 Hello everyone, welcome to Fairfield University. For those of you who don't know me, my name is Giovanni Ruffini. I'm a professor of history here and director of the classical studies program. Six months ago today, we lost a beloved colleague and friend, Vincent Rosavac. Living with that loss and feeling the void that it leaves is never going to be easy. But looking at this room today and seeing it full of so many of his friends, his colleagues, his students, I think help makes it easier. We are here today first to celebrate his memory. But second, and for him, I would guess this would be the more important part, to continue to learn from each other. Fairfield is lucky, I think, to have such a remarkable collection of scholars presenting in Vincent's honor here today. It is a tribute to him and to his legacy. It would not have been possible. In fact, if it had not been for the initiative and the assistance of his longtime friend, Alan Ward, emeritus professor at University of Connecticut. Alan? Thank you, Giovanni, but I think you deserve 99.9% of the credit for all of this. This celebration of Professor Vincent J. Rosavac's career as a scholar, teacher, and friend is, as are all such occasions, bittersweet. Bitter because we are reminded of the loss to our profession and ourselves. Sweet because we remember the many good things that made his life a meaningful part of ours. I first met Vince, as he was known to most of you, Vincenzo, to me, at a meeting of the Classical Association of New England at Smith College in the spring of 1969. Our friendship continued for 49 years as we attended the meetings of many professional organizations and served together on the boards of the Classical Association of Connecticut and the Classical Association of New England. For the last 20 years or so, we met for dinner once a semester in Middletown to share news, discuss research, and exchange ideas on teaching. I was always impressed with the breadth and depth of his knowledge, which reflected his rigorous Jesuit education at New York's Regis High School and Fordham University, where he received all three of his degrees. He carried on that tradition here at Fairfield for 53 years as the longest-serving faculty member in the history of the university. Although he eventually left Rome for Canterbury, he never abandoned the Jesuit ideal of creating an educated and just society. As the variety of papers on today's program reflects, Vince was a prolific scholar with a wide range of interests spanning Greek and Roman literature, Greek and Roman religion, Athenian social and economic history, Roman politics, and even slavery in early Connecticut. He published 101 articles, reviewed 22 books, made over 60 presentations at professional meetings, and produced two well-regarded books, The System of Public Sacrifice in Fourth Century Athens in 1994, and When a Young Man Falls in Love, The Sexual Exploitation of Women in New Comedy, 1998. In professional service, Vince was tireless. He refereed articles for 13 different journals, held such positions as president of the Classical Association of Connecticut, executive secretary of the Classical Association of New England, editor of the New England Classical Journal, and member of the Etruscan Foundation's advisory board. Most recently, he played an important role in ensuring the survival of the New England Ancient History Colloquium after the death of its founder, Ernst Badeon. Above all, Vince was a teacher. He believed that it was important for classical scholars to support secondary school teachers in training future generations of those who study and appreciate the classical languages and ancient history. Many of his presentations were aimed at making new scholarship and research available to secondary school teachers. He even developed a program to use Latin for assisting language instruction for inner city children in the Bridgeport, Connecticut, public schools. Vince's dedication to his own students and Fairfield was legendary. He often taught courses above and beyond a normal load to ensure the students could get needed courses and to keep up a full complement of Greek courses. Retirement was only an abstraction for him. He was grading papers in his hospital bed the day before he died from metastatic cancer on April 13, 2018, just 15 days short of his 78th birthday. Ray Quiescas in Pache, Vincenzo. Thank you, Alan. I was just remarking how lucky we are today to have so many people who came forward to present. The one negative consequence of that is that we have so many people who came forward to present. So with apologies to the speakers in advance, I will be marching them briskly through their allotted time and ensuring that they do not bleed over until the next speaker's time. We will have five minutes for questions and answers for each speaker. So please grill them mercilessly, show them what we're made of at Fairfield. And without any further ado, the first speaker for today, a man I think who needs no introduction for most of us, David Constan, speaking on Jesus's Sense of Sin. Welcome. This works. There we go. All right. First, this is to honor my dear friend and highly admired colleague, the memory of Vince Rossovac. It's a sad occasion, but a wonderful one to celebrate him. Now my interest in sin from a philological point of view, that is, began with an invitation to contribute an article on this subject to the vast multi-volume German reference work called the Real Lexicon für Antike und Christentum, which is just as imposing as it sounds. Now, assuming that knowledge of my personal life wasn't a factor in the editor's decision, the invitation was nevertheless a challenge, first and foremost, in regard to definition. What is sin? Is it different from error or wrongdoing, and if so, how? More especially, is the idea of sin specific to the Judeo-Christian tradition, and so not applicable to classical Greek and Roman thought, that is, what we think of as paganism. Now the word sin seems to carry religious overtones in ordinary usage, even though it can be used more loosely to indicate a wide array of offenses. Take the definition in the Oxford English Dictionary. So it's an immoral act considered to be a transgression against divine law, which by presupposing that there is such a thing as a body of divine law seems to be taking for granted a conception of religion deriving from the legalistic nature of most of the Pentateuch. To be sure, the Oxford Dictionary gives a secondary definition of sin in the wider sense, an act regarded as a serious or regrettable fault, offense, or omission. So two questions pose themselves. First, does this conception of sin apply to every use of the term in the Bible? Or do some, maybe even the majority of occurrences, bear the less theological sense of a serious or regrettable fault, offense, or omission? And second, can we speak of sin understood as a transgression against divine law as in connection with classical Greece and Rome, independently of Judeo-Christian influence? Now I believe there are passages in classical literature that meet the religious definitions of sin provided by the lexicons. Understood in this sense, sin is not an exclusively Judeo-Christian concept. But I also believe that there is a notion of sin in the Bible, particularly in the Gospels, that is distinct and has no equivalent in strictly pagan texts. So clearly the definition of sin I'm going to propose is not the same as that offered by the dictionaries. I'll reveal my definition in a moment, but first let's look at a well-known passage in which Antigone, in Sophocles' tragedy, articulates a distinction between human and divine law that would seem very much like the way sin is defined in the Oxford Dictionary. In defending her decision to cast earth upon the body of her brother, Polyneses, in spite of the decree by her uncle, Creon, prohibiting his burial because he had attacked his native city, Antigone appeals to what she calls the unwritten and secure laws of the gods. Oh, these are the two questions I should raise in a moment ago. So here's Antigone. It was not Zeus who published that edict of Creon and not of that kind of the laws which justice who dwells with the gods below established among men. Nor did I think that your decrees were of such force that a mortal could override the unwritten and unfailing statutes given us by the gods. For their life is not of today or yesterday, but of all time, and no man knows when they were first put forth, not for fear of any man's pride was I about to owe a penalty to the gods for breaking these laws. Now, Antigone appeals to a higher law, the violation of which will not be merely a crime like defying Creon's edict, but might well be described as a sin in the sense of a transgression against divine law. Were she to fail in her divinely ordained duty to her brother, she might have been subject to the wrath of the Furies or some other god-sent affliction. This is not just poetry. Xenophon, in his memoirs of Socrates says, now this is the next one. Those who transgress the laws established by the gods pay the penalty, which is impossible for a human being to escape, although some do escape paying the penalty in regard to laws established by human beings. So in what respect does the sense of sin in the Bible differ from the violation of divinely sanctioned laws? Well, consider Psalms 32. I acknowledge my sin, that's the Hebrew for the sin and it's important there, unto thee and mine iniquity have I hid not. I said I will confess my transgressions unto the Lord and thou forgave us the iniquity of my sin. That's the crucial thing, that's King James' version. I like the King James, it's much better than saying I got away with my bad, you know. Iniquity of my sin brings true. Now the most common and basic Hebrew word for sin derives from that root hotah, regularly rendered in the ancient Greek translations as ha-martia. Iniquity and transgressions correspond to different words both in Hebrew and in Greek. This is important because I'm focusing on particular terms here. So we may be inclined to wonder what the sins are that the Psalmist is confessing. But in fact, there's no indication in the text which begins, blessed is the one whose transgressions are forgiven, whose sins are covered. Blessed is the one whose sin the Lord does not count against them and whose spirit is no deceit. We know what Antigone regarded as her duty, failing which she would violate the eternal laws laid down by the gods. But in the Psalm, the emphasis is entirely on confession. The specific faults or wrongs that the Psalmist acknowledges are moot. The purpose of confession, moreover, is to achieve the Lord's forgiveness. The idea of sin is embedded in a script that unfolds in three stages. Sin, confession, and the hope or possibility of forgiveness. And it is precisely this structure in which sin is the prelude, as it were, to self-revelation and ultimate pardon or remission that sets the biblical conception apart from anything to be found in the religious world of classical Greece and Rome. From this perspective, the particular offenses that may have been committed are beside the point and so they're not enumerated. Now, this is the claim I'm making. There is nothing like this in pagan Greece and Rome and this is the crucial sense of sin in the Bible. We may observe the same paradigm in the gospels but with a twist. Curiously enough, ordinary transgressions such as murder, adultery, or disrespect for one's parents are not generally called sins. Jesus says fornication, theft, murder, adultery, avarice, wickedness, deceit, licentious, envy, slander, pride, folly, all these are evil things and come from within and they defile a person. Evil things corresponds to the Greek ponera, a word that is often applied to vicious or immoral people. Jesus is plainly condemning the behaviors he lists as wicked but he does not employ the word ha-martia in this connection. But is this a distinction with a difference? As it turns out, I will argue, the vocabulary of the Bible is quite precise and ha-martia has a specific range of uses that tally well, I believe, with the three fold script that I have proposed as constitutive of sin. So let's look at the announcement of Christ's mission by John the Baptist who did baptize in the wilderness and preach a baptism of repentance, that's metanoia, we'll come back to that, for the remission of sin. Notice the close connection of ha-martia and remission or forgiveness. Sins is ha-martia, so right from the beginning we see intimately association with remorse and forgiveness. There is in fact some controversy about the word rendered in most versions of the Bible as repentance. The Greek term as you saw was metanoia and several recent translations in various language take it to mean conversion, change of mind, change of heart. And I've argued in this same real lexicon that that is the meaning that should be ascribed to the Greek word metanoia in the Bible. Later Christian writers it acquires a sense of repentance. So take this passage from the other beginning of the Acts of the Apostles, a work often attributed to the Luke who composed the gospel. Peter said to them, repent or convert and be baptized every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ for the remission of your sins. Remission, forgiveness, those are alternate translations. The word for sins of course is ha-martia. Peter goes on to perform a miraculous cure of a lame man reminiscent of Jesus' own deed and then he declares repent or convert therefore and turn to God so that your sins may be wiped out. The Gospel of Mark opens with a series of miracles performed by Jesus which gained him notoriety throughout Palestine. In the synagogue at Capernaum, he cures a man who was possessed by demons and I quote, his fame began to spread throughout the surrounding region of Galilee. Next he cures Simon's mother in law of a fever and he proceeds to heal many who are ill and to drive out demons. And then I quote, he went through Galilee proclaiming the message in their synagogues and casting out demons. Immediately afterwards he heals a leper and enjoins him not to spread the word about his cure but the leper blabs it all over the place and I quote so that Jesus, the blabs is my word not the King James. So Jesus could no longer go into town openly. Why? Because everybody's gonna wanna be healed by him and he'll get in trouble with the Jewish authorities as this healer, a wonder worker. And people, but people came to him from every quarter. Jesus next wonder is the healing of a paralyzed man. I want to realize this is chapter two of Mark. All we have, all these miracles are in chapter one. And here I give the version in Mark. It's in all four gospels, slightly different in John. And when Jesus returned to Capernaum after some days it was reported that he was at home and many were gathered together so there was no longer room for them and they came, these people, bringing to him a paralytic carried by four men. And when they could not get near him because of the crowd they removed the roof above him and when they had made an opening they let down the pallet on which the paralytic lay. Now, I'm going to omit any discussion of insurance claims concerning the roof. Surprise it's not there, but there may be another manuscript. The story continues. And when Jesus saw their faith, faith in what, we'll come back to that. He said to the paralytic, my son, your sins are forgiven. Now some of the scribes were sitting there questioning in their hearts. Why does this man speak thus? It is blasphemy. Who can forgive sins but God alone? And Jesus says in reply, but that you may know that the son of man has authority on earth to forgive sins. He said to the paralytic, I say to you, rise, take up your pallet and go home. And he rose and immediately took up the pallet and went out before them all. Now in this episode it's not confession that earns forgiveness as in the psalm but rather faith as often in the gospels. Similarly in Acts, we read, all the prophets testify about him that everyone who believes in him receives forgiveness of sins through his name. Or Paul, as I testified to both Jews and Greeks about Metanoia toward God and faith toward our Lord Jesus. Now the standard English translation of Metanoia here repentance is a little odd. Repentance toward God and faith toward Lord Jesus. What you really want is something more like emotion toward both. And that's why conversion makes so much more sense in this context. And it's true that in a dozen different languages at least, recent translations dating back to about 20 years now have put conversion in place of repentance. In the Gospel of Matthew, and I'm coming toward the end, and I am doing okay in time. In the Gospel of Matthew, the healing of the paralytic is followed by the resurrection of a young girl, the healing of a woman who suffered from hemorrhages, the restoration of the sight of two blind men and the curing of a mute man who was possessed by demons. Jesus, and here's the passage with the blind men. Jesus asks the blind men, do you believe that I am able to do this? And they reply, yes Lord. Upon which Jesus touches their eyes and he says, according to your faith, pistis, be it done to you. Now the word for do you believe is pistuo. So it's the same root. Do you think I can do it? Yes, that's your faith. The Greek word for faith or belief is pistis with the corresponding verb. Now here again, there's considerable controversy about how to translate this term. Today we understand the word faith to signify either a deeply rooted conviction that transcends reason or else belief in a doctrine or creed. The classical word pistis in Greek like fidacin' Latin means rather trust or confidence. And as Teresa Morgan has demonstrated, I think in a magisterial study, this is the predominant meaning of pistis in the gospels, acts, and the authentic letters of Paul. So what he is saying is, do you have confidence that I can do this? Do you trust me? And he says, yes, they do. And he says, you trusted, you're cured. That's the critical point here. Now if we return to the story of the paralytic, this is the faith that the four men who carried him must have had. That is confidence in Jesus' ability to heal. And it is this trust that induces Jesus to remit his sins. What sins? Well, some critics, including myself not so long ago, have assumed that these must have been offenses like fornication, murder, adultery, which were moreover the cause of his paralysis. So one 19th century scholar writes, the man might have brought on this disease of the palsy by a long course of vicious indulgence by way of vices such as gluttony and temperate drinking, lewdness, debauchery and a few other things. Now plausible as this may seem, as I say, I believed it, Mark seems to betray not the slightest interest in the nature of those sins any more than the Psalmist did as we saw just a moment before. And I now doubt that they had anything to do with his illness any more than sins are responsible for the many other infirmities that Jesus cures. For example, the woman who had been suffering from hemorrhages for a dozen years and succeeded in touching Jesus' garment despite the press of the crowd had heard of Jesus and thought to herself, if I but touch his clothes, I will be made well. And when the woman reveals herself, Jesus says, daughter, your faith has made you well. Go in peace and be healed of your disease. What's the faith? If I touch his garment, I will be healed. When the woman reveals herself, well, that's what he says, I just had it there. So there's no mention of sins here, nor any indication that hermality was the result of wayward behavior. And there's another, a girl is cured and Jesus says explicitly to her, neither you nor your parents have sinned. He says that, he says, but you're here for me to cure so make a demonstration to the world. I've just, if you look at how ha-martia is used, these are the contexts. So I'm inclined to believe, excuse me, that Jesus was performing two distinct acts in connection with the paralytic. He heals him of his handicap and he forgives him of his sins. The one is another demonstration of his wonder-working abilities, while the other is an explicit claim to divinity by virtue of his authority on earth to forgive sins which the miracle corroborates. So in a passage that has given rise to much concerns, and now a controversy, and now I am at the end, Jesus affirms, this is in John, if I had not come and spoken to them, they would not have had sin, but now they have no excuse for their sin. Excuse me. John Calvin was upset by the implication of these words. It may be thought, he writes in his commentary on John, that Christ intended by these words to say that there is no other sin but unbelief, and sure looks like that, and he, Calvin concludes that Augustine took to me in this sense. Now Calvin himself rejects this interpretation, but it's hard to get around the literal meaning of Christ's words. The coming of Christ, according to the gospels, has transfigured the sense of sin. Henceforward, everything depends not on returning to the Lord, as it does in the Old Testament, in the Hebrew Bible, but on trust in Jesus' divinity as manifested by his miracles. Christ continues to recognize that contraventions of God's commandments are evils, but when he speaks of sin, what is at stake is belief in Christ, and he says to his disciples after his resurrection, which by the way is one more miracle, he didn't die for our sins as later tradition, he died because that's what was written, he says himself, that's how it's written, I must die, I'm to fulfill the anticipations. Well what he says is, go into all the world and proclaim the good news to the whole creation. The one who believes and is baptized will be saved, and the one who does not believe will be condemned. It is only with the rise of Christian asceticism, I think, with its obsessive anxiety over the unruliness of the flesh and the omnipresent temptation to depravity that sin came so strongly to be identified, not just with weakness of faith, but with the manifold forms of turpitude that the word evokes today. Thank you, I stayed within the time too. Does anybody have it? All right, I'll bite, I have a question. Okay. Thank you, David. What does this mean for the mission of Christianity that belief in Jesus and is the essential thing? Is it the essential thing? Christianity, to be a Christian, means to believe in Jesus, not in any kind of values or merits, just in the person. Is this a leftover of the personal clientage relationships of the ancient world, or how do you interpret this? Yeah, well, Jesus has many messages. He has a very, in my view, very advanced moral sensibility, but when he thinks of sin, specifically of sin, he's thinking of something very closely bound up with the possibility of forgiveness. This is what is missing in the non-Judeo-Christian tradition, that idea that the gods forgive. They don't bother forgiving. In fact, if you want to be forgiven or want to be reconciled to the gods in the Greek or Roman tradition, you affirm the justice of your nature. You say, I never did anything wrong. You're mistaken. I was pious all my life. You don't go out there and say, yes, I was really evil, and I now realize it. That's not what you do in that other tradition. It's quite different. So it's very closely associated. When it comes to sin, there are many other things that Jesus represents. When it comes to sin, this is his reappropriation of the idea. I think the Gospels are written, my own view of it is, that they're written because when it comes to be realized, in the Gospels it says, there will be people alive today who will see the end of time, the end of days. Well, we know that's no longer the case by the 60s and 70s of the first century. So what you need now is some reliable testimony to the things Jesus did that would allow you to have that same faith in him. And the Gospels do this. My own view is they're very faithful to Jesus' message all the way through. Paul's a different situation. He's earlier, but he is looking to talking to an already Christianized communities. And that's not what the Gospels are doing. They're reproducing the moment of Jesus. And they need to do it because that's what faith is and that's the way you go. It's the only basis in Jesus' own view of transcending sin. Ray's a very interesting question about whether this looks like client type relationship. And I never thought of it that way. So I must give it some thought. I've never thought of that connection. Fidelity to the, because the fidelity to the patron is an important notion. You're absolutely right. I wonder if you could say a word about what Amartya is doing in Greek prior to its presence in the Psalms. Well, of course, it's the word for Aristotle's dramatic flaw, tragic flaw. It means, and Aristotle makes it clear that's usually done in ignorance. It's not a sign of an evil character. It's any mistake. It's any missing of the mark. And it seems that the root of the Hebrew khata is similar, to miss the mark, to not quite get the point you were aiming at. There are many Hebrew words for evil, iniquity, and so on. I didn't bring those into this particular discussion. Sometimes they're paired, iniquity. May I, you know, my sins and my iniquity. What I have done, the philologist in me, was to pick out the terms that looked like they had a very specific kind of reference. So just briefly in the Hebrew Bible, the primary sin, once you get past the very early Genesis, is to chase after foreign gods, worship the idols. That's the primary sin. Well, if you're all raiding a foreigner, they're not foreign gods. They're your gods. So they're not sins. They're evil. They're terrible things. But they're not sins. And sure enough, if you track Ha-ta, you find out that it applied uniquely to Jews. They're the ones who can sin because they have the message. And how do they sin? They fall away from the tradition and then they apologize and confess profusely and they return to God's ways in the hope that they will be forgiven. So it is, so in looking at certain select words, I found that there was a continuity and a meaning that justified separating them out for treatment. Are there any other questions? Nakes, thank you. Thank you. There was a glorious time not long ago when Fairfield University had both a professor of ancient Latin, but also medieval Latin as well. I say this with the dean of the College of Arts and Sciences in the room, and hope for the future. As I look at the program, I realize R. James Long, I don't know what the R stands for. I only know him as Jim. We are happy to welcome back our former colleague in classical studies, Jim Long, speaking on Fishacre. Let me just say before I start that I had the privilege of picking up my friend, Vince, at the hospital this spring, this past spring, on several different occasions. And let me just tell you that he died the death of a hero, not once did he utter a complaint about what had happened to him, his ailments, his pains, but only praise for the health giving professionals that he dealt with in the hospital and the ambulance driver and so forth. I was so very moved by that, and I just wanted to share that with you. When I submitted my title last June, only weeks after the passing of my good friend and colleague, Ben Roosevelt, I had no idea what I was going to say. What I did have was an overwhelming sense that my main focus, since I retired two years ago, was the completion of a project which began in 1987 at a conference in Helsinki when I was asked to assume the directorship of a project adopted by the Irish Academy of Wissenschaft in Munich, the Bavarian Academy of Sciences in Munich. Namely, a critical edition of the four books of Richard Fishaker's commentary on the sentences of Peter Lombard. Why me? Perhaps because I had 15 years earlier published a critical edition of the prologue to this work in medieval studies subsequent to my writing my dissertation on Fishaker. Fortunately, I found collaborators. A team of four Austrians took charge of Book III and an American who spent his career in Toronto, Book IV, with NEH assistance and texts and editions grant beginning in 1993. I edited Book II along with an introductory volume, Life Manuscripts, Editorial Principles, and so forth. That left Book I on the trinity, which we decided to divide between three of us. So again, why Fishaker? That is, how do I justify to myself, first of all, and to my patient wife, never mind grant awarding agencies, the time, attention, and resources required to produce a critical edition? With all that that implies, locating all the surviving copies, transcribing sections of the text, and collating them, call them soundings, and using the Lac-Monion system of common errors, drawing up a stomach codicum, which in all honesty should not be taken that seriously, owing to the fact that we don't know how many manuscripts have been lost. Germany, for example, lost approximately 40% of its manuscript holdings during the last war. And finally, the eliminatio, the elimination of inferior witnesses. And all this for a figure certainly not a household name, even a scholar's household. For example, in one of the earliest comprehensive histories of the philosophy of the Middle Ages by Etienne Gilson, published in 1955 and for decades, the established authority in the field, Fishaker is accorded but a single page, drawing from the only five studies on Fishaker to that point, only one of which was based on a text of Fishakers. So who was Fishaker? English-born and educated, no evidence that he ever crossed the channel, whose curious surname was a toponymic. There are three places in Devonshire that have the name Fishaker. Obviously, it was on the channel and dead fish washed up on the shore made for good fertilizer, so Fishakers. Professor's vows as a Dominican friar shortly after the order reached England and was the first at the new school at Oxford to lecture on Peter Lombard's four books of the sentences, which had recently been set by University statute as one of the two requirements for the degree of magister of theology, and who died in 1248 before he had a chance to write anything else, except perhaps for a few questiones disputate. And as the first at Oxford to write a sentence as commentary, Fishaker set the tone for a speculative theology at Oxford for several decades to come, namely a more empirical approach to theology as contrasted with Paris. It has been argued that the first half of the 13th century was a challenging time for Christian thinkers, schooled as they were on Augustine's adaptation of the Platonic, or more accurately, the Neoplatonic synthesis. Crossing the Pyrenees from Muslim Spain came a veritable flood of writings, including many by Aristotle, translated from the Arabic and accompanied by Muslim commentaries also in Latin translation. These writings hit universities like Paris and Oxford like a ton of intellectual bricks. And the reactions of Latin-speaking Christians to this challenge resulted in the flowering of what has been termed scholasticism in the high Middle Ages and beyond. And the first attempt at forging this synthesis was to be found in commentaries on Lombard's sentences, because they all had the right one. Albert the Great, Fish Acres Contemporary, Thomas of Aquino, Bonaventure of Bagnuerea, Don Scotis, William of Ockham, and on and on for more than 200 examples into the 16th century. John Mayer, whom my colleague and friend, John Slottamaker, did his dissertation on, he thinks he was the last of the line. The task incumbent on the textural scholars to make these works, most of which have never seen print, accessible to the scholarly public. The problem, how to reduce to the printed page a piece of writing which is extant in multiple manuscripts, sometimes numbering in the hundreds. One extreme response is the production of a text that either does not merit or perhaps defies the kind of scholarly apparatus associated with a critical edition. One example I would like to discuss briefly is the suma penitentialis of Robert of Flamborough. Penitentials represented a new genre of literature and grew out of the practice of private confession, which had been instituted by the Fourth Lateran Council in 1215. Priests whose education was often limited were in need of some guidance respecting the most appropriate penances to assign for different kinds of sins. And thus, the market for such books was much wider than any work of formal theology, like Aquinas suma. In fact, in what has to be one of the greatest marketing coups of all times, Flamborough, Robert of, had begun his compilation several years before Lateran IV, before private confession was mandated, convened, which meant it was the first of its kind out of the gate. And perhaps because it was the first, Flamboros became the most popular of its kind with copies numbering in the hundreds. Notwithstanding, J.J. Francis Firth, a priest of the Congregation of St. Basil, undertook a critical addition in fulfillment of one of the requirements for the DMS degree awarded by the Pontifical Institute of Medieval Studies. As there's maybe 10 of these have been awarded, I was trying to ascertain the number, and nobody in Toronto seems to recall. As the member of a religious congregation, Firth was afforded the leisure to do his research, but as near as I can calculate, Firth had between 1944 and 1968 to read and collate the hundreds of manuscripts and then collate the 48, 42, sorry, he used to establish the text. When asked by his director, Leonard Boyle, a later Vatican librarian, at his public defense why he had undertaken such a herculean task, Firth responded quite innocently because you told me. Though the penitential makes for some interesting reading, I say actually it's a rather tedious reading, but let me make one exception. Interspersed in the text are these little mock dialogues between the penitent and the confessor. And one of them I remember in particular, it was the requirements for holy orders. And the penitent says to the confessor, can women be priests? And the confessor says no. How about men? Asked the penitent. Yes, men are OK. How about hermaphrodites? And the response was, as long as the hermaphrodite has a membrum virile. So it's all about the membrum virile. And that then is OK. Back to the edition. Do we really need to know ipsissima verba auctoris in such a case? Not to mention the toll that took on Father Firth. And I'm not sure I should report this. I was in Toronto at the time and his colleagues reported from the bazillion house that he would awaken at night having nightmare. At 8CM, there's so many darn number of them. If you hesitate over the distinction between at and 8CM and also, you're in trouble from the get-go. Firth lived another 31 years after the awarding of the degree, but did not publish a single scholarly work. And all that time, it sounds like a classic case of burnout. Another example of a very popular work that challenges, if not defies, critical editing is the Encyclopedia, the most popular of which was the de propri etatibus rerum of Bartolomeos Anglicus, written between 1247 and 1267 when fellow Franciscan Roger Bacon quotes it and subsequently translated into six vernacular languages. Chaucer and Shakespeare, both owning a copy of the English translation. I've been trying to get a Shakespeare scholar to take me up on this. I think there are all kinds of indications in the Shakespearean corpus of that influence. And I just don't have the time or expertise to read the vast secondary literature in Shakespeare studies. Eventually, there would be 12 printed editions of the Latin text, the last appearing in 1601. When it was suggested by an editorial team at the Pontifical Institute that I prepare a new edition of books 3 and 4 of a total of 19 books, these being on the soul and on the body, the latter featuring an extensive treatment of the four humors. The four humoral theory enters, I think, through this encyclopedia. Enter's Western Thought. I agreed to produce a scribal edition based on two manuscripts, both of which belong to Paris masters of the 13th century and both preserved one of them chained in the library of the Sorbonne. When Brepples decided at the end of the last century to fund a new publication of all 19 books, I was asked to re-edit the text I had done for Toronto, but this time collating five manuscripts, including the two I had transcribed from my previous work. Frankly, the new edition, which appeared in 2007, was a better text. But I would be hard pressed to claim that any of the emendations based on the new witnesses were crucial. That is, that they radically changed the meaning of the original. Of such a work, A Circle of Knowledge, or Enquiclius Pidea, the compilation of a scholar who referred to himself humbly as a gleener of stray ears of corn, there survived by latest count 298 manuscripts, manuscript copies of the Latin text, 188 of which are complete copies. Not only does the size of the work and the number of manuscripts argue against the preparation of a critical edition, one must ask, again, whether Ipsissima verba autoris are, in this case, important to preserve, even if one could. Bartolomeus' work is truly a compilatio, a piling on, literally, of what was known in the high Middle Ages about everything from God to plant life and beyond, without any original analyses thereof. For example, in the list of 12 definitions of the soul that came down through the tradition one finds contradictory views. Unapologetically, you can't reconcile, it seems to me. My colleague will reaffirm Plato's view of the soul and Aristotle's, with no attempt to harmonize them. Alarmingly, even the scribal edition, defended by the editorial team, seems to have ground to a halt. Thus far, only two volumes have appeared in print, both in 2007, and I was told recently by the redactor that there is nothing in the pipeline. The immensity of the task of preparing a scribal or diplomatic edition is multiplied manyfold with respect to critical editions, even of major figures in the thought of the high Middle Ages that otherwise would argue for a more accurate text. Some of these figures have enjoyed the support of the religious orders to whom the thinker belonged. I'm thinking of William Vakum, the Franciscan, the editing of whose works were brought to completion a little more than a decade ago at St. Bonaventure's and the still toiling away Leonine commission under the care of the Dominican Order. Aquinas' commentary on Aristotle's metaphysics to give but one example, which was 50 years ago housed at Yale under the first lay director, now deceased, is yet to see the light of day. Scholars in Cologne are still laboring away at the critical edition of Alper at the Great and the Henry of Ghent Project at Louvain with support from the Belgian government. Notice the national interest at work here. And the addition of two major works of Don Skotis rumbles on with help from the National Endowment and is housed at Notre Dame University, which is unique in the Western world, and having three Skotis scholars on their faculty. But still, the work is long and the workers are few. And looming over the debate regarding editorial principles that underlie the establishment of a given text are the ominous signs of a sad fact, namely that our collective discipline, let's call it medieval studies, is in serious decline. There is, coincidentally, a meeting scheduled for next week in Toronto, of course, entitled The Future of Medievalism that will discuss this very topic. My own view for what it's worth is that with respect to philosophy and theology, the rather precipitous decline of interest in and study of the Latin Middle Ages is prompted by economic forces. The tragedy is that in recent years universities, especially those that call themselves Catholic or in the Catholic tradition, have been cutting core courses in the humanities. The University of Notre Dame, the premier Catholic university in the country, recently cut its core requirement in philosophy to a single course with a possible second to fulfill a pool requirement, as they call it. And the university hosting this event has cut its core in philosophy and religious studies to one course each, with a correlative freeze on hiring in these disciplines. What is worse, in the minds of some, there has been no scripture course in the religious studies department for four years, neither on the Jewish Bible nor on the New Testament. There were 15 required hours in philosophy when I was hired a half century ago. A recent study in the journal Lagos, I think, got it right. Quote, under the pressure of various societal changes, our current universities have increasingly claimed to offer a different kind of training, that of technical competence, for example. For success in a highly sophisticated technological world. And, here's the kicker, the massive rise in the cost of education can be economically justified only if its possessors are equipped with a kind of training that will defray those costs by high salaries. Here's the equation. No students, no demand for faculty in the liberal arts disciplines. We all have our own war stories. And then, of course, a precipitous decline in demand for textbooks and the scholarly monographs which feed the writing of textbooks, impacting negatively publishers' funding, the production of books in the field, decreased library budgets, and so on and so on. Scholars, no matter how dedicated to their discipline, need to put food on the table and, eventually, are forced to change occupations. What to do as the new dark age descends. The director of my licensure at work was fond of proclaiming an addition well done never has to be redone. And by well done, he meant critically edited. Well, maybe the best we can do under the circumstances is to get on with a task of simply transcribing one or two manuscripts. Forget variant readings. Forget the Quellenforsche Union, as the Germans say. A friend and colleague recently called my attention to a recent edition of one of Gregory of Remini's works. He's a Augustinian friar late 13th century. By three quite respectable scholars, no sources given, no variant readings recorded. And surely, in your googling of Latin texts, you've run across the name Lombard Press, a project of a Loyola Baltimore scholar who is attempting to make accessible online a transcription of any piece of not previously edited medieval philosophy. Again, just the raw text. I found myself rereading recently a wonderful post- apocryphal novel, A Canticle for Libowitz, some of you know. We're in a new order of nuns called Albertines, is devoted to transcribing after the atomic cataclysm, centuries after. Every piece of writing they could get their hands on, even grocery lists, dozen bagels, half pound of locks, until such time as they could recover the ability to decipher and understand them. But of course, if and when the time comes for our civilization to recover its literary past, we will have very little to work with, because, count this as another sad fact, penmanship has disappeared from most school systems across the country. There will no longer be any monoscripto. I thank you. Apologize for ending that such a dark note. Hey, Jim, since this is a day for my father, a lot of what you brought up is, I think everybody knows, Vince was really trying to fight hard to keep humanities. And by the way, you know how important footnotes were to him. Oh, yeah. We all have to step up and fill his void. And if you don't have an answer today, we can hit it in the future. But how do all of us make a difference to keep pushing where he was pushing with the humanities? That's a good question. And I don't have a ready answer. You know, economic forces, that's not like a Marxist, but economic forces are just hard to contend with in our world. And you have some experience of this, too, at CNR. I'm afraid so. Yeah. Yes, it was not replaced. And I retired in 2008. And my line was not replaced. And they offered me the possibility of teaching intro to Latin part-time. And I decided I was going to not contribute to this terrible situation. And I refused. I just thought it was better that they have to face the fact of either keeping the discipline alive or letting it go until some time when we can resuscitate it. So thank you, Jim. And I'm going to sound like Bernie Sanders, and I don't mean this as a political statement, but to reduce the cost of college educations would be a big step in that direction, I think. I have a friend who, a very good friend, who was the chief recruiting officer for AJ Anderson, the accounting firm. And he himself was a history major as an undergraduate. But he told me, quite seriously, that he would not interview anyone who was not a liberal arts major as an undergraduate because Anderson had its own accounting system. And you can learn that from scratch. So he was looking for people who had some imagination. Any other questions? Thank you. Of course, one of the heartening things about the Keneckles for Libowitz is that the people who are the scribes in one generation are revered as saints in future generations. All right, everybody, welcome back to session two, the late morning session. Our first speaker. Actually, maybe we're not ready to start yet. Sorry, you were blocked by Sean Gleason. And I thought, oh, we've lost a speaker. My apologies for that. Our first speaker is, in fact, here hiding behind Sean Gleason. And Rea comes to us from the College of Neuroshell. Welcome, Ann. Good morning. My presentation today, I think I'm close, remembers Vince in three ways. First, as a fellow Fordham University graduate student. Second, as a supporter of my retirement project to make available online teaching, learning, and resource materials about Roman women. And thirdly, as a contributor to the web pages on Junior Territia and Serbia Cornelia Sabina in the online companion to the worlds of Roman women. The title slide of my talk is illustrated by a second century relief of the apotheosis of the Empress Sabina, ascending to Godhead from her funeral pyre. She rests on the back of a bare-breasted winged female holding a torch who has been identified as the personification of Eternitas. This visualization of the transformation of Sabina into diva Augusta seemed a fitting opening to my talk on the metaphorical transcendence of two Roman women. I met, you have a handout, by the way, OK? I'm going to refer to it in a minute. I met Vince in graduate school. We were two of four graduate students in the second cohort of the three-year fellowship program at Fordham University, leading to the PhD in Latin, medieval, and humanistic philology. It was funded by the Title IV National Defense Education Act of 1958, federal legislation passed by Congress and signed into law by President Eisenhower that provided funding to improve American schools and promote post-secondary education. All eight graduates, two Jesuits, one female, five males, completed the requirements for the master's degree. Six earned their PhDs, having written a dissertation under Professor Sesto Prete, a Vatican scripture. At the core of each of our dissertations was a catalog of description of 10 different manuscripts from the Vatican's Barbarini collection. Our catalogs were published by the Biblioteca Vaticana as Codice Barbariniani Latini 1 to 150 in 1968. Degrees in hand, we went on to teach in Midwest and Northeast Catholic institutions. Canisius, the College of Neurochelle, Creighton, Fairfield Loyola, and St. John's. Over the years, Vince and I met at regional and national association classics conferences. We visited each other's campus to lecture and exchanged emails about the profession and our teaching. I elected to speak today about two Roman women for reasons that have little to do with them as individuals and more to do with Vince's interest in slavery, his publications and presentations over the years about Roman and Greek women, and his legacy to companion, which was his critique of the Junia Teretia web page and his commentary on the Serbia Cornelia Sabina Epitaph. And I anticipated. OK, there we go. I prepared this handout about the website, Online Companion to the Worlds of Roman Women, that you can read later at your leisure. The front of the handout introduces the site's mission to make accessible ancient texts and artifacts relating to Roman women and provides a brief guide to the passages and images which are set in the context of worlds. Each world offers a themed essay, Overviewing Women's Experiences Within That World, followed by a list of hyperlinked passages and annotated images illustrating it. Later, I will show you the world of class. I don't know why this is not scrolling up. Let's try that. OK. I will show you the world of class and the world of work in which Junia and Sabina reside. The back of your handout lists some published text collaborations and ideas for teaching strategies using site resources. It concludes with an invitation to you to join community colleagues in further developing this project. In his treatise on the orator dedicated to Brutus, Cicero notes the importance of history and questions the value of an individual life that is not connected to the lives of those who have gone before. In so doing, he defines the plight of Roman women whose exemption as actors from the public sector on the basis of gender guaranteed their omission from the historical record and thus cultural memory. This ensured that, as in life, women divided by differences of class and privilege were united in death by their gender. My paper offers two examples in illustration. Junia, a descendant of a noble family and wife of a political leader and Sabina, a former slave and nurse. Silent and invisible as women, both are dependent on males for their identity and on the vagaries of survival in literature and material culture. Tacitus's passage on Junia tertia is set in the world of class, where women experienced class directly as it qualified them for social privileges and entry into the few religious offices open to them and indirectly as women derived their status from their male kin. Hierarchical in structure, class was based on wealth as well as birth and determined access to privileges and public office which enhanced citizen family life. As sisters, wives, and daughters, elite women shared in the distinctions won by their family. They claimed rank through dress, jewelry, public display, and patronage, carefully guarding the reputations as respectable matronae. Junia is a prime example of a late Republican noble woman. She was a descendant of one of the most famous families in Rome, the Gaines Unia, which traced its origins to Lucius Junius Brutus, the nephew of the seventh and last king of Rome, Tarquinius Superbus, and the first court consul of the Roman Republic. Nevertheless, as with the majority of Roman women whose names have survived, we have no portrait of Junia. Her essay in companion is illustrated with the statue of Fundilia, a wealthy Roman matron of the first century. The links in the essay bring readers to relevant texts, sites, or images of males. Junia's identity was tied to her civic status by her name, a feminized version of her Gaines name. Tertia indicated her birth order. She appears by the cognomant Turtula in three places, Suetonius's Brutus and two letters of Cicero. She is briefly mentioned by Suetonius and Macrobius, who both repeat Cicero's scurrilous pun on her name and the rumor of an affair with Caesar. Plutarch notes her foreknowledge of Cassius' intent to murder Caesar on the Ides of March, the day he fixed for their son's assumption of the Togo warilless. Cicero writes Atticus about Junia's miscarriage and her presence soon after at the conspirator's meeting after Caesar's murder. Tacitus's obituary for Junia, the only woman in his list of the years dead, occurs at the end of book three of his annales. And it is the longest of the tributes. She lived from 73 BCE to 22 CE, silently observing the chaotic end of the republic and uncertain beginnings of the Principate, becoming a widow at age 31 and living her final 64 years as Zinuna Guerra, married to only one man. Tacitus honors her as Junia by her renowned Gaines name, maternal niece of Cato, wife of Cassius, and sister of Brutus. Noting the oddity that Junia's father is not mentioned, Vins wrote to me, the last we hear of Junia's father is the selection of provinces after his consulship in 62 BCE. He is missing from a list of pontificates in Cicero, De Horusbicum responso 12, which dates to 57. So presumably, he was dead by then. From a formal point of view, it's odd that Tacitus mentions Junia's maternal uncle, half brother and husband, but not her father. But relatively early death and failure to accomplish anything significant in his life could explain it. Do you hear Vins' voice? Tacitus finds the final act of Junia's life worthy of note. She wrote the emperor out of her will. He credits Tiberius for nevertheless allowing her a Laudatio in the forum, which Suetonius notes was first given in 69 BCE for a woman, Julia Marae, by her nephew Julius Caesar. He gave another Laudatio there two years later for his wife Cornelia. 20 Gentes marched in the funeral procession with ancestor masks, of which only two are named. Vins' research could find no real connection of the manly e and the quink tea with Junia. Nor could he discover who had arranged for her funeral or the location of her burial, which was most likely in a family tomb. In Odes 1, 4, and 3, 1, Horace offers the platitude that death is the great equalizer, as if in consolation for how greatly gender, class, and wealth circumscribed Roman life. Equal in our mortality, we may be. But as in life, social and economic circumstances determine the rituals and symbols surrounding death. The early second century epitaph for Serbia, Cornelia Sabina, former slave and nurse that Vince contributed to companion in 2010 is situated among the funerary inscriptions in the world of work, where information about occupations of freed women and slaves can be found. Citizen women were expected to work at maintaining the domus and increasing its property by burying and raising children and overseeing family life and goods. Epitaphs for women of the lower classes evidence the variety of work they undertook outside the home to support themselves. As for instance, weavers, seamstresses, bakers, entertainers, food sellers, obstetricians, jewelers, and metal and dye workers. Epigraphy is a valuable source of information about Roman women of all classes who are memorialized in art and text on funerary monuments. In formal original documents, they add breadth, depth, and texture to the literary canon, composed as they are by women and men from all walks of life. The lower classes, slaves, freed, and citizen poor, with few notable exceptions, tended to be buried with far less circumstance than nobles. The more fortunate of them identified on scenery erns or niche covers in columbaria owned by family estates or colegia, or on small plots of land with stones dedicated by loved ones. Sabina's funerary monument disappeared soon after it was discovered. Fortunately, her epitaph was transcribed and published. It might have been carved on a simple tombstone like this one, dedicated to the female soloist Heria Thisby. The figure of the child nurse is a familiar one, found on figurines and biographical sarcophagi, where her image as an older woman and her duties of bathing, feeding, and caring for her charge are generic. An exception are these two panels on a third century provincial altar. The panel on the left is inscribed Severina Nutrics and portrays a young woman laying an infant to rest. The one on the right shows the same woman breast feeding the child. For his article on wet nurses, Keith Bradley examined 69 epitaphs from Rome, dedicated to nurses or by nurses for their nurslings. Among them is Sabina's. His study resulted in valuable evidence about the social background of nurses. Most were slaves or libertae of the dominoes and their nurslings, half of whom belonged to the senatorial or equestrian class. The study confirmed literary testimony that the Nutrics was an intimate member of the household who often formed a close bond with her charge. However, mortality for Roman children was high. About a third of live newborns died within their first year while almost half of all children born died by age 10. The nurse shared in the family's grief. Sabina's epitaph is noteworthy in several ways, not the least of which is that her nursling was born into a distinguished family and became a consul and patron of a municipium. The essay is full of hypotheses and questions in an attempt to tease out information about Sabina's life and experiences. Was she originally the property of the household of senator and consul Publius Matilius Sabinais Nepos? And is that where she got her slave name? Was she part of her mistress' bridal dowry when Matilius married Servius Cornelius Dolabella Petronianus? Why did the dominoes give his filius familias to a wet nurse rather than to his wife to nurse? Did Matilius die in childbirth, which was a common occurrence? Was Sabina her master's concubine? Or did she have a contubernalis relationship with a fellow slave? What became of Sabina's own child? What were her responsibilities when Matilius was handed over to a tutor? Sabina acquired her master's prime nomen and nomen upon manumission. But who was her patron? Father or son? Where and how long did Sabina live after she was freed? Sabina's epitaph not only encourages profitable speculation but it provides valuable data. First, Sabina was at some point, as you can see, formally freed by her master, probably in gratitude for her care and for the survival to adulthood of her nursing. For good services, Nutriques often received gifts of appreciation, a pension of money or property, early manumission, or burial in the family tomb. Second, Sabina served both as wet nurse, mamula, and nurse, Nutriques, a distinction that is rarely clarified in epitaphs. Third, Sabina received the gift of burial from her distinguished nursing. In addition, since her monument was discovered on the Via Ardea Tantina, southwest of Rome, it suggests that Matilianus maintained his childhood nurse in his suburban villa until her death. Both Junia and Sabina, though their lives were embedded in their domestic roles, have survived death by the vagaries of fate and by their own deeds. Junia belonged to a prominent family and lived long enough to make a gesture that merited notice in Tacitus's Anales. Sabina's devotion was repaid by her nursing. And though her physical monument was lost, his lifelong affection for her and gratitude to her are not. In conclusion, I want to express my deep appreciation of Vince for his friendship, for his collegiality, and for the estimable contributions to classical scholarship and our wider community that he made throughout his career. Thank you. Are there any questions for Ann? Laudatio Funabris for Julius Caesar's, I guess we say aunt here in New England, is the first that we have any words surviving from, but there's an earlier one for a woman. The first is 102 BCE. It's Quintus Lutatius Catulus's Laudatio for his mother. And what's interesting is, Cicero is our source for this. She was married twice and her second husband was a member of the Caesar clan. These speeches have all kinds of other agendas among them. What's interesting about Caesar is he does it for an older woman and his very young wife. So I just wanted to mention that. Judy, thank you so much for that. I'm going to get it. I'm going to get the exact citation later. Her son's this very interesting guy. He's our source for all this poetry. So yeah. Just goes to show you. Suetonius is not all that reliable. Luckily, companion is on the internet and I can just go up there and add some information. Thank you so much. Can I ask you a question about that? Actually, we've had a lot of conversations at Fairfield about the digital humanities. And I'm curious as to whether you can shed insight into how we make institutional arrangements that can ensure the permanency of our online resources. In fact, there's what I hear from Iona. We just had to take down a website that we put together for intermediate level Latin learners. We got a grant for it about 20 years ago. We just had to take it down because I understand there were new federal requirements that digital materials on the internet have to be accessible to everyone, including the blind and the deaf. And so there have to be all kinds of accommodations now made on programs that have been long-standing and used for teaching, otherwise they have to be taken down by universities. So yeah. Interesting. Troublesome. But as far as making use of this kind of material, I mean, this is in fact my retirement project to keep this alive and keep it going and we've got a wonderful community of scholars who are contributing to it. That's what you'll see on the backside of the handout. The variety of people from all over, some from Europe, who are in fact making these texts available, as Vince did. I knew nothing about the Sabina Epitaph before he sent it in and I was really just thrilled. And he was invaluable as an editor, an additional editor to the junior site added so much to it, I can't tell you. So the neat thing about it is you can make changes all the time and refresh it and you'll notice if you saw at the bottom of the web pages, they gave the date of original composition and then it's updated in. And of course there are dead links that you have to take charge of. So I don't know, maybe it's the job of those of us who are retired from teaching but not retired from the discipline to sort of take up the banner and push this along. And of course I'm eternally grateful to the College of Neurochelle, which is providing me server space to host my website, so. Are there other questions or comments? Thank you. Our next speaker comes to us from the University of Maryland College Park, Judith Hallett. There's a very long handout that goes along with this paper. Let's take this down, okay? If we can. To honor and celebrate Vincent Rosivox, impressive and distinctive body of research on gender, slavery in both Greco-Roman antiquity and later Connecticut, and Roman comedy of the second century BCE. My paper examines a second century BCE Roman text with unmistakable comedic connections that prescribes the respective roles and responsibilities of a willacus and willaca, male and female members of a slave couple entrusted with overseeing day-to-day operations on a Roman farm. I seek to illuminate the behavioral expectations that this script, The Day Agricultura, an exhaustively detailed prose treatise on farming, articulates for both willacus and willaca by connecting them with episodes attributed to the scriptwriter, the fabled Roman orator, writer, and conservative politician, Marcus Portius Cato, known as Cato the Elder or the Sensor or both. I'll contend that Cato's prescriptions for a willacus and willaca about their sexual conduct as well as their farming tasks relate closely to Cato's own sexual preoccupations and conduct heavily influenced by his economically obsessed agenda. Cato does not explicitly refer to the willacus and willaca as slaves, as a man and woman owned and forced to cohabit, collaborate, and couple with one another by a common master. Yet Cato's brief and belated description of the willaca's duties, this is the beginning of chapter 143, we'll come back to this passage again, strongly implies their slave status. There he addresses the willacus and the second person ordering him see to it that the willaca attend to what are her duties if the master will have given her as a wife to you, be satisfied with her alone. Make sure she is fearful of you. By be satisfied with her alone, Cato presumably means restrict yourself to this woman as a sexual partner. How this prescribed sexual conduct relates to Cato's subsequent injunction that the willacus control his wife through intimidation is uncertain. Indeed, Cato never explicitly discusses the couple's sexual interactions in this treatise either. But on the basis of what I at least have inferred to be the agenda, the ideologically fueled pragmatic ambitions is described to Cato by his early second century CE, Greek biographer Plutarch, and on how slave women figure therein, I maintain that here and in other prescriptive remarks about the willaca, Cato endeavors to impose control over the bodies and sexual activities of all women serving him as willacai so as to achieve maximum economic benefit for himself. This is the number one item on his agenda. I will of course consider resemblances between Cato's pronouncements seeking to control this female sexual activity in part by restricting her sexual knowledge and sentiment voiced by the archaic Greek poets Heziad and Simonides, the former in his own didactic work on agriculture, the works and days which I think Cato alludes to early in this work. Finally, I will reflect briefly on the similarities and differences between the idealized willacus of Cato's script and the comic slave willacus Olympio portrayed by Cato's contemporary Plotus in his final play, The Cassina, which was written in 184 slash 183 BCE, the year of Cato censorship and approximately two decades before the day agricultural tour which is around 160. In this context, I argue that Cato may be critiquing Plotus's portrayal of a sexualized willacus, I contend to, that the Cassina was revived in approximately 160 BCE to take comic aim not only at Cato's late foe, Scipio Africanus, as well as Cato himself for their sexual relationships with young slave girls, but also at Cato's own exploitative notions about the willacus and willacanth. Plutarch's life of the elder Cato harshly criticizes Cato's mistreatment of all his slaves. Plutarch takes particular offense at Cato's physical exploitation of his slaves using them as if they were beasts of burden until they became old and infirm and then judging them useless, selling them off rather than continuing to feed them. Yet Plutarch also singles out Cato's female slaves for special mention each time in the context of female sexual and reproductive activity. First he attests that Cato's first wife, Lasinia, whose family held lofty social rank but limited material resources, not only nursed their baby son herself, but also an often nursed infants produced by her female slaves. Second Plutarch notes Cato's assumption that inflamed sexual passions drove his slaves to misbehave, leading Cato to require his male slaves to engage in sexual relations with his female slaves at a fixed price and have no sexual dealings with any other woman. Third Plutarch relates that after the death of Lasinia, Cato arranged a marriage between his son and the daughter of the illustrious General Lucius Emilius Paulus sharing his home with the newly weds. According to Plutarch, Cato then began to make routine sexual use of a slave girl who secretly visited his bedroom, notwithstanding the close proximity of his young daughter-in-law and their small dwelling. On one occasion, however, when the slave girl headed toward Cato's bedroom in an overly impudent manner, Cato's son indicated his disapproval of their relationship by a bitter facial expression turning away from his father without uttering a word. Cato reacted by approaching one Solonius, a client of lower social status in the forum to inquire about his young daughter's marital prospects. Learning that Solonius had not yet pledged her to a suitable husband, Cato, acknowledging that his own advanced age, rendered him an unlikely prospect, surprisingly and successfully volunteered himself. Cato's son then reacted by confronting Cato about this decision to remarry, asking if his father had saddled him with a stepmother because he had found some fault with him. Cato replied that he judged his son to be faultless but wanted to benefit himself and their country with more sons like him. He did not apparently point out that his new son would now have to share Cato's estate with any sons born from his father's new marriage. Okay, so what are these episodes involving Cato's own dealings with female slaves reveal about what I am terming, Cato's own ideologically fueled and economically obsessed agenda? To account for the nursing by Cato's first wife, of babies born to slave women as well as her own son, Plutarch offers a characteristically sentimental and more moralizing explanation that she aimed to instill in these slave children a feeling of kindred sibling affection toward her sons. Yet the evidence that Plutarch provides about Cato's sexual servicing by a young slave woman and a dwelling he shared with that very son, albeit much later in both their lives, raises the possibility that some of the slave infants Lysinia nursed were actual biological kindred of Cato's son, indeed her son's own half siblings, as well as Cato's own offspring and potentially profitable property. And whatever the paternity of Lysinia's slave nurslings, Cato reaped economic benefits from having her nurse them. The contraceptive properties of breastfeeding would have limited the likelihood of Lysinia's soon becoming pregnant again and of producing more sons like her firstborn to inherit and divide Cato's estate. By having her own offspring nursed by Lysinia, their slave mothers would have more time and energies to expand on their household tasks. And without the contraceptive protections afforded by nursing, they were more likely to become pregnant again, whether by a slave partner or Cato himself and produce more offspring for Cato himself to own and exploit. Cato's stipulation that his male slaves limit their sexual relations to his female slaves at a fixed price, were downed to his economic advantage as well, demanding that these male slaves pay him an amount that he himself determined, reaped immediate financial rewards. The children that these couplings produced belonged to him to exploit physically and to sell when they ceased to be of physical value and money paid Cato by his male slaves for these sexual opportunities was also money not saved to purchase their freedoms, lengthening the time they remained in servitude to him. In considering what Cato says about the Wilica and Wilikus, we do well to keep in mind what Plutarch reports about Cato's interest in slave women, that he employed them for his own sexual gratification and his evidence to remind his much younger son of his own continuing sexual prowess, so as to engage in sexual competition with that son. And then he also exploited them for personal financial gain, first by putting them to use as partners for his male slaves, from whom he demanded a price he set himself, Conduct Dr. Culling, that of the rapacious and exploitative pimps portrayed in plotine comedy, and second by acquiring profitable property in the form of the slave offspring they bore. Cato's sexually and economically grounded investment in female slaves helps elucidate the similarities and dissimilarities and the symmetries and asymmetries between his accounts of what the duties of Wilikus and Wilica entail. Cato does assign some of the same responsibilities to both and imposes some of the same demands on both and even does so in the exact same language. But his expectations of this man and this woman as farm laborers and his servile counterparts of a freeborn married couple diverge in regard to their economic and their sexual conduct. Cato initially mentions the Wilicus at the opening of the day agriculture in chapter two, when detailing what the owner of the farm, the paterfamilias, needs to do upon arriving at the property. He urges that the owner first ascertain what work has been done and so remains to be done, then summon the Wilicus the next day and ask him various questions beginning with what part of the work has been done and what left undone thereby determining the veracity of the Wilicus since the owner should have cleaned this information already. Next Cato advises the farm owner to reserve pressure on the Wilicus if the amount of work does not appear sufficient and if he offers such excuses as six slaves, rainy weather and public work obligations. He then launches into a list of tasks that the Wilicus could have performed on rainy days an admonition that six slaves did not deserve larger food rations and he also enumerates some items that might be sold, items including an old slave and a sickly slave. Chapters three and four offering the owner farm management advice do not mention the Wilicus but Cato devotes all of chapter five to detailing the duties of the Wilicus and at 384 words it is nearly 100 words longer than chapter two describing the obligations of the owner. In two subsequent chapters, these are 10 and 11, enumerating the necessary equipment for an olive yard of 240 Eugora and the vineyard of 100 Eugora respectively, Cato first lists a Wilicus and then a Wilica and then much later in chapter 56, providing food rations for the household, he recommends three measures of wheat for the Wilicus, Wilica, Foreman and Shepherd. Yet the lengthy chapter five detailing what is expected of the Wilicus never mentions the Wilica only much, much later in the final sentence of chapter 142 does Cato add that the Wilicus must know how to use the Wilica and give her orders so that upon the master's arrival the necessary things may be readied and cared for diligently. Chapter 143 on the duties of the Wilica then follows at coincidentally a brief 143 words, it is one quarter the length of chapter five which spells out all the duties of her male partner. Chapter five and I've quoted it in full, warrants are close scrutiny. After issuing the Wilicus orders about his general behavior Cato next specifies how he must treat the slaves. He then states that the Wilicus should not be an ambulator, one who walks around and even off the property and that he must always be sober and that he not go anywhere else to dine. He follows this curious statement by articulating specifically how the Wilicus must serve the interests of his master. Yet then, even more curiously, Cato insists that the Wilicus must have no paracetos which I would translate as a food scrounging hanger on and consult no Harusbex, Algor, Hariolus and Caldeas, fortune teller, prophet, diviner or astrologer. These details immediately evoke plotine comedy which frequently features individuals described by these terms, characterizing them as prone to disrupt social order in and drain resources from urban households. Cato thereby applies that the Wilicus needs to avoid the well-known difficulties such individuals may cause with these terms too. Cato alludes to the comic scenarios as well as the financial costs connected with such chaos creating individuals. Implicitly liking the Wilicus to a fictional literary figure. His next set of orders focus on the Wilicus as an actual physical being and expand upon the earlier injunction that the Wilicus not be one who walks around and off the property. Cato first states that the Wilicus must ensure that he knows how to perform and actually performs all the farms operations but not to the extent that he becomes physically exhausted. In this way, the Wilicus will better learn what the slaves are thinking enabling them to perform their work in better spirits. Cato claims that such knowledge will make the Wilicus less inclined to walk around and more healthy and a happier sleeper. Only after returning to a brief description of what the Wilicus must do does Cato at long last in chapter 143 briefly detail the duties of the Wilica addressing this section to the Wilicus himself underscoring the need of the Wilicus to make use of and give orders to the Wilica. This chapter far briefer than that again about the duties of the Wilicus begins with two admonitions. As we mentioned them earlier, I wanna stress them that if the master has given the Wilica to you as a wife, you should restrict your sexual activities to her exclusively and that you make her fear you. Cato then voices a third admonition attesting to his economic obsessions do not allow her to be overly extravagant, Luxuriosa. While Cato earlier states his expectation that the Wilicus exhibit good management be careful with loans and lending and work on financial records with the master he does not express concerns about the Wilicus's extravagance. As a narrative entity, chapter 143 resembles the chapter on the Wilicus's duties by first prescribing how the Wilica is to behave then enumerating her specific household tasks. Unlike the tasks of the Wilicus hers are centered on the household do not involve interacting with other slaves for the master or entail handling farm finances. These initial prescriptions on how the Wilica is to behave and how they do and do not resemble those for the Wilicus merit close heed. In stating that the Wilica not go anywhere else to dine and not be a woman who walks around and even off the property. We have the feminine and ambulatrix. Cato virtually repeats verbatim his command that the Wilicus, I'll give you the Latin, nace it ambulator, sovrius, cate semper, ad cana necro aot, although without insisting that the Wilica refrain from excessive drink and with the other two prohibitions in reverse order. Like the Wilicus too, the Wilica is enjoined not to perform religious rights. She is however specifically told not to engage in religious worship herself or get others to engage in it for her without the orders of the master or the mistress. And this is actually the sole reference to a Domina, a female in control of slaves and presumably wed to the master in the entire work. And today, agriculture and it requires some explanation. And then Cato then adds, let her remember that the master performs the religious worship for the entire household saying no more about any religious involvements by the Domina. Cato makes no mention here as he does when stipulating what the Wilicus cannot do in dealing with the supernatural, namely of fortune tellers, prophets, diviners or astrologers, nor for that matter of parasites, which associated his Wilicus with Roman literary comic scenarios. Yet an earlier injunction in this passage warrants notice. She must make use of neighboring and other women as little as possible and not have them either in the house or visiting her. To my mind, it associates the Wilica with Greek literary stereotypes of non-slave women, especially members of couples in much earlier poems addressed to men engaged in farming and or preoccupied with financial survival and success. These associations allow us to interpret Cato's unique mention of a Domina as furnishing a positive free born behavioral role model for the Wilica. For this command restricting the contact between the Wilica and other women, especially in our own premises, immediately follows Cato's words on the Wilica, a sole sexual partner of the Wilicus and appears to allude to the knowledge about sexual matters that other women might share with the Wilica. Such knowledge, of course, might encourage her to compare the performance of her male partner unfavorably to that attributed to other men and seek other male partners or to reject her own male partner with a concomitant decrease in the offspring she produces as the master's property. Although Plutarch claims Cato boastfully touted his unfamiliarity with Greek, he also establishes that Cato knew the language and its literary master works well. Consequently, the day agricultura may here be echoing the celebrated poem on farming by the seventh century BCE Hesiod, The Works and Days, along with a slightly later poem invoking it the so-called Essay on Women by Simonides of Amorgos. To be sure, Hesiod and Simonides describe legitimate wives, free women, rather than slaves. Still, they accord high value generally to sexual inexperience and ignorance and condemn women's conversations with other women that share information of a sexual nature. Hesiod, for example, advises his male farmer reader to marry around age 30 to a virgin four years past puberty who will not make him a laughing stock to his neighbors, presumably by engaging in sex with other men. We're telling other women about her husband's sexual failings or both. Simonides, who likens 10 different types of women to different animals and natural elements, only praises the type he calls the bee, a loving wife beside her loving man, mother of illustrious and handsome children, who does not like to sit with other women discussing sex. And it is worth emphasizing that Cato does not represent the will of Ca or, for that matter, the will of Cus as having children. They are not conceptualized as part of her life or her duties, perhaps because he assumes that they would have been removed from her care and her premises and sold as her master's property. Finally, in talking to slaves in the Plowtine audience, Amy Richland comments on Cato's prescriptions for will of Cus and will of Ca observing. The will of Cus, a slave in charge of slaves, is allotted privileges both symbolic and fleshly, a slave wife, the will of Ca, but he is to be obedient to his master just like slaves in Plotus. These strictures give a context to the will of Cus Olympio in Cassana, dominated by his owner, domineering over his rival slave, all expressed in terms of sex. Plotus's sexualization of the will of Cus Olympio and the Cassana evences itself most memorably, I've quoted this for you, in lines 132 through 138, where Olympio fantasizes about a sexual encounter with Cassana, the young slave girl for whom the play is named. But sexual encounters other than exclusive monogamous relations with an ignorant slave wife are denied to Cato's will of Cus. As Plotus wrote the Cassana right before its own death around 20 years before Cato wrote the De Agricultura, Cato may be responding to and critiquing Plotus's sexual comic will of Cus, explaining why he forbids his own will of Cus to associate with comic characters. Furthermore, as I have argued, the Cassano was revived right after Cato wrote the De Agricultura, I have conjectured that Plotus's play, which makes comic capital of a relationship between the recently deceased Poblius Cornelius Scipio Africanus and a slave girl, was chosen for revival at that time because it could also make comic capital of a similar relationship on Cato's part. The reappearance on the Roman stage by Plotus's sexualized and sexually frustrated will of Cus could similarly laugh at the expense of Cato's scripted sexually controlled will of Cus and will of Cus, a couple whose couplings he viewed as subservient to his own economic priorities, thank you. Are there any questions for Judy? Alan, yeah. I'm reminded of Vespasian's relationship with a slave woman to, I'm reminded of Vespasian's relationship with a slave woman, presumably not to have legitimate sons that would divide up the political inheritance. Well, I think it goes back to Euripides Medea. Remember, Jason says, we have such wonderful children of sons already, I wanna produce more. I mean, I think Cato knows a lot of Greek literature cold and I think that may be another place, he got it, but yeah, exactly. Anyone else? Okay, well, thank you all. Thanks very much for your talk and for the really great handout you gave us. I would assume that you are an expert on Cato after this and what I'd like to ask you, something a little different, would you be able to say something about the author of Cato's dystics? No, I'm not an expert. Why we call it Cato's dystics or precepts? Oh, I can't go there at all and in fact, what I'm doing in this paper is engaging into pretty superficial pop psychology and just trying to use what Plutarch tells us in the biography to explain what appeared to me to be some rather, you know, otherwise inexplicable elements in the work and of course I see all these connections with Roman comedy but also with earlier Greek misogynistic literature and I'm more interested in him as a learned literary figure who's not given the credit that he deserves for his fast knowledge of Greek texts. But yeah, no, I can't help you with that but I have always taught the day of agricultural, it's wonderful sections in and about these chants and about the use of urine. It's just an incredible resource and if you like subjunctives and imperatives, I mean, they're everywhere to be found. So yeah, now Cato deserves some more attention but he really was, let's put it this way, economically motivated in his sexual obsessions so we'll leave it at that. Like some other people, you know. I was gonna say, well, aren't we all but then you supplied the other punchline. There are two speakers on today's list whom I know because I asked them to do essentially the impossible and that is to fill in for Vince Rosevac and complete his classes last semester and the first of the speakers is the next one, Sean Gleason, who comes to us immediately from Yale University but much less immediately as one of our own, a Fairfield University alumnus and a former student of Vince. Sean. Thank you, Giovanni. There is a handout with just some of the data I'm gonna go over for ease of reference. So the origins of this talk come from when Vince and I were teaching together this past spring, we were doing Salist and his Catalina and in Catalina 8 there is this strange construction that I had noticed as we were talking in his office one night, asked him about it and he sat back, he got that Vince smile on his face and he goes, I think Salist is being cute here. And we had this idea to run with it and make it into a project which of course, unfortunately did not happen but I have tried to do with it what I hoped Vince and I would have done with it. It may not be exactly how he would have imagined but as Andrew and I were just saying, I did try to capture Vince's skills at doing titles, trying to be a little cute with that too. So where do we start? We start at Catalina 8.5. He is, I'll talk about the broader context in more detail shortly but he's going on about how the Greeks, they were great, sure but their writers were also really good and so they may have been thought to be better and then they actually were because they had good press whereas the Romans, less so. They're, as he says, the Romans are doers, not relators. And so in this passage, what I want to draw attention to is, well, just to give you a quick grammatical refresher because I know how much we all love grammar. Optimus quiscue malebat, each of the best preferred that is our main clause and it takes as a compliment, it's this subordinate clause. Let's see, each of the best preferred that his own well done deeds be praised by others than that he himself should relate theirs. He's talking about the Romans here. And in that clause marked off by brackets, we have the classic accusative and infinitive. We actually have two infinitive clauses. Of course, as the name implies, because linguists are not that creative, there is an infinitive or there are two for each of the clauses, ladare and narare. And the first one, as I put in nice pleasant green, there is our accusative subject, sue a facta. So the well done deeds be praised by others. Great, that's exactly what we would expect. The second one, less so. Here we have ipsa is the subject of narare. Once again, a, an infinitive, but now our subject is nominative. We would expect something like ipsum, but not ipsa. And so this is kind of the starting point of where, why, why should that be that way? The answer I think comes from ancient Greek. In that language, this is a very normal kind of thing to do, that if the subject of the infinitive is the same as the subject of the main clause and the subject of the main clause is nominative, then the subject of the infinitive can be nominative instead of its usual accusative. And that's exactly what we see, the optimist quiz quate. There is our nominative main subject, ipsa refers back to that, and it is nominative as well, seemingly straightforward. Of course, there's a problem here that we linger with obsess over. This is perfectly fine to do in ancient Greek. This is not a Latin thing to do at all. Latin does not generally allow this. So why, why should Salis be able to do it? And what I'd like to, well, before I get to what I am going to propose, there are some possibilities. Here we might have an actual syntactic borrowing from ancient Greek that is a bit of Greek syntax that is now being used in Latin. It's been taken into the language, it's been adopted into the language, and now writers can use it as if it were a natural Latin kind of construction, maybe. Or it could be what we think of as a syntactic calc, that is to say a frozen piece of Greek syntax. The use of Greek that is not really going to be part of the language, these can come in in two different kind of ways. There's often by doing a very literal translation. If you think of the Vulgate in Jerome translates Hebrew into Latin, there are a lot of constructions that are fine in Hebrew that would never be done in Latin. So there's that kind of way, or there is a sort of stylistic effect that this can be used for. And I'm going to go with that second, the stylistic effect, that this is not a syntactic borrowing from ancient Greek. This is not a bit of Greek that's made its way into Latin and become kind of nativized Latin. And I'll show why that's true by contrasting it with something else that's been borrowed from Greek and really does become a productive part of the language. And instead is to elaborate on Vince's, he's being cute, that it's here you stylistically as part of a subtle and very subtle joke. So certain things you just need to understand to get to that point. So these are often called Grysisms when we find Greek in Latin, some maybe there's about a thousand ways to pronounce that I say Grysisms. People say Grykisms, Greekisms, who may take your choice. They often start as literary imitation that the Roman writers are familiar with Greek and they start modeling their work after the Greeks. And they can then become fully integrated into the language. One of the primary criteria and you need for that to happen is that you have to have widespread use of the source language. I don't think that we'd have any debate over that that Greek is, you know, the Romans knew their Greek and that's a big, well, I doubt. But there are two other factors that we need to keep in mind. So one is that Greek borrowing could be facilitated by pre-existing internal Latin features or developments. That's to say there's something just close enough in the Latin that is a short extension to then include the Greek construction as well. Not much of a linguistic leap. That is, these are then called partial Grykisms, I just say they are Latin in some way but they're influenced by Greek rather than say direct Greek or they are direct Greek that's been smoothed into the language by something in Latin. That's one thing we need to keep in mind. The other is that we should ask, does the Greek borrowing offer some real linguistic benefit for Latin? That's to say, by taking the Greek construction into Latin does it kind of increase the expressive capability of the language, allow them to say something in a way they couldn't say before. So that's what we want to decide. So we have to ask, is it productive if we're gonna find out if this Greek Grykism is really now part of Latin? That's to say does it show up across authors, texts, genres? Is it something that there's enough attestation to say that this pretty much looks like they're using it as real Latin? Is there something in Latin that would facilitate as entry into the language? And of course does it add to Latin's expressive toolkit? And so I want to start off as a point of contrast to what's going on in Salis by looking at the impersonal ACI passive. This does come from Greek, it doesn't show up in earlier Latin or if it does in like two places, most likely as a calc but by classical Latin this is very well used and it's contrast with the native Latin personal passive. And what you see there in the impersonal is we have an impersonal verb diketor it is said and then it takes an accusative and infinitive so the subject is accusative, host. Note that host does not agree with diketor, diketor a single host would be accusative. So it is said that they have come, not they are said to have come as opposed to the personal passive where that subject of the infinitive is also the subject of the main verb. So diketor he when he say now he is nominative they diketor is plural, it is the subject of both. So that in three that is the native Latin passive that shows up early and continues on whereas two is something that makes its way in by in the shift from early to classical Latin. So the thing we want to know is it used productively and as all of us have done in some way or another I did track it through as many things as I possibly could. I actually wear reading glasses now I didn't have to do that before graduate school but now I do. You find it across authors, you find it across genres from the early classical into late classical it's all there. I think we can be pretty safe to say that it is productive. Is there something in Latin that confesses that it is borrowing? I'm going to say yes. The ACI even in early Latin shows up with other impersonal verbs they're active not passive but you get things like constavatos when they say it was clear that they'd come. It's probably clear by now I'm using schematic examples just for ease of understanding but these things are tested. So we go from an active of impersonal with an accusative and infinitive it's not much of a leap to then start making that passive it's a small syntactic jump if you want to think of it that way. And does it add to the expressive toolkit of Latin? I'm going to say yes. This is something I've been working on it's covered in part of my dissertation discourse continuity and here we start with the personal passive this will be the point of contrast where you get something like quad we hominibus amatis kind of actis wave et cetera where the topic of the sentence is what's the subject of the relative quad it's the thing that which a household is said to have done with men armed and collected by force this could not be done lawfully. So we get that quad but in it we have the personal passive familia dicheritor fequise where that nominative personal passive we switch from talking about that thing to briefly talking about the familia in order to go back to talking about the thing after we get on the relative clause we have to reassert it with the pronoun id it has to be reintroduced back into the discourse to regain our continuity that was broken by familia. The impersonal you don't have to do that. Once you use the impersonal it allows you to keep talking about the thing that preceded the relative clause without having to reassert it in the discourse so you get something like from Caesar one of these apart which it is said the goals occupy takes its beginning from the river Rhone so even though we've introduced some new information that it's the thing that the goals occupy he can go right back to talking about pars without having to use some sort of pronoun or having to reassert it into the discourse. So what about the nominative and Salazar ipsay there? Is it used productively? No it does not show up in the prose authors really it's limited to the poets that I thought I edited that there is a citation from Kuhnerstegmann apparently the edit didn't take. It shows up in my very loose translation of Dichter Sprock artistic language but that's where we find it. The prose authors really don't use it and this exception being in Salis. Is there something in Latin that would facilitate the barring not really? There are really no other real instances in which you get these subjects of nominative or nominative subjects of infinitives in the same way. Something else should have been added there. There is the historical infinitive you get these main clause nominative subjects of infinitives I would argue that that is actually much more syntactically different than what is going on here that once you have a subordinate relationship with the main clause it's to get from that to this is a much bigger jump than to get from say constabot to diquetor. And so does this offer any sort of linguistic benefit for Latin? Not that I can see. You might argue well maybe the ipsa is nominative to help distinguish it from the other subject of infinitive but note that the different number benefactor is plural. If that were ipsum you couldn't confuse them anyway. So it's not really doing anything there to kind of clear up what he's saying. So just what does that leave us? This is not a real Greek borrowing but more of a Greek calc. Let us say something would have very obviously stood out as Greek and not Latin. At least to those as men used to say who were in the know. But why? And that's where we look to the broader context that I mentioned. He goes on about the exploits of the Athenians as far as I can tell they were great sure but they may have been not all that great. They had good writers, key, that's very key. But for the Roman people there was never this abundance of skilled writers that could basically trump up their exploits, sad. And so as he's saying this that they are not the ones that could do this. Romans could not write like Greeks could write in the middle of all of this, if you look beyond the boldest sentence there is our ipsa, our very Greek construction. So what I would suggest in the use of the grisism here is part of a very subtle joke. While lamenting that Romans never wrote with the skill of Greeks he uses a very marked Greek construction. In other words he's writing just like a Greek. And the use of the nonproductive grisism here would help highlight that for his readers. Again the ones that were in the know. I suggest it fits in with a very general Roman pattern of using their Greek to showcase their education, their social status, how clever they could be. It's been very often said, and I think I might have heard it a hundred times over the course of four years, it sticks in my head now. But there's also the fact that despite our image of these warfaring Romans, they actually were pretty funny people at least to themselves. They're jokes. Sadly don't stand a test of time in a lot of ways, but they did like telling jokes. Mary Beard has recently cataloged this very extensively. And I'd like to close in suggesting that, as they said, this is very subtle, a very subtle joke, easy to miss. The commentaries in Salus don't make mention of it, no one seems to point out that this weird ipsa is there, and yet the manuscripts all seem to agree. There's no record of an ipsum in place anywhere. The manuscripts all have ipsa. And so something to work out in more detail. If we've taken Salus, and I know poor Adrienne in the back heard me say this a lot over the course of the spring, that Salus is deliberately writing in an anti-Sisaronian style. He avoids a lot of the complicated syntax that Cicero makes use of, and which has plagued students from the beginning of time, or at least the beginning of Roman time. And so why would it be anti-Sisaronian? Mary Beard does talk about this. Cicero seemed to develop a reputation in the ancient world as a punster, a jokester. He kind of gets that sort of Winston Churchill reputation that if you think of something funny from the ancient world, yeah, it probably came from Cicero. And so Cicero in some of his works does really kind of pepper you with these things. I can say Cicero is actually kind of funny. He can be sarcastic. There's a line in one of his philosophical texts, which if you can get through the philosophy itself, which God bless you if you can, he starts making reference to these books that he says, you know, they may rightly be called something written in Latin, and I'm sure they are. He goes, but I'm never gonna actually read them because they're awful. But it's cute and he's funny in his own Ciceroanian way. And so I would suggest that Salist maybe with this very, very subtle joke, not only to kind of clue in his fellow readers who are in the know, but also to kind of say that, yeah, I can be funny too, but I don't need to be ha-ha funny the way Cicero has to be. Thank you. Thanks very much. Could you put number one back up there? Oh, of course. Now I remember Catullus IV, the facelous illa poem, uses a real Greek construction, no question about it. But that is the, but I'm wondering whether, Oh, here it is. And you get to Ipsa. What you really have is a kind of apocoinu construction with malebot. And Ipsa is being taken as the subject of malebot. So it has two senses. On the one hand, each one preferred that his deities be narrated by others, but he himself preferred. Oh, interesting. Here it's that way. And that would make it a strain on the Latin. True. Because it has this double sense, but not something uncommon in Latin usage generally. No, that's very true. That's a very interesting point. I'm glad you raised that. It's something I would have to look into further. In general, this mixture of subordinate with matrix or main clauses, it'd be a little out of the ordinary, just from a general syntactic point of view, but not impossible. I would really like to see if there was some sort of other descriptive adjectives that would point to that. It'd be worth looking to see if this shows up in other places. I mean, like I said, in the prose off there's not that much, but it would be something to test to see. And I will look out and look into that. Thank you for the suggestion. Actually, Sulpishos, Mr. Tabolos 313 does this, but I have another suggestion that doesn't preclude anything you've said. And that is that a great place for these floating nominatives, as I call them, is in epic hectic, that telekexameter diction, many, many of them. And they're all sort of loosely appositional to everything else. And it is quite possible, because Salas deliberately uses all of this archaic and epic language, that he may be recalling any assistile and the similar, superficially inexplicable use of all these nominatives. I think there may be some poetic justifications or explanations for all of this, because he's not writing Ciceronian prose style. He has his own very, very distinctive mode of political expression. So looking into that, too, I think it's worth it. Well, no, I think you're absolutely right. And thank you for mentioning it. Yeah, no, because it can be limited to poetic speech, and we all know poetry can break the rules of our language a little more freely than prose can. And there's a kind of liberality that exists in the poetic tradition that he can certainly make use of. I would definitely look into that. Thank you. That Salas was making a joke at Cicero's expense is certainly not to be ruled out. And although it's not certain, but the ultimate joke may have been Salas marrying the wife that Cicero divorced. Of course. Well, yeah, maybe not so subtle. But very true. Thank you, John. Thank you. Thank you everybody. I was remarking before the morning began that one of the strengths of the classical studies program is that our faculty come from a wide range of departments here at the university. And the first of those to speak today from the philosophy department are on Sarah Brill. Thank you all. I realize I am standing between you and lunch. So I will be brief. I did wanna say though that Vin was on the committee that hired me at Fairfield. And one of the things that really struck me throughout our time together was that Vin was someone who really understood that his study of ancient texts was a vehicle for just engagement with the world. And should these two ever compete, it was clear where your loyalty should lie. But he was also a strong advocate of the intersection of these interests that in studying the ancient world, we become better at being just in our own. And so with that in mind, I have that in mind as I talk a little bit about my current project. In a particularly dramatic moment in his politics, Aristotle describes in some detail the systematic erosion of trust, friendship, frank speech, and economic security that are characteristic of a tyranny. And the fear, isolation, paranoia, and poverty that replace them. In Aristotle's analysis, a tyranny thrives off of the dismantling of social bonds, that is the institutions and qualities that allow humans to share their lives with one another. It is this very aspect that assures the instability of the tyranny and that marks out a negative form of what is essential to a recognizably human life. For while the division of labor secures human survival, it is the ability and desire to perform our most cherished tasks with one another to share these aspects of our lives that is essential for the living well at which political life aims. So the project I'm working on right now is entitled Aristotle on the concept of shared life. And it is a study of Aristotle's treatment of this fundamental political phenomenon, the sharing of life in Greek that's sous-en with the sous particle just before the Zen, the infinitive for to live. Both as it sheds light on his analysis of human political life as such and as it illuminates his location of this life within the broader context of his study of living beings. The conventional interpretation of Aristotle's political thought shared by scholars with otherwise widely divergent philosophic interests, that is, I'm thinking here of Martin Heidegger and Terence Irwin, for instance, to people you would not normally put together in a sentence, is that human political community reveals a fundamental division between the realm of the human and the realm of the animal. I'm hoping to challenge this reading of Aristotle by looking at current research on the relationship between Aristotle's zoology and his larger philosophical projects. My central claim is that human political life marks an intensification of animal sociality rather than a radical break from it. That is, we fundamentally misunderstand Aristotle's conception of human political community if we see it as a rejection rather than an expression of human animality. And for this, we require a nuanced detailed analysis of the relation between his zoological work and his political theorizing. Providing such an analysis, in turn, requires us to explore, and in my opinion, critically evaluate, the ancient sources of some of the most vital concepts of contemporary critical theory. So I'd like to say a little bit about that contextualizing piece because if the concepts of biopower and biopolitics enjoy near ubiquity and contemporary theoretical discourses, this is in no small part due to the profound salience of the distinctions that reside at their heart, distinctions between matter and meaning, the biological and the political, the bodily and the discursive, to assessment of contemporary political life. According to one of the most influential political theorists of the past several decades, the Italian political theorist, Giorgio Agamben, this is due in part to the ancient lineage of these distinctions, running Agamben claims through the political thought of Aristotle to the most significant and horrifying events of recent history. It is this lineage that concerns a number of Agamben's critics and for good reason, the division between what Agamben calls mirror or bare or biological life on the one hand and meaningful political discursive life on the other, a division he uses to distinguish between the two ancient Greek words for life, zoe, life itself, and bios manner of life. The division Agamben operates with in distinguishing these two terms are in many ways alien to much of ancient Greek philosophy and literature where we frequently find instead the insistence that life, that zoe grants meaning. When in his metaphysics, for instance, Aristotle treats living being as a paradigm of substance, he places the philosophic investigation of life at the center of what he called first philosophy. For Aristotle, one cannot do metaphysics in any meaningful sense without an inquiry into the nature of living beings. And yet for centuries, Aristotle's zoological works were the least studied texts of his, at least by philosophical standards. Major efforts to correct this oversight have recently been underway and in the past 30 years we've seen a highly successful movement to incorporate these texts into our assessment of Aristotle's logic, metaphysics, and ethics. The work that remains to be done is extending beyond the article length studies that show the deep significance of a zoological perspective in Aristotle's politics to a book length study. The absence of such a study is conspicuous because if living being served as a privileged example of the kind of unity that makes something a substance, this is so because, as Aristotle tells us very clearly in the politics, living being is also a paradigm of rule. So there he will use as an example of the ascendancy of rule in the natural world, the conjunction of soul and body. And it is precisely that conjunction that makes the living being, and he says very clearly, this soul is the natural ruler of the body. And so we can look to the living organism for a paradigm of rule as we're developing a political theory. So I'm hoping to address this intertwining of power and life in Aristotle's thought. And I argue for three interlocked theses. The first is that the capacity to share life and by sharing life there, that's my interpretation of Toe-Suzanne as it functions in the ethics and the politics. Understood, I argue, as the forms of intimacy that derive from the possession of language and the capacity for choice stands as the ground and animating force of human political life. So the notion of sharing life, of sharing in Zoe is at the heart of Aristotle's political theory. Because for Aristotle, the sharing of life includes a specific dynamics of attachment to material things, ideas, and other living beings, and a robust capacity to share affect that is evident across animal species. Aristotle's analysis of human political life includes aspects that not only mark out what he takes to be distinct about human life, but also strives to discern how even these distinctions fall into place in a larger vision of living being. When, for instance, Aristotle compares human mothers and birds on the basis of the intensity of their desire to share in the suffering of their children, or observes that humans in particular follow the tendency held across a broad swath of living beings to privilege members of their own kind. He asserts a continuity between human and non-human animal life. So I trace the way that this term, Suzanne, comes up in Aristotle's account of friendship where it's connected to three other aspects of life also formulated using this sue prefix, the sharing of pleasure and pain, and here we see soon algane, soon edone, the sharing of perception, soon isesis, and in the only two instances in which it appears in all of Aristotle's work, the sharing of philosophy, soon philosophane, as it comes up in once in the Nicomachean Ethics and one in the Udemyan Ethics. So these aspects of sharing, especially this notion of shared perception, bleed into Aristotle's discussion of the life of non-human animals. So it is only on the basis of this continuity between human and non-human animal life that we can clearly see what is peculiar about human political life, namely its exaggeration of animal intimacy. So my second main thesis is that Aristotle conceives of human political life not as operating outside the terms of animal sociality, but as a more extreme form of it. It is the very intensity and endurance of human intimacy that accounts for the fragility of human political life, a fragility that requires its own mode of analysis, a kind of ecology, that Aristotle doesn't extend to other animal habitats. In his analysis of the destabilizing political effects of human acquisitiveness, of overreaching, of a failure to discern what is one's own and what belongs to others, he charts the manner in which the intimacy arising from shared life gives way to contempt. And so I argue for the third thesis that is that Aristotle locates the pathologies of human political life in the very mechanisms of attachment that make it possible. So I'm hoping here to contribute to scholarship in a couple of ways. So in terms of scholarship on Aristotle, I'm hoping to provide a comprehensive account of a central concept in Aristotle's political and ethical thought that simply hasn't received the close attention given to related concepts like happiness, friendship, virtue and character. Because the phenomena of shared life illuminates the political character of human intimacy by locating this intimacy within the context of animal sociality, I'm hoping to make a contribution to the growing body of scholarship on the relation between humans and non-human animals in Aristotle's thought and to the longstanding debate about the extent and nature of Aristotle's anthropocentrism. So I argue that in the zoological texts, Aristotle's anthropocentrism is primarily methodological. That is, the inability to do autopsies on human bodies means that the privileging of the human as a source of knowledge for physical organs is limited. And we see a turn in the zoological works where Aristotle will say specifically, we can't talk about the internal organs of humans in the way that we can about these other animals. So there's this sense in the zoological work that his emphasis on the human is an emphasis on what is most knowable. And the moment that the human becomes less knowable than other animal forms is the moment where we mark a limit of the privileging of the human. And that needs to, I think, be brought into our discussion of the anthropocentrism of its ethical works. But my hope also is that in making a claim about the nature and extent of human animality in Aristotle's thought, I'll be able to contribute a little bit more into the contemporary discussion of what constitutes the uniqueness or lack thereof of the human. Implicit in Aristotle's conception of shared life is a theory of attachment grounded in the material and symbolic conditions of human birth. It is this theory which connects his thinking about a wide variety of human phenomena, familial and civic affection, human vulnerability and political strife, his theory of ownership and proposed legislation for the production of offspring, that is his eugenics legislation, with his account of non-human animal life. Tracing this theory illuminates the zoological context in which Aristotle's account of human intimacy emerges and reveals his relevance to the broad field of theoretical discourses that query the human, including contemporary debates about the evolutionary status of human moral psychology. I'm thinking now of works sparked by theories of empathy in both Franz DeVall and Sarah Blechner Hardy's work. Feminist engagements with nature, animality and materiality along the lines of work by Elizabeth Gross, and efforts to theorize the fate of humanism and the post-human in scholars like Bonnie Honig, Kerry Wolf and Clara Colbrook. Finally, I'm hoping to highlight the reading and, in my opinion, misreading of Aristotle at play in contemporary theorizing about biopolitics. So I'm hoping to contribute to our understanding of the reception and influence of Plato's work, sorry, oops, Aristotle's work, that was book one, in contemporary critical theory, where the stakes of such a study are quite high. So while there's growing recognition of the problematic character of Agamben's reading of Aristotle, there's no book length study of the character of Aristotle's investigation into life and living beings that explicitly corrects this formulation. Instead, Agamben's work continues to exert profound influence over contemporary political theory and its approach to ancient political thought. Given this state of affairs, Agamben's connection to a problematic, if also entrenched interpretation of Aristotle's formulation of the human as a political animal remains unexplored. So I think this oversight is significant for two reasons. First, simply, it treats a contemporary distinction between human and animal as an ancient one, allowing the slippage between them to be overlooked. And that assumption, again, is indicative of a variety of approaches to Aristotle, whether you're coming at it from a kind of traditional analytic Anglo-American approach or a continental philosophical approach. The assumption is that Aristotle presents the animal as an object of critical inquiry and as a kind of repository of human ethical failings. I think this is really a function of a failure to note the distinction in Aristotle's Greek between tozoan, living being, and totherion, beast. And you can see places where totherion in the translating of Aristotle simply isn't marked and it's translated as animal. And what we miss there is much broader recognition of what constitutes living for Aristotle. I mean, a zoan isn't just cattle about whom Aristotle's low opinion is obvious, or humans, but also the divine. And so if we mark this distinction, when Aristotle says that humans are somewhere between beast and God, he's not saying humans are somewhere between animal and divine. He's marking two radical poles of animality, the beastly and the divine, and identifying the human in between them. So it is unnecessary, in light of that paradigm, to posit human rejection of its animality or human possession of logos as a rejection of animality. If animality includes the possession of logos as one of its forms of action or expression. And that's precisely what I think we see in Aristotle. So I'll just conclude them with one sort of other thought about how this is relevant to more contemporary concerns. I think not looking at this covers over Aristotle's contribution to a unique aspect of ancient Greek theorizing about power. So if we follow Michel Foucault, the contemporary model of sovereign power has swung from the right to take life to the biopolitical model of the right to make live. If we follow this sort of structure, there are a number of ancient Greek sources that provide the outline of a model of power as the right to generate life. And this understood in both ancient senses of life, both as the generation of living beings and as the generation of their manner of life. Politics emerges from this understanding as both Plato and Aristotle construit as the art of creating excellent citizens. That both thinkers illustrate this vision of politics with language appropriated from human sexual reproduction serves as an important reminder that one cannot be a student of ancient Greek political thought without also being a student of ancient Greek conceptions of birth and generativity. Thank you. Are there any questions for Sarah? Are they gonna let you off easy? Well, a huge one, but maybe you have a quick answer for it. When you say the divine, what does Aristotle have in mind? Yeah, yeah, I mean, I do not have a quick answer. But I'm thinking in particular of that very famous metaphysics passage where he says that Zoe is the inergea of noose, right? That life is the kind of actualization of thinking. So if we think of noose as a kind of conceptual stand-in for the divine for Aristotle, then what I think he's trying to show us is that life as such tends toward the expression of mindfulness. And we see that in his zoological writing, when he's talking about animals that possess phronosis or could be described as phronimos. Well, he begins with animals that he thinks are stupid. And he describes sheep and oddly goats. What's stupid about them for him is that they require human intervention to remain in a flock, right? Otherwise they would be diffused and spread. And so there, what is phronimos is given in the tight group cohesion of political animals. So phronosis there is not about a kind of pheorane of concepts, but rather a capacity to work together. So I think we would need also then to rethink the relationship between political life and philosophic life as Aristotle posits it, if we adopt this sort of zoological lens. So that's really very inadequate to your wonderful question, but thank you. Very good answer, I thought. Very helpful. Question about autopsy. Yeah. You mentioned dissecting internal organs. Yeah. The animal versus human. Can you say anything about human autopsy or the thinking and then the practice also? Yeah. So it just wasn't done in Greece. You had to go to Egypt to do autopsies to a certain point in time because the religious traditions were just distinct in that way. And so even in the medical texts, like when you look at the Hippocratic Corpus essays like on wounds to the head, these are really regional forms of knowledge. The reason why we can write about wounds to the head is because heads were wounded about, right? So we have access to internal organs not because of a scientific ability to open the body and look at it, but simply on the basis of what one could observe from battlefield or agricultural incident. And so the Hippocratic Corpus itself bears the regional character of this knowledge because we can write about the things that we could see simply from the kinds of wounds that were typical or the kinds of diseases that were happening. Yeah. Thank you. Any other questions? Thank you, Sarah. Lunch is served next door in the Great Hall. You can eat in there. You can come back in here and eat if you would like. I believe it's also nice enough out that if you would like to step out onto the patio with your food, you can eat outside as well. Thank you. Ladies and gentlemen, if we could take our seats and begin the afternoon session. If I could make a brief public service announcement to the speakers, I have been reminded that all of you are being asked to sign media release forms. Many of you have already returned them. Not all of you have. We promise that your remarks will be widely publicized, bring fame and fortune to you and to Fairfield, but only if you sign the forms. Now, we have been waiting for the art historians to come in. We have two of our very own. Very first, Kathy Schwab, Fairfield University. Thank you. Post-lunch humor. A little over one year ago, a group of us here at Fairfield University gathered to discuss the topic of polychromy in ancient art, as well as sculpture in general. In the group, we had a mix of colleagues including Vin Roosevelt representing classical studies. Our conversations centered around what we know today about the use of color in ancient sculpture, as well as inflammatory responses to Sarah Bond's column published earlier that summer, where she discussed assumptions that the exposed marble surface was the original appearance. These assumptions generated misconceptions by the political alt-right who seek white purity. One outcome of that campus discussion was to find more ways to bring polychromy in ancient art into the classroom to educate current and future generations about added color. I thank Becky Sinos for bringing this New Yorker cartoon to my attention last summer. We typically think of black and white photographs of Lincoln, yet the injection of color reminds us that the photographer witnessed a scene in color, even if his camera could not replicate it. This afternoon, I will focus on ancient Greek sculpture, especially the Parthenon. My paper is organized into two sections. The first considers pre-Parthenon examples and new technologies capable of detecting the presence of pigment. The second section will look at a few Parthenon metapes and polychromatic evidence and effects. During a time of experimentation in the 7th and 6th centuries BCE, these terracotta metapes from thermon and the wooden plaques from pizza preserved color. In both cases, the artistic convention of representing gender by color, light for female, dark for male, comes from an already ancient Egyptian tradition. These artistic conventions traveled via trade routes to Minoan and Mycenaean centers. Whether or not the sources for these conventions were understood by the 6th century BCE artists is unknown. Traces of pigment on sculpture, such as those discovered from the Old Athena Temple on the Acropolis, were recorded by artists such as Emile Girardin in the late 19th century. His numerous paintings in watercolor and gouache convey an astonishing clarity and almost tactile quality on paper. He also painted plaster casts, which provide documentation of pigment no longer visible on the original. Over the last two decades, a significant amount of research on polychromy has greatly changed our understanding of the original appearance of Greek and Roman sculpture. The epicenter for these studies is a group called Tracking Color, based in Copenhagen, with an international team contributing research. One member of the group is Vincent Brinkman, who was updated his research through plaster casts at scale, which have been exhibited as gods in color in Europe, Cambridge, Massachusetts, and just last year at the Legion of Honor Museum in San Francisco. A few examples from gods in color illustrate the transformation of marble sculpture into brilliantly colored surfaces. Frasicleia caused a sensation when she was discovered, because so much red paint was preserved. The modern recreation helps us see the brilliant red, along with added gold and silver foil to enhance designs on her dress. In one of his earliest projects, Brinkman used UV lighting on the Sifnian treasury frieze at Delphi. His research revealed not only color, but also painted names labeling the figures. The enduring traces of red, seen in these two examples, has to do with the pigment hematite or red ochre, which is the last to fade, as we will see on the Parthenon. Most of the pedimental sculpture from the Temple of Afaya resides in Munich, and the marble appears unpainted. However, Brinkman's testing reveals a rich combination of colors, as with this archer. Close scrutiny of the helmeted warrior shows a dappled pattern across the helmet and holes at the neckline. The dappled pattern has been recreated by Brinkman at bright. Excavators found locks of hair made of lead, which would have been inserted into these neckline holes. The overall impression captures the impact of polychromatic sculpture. Later in the fifth century, lead locks of hair adorned some figures in the Parthenon south metopes, but by then it was considered old fashioned. The varied palette of colors and the eggina sculptures likely came from these minerals. Only Egyptian blue is a synthetic color, developed by Egyptians millennia earlier. Different binders were used, but we still have much debate about this topic, since they are difficult to detect. Wax, egg yolks, and whites, and olive oil are possibilities. A few selected terms listed here indicate the constantly changing options specialists can use for analysis. In particular, VIL or visible induced luminescence imaging, that's why we say VIL, has made a significant impact in research. It can detect traces of color, especially Egyptian blue, and whether or not the synthetic pigment was used by itself or mixed with other colors to emphasize light and shadow on the carved surface. While we continue to rely on new technologies for the evidence of paint, Greek literature also mentions its presence, as with these two marvelous examples by Euripides. To the ancient Athenian, paint on sculpture was normal and expected. A sculpture was not even considered finished until it was painted. Let's turn to the Athenian acropolis to consider the use of polychromy and the aparthenon metapes, which date to 447 to 442 BCE. Polychromy, as I've said earlier, includes both the addition of pigments and metal to the sculpture. The east metapes have been replaced with cement cast since the 1980s. They appear as small as postage stamps above the columns. In reality, the original metapy panels are quite large, as can be seen in the Acropolis Museum. In the 19th century, artists working in the Beaux Arts style were interested in the polychromatic appearance of the Parthenon. To some extent, the choice of colors is surprisingly accurate. The meander pattern in the painting recalls the ghost patterns left by the painted ornamentation on Parthenon architectural elements at right. The east end of the Parthenon is sharply contrasted in this pair of images. Peter Connelly's color palette is generally accurate, although it is clear he was unable to decide on a consistent background color for the metapes. Digitally based renderings have been explored by the British Museum for South Metapy IV. Starting with a 3D scan, the composition was painted in three hypothetical variations to consider the background color as white, blue, or red. Thanks to more testing in Athens, now we know that the metapy background was red, to which we will return in a moment. This view in the Parthenon gallery directs our attention to a few of the east metapes. This is my office in the summer, by the way. We know the theme, Olympian gods fighting the earth-born giants. The poor state of preservation is due to human hands, violent destruction by anti-pagan forces in the 6th century CE. East metapy IX with the giant fleeing Apollo is unusual because it preserves red paint seen by the unaided eye next to the tail of the lion skin cape worn by the giant. These red traces form the contours of a snake. I think you can see it at the right. Red paint, especially made from hematite or red ochre, retains its color longer than the other pigments. What we do not know is whether or not these red contour lines were underpainting or part of the finished image. The Acropolis Museum has several displays of pigments used in ancient Greek sculpture, including this detail with yellow and red ochres. The museum's goal is to educate visitors about the original vibrant and colorful appearance of the sculptures. The red ochre has been helpful to my research drawings of Parthenon metapes, as I will now show. Helios driving a quadriga in East Metapy XIV rises above Okeanos to begin a new day, while at the same time signaling victory to the Olympian gods. Little remains of the carved figures. However, enough contours and holes for metal attachments at upper left provide essential clues to the composition, which I have reconstructed in upper right. By adding color on paper with pencils and metallic markers, one gains a general impression of the original composition at lower left. Finding a way to show the background as really red, seen in the lower right, came about quite recently through a convergence of ideas and using the app Procreate, which I will show in more detail in a moment. Before leaving the East Metapy XIV, we can see in this diagram how the gilded bronze metal attachments would have appeared across the series. Direct sunlight on these panels lasts until about 11 a.m. every day. Reflected sunlight on the curved metallic surfaces would have continuously changed as the position of the Earth to the Sun changed by the minute. The resulting flickering quality of reflected light would have animated the mythological battle. Turning to the North series, my graphite drawings of North Metapy XIV and XV focus on the pair of compositions that yielded the theme of the North series, the Sacking of Troy. I used graphite with a special mechanical pencil to record details as clearly as possible. The unintended consequence is an emphasis on monochromatic images, not unlike black and white photography, where the focus is on the sculptured surface. Importing two photographs by Socrates Mavromatis into an app on my iPad Pro called Procreate makes it possible to paint the marble. This exciting new approach for adding color will initiate a new series of Metapy drawings or Metapy images. The choice of blue for the cloak is hypothetical, but falls within the limited palette of colors used in the Parthenon Metapies. It is likely that darker color values were used to optically convey the illusion of deeper carving when the reality was low relief. For now, I have intensified color around some contours to suggest deeper carving. Lastly, we can see how the figures in North 25 are sharply set off by the red background. My next step will be to add different colors for the preserved clothing. Once my reconstruction drawings for these Metapies are completed, I can add color to them as well. This use of the app Procreate with an iPad will be incorporated into my capstone seminar on the Parthenon this spring. Students will explore and propose color combinations that we can add to our cast collection web pages. Equally, their sequence of steps to a final proposal can be documented and shared with visitors to our Fairfield University Art Museum complex downstairs as part of a larger effort to bring polychromy back to ancient Greek sculpture. I leave you with some conclusions that help us remember polychromy or color was always part of ancient Greek sculpture. Thank you very much. Any questions for Kathy? You mentioned gilded bronze. Is there any evidence that they ever colored bronze sculpture as well as marble? Yes. Yeah, the Gods and Color exhibition went into this in greater detail. They not only did a almost like a painting on the bronze, they could of course adjust the appearance of it from a sort of a dark gold to a very dark, almost black color. They did a number of finishes to it, including applying a bitumen and asphalt. And it would be like a clear varnish, but they would use that in fact as a way to seal and protect the bronze itself. They also added silver and they added copper to paint the statue. So they thought in terms of a very colorful image. Absolutely. The silver brings up another problem. The Riace warriors, Riacea, his teeth are showing and they were capped with silver. And you look at that and it's been beautifully cleaned by the conservators in the Euphizzi. That's fabulous. What did it look like in antiquity? Over time, the oxidization is gonna make those teeth black, right? So this has become another area of inquiry I've enjoyed exploring and it turns out that a combination, genosis, which is described in Pliny talks about this. It's a combination of beeswax and olive oil heated up and you have to just get the right combination or percents and then you would rub it in to the bronze and it would maintain it. They also used it on marble to protect it. So this was more widespread than maybe we realized. A modern variation of this is used in outdoor bronze sculpture today. And they need to heat it up and really push it into all of the cracks, rubbing it in. And that forms a very good sealant to deal with our weather. The similar, they have, we have some evidence on Delos and I think at Olympia where there were teams of cleaning custodial people whose job it was to maintain the sculpture. So they might go out periodically and clean them up and maybe add a little bit more of this genosis mixture to it. Yeah, that was a long answer, wasn't it? Sorry. If you'll forgive my mineralogical ignorance. I have a question about the ochre and the hematite. I noticed that in one of the screenshots, some of it was sourced to the silver mines at Lorien. I wonder if it is otherwise common enough that they would have had plenty of access to it already or if it is something they would have been getting a lot more of when they're starting to work the silver mines more. Well, I'm assuming that they had more once the silver mines were opened, but it seems to be pretty widespread and known much earlier. So I don't think that was so difficult. Getting malachite, which if it's the right combination of disintegration becomes, I believe, azurite, which is interesting. And then they didn't have on that list that I provided. I don't think had lapis lazuli, but that's of course another. That's a nice, beautiful deep blue and would be quite rare and very expensive to have. I just wonder, I'm sure you thought about this, about the effect of the genosis on the color of the marble that has been painted. It would be shinier, maybe, and would the refraction of light, would it lighten the color? Would it give it a kind of effect that is not so brilliant, but? The best analogy I would use is the ancient technique of encaustic method. So mixing the pigment with hot wax and it gives it a gorgeous, lustrous quality rather than a change in lighter or darker. I think that's the best. And this is what the Egyptians used, well, the Romans used for the Fayum portraits. That's widely used at that time, let's say in the second century of the common era. The encaustic method was wildly popular and widely used. And it's come back as a major medium. What? Yeah, yeah, I mean, it's fascinating how it's come back in, whereas people wouldn't touch it before, yeah. Thank you. Our second art historian in classical studies at Fairfield University is in that rare category of people who are both professors at Fairfield and alumni of Fairfield. Welcome, Maurice Rose. Thank you. Vin had a great interest in polygrammy on ancient sculpture. My topic is gonna be a nice follow up to Kathy's. He emailed me many links to articles on the topic over the years. I'm sure many of you probably also have email folders of links sent by Vin. I'm so glad I was able to participate in the discussion we had here in the museum on the topic last fall. Today I'm going to discuss the use and non-use of color on artwork that replicates or evokes ancient statues. One ancient statue in particular. Color or its lack is an important part of meaning in classical reception. There's been much in popular media the past couple of years on the topic of polygrammy in ancient sculpture. Kathy mentioned the work of Vincent Brinkman. His traveling exhibit has been a crowd pleaser and received a lot of positive publicity. Sarah Bond, also mentioned by Kathy, classicist at University of Iowa, published an essay on color in hyperallergic in June 2017 that was widely publicized. In it she problematized white statues and the notion of whiteness as used by white supremacists today. Much of the publicity was because of the death threats she received from all right members. Some of the popular press makes it seem as if this knowledge that Greek and Roman statues were colorful is a new discovery. Although Brinkman and others, including Kathy, have made it possible to know more than before, polygrammy was not unknown or ignored in past centuries. And here's one of these emails from Vin from last year with the heading Nile Noam Sobsole and it's a quote from Nietzsche that I had never seen before. We should no longer imagine that statues were naked but clothed in a colorful coating. Also in the 19th century, Lawrence Almatatama depicted Phidias, sculptor of the Parthenon, showing his friends, I love this idea, the colorful Parthenon Fries, so he depicts it as painted. Augustus St. Godin's head artist paint his replica of the Parthenon Fries outside his studio in New Hampshire at the turn of the 20th century and a lot of that, you can't really see it that well here, it's fairly faded but there is polygrammy there. And we just saw in Kathy's presentation that both Tsar artists were interested in painted architectural decoration from antiquity. So why then does ancient polygrammy seem like news to so many? One reason is that when Renaissance humanists began collecting and displaying classical sculpture, it looked as it did when it came out of the ground with most of the pigment lost. Public ancient sculptures' colors had long weathered away to be barely visible or invisible to the naked eye. Therefore, Renaissance artists kept their own classicizing statues colorless. In the 18th century, the writings of Johann Joachim Winckelmann were tremendously influential on European artists and audiences. For him, white marble was the epitome of beauty and an essential component of the noble simplicity and quiet grandeur of classical art. Neoclassical art followed his tastes and this was the aesthetic taught at European and American art academies. Plaster cast reproductions of ancient sculpture also played an important role in perpetuating the idea of colorless classical statues. It was common for European and American museums that lacked funds to acquire antiquities to obtain precise plaster facsimiles from molds of ancient statues. These usually were not polychromed, although they were sometimes tinted to look like marble. And unfortunately, our museum is closed today because of staffing issues, but our plaster cast collection has some of these tinted casts. Plaster cast made classical art available for those who could not afford to go on a grand tour and also served as educational tools. They could have more than an educational mission. In the late 19th century, the director of the Carnegie Institute in Pittsburgh, which has an amazing plaster cast collection, said that the display of plaster cast was intended to, quote, silently but surely raise the standard of taste. Cast displays in London and Paris had similar missions. Colorful statues were not considered tasteful. Today I will use the Farnese Hercules as a case study of how contemporary artists and culture have dealt with notions of ancient sculpture and color. The Farnese Hercules has had a rich history of reception since excavated from the Bazz of Caracalla in Rome in 1546, and this is just a drawing, not my own, but of how it may have looked in the Bazz and there were many other statues with it. The original was made in the third century CE of marble. It's 10 and a half feet tall. It's signed by an artist named Gleekon of Athens. Hercules is massively muscular. He is tired, leaning on his club and lion skin. Upon moving around the statue once he's evidence of the labor that caused his fatigue, he is holding the apples of the Hesperides. After the statue's excavation, Cardinal Alessandro Farnese quickly acquired it, hence the title. He displayed it in his palace's portico. Hercules caused a sensation when discovered and exhibited at a time when humanists were seeking answers in classical antiquity and the elite showed their elevated education, wealth and culture by traveling to see classical art and through their own collecting and display of it. Many versions were replicated for various audiences and these are just a couple. So a painting, sort of the greatest hits of Rome on the Grand Tour and we see him here. This is not where he would have been. None of these things are really where they should be. Lord Charles here owned a mini one, probably a souvenir of his own Grand Tour and made sure it was included in his portrait. Farnese Hercules' were not just for the wealthy, they were placed in outdoor civic spaces in Spain on the left and then the one in a Castel bronze, it's 30 feet tall. In the 19th and early 20th centuries, casts of the Farnese Hercules were made and displayed in cast collections and art academies. As you've seen, none of these have naturalistic pigment or coloration as the original would have had when displayed in the baths. Victorian sculptor Richard Westmaccott had some ideas on the subject, showing that prudery was another reason to avoid realistic coloration. In the 21st century, the pigmentless Farnese Hercules continues to be a touchstone for artists and decorators. You can purchase your own for your cool side. This is not my house. The bright white versions made by contemporary manufacturers for the home decorating market aim to relate their environments to perceived ideals of high culture or perhaps it is more about signifying wealth. Vinckelmannian noble simplicity and quiet grandeur seem to have gone out the window, however. I argue that contemporary artist Jeff Koons uses the bright whiteness of his version to comment on ideas of culture and taste. This is his gazing ball Farnese Hercules, which is part of a series completed in 2013. The series comprises large white plaster sculptures that echo well-known classical statues as well as everyday objects. Here's an inflatable snowman on the left made of plaster and then the Farnese Hercules on the right. A blue glass sphere balances upon each statue. Koons says the globes were inspired by those seen on lawns where he grew up in suburban Pennsylvania and were considered kitschy. The everyday objects in Koons' series belong to his usual pop culture subject matter while the classical themes were new to his repertoire. I believe that Koons' combination of elite, that is classical and popular in this series, continues Koons' stated intention of creating art that is accessible to viewers. It also newly stakes a claim for his art within the traditional Western art historical canon of classical nudes. His use of the plaster medium, the bright whiteness of which is heightened by the contrast of the blue of the spheres, directly links the statues to the taste-elevating 19th century casts as well as to cheesy home decor, so both high and low. But Koons' statues are not exact replicas. They have glass spheres attached. Not only do the globes evoke the tacky lawn decor as he has said that he wanted them to do, their blue color and reflective surface are beautiful and capture one's attention and one's image when looking at it. They force the viewer to consider reception. Through her reflection, the viewer becomes an integral, albeit distorted and temporary, part of the artwork. An artist who takes a different approach in terms of color in his reception of the Farnese Hercules is Yinka Shonibare. He's a British Nigerian artist who in his version of famous European statues explores themes of colonialism, globalization, and cultural and national definitions. He makes his statues out of fiberglass and covers them in Dutch batik-printed cotton cloth. His Farnese Hercules has a world globe for a head and a colorful body but colors that bear no relationship to an actual human body. He uses the statue's form and the cloth to prompt the viewer to question notions of African and European identity constructions. Although this type of fabric is assumed by many to be native African because of the bright patterns, again, just sort of an assumption people make about the entire continent, it was first manufactured in Europe to sell in Indonesian markets. After they were rejected in Indonesia, they were sold in Africa. Now the fabrics are mostly produced and exported by a company in Manchester, England. Shonibare buys his in London. Like Coons, he has chosen one of the most famous and most replicated statues of Greco-Roman antiquity as a vehicle of expression and color is a key aspect. So you will probably not find a realistically colored Farnese Hercules inspired statue in a museum or art gallery or McMansion, or at least I have not. However, you find accurate body coloring in versions of the Farnese Hercules made by or for the bodybuilding community. This digital image was made by an amateur bodybuilder who creates avatars for video games. Since the beginning of the sport, bodybuilders have maintained an interest in the Farnese Hercules' relationship to actual human bodies. They have evoked and reproduced the statue in promotional and educational materials. And here we see identifications of every muscle as if his skin has been peeled off and if you go on these bodybuilding discussion boards, they actually discuss like how he wasn't using steroids and how he didn't have energy, muscle building drinks and then someone will always chime in like, but actually he's a statue. But the fact that they're even having these discussions is amazing to figure out the most of this detail. So in conclusion, the bodybuilding related to Farnese Hercules' I propose are actually closest to the original naturalistic colors of the statue because they're also close to the original cultural milieu of the statue. By virtue of its location, its original location in a Roman bath, it is here where athleticism, health and bodily display were paramount and art imitated life. Thank you. Any questions for Maurice? It's very interesting in the middle of the 19th century that the tinted Venus by Gibson plays also with the idea of color exhibited in 1851. Oh, I don't know about that. Yeah, it's a very famous statue amongst the neoclassical category. Gibson was taught by Canova. Okay. And in his unpublished papers in the academy in London, he has excerpts from Greek and Latin literature, quotations that he's found that refer to colored statues that inspired his own version where he colored the hair and the lips and various other bits. And this statue also caused a lot of publicity. Because the omelotatoma painting did too, but I didn't know about the statue. But this predates Wes Macott's quotation there. Excellent. And so it's an interesting moment in this history of colorizing statues, which was a white marble statue, but with bits painted. Great. Thank you. Any other questions? Things I didn't use? I mentioned earlier the two people I tasked with the impossible job of stepping into Vince's classrooms during the spring semester. The second one comes to us today from the CUNY Graduate Center and a new transplant to the region. Indeed, perhaps by virtue of having been exposed to Fairfield this past semester, Mary Jean McNamara. Hello. And thank you very much for having me. I'm not sure. I feel like I'm a Latin one student making that very late connection, but I'm not sure if you had planned to, the topic of my paper has internal vision in it. And I'm sitting there preceded by two art history talks. I'm like, vision, so that was clever. It was clever. I'm sure it was. All right, so like Sean, I can attest that in his last semester, Vince was continuing to look out and think and examine, in the weeks before he died, he was still talking to me about projects that he had that were ongoing, such as research in the area regarding slaves in this area of Connecticut, which his sense of scholarly vitality was present right up to the end. So that was a good example. Alrighty, so I passed out during lunch. I passed out a little handout, and I'll be referring to that. All right, so I met Vince in the middle of the spring of last semester. I came on to help him with his classical myth class. The class was an introduction to classical myth for undergraduates in which the readings included the Iliad, Sophocles' Antigone, Virgil's Aeneid, and Ovid's Menmorfoses. During his lectures, Vince would often return to the question, why did they, the ancient authors, situate their works in the past? The question prompted a variety of answers, including the idea that myth offered a way to view tragic characters more clearly. One character who continually received the attention of the class was Achilles. And I'm thinking of Hercules in terms of this. Characters who lived on, and we forget that they're actually a statue, or that Achilles is actually a creature in myth and not real, because in the discussions that we had, Achilles became very real to everyone. And Vince was responsible for bringing Achilles into the classroom in a way that we could dissect him as if he was alive. So when his name was brought up, he was often invoked as a sort of antihero in comparison to the more noble Aeneas. In response to this characterization, Vince would ask the students why Homer would allow Achilles to sit on the sidelines as the Achaeans waged war with the Trojans? Like the previous question, why did the ancient authors situate their work in the past? This question was one that did not yield an immediate answer. I have continued to ask myself why Homer would allow Achilles to sit on the sidelines while the Achaeans battled to take the city of Troy. I have thought to myself, should Achilles have packed up and returned to Pythia after being humiliated by Agamemnon? Or should he have swallowed his pride and returned to the fold and fought alongside the rest of the Achaeans? Neither of these answers takes into account the personal complexity and political dynamic between Achilles and Agamemnon. As the son of the goddess Thetis, Achilles runs circles around the rest of the Achaeans and is easily recognized as the best warrior. By contrast, Agamemnon quickly establishes himself as the foolish overlord who stupidly insults his best warrior. Achilles, when he takes precise away, I'm sorry, Agamemnon, when he takes precise away from Achilles and forces Achilles to give up the war prize that was given to him by his men. Achilles, his reputation as the best warrior in superiority that he feels with this, he addresses Agamemnon directly and tells him that he must return precise to her father, Crises. Angered by this lack of deference, Agamemnon in return takes, as we know, takes precise away from Achilles. Achilles is stunned by Agamemnon's move and reels and as Homer says, anguish gripped him at the thought of having to surrender his war prize to a man whom he considered to be his inferior and this is handout one. So in the moment that Achilles is stripped of precise, he contemplates killing Agamemnon but is prevented from doing so by Athena and Hera. Athena tells Achilles not to kill Agamemnon and promises him, quote, glittering prizes in return instructing him to, quote, this is a Fagals translation, lash him with threats of the price that he will face and I tell you this and I know it is the truth. One day glittering gifts will lie before you. Achilles relents and for the next nine years he remains at Troy nursing his wounded pride and watching as the Greeks fail to take Troy. The title for my paper, Achilles, internal vision and social isolation leads to the question, does Achilles internal vision lead to his isolation or is Achilles isolated by virtue of the fact that his nature is semi-divine? And what exactly is Achilles internal vision? I will argue that Achilles internal vision comes into focus only by separating himself from the rest of the Greeks. Before Agamemnon humiliates him by taking precise in book one, Achilles stands apart from the rest of the Greeks. This is due to his standing as the best warrior, not because he's outraged at his treatment by Agamemnon which happens after the Greek army has assembled on the shores of Troy. Achilles inherits his position of being separate and not equal as a result of his careful cultivation of the traits that accompany the successful warrior in Archaic Greek, Greece. His father, Palaeus, raised Achilles to become what he is when he arrives at Troy, unmatched in bravery and skill among the Greeks. Tutored by Phoenix, accompanied by Patroclus, supported by his fellow Myrmidons, Achilles stands poised to redeem the promise made to him by his mother Thedas that his life will be short but will achieve chaos. But rather than achieving chaos, his arrival at Troy brings him colos, anger. Achilles' internal vision as the best warrior ready to lead the Greeks to victory is smashed as Agamemnon publicly humiliates him, taking his war prize precise for himself. Nothing in his training to become the best warrior equipped Achilles for this unexpected humiliation. In his study of Greek emotions, David Constan examines the response to anger by two other characters in book one of the Iliad. Constan differentiates between the priest of Apollo, Chrysys, and Apollo himself. When Agamemnon refuses to return Chrysais to her father, Chrysys, Chrysys turns away from Agamemnon with anger in his heart but does not display any anger outwardly. Instead, he walks away along the shore. Apollo, on the other hand, is angry in his heart because he is not being honored and takes the anger out on the Achaeans by sending a plague. Constan's study distills the different approaches to anger one can take depending on one's position. In the case of anger, it is better to be a god than a priest. Aristotle defines anger as the response to a perceived injustice. And scene number two on your handout. In the Greek, it's epi, phynomenae, gar, edikea, e, orge, estin. Aristotle uses the word orge for anger, which manifests with an attendant need to achieve revenge as a way of restoring the social order. In Achilles' case, the desire for revenge never takes place. Or rather, the revenge doesn't take place. Achilles rebukes Agamemnon, calling him, and I have used Robert Fagel's translation, scene number three on your handout. He calls him a staggering drunk with dog eyes and a fallen heart. You'll note the word colos on the handout. And in the handout it says, cai upo lege colos, which means Achilles has not let go of his colos. But I would argue that Achilles is not yet able to let go of his anger because the damage that Agamemnon inflicts by stripping him of his war prize so completely distorts his internal vision that he is not capable of absorbing the insult. And in turn, he's not able to exact revenge. Beneath the colos that Achilles feels is the grief of having lost his honor. To the modern reader, relinquishing a young girl to the commanding officer would seem insulting, but not sufficient to sponsor what has tanned him out to a nine-year exile as fellow Greeks go to their deaths on the Trojan shoreline. By book nine, Achilles' wrath is complicated by a mixture of emotions that overwhelm him. Readers of the Iliad will recall the peace offerings Agamemnon offers to Achilles, which are conveyed to Achilles by the Embassy of Odysseus, Phoenix, and Ajax. Agamemnon offers to let Achilles take his pick of which one of his three daughters he would like to take in marriage. In addition, he offers the seven citadels of Argos and a dowry rich with sheep and cattle. Achilles dismisses them, stating that he has plenty of wealth back home. What he cannot regain is his prize of honor. And this is number four on your handout. In the mind of the Greek warrior, riches were second to honor. In his study of Greek warfare, Hans van Wees states, this is a quote, the heroes had to decide at every turn whether to accept rich gifts in ransom and compensation or reject such offers and fully restore honor by killing their enemies and prisoners. In the idealized world of these epics, men always choose reputable honor above less reputable profit. In her book, Ransom, Revenge, and Heroic Identity in the Iliad, Donna Wilson argues that Achilles wanted Ponia, the penalty, not Aponia ransom. Wilson's argument rests on the belief that Achilles' anger is capable of being resolved. But I think this limits the range of Achilles' emotions to simply colos and does not fully appreciate the damage to what I am calling Achilles' internal vision. Achilles' wrath is secondary to his grief at losing his honor, which is secured not internally but externally. In book 24, Priam stuns Achilles by appearing in the tent on the other side of the enemy camp, on the other side of the enemy lines, begging for the body of his favorite son, Hector. The God, Hermes, accompanies Priam across the battlefield, but even the presence of Hermes cannot guarantee that Priam will be safe. Priam, like Achilles, has been transformed by the war and is no longer the man he once was. His city has been besieged by war and he has lost all 50 of his sons. But, as he tells Achilles, it is because of his favorite son, Hector, that he has come to see Achilles. Escorted by Hermes to the entrance of the tent, Priam enters and makes his way to Achilles, who is flanked by his sentries and attendants. Without a word, Priam clasps Achilles' knees and kisses his hands. Homer reminds us that these hands are the same hands that had, quote, slaughtered Priam's son, many sons in battle. Priam, on the advice of Hermes, reminds Achilles to think of his own father, Paleus, who, like Priam, is old and without a son to protect him. Priam recounts to Achilles that he had lost all 50 of his sons, including, quote, the one you killed the other day defending his fatherland, my Hector. Priam asks Achilles to have pity on him since he has suffered what no one has suffered before. And this is handout number five. He says to him, I put to my lips the hands of the man who killed my son. In this scene, we see the ancient warrior, Priam, reduced to a supplant, surrendering his pride in exchange for the right to bury his son. Priam succeeds in moving Achilles, as Homer tells us. Priam's words stirred within Achilles a deep desire to grieve for his own father. Achilles takes Priam's hands and gently moves him back, we are told. This moment in the narrative causes both men to give way to grief as the two men cry in each other's company. We are told that Priam weeps freely for Hector while Achilles weeps now for his father, now for Patroclus. The scene is one of the more poignant in the Iliad is Achilles and Priam cry over the losses they have suffered. I would argue that Achilles, however, is grieving over his greatest loss, his loss of honor. Admittedly, Achilles, when reminded of his father, misses his father, but Pilius is still alive. In the case of Patroclus, we see Achilles grieving over the loss of Patroclus in book 18 where he throws himself to the ground and tears his hair with his hands. What gives Achilles to give way to grief here in book 24 is seeing Priam as a man who has been stripped of his honor and left unmoored. It is this deeper grief, the loss of honor, that Achilles himself has been unable to assuage in isolation. It is only in the company of a man who in Achilles' termination has suffered what he has suffered, that he can release the grief that has kept him isolated. Priam's visit signals the end of Achilles' isolation. In Priam, Achilles finds solace and an equal. Once both men have, quote, had their fill of tears, Achilles rises up from his seat and again takes Priam's hand and tells him, poor man, how much you've borne, pain to break the spirit. What daring brought you down to the ships all alone to face the glance of the man who killed your sons. You have a heart of iron. Achilles invites Priam to have a seat so that they can put aside their grief. Achilles is charitable to Priam, going so far as to recognize the grief he has brought to the Trojans and Priam in particular saying, quote, here I sit in Troy, far from my fatherland, a grief to you, a grief to all your children. But Priam rejects Achilles' hospitality. The moment of shared grief gives way to anger as Priam reminds Achilles that he has not come to commiserate but to recover his son's body, telling Achilles, don't make me sit on a chair, Achilles, Prince, not while Hector lies uncared for in your camp. This rebuke inflames Achilles. Just a moment ago, Achilles was able to go beyond his own grief and tally the suffering of Priam. In response, the old man has regained his footing and orders Achilles to give him what he demands. It is worth noting that the scene between Achilles and Priam takes place in the company of Achilles' attendance. Achilles is being told what to do by a man who should be displaying deference. Achilles responds to Priam's demand with, quote, a dark glance and tells Priam that he's made up his mind to return Hector but warns Priam. This is hand up number six. Don't anger me now. Don't stir my raging heart still more or under my own roof I may not spare your life, old man, supplient that you are. In response, Priam is terrified by Achilles' display of anger and we are told that he, quote, obeyed the order not to antagonize Achilles. In this instance, Achilles' anger achieves its end. As the social order is restored between the two men. Having put Priam in his place, Achilles rushes out of the tent to prepare Hector's body to be returned to his father. Homer makes a point of mentioning that here, Achilles is not alone but flanked by his two companions, Automadan and Alchemus, who are, quote, steady comrades. I think the presence of Automadan and Alchemus strengthen the idea that Achilles is no longer isolated but has returned to the company of his men with an internal vision of his purpose and place within the Greek army. Thank you. Any questions for Mary Jean? All right, off the hook. Nobody? All right, thank you. All right. Oh, sorry. Our next speaker also comes to us from CUNY Graduate Center and the State College of New York, Jennifer Roberts. I feel like I'm being attacked by this. Okay. Can you hear me? Okay. Well, it's nice to be back in Fairfield. I came here once before to give a talk to Vince's class on feminism and Athenian democracy but it was dark, I didn't get to see much. Certainly never thought I'd be back to Vince's Memorial. The title of my talk, as you know, is Vincent Rosevac and Citizenship. Vince really was a very good citizen. In fact, his good citizenship sometimes drove me to distraction. I'd like to begin with an illustrative anecdote. It's a little bit of a teasing anecdote. My husband said you're going to Connecticut to tease a guy at his memorial but I hope you'll accept the anecdote and the spirit in which it's intended which is very affectionate. The year I think was about 2001. We were in Lubbock, Texas at the meeting of the Association of Ancient Historians. We were sitting at a plastic table in a so-called restaurant and I used the term loosely in the lobby of the La Quinta Inn and the meeting had not yet started and I had ordered, we were sitting at a plastic table among some others in the lobby and I had ordered from one sunny as the waiter's name tag proclaimed, a rare hamburger as is my want. Time passed and sunny materialized with a hamburger that one glance told me had been tarbroil to a fair thee well and I called sunny over and I said sunny I believe I ordered this hamburger rare and sunny said yes ma'am. And that turned out to be one of his big expressions because I said this burger is well done. Sunny also said yes ma'am and in the fullness of time I was able to extract from sunny the fact that because of a recent E. Coli outbreak in the state of Texas it was illegal to serve a rare hamburger. Well, I'm becoming a little grouchy and I point out that this wasn't the time to mention it, the time to mention it was when I ordered the hamburger and Vince of course piously interrupts it and none of this was Sunny's fault and Sunny interrupts no ma'am in a departure from his usual. I point out I rightly that this is every bit Sunny's fault and this was not the time to point out that it was illegal and I'm at this time getting into an argument when all of my colleagues are enjoying their lunch. Vince, I'm giving me no support here, Vince pulls out his wallet and of course offers to pay for the piece of shoe leather with which Sunny has presented me and reiterates the fact that Sunny is completely blameless in this matter. I think it all ended with my ordering a grilled cheese sandwich. By this time, all the other ancient historians have left the restaurant because they've finished their lunches but Vince, ever the good citizen, stays with me patiently while I eat my grilled cheese sandwich. That was Vince to a team. So moving right along, some of you may have seen the movie Green Card with Andy McDowell and Gerard de Pardieu. Andy McDowell, it seems, was a passionate gardener in charge of a lovely roof garden in the building in which he lives. She's told that she must give up this beauty of a duty unless she can show that she is married. Gerard de Pardieu on the other hand is an immigrant who will be deported unless he can produce a wife. You see where this is going. So mutual friends suggest that they marry for form's sake and the priggish Ms. McDowell, a vegan and patron of all manner of healthful and pious causes, finds herself in the pitiable situation of being married to a man who, that's right, cooks with butter. Butter, no less, imagine that. Well, not all societies in all times have practiced the custom of marriage as a route to citizenship. In fact, sometimes things have worked the other way. Consider, for example, the case of a couple who married in the United States in 1974. He was English. She was American. His citizenship remained the same, but she actually lost hers despite the fact that her father was a rather famous and important person in America. In fact, he was President Ulysses S. Grant and to say that her wedding in the White House was the social event of the season would be an understatement. Grant's famous biographer, Bruce Catton, made a point of remarking on Nellie Grant's special place in her father's heart. She was Grant's only daughter and apparently his favorite child as his sons did not fail to remark. No matter, she had forfeited her citizenship by marrying a foreigner. And despite the fact that her marriage proved a failure and she soon returned to the United States to live, she was unable to regain this citizenship until a special act of Congress over 10 years later after her father's death restored it to her. Nellie Grant Sartoris was lucky to have slipped in under the radar of, this is making a sound, do you hear it? Is it bothering you? Oh, it's bothering me, but all right. Nellie was lucky to have slipped in under the radar of Theodore Roosevelt who became President in 1901. Roosevelt had no use for foreign marriages and reserved special contempt for the man whose son is a fool and his daughter a foreign princess. Nellie Grant Sartoris was far from alone for significant periods in American history. Women who married citizens of other nations were immediately stripped of their American citizenship. Oddly enough, this phenomenon did not work both ways. While these women were at once deprived of their citizenship for their unfortunate marital choices, citizenship was often seen as the right of immigrant wives to share automatically with their newly naturalized immigrant husbands without so much as an English language test. This peculiar inconsistency was based not only on generalized patriarchal principles, but also on what one American politician called the redemptive power and sanctity of marriage to an American, which this would be welcomed by immigrants he thought at the same time as it revealed the treasonous ingratitude of women who gave it up to married foreigners. In the words of Candace Bredbenner, author of a wonderful book on this topic entitled A Nationality of Her Own, Women, Marriage and the Law of Citizenship, this is passage A on your handout, deeply ingrained notions about male dominance and female passivity had knit a gendered contradiction into the law of nationality that was not easily unraveled. Marrying an alien could be either an act of disloyalty or one of patriotism depending on the sex and nationality of the actor. Things began to prove quite dicey, of course, after the passage of the 19th Amendment in 1920 since now immigrant wives, some of them with no knowledge of English, could vote while native born American women who had married foreign men could not. Inevitably, this situation raised some eyebrows while its proponents construed it as a welcoming act of chivalry of the sort problems. As you can imagine, some of the opposition to the practice came from native born American women like social worker Helen Panapastazion, a graduate of Brynmore who was outraged that through her marriage to a Greek she had lost her American citizenship while a Greek immigrant woman she had just visited who knew no English and lived secluded from context outside of her Greek American community would soon be exercising civil rights. Presently, Panapastazion wrote in an indignant letter to the National Women's Party in 1921, see passage B on your handout, presently she will be voting an I who have read our literature, imbibed our standards, thrilled with our ideals, I'm an alien. Now, speaking of Greece, I bet you wondered when I was going to get to the Greeks, and here we are. One of the major concerns of American lawmakers about immigration concerned the possibility that women entering the country might be prostitutes. Indeed, an act of Congress passed in 1917 denied that an immigrant woman could piggyback onto her husband's American citizenship if she belonged to a sexually immoral class, i.e. was a prostitute. How could you tell if a woman was a prostitute? It was easy. You check to see if she was Chinese. Naturalized Chinese American men who wanted to bring their Chinese wives into the country were generally assumed by immigration authorities to be involved in nothing more than aiding and abetting the prostitution trade. It is not believed the Secretary of Commerce and Labor Thundered in 1906. This is passage C on your handout. It is not believed that the files of the Bureau of Immigration contain a record of a case of the importation of a wife of a native that is free from at least a strong suspicion that such a wife, if married to the American Chinaman at all, was made a party to such marriage solely for the purpose of evading the exclusion laws and entering this country. Now this, of course, is all very interesting in and of itself, but it becomes even more so when we compare it with attitudes towards gender, sex, and citizenship in ancient Athens. Consider first the notion that the entrance of prostitutes into a country is a bad thing. The Athenians would have found this idea hilarious. How else could one maintain the fabric of society? Without prostitutes, eager young males would surely go about debauching someone's wife or sister or widowed mother or unmarried daughter, such behavior ran the risk of introducing a false heir into a man's household, and his property after his death might wind up passing to the son of some Lout who had seduced his wife. Said Lout, moreover, might well win the key not only to a woman's heart, but also to her family's cupboard, the Athenians thought it far superior to have women underfoot who would give sex in exchange for nice hard cash. But one regard in which they agreed with the Congress of the United States was in their belief that it would be better if such people were not citizens. Welcome residents, yes, a belief in which they differed from our Congress, but not citizens. There was not actually a law, of course, at Athens against citizens becoming prostitutes. Inevitably, some extremely poor women whose fathers could not provide them with dowries did so. But of course, the most visible women in Athens who had sex for money were the resident aliens known as medics. The problem with medic women was that after the pericles and citizenship law of 451.50, a man couldn't marry one and expect his children to be citizens. And he would also have to forfeit the citizenship of his grandchildren and great-grandchildren. And the fact that one couldn't marry a medic and still expect one's children to be citizens reflects something very important about Athenian's attitudes to citizenship. Although Athenian men thought it quite essential to have a nice cadre of sexually available women under foot or under whatever, they were still like other Greeks highly restrictive about their citizenship. For they did think that there was something special about being Athenian that could only be inherited. In this, they were rather more consistent than Americans who go back and forth on immigration issues. Consider American social worker and a Pestazion's, excuse me, Helen Pena Pestazion's criterion for citizenship. She has read the literature of her country, imbibed its standards, and thrilled with its ideals. This she believes entitles her to citizenship in her country. Are these the universally recognized criteria of citizenship? Why are certain people citizens and others not? Traditionally, nations have operated on one of two systems, systems we call by the Latin terms the use solely and the use sanguinis or some combination thereof. The use solely, the law of the soil, defines citizens as anyone born in a given country. We in America operate essentially on the use solely and it is also possible to become an American citizen via immigration. Most European countries operate on a combination of use solely and use sanguinis. Now in the American, excuse me, 21st century, immigration is a hot button issue in many countries. Frightened by the social disruption occasioned by increasing immigration for Muslim countries, a number of European countries are bitterly divided about their previous openness. Apprehension about purported hordes of not so pale, not so Protestant immigrants has helped catapult a madman to the presidency of the United States. It remains to be seen what will happen to citizenship laws in the 21st century. Today, pretty much everyone is a passport citizen as we can say of some place. That is to say, while traveling out of their country, they have the right to identify themselves as citizens of that country and to appeal to the embassy or consulate of that country if they get in trouble. It doesn't mean, of course, that they can really participate in politics or exercise civic rights in their country, particularly if they are female or of a disfavored race or religion. For much of history, though, most people were citizens of nowhere. Consider Renaissance Italy, a place much like ancient Greece in that it was made up of independent city-states. The city-states that made up Renaissance Italy generally had pretty serious qualifications for citizenship in terms of property qualifications. The highest proportion of residents with citizen rights in any Italian state during the Renaissance was probably in the city-state of Bologna and there only 12% of people could vote. And, of course, one dramatic case of people who have been citizens of nowhere is the case of slaves. There were certainly plenty of those in ancient Greece, but what about people who were not slaves? How did they get to be citizens? Classical Athens, like most other states in classical Greece, operated on the basis of the use Sanguinis, the law of the blood. In fact, as we know, the Athenians had a remarkable myth designed to explain their origins, a myth Vince explored in his article, Autochthony and the Athenians, published in classical quarterly in 1987. The word autochthony, of course, means self or same, earth or land, and that the Athenians, believing that they had always lived in their land of Attica, developed a myth suggesting that their ancestor, King Erechtheus, and even more incongruously, possibly they themselves, had literally grown out of the ground and that they had lived in their land of Attica since time immemorial. The myth was a source of tremendous pride, but those outside the charmed circle did not fail to notice the comic potential. Socrates' pupil Antisthenes, Athenian only on his father's side, his mother being Thracian, apparently made fun of the Athenians for puffing themselves up on the basis of being earthborn by saying that they were no better than snails and slugs. For the Athenians, however, the myth served a variety of purposes. The autochthony myth adds punch to a common Greek practice of exclusionary citizenship. In fact, other Poles were equally jealous of their citizenship, only in the Hellenistic period that followed on the classical age did some states, hard up financially, begin to admit limited numbers of other Greeks, in most cases in exchange for cash. And in the case of Sparta, only when King Cleomenes III finally recognized that the size of the citizen body had become so perilously low that desperate measures needed to be taken. But the autochthony myth, affirming as it did, both the uniqueness and the uniformity of the Athenians reinforced the need to restrict the citizen body to descendants of the original earthborn ones. In their common descent, the Athenians saw the uniformity that fostered concord and set them apart from less homogeneous states. Compare Alcibiades' characterization of the Sicilians in the Sixth Book of Thucydides' History, which was passage D on your handout, where he seeks to push the Athenians into war on the grounds that the cities of Sicily were populated by a motley rabble who easily accept comings and goings into the citizen body. Since people there don't feel like the cities in which they live are their homeland, he says they don't provide themselves with weaponry or even improve their farms if they live in the country. They keep on hand whatever they make from the public treasury, knowing that if they fail at petty foggy or political intrigue, they can go and live somewhere else. It isn't likely, he claims, that such a disorganized group will ever be of one mind or unite for action. The Athenians, being in their minds, Autoclinus, perceived themselves quite differently. The differences underlined in Plato's Menexanus. Their Socrates delivers a funeral oration for those who have recently died in war, that he claims was written for him by Pericles' common law wife, Aspasia, herself, of course, a medic. It is ironic, therefore, that it should include a claim for the virtues of Autoclinus. Now, as regards nobility of birth, the speaker declares, see passage E on your handout. Their first claim to it is this, that the ancestors of these men were not of immigrant stock, nor did the origins of these their sons identify them as strangers in the land sprung from immigrants, but rather native sprung from the very soil, living and dwelling in their own true fatherland. Nurtured not, like other people, by a stepmother, but by that mother country in which they lived, which bore them, which reared them, and which now, at their death, receives them again to rest in their own abodes. It is most fitting that we should celebrate that mother herself for in doing this, we also also celebrate the noble birth of those heroes. Their noble birth, their Eugenia. As Vince has written in the final passage on your handout, the concept of autochthony thus claims that even the lowliest citizen is superior of noble birth than any non-citizen. This claim is especially significant in a society like that at Athens, where a large number of the inhabitants were not citizens and where some, at least some of the non-citizens had considerably greater wealth and social prestige than the large majority of the citizens. The concept of autochthony flatters the citizens and helps to justify their unwillingness to extend citizenship to the strangers in their midst. For the Athenians, autochthony was designed to explain not only why immigrants could not share in the citizenship, but also the equality of the existing citizens. It would appear that the autochthony myth was a specifically democratic myth emphasizing the equality of all the earthborn, as well as proclaiming the superiority of Athens to other states that had harbored more mixed populations. It ministered, in other words, to the citizen's status needs. The exclusionary citizenship law of 450 was quite possibly of a democratic nature as well, since most men who married non-Athenian women were probably aristocrats who wanted to make exactly the kind of high-tone alliances that had turned off Teddy Roosevelt and his friends. As Vince was quick to point out, the noble lie Plato puts forward in the Republic as a means of persuading the populace of his ideal state that the various classes that make up the citizenry were in reality molded prenatally within the earth, their mother, so that they should regard their fellow citizens as their brothers and sisters, also played off the entrenched autochthony myth. And as always in Athenian democratic political theory, Vince wrote, equality levels up, not down. When all citizens are born from a common parent, all are equally noble and all are equally entitled to the claims of Eugenia vis-a-vis non-citizens. Americans can make no claim of having been in this land since time immemorial. Those who have been here for an extraordinary long time have been terribly mistreated and even they came over from Asia. The presidency media ancestors came from Germany and Scotland. I don't know about yours. Mine came from Scotland, England, and Ukraine. But the question of who gets to live where and why has been a hot button issue throughout history and I've explored today some of the stranger ways it has been regarded. Thank you. Questions for Jen, yes. That was wonderful, Jenny. I have been struck, however, by Pericles' funeral iteration in which he doesn't mention autochthony. I know, isn't it? His criterion for membership of the community is cultural. He could have been citing that those who belong and are Athenians are those who have read our literature and bribed our standards and thrilled with our ideals. And I've suspected that the reason, he says this at the funeral oration, is that medics had been fighting alongside the Athenians in the war. And while they weren't being buried in the communal buried ground, they were out there in the audience listening. And if you want to retain the patriotism and loyalty of these people who are dying to defend Athens, maybe even some of them fighting against their native cities abroad, you had better have a different criterion for inclusion than autochthony. That's an excellent idea. I had often asked myself about autochthony without being mentioned in the funeral oration, whereas in the Meneccanus funeral oration it is, but the Meneccanus funeral oration was never given. So, yeah, no, that's a very interesting observation. And there certainly were medics fighting at that time. So that's an excellent observation. Yeah, Judy. I've just been doing some research into my own family. Oh, sorry. I've just been doing some research into my own family. And my grandfather came here in 1905 and he came from England and he had been, he was from Eastern Europe originally, but he had papers, he became a citizen, he had passport and everything. My grandmother came earlier and she was a dreamer. Her parents brought her when she was a teenager and she only was able to become a citizen through marriage to my grandfather, although she'd been here first and she was never able to get a US passport. She was able to vote. Yes, and that's what's happened to the dreamers now. I mean, they can't leave when they get here. And there were many minor children who came. And the other thing about her is she didn't have a birth certificate because only the boys in these Jewish communities had records of when they were born. So her parents kind of fudged on her age and she was never able to leave the US. So that's something that, you know, it's the same now, but yeah, what does it mean to be a citizen? And in her case, she was stuck here. She couldn't get out. But she could vote? Yeah. She could vote? Yes, after 1920, she could vote. But she couldn't leave. And come back. I'm sure they liked her so much. I'm okay. I'm sorry. There was one question I was afraid of and so I looked it up and found that the answer wasn't as easily found as I thought. The answer to the question I was afraid of was it was either Victor Metcalf or Oscar Strauss. The question I was afraid of was one of the quotations is attributed to the United States Secretary of Commerce and Labor in 1906 and I was afraid someone would ask, but who was that? And the answer is, well, at the beginning, it was Victor H. Metcalf in California and at the end it was Oscar S. Strauss of New York. But since I don't know exactly what the date is of his comments, I don't know whether it was Metcalf or Strauss, but I was afraid somebody would ask so I looked it up and wrote it down. I would think it would be Metcalf. Because of his ad-edities? Yeah. Yeah. It may very well have been Metcalf. My bed is on Metcalf, but I can't. I didn't have enough time to do the research to prove it. It was just last night I thought, oh my God, what if somebody asks? Yeah. Yeah. It's ground. It's worth throwing into the mix of all of this, the Isotelace in Athens. The individuals who had quasi-rights to behave in ways a little bit like citizens but didn't actually become citizens. Obviously, non-Athenians could become citizens through grants of citizenship, but there was this important category of Isotelace in Athens who may or may not have been temporary, but it's an important community that differentiates these gradations of foreignness and non-Athenianness. Any other questions? Thank you. Thank you. This concludes the first of our afternoon sessions. We have a coffee break now, and we will meet back in here at 3.20. Thank you. I mentioned earlier the help that we had from Alan Ward putting this event together. And to a certain degree, that's due to the fact that so many of the speakers are people who knew Vince Roosevelt personally, who were part of his regional and tri-state intellectual and social network. The one exception was really very striking to me. I got an email at a certain point in the planning process from somebody who said, you absolutely have to have somebody speak on Vince Roosevelt's book about public sacrifice in Athens in the fourth century. You simply can't have a gathering commemorating this man's work without dealing with his most important product, this book. And I said, you know what? You're absolutely right. Welcome to Fairfield University. So without any further ado, Fred Naden from UNC. Accenture commemoration of the days when Vince began in this business trap day stuck like a pig or a sacrificial animal. This talk is about Vince's monograph, the system of public sacrifice. The study of sacrifice often thought the most important Greek religious ritual and surely the most important, if defined broadly, to include various offerings and not narrowly, to include only domesticated animals has an odd intellectual history. The impression scholarly literature gives us is that classicists and social scientists have studied it for over a century going back to Hubert and Maus, Roberts and Smith and Durkan. But this impression covered many gaps. The biggest gap was that the set of sacrifices, we know the most about sacrifices made by the Athenian polis under the democracy had never been the subject of a monographic treatment as late as the year 1994. There have been books of plenty on Greek sacrifice, animal sacrifice, the origin of sacrifice, the meaning of sacrifice, the extent of sacrifice and the historiography of sacrifice, but no book on this obvious central topic. Sacrifice under the Athenian polis was a likely topic for many reasons. More extant inscriptions describe it, or at least touch on it, than in any other Greek religious ritual anywhere. I would estimate about 1,000, but I should admit that I gave up my attempt to count all of them. Some of these inscriptions describe it at length, a rare thing in the genre of evidence. Hundreds of Athenian vase paintings allude to it, even if they do not describe it, and dozens and dozens of examples of it appear in Athenian authors of the classical period. I have written overly long footnotes attempting to compile these. No one has even tried to list all of this taken together, all of the Greek ritual database being built by Jean-Mathieu Carbonne and Valérie Plain d'Alphonse is attempting the task. A likely topic, but hard to isolate. To achieve that required organizing, or rather I should say ignoring, much scholarly discussion of Greek and other literary sources as opposed to epigraphical ones. In the first phase of studies in the late 19th century, scholars like Robertson Smith and Durkheim made very free chronological use of these sources. For example, Homeric accounts of sacrifice were thought to hold good for all of Greek history. The most important innovation of this early period was the introduction of anthropological accounts drawn from all over the world. Durkheim, for example, thought the right of sacrifice promoted solidarity, both in ancient Athens and among Australian Aborigines. In the 20th century, tragedy became more noticeable in the discussion of sources, culminating perhaps in Froma Zeitlin's article on what she called perverted sacrifices. Her choice of words, although notions that the Agamemnon of Escalus in particular presented some sort of mistaken or wicked right, went back to Frankel and de Vilum of its Molendorf. From this perspective, sacrifice was not akin to offerings as I previously suggested, but to murder. If that was true, it followed that the Greek Poles who performed many civic sacrifices over hundreds of years were in some ways committing mass murder. And from this conclusion it followed that they were either acting instinctively so that these acts of murder did not seem to be criminal. Or were only acts of justifiable killing. On the other hand, perhaps they were acting in bad faith. From this reasoning, descended the two main theories of Greek sacrifice of the late 20th century, those of Walter Berger who thought that the Greeks were acting on primordial instincts, and of the French équipe of Vernand and Etienne, who preferred bad faith. In drawing his distinction, I simplify somewhat, for Berger did allow that the Greeks would overcome any feeling of guilt by supposing that sacrificial animals consented to being killed. And the two French authors conceded that the ritual sacrifice channeled primordial instincts. Crucial to both schools was that by drawing inspiration from tragedy, they were seeing sacrifices in the light of this genre rather than of other such as epigraphy. In other words, they were overemphasizing one kind of verse at the expense of several kinds of prose. Inscriptions were the alternative, but difficult to access. In the era before word searches, scholars depended on inadequate indices and on chapter and section headings in tomes starting with inscriptione's Greikai. To track every instance of acts of sacrifice in any volume of IG was impossible. To track a large number was cumbersome. To track sacrificial preparations was also difficult. Finances were spotally reported, as was information on animals. Inscriptions had their own less lurid biases. For example, they said more about the epitheti he-or-tai, regular civic sacrifices added to the sacrificial calendar by Polish decree. And less about traditional sacrifices, which in practice meant sacrifices added to the calendar before records began. It was impossible to know when this was. And so it was impossible to perfectly segregate these two categories. And that in turn made it dangerous to contrast them. And the discouraging conclusion to decide how typical or atypical information about the added sacrifices was. I am speaking, of course, of Athenian sacrifices. Inscriptional evidence for civic sacrifices in other cities was minimal when Rosovac said to work. And in the last 25 years, it has increased indeed, but mostly for Asia Minor and the Hellenistic period. For Athenian classical civic sacrifices, there was thus no comprandom. There was also no comprandom for sacrificing a democratic polis. The Hellenistic evidence included many democracies, but not democracies that financed civic sacrifices without any large royal or private subventions. Although Athens was far from the only democracy, it was for sacrifice the only well-known self-funded one, a feature remarked on by the old oligarch and a feature that was one of his chief complaints against the new political system. All through the 20th century, scholars did mine these epigraphical documents for various sorts of information. My point is that they did not study them in their own right as a type of evidence that might be central for their work. In other words, facts were extracted, but methodological problems tended to be ignored, which was the reverse of the situation for literary sources in regard to which facts were contested and methodological problems were tackled by importing categories and schemes borrowed from anthropology and sociology. The chief item of epigraphical evidence for civic sacrifice was the set of evidence or documents that we summarize as the Dermaticon accounts. These are reports of the value of the hides of sacrificial animals sold by Athenian shrines over the course of some months. They are not reports of the number of animals slain exactly. They are just reports of cattle hides. They are reports made by communal shrines as opposed to reports made by the shrines of others such as religious associations or chapels established by private foundations. Another probable flaw is that they are likely reports about animals in the added festivals. In other words, the festivals established by public decree as opposed to the older traditional sacrifices. To take this difficult evidence, to combine it with other scattered evidence for the prices of sacrificial species and to combine these two as a formidable task, and Rasevac was the first ever to attempt it. His work, The System of Public Sacrifice in 4th Century Athens appeared in 1994 as number 34 in a series called American Classical Studies, published by the American Philological Association as it was then called through the scholar's press. This 171 page monograph had five chapters, an introduction next to the frequency of sacrifice, third, supplying the victims, fourth, acquiring the victims, and fifth, the conclusion. The venue and contents are revealing. Although this work was one of major importance, no university press published it. Down to 1994, very few monographs on Greek religion had ever appeared from North American university presses. Germany was the chief home for such publications. Rasevac was Americanizing a continental genre. In this regard, scholars of the next generation, such as myself, owe him an obvious debt. Without his book on sacrifice, I find it harder to imagine Oxford publishing my book on the same subject some 20 years later. Indeed, in today's circumstances, Oxford or Cambridge would likely have published the book. Oxford, in fact, published the paperback reprint. If Rasevac was a forerunner and an adapter, he was also where contents were concerned an innovator. Let me give the quintessence of the titles of his chapters. Amass, buy, or donate, sacrificial animals, and how often that is the gist of it. Notice how much he is daring or presuming to omit. He does not ask why kill them. He does not ask how or why to justify doing it. He does not ask what happens as a result. He says nothing about the role of any god or any priest. In spite of his book's title, he says nothing about Athens in particular as opposed to Athens as a serviceable stand-in for other Greek cities about which we know far less. He has written a book about animals. To my knowledge, the first book ever written by a modern scholar about ancient Greek animals as opposed to books about agriculture, hunting, and sacrifice that merely mention animals. In this respect, he influenced writers we might not think of as religios historical such as Jeremy McInerney, author of The Cattle of the Sun, cows, and culture in the world of the ancient Greeks. In both an ordinary and an elevated sense, his book is materialist. It is materialist in an ordinary or practical sense in that it deals with the business of conducting animal sacrifices as opposed to interpreting or contextualizing these rituals. It is a work of economic history, not sociology or anthropology. As was fashionable 20 years ago, or of cultural history or religious psychology as is fashionable now. It is materialist in an elevated sense because it presents the thesis that civic sacrifice is as the title says, a system. And it's thus on a par with and may interact with other social systems such as the sociopolitical systems of tribes and deems on the one hand and fractures and clans on the other. Two unobtrusive items in the bibliography may reflect this aspect of the book. Setting a precedent for treating sacrifice in a materialist but practical sense is Michael Jamison's 1988 article, Sacrifice and Animal Husbandry in Classical Greece. In response to Jamison, Rassovak effectively says, well done, you have husbanded the animals, what happens next? Setting a precedent for treating sacrifice as a civic system within a set of systems is Paul Vain's 1976 book, Le Pen et le Sioc. In response to Vain, who deals mainly with Rome, Rassovak effectively says, add Athens and democracy to Rome and empire and then what? I call these items unintrusive because the bibliography otherwise consists of new and old items of specialized kinds. These two items attest to an intellectual orientation rather than to specialized expertise. Among the reviewers of the book, I'll review Bowdoin and observe that it was unique in blending Athenian religion with the agrarian economy. And Robert Parker said it had only one defect as opposed to certain arguable terms and numbers and this defect was that it lacked an index. Several reviewers praised the book for presenting estimates in the form of ranges, a precaution that was less common then than now. Unsurprisingly, the reviewers did not foresee the chief influence the book would have, which was to raise practical questions about the increasingly popular view that the citizens of Athens shared sacrificial meals with one another. Burkart introduced this view just as he introduced the notion of animal murder. And soon afterwards, Verneau and de Chien advanced it in a form that is now generally accepted. Rassovak put it to the practical test. How many animals, how often, at what cost? He anticipated other critics of this view by more than a decade. The first I would mention is Steliger or Goudy whose attack on Verneau and de Chien on this very matter appeared in 2006. Rassovak began by estimating how often the Athenians performed civic sacrifices, a basic question never asked before. He relied mainly on the surviving sacrificial calendars, mostly published between 1938 and 1983. His was the first attempt to count the sacrificial acts reported in these documents. No extensive new calendars have appeared since 1994 and so his scrupulous attempt remains the benchmark. He reached a conclusion that in my opinion, the defenders of Verneau and de Chien have ignored or minimized, which was that the typical public sacrifice offered far too little meat for many or most people to attend and eat. This was true of deemed sacrifices meant for several hundred, just as it was of Polish sacrifices, meant for some number of thousands of citizens. In this regard, citizen participation in sacrifices was symbolic or virtual without being infrequent or insignificant. Feeding massive numbers was a Hellenistic and Roman phenomenon. This conclusion influenced, of course, the title of my monograph, Smoke Signals for the Gods, Greek sacrifice from the archaic through Roman periods. It was from reading Rassovak that I reached the conclusion sacrifice produced more smoke than it did meat. Regarding the supply of sacrificial animals, Rassovak mostly followed Jameson. Jameson supplied the assumption that there were no public herds of sacrificial animals and that the Greeks did not slaughter the four main sacrificial species, cattle, sheep, pigs, and goats, without sacrificing them. Rassovak introduced the universally accepted conclusion that the Poles dominated the market for cattle and that Poles subdivisions dominated the markets for the other three species. Regarding the total number of victims, Rassovak had to rely on the dramatic on accounts. I have mentioned the drawbacks of this source of evidence. He also turned to it for another, even more difficult purpose, estimating sacrificial expenses. In recent years, moreover, emphasis has shifted away from the sacrifice of cattle and sheep to the sacrifice of many other species attested in newly published zoological reports from Greek shrines, especially by Gunalakroth. Besides being difficult to estimate, in other words, estimating the number and cost of cattle has thus proven less important than it seemed to be a generation ago. In regard to this question of the numbers and the costs and how they can be deduced from the dramatic on accounts mainly, I did argue that Rassovak was overestimating somewhat and Robert Parker drew the same conclusion concerning deemed sacrifices in particular. Yet Rassovak did not generally err on the side of exaggeration or guesswork. For example, he used well-founded cautious figures for the number of Athenian citizens and reticents. Published views differing from his own were few at the time, but he was scrupulous in citing them. He never cited others in order to prove them wrong, as opposed to citing them in order to give the reader a choice. Aside from its scholarly value, this book has a unique value in teaching Greek religion to graduate students. It is by far the best work on Greek religion in English that has the length and form of an American or British as opposed to continental dissertation. When I expressed interest and sacrifice to my Dr. Vater, Albert Henrichs, he warned me off, saying the subject was too difficult for graduate students. And then he mentioned Vince's book and he said, you'd have to do something like that. I avoided the subject for another 10 years. When I returned to it, I found a foundation on which to build. I did not need to come through additional publications of his such as articles or chapters in collected volumes or on the other hand scoop out relevant parts of some larger work. The system of public sacrifice is a monograph in the best sense, a tidy definitive work that challenges later writers to find new definitions and evidence and provides readers with a signpost. If a writer on this subject does not cite public sacrifice, his own writing is headed towards oblivion and not towards a place besides this short but not slight book. Thank you. Do we have any questions for Fred? Any comments? I'm gonna have to ask you something just for my own personal benefit because I've had this argument with Vince many times about the role of public funding in the transition from the fifth century to the fourth century. And he was always very insistent that the tributes from the Athenian Empire were not in fact huge contributions to the Athenian fiscal system in the fifth century. So presumably then there's no impact on the loss of that structure going into the fourth century. This is purely a question of an ignorant Roman historian asking you, do you think there's a major transition in terms of the fiscal and funding schemes going from the fourth, fifth into the period of his book, fourth century? For religion, it made no difference. And the reason is that the number of sacrifices goes on more or less unchanged into the fourth, the extent, the character, very much the same. And yet that income's gone. The most you could argue from the religious evidence is that to keep their religion going, they let other things slip. Domocides, of course, makes that charge in other connections. But no, they didn't need an empire to honor the gods extensively, repeatedly, lavishly. In a fashion, the Spartans thought was positively challenging. There's a sub-tradition of Spartans going to Delphi, there are two cases. And saying, is it all right if I just sacrifice a one wretched little animal, even a lame one? And of course, Delphi says, in effect, no, you don't have to be like the Athenians. And sacrifice 500 goats. No, no, one will do even if lame. That's quite all right. Go on with your traditional sacrifices. In implicit contrast to the added ones, which we know so much about in the Athenian case through the inscriptional evidence. Fred, I was struck by your comment that, and you must be right, of course, that the meat produced by these sacrifices would only feed a very limited number of citizens. That is the fact, but the perception in Athens seems to have been different. If I'm not mistaken, the old oligarch comments that the rich pay for all this and the people eat the meat. So there must have been this perception that indeed this meat that was produced at the sacrifices was an essential privilege of the democratic masses and it counted for something. I agree, as a privilege, it does count. It's significant. The fact that you have access to it is enough to satisfy you since most of the time. Like you're simply too busy to go, I'm saying. So that an amount of meat that can feed a fraction can create the impression that the population is being served and that, virtually speaking, they are participating as a whole. I quite agree with this. Psychologically, Vernon de Chen are right. They're just wrong astronomically. So then the core contrast would be between Athenian cows and Spartan pigs. Yes, wretched little pieces of meat, pork, stuff, in a broth that no sailor would want to eat. There's a comment to that effect on this. Of course, I've learned this from Fred, but the Spartans did have an industry to feed themselves and sacrifice the pigs. Yes, they must have. But their communal meals had a completely different structure from the looser and larger population. Yes, but of course, here we're dealing with a relatively small citizen body and the descriptions do insist that this soup, this mess, has very little pork in it indeed. It's all beans to use the American comparison. And of course, we must remember, although they ate it often, evidently they don't eat it every day. Frequently it's fair, daily no. Any other questions for Fred? Thank you. Thank you. Our next speaker comes to us from Wesleyan University. Andrew Zegady-Mizak. I hope that was an approximation. Good enough. All right. Listen, I want to take just a moment of the time allotted to me to say that putting together an event like this requires a great deal of energy and organization and dedication. And I think we really owe a debt of thanks to Giovanni and to Alexa, to Jamie for doing this. Start by reading somebody else's mail. In 1843, Joseph Filiberge wrote a prank. Wrote to Raoul Rochette, who was a renowned archeologist and secretary of the Académie de Beaux-Arts in Paris. And he wrote and said, you will see with pleasure the use I have made of the valuable instrument invented by Deguerre. In a variety of circumstances, I've captured often with complete success several bar reliefs and statues from the Acropolis and many entire monuments in Athens and Rome. Today it is with real joy that I find myself so close to monuments that it would be so important to possess with total accuracy. This is a self-portrait of Giraud, as he's known. Who was he? He was born in Long, village southeast of Paris, not far from Dijon. He had, in 1804, he had a superb education. He went to Paris, he actually took two degrees, one in literature and one in law. And then got very interested in archeology and architecture. In the 1830s, he did a tour of Spain and produced three lavishly illustrated volumes of Islamic architecture, called the Moorish architecture in Spain, illustrated with detailed drawings made on the, forgive me, detailed lithographs based on his own drawings. He was probably using camera lucida to help make these drawings. A little bit of a historical side note. Photography was invented in 1839. Like a mythical creature, it had a double birth, one both sides of the English Channel. On the, in the UK, it was Sir William Henry Fox Talbot who invented the paper positive negative process, which he called the calotype or beautiful image. And on the other side, the Frenchman Louis-Jacques Mandé-Daguer invented the daguerreotype, a unique image on a silvered copper plate, which he named after himself. Giraud, I'm just gonna put this up there to give you something else to look at. It looks a little bit like that architectural fantasy that Murray showed earlier. Giraud learned the technique of daguerreotype very early. We're not quite sure when, but probably within a year or so after the invention of the medium. He practiced a bit in Paris and on his estate, and I think we'll all agree it's always nice to have an estate to practice on. And then in 1842, he undertook a three-year Mediterranean tour which brought him, I'll spare you the details, but it brought him Syriatum to France, Italy, Greece, Egypt, Asia Minor, Turkey, Syria, Upper Egypt, Syria, and Palestine. He actually finished at Balbec, the great Roman site, where he made over 100 daguerreotypes. In the course of this three-year journey, he made just shy of 1,000 daguerreotypes. If you know anything about this process, again, a little bit of historical background, what it means is you have to take a copper plate, coat it with silver, polish the hell out of it, sensitize the silver with iodine, which makes it into silver iodide, which is light sensitive. You put it, whoops, sorry. You put it into a camera and you expose it by removing the lens cap because there is no shutter and put it back and then you develop it, get this, in fumes of mercury. So it's about as laborious a process as you can imagine. Most daguerreotypes are generally very small, called six plates, about this size, size of a large playing card, and they're mostly used for portraits, not surprisingly. Giraud was after something else. He began this tour in Rome, Rome had been for a long time the end station of the Grand Tour in the 18th century, and had developed a rich pictorial tradition, especially in what were called the vedute, these views especially of the Roman monuments, both the ancient and then the ecclesiastical, which were collected in little books, like this is a little one called 100 vedute of Rome, and it begins the frontispiece is this architectural fantasia, as I was saying a moment ago. This is from somewhat later, it's a wonderful, it's almost like a calling card for a commercial photographer named Giuseppe Ninci, and what he's done here is to put on a relatively small, single sheet, examples of all the pictures you could buy from his studio. The point that I want to make is that at this point Rome was, as Europe was, scripted. For the traveler it had an itinerary of things that one had to see, and you can see a few of them that I've marked out here, the Arch of Titus, the Forum, a couple of those, the Colosseum, of course, and the Column of Trajan. And so when Giraud arrived in Rome, he arrived with a fairly well-stocked itinerary or library of places that he wanted to see, but what he did with them was something completely different. I think my main argument is that he was not only taking pictures of the monuments, he was figuring out how this new medium worked. And given the amount of time and effort it took to make a single image, something like this, these are actually three separate plates of the Arch of Titus, taken from exactly the same point of view, but at slightly different times. I don't know if you can actually tell, but you can see the light moving across the barra leaves. So the Arch of Titus was one place you had to see, but of course, the queen, the emperor, whatever gender you want of ruins was the Colosseum. This is the view of the Colosseum from the little book of Vedute that I showed you the frontispiece of, and Giraud was not the first photographer immediately after the invention of the medium, a Parisian entrepreneur named Lérabour had dispatched photographers, daguerre typists all over the world. And their works were brought back to Paris, they were transcribed into aquatents and destroyed in the process, and were published in a spectacularly popular volume called Excursion d'Agarienne, daguerienne excursions whose subtitle promised views of the most important sites and monuments from all over the world. Rome, Athens, Egypt, Niagara Falls. We're all included in the Excursion d'Agarienne, and what you can see here is if you look closely, do I have the right button, no wrong button. If you look down here, the printer has inserted a little pastoral romance, a peasant girl with a jug on her head and a shepherd, and if you look even more closely, there's a bunch of guys playing bocce here. And you can't do this with a daguerre type, the exposure time was simply too long. But before we get back to the Colosseum, I wanna show you a couple of others. Trajan's Column was another feature, another stop on the tourist site, Tenereri. 100 Roman feet, that is some 97 feet high. It was a very popular site. This is from the book of Edutae. This is from Excursion d'Agarienne, and again, you can see that the engraver has inserted a little group here. And this is Girot's. Daguerre types were generally made on predictably sized commercially produced plates. Girot had specialized plates made, and he often cut them to make these remarkable vertical and horizontal panoramas. This is probably the first vertical panorama in the history of photography. The reason I'm showing you this is that Girot took his heavy cumbersome equipment, or had somebody do it for him, or likely, up the interior staircase, but you didn't know there was one that could get you out to this viewing platform at the top. And once there, he made an astonishing panorama of the city. This is his view of the Colosseum. Daguerre types I should add are vertically, forgive me, are horizontally reversed. And so I'll show you one later of Athens where I flipped it, thank you, Photoshop, to show you what it might have looked like at the time. But here you can see the Colosseum. This is part of a pictorial tradition. This view from above, this panorama, gives you the satisfying sense of completeness because it brings all the major units of a scene into a single image. It's a little bit like looking at a map or something like that. And my friend and colleague Christopher Parcel said that one of the things he loves about this is that this was made before the great cleaning out of the old neighborhoods of the city. So you get some idea of what the city looked like. And this also validates, I mean, it was Dickens, well, it was Byron who called the Colosseum a novel wreck in ruinous perfection, and Dickens says it's a monument among graves. And this gives you some sense of its immensity. Not as big as the Colosseum, but very popular was the little temple in the Forum Boarium, which has gone through a number of different identifications and is now called, rather, I think, boringly the circular temple. It was the first all-marble building in Rome and was tucked away from the main avenues, had a beautiful little kind of idyllic location and was a favorite for visitors and artists of all kinds. It's adjacent to this wonderful Rococo fountain, and this is from excursion to Gary Ann, and the Bacci players have now moved from in front of the Colosseum to what was called the Temple of Vesta. They do get around. And one of the things that I've been working on is stuff for a long time, and one of the things that is so striking about these images is how predictable they become. It's not only the site itself, but a very particular point of view from which the view is made. The Colosseum, for example, is almost always photographed from the most ruined side. The Parthenon almost always from the best preserved end, because that's the way people wanted to see them. This is an anonymous daguerreotype made shortly after Giraud was there. It has been corrected for the lateral reversal. I mean, you can do that with a prism. And I'll just show you that you find the same view repeated again and again. A couple of decades later, the great Scottish-born photographer Robert McPherson made this view of the temple. And if you look very closely, he's actually painted in two figures here onto the negative. Come back to that in a minute. This is Giraud. He doesn't do the predictable picturesque view. Instead, he focuses on the roof, more particularly the Corinthian capitals. And what I'd like to try to convey to you, sorry, Stammer, is that you're just not getting pictures like this by anybody else. This particular image looking up at the architectural details appears frequently in Giraud's work. And it's also worth noting that Giraud made two studies of the same temple again from the same point of view and at slightly different times. So the play of the light is different. One can only admire his patience and his persistence as he considered how best to record what he saw. The notional audience for this kind of picture would be people as sophisticated as he was, people interested in architecture, less in the picturesque. And the almost hallucinatory detail of this image belongs to the daguerreotype, but its modernism, its balance, its formal simplicity, that belongs to Giraud. And here are the two of them, I just juxtapose them so you could see them side by side. He spent quite a long time in Rome, a couple of months, and then went on to Athens. Athens was a very different situation. Athens had been under Ottoman domination through the 1820s when the Greeks fought and won their war of independence. But because it was farther away, because travel was dangerous and expensive, it had generated a much, much smaller pictorial tradition. This is from the antiquities of Athens by Nicholas Stuart and James Rivet who went in the late 18th century and produced their multi-volume antiquities of Athens over the course of several decades. Down in the lower right, you see Stuart himself sketching in front of the Erechthean which was at the time the residence of the wives of the Turkish governor. Because for those of you who aren't familiar with this, the Acropolis looked nothing like it looks now. It looked like this. It was, there were houses, there were barns, there were storehouses. It was an occupied area. The other thing that I'd like to call your attention to is that the interior of the Parthenon has a small mosque in it. It had gone from being a temple of Athena to being a church of the Virgin Mary, and then with the Ottoman occupation had then converted into a mosque. This will be, we'll see this again. To give you some idea of what this area looked like, this is from the English traveler Dodwell in 1805, and it's completely covered. When Girot arrived at Athens, it had only been for about eight years the capital of Greece. After the War of Independence, the initial capital of Greece was in Naftalia in the south, and the capital was then moved to Athens not because of any grandeur of the site but because of its association with classical antiquity. It was, in the words of Richard Claude, little more than a dusty village. Population about 12,000. Some of you probably know this. I can't resist showing you this because as soon as the Greek government took over, that is the newly independent Greek government, they started scouring the acropolis of anything that was pre or post classical. Definitely anything that was Ottoman. But anything archaic, Hellenistic, Byzantine beyond, was simply removed and was just air mailed over the edge here of the parapet. What you see here, these things that look like alluvial fans are actually stuff that's been scraped off the surface and just put in barrels and dumped over the side. This is by Demetrius Constantino who was one of the great commercial photographers in Athens at the time. But Athens too, before Girot got there, I can't resist. I have to just show you this. Athens too had become a scripted city. There were things that you had to see. The location of all the major monuments on or near the acropolis made it easier than in Rome where the monuments are dispersed through the city. But I wanted to show you this. Here's the Erykthean with a nicely dressed party of foreign travelers on the steps. The big thing on the left is the so-called Frankish or Venetian tower. And people didn't like it. So Athanasius simply painted it out on the negative. If you look at it close, takes a little bit of the mountain along with it, but you know, there's a lot of mountains they can spare. Anyhow, when Girot went, he made a couple of what I call best general views. And this is one of them. And what's amazing about this is that this is a single plate. And people have not, even experts in daguerreotype have not figured out how he managed to get two images on the same plate. And it's almost hallucinatory. This abstract view of the acropolis with the little, you can see how small Athens was at the time. You know, it's a little more than an overgrown village. This is a closer view of the acropolis. This is the one, this is the original daguerreotype and this is corrected for lateral reversal just to give you some sense of what these things looked like. The view d'ensemble, the views from a distance are a very popular genre. This is from excursion to Garena, as you can tell, with the great temple of Zeus Olympius in the foreground and the acropolis in the back. When this was published, reviewers said that the image gives you a sense of the genius of the Athenians, which is amazing because it's a little gray picture, slightly smaller than a piece of modern stationery. This is Gero, again, coming right up to the monument, filling the space of the daguerreotype plate. This is one of his larger plates. And again, with this remarkable detail that the medium affords. Side note, this came up for auction at Christie's in London in 2003. It was bought by the Emirate of Qatar for $957,000. Not bad. I'll talk a little bit more about the history of these images in a moment. Do I have time, how am I doing for time? I don't, I'll shoot, I'm wrong. Sorry, we're almost done. Gero knew, I'm virtually certain that he knew excursion to Garena because some of the images, if you reverse this laterally, it's exactly the same as the one in the Larabor. This is the excursion to Garena view of the Parthenon, which sets the mode for virtually all subsequent views of the temple, made from the west, which is of course the back of the temple, but it's more importantly, it's the first that you see when you come up onto the Acropolis and even more importantly, I think it retains more of its original outline with the triangular pediment. So this answered the tourist, the traveler's desire for seeing what the Parthenon really looked like. It's repeated with minor variations by dozens, hundreds, thousands of subsequent photographers. This is by the great French-born travel photographer, commercial photographer, Felix Bonfis, made some 40 years after the one that I just showed you. This is Gero. He goes to the east end. He fills the plate with these columns. They show the damage the building has undergone. You can also see the extraordinary amount of rubble that was around there. And darn it, sorry that was an accidental hit because I spoiled the surprise. If you look very closely down here, there's a camera on a tripod, which is one of the things that Gero used to make architectural details. This is the first architectural, first archeological photograph of archeological photography. The other, or another great monument of course was the Eric Theon. And you can see here in his general view the rough stone, really brick and stone columns that had been put in to support the roof. The most famous feature of this, of course, is the Carriadid maidens, one of whom had been kidnapped by Lord Elgin in 1801. Her sisters remained. And Gero, as you may remember, boasted in his letter that he had made some pictures of sculpture with complete success. I think one of them is this beautiful Carriadid. He waited until the light was just right to show off her contra posto. He didn't try to edit out the fact that she also had a wooden beam across her head. She was a strong, this is an architectural supporting member. But it does convey, again, with this use of the vertical panorama, the majesty of this statue. We could go on. What happened afterward is almost as remarkable. Gero continued his travels. He went, as I said, to Asia Minor and to the Middle East, especially to Baalbeck. He came back to France. He had wooden boxes made for his photographs, and did nothing with them. They're nicely labeled. This is the one that we saw of the column of Trajan. This is the label on the back. But with one exception, he did another book in 1844 of architecture in the Middle East there are three illustrations in that which were made from his daguerreotypes. Oddly enough, they retained the lateral reversal. He didn't fix them when he turned them into plates for the book. And then he just put them away. And they remained undiscovered for about 60 years. He died in 1892. The family that inherited the estate, thank God, held onto these wooden boxes. They sold a few plates in 1892 to a great American collector, Helmut Gernsheim. They're now at the University of Texas at Austin. But at this point, when I should be talking about the influence of this extraordinary work on subsequent photographers, there is none because these were completely put away. They have just come to light recently. There, as I say, there were two major auctions in England in the early aughts. And since then, the collection has been dispersed. The Bibliothecnationale has a couple of hundred. The Getty has some. The Metropolitan Museum has some. Private collectors have some. There will be starting in January a show. This is how I got involved in this. The Metropolitan is doing an exhibition of 120 of Giraud's daguerreotypes. I wrote one of the catalog essays, which is the first I, you know, I mean, I sort of heard about it, but that's what got me into this topic. So what we see here is classical reception. We see Giraud using these monuments perhaps to imbue his new medium with some kind of historical dignity, but certainly to figure out how this remarkable new medium worked. Thank you so much. Thank you. Sorry. Andy, that was just fabulous. You deliver every time. No, for sure. You know, we've been down this road together on photography and the creative photograph and archeology. And I remember looking at Hege's 1920s, where he really brings us in a little bit closer. And then I think it's really not until the 1970s with Gesta Helmer, who does those cropped views. So you're introducing us to a photographer who is more than 100 years ahead in really thinking about the position and making that photograph in an entirely different way. Yeah, and really thinking about how the photograph has almost unique power to isolate a significant detail. And so that it's not surprising that by the 1860s, photography came to be used to document, I mean, that's when it started to be used more seriously by professional archeologists to document sites and findings. Because you can bring it down to the micro level as well. Yeah, so it's, I mean, I think I've conveyed this. I was astonished when I saw these images. I've looked at thousands of them. I thought, at first I thought, okay, I thought it was a hoax. I thought it was some elaborate prank because they're so good, but they're not, they're absolutely free. And? Reversed when he did his book on women's architecture. And did somebody else put it together for him? Or maybe the printer had some kind of funny problem didn't realize, and that's kind of unusual. I don't think so, because again, it's not the original daguerreotypes which, after all, are in metal. These are transformed into prints, into, in that case, lithographs. And the lithographic copy preserves the reversal in the original image. And it's clear that Chirot had complete control over that sort of detail and that's the way he wanted it. Maybe kind of a nod and a wink to the pictures he had originally made. They're really, yeah. How much would this particular photographer, Giro, have been influenced by the architectural traditions that Stuart and Revert established of isolating architectural members on the one hand? And on the other hand, influenced by the water colorists and the landscape painters of the 19th century, what we see like Edward Lear now, but many others who leave, if you go to, say, the Banarki Museum in Athens, you'll see many of these kind of images. My guess is, well, this is gonna be a slightly evasive answer. I wish we knew. He was clearly immensely well read. He had been trained as an architect in addition to everything else. And so I think he must have been familiar with Stuart and Revert. And with the, well, as I was saying, compared to Rome, the rather meager tradition of pictorial representation of Athens, at least by comparison. And, but he left so few documents, you know? There's a few letters. One of the things I've said is that he must have kept a journal, but where it has, I would like to say it has not yet been found. But it's clear, I think that he must have known, you know, he was immensely erudite. I mean, in some ways, I think of this collection of almost 1,000 pictures, almost as if it were illustrations from the sort of grand universal history that was starting to be produced in the mid-19th century, you know, a history of civilization from Egypt to us, you know, or something like that. Any other questions for Andy? Thanks again. Our final speaker today speaks on the topic of Greek mothers and daughters, comes to us from Amherst College, Rebecca Sinos. I too would like to add my thanks to all who have been part of organizing this really marvelous event, and to say that I'm really honored to join this distinguished group. I first met Vince in Stanford, California at Mike Jamison's NEH summer seminar, where Vince not only did good work as a scholar, but of a different kind and of his many strengths, this is probably one you don't know of. A matchmaker or maybe better it would be to call him a prophet. I had hurt my heel that summer, and when Vince heard I was planning to go to dinner with another member of the group, Dale Sinos, though Vince himself couldn't join us, he very kindly offered us his car to drive into Palo Alto. We didn't ask as we should have and didn't realize that he meant go quickly, eat a bite and come right back with my car. When we returned a few hours later, having strolled around town after dinner, he was standing outside the apartment building like a father perturbed when his daughter's home late. He said impishly, one can only imagine what you've been up to. Well, the truth was nothing of the sort, but he gave us the idea, and Dale and I are now married. I will always think fondly of Vince's part in that. So it seems appropriate today to talk about images of the wedding and one of the ways in which I think they connect with the subject that have been of great interest to me lately, the passage of souls into the world beyond as the Greeks imagined it. Ancient Greek ideas about life after death are well described by John Updike's phrase the bafflement beyond, which he uses in reference to Christian teachings. It fits perfectly the ancient Greek situation since the Greeks had so many different versions of what to expect after death. Here I will narrow this expanse with a focus on a few lines of poetry that belong to what we call today a mystery cult. One kind of evidence for such private worship is found on very small pieces of gold deposited in graves near or on the body of the deceased. Many of these are inscribed with verses that indicate the individual's hope for a special afterlife. These minuscule gold tablets appear in tombs beginning in the late fifth century BC. We now have quite a few of them extending through time to the Roman Empire and through a range of sites in Greece and Italy. They vary in focus. Some instructed a cease with directions where to go in the underworld or what to say once there. Some simply declare the speaker's right to belong to the company of the immortals or they may have a mixture of these things. And so despite their differences they're often studied as a group because they overlap in language sometimes one or more lines of a tablet are identical to what is written in others altogether verbatim. But it's worth considering each tablet on its own I think to try to reach a clearer understanding of the message inherent in words chosen for inclusion in a particular grave. The tablet that interests me most was discovered in a burial mound at Thurii, a Greek colony in South Italy. Found next to the right hand of the deceased perhaps once actually placed in the hand. The mound had three graves each with a tablet in it. This is the longest one, 16 lines on a piece of gold foil measuring less than one and a half inches high and only two inches wide. In these are nine lines of verse and one more of prose. The fourth line has a mistake repeating a phrase from an earlier verse. So the scribe simply followed it by the words intended which are the words after the asterisks here. The poetic meter is hexameter. The language of the gods used in epic poetry for the words of the muses and for the miraculous pronouncements of the god at Delphi. Here you see them in English translation and at this point I should point out that these words were not intended for us or to be read at any time or place on earth. They were placed in a tomb. They represent the deceased speaking to the divinities of the underworld. The language of each of these lines seems deliberately indirect, enigmatic from the names used for the gods to the tantalizing allusions to the initiates experience after death and the nature of the blessed afterlife. Particularly interesting to me are lines six to eight which evoke images we need to imagine to gain insights into the speaker's achievement and the experience he or she hopes to obtain. And I have to say I agree with Bernabé when he says in these tablets it seems gender doesn't matter. I'm gonna say he but we really in this case don't know the gender of the corpse and so it could be a she. Here they are again in Greek as well as in English. I have reached the longed forecrowned with nimble feet. I have sunk beneath the breast of the lady, the Chthanian queen. I have surely reached the longed forecrowned with nimble feet. The two lines alluding to what I take to be a prize winning runner hint at what qualifies this person to reach this special destiny evoking the effortless grace of the athletic victor. The second of the two lines changes the verb slightly using apple instead of epi to drive home the completion of the action, the culmination of the race. The line they surround gains prominence from this frame. They point to the culminating experience contained in it. Des poinas dupokopo edun khthonyas basileos. There are several different ways to interpret it because the word copos allows for various translations. It refers to a certain shape. It can be used of a body of water, a gulf that curves into the land. It can also represent the outward curve of a woman's chest or her breast or the inward curve of a woman's lap, even her womb. This last possibility, copos as womb has had proponents who take it to be an image of literal rebirth but this idea has been judged anatomically unlikely and has few adherents. More promising are those taking copos as a reference to the goddess's breast or the cloth covering it. One suggestion is that Persephone is a divine mother nursing the initiate, sometimes connecting this with the last line of the tablet. A kid, young goat, I fell into the milk but the kid in milk need not have nursing implications. It's a Greek proverb for abundance as Gwinter Zeunst and others have seen and I believe our phrase too is best imagined more figuratively as meaning simply I have sunk into the lap. In support of this, we can look at memorable lines beginning in the Iliad which attests to the protective function of a woman's lap. Aphrodite in the Iliad when injured retreats to the lap of her mother. When Hephaestus is thrown from Olympus by Hera, he is received in the lap of sea nymphs and in a passage that most closely resembles the line in our tablet, Dionysus dives into the sea when pursued by Lycurgus and is received in the corpus of Thetis. Like Dionysus, the speaker in the tablet has fled when he flew out of the heavy difficult circle before he sank into the lap of the goddess and there is more than a general resemblance here. The same verb duo is used of descent to the goddess's lap in the same preposition, who Poe in our tablet works with the verb in expressing the action of the speaker and is used for Thetis's reception of the frightened god in her corpus. These echoes I think would make this epic predecessor jump to mind more easily to people in antiquity. Images of this pose support this reading of the tablet. A figurine found in a Greek colony on the south coast of Sicily has the shape of a seated woman holding in her lap a winged figure with a crown. The seated woman must be Persephone given not only the strong influence of this goddess in the area, but also the chest seen here by the goddess's hand to the right of the little winged figure. This chest used for women's jewelry has a regular place in scenes of bridal adornment and thus appears in figurines and other images of Persephone, whose mythology is much concerned with her wedding to Hades. Theodora Hattis Deliu Price has argued compellingly that such figurines found in Greek colonies of south Italy and Sicily represent the blessed soul reaching the lap of the goddess of the underworld just the image represented verbally in our tablet. But there is more. By the time of our tablet, the image of a woman holding someone in her lap has entered the imagery of Athenian vase painting. From Athens, this imagery spread to Italy and elsewhere. And the Greek colony in south Italy where our gold tablet was found, Thurii, was settled in the middle of the fifth century BC by a group made up predominantly of Athenians. A quick survey of vases featuring this pose tells us more about its significance. This vase names many of its figures. Here we see Aphrodite holding a woman who must be Helen. Alan Shapiro has explained the whole scene well. It shows Paris and Helen just before their union. Helen is deep in thought as Aphrodite places her arm around her shoulder and Petho, persuasion that is behind them, tells us what's going on. Aphrodite, in fact, never fails in her persuasion. On the right side, Paris is addressed by Hmeros, desire. To either side are two figures whose names say it all. Nemesis points to what will come of this union. Hamarmeni is a reminder of what has been allotted. It is a scene that plays on an image associated with the Greek wedding. Here Aphrodite has usurped what is usually the bride's mother's role. Helen's wedding to Paris, after all, is unusual and we wouldn't expect Helen's family to be present. But images pertaining to Helen's abduction by Paris are infused with imagery of the wedding so often that she is really the mythological bride. Here she sits like a bride in the lap of the goddess who sponsors this wedding. And in fact, not many years later, we see another scene of Helen, this one made by Greeks in South Italy, sitting in the lap of her real mother, Lita, both of them named. This scene alludes to Helen's official wedding despite the fact that she appears young here since among the male figures in the scene is her husband-to-be, Menelaus. So there are essentially some bridal associations here, as they are, oops, on this Athenian vase whose shape indicates its association with the wedding. It is a Libis gamikos, a wedding bowl, and it depicts women bringing to the bride gifts that include vessels in the shape of the vase itself. The center of the scene, the bride, is seated in the lap of a woman who places a magnificent crown on her head as Aros brings garlands to both of them. There are no names because this is not a specific example from myth, but simply an idealized scene of a bride with her mother receiving the gifts which were a regular part of the Athenian wedding ceremony. On another Athenian vase, not far off in time, we have another scene loaded with personifications with names provided, depicting Aphrodite and Adonis in a landscape surrounded by female figures, and it includes the ones you see here. Paidia, play, sits in the lap of Hugiyea, health. Probably Paidia's name is what has led to words like playful to describe this pair, but note that she's a little smaller and younger than Hugiyea, and she wears her hair loose down her back. It's not simply a pose of playful relaxation, but one that distinguishes the figures by their expected roles, which turn out to be not unlike those of mother and daughter, and now I turn to the most important figures for understanding the image suggested by our tablet. A vase featuring what is definitely a mother holding her daughter on her lap, none other than the august mother and daughter of Greek mythology, Demeter and Persephone, as the surrounding figures indicate. Persephone's wedding took the form of abduction by the god of the underworld, but thanks to her mother's insistence, she's not confined there, but returns to the god, gods to rejoin her mother for much of the year, as is described majestically in the Homeric hymn to Demeter. To the left we see Hermes, who in the Homeric hymn brings to Haiti Zeus's command, that he must allow Persephone to return to her mother, and to the right a figure with the torches for the Eleusinian procession, and behind him tryptolamus, who will convey Demeter's blessings to earth, holding the precious grain as he sits in his winged, snaky chariot. I am not the first to note the resemblance of Demeter and Persephone on this vase to a fourth century marble statuette from Eleusis, for which an earlier lost prototype, a monumental sculpted group of Persephone and Demeter has been suspected. In the statuette, Demeter once held a scepter in her right hand, as on the Sophia vase, and in both representations, she extends her right arm around her daughter and grasps her leg with her left hand. If there was a monumental prototype for this statuette, it is very likely also reflected in vases where the mother-daughter pose would naturally recall the most famous mother-daughter pair of mythology. We see a similar pair on this little lecithos now in the Museum of the Archaeological Seminar in Baron, a beautiful little relief vase made in South Italy. On the South Italian vase, the mother told her mother's hand instead of her leg, but otherwise their pose is very similar to that on the Sophia vase and the statuette. But look at the gaze of the women on these vases. On the Baron vase, the woman who props her chin on her hand engages intently to the right, and that gives the scene a different mood altogether. Yvonne Glowitsky-Moser's excellent study of this little Baron vase in this thing that appears only on the internet as far as I know, I just happened to cross it, digging in the internet for another vase. Who knew? I mean, she really, it's wonderful what she found. This relief on the vase comes from a mold that represents only part of a larger original, and that mold had more figures to the right, the direction the women are gazing. The original mold was made in Athens and used to decorate a vase once in Berlin but now lost. So the Baron vase is particularly valuable evidence to support the accuracy of the one drawing we have of it which appeared in Alfred Brookner's study in 1904. All we have now are Brookner's drawings and description which includes the colors that were still visible in his day. So we need to imagine, we need Kathy to paint for us. The male figures hair is yellow brown, his arm is reddish, the cloak wrapped over his legs is rose colored, the incense burner and rosettes above the scene were gilded. And thanks to the little South Italian vase in Baron, we can add more details. There was jewelry, a necklace for example, not visible in the drawing but quite clear when you look at the South Italian vase in person. Now we can understand the focus of the woman on the Baron vase. Here we are within a bridal chamber with a figure of arrows sitting by the head of the couch on which the bridegroom reclines. The woman seated to the left is the bride, gazing at the bridegroom with her left hand under her chin. Her veil is visible in the line that you can see from her neck down to the missing piece below her right arm in the drawing. Her face is in profile like the bridegrooms is and it is of course his presence to which her gesture responds. A gesture given added emphasis by the woman standing behind her whose hand and arm echo the brides. Note the difference this focus makes. The burn vases figures come from a wedding scene that we can see more fully on that lost vase and then took from it those two figures. Apparently the mother-daughter pair in itself conveyed a powerful enough message to be considered appropriate for independent use. On the Sophia vase, we have a scene of a divine bride and her mother but the focus is not on the wedding. It is the tranquility of Demeter and Persephone that stands out. As Claude Barard has observed, Demeter and Persephone, the focus of all the other figures attention are shown in an atmosphere of great reciprocal tenderness with Demeter looking off without regard to those around them extending a serenity to the scene as a whole. And as Paschal Binducat points out, the pose illustrates the intimate bond connecting the mother and the daughter. And on a fourth century hydra in bond, we see a great emphasis on this bond. Here the two women are bound together not only by their position but also by their gaze and by the large Himmatian they hold up behind them. They are clearly distinguished from one another but very closely bound together. A perfect representation of the joyous reunion of Demeter and Persephone in the Homeric Hymda Demeter. That hymn reminds us of the painful separation of the bride from her family in the ancient Greek wedding which is especially dramatic in the story of the daughter snatched by Hades and taken off to the underworld. The separation was difficult for mother and daughter but then they are reunited and the hymn's beautiful lines describe their appearance in their experience in their reunion, how they warmed each other's heart and soul embracing one another, their heart singular ceasing from grief both receiving and giving one another joy. It's a beautiful description of their relationship of reciprocity with a remarkable pile up of pronouns and preverbs with singular nouns to emphasize it. What does such an image have to do with the ancient Greek bride's experience? Well the Greek wedding ceremony enabled not only the bride's move from one home to another but also from one age group to another and while her move from one home to another was a matter of witness by a human audience and revocable, her place in the cultic life of the community was determined by her relationship to the divine which changed forever. No longer is she part of the choruses of virgin women. She will now join the women's rituals to which her mother belongs. We see this in the age-old tradition of wedding songs which includes laments at the loss of the bride's company as in these lines from Theocritus. In Greece today such laments are sung by the bride's mother. In antiquity they were sung not by her mother but by her age mates, her companions. It is her unmarried friends to whom the ancient bride must say for well as here Helen's friends lament now that Helen is Menelaus's bride. So the presentation of the bride and her mother seated as one suggests the formidable strength of a bond that not even the bride's marriage can undo the unbreakable unity seen in the divine model provided by Demetrian Persephone and it must be this divine mother and daughter that we see here. The figure playing on the pipes has horns and hooves so it's a divine dance of ecstasy that surrounds them. The combination of divine elements here, the El Eucinian goddesses together with Dionysiac dance in itself presents a kind of message of transcendence suitable for the graves in which these vases were usually found and indeed wedding scenes as a whole very often blur the boundary between mortal and divine. This interpenetration of the mortal and divine worlds is evident in my last mother daughter image another lost vase. Fortunately we have watercolor drawings of its scenes. Here is in the preceding scene we also see dancers who provide a contrast to the still pose of the mother daughter pair all three of them on their toes twirling to a percussive sound that you can see the instruments making the crotola tossing back their heads in ecstasy a gesture that is known from scenes of Bacchic revelry. Greifenhagen identifies the pair as Persephone in her mother's lap and so it could be and I should point out that she is not naked nor was the last one you looked at. That one had buttons on her shoulders and this one Greifenhagen can see in his eyewitness view of this photograph which I have not yet seen in person has yellow stripes on it so these ephemeral colors have just not been preserved. They did have clothes on as prize which makes the pair closer I think together than they would be otherwise. Anyway he identifies the pair as Persephone in her mother's lap but we see none of the other deities that identify this divine pair. Nothing in this scene in fact excludes the possibility of a mortal bride in the lap of her mother and so the images work beautifully to convey the joining of worlds that is described in the gold tablet that is my focus. The initiate sits in the lap of his kin's woman the Cthonian queen. He has left the difficult circle. He has reached the ultimate crown that represents his longed for surroundings the company of gods. There follows a line addressing the initiate as happy and blessed and making even clearer the successful entry into a new existence. The most powerful image conveying the initiate's successful return to destined immortality is that describing the speaker reaching the lap of the Cthonian queen. In its resonance this image reaches from the immortal to the mortal world and conveying the destiny that Demeter at the end of the Homeric hymn transmits to those on earth. The story of these goddesses entails the softening of the boundaries between mortals and immortals in the founding of the mysteries that Demeter sets in motion the rights that entrust the initiates to Persephone's care. Then the hymn celebrates like our tablet the recipient of these mysteries happy the one of mortals on earth who has seen these rights. In our tablet Persephone the Cthonian queen receives the initiate as she was received in returning to her divine family. What is meant by the line we've been examining seems to me illustrated in the images we've seen. I think it evokes not or not only rebirth nor even the ease of abundance but perfect harmony and reciprocity the paradisiacal qualities that characterize the eternal mother-daughter union. And I'm going to close with one last image that you will see here only unless you look up that publication of the Notice d'Excavive from 1907 where it appears about half an inch high. It's a tiny piece of gold found in the mouth of the deceased has not been depicted anywhere since this report and I show it here much enlarged so you can actually see it. The excavators compared it to the coin placed in the mouth of some corpses to pay their way to the underworld. They suggest also that this janaform figure with two different female figures joined into one represents Demeter and Coray which seems to me right and I'd be interested to hear your ideas on which is which. Certainly this conjoined image conveys very well the closely bound mother-daughter pair well known for their associations with mystery cults not only the famous Eleusinian mysteries but also those of this and other texts on the gold leaves. Like our text, this image is elusive in its meaning but evocative which is perhaps the proper form of communication for things never intended for the eyes or ears of the living but only for the dead. These Greek expressions of harmony in art and text seem right to share with you today as we ourselves come together in sharing memories of events and we are in fact now I think going to go and have some wine. That is one of the ideas the Greeks had of what people in the blessed afterlife were consumed with doing all the time. Thank you. Any questions? At the risk of delaying our access to the wine I was about to ask you though could you say a little bit more about the Dionysiac the Dionysiac iconography on some of the vases you know where you clear up minnads and a satyr and things like that. Well you know it's very interesting to me and in the case of the vases I think there's an ecstasy that is being evoked there that might be appropriate for a ceremony as heavily symbolic as the wedding is but Dionysus appears in the tablets the Bacchic one, the Moustai of Bacchus are part of what some of those tablets have not our tablet and actually if you remember that image that is on the vase that is lost that was that one that might be Dionysus because he has an ivy crown and that has been actually proposed in connection with an imprint of a mirror so we just have this clay imprint from the agoraz once metal mirror but it has a kind of similar veiled woman and man who has someone who's traditionally she has a pose that's traditionally in sculpture Persephone so the two of them work together I'm afraid I don't know more but it's an interesting conjunction good thank you for the question. Becky this was just wonderful. One of the earliest images you showed was that terracotta form of a female and then there was the winged figure on the lap and you remarked about the there was the chest little. Oh you want to see the chest. Well there was something else. Oh yes he had a dove in his hand is that it? Well it was really early it was a circuit there it is what is that is that a Paterra? Oh he's carrying a wreath. No no the female. Oh the female figure yes she had yes. Is that a Paterra or like a Piala? I believe she does she has a Paterra in one hand and then she has that little chest you can see supported on her arm. Yeah so that's an you know an offering. Yeah well thank you. Any other questions? Thank you. Before we close I would just like to say a few words of thanks. First and always to the classical studies administrative assistant Alexa Malady without whom none of this. Thank you Alexa. Second I would like to thank the classical studies programs anonymous donors whose generosity allows the program to thrive and to put on events like this today. If today inspires you of ways to think about Vince's legacy and to honor that legacy then the program that he directed for nearly 50 years will be able to continue to grow for 50 more. Finally I would like to thank all of our guest speakers who said yes to me. Many of you I'm a complete stranger. You volunteered your time, your learning, your friendship. In Vince's honor my thanks. Now if you would like to join us for that promised wine raise a glass to him and to each other please do so. Thank you for coming.