, presumably, do not need to worry whether your shirt and tie combo signifies membership of a rival gang when walking to your office. Not so for much of human history. “Conform” says Hilarianus, “show us that you belong, submit to our power structure, or…”. Just burn a little incense. Just bow your head. Just say the words. Go on, go on. And what does Perpetua say? Christiana sum “fuck off”.
This, then, is not an example of two groups speaking across one another. Both are speaking the same language: power.
Which brings us, finally, to Mary Beard. A few days ago, someone traduced Beard as a transphobe. Well, not exactly. Someone noted that Beard follows or is followed by transphobes. This certainly should cause eyebrows to raise. Not because Beard is above reproach (who could or would vouch that?) but because there is something inherently distasteful about guilt by association – especially when phrased in such a weaselly way. Anyway, surely something so basic could be quickly cleared up? Of course. Not
et intelleximus passionem esse futuram, et coepimus nullam iam spem in saeculo habere.
And we knew the future to be a passion [lit: a suffering], and we began to have no hope in this age.
Passio Perpetuae 4.
To bewildered onlookers, I suggest that the power dynamics present in the Passio Perpetua help you make sense of all that is happening. I am focusing on power, which always seems venal, because the go to defence of people called on their bullying on twitter (and it is bullying) is always that you should be more mindful of power structures. One, in other words, should not punch down. Just what is up and what is done is highly contentious and amorphous. Schrodinger’s cardinal direction if you will. Miraculously, people in the accuser’s in group are always being punched down and always punching up. As an outsider of no account, I often look upon this with a mixture of sadness and bereavement. I much rather nobody punches anyone, but ok, fine.
So, what ought Beard to have done when faced with this accusation? Certainly not write a TLS piece defending herself (“wielding institutional power”) or try to explain herself (“a nopology”) to the twitter mob. Even so much as addressing her accuser was taboo (“punching down”; “orchestrating a pile on”).
She stands accused (esne Christiana?) and she has two options. Either she affirms the charges and damns herself to the beasts or she gives in to the demands, makes the sacrifice, says the words, bows her head (fac sacrum pro salute imperatorum). Those were apparently the only options. The power dynamics were naked for all to see. You would have to be an academic to miss them. Beard, however, did the equivalent of ignoring the procurator and walking out of the courtroom. The fallout from this has been the predictable thunderstorm in the tea-cup that erupts over #ClassicsTwitter every fortnight or so. There are several accounts signalling their own in group status apropos of seemingly nothing with all the forcefulness of Perpetua’s Christiana sum.
Make no mistake, Perpetua, Euplus et al who affirmed their faith did so in an environment which meant they would at the very least face censure and most likely death. They were purposefully doing the equivalent of wearing the wrong gang colours in the wrong area, all these accounts are doing is forming a mob. The equivalent of the imperial functionary and his cronies. There is no faith, no virtue, in these demands on Mary Beard. Just power. What must this look like to outsiders, I wonder? Certainly not support of trans people. For that one might look to various practical measures such as this support meeting (I don’t see the link, so I will post the tweet for any of my trans readers interested in joining).
Instead, to outsiders and quasi(?)-outsiders like myself, the current kerfuffle looks like a lot of bullying of one elderly professor and a lot of status-signalling from people who are otherwise untouched. It also stinks of envy and a complete lack of charity to one of your own.
Which leaves us to wrap up this short piece. I am sorry for the clumsiness, but for a while now it has increasingly seemed to me that the kind of behaviour we see our corporations, universities, and governments behave is religious in nature and I thought that parsing this through the lens of a religious text and the model of intra-religious conflict might prove, if not elucidating, interesting.
Is Beard a transphobe? I would like to think such an eminent Classicist does not have it in her to set her face against anyone based on their personal characteristics. But who can read the heart of another? Who should? Who is entitled to know? Certainly twitter seems to think itself entitled to judge. I, like many others, am sick of all this performative virtue from a group of people who would step over the still twitching corpses of their friends for a shot at a TT job. I am sick of the Spanish Inquisition like nastiness. The lack of grace, the base meanness. I do not know if Beard is a transphobe, but I do know that she is brave Let the incense remain unburnt. Let the creed remain unspoken. Let us have good deeds rather than pretty words. Hilarianus can go fuck himself.
What then? Are we better? Not at all…as it is written that there is no one just, not one.
imperator, not potions master, you fucking millennial.
 Decius has suffered the impotent ignominy of being completely forgotten by any public, Diocletian had his body turfed out of his own palace in Spalatum. A crime of which many of the modern inhabitants with whom I have spoken are proud. I do not doubt that Christians were persecuted under Severus, but I could say not off the top of my head whether he took a more Trajanic or a more Decian involvement.
 Perhaps not really the place, but for anyone looking for more female authored Latin texts, @SkyeAShirley has set up a group which is worth checking out: https://www.lupercallegit.org/ go read some Latin! By tastes I mean both the attempt to diversify and extend our cannon and in the increasing integration of Christian/Late Antique texts into mainstream curricula.
 The speaker is one Hilarianus, a procurator. The title is quite general. Think of him as a minor functionary who did not himself wield imperium. He does seem a right shit, however.
 Both Perpetua and Felicitas had recently given birth, the former is still nursing and has her baby with her for a good part of the text. In jail. Yes…
 They are probably not relevant. Shhh. Just keep reading.
 The locus classicus optimus is Pliny Epistulae 10.96-97. The first of these is Pliny’s lengthy description of the procedures he uses to deal with Christians, the second is Trajan’s reply. Also, the Jewish writer Philo has an interesting account of an embassy to Gaius Caligula which underlines how threatening this demand can be. Jews (despite getting off to a rocky start with the Romans, thanks Pompey!) were often otherwise exempted from these trials, but then the sovereign is he who decides when, where, and how falls the exception.
 As you can tell from my examples, not so for a good part of modern society either once you step outside that middle class bubble.
 This may not be the tweed and ivy girt analysis you are used to, but it comes from the experience of both the slums and the boardroom and I dare say it is indeed the correct one.
 This is an Americanism that I may not entirely be getting right. From my own background one tended to get jumped for a) being of the wrong ethnicity or b) from the wrong post-code. Americans, a post-code is like a zip-code but more functional and sensible.
 Seriously. Bigger fish than her have been, er, scalped. Look at the current kerfuffle over Richard Dawkins and J. K. Rowling. Classicists routinely overestimate their own importance at a time when entire departments are disposable.
 Congratulations. You have found the secret 13th footnote. Tomorrow morning you will wake up to find $3 underneath your pillow.
Alexander the Great defence attorney totally impartial researcher @agameganon recently put out a call for controversial opinions. This, of course, has an eminently classical precedent. Students in the Roman empire would practice for legal careers by declaiming suasoriae (see our borrowed word persuade, the root is cognate with the English word sweet) and controversiae (…duh). Whilst awaiting the forthcoming launch of the BOUS journal, I thought I would give it a go. As someone who marches lockstep with the cutting edge of #ClassicsTwitter, it was incredibly difficult for me to find something controversial but see below for five four such controversiae.
Learn, or at least use, the accents.
The amount of complaining over what really is not a huge effort is rather quite striking. “It’s too difficult”, “Who has time?”, “why, this is violence!” and so on. Look, the accents *matter*. Not only in terms of differentiating otherwise minimal pairs (did you see a weasel, or did you see a calm? Am I going or, simply, am I?), but in being able to properly read the words out loud and therefore internalise the shape (the phonotactics) of Ancient Greek. It is criminal that the accentuation system is so thoroughly ignored by modern learners. I suspect many teachers were not properly taught and subsequently pass on their habit of abusing the Greek language to their bright-eyed charges.
I lay no small portion of the blame at the sock and sandalled feet of the modern academics. Probert’s A New Short Guide to the Accentuation of Ancient Greek clocks in at 235 pages. This volume is meant to improve upon Postgate’s earlier version. Perhaps it does, but does it warrant more than twice the amount of pagination? Is it twice as good? No, of course not. With this as the industry standard, is there any wonder people are put off? Learning – or at least using (seriously, just stress the word where you see the little mark) – should not be an ordeal. Every Greek schoolchild memorises the rules in a few weeks. The most important rules only make up a single side of A4:
Also, there is a lot of patronising in e.g Youtube comments (quando non sunt?) and in the mouths of German and American Classicists as to the Ancient Greek pronunciation of Greeks. You stupid bitches, how do you think Greek speakers know where to put the accent when speaking out loud? Do you think pronouncing β as /b/ whilst slinging in your potato vowels and profligate accents (EYE-mi does not in any way correspond to εἰμί) is better than a living pronunciation that accurately places the accents and therefore must know the correct vowel length? If you want to be the accent police (why, bro?) at least pass over the lowest hurdle. Have some humility before you criticise others.
Secondary Literature ought to be written in Latin.
Twitter and, apparently, the Classics Listserv has recently been crying about languages again. We have mirabile auditu moved on from complaining about classical languages to modern ones. Progress? I guess? There are two main complaints. The first of these is that requiring modern languages is not inclusive. Ah, inclusivity! You will notice that in the mouth of an American “inclusive” really means “make things as easy for me as possible, no matter how much this burdens everyone else” and “remove even the most reasonable barriers of entry and measures of accountability…for me”. I have little patience with this base arrogance, and I dare say Francophones, Italophones, Lusitanophones κτλ working in the Anglosphere have any either. To be a natively Anglophone Classicist is to be born with a golden spoon in one’s mouth: Universities in the Anglosphere are staffed with the best and brighten from the entire world (the morality of this brain-drain is something else, entirely) and English dominates academic publishing. Shut up, be grateful, and do the bare minimum to be able to be a good colleague and contributor to your academic discipline.
That is the first complaint. The second seems to be from Germanophones complaining that nobody reads their barbarbar anymore.
All this leads me to my “controversial” opinion: we should publish (more) scholarship in Latin. There is an extremely strong (some might say erotically throbbing) historical precedent for this. It is an incredibly elegant solution. Everyone is at a similar dis/advantage. No singular vernacular is overly privileged. Fledgling Classicists are firmly grounded in their intellectual heritage. It centres Latin and therefore inoculates against the worst of modern secondary literature and forces institutions to take equitable and effective Latin pedagogy seriously. Couple the moral and intellectual duty to pass on these languages with an economic incentive like that and everything else will follow. Better Classics. Fairer Classics. A more connected, international, Classics.
There will inevitably be some pushback to this one. Let me go over these at pace.
Not every Classicist can write well in Latin or teach it to a high enough standard.
Sack them. There, I have cleared up your funding/institutional bloat problem as well. Medieval aristocrats fought in the front line. Ancient Indian Brahmins guarded the most arcane and esoteric traditions of their people and underwent several restrictive taboos. Celtic Druids trained (according to Caesar) for 20 years. What is it about the modern academic that they feel entitled to a free ride, cushy sinecures, without doing the bare minimum? No, no, no. If you want to work on Russia or China or England…you learn the languages. Classicists are not special. Shape up or ship out. Disce aut discede.
I am hardly the type of person to treat the PhD with any deference, but even I can see that twitter is full of very talented ECRs existing in precarity. Get rid of the useless tenured old guard and replace them with a handful of dedicated, talented, youngsters who could do this.
It is not very inclusive!
By your twisted self-serving definition, no. By any rational one, yes. This has already been answered.
What about accessibility of scholarship?
Is that an entirely bad thing? If you can’t comfortably read Virgil what can you possibility have to say about him? Again, this is the bare minimum expected in other academic fields that deal with languages and culture. We have neophytes trying to gallop before they can waddle (some of them are called professor). More to the point, there are thousands of books and articles already published in all manner of vernacular languages. Many of these will remain invaluable. Nobody is going to burn them.
What about accessibility for Non-Classicists
See the point above re: the current body of work. Also, please stop being disingenuous. Non-Classicists are hardly running to ZPE to get the latest. There are open facing journals such as Arion, Eidolon, the brand-new Antigone, academic press/university press releases, faculty web pages, personal blogs κτλ. An absolute smorgasbord of options.
Shouldn’t we use Greek instead?
Either you are a troll, in which case fuck off, or you are too stupid to realise how idiotic that question is. In which case, more time reading before you even think of putting pen to paper.
How serious are you?
Quite. I am not saying all and every press needs to mandate only Latin. But put it as an option! Everybody wins!
German scholarship is colossally overrated.
Seemingly hypocritical from a blog that has produced a post dedicated to Wilamowitz and frequently cites him and other great scholars. I am dependant on the LfgrE like it is methadone, I pull from the Basler Kommentar like an ancient Egyptian duck-hunter, and I throw around concepts like nachleben. I am not saying scholarship in German is worthless I am saying it is overrated and that we achieve nothing by pretending the works of a handful of great scholars like Wissowa and Mommsen and a handful of reference volumes are in anyway representative. Let me cite a useful comment from a BMCR review: “… it raises the disturbing question whether the German academic system can continue to flood the shrinking market of scholarly monographs with unrevised dissertations of questionable value.”Macte.
Moreover, this fetishising of German scholarship did not, alas, arise solely from the brilliance of yesteryear. If you think awfully hard, you might be able to think of a series of historical incidents that arose in the 1930s and 1940s that sent German scholars – especially those of a Jewish extraction – across Europe and the US. Naturally, these scholars inculcated and/or fortified a tradition of reading (and often writing) German scholarship. That was how they taught their students, and their students taught us (or our teachers). This is very evident in the case of scholars like Fraenkel, Auerbach, Zuntz κτλ. Yes, we got a dash of Prussian rigour but also the cloying incest of the doktorvater pretentious nonsense.
There is an uncomfortable history behind all this and that is why I can, with an iron spined rectitude, tell the quarrelsome German scholars lamenting their languages declining market share “cry more”.
Textual Criticism needs to be brought back into focus.
Following the Geneva convention any internet discussion on this needs must start with this anecdote found in West’s manual.
West’s first chapter is a fantastic explanation and defence of textual criticism, I am not going to repeat any of it here. Textual criticism is one of the purest forms of Classicism, it will improve your Latin/Greek and is truly communal in that practitioners improve our pool of evidence for everyone. Sure, whatever. I want to focus on provenance.
One of the genuinely great trends I have noticed on #ClassicsTwitter has been the rising interest in the provenance of antiquities and concern over the antiquities trade. This goes far beyond the typical complaints and cavils over the Parthenon marbles to a wide range of statues, reliquaries, pots, frescos (!!) and so on. Perhaps this trend was inevitable in the modern interconnected world, but I suspect it has been spurred on by the horrors of ISIS, their wanton destruction and subsequent flooding of the antiquities market, all happening over twitter and telegram. As a result, even younglings feel the need to know more beyond those innocuous laminated 4×4 cards affixed to the lip of a plinth or nestled into the cusp of a frame. A handful of twitter accounts have been useful for my own journey down this road, not all of them classically focused: Erin L. Thompson (@artcrimeprof) who, in addition to serious conversations, runs the #FakeOTD hashtag. Dorothy Lobel King (@DLVLK) is the Sherlock Holmes of Roman gemstones and auction catalogues (does that make Ellie the dog, Watson?). Vijay Kumar (@poetryinstone) is the author of an interesting book, The Idol Thief, and investigates various modern cases of theft. Anyway, the point is that texts too can have provenance. We scarcely have to go back to the days of nicking texts from the scriptorium of Fulda Abbey to embellish our point, let’s look at two recent cases, both involving papyri a recent case.
At some point in 2014 a new, rather substantial, fragment of Sappho came too light. Just how it came to light is even now contested as the account from the horses’ mouth has changed somewhat from this rather novelistic one to a rather more lapidary version of events. Leaving all that aside for a moment, perhaps one of the odder aspects of this whole affair was that for a brief moment or two antiquity was all over the news…and only a handful of working Classicists were in any sort of position to be able to offer sensible comment. This is truly bizarre when you think of it. There were probably infinitely more old fogies who took their bachelor’s degrees in the 80s and 90s au fait with the rules and methods of textual criticism than current students and professionals.
A discipline that takes textual criticism seriously and as an important part of undergraduate reading is one that avoids such silliness. As a student I somewhat resented my tutors for asking us textual questions and forcing us to look stuff up and memorise seemingly arcane sigla, but it made me a Classicist. Not a better Classicist. A Classicist full-stop. I can not claim to love the textual criticism, I am hardly a specialist (nor would I ever want to be, frankly), but I am at least conversant with the text because of this skillset and not a victim of sometimes fanciful editors. I suppose there is also a question of equity. A majority of the textual work in the Anglosphere is done in OxBridge and London (with some particularly good papyrological work at Manchester and Michigan). How is this fair or sustainable? Contrast Italophone Classics where there is much more robust decentralisation.
Whence the new Sappho papyrus (P. Sapph. Obbink)? Wither goes it? Who knows? I do not think any of this is an open and shut case – though as of a fortnight or so Brill has discontinued its companion volume due to allegations of illicit providence. Readers looking to better situate themselves in debate could do worse than to read this. And if all that hasn’t convinced you maybe this tongue in cheek chicanery will?
haec verba locutus, ab computorio se vertit et clamavit “facta est opera!” That is it for now. I am sure I can wrangle up more controversial opinions, but I think we all need a break. What do you think? Have you any thoughts of your own? Comment, tweet, affix a tear sodden letter to the foot of a carrier pigeon, whisper into the midnight wind; let us know!
P.S My three long-time readers will have noticed some changes to the blog’s visual formatting. I am – still – having issues with WordPress’ new editor and style formatting and might move to another platform in the near future. If anyone has any experience with other platforms, let m know what you recommend. Because WP right now is abhorrently torturous.
 This is not the place for a book review, feel free to check out the BMCR if that is your thing. I do like this book, incidentally. The title is incredibly misleading, insultingly so, and the circumstances which make this volume so important are frustrating.
 To a (much) lesser extent we see a similar thing with Italian. But for whatever reason giants like Momigliano have been less fortunate in the influential placements of their students.
 Even the Germans now think it cringey to discuss academic pedigree as if we were at Crufts. Nowadays, the term betreuer is preferred and few boast of reconstructed stemmata of teachers/advisers the way Anglos do.
 West, M. L. (1973). Textual criticism and editorial technique applicable to Greek and Latin texts. Walter de Gruyter. Pp7.
 Initially I had intended to add a little non-classical flair by also examining the recentish Coptic shenanigans surrounding the so called Gospel of Jesus’ Wife. However, my review of Ariel Saber’s brilliant book is still not done and I note that the fantastic piece by Theo Nash makes more than passing mention of it. So go read that.
 “Monsieur le Crocodile, abonnez-vous à la Times?” of course not, Jesus Christ. Also, lector carissime, tu is fine.
A chance tweet by @theo_nash has had an intemperate effect on my reading as of late. I naturally went straight to the inaugural lecture, which may be found here. As far as such things go it is not as entertaining as Wilamowitz’ zukunftsphilologie or as erudite as Housman’s UCL accessional, it is certainly interesting.
“But we have lived to see the second death of ancient learning. In our time something which was once the possession of all educated men has shrunk to being the technical accomplishment of a few specialists…it could even be argued that Latin gave to some parts of the classical heritage a far more living and integral status in the life of those ages [the dark ages] than the academic studies of the specialists can claim in our own… if one were looking for a man who could not read Vergil though his father could, he might be found more easily in the 20th century than the 5th.”
The essay is not all doom and gloom. It is a sombre (if at times self-aggrandising!) narration. It anticipates some of the debates we are currently having, which we have always been having, on the degeneration of skills amongst humanities specialists, the exclusion of the public, and the utility of periodisation. Where it stands out against modern screeds, however, is the evident love of its subject. There is no talk of burning down here.
I thoroughly recommend you read it and, as usual, if you have limited time and the choice is between that and this blog post, click the little x in the corner and go and read Lewis.
I did say it had an intemperate effect on my reading, I was inspired enough to re-read his The Discarded Image. How much more I got from it as an adult! What a beautiful book! It is passim outdated, and Lewis and I clearly come at literature from directly opposite angles, but near every page oozes erudition in the best of the humanist tradition. It is also beautifully written and recently led me to ponder why so many Classics’ books are so turgidly written and to try and crowdsource a list of beautifully written ones, available here. Once again if you have any suggestions please add them. Anyway, Lewis. Having re-read The Discarded Image, I found myself moving on to his fiction.
Lewis, like Tolkien, was a member of the now famous literary discussion group the Inklings (this is as boring as it is seemingly mandatory to add in any blog, essay, or fucking tweet on these guys) and like his colleagues he wrote a mixture of fiction (whether poetry or prose – all poetry is fiction because all poets praeter Homerum are filthy liars) as well as more academically focused non-fiction. Like all the Inklings, the line between his fictive and factual literary works was a blurry one and (post/)Christian themes are liable to animate both sides of his literary production. Consider the way one can trace a direct line both from Tolkien’s interest in Germanic philology and his Catholicism all the way into his Lord of the Rings. Lewis’ fiction perhaps evinces this more evidently than that of the others, as anyone who has read the Chronicles of Narnia can tell you. It is common now for the chattering classes to speak disparagingly of the Christian elements of Lewis’ Chronicles of Narnia, calling them obvious, lame, and preachy allegories whilst lauding whatever moronic book the NYT is hawking that happens to reaffirm their faith more fiercely than any expounder of homiletics would dare.
But why am I justifying my choice to pick up some fiction to you idiots? After all, as Lucan says:
Those who are interested in athletics and the care of their bodies are concerned not just with keeping themselves in good condition and well exercised, but with timely relaxation: indeed, they regard this as the most important part of training. In the same way, I think it does students of literature good, after hard and serious reading, to relax their minds and invigorate them further for future efforts.
Lucian True History 1.1 (trans D. Costa (2005))
Anyway. I found myself picking up his That Hideous Strength (whence the bastardised title of this piece). The book, as we shall see, has some very interesting things to say about humanistic learning and the modern academy in general. First, a general sketch. Spoilers? Probably – I am trying to avoid them but must therefore tread the line between scuppering your (potential) enjoyment and indulging in a seemingly nonsensical rant. THS reminded me very strongly of Kingsley Amis’ Lucky Jim as both novels share a few notable elements: the young, ambitious academic in a state of precarious employment whilst simultaneously grapplng with problems with the opposite sex. I think Lewis’ Tolkien Ransom is the more interesting protagonist of the two. I am not sure either book handles the female sex well. Both books contain fantastical elements. Amis’ eponymous Jim is meant to be in some manner likeable or at least sympathetic: Lewis has Merlin and extra-terrestrial magic beings. But aside from its (perhaps prurient) use of spoken Latin, what does this book have to say about Classics and its would be guardians/parole officers? My copy is full of highlights and notes (not all of them laudatory, mind you), but I would like to use this blog to offer a small selection.
One common theme is the essential hollowness of the (then) modern man. He has no learning, he has no faith, he has no roots. I am sure that Lewis is writing from a predominantly Christian context (I am deaf to much of this), but he could basically be describing the death of any real engagement with the Classics. Look at the way the protagonist’s education is described:
“It must be remembered that in Mark’s mind hardly one rag of noble thought, either Christian or Pagan, had a secure lodging. His education had been neither scientific nor classical-merely “Modern “. The severities both of abstraction and of high human tradition had passed him by: and he had neither peasant shrewdness nor aristocratic honour to help him. He was a man of straw, a glib examinee in subjects that require no exact knowledge (he had always done well on Essays and General Papers), and the first hint of a real threat to his bodily life knocked him sprawling.”
This is no mere old man yelling at clouds. Whilst, yes, nefarious forces are aligned against poor Mark, much of his difficulty is compounded by his own moral failings and the empty caverns of his unexercised synapses. He knows nothing fully but has the careerist shrewdness that characterises his profession (he is, of course, an academic). Mark is a Sociologist, a student of a made-up subject for the lesser able, but I dare say the modern Classicist is on no more stable ground. How many Classicists now possess any “exact knowledge” of their discipline? How many bachelors, masters, doctors are there who have never read through even Homer or Virgil but are full to the brim of whatever recently published nonsense is on their reading lists? i.e enough to do “well on Essays and General Papers” with little risk of being exposed to actual difficulty or the nobility (or baseness!) of their subject?
Lewis likewise seems to have anticipated the attempt to transform or deconstruct the Classics, often disguised with words like “reclaiming” or “retelling” (some would more honestly say subverting or even ruining). He uses a very striking, visual, metaphor for this. At some point Mark finds himself in the beating heart of the dreaded “institute” and takes a moment to examine some of the art on display and what follows is one of the best portraits (lol) of the modern school I have recently read.
“Their peculiar ugliness consisted in the fact that they kept on suggesting it and then frustrating expectation. He realised that this was another trap…
Some belonged to a school with which he was familiar. There was a portrait of a young woman who held her mouth wide open to reveal the fact that the inside of it was thickly overgrown with hair. It was very skilfully painted in the photographic manner so that you could feel that hair. There was a giant mantis playing a fiddle while being eaten by another mantis, and a man with corkscrews instead of arms bathing in a flat, sadly coloured sea beneath a summer sunset.
… the apparent ordinariness of the pictures became like the ominous surface innocence at the beginning of certain dreams. Every fold of drapery, every piece of architecture, had a meaning one could not grasp but which withered the mind.”
The whole passage is brilliant, and I was struck forcefully enough to immediately re-read it. What is this describing but most modern scholarship? Mind withering. A half-hidden ugliness to it that is always suggesting, and very rarely out in the open. The work produced by the classicistuli is like this. Close enough to real Classics that it almost passes muster, but the little divergences that are at first unnoticeable bit by bit build up an uncanny valley effect of revulsion before they smack you in the face. Sure, perhaps you honestly think Alaric is a sympathetic figure akin to the modern refugee, perhaps you genuinely think the sexual impulse and modern gender identities were the driving force behind a millennium of Byzantium art (to name two recent examples), but such things are so divorced from the source cultures we study, so far from the evidence offered by the texts, but I cannot really believe it. Perhaps the classicistuli are like the main character, hollow chested “strawmen, glib examinees”, rather than the deliberately sinister perverters who work at the evil institute. Perhaps. It makes no difference; the effect is the same.
We are everywhere told to be on our guard against the “appropriation” of the Classics. As if 90% of current academic work is anything but! I look at sites like, for example, Pharos Classics and though I find them more histrionic than accurate half the time it astonishes me that not one of these people ever stops to ask themselves why. Why is there this unsatisfied hunger for the Classics? Why are so many people turned off by modern secondary texts (or, indeed, the academics themselves who author them)? Perhaps there are indeed some racists, fascists, white supremacists and so on. I can credit such things. But to the extent these places are claiming? We must admit that there is some ugliness in a lot of these modern Classicists. There is something unseemly about a spindly armed gentleman damning the Spartans as losers for Thermopylae whilst comfortably drawing on a public sinecure. Something off-putting. Is it really surprising more and more people are looking elsewhere for their classical fix?
Similarly evil too is the institute’s tendency to never really say what they mean. Words are twisted into new meanings or any straight answer hedged and buried within a wall of text. Truth can be warped by evil and neutered by bullshit, basically. Sometimes this is blatant as in the acronym naming the agency – N.I.C.E – sometimes slightly more subtle as in the set-piece speeches of the mysterious deputy director (note that, always eschewing taking real responsibility, he is the deputy director), whether in English or Latin these speeches are worth studying. Seriously, if there are any teachers or lecturers reading this, use some of these speeches in your English to Latin exercises.
The effect of these speeches on the reader is quite something, by the way. Again and again we find ourselves subjected to these long winded speeches that move between vacillation and vacuity, where words are redefined seemingly halfway through being employed. The genius is that we, at first, sympathise with poor Mark who clearly does not want to make a fuss but it quickly becomes apparent that this aberrant language use really is just an exercise of power over the protagonist and, vicariously, the reader. I was reminded not just of the kind of recent scholarship whose foundations wither away once you consult the primary texts in their own language, but the novel of a very different Lewis.
“I don’t know what you mean by ‘glory,’” Alice said.
Humpty Dumpty smiled contemptuously. “Of course you don’t—till I tell you. I meant ‘there’s a nice knock-down argument for you!’”
“But ‘glory’ doesn’t mean ‘a nice knock-down argument,’” Alice objected.
“When I use a word,” Humpty Dumpty said in rather a scornful tone, “it means just what I choose it to mean—neither more nor less.”
“The question is,” said Alice, “whether you can make words mean so many different things.”
“The question is,” said Humpty Dumpty, “which is to be master—that’s all.”
“But Croc!” I hear you say “surely none of this matters? Who reads modern scholarship anyway? It’s not as if they are going to take the Classics themselves anyway…” Well first off handsome reader, I must say it very much does matter. If nobody reads any of this scholarship then why on earth are we subsiding it with tax dollars better spent on coding camps or cookery classes? I know, I know, terribly old fashioned to expect public institutions to benefit the public. The fact is accessing and understanding the ancient world is hard and good scholarship is a boon. It is why, however much I hate the moderns, I honour men like Porson and Bentley and Wilamowitz etc etc. They should be honoured. I do not think they deserve more honour than the skilled carpenter or mason, but we should be grateful for their work. The same can not be said for their self-appointed epigones.
Whenever complaints like this are brought up – that modern humanities academics are producing work that obfuscate rather than illuminate, that they tell us more about themselves than their subject matter – the usual tuiterati affect a supercilious posture and exclaim “well nobody is taking away your Classics you know!” and nod and smile to one another about how stupid we, the plebs, are. Let us not mention any of the recent articles talking about the removal of classical texts from school curricula and be real for a moment. You see, the average person does not enter school at 5 and stay there for the rest of their adult life. There is a finite window of opportunity for them to have time to learn about something that does not relate to their fiscal wellbeing. All you have to do is frustrate access a little, push people away a little, and the effect is compounded across time.
There is something to be said for the hope that even through all the distortions and perversions people will still flock to the actual ancient texts. Lewis certainly seems to think so. After all, despite his lengthy stay in that room full of demented art the protagonist begins to think of haler things.
“after an hour, this long high coffin of a room began to produce on Mark an effect which his instructor had probably not anticipated. As the desert first teaches men to love water, or as absence first reveals affection, there rose. up against this background of the sour and the crooked some kind of vision of the sweet and the straight”
But of course Lewis thinks this! Of course he has this annoying optimism! For Lewis the lines between scholarship and religion are consistently elided, crossed, confounded. Here is a hilariously characteristic example. A character undergoes some sort of deeply religious experience and another remarks, apparently in all seriousness “how much better you will now understand the seventeenth-century poets!”. For Lewis it may be (going back to his inaugural) enough to be a co-religionist with Boethius to understand him, but I do not think that really offers us enough of a connection to really understand on any deep level. After all, that would mean that by his own criterion he could never hope to understand Homer, Apuleius, Virgil etc. I think sort of a thing is a major weakness in Lewis’ argument. You constantly confuses understanding with deriving benefit from. The average Silicon Valley bro has a laughable understanding of Stoicism on any deep level, but they certainly derive a benefit from it. This is no mean thing.
I suspect that this is where Lewis and I could diverge. He would damn me as a man neither Christian nor Pagan, and reprimand me that good morality not only surpasses good scholarship but encapsulates it, may even be required for it. Certainly he has argued this elsewhere, e.g in his Abolition of Man. I obviously do not think this is true. There are, have been, very many great scholars of abominable personal character. Leaving aside some of the modern allegations, you only have to look back to men like Bowra and Dover – brilliant scholars, but catty and corrupt. On the bright side, producing good men is a difficult and uncertain process (what does Jesus say? οὐδεὶς ἀγαθὸς εἰ μὴ εἷς ὁ θεός.) but producing good scholars is something we have centuries of success in. Lewis is right, however, about the importance of beauty when dealing with our subject matter, and that’s the main lesson of the book. For me at least.
The other lesson is to try and focus on doing. However ultimately ineffectual. Donate books to schools and local libraries, write and talk about the texts you love in as engaging a manner as you can. Make as good a case as you can, whenever you can, even if ultimately futile.
Anyway, enough of my meandering. How does this – and the novel – end? I have made reference once or twice to men of straw, to hollow men, and it is from the novel that this is pulled. Published some time in the 40’s I dare say Lewis would have been familiar with the poem by Eliot of the same name. Anyone who reads this blog will probably know how that poem ends, it is horrendously over cited, and I now join my midwit brethren and likewise cite it:
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper
Well, it does, and it does not in the novel’s case. There is very much a bang, both literal and metaphorical (seriously, the theology of love in this book is…odd, to say the least). But as for the Classics as a discipline? There will be no bang, no fire, no conflagration. When they have twisted all that is good and fascinating and beautiful in the texts to something mean and ugly, when they have pushed everyone away by their conduct and their impenetrable prose, when they make us think love for the past is really hatred, then we will end. Not with a bang but a whimper.
 I freely admit that this was supposed to February’s blogpost.
 Does anyone have a good link to a transcription of Housman’s lecture on accession to the Kennedy chair? You’d think those fucking tsigounides at Cambridge would put it up gratis, but…
 Lewis claims for himself and his generation a particular affiliation with the past (“I myself belong far more to that Old Western order than to yours…I would say, use your specimens while you can. There are not going to be many more dinosaurs.”) which does not hold up to scrutiny. He has, at best, something of an affiliation with those post-scholastic humanistae (ironic!). He is a fine critic, but there is no more of the classical in him than there is in most of us. Far less than in the Italian olive farmer or the professional athlete. Calm it the fuck down Clive.
 Lewis seeks to re-organise our literary periodisation, especially the breach between the Medieval and Renaissance eras (which was first put in place by the followers of Petrarch themselves, to be fair). He offers instead pre-Christian, Christian, and post-Christian. I obviously disagree with this.
 I myself cannot vouch for this, but here is a lecture on the text and his book, more on which below: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Zk5-gKioDc . Alright crocklings 15:26 into this video and not only have I clicked off. I remain convinced I could lecture more engagingly on any classical topic than >85% of current professionals. Yeesh.
 See note 4 above. More separates Lewis and me than unites us, to be frank, but I applaud and share in his sheer love of literature.
 At my most charitable I can agree with W. Somerset Maugham’s judgement of K. Amis, but very much suspect that the latter belonged to the kind of men against whom Lewis was taking aim in this book. For Amis’ movement see: https://www.britannica.com/topic/Angry-Young-Men
“But the familiarity of bad academic writing raises a puzzle. Why should a profession that trades in words and dedicates itself to the transmission of knowledge so often turn out prose that is turgid, soggy, wooden, bloated, clumsy, obscure, unpleasant to read, and impossible to understand?”
Why indeed? The question has attracted answers innumerable, illegible, and incontinent (including Pinker’s own, frankly), but I have been asking myself this recently, with especial consideration of our shared discipline. I am not going to venture my own answer here, but I did form two hypotheses:
That earlier academics were, on the whole, much better writers.
That Latinists would have better prose than Hellenists.
The first hypothesis – let us be honest – was hardly long on the odds, this seems to consistent across all the humanistic disciplines: I have recently been reading C. S Lewis’ The Discarded Image and it strikes me that few could write like this now about literature or history (Classical or Medieval) and retain their ivory capped curule seats. The bet on Latinists over Hellenists may seem odd, less sure, but I think my calculated risk taking here paid off (as you will see below). I based this on the long tradition of Latin energising English poetry and prose, whereas I cannot help but find e.g the effect of Thucydides on Hobbes enervating and of Herodotus on many (Grote included) bloviating. If I could travel back in time, I would beat the shit out of Keats with a Grecian urn.
I wanted to put together a reading list for the neophyte Classicist, fresh from genuinely brilliant books such as Tom Holland’s Rubicon and Mary Beard’s SPQR and ready to start hitting the stacks and getting their fangs into academic volumes. My criteria were simple. Academic books with a capital A that you could happily find yourself reading on the beach. The lodestone was the great writers of yesteryear such as Ronald Syme (whose Roman Revolution manages to be Tacitean in outlook and in prose). No edited volumes, no disjointed volumes of the essays (the latter rule forced me to eject one of my favourites, Wiseman’s Catullus and his World from the list ☹).
To limit bias, and expand our palette, I took to twitter to crowdsource this list. This list deliberately focuses on ancient history (often the gateway), should there be interest we can repeat the experiment for archaeology, literature, and philology proper (I promise you that Meillet is a good read! Meanwhile @mattitiahu has a great resource on lexica here).
Again, this list is not a list of foundational or must-read texts, you can find them elsewhere (e.g university reading lists; G Kantor’s blog post on Roman History); my main focus was on prose. Because men like Wissowa and Mommsen and Wilamowitz and Gibbon etc etc wrote beautifully and we have lost something. This list will not render unto you mastery of any culture, period, or phenomenon. You could not construct a course from them, but you can be entertained.
Please feel free to comment and tweet, either to annotate the list or make suggestions.
Warning: I pulled these, uncorrected, from an online auto bibliographic database. Dates, publishers, place of publishing etc are wrong passim. If you happen to be a student, do not use this list to cite.
With massive thanks to @_paullay, @peter_sarris, @GMcCor, @GeorgyKantor, @Nakhthor, @ProfSimonton, @Kleisthenes2, @DrMichaelBonner, @DrPeterJMiller @sasanianshah (and others, probably, sorry).
Outside the Classical Mediterranean
(Not the original date, but that of the reprint. A multi-volume history from a more genteel time)
Bonner, M. (2020). The Last Empire of Iran. Gorgias Press.
(Conflict of interest to include? probably! But it exhibits a mixture of that older, gentlemanly style, and the incisiveness of modern academe, there are few narrative studies of the entire period. The Sassanians were important and Latinists and Late Antiquenerds should know more about them.)
Briant, P. (2002). From Cyrus to Alexander: A history of the Persian Empire. Eisenbrauns.
(Technically a translation, perhaps it does not belong on this list. But the contents therein are fascinating. Most books on the Achaemenids are absolute doggrel)
Bryce, T. (2005). The kingdom of the Hittites. Oxford University Press.
(Suspicious of this one having read his latest, but we’re going to trust @sassanianshah on this!)
Debevoise, N. C. (1969). A political history of Parthia TX.
Thapar, R. (2003). The penguin history of early India: From the origins to AD 1300. Penguin Books India.
(Thapar is a good stylist, and a brilliant historian of India. Probably the best)
Bevan, E. R. (2015). The house of Seleucus. TX: Cambridge University Press.
Bresson, A. (2015). The making of the Ancient Greek economy: Institutions, markets, and growth in the city-states. Princeton University Press.
(Have my doubts! Never seen a Classicist, or a Historian, write sensibly about Economics but ok)
Chadwick, J. (1976). The Mycenaean world. Cambridge University Press
(Material vs prose, brings this out on top. He’s essentially writing about inventory lists)
Dodds, E. R. (1956). The Greeks and the Irrational. University of California Press.
Dover, K. J. (1989). Greek Homosexuality.
(Do not blame him for his shitty epigones)
Green, P. (1993). Alexander to Actium: The historical evolution of the Hellenistic age. University of California Press.
(Yes, yes, massively dated on art and culture but one of the best encompassing narratives around. What a writer).
GUYS LOOK HOW BARE THIS SECTION IS, THESIS VINDICATED!?
Athanassiadi, P. (1992). Julian: An intellectual biography. TX.
(Like the Memoirs of Hadrian but not made up, and with less fucking hippies)
Daube, D. (1969). Roman Law. TX.
(Seems an odd addition, but so many reviews and tweeters talk about this book as being humorous. Yes, Roman Law…)
MacMullen, R. (1992). Enemies of the Roman order: Treason, unrest, and alienation in the empire. Routledge.
(This often comes on lists. Definitely an interesting take. Does accidentally make me more pro-Roman though.)
Millar, F. (1993). The Roman Near East, 31 B.C.-A.D. 337. Harvard University Press.
(Millar was generally a brilliant writer, I personally would have chosen his Emperor in the Roman World – which dramatically changed how I saw the office, but twitter spoke. Actually, just read all of Millar. Honestly if you make it through Weinstock’s Divus Julius you deserve to).
Syme, R. (1939). The Roman Revolution. OUP Oxford.
(This may well be the best written Roman history in the English language, excepting Gibbon. His later work was sadly not so wonderful to read.)
(It is an inevitable category)
Brown, P. (1989). The World of Late antiquity: AD 150-750. W. W. Norton.
(Brown’s name came up again, and again, and again. I found him enjoyable, though perhaps to a lesser extent).
Treadgold, W. T. (1997). A history of the Byzantine state and society. TX: Stanford University Press.
(How many narrative studies of Byzantium are there? How many are actually good? Exactly)
…it is said that, whilst crossing the Alps, and passing by a small barbarian village, all together wretched and inhabited by a few men, his companions asked with laughter and jest “even here are there ambition for rule, contests for primacy, and the jealousies of the powerful towards one another?” Caesar, with all seriousness, said to them “I would rather be first amongst these, then second at Rome”.
Plutarch Caesar 13-14
First man at Rome, what a dream that was! The outsized success of Caesar’s nephew (the “grandson of a provincial banker” as per Syme) and Virgil’s masterpiece perhaps obscure how great a dream this might be. For all the vaunted divinity of the gens Iulia, the Caesareswould have had precious few consular ancestor masks to wear in any funeral, and Caesar had yet to win his place in the fasti. The Claudii or Fabii they were not. This is not the place to go over Caesar’s biography or his life’s achievement, seemingly legions of books are published every year, a few of them are even worth reading, simply to state that Caesar was the kind of man who needed his brilliance reflected on the face of others.
This urge towards reconciliation, albeit on unequal terms, is key to understanding Caesar’s character and career. As a popularis (if we must use party terms) he had an ample support base, and through manipulation of the tribunate some constitutional trickery with which to achieve his goals. He could have tried to do what the brothers Gracchi, M. Aemilius Lepidus (the consul of 78, not our triumvir), or even L. Sergius Catilina attempted. I do not think Caesar’s aversion to this was just the shrewd judgement of history – if anything it is more in line with his character to believe that he could succeed where others had failed – or that his deal making with Pompey and Crassus was mere expediency. Pompey was, for all intents and purposes, a new man with his feel still wet from the Sullan slaughter (adulescentulus carnifex), but he was nonetheless the first man in Rome; Crassus may have stank from some of the same taint, but he was a member of the gens Licinia. A Plebeian gens to be sure but one from the hoary bearded days of the early Republic and with at least 7 consular masks in hanging in the atria. Patrician Caesar could think himself in good company.
Caesar’s clemency, already characterised by Cicero as being deceitful (clementia insidiosa Ad. Atticum 8.16), can be read in this light. By sparing his opponents after Pharsalus, Thapsus, and Munda he was not simply displaying his superiority, highlighting the impotence of the optimates, but stacking the stage with witnesses to his greatness. He wanted to be the culmination of Roman tradition, not its overthrower. Not for nothing did Caesar weep when brought the dead Pompey’s signet. How radical was Caesar, really? The early manoeuvrings over land distribution had precedent not just in the (abortive) plans of the Gracchi but the traditional land grants of the Roman Republic, large commands had been issued before in times of great need, even the dictatorship – which Tacitus tells us was taken up when and as needed (dictaturae ad tempus sumebantur Annals 1.1) – had been recently revived by Sulla. True, as Tacitus tells us, these unusual offices were usually geared towards a specific task and thereafter surrendered but how often in the Fasti does one see rei gerundae causa entered (“for the sake of doing something”)? Caesar even had elected with him a magister equitum. This was not one-man rule. Ah, I hear you say, but did he not long for the kingship? That is true. It is equally true that as much as the Romans disliked the name “king”, many of patricians drew their prestige from predating the Republic (and thus could handily survive its actual demise); king was an office of hoary antiquity. It is not hard to detect Caesar’s sentiment here either: a descendent of Aeneas and of Ancus Marcius, why should he not be king? Even this was not an innovation comparable to, say, the kingships of the Diadochi after the death of the last Temenid.
Suetonius gives us an anecdote about Caesar’s heir upon his deathbed, wherein he likened his life to being an actor. It has a very Shakespearian ring to it, and may even have inspired the bard’s own take, but I cannot help but feel that in many ways these words would have been more apt for Caesar. Not that he was any less genuine, but the performative nature of much of his actions could never have occurred within a vacuum. We all too often confuse Caesar the man with the Caesarian party, the person with the phenomenon.
supremo die…admissos amicos percontatus, ecquid iis videretur mimum vitae commode transegisse, adiecit et clausulam:
Ἐπεὶ δὲ πάνυ καλῶς πέπαισται, δότε κρότον
Καὶ πάντες ἡμᾶς μετὰ χαρᾶς προπέμψατε.
on (his) last day…he asked his admitted friends whether he seemed to them to have played the comedy of life well, and he added this bon mot:
since well (our part) has been performed, give applause!
and all of you dismiss us with grace
Suetonius Augustus 99
Look, I am not naïve. What I am suggesting is that Caesar was a problem of ambition and scale, not a new and unprecedented monster. To paraphrase our Plutarch, Caesar wished to be πρῶτος παρὰ τοῖς Ῥωμαίοις, οὐ μόνος, that is first, not only. Perhaps in time the Republic could have re-asserted itself – certainly the liberatores attempted a republican style solution in murder – just as it had done in the past against Sp. Cassius Viscellinus, M. Furius Camillus, Scipio Africanus, Marius, Cinna, Sulla, and even Pompey. The liberatores treated Caesar as something unprecedented, monstruous, unreconcilable and look where that got them. Did the survivors (ha!) of Perusia, or Philippi, or even Actium feel as if a wise choice had been made? In “preserving” the Republic, they ended it. The blood of the tyrant watered the seed of destruction, not liberty (etc etc).
However, his [Caesar’s] great guardian spirit, whose help he had enjoyed through life, followed him even in death as an avenger of his murder…
Plutarch Caesar 69
Gaius Octavius, later to take Caesar’s name and then to supplant it with something even grander – Augustus, was something else entirely. What was said of him by Cicero – that he was to be raised, praised, and displaced (laudandum adolescentem, ornandum, tollendumAd Fam 11.20) – could typify Augustus’ own strategy towards the Roman state and constitution. I think we overemphasise to what degree he utilised the various outwards elements of the Republic whilst ignoring the practical reality of this disjunction. Superficially, Augustus looks like Caesar turned up to 11, in reality he was a different kind of beast. The free use he made of others’ wives whilst pushing ridiculous marriage and impropriety laws, his seemingly arbitrary combining of powers (at least Clodius went through the farce of an adoption to be eligible for the tribunate), the violating of Vesta’s temple and its opisthodomos to rouse the state against Antony, the attempt to pass on primacy within the state as if a family heirloom (first to Agrippa, then to Marcellus and Lucius…), the raising of a teenager to the consulate…
There is a bit in the Aeneid, near farcically humorous when read in an Augustan context. Book 10, our hero Aeneas has been removed from action and Turnus has been laying waste to the Trojan camp. All looks lost when, suddenly, Aeneas’ ship appears down the river and he is described:
iamque in conspectu Teucros habet et sua castra
stans celsa in puppi, clipeum cum deinde sinistra
extulit ardentem. clamorem ad sidera tollunt
Dardanidae e muris, spes addita suscitat iras,
and now he has the Trojans and his ramparts in view,
standing on the high stern, with his left hand he lifts
the burning shield. From the walls the Trojans raise
a shout to the sky: new hope freshened their fury
Why, besides the cinematic coolness of this scene, does this matter? The impact of Augustus’ reign and Virgil’s great epic is well known, as is the complex ways in which its hero, Aeneas, can at times foreshadow Augustus. Virgil was writing an epic, not composing one in the traditional manner of Homer, and so was not at all reliant upon repetitive, formulaic, language. When he does reuse whole phrases there is clearly a reason behind them. Virgil here mirrors an earlier description of Augustus himself, on Aeneas’ shield.
hinc Augustus agens Italos in proelia Caesar
cum patribus populoque, penatibus et magnis dis,
stans celsa in puppi, geminas cui tempora flammas
laeta vomunt patriumque aperitur vertice sidus.
Here is Caesar [Augustus] standing on the high stern,
leading the Italians into battle, with the Senate,
the people, the household gods, the great gods, his happy brow
shoots out twin flames, and the star of his fathers’ [Iulii] shown
Why? Virgil clearly intends for the reader to recall these lines. I think Virgil aims to remind future generations of a fact lost, buried, after Actium (which is portrayed in the scene above). The clue is in the vastly different situations Aeneas/Augustus finds himself in. In Book 10, the Trojans find themselves against the bulk of Italy, not leading them as in the propagandic ecphrasis in Book 8. What happened at Actium? Was it really the unification of Italia against the Eastern hordes lead be treacherous Marc Antony and his unnamed harpy-queen? Eh, no. Until the last moment, more or less, the number of men of consular standing following Octavian was miniscule. Marc Antony was the man to back. Instead, Octavian is surrounded by men like M. Agrippa and T. Statilius Taurus, novi homines, men whose atria would stink of fresh plaster and shine with a conspicuous lack of consular ancestor masks. We often underestimate just how effective the propaganda of Augustus – and Virgil – has been. If Caesar was (an attempt at) the culmination of the Roman tradition; Augustus was a radical outsider.
So, what is the point? Have I just tried to get you to read ca. 2000 words just to call Augustus a billy-no-mates? Not really. Let us put Caesar and Augustus in contrast. It was the latter who instigated true revolution, who went above and beyond any potential Roman precedent, who tore apart the state and wore its skin as some sort of fetish mask, parading its corpse to its former masters and their descendants. For all his propaganda (divi filius, indeed!) Augustus was an outsider (the “grandson of a provincial banker”) with an outsider’s disdain for the inherited mores of the Roman ruling class. Of course he was willing to put it to fire and sword to achieve his goals.
Now then, here is my hypothesis. I do not believe that either the current PM or American President is very much like Caesar or Augustus. I find the numerous articles comparing Trump to Caligula or Nero somewhat nauseating. If your reading of history never digs up anything counter-intuitive, contra your political assumptions, then you are not engaging in anything like scholarship. Sorry #ClassicsTwitter. No, I do not think these to be perfect parallels, but they do furnish useful heuristics.
Let us turn to our current PM. Mr Johnson (I refuse to call him “Boris”, I am not his friend to use his Christian name, it is clearly the worst sort of marketing – I make memes, I do not suffer them) has been the subject of two previous blog posts (here and here) and given his classical proclivities I suspect he shall be again. Much muck has been made over his use of the Classics by people who could not conjugate δίδωμι, when it comes to his use of Caesar and Augustus specifically, I think this piece by Mary Beard is the kindest of them but still degenerates into “well akstualllllyy!11!” territory. Anyway, we are interested in what we can make of these parallels, not Johnson.
Look at the language used about him. The leader of the opposition has recently described him as “single biggest threat to the future of the United Kingdom” (where else?); the media was falling over itself to call him a dictator over the prorogation non issue; we are constantly being told that either he is a racist or an English nationalist (though why the latter is a bad thing, and why Scottish nationalism is a good thing, we are never told). In short, Johnson is consistently said to be a threat to the Res Publica Commonwealth, at least by the incontinent press. The new, arbitrary, establishment of tiers and the poor handling of covid-19 (20, now?) hardly help matters. If we look at the Caesar parallels, we can, perhaps, intimate why Johnson is not only unlikely to be the deathblow to the realm but is unlikely to even want to be. He is inextricably tied to it, just as Caesar was, and his personal values are far too aligned with the plaudits on offer. The archetypical insider. Mr Johnson strikes me as this kind of man; one who needs to bask in the admiration of others. There is something about his character, his pally behaviour on HIGNFY, the over earnest way he “plays” sport, his prose style, perhaps even his insistence on reading Greats rather than PPE at Oxford. laudandus, ornandus, tollendus indeed.
I am writing this just having entered the new Tier 4 lockdown. This is obscene over stretch of government powers (and there is nothing so long lasting as temporary measures the government has awarded itself), and the hysteria has once again started over Johnson and his ambition. But let us keep things in perspective, the new measures are hardly proof of his dictatorial ambition, merely his ineptitude and our complacence. That is the real story here.
Where is that British spirit? It is a sobering thought. Whether speaking of the recent(ish) immigrants who partook in two world wars and crossed the ocean for a better life, the Huguenots who did likewise, a hardly obscure offshoot who declared independence over a stamp tax in 1776, Norman adventurers and chancers or, indeed, Hengist and Horsa’s founding stock itself? It is considered old fashioned to talk about this stuff now, perhaps even in bad taste, usually by the kind of people who would be happy to see citizenship scrapped and we subjects treated as happily swappable economic units for the all mighty GDP (always an obsession for the dyscalculic chancers who make up our fourth estate). Perhaps, in fact, the real story is not even our complacency, but that the kind of grand gestures of the Roman world – crossing the Rubicon, Philippi, Actium – are no longer needed. The truth is we are scarcely a nation, just an appendage to one of the worst and most dysfunctional health services in Europe.
I am tired, so tired I certainly no longer have it in me for any meaningful civil disobedience, so tired I can scarcely finish this post. I should end this on something with energy, or at least mention Trump – after all the man attracts considerably more hysteria than Johnson (indeed, I suspect much of this is our press playing copycat). Trump, it seems, is going through something of historical moment. Perhaps not Actium, nor even Perusia, but people are throwing around the word “Rubicon” a lot, and it seems all are awaiting with bated breath. Hmm. Look, it does not matter whether you believe that Trump lost the election or a seemingly 12 Σ event happened and Biden won in defiance of all norms, it seems obvious that Trump will be leaving office come January. Indeed, the Biden administration – in its masterful handling of the press (“the office of the president elect”, office? With a seal?), already reaching out to foreign powers for discussion, etc etc – is putting into play one of Caesar’s earliest lessons: There is a time for the trappings of power, and a time for its exercise.
Where is Trump in all this? Where has he been? The oddly focused vigour with which he now actually accomplishes things serves only to highlight how little he has managed to accomplish. The military-press-political-insider complex (his “swamp”) remains as strong as ever, stronger really given its complete capture of every single American cultural institution (would Obama have let that happen?), his economy (and it was his economy you idiots) has been obliterated by the plague. The press and the twitterati are frothing at the mouth, after all this is his Caesar moment. Time for a coup. The culmination of his Nazi-Stalin-Giga-Hitler four years in office. But what has he done to warrant this suspicion? Utilised Obama’s illegal immigrant camps? Enforced a modicum of peace in the Middle East? Started no new wars? He is crass, to be sure, but that is no crime and a far shot from dictatorship. Future historians are, if anything, likely to be wonder at the sheer gall of the press. Trump the president is not at all akin to Trump the farcical, fictional, character they have created.
Anyway, to return to our thesis, I think Trump – like Caesar – is far too attached to the norms (and plaudits) of the Republic to act the Augustus and overthrow it. I think he lacks even the energy, determination, and ambition of Caesar to cross the Rubicon. Perhaps I am wrong. But looking at the way the press has treated Mssrs Johnson and Trump I cannot help but wonder yes, but what about the next guy?
Suetonius tells us that when Julius Caesar was on the run from the dictator Sulla (he was the nephew of his great rival, Gaius Marius, and refused to divorce his wife, the daughter of Cinna – Marius’ colleague), claimed he could see many Marius’ in Caesar. Racist, fascist, Nazi, Russian plant, incompetent, dictator, tyrant…do these words mean anything anymore? They are increasingly looking like the strictures of a dying polity; one whose elites have failed their citizenry time and time again. Empty words applied to people without any reference to deed or action. I am, as I said, tired beyond all exhaustion but it is easy to imagine someone looking at all this (in either country) and feeling not tired, but angry, driven, not weary. The feeble columns of our political norms have been shattered and like Sulla I am growing to fear the coming man.
Satis constat Sullam, cum deprecantibus amicissimis et ornatissimis viris aliquamdiu denegasset atque illi pertinaciter contenderent, expugnatum tandem proclamasse sive divinitus sive aliqua coniectura: vincerent ac sibi haberent, dum modo scirent eum, quem incolumem tanto opere cuperent, quandoque optimatium partibus, quas secum simul defendissent, exitio futurum; nam Caesari multos Marios inesse.
It is known that Sulla had long denied the wishes of his most loyal and eminent men, and when they forcefully persisted he, at last worn out, proclaimed (either divinely inspired or else conjecture) that they had won, and might have it their way, so long as they knew that he, whom they had wished so eagerly to be safe, would one day be a death to the aristocracy, which they had defended alongside him, for “in this Caesar, there are many Mariuses”.
Suetonius Julius Caesar 1
 Just four in my cursory count (I do not have institutional affiliation, where are the fucking “Classicists” when you need something useful???): A Sex. Julius Caesar in 157, his son (grandson?) in 91, a L. Julius Caesar in 90 and his grandson, our Caesar’s cousin, another L. Julius Caesar in 64. His own father died having “only” achieved being elected praetor.
 Prosopography has yielded some truly fascinating insights into Roman history and cannot be merely be dismissed as the fetish of a class obsessed British academy. How many of the early/mid Repulican gentes make it to the empire? Where were the Furii, Pinarii, Valerii etc etc? Do any Republican families besides the Anicii produce any emperors in late antiquity? The social upheavals this entails are, if anything, underappreciated.
 The anecdote is from Plutarch’s Pompey and whilst it may seem hammy to us, it is certainly in line with the expected behaviour of a Roman noble and Caesar specifically: Καῖσαρ ἐλθὼν εἰς Αἴγυπτον ἄγους τοσούτου καταπεπλησμένην τὸν μὲν προσφέροντα τὴν κεφαλὴν ὡς παλαμναῖον ἀπεστράφη, τὴν δὲ σφραγῖδα τοῦ Πομπηΐου δεξάμενος ἐδάκρυσεν· A well known TV series from the early noughties is probably the most famous bit of modern reception, note too the use of Catullus 101 during the funeral: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wY2Cr_7_BIU
 “nomen regis audire non poterat” Cicero Republic 2.52 Of course this did not stop people, like Spurius Cassius, occasionally giving it a damn good go.
 Again, we concentrate overmuch how by the Second Punic War the old Patrician/Plebeian divide had weakened in favour of a new nobilitas based on fiscal potency and success on the cursus honorum. True, to an extent, but have you ever known a snob not to seize upon the slightest pretext for superiority? Decent from the city fathers was a scarce, and thus increasingly valuable, commodity.
 All the world’s a stage/ And all the men and women merely players;/They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts – As You Like it Act II Scene VII.139-42
 Caesar’s dictatorial predecessor, Sulla, was said to have been fond of actors and actresses to an unseemly degree. There is some argument to be made that this conditioned his political comportment: Garton, C. (1964). Sulla and the Theatre. Phoenix, 18(2), 137-156
 Pompey’s relationship with the Republican aristocracy, much like his settlement of the East and its nachleben, is something I have yet to find satisfactory reading on. It strikes me that his wish to be accepted was an incredible weakness on his part.
 “For a country to have a great writer…is like having another government. That’s why no regime has ever loved great writers, only minor ones.” Solzhenitsyn (1968) The First Circle ch. 57, tr. M. Guybon. Clearly, The Julio-Claudians, Flavians, and Antonines disprove this.
 Incidentally, not at all bad, just clearly an affectation. His Dream of Rome is actually a considerably better example of using his classical training on offer than any of his detractors have managed to produce.
 What a fucking bugman phrase. Who cares? Our current crop of historians are semiliterate baboons at best, why would the future be better?
You catch more flies with honey than vinegar, they say. Who wants more flies? Well if this blog is honey (or vinegar) perhaps Twitter Classicists are flies; they certainly have been absolutely rolling in faeces lately. Let me explain. You see the transformation (rape…defilement…) of the Hagia Sophia by tinpot wannabe genocidal dictator Erdogan has been met with the kind of twee, historically uninformed, illiterate twaddle most of us have come to expect from any “Classicist” with an institutional affiliation nowadays. My particular favourites have been attempts to compare this to the consecration of the Parthenon or Pantheon as churches. This, incidentally, is an excellent litmus test for our classical courses. If you do not know why, when, how and under whose aegis those buildings became churches, you do not know even Roman History to teach the next generation.
It would have been one thing to say nothing, but this batch of classicistuli has the insane urge to comment on anything and everything related to Greece for some reason. It is a bit like their habit of capping speeches or exchanging pleasantries in badly accented (both meanings!) Greek at conferences and events. Why? What is this? Do people do this with Italian? Does reading about Pompeii vs Sertorius give me especial insight on Spanish politics? Should I wish people happy birthday in Tamazight because I am up on the Punic wars? There is no substance here, only signalling. “Oh, look how detached, clearheaded and above it we all are! Can’t they see this is no different from x, y, z”. Disdainful, supercilious, fools.
I have to say-“Western" academic silence on Hagia Sophia decision, especially from theologians & scholars of religion, is deafening. Unfortunately, not surprising, given the (mostly) absence of desire to learn about any other form of Xianity other than Protestant & Catholic kind.
This is what I am going to do here. I am going to attempt to flesh out the context, of the significance of this gesture and attempt to give some sense of the weight behind it. In a comparatively short piece. I am not an expert. Late Byzantine, Ottoman, Modern Greek Studies and Diplomacy are very much their own fields, with their own epistemological frameworks, arcane languages, foundational texts, and highly trained experts. A few of these experts may even be found on twitter, who offer some pretty good takes on this. I am reluctant to wade into this, I know full well this will lose me even more readers (oh no, stop, come back…), but I write this in the hope that some people will be chastened and even more will be informed.
…ἔστιν οὗ σιγὴ λόγου
There is a time when silence may be stronger than
κρείσσων γένοιτ᾿ ἄν, ἔστι δ᾿ οὗ σιγῆς λόγος.
speech; but sometimes speech is stronger than silence
Euripides Orestes 638-9
To understand the Hagia Sophia you need to understand a little bit about Constantinople herself. How historians assess Constantine’s decision to build a new city on the Bosporus depends largely on how they assess his character – cynical self-aggrandiser or strategic genius? For the former, Constantine’s new religion and outsized sense of self must have sat poorly with the built environment of Rome. Building anew allowed him to leave his mark in marble. Suetonius tells us that Augustus could truly boast himself to have marmoream se relinquere, quam latericiam accepisset, that is “to have left behind marble where he had found mud-brick” and it makes sense that Constantine, armed with a new religion and dusting off the tetrarchy, could set himself to rival this. After all, we know that for some time yet sis felicior Augusto, melior Traiano would remain the accessional chant for new emperors.
Against this is common sense. Constantine was happy to dress his Christianity in a Roman guise, needed to keep the traditional aristocracy on side, and at best issued toleration. Rivalry with the past was all well and good, it was practically expected of Roman emperors, but he still needed to perform. The building of Constantinople must have been in no small part a practical decision. Ensconced as it was in Latium, Rome had increasingly become less viable as a capital for a state that stretched from Britain to Mesopotamia. The multiplication of emperors under Diocletian to match an increasingly complex and varied theatre of operations naturally necessitated several bases. In addition to Rome, Milan, Nicomedia, Trier, Ravenna, and Antioch would all serve as imperial residences for extended periods of time. Constantinople would prove a genius choice. Its Greek predecessor, Byzantium, had held out against Septimius Severus for years and once properly fortified it would withstand siege after siege, whilst being able to maintain its supply lines. Constantinople’s very success at defence tends to obscure how good a decision this was. Rome, and the West, fell to Germanics but the city held out against its own equivalent threat(s) like the Isaurians, Avars, Arabs, etc etc.
This was the city Justinian inherited. Rapid expansion and adornment had, by the 6th century, given it a sense of importance but it was still hardly a rival for Old Rome (or even old civic centres like Alexandria and Antioch). Justinian, who deserves to be remembered as well as Augustus or Trajan, would make renovatio the watchword of his reign. He would return old imperial provinces (including the Italian heartlands) to the fold, supervise the standardising of Roman Law, and embark on an empire wide rebuilding that would not have been out of place in the time of the Antonines. He would attempt to be a third Augustus, a second Constantine.
Naturally, Constantinople too benefited from rebuilding, and when the church situated on the site of Hagia Sophia was burnt down during the Nika riots of 532, Justinian saw his chance. The new building would not only surpass the old, it would surpass every single church then (or, frankly, since) in existence. Here is what frenemy Procopius had to say on the church:
For it proudly reveals its mass and the harmony of its proportions, having neither any excess nor deficiency, since it is both more pretentious than the buildings to which we are accustomed, and considerably more noble than those which are merely huge, and it abounds exceedingly in sunlight and in the reflection of the sun’s rays from the marble. Indeed, one might say that its interior is not illuminated from without by the sun, but that the radiance comes into being within it, such an abundance of light bathes this shrine
For he would surely marvel at the purple of some, the green tint of others, and at those on which the crimson glows and those from which the white flashes, and again at those which Nature, like some painter, varies with the most contrasting colours. And whenever anyone enters this church to pray, he understands at once that it is not by any human power or skill, but by the influence of God, that this work has been so finely turned. And so his mind is lifted up toward God and exalted, feeling that He cannot be far away, but must especially love to dwell in this place which He has chosen.
But it was not with money alone that the Emperor built it, but also with labour of the mind and with the other powers [virtues] of the soul
It is hard to give a sense of place, of physical reality, solely with text. Procopius somehow manages to combine imperial veneration, ekphrasis, and an almost Pausaniasque tour guide sense of place. His work on buildings is undoubtedly under read, understudied, and underappreciated and I would happily recommend it to readers. His preface situates the work quite well. It is classicising and meant to exult the emperor and his renovation, especially after the Nika riots. It would be easy to dismiss this as mere propaganda were it not for the sense of reverence Procopius has for the church. He seems quite earnest in thanking god for bringing together Anthemius, Isidore, and Justinian (the latter must have been happy to share credit) and whilst he makes frequent reference to the church’s height this is never done in a boastful manner. I hope the above selections give some sense of what it must have been like to see it. Most of the description is technical in nature, I went for the sense of wonder.
We will never be able to see the church as they did. The broader architectural complex and its Roman context has long been changed, demolished, built over. The church itself, raped and ruined. Threatened by minarets on the outside, the inside is bereft of the decoration Procopius and others mention. What few mosaics there are, were saved by Thomas Whittemore (excellent blog post on that, here); instead of glittering gold we have vomit and diarrhoea yellow paint, and the images of Roman and biblical history have been replaced with attempts at Islamic art. Anyone who has been spoilt by the clever geometry and naturalism of Iranian painters will be, at best, bemused. So much for sight, but did not God give you four more senses just to annoy me?
The aim of the project, performed by Acapella Romana and supported by various scholars, to try and recreate the acoustic properties of the Hagia Sophia, something many thought lost to the mists of time. More information may be found on the project, here. It is a wonderful mixture of art and science, and really an example of what the various historicising disciplines can do best. “Ah, but Croc” I hear you say, “Justinian was born in the Balkans, Byzantine chant had not yet been formalised, what would he have heard?”. Actually, we do have some sense of that.
Led by Marcel Pérès, the Ensemble Organum has attempted to recreate what Pre-Gregorian chant sounded like. The musical evidence is scant (Westerners were as keen to eject tradition for modernity as ever), and even though the languages themselves offer some help, a fair bit must be said to be speculative. Nevertheless, this is as good a recreation as we are going to get to experiencing something similar to what Justinian (or at least Heraclius) did. Think about this for a minute: you are sharing an experience with the Romans. If that does not excite you, you are on the wrong blog.
So that was the church that became simply known as the great church or monastery in everything from official laudatory orations to illiterate peasant poetry.
Depending on how much emphasis you put the continuity of government as a perquisite there are two possible “falls” of the Roman state. The first, to Latin crusaders during the fourth Crusade, in 1204 remains a watershed date: Despite (in fact, because of – they were keen relic hunters) their Christianity, the Latins were happy to loot and quite a bit of what makes Venice’s built environment remarkable. The Latins did not have to be as brutal as the Ottomans to be, well, brutal. Nowadays the primary difference seems to be that academics are quite happy to line up and criticise the Catholic Latins yet remain silent on the Ottomans. Even the Bishop of Rome apologised. A good, no a great, source on this is the work of Niketas Akominatos, surnamed Choniates (it was a demonym).
It is difficult to overestimate how much this one sack changed things. I think the world that resulted was a little less Roman. What Alexios tried to do with Boniface and Baldwin – use outside barbarians to secure the purple – seems to have become a time-honoured stratagem by the late empire. Think of Zeno and his Isaurians , whatever the fuck the Valentiniani were trying to do with the Goths and Huns (???), the Heracleans with their Avars, Slavs etc etc. But if Alexios was hoping to find a Stilicho, he got an Odoacer instead. The empire was broken down, partitioned, brought further in line Frankish culture (brutal feudalism over the citizenship that had existed since Caracella’s time and against what Kaldellis sees as a nascent nation state), and this would greatly effect the successor states. In fact, I can not help but wonder if at least part of the reason the Palaeologoi ruled for so long was due to the influence of this new Western model of kingship. The previous tendency towards short lived dynasties (or no dynastic succession at all) is what prompted the Western use of “Byzantine” as a pejorative. I have never failed to be amused as the supreme irony of this, given that this is an utterly Roman behaviour.
Let us leave off here, it is sufficient to say that even after the reconquista 0f 1261, the empire was fractured, weak, and not in a position to put up much of a fight. I do not say that the city was worthless! There is persistent strain of Ottoman apologetics that seems to argue this against all common sense and evidence. This is not the place for extensive source criticism and apologetics, but I should state that after the recapture of the city population numbers began to soar and some scholars even speak of a Palaeologan Renaissance. Maybe this term is too strong, but the period is marked by an intense engagement with the classical past and vibrant cultural production. It was not a rotting apple waiting to be plucked by an Ottoman hand.
Ah. 1453. The other, more traditional, date for the fall. What needs to be said? Runciman produced probably the most popular and well-known account in English, even if not the most clinical, and recent academic work has improved on the technical details of the siege. The Ottomans had rapidly passed from subject allies to rivals to overlords, and Mehmet saw his chance. The siege was brutal and the aftermath more so. The sources are fairly unambiguous about this, again, despite Ottoman apologetics with no basis in source or facts. There are four commonly cited historians: Laonikos Chalkokondyles, Michael Critobolos, George Sphrantzes, and Doukas. I have deliberately put them in that order. Laonikos and Critoboulos arguably belong together as the most intensely classicising, whereas whilst Sphrantzes and Doukas were both well educated, they adopt a more vernacular style and more or likely to lift from the bible and church father’s than Thucydides. All authors were intimately connected with the city and its fall.
Normally I would copy paste in the Greek/Latin text and translate. But I am having to rely on the poorly scanned, low res, Patrologica Graeca. So instead I will rapidly translate/summarise one of the accounts to give you a flavour of the fall. I am going to choose Doukas because I like his Greek style and he is actually close to a hostile witness. He seemed to at least partially blame the fall on the inability of the Palaeologoi to make the reunification of the churches more fact than fiction. He is also happy to castigate the poor showing of the Romans, wherever relevant, and praise the Italian mercenaries led by Giovanni Giustiniani.
Sections 39-41 of the chronicle describe the fall and its immediate aftermath. The Emperor falls as a common soldier, the Turks break in. The great ancient monasteries are looted, the women are raped. Some Romans fall back to the Hagia Sophia but even that gets sacked. Doukas is reticent to speak “how shall I describe it…. I am unable to breathe” but describes the way holy icons are hacked apart and golden and silver carried off. At one point the sultan stops a soldier from smashing a church “for the faith” not out of piety but because he is now in possession of the city (40). The sultan seems to vacillate between playing the magnanimous conqueror, on one hand, and raping the only surviving son of Loukas Notaras on the other. “Oh, City, Oh City” (41) he ends, and I think that cry has echoed down the ages. George Sphrantzes’ account is similar, with the addition of a sad personal anecdote. His family are amongst those enslaved and he tries to track them down to ransom them. By then, his wife had been sold to a Turkish cavalry commander and his son and daughter to the royal harem.
There are endless amounts of such stories. You do not have to delve into folk poetry (girls and boys held and raped at the altar, the priest and deacon disappearing mid service to return, the last emperor becoming marble etc) to find them. In accordance with Islamic tradition, the Sultan gave his soldiers three days to sack the City and they seemed eager to do a century worth of harm.
What of the City? The monasteries and churches were looted and or torched. It would be a while before some of the monumental architecture disappeared completely – travellers a century later still saw Justinian’s equestrian statue, and in fact a few mosaics also lasted another two centuries. The initial rape was violent and sudden, the residual molestation and abuse more protracted. Like Doukas I find it hard to speak here. Not out of any religious sense, but because I genuinely have no idea where to begin. The famous Stoudios Monastery now became the Imrahor Mosque, Constantine’s Church of the Apostles was demolished to make way for Fetih (Conquest) Mosque, they did not even bother rebuilding over the St. Mary of Blachernae…the list goes on and on and on and on. It is easier to simply mention that one church was left standing as a church, St Mary of the Mongols – though it was still looted.
Before we return to the Hagia Sophia I just want to take a second to talk about Constantine’s Church of the Apostles. The process of converting churches into mosques was often architecturally violent, we have to rely overmuch on artwork and travellers account, but there is ample evidence that the similarly named church at Venice was built to resemble it. So that is something. Worse to me is that this was where several Roman Emperors from Constantine onward were buried. Their graves were desecrated, sarcophagi looted and smashed etc, but we have a few remaining.
Back to the great church that started all this. It was, as I said, turned into a mosque. Here is a great thread by @History_Twerp detailing the ways in which the Ottomans used temple conversion and minarets to psychologically humiliate and mock conquered populations. The academic citations talk about Aleppo etc, but strategy is the same:
Those arguing in favour of toppling statues often note how Confederate statues were erected as a means of political propaganda, i.e. a tool of oppression. Well, that's more or less how the conversion of churches and erection of minarets functioned in conquered cities. pic.twitter.com/ANUgH0yObh
The loss of the great church as loomed large in the Greek folk tradition. Greek folk poetry is interesting, amongst Classicists Homeric specialists might be tangentially familiar with it due to the work of J Notopoulos on Crete, here is some quick context for everyone else. It is composed in “political” metre named not for any especially political theme but for the City. Just as in Latin Urbs is always Rome and in English City is always London, likewise in Greek Polis is always Constantinople. There is ample evidence that this oral metre goes back to the middle/end of the Byzantine period. It is 15 syllables across with a typical caesura at the eighth beat. Anyway, here is one version of a popular lament for the church. I include it because it has a reflex in many versions in many Greek dialects, and because specialists argue that it goes back to the fall of the city.
I am conscious as to my lack of space, but the final couplet jumps out. After lamenting the fall of city and church and accepting that is gods will, the mourners sing:
“Hush now, lady maiden, neither cry nor weep
Again, with years and time, it will belong to thee”
Maybe. Hopefully. Unlikely. There certainly was not a god when Mehmet made his way through the City. He had a poem of his own. We are unsure whether he uttered these words at Hagia Sophia, the Chora, or even the Apostoleion Church where generations of Caesars were buried. Either way, they have come down to us:
“The spider weaves the curtains in the palace of the Caesars;
The owl calls the watches in the towers of Afrasiab.”
It is perhaps ironic that the death knell of the Roman state was a Persian couplet. But I do not think, had they any way of knowing, the sons of Sassan would be smiling…
We have covered, at an admittedly rapid pace, some of the history and context of the initial conquest in 1453. I am now going to untangle some of the language and context behind the recent decision, which will require us to get our hands dirty with Eastern Mediterranean geopolitics. But there you go.
A Classical Persian couplet to celebrate the reconquest of a Roman church by the Turkish government: https://t.co/nBQkpupKMP
It would facile, however fitting, to point out the humour behind this. Erdogan reciting a poem he did not write, in a language he does not speak, to celebrate the desecration of something another culture built. Cruel commentators might even highlight the juxtaposition between doughy, pig-eyed, Erdogan and the trim, handsome, Ottoman and Safavid princelings who grew up hawking, hunting, and composing poetry with one hand tied behind their backs. But this is a serious statement as to Erdogan’s intent and vision for his administration, this co-option (or, to use fashionable modern language, appropriation) of the poetry of Mehmet the Conqueror sends a clear message. It would be laughable were his supporters not so widespread and violent. His attempt to portray himself as a new sultan has gone so far as to prompt his wife to openly praise the Ottoman harem. Hmm.
Despite the limp-wristed international condemnation, Erdogan’s move will certainly prove to be an astute one with much of the Turkish population offering at least tacit approval. “As the grandchildren of Mehmet the Conqueror, seeking the re-opening Hagia Sophia as a mosque is our legitimate right” said one youth leader. There have been protests towards this for years. Perhaps the name itself is cursed. There are at least seven such named churches in Turkey, two in Constantinople (both are now mosques), and five outside. Most of these are mosques, including the dilapidated Hagia Sophia at Nicaea (I am unsure about the recently restored one at Trebizond).
Spot the difference.
Erdogan in English: Hagia Sophia's doors will be, as is the case with all our mosques, wide open to all, whether they be foreign or local, Muslim or non-Muslim.
One should not underestimate the inherently international nature of this gesture either. Erdogan is adept at speaking from both sides of his mouth and the Turkish bet that idiotic westerners will neither learn foreign languages nor check foreign press has, overall, proven to be a good one. How many are commenting on this? How many know the relevance? The Al-Aqsa was built directly on the old temple complex as ritual humiliation of the city’s native population, it has proven to be a serious source of unrest between Israel and Palestine. These sorts of promises serve not only to enflame his base but to signal to the broader Muslim world that he is ready to take on the role of Caliph as his Ottoman predecessors did upon taking Constantinople.
Imperial states are inherently supranational and much of Turkish foreign policy has been cast in this imperial mode. You might recall the recent opening of a mosque at Cambridge. Sensible watchers might wonder why a head of a foreign government was visiting the opening of a minority religious structure (well, it seats 1000), in a provincial town. If so, they are far too intelligent to work for any of our news agencies. Erdogan turned up in state, and Cambridge found itself hosting both Turks from all over the country and protestors (Armenians, Kurds, Turkish liberals/secularists etc etc, interesting how the news has erased these voices). The same year saw similar behaviour in Bosnia, with the addition of his bodyguards clashing with local police over giving up their guns. Those with slightly longer memories might recall a similarly, violent, kerfuffle outside the Turkish ambassador’s residence in the US.In the US. Ah well, what are laws or sovereign states to an emperor, am I right?
Similarly, the heating up of the Eastern Mediterranean should be cause for alarm for us all. The constant violation of Greek air and sea space, the weaponization of refugees (can there be anything fucking lower? Really?), interference in Libya and Syria, clashes with France over the former… this will not end well. So this is the context of the recent Hagia Sophia decision. Not because Turkey needs another mosque (it really, really, does not) but because history can be powerful, and the “reconquest” of the great church is replete with Ottoman imagery and sends a powerful message to those who know how to read it. Sometimes they are as blatant as this:
That almost sounds lovely, does it not? No, I am joking, if you for one moment thought so please take yourself to the nearest primary school and enrol in a Mathematics course you moron. The land currently known as Turkey can boast two of the five ancient pentarchy sees (Constantinople and Antioch), as well as all seven churches of revelation. Asia minor in particularly was, for well over a thousand years, the most significant Christian built environment. Even with the whole scale conversion and destruction of churches, do you have any idea how much genocide you have to commit to get a ratio like that? Ask an Armenian. If you can find one.
The Greeks have been involved in Asia Minor almost as long as there have been Greeks. We do not necessarily know where Ahhiyawa was, whether it included any land in Asia (though Miletus – Milawanda – seemed to be in their orbit), though it seemed like the king of Luwian Troy had a Greek name. They were there after the bronze age collapse. They were there to borrow Assyrian words, to mingle with Persians and Medes before either had an empire, to trade stories in a pan East-Med tradition that goes back to the Sumerians. They are not there now. How do you think that happened? Besides a cheeky bit of genocide and forced conversion, there was also forced “repatriation” (a silly word here, given history!). Let me reinforce the recency of this. At the dawn of the 20th century, there were more Greeks in Constantinople and Smyrna than Athens. Again, it is no coincidence that the church will resume duties on the 24th of July, the signing of the Treaty of Lausanne. This date celebrates the mass exodos of Greeks and the formal handing over of Constantinople from the Allies to the Turks. This is a provocation, a threat, and a nod and a wink to certain domestic voters.
Ok, let us sit back a second before finishing off. Now, if after all of this, you can see any similarities with a Roman emperor like Phokas or Constans II or Justinian handing over public buildings to the ecclesiastical authorities to become churches, please let me know. I honestly can not see it. It is the difference between your grandfather handing you sweets and someone breaking into his house, killing him, burning the house and taking the sweets for himself. I wonder whence this malaise of thinking. Perhaps because we are not used to thinking of the Romans as Christians (or later Rome at all), we assume that Christianity came as foreign and violently as did Islam. I think this is western chauvinism as much as it is illiteracy. We associate ourselves with the pagan Romans, convinced we are just like them. Turks are going to Turk. They are a sovereign nation state, and nobody expects better. It is, however, particularly annoying when hordes of academics – self professed experts in their fields insist on spewing such bull shit. Congratulations! You can now add not speaking Modern Greek to your CV alongside not knowing Latin or Ancient Greek! I marvel at the kinds of intellect which can sit there at the British or American Schools at Athens, drinking overpriced “coffee”, thinking themselves so wise and seeing so little. It would be funny if the rest of us did not have to have our taxes scalped to pay for it. You are at best useful fools and at least contemptuous of the past. You should be ashamed.
I am going to end now with an explanation of why Turkey is behaving the way it is, with a deep schizophrenia towards its history. But rest assured this is not over. Turkish irredentism towards the Ottoman Empire and former Caliphate (however they choose to define it, hence constant references to Al Andalus) is only intensifying, the treatment of the historical record is a reflection this. True, I have focused here on the Greco-Roman past – because that is what I know – we could just as easily talk about the ruinous damming of the nearly 12,000 years’ old Hasankeyf site or a dozen others…
The schizophrenia of Turkey lies in the fact that its extensive non-Turkish past is a source of both tourist revenue (which it depends upon) on one hand and shame on the other hand. Let me explain. Classicists often have cause to study the way peoples write themselves into their environments. It is counter intuitive, but there is no real inexorable link between humans and their land anymore than there is for other animals. So, we study the ways in which people draw up aetiological myths, complicated genealogies, the way they name or build upon natural features. These histories are often not factual: did the Greeks know, for example, that various “Cyclopean” structures were built by their Mycenaean ancestors? Does it matter? The way we interact with history, with the past, builds our present and sets the timbre for the future. Turkey’s past is emphatically non-Turkish. For a vibrant, productive, confident civilisation this is scarcely a problem. England can roll its non-Germanic elements into its sense of self. Rome’s careful shepherding of Anatolia is a brilliant example of this and the focus of some interesting recent studies. The Romans were caretakers of the various ancient cultures and not just the Greek elements. The Isaurians may, ironically, have spoken an Indo-European language related to Luwian, the Palaelogoi probably took their eagle (for all its reminiscences of Ianus) from Hittite reliefs, you find men with names like Trokondas well into our common era.
Turkey has chosen another way. Dismissive, brutal, rapacious, conquering. Almost a decade past a film was released, Fetih 1453, which typifies this attitude. You can read the limpid Guardian review here in full (or just watch the film). It is a hilariously violent, racist, chauvinistic film. Naturally, it was critically acclaimed and widely viewed in Turkey. To put this in perspective, Americans still make sympathetic films about the Natives, Ben Kingsley’s Gandhi could win awards, and even the Russians moderate their Soviet history. This would be the equivalent of the Germans releasing a film which starts with Hitler defecating in front of a synagogue and winking at the camera. Movies not enough for you? Want something more interactive? Why not visit the Panorama 1453 Museum and relive the conquest in all its glory? At least they are honest about their mission statement: “We hope that your enthusiasm for the conquest remains as fresh and permanent as is, and gives inspiration for the conqueror of the future…” Now, to my knowledge, the British Museum does not have a life-sized cardboard cut out of Lord Elgin with his dick out in front of the marbles and a “get fucked, losers” speech-bubble – though I will admit none of the museum trustees will reply to my e-mails on this allegation. Erdogan’s insanity does not exist in a vacuum.
Official Statement of the Islamic Society of North America (ISNA): "It is clear that our Islamic texts and the practice of the Prophet and his rightly guided Califs define the role of Islam as the protector of other's holy places"https://t.co/9euLaZsEoipic.twitter.com/4LIcwZMJ2u
Did it have to be this way? Historians love employing counterfactuals (because you do not have to cite anything), in and around the carnage there do seem to be brief glimpses of a different world. Nothing will mitigate the brutality of conquest and the subsequent subjugation of a broad swathe of peoples, of course, but see that Mehmet was also able to utilise the language of Greco-Roman mythic diplomacy (declaring himself a Trojan against Greeks, very clever) and whilst a popular recent study on “Classics” and the “East” inevitably descends into Western guilt ridden navel gazing, diligent readers can see the way “Easterners” were able to use these texts to define themselves on their own terms. It is tempting to point to Islam as the distinguishing factor here, there is certainly some truth to that, yet better models of Islamic kingship could be found all over the Persianate world. The Mughals could produce blood thirsty Babur and open, pluralistic Akbar. The magnanimity of Alp Arslan has passed into legend. Some of this penetrated later Ottoman culture too. Who can forget Evliya Çelebi’s honest appreciation of the Parthenon or his ability to sympathise with the various peoples of the empire? It is to this nativist strain, as much as Western Humanism, that Ataturk’s moderation belonged. It could have been so different. Oh, but that too has failed.
Alkinoos, play us out.
 Zosimus, arguably the last pagan historian, somewhat takes his direction. IIRC Constantine partially has to leave Rome because he made himself persona non grata to the resident aristocracy. Yeah, Z was not a fan.
 “be thou luckier than Augustus, [and] better than Trajan”. Eutropius 8.5. Incidentally, Eutropius was a member of Julian’s comitatus and had firsthand experience of late imperial attitudes. See also Julian’s Caesars for similar attitudes (though predictably, given the author, M. Aurelius comes out on top). “Lucky” is a poor translation of felix, something like “propitious” or “well omened” might be more like it. It may even be a pun on Augustus as, well, being august.
 It would take Theodosius to really put the knife into the old faith(s).
 Listen, no emperor ever really solved this. The tetrarchy, the limes, field armies, themata etc were all attempts of various success at various times. Nobody has ever solved this problem.
 Though, ok, they did put a dynasty on the throne…that worked out great. Amazing. Yuge benefit.
 Justinian and Hadrian’s building policies would make a good comparison. For the philologist, Justinian’s age saw a gigantic outpouring of texts. If not Augustan, it was at least Neronian in its scope here.
 These three names really do belong together. Constantine very quickly became someone to be emulated throughout the (post)Roman world. The letters of the quisling Cassiodorus, the coinage, legal issue, and building of the Frankish kings (if only more Merovingian stuff survived…), even the Anglo-Saxon coronation ceremony all derive from this era. Despite the insistence of Greekless popular “historians” that this marks an Eastern break from Rome (???). Likewise, Constantine IV named his son Justinian (second of that name, 685-695, 705-11) in hopes of further renovatio. Tbf, he did famously renovate his own face, so that was something.
 Procopius literally calls it stasis, the same word we use for civil war. Whether this is because he was classicising, or he had a better sense of the danger than we moderns, who knows? Either way – Justinian and Theodora faced the rioters down.
 Call it laziness, call it expediency, I am taking text and translation directly from Dewing’s Loeb (because it is online). I have excerpted heavily from the sections on the great church. The translation is actually not that bad, outside of the technical bits, the text hardly that insane. Nice.
 I will leave specific recommendations to experts. As a child I owned and enjoyed Canby, S. R. (1993). Persian painting. London: British Museum Press. It was decently illustrated and I found the bits on Timurid/Mongol influence interesting.
 I am going to assume this is widely available. I mean it is easy to get Geoffroi de Villehardouin’s account, which was composed in a barbarous language of little account.
 192 years! Even if we – as we should – add the Theodosian and Valentinian dynasties together we get 92 years, and almost half of that is Theodosius II. This is such an outlier in Roman history of any period.
 Our western conception of kingship is literally barbaric, in the sense that it has Germanic origins. In fact, other non-Germanic Western languages often take their vocabulary for kingship from Germanic. E.g Lithuanian karalius (king < Charlemagne), kunigaikštis (duke < kuningaz); Finnish kuningas (<kuningaz); Polish król (< Charlemagne).
 Runciman, S. (1965). The fall of Constantinople 1453. Cambridge University Press; Philippides, M., & Hanak, W. K. (2017). The siege and the fall of Constantinople in 1453. Routledge
 The former should be of great interest to Classicists.
 The argument here is based on how the various versions depict the final service. One effect of 19th century national formation is that Greek academia has taken folk lore studies (laography, laistics) very seriously, and produced a lot of good work.
 So my predominant knowledge of these important current events, sorry, comes from the financial markets, but honestly the FT special report on Turkey and the Arab world is a good place to start. As are most Greek language newspapers for the Greek aspects.
 J Latacz (2001) Troia und Homer. Berlin remains the best source on this for classicists. You can also find English translations of the Ahhiyawa letters and Alaksandu treaty quite easily.
 Hydronomy is for this reason an incredibly fecund source of myth. A good example of myth applied to natural environs might be the Peloponnese (< the island of Pelops) or how the Gibraltar straits became the Pillars of Herakles. Built, rather than natural, is probably a bit more intuitive. From Scythian grave mounds, to Stone Henge, to the Parthenon…
 Rojas, F. (2019). The remains of the past and the invention of archaeology in Roman Anatolia: Interpreters, traces, horizons. Cambridge University Press; Thonemann, P. (2013). Roman Phrygia: Culture and society. Cambridge University Press.
 Trokondas son of Trokondas son of Atteous was named after the bronze age Anatolian stormgod. Compare that to the fate of Greek speakers in modern Turkey. Yeah…
It has been a while. Admittedly, time constraints aside, I had a series of posts that I scuppered because they did not seem like they would be read charitably in this environment (on memory and statuary). I neither wanted to waste the time editing them to include current events, nor ignore them completely. If you have been missing these posts, you can find one of my reviews here. Meanwhile, I was happily reading Tacitus (book one excerpted, lol) when I came across the following interesting little anecdote, which has set me down a path of some philological detective work.
Fair warning: I am quite sleep deprived and probably less coherent and certainly less well edited than usual. I will clean this post up in a few days.
inlusit dehinc Neroni fortuna per uanitatem ipsius et promissa Caeselli Bassi, qui origine Poenus, mente turbida, nocturnae quietis imaginem ad spem haud dubiae rei traxit, uectusque Romam, principis aditum emercatus, expromit repertum in agro suo specum altitudine immensa, quo magna uis auri contineretur, non in formam pecuniae sed rudi et antiquo pondere. lateres quippe praegrauis iacere, adstantibus parte alia columnis; quae per tantum aeui occulta augendis praesentibus bonis. ceterum, ut coniectura demonstrabat, Dido Phoenissam Tyro profugam condita Carthagine illas opes abdidisse, ne nouus populus nimia pecunia lasciuiret aut reges Numidarum, et alias infensi, cupidine auri ad bellum accenderentur.
Nero now became the sport of fortune as a result of his own credulity and the promises of Caesellius Bassus. Punic by origin and mentally deranged, Bassus treated the vision he had seen in a dream by night as a ground of confident expectation, took ship to Rome, and, buying an interview with the emperor, explained that he had found on his estate an immensely deep cavern, which contained a great quantity of gold, not transformed into coin but in unwrought and ancient bullion. For there were ponderous ingots on the floor; while, in another part, the metal was piled in columns — a treasure which had lain hidden through the centuries in order to increase the prosperity of the present era. The Phoenician Dido, so his argument ran, after her flight from Tyre and her foundation at Carthage, had concealed the hoard, for fear that too much wealth might tempt her young nation to excess, or that the Numidian princes, hostile on other grounds as well, might be fired to arms by the lust of gold.
This story is carried over into the next two paragraphs, which I have neglected to include due to reasons of space. Interested readers very much ought to read the whole selection (16.1-3), but here I shall give a precis. Like many a speculator, Nero rushes ahead without his due diligence, he commits a great deal of resources (in the form of triremes) and the size of the treasure is magnified by rumour. When Bassus is unable to find the treasure he (and this is a typical Neronian theme, is it not?) either kills himself or has his property confiscated.
Throughout this passage, Tacitus is never too far from his best and the language and characterisation would definitely repay further study. Nero, for example, is elsewhere characterised as being avaricious and gold seems to be an ironic characteristic of his reign. We might ask ourselves why and how he fell for such a trick. I think there are two reasons, one obvious and the other less so. For the first, the story is repeated with some variation in Suetonius. This should not be surprising: Suetonius, Tacitus, Pliny and Martial all must have more or less moved in the same circles and traded the same kinds of stories. In Suetonius (Nero 31-2) we learn that Nero’s failed venture left him unable to pay the soldiers and that he subsequently resorted to robbery and skimming from wills. We’re perhaps meant to laugh at Nero’s poor fiscal management, personally I think Suetonius and Tacitus probably have put the cart before the horse: it was poverty – from extravagance (Nero’s and Claudius’) and e.g the Pisonian conspiracy of 65 – which made Nero susceptible to this scheme. Everything about this stinks of a “fuck it, double down” kind of move that typifies some of the funniest trading stories I have heard. Like most people caught in a scam, he ultimately persuaded himself. This seems to me to cover why, what about how?
There are a lot of questions here, as much about the roles of memory, myth, literature, and history as the prosaic ones at the Neronian court. Think what this presupposes. That Dido existed. That she fled Tyre. That she left encumbered with gold she did not use. Why? Where did this come from?
I suspect the ultimate source of the myth may well be Virgil. Mid-way through the first book of the Aeneid, Aeneas, and crew (well, seven remaining ships’ worth) have arrived at a promontory somewhere in Africa. Aeneas and Achates set off hunting and stumble across Venus in the guise of some sort of Amazonian local. I suppose the poet is aiming for a funnier version of the scene with Odysseus and Nausikaa, but what is more interesting for us is the way in which Virgil uses Venus to give us, his readers, some rapid exposition. These lands are ruled by Dido, who was (like Bassus) origine Poena from the city of Tyre. Her brother Pygamlion murdered her husband out of avarice and lied to her, pacifying her with hope…
ipsa sed in somnis inhumati venit imago
But in sleep came the very ghost of her unburied
coniugis; ora modis attollens pallida miris
husband, raising his pale face in wondrous wise,
crudelis aras traiectaque pectora ferro
the cruel altars and his breast pierced with steel
nudavit, caecumque domus scelus omne retexit.
he exposed, unveiling all the blind horror of the house.
tum celerare fugam patriaque excedere suadet
Then, he persuades her take speedy flight and leave her country,
auxiliumque viae veteres tellure recludit
and as an aid to her road, he revealed long kept in the earth
thesauros, ignotum argenti pondus et auri.
treasures – a weight gold and silver, unknown.
his commota fugam Dido sociosque parabat.
Moved by these things, Dido prepared both flight and company.
I strongly suspect that these lines were the direct origin of the rumour Nero fell for in Tacitus and Suetonius. Note that in Virgil the treasure is presented as an auxilium viae rather than something to be hidden in the earth for future generations. This is obviously more logical, but I wonder also whether Virgil’s own sad experience with land appropriation and resettlement made him more attuned to the physical requirements thereof. Dido did not originate with Virgil, but this really seems to me to be the kind of Virgilian invention.
Just how firm is the tradition behind Dido anyway? Wolfgang Kullman speaks of a faktenkannon, that is to say, a series of hyper-traditional facets/actions of any given character that oral tradition cannot reasonably alter. This is one of those useful German neo-analytical heuristics that sadly is rarely used in Anglo scholarship. As time goes on and orality becomes less productive, these strict bounds loosen, but there are still some rules. Some sense of canon. Achilles can have a secret meeting with Helen, but he cannot actually sack Troy any more than Patroclus can.
I mention this partly to funnel interested readers towards Neo-Analytic scholarship but largely to establish that the level of variation open to Virgil was quite, well, varied within these constraints. The fewer extant sources, the better. That the legend of Dido originated with actual Semitic speakers seems to me largely probable. “Dido” is not, to my (limited) knowledge, analysable as Semitic but the alternate name provided by the tradition – Elissa – seems to have Canaanite origins (e.g Elishat, the Greek even retains stress on the first syllable). Nevertheless, it is also obvious that much of the myth shows heavy Greek influence: the characterisation of eastern royal harem politics, Punics as wealthy, greedy, schemers, even the origin of the so called Dido problem betrays Greek etymological games (the name for the Carthaginian hinterland, Byrsa, comes from the Greek for hide). We can rule out direct Punic influence for the broader details, though now I am really sad that the pseudo-Aristotelian Carthaginian Constitution did not come down to us. It is obvious that the major sources for the myth must have been Greek, though we are scarcely better off here.
Timaeus, writing in the 3rd century BC, scarcely survives. We tend to assume that Dionysius of Halicarnassus reused much of his work, but his section on Aeneas (1.44-75) does not mention Dido or Carthage at all. If Timaeus spoke of Dido at length (and he may have), there was at that time no link with Aeneas. Another historian, the fantastically named Pompeius Trogus, goes into greater detail on Dido’s story but likewise omits Aeneas. Well, as far as we can tell – he survives only in epitomes. It may be significant that both Pompeius Trogus and Dionysius were writing during the Augustan era, and that they reflect the timbre of antique learning at court. Who knows?
So, whilst it looks like the antiquity of Carthaginian Dido is without question, it seems like Virgil may have invented the meeting between Dido and Aeneas. The one potential exception is Naevius (or Apple-Bro, if you like). Naevius wrote an epic on the Punic Wars and so would have had ample opportunity to talk about the putative ancestors of the Carthaginians. What is more interesting, is that we know he mentioned Aeneas. Does the Virgilian version begin with Naevius, then? It is possible, even probable, but far from certain. After all, there is no reason to suppose that Naevius’ Aeneas and Dido ever met, besides artistry. It is entirely possible Naevius did little more than enumerate separate founding myths to contextualise the two warring sides before bringing them together (sort of like Herodotus). Nor are the assurances of commentators/excerptors/rudebois like Servius and Macrobius that such and such a bit of Virgil translatus est especially reassuring. God alone knows what their criterion is, how consistent they are, or whether they have even read the Republican era poetry to which they are referring.
Instead, much hangs on a possible reading of a single fragment (fr. 23) of Naevius, saved by the late grammarian Nonius Marcellus:
blande et docte percontat Aenea quo pacto Troiam urbem liquisset
With charm and learnedness s/he asked in what manner Aeneas left behind the city of Troy.
You can see how ambiguous this is. The bibliography is larger than I am willing to tackle, but my sense is that the communis opinio doctorum assumes that the speaker is Latinus. Certainly the new Loeb seems to think so, which re-orders the fragment as 19 and pairs it with the birth of Romulus at 20, nisi fallor. Maybe my mind is clouded by Virgil but this does not seem right to me. Blande may or may not be marked vocabulary, but it is used of Dido by Virgil (blandiisque…vocibus) and it hardly seems fitting for a rugged, rustic, king like Latinus. Likwise docte seems to suit Dido more than he. Who can forget Dido’s confident questioning of Aeneas? As she herself says: non obtusa adeo gestamus pectora Poeni. Surely the whole point of Latinus and his aborigines is that they aren’t at the centre of events post Trojan war?
Maybe I am just suffering from a Virgilian mirage, and it is now impossible to think of Latinus and Saturnian Italy outside of this. Ah well. There are worse diseases. Whatever the case, I think it is clear that Virgil built up his Dido – and the relationship between her and Aeneas – significantly more than any previous Greek or Latin source. Whilst his has came down to us at the dominant version, it may not necessarily have been held as such by the cognoscenti:
si proponam eis interrogans, utrum verum sit quod Aenean aliquando Carthaginem venisse poeta dicit, indoctiores nescire se respondebunt, doctiores autem etiam negabunt verum esse
if I question them, asking whether what the poet says is true, that Aeneas ever came to Carthage, the poorly educated will reply that they do not know, while the better educated will indeed say that it is untrue
Augustine Confessions 1.22
Augustine was a Punic by descent and may even have known of some local legends about characters like Elishat and Pumayyaton. But then he probably pronounced his /s/ like /sh/. What a nerd. What is amazing is that a throwaway, explanatory, piece of the Aeneid could end up defrauding the Emperor of Rome. Especially given the time scale. Let’s say the Aeneid was “published” in 19 BC, and that Nero fell for this between 65-8 AD. That is a shockingly quick turnaround. Admittedly, the success of the Aeneid was by any definition shockingly quick. Caecilius Epirota must have burnt his hands snatching it from the funeral pure; Horace had Livius Andronicus beaten into him one generation, the next saw Roman school children the empire over learning arma virumque cano. Years and years ago I read a book (Gowing’s Empire and Memory) which argued that Nero’s generation was the first to grow up without a functional memory of the Republic, its institutions, mores and – now I add, literature – it was convincing back then, and I can’t help but think that this whole situation might have been avoided if Nero and his gang just #ReadTheirTexts.
 To be honest, I am rarely confident I am on sure footing indicting Claudius’ fiscal administration like this, it feels right but I would not test my reading in a court of law. But then few Roman emperors besides Anastasius (491-518) showed anything like fiscal restraint or common sense….
 Had Caesar been born in the late 20th century, I guarantee he would have become an options trader and/or cocaine addict.
 Incidentally, I may be leaning too hard on this name as evidence for Punic ancestry (outside Tacitus’ wry comment; Suetonius simply calls him an eques – not an equus as I excitedly thought at 4am ☹). But aren’t several people named Bassus/Bas(s)ianus associated with the Severans all the way down to Junius Bassus in the 4th c?
 With the passing of men like West and Burkert, it seems like Homeric scholarship is destined never to rise above the level of “but mommy said it’s all oral tradition uwu uwu uwu”. Ugh. These people certainly do not understand the concept of “tradition”. I would venture likewise for “oral” too, except they’re consistently trying to self-fellate within their scholarship so, yeah, they understand that word.
 I think it incredibly likely. Dido – we have said, based on her alternate name – almost certainly had Semitic providence. As do several other Punic characters like Pygmalion. Timaeus probably followed a more antique tradition that puts Dido a generation or three later than the Trojan war.
 Personally, I think Naevius was more than capable of this. I think much of his reputation has been coloured by Ennius’ cruel and bitchy dismissal…
 There is nothing unique about this in classical literature. A lot of our commentating authors are considerably less well read than we might at first seem. Though I think only Homerists have worked this out systematically…for Republican Latin poetry see Jocelyn, H. D. (1964). Ancient scholarship and Virgil’s use of republican Latin poetry. I. The Classical Quarterly, 14(2), 280-295 and sequel. For Naevius see Luck, G. (1983). Naevius and Virgil. Illinois Classical Studies, 8(2), 267-275
 Is it often/at all used of men? As a student, this is the sort of thing you would assiduously check on TLL…
 When will PhDs and theologians finally accept than when God told Augustine tolle et lege the first part was an injunction to lift some fucking weights? “oh, I don’t want to go the games”.
When the Athenians were disputing with the Boeotians about the area which they called Sidae, Epaminondas – whilst arguing – abruptly took in his right hand a hitherto concealed pomegranate and, having showed it to them, asked them what they called it. When they said “rhoa” he said “But we call it a sida”. The area contains many these trees, which is how it originally got its name. He won the decision.
There is not much for me to say about this passage in terms of context or philological/historical value. I just found it interesting and wanted to share it. Language, when used as a part of an ethno-linguistic label or to define a speech-community, can have momentous impact in ancient history – think of the shibboleth story. Picture Epaminondas, the victor (well sort of) of Leuctra whipping out fruit and brandishing it at the Athenians. It is curious how the debate came down to one of dialect. Sidae was in the southern part of Boeotia, touching Attica. I would have thought that the locals would just have been Aeolic speakers, but maybe not? Why didn’t Epaminondas just cite the local dialect and leave it at that? Why use linguistics anyway? Why not just argue from descent or ktsis like everyone else?
Language, myth, and genealogy were often a part of how the ancients dealt with disputes and conceived of the world around them. What follows is a brief excursus of some random thoughts on the matter, with some tangential relation to the quotation above. Like I said, I just wanted to share it with you.
If you say “ancient Greek diplomacy” what comes to mind? For most people, probably the Spartan crime of punting the Persian ambassadors into a well (Herodotus 7.133), a (hardly legally rigorous) framework) of mores and customs that held the Greek world together: Don’t punt visitors in wells; don’t attack heralds, proxeny and xenia etc etc. Fair enough, but myth (loosely defined) could also function as a kind of diplomatic framework for the Greeks. I say loosely defined for a reason; the various meanings would not coalesce into anything like our idea of a “narrative” for quite some time.
Occasionally these myths referenced actual physical materia. Perhaps the most famous case being the story of how the Spartans finally defeated the Tegeans, by seizing the bones of Orestes (Herodotus 1.167-8) in obeyance of an oracle. Now, the story here is full of folk tale narrative and often subject to Euhemerist critique (is there anything lower or baser? Due to the size of the “bones of Orestes”: ὑπὸ δὲ ἀπιστίης μὴ μὲν γενέσθαι μηδαμὰ μέζονας ἀνθρώπους τῶν νῦν ἄνοιξα αὐτὴν καὶ εἶδον τὸν νεκρὸν μήκεϊ ἴσον ἐόντα τῇ σορῷ), but it is emblematic of broader Greek thought about myth and history. Myth is often used to tie the untenable together, land (which is eternally static) and humans (who often move around).
The Spartans clearly felt this keenly. Their ancient home played a key part in the epic saga of the Achaeans, yet they themselves overwhelmingly claimed descent from elsewhere. There were various work arounds; the kings, for example, were said to be of Achaean descent, and in semi-mythic kings list Heracles could be put, briefly, before Tyndareus (who could then be said to hold the land in trust for the Heracleidae). You can see why the bones of Orestes could have propaganda value: a ritual reconciliation of Doric and Argive, against their Argive enemies. After all, as Herodotus says, from thence on the Spartans started to beat the Tegeans. Nor is this the only case of Spartans digging up an epic ancestor: Pausanias tells us they likewise appropriated the bones of Tisamenos (7.1), the son of Orestes and Hermione (daughter of Helen, daughter of Tyndareus and therefore a union of Pelopid and Tyndarid, not the wingardium leviosa one).
The above is a physical act (well a pair of them), but I do not think we can divorce it from the context of myth. After all it is myth which lent the context – and impetus – to the actions, and the Spartans were just realising the kind of anxieties we see in the ever-varied genealogical poetic fragments. Arguably a far better response than Kleisthenes of Sicyon (grandfather of that Kleisthenes) outright banning of Homer.
The Athenians, if somewhat less eager to be whipping out shovels and disinterring bones, were no less inclined to use myth this way. Tragedy could be a beautiful venue for this. Sometimes such things had a more decidedly internal focus. One may read in Sophocles’ Ajax, the final conversation between the eponymous er, hero, (himself seen as a tutelary ancestor to the Athenians) and his son, Eurysaces, something like a propagandic snapshot of a father departing for a war and leaving behind an underage son – effectively in the care of the state (hence asking the community to look out for, 565). Such things could not be too on the nose, however; Phrynichus’ play on the fall of Miletus was apparently so moving it was banned and the author fined (Herodotus 6.21.10), and anyway they would certainly have been at risk of ridicule from the comic poets. The cultural prestige of Athens and her festivals meant that drama was also an excellent opportunity to propel messages outward. Euripides took advantage of this in a typically heavy-handed manner. We have mentioned, in connection with Sparta, the Heracleidae above and Euripides’ play of that name concerns a mythic episode where Athens looks after and defends the direct ancestors of Sparta’s kings. Likewise, his Ion can be profitably read in the context of Athens’ claims to have been the metropolis for all of Ionia.
We have looked at examples from Athens and Sparta since they were Greece’s most famous cities, but this use of myth also worked across other poleis. This should not surprise, the mythic tradition that poets were manipulating, recasting, and reusing was inherently international (or at least Panhellenic) and if a poet hankering after a prize would discretely have to have to alter a myth he sang in Thebes if he was singing in Syracuse, well…that was neither here nor there. This international context of poetry was written into the language itself: the development of an epic kunstsprache was a direct result of, and did not precipitate, this. There is, as always, an excellent example of this in Herodotus (read Herodotus!!): The Tegeans and the Athenians are arguing over who will command a place of honour in the assembled phalanx at Plataea. The Spartans adjudicate (9.26-8). The Tegeans list their own accomplishments back in the time of the Heracleidae and finish references to more recent deeds. The Athenians respond with an expectedly bravura display of rhetoric, inverting the mythological paradigm, adding to it, and ending with the trump card of Marathon. The result?
So they answered, and the entire Lakedaimonian camp shouted that the Athenians were worthier to hold the horn [as in wing of phalanx] than the Arkadians. Such was the way in which the Athenians were preferred to the Tegeaeans.
(note the Homeric colouring).
Basically, two distinct polities – the Tegeans and the Athenians, could shore up and use myth to win an argument. Admittedly, this gambit did not quite work out against the Syracusans (7.161.3). When the Persians were saying (or being alleged to have said – Herodotus 7.150) that they were kinsmen to the Argives, descendants of Perseus, is really just a form of international relations. Likewise, Indians claiming their city to have been founded by Dionysus (Arrian Anabasis 5.1). We could dismiss this stuff as entirely fictive or folk etymology, or we could instead choose to see it in its cultural context.
We are straying a bit from our original quotation though, aren’t we? What really strikes me about this passage is the use of linguistics, even if in an extremely crude form. Greek Dialectology is not simple, even now. The categories of Greek dialect the ancients themselves used owed more to the mythological tradition than to any serious philological work. They had Ionic (whence we separate Attic); Doric; and Aeolic. We moderns add another subgroup, Arcado-Cypriot (ironically also supported by myth!). Though we rarely see fit to overturn the entire system, we have made strides and bounds since Ahrens founded the discipline on a scientific basis.
Ἕλληνος δ᾿ ἐγένοντο φιλοπτολέμου βασιλῆος
From Hellen the battle-loving king sprang
Δῶρός τε Ξοῦϑός τε καὶ Αἴολος ἱππιοχάρμης.
Doros and Xouthos and Aiolos, who delighted in horses.
Hesiod frg 9 M-W
This should not be surprising. Terms like “Aeolic” or “Ionic” are inherently abstractions. One might instead notice the speech of Sparta, or Lesbos, or Macedon. Such theorising always extends out of mythological and genealogical speculation (e.g Strabo 8.1.2, who puts Arcadian under Ionic). If Greeks did really think of these as more concrete groupings, I suspect it started with Doric which was strikingly different from the easterly Greek dialects in some ways and from a relatively early period had its own literary koine. It would be easy to then start thinking of the other dialects in that way, via analogy. I think Doric also offers the earliest evidence we have of Greeks thinking in terms of convergent/divergent sound changes. You might have noticed how all our editions of Alkman have σ pro θ which was certainly a distinct feature of Spartan speech (cf Aristophanes), yet doubtless such a change happened too late for it to appear in Alkman’s poetry. Instead, this is likely a Hellenistic editorial decision based on knowledge of this sound change.
Elsewhere, Greeks might note dialectical variation based on vocabulary. Hesychius – an understudied author – is a good example of this, noting some of the variant Macedonian vocabulary without sitting down and teasing out the sound rules. (but let us leave the Macedonians for another post). Interestingly, Epaminondas did not argue on level of sound change. E.g Attic-Ionic raised the inherited long a to a long e sound (α > η), though there was a reversion when this was combined with certain letters. The Attic (and broader Ionic) form would have been σίδη which actually survives in some Pontic dialects. Would a difference in vocabulary be more notable to everyday Greeks than accent/phonology?
Anyway, there is no conclusion to be had. Maybe I’ll come back in and edit it. As I said, this is a short note. Enjoy your weekend!
 Not that such distinctions ultimately matter. The Achaeans were happy to admit the Aeginetians into the Achaean league at one point. Athens’ interests closer to home expanded into the (potentially) Doric speaking Megarid and, as per its treaty with Plataea, into the Aeolic Boeotia from a fairly early date.
 Do I owe this formulation to Malkin? Calame? Either way, it is mine now.
 For Spartan anxiety and the kings’ list, see Claude Calame’s work and also (somewhat) Irad Malkin. This post is a ‘short note’ and so I’m not terribly motivated to cite articles from edited volumes (which take aaages), unless pressed.
 Ion and Xouthos have been ably treated by Jan Bremmer in at least two places (and Athenian mythic propaganda more generally) for Ajax, and the Dionysia generally, Goldhill, S. (1987). The great Dionysia and civic ideology. The Journal of Hellenic Studies, 107, 58-76 (brilliant article).
 200 years past people were still throwing out terms like “Romaic,” “Graikika,” and “Aeolo-Doric” as dialectical categories as if they were anything other than the results of crack-addled fever dreams. At least the ancients had cool myths ffs. In fact, within Greece, things were insane until Chatzidakis came along and beat the shit out of everyone with his work on dialects. Mackridge has a good article on this, search “mothers and daughters” and his name.
 We never quite see the kind of highly abstract, productive, rules we find in e.g Panini’s Astadhyayi, but I don’t know, I think the Hellenistic editors are going beyond mere stereotype?