The Religious Aspects of War in the Ancient Near East, Greece, and Rome: Ancient Warfare [1] 9004324755, 9789004324756

Table of contents :
Contents
List of Abbreviations
List and Affiliations of Contributors
Introduction
Part 1 The Ancient Near East
War in Mesopotamian Culture
Some Remarks Concerning the Development of the Theology of War in Ancient Mesopotamia
Battle-Descriptions in Mesopotamian Sources I: Presargonic and Sargonic Period
A Comparison of the Role of Bārû and Mantis in Ancient Warfare
Eclipses and the Precipitation of Conflict: Deciphering the Signal to Attack
Part 2 Greece
War and Religion in Ancient Greece
The Terrified Face of Alcyoneus: The Religious Character of Greek Warfare, or What about the Vanquished?
The Burning of Greek Temples by the Persians and Greek War-Propaganda
Weather, Luck and the Divine in Thucydides
Xenophon’s Piety within the Hipparchikos
The Mounted Torch-Race at the Athenian Bendideia
Like Gods among Men. The Use of Religion and Mythical Issues during Alexander’s Campaign
Defence and Offence in the Egyptian Royal Titles of Alexander the Great
Egyptian Warriors: Machimoi, in Coroplastic Art—Selected Examples
Part 3 Rome
Clenar larans etnam svalce: Myth, Religion, and Warfare in Etruria
The Ara Pacis Augustae and the Campus Martius: Peace and War, Antinomic or Complementary Realities in the Roman World
The Religious Legitimation of War in the Reign of Antoninus Pius
Roman Soldiers in Official Cult Ceremonies: Performance, Participation and Religious Experience
Religious Aspects of the Bar Kokhba Revolt: The Founding of Aelia Capitolina on the Ruins of Jerusalem
Index of Authors

Citation preview

The Religious Aspects of War in the Ancient Near East, Greece, and Rome

Culture and History of the Ancient Near East Founding Editor M.H.E. Weippert Editor-in-Chief Jonathan Stökl Editors Eckart Frahm W. Randall Garr Baruch Halpern Theo P.J. van den Hout Leslie Anne Warden Irene J. Winter

VOLUME 84

The titles published in this series are listed at brill.com/chan

Ancient Warfare Edited by

Anthony Spalinger Davide Nadali

VOLUME 1

The Religious Aspects of War in the Ancient Near East, Greece, and Rome Edited by

Krzysztof Ulanowski

LEIDEN | BOSTON

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Ulanowski, Krzysztof, editor. Title: The religious aspects of war in the ancient Near East, Greece, and  Rome / edited by Krzysztof Ulanowski. Description: Leiden ; Boston : Brill, 2016. | Series: Ancient Warfare Series ;  Volume 1 | Series: Culture and history of the ancient Near East, ISSN  1566-2055 ; VOLUME 84 | Includes index. Identifiers: LCCN 2016020234 (print) | LCCN 2016026678 (ebook) | ISBN  9789004324756 (hardback : alk. paper) | ISBN 9789004324763 (E-book) Subjects: LCSH: War—Religious aspects. | Middle East. | Greece. | Rome. Classification: LCC BL65.W2 R55 2016 (print) | LCC BL65.W2 (ebook) | DDC  201/.7273093—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016020234

Brill Open Access options can be found at brill.com/brill-open-0. Typeface for the Latin, Greek, and Cyrillic scripts: “Brill”. See and download: brill.com/brill-typeface. issn 1566-2055 isbn 978-90-04-32475-6 (hardback) isbn 978-90-04-32476-3 (e-book) Copyright 2016 by Koninklijke Brill nv, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill, Brill Hes & De Graaf, Brill Nijhoff, Brill Rodopi and Hotei Publishing. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Koninklijke Brill nv provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910, Danvers, ma 01923, usa. Fees are subject to change. This book is printed on acid-free paper and produced in a sustainable manner.

For Niko Gilgamesh ‘Nikephoros’, my beloved son, Who has agreed to share the time destined to him, On his father’s passion for old civilisations . . .

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Contents List of Abbreviations xiii List and Affiliations of Contributors xix Introduction 1

Part 1 The Ancient Near East War in Mesopotamian Culture 5 Pietro Mander Some Remarks Concerning the Development of the Theology of War in Ancient Mesopotamia 23 Vladimir Sazonov Battle-Descriptions in Mesopotamian Sources I: Presargonic and Sargonic Period 51 Sebastian Fink A Comparison of the Role of Bārû and Mantis in Ancient Warfare 65 Krzysztof Ulanowski Eclipses and the Precipitation of Conflict: Deciphering the Signal to Attack 99 Micah Ross

Greece

Part 2

War and Religion in Ancient Greece 123 Robert Parker The Terrified Face of Alcyoneus: The Religious Character of Greek Warfare, or What about the Vanquished? 133 Bogdan Burliga

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The Burning of Greek Temples by the Persians and Greek War-Propaganda 166 Eduard Rung Weather, Luck and the Divine in Thucydides 180 Rachel Bruzzone Xenophon’s Piety within the Hipparchikos 194 Simone Agrimonti The Mounted Torch-Race at the Athenian Bendideia 206 Nicholas Sekunda Like Gods among Men. The Use of Religion and Mythical Issues during Alexander’s Campaign 235 Borja Antela-Bernárdez Defence and Offence in the Egyptian Royal Titles of Alexander the Great 256 Ivan Ladynin Egyptian Warriors: Machimoi, in Coroplastic Art—Selected Examples 272 Sławomir Jędraszek

Rome

Part 3

Clenar larans etnam svalce: Myth, Religion, and Warfare in Etruria 291 Joshua R. Hall The Ara Pacis Augustae and the Campus Martius: Peace and War, Antinomic or Complementary Realities in the Roman World 303 Dan-Tudor Ionescu The Religious Legitimation of War in the Reign of Antoninus Pius 358 André Heller

contents

Roman Soldiers in Official Cult Ceremonies: Performance, Participation and Religious Experience 376 Tomasz Dziurdzik Religious Aspects of the Bar Kokhba Revolt: The Founding of Aelia Capitolina on the Ruins of Jerusalem 387 Boaz Zissu and Hanan Eshel Index of Authors 407

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List of Abbreviations AA Archäologischer Anzeiger A&A Antike und Abendland: Beiträge zum Verständnis der Griechen und Römer und ihres Nachlebens AAAH Acta ad archaeologiam et artium historiam pertinentia ABull The Art Bulletin: a quarterly published by the College Art Association AE L’Année Épigraphique AEM Archives Épistolaires de Mari AION (archeol) Annali dell’Universita degli Studi di Napoli AJ Archaeological Journal AJA American Journal of Archeology AJAH American Journal of Ancient History AJP American Journal of Philology AnCl L’Antiquité Classique AnnFaina Annali della Fondazione per il Museo “Claudio Faina” ANRW Aufstieg und Niedergang der Römischen Welt AntK Antike Kunst AOAT Alter Orient und Altes Testament APARA.R Atti della Pontificia Accademia Romana di Archeologia. Rendiconti Archeologia Archeologia (Warszawa) ArchN Archaeological News (Athens (Ga): University of Georgia, Department of Classsics) ArchCl Archeologia classica ARID Analecta Romana Instituti Danici ARMT II Archives Royales de Mari ASJ Acta Sumerologica ASNP Annali della Scuola Normale Superiore di Pisa AW Antike Welt: Zeitschrift für Archäologie und Kulturgeschichte BACE Bulletin of the Australian Centre for Egyptology BJ Bonner Jahrbücher des Rheinischen Landesmuseums in Bonn und des Rheinischen Amtes für Bodendenkmalpflege im Landschaftsverband Rheinland und des Vereins von Altertumsfreunden im Rheinlande BzS Beiträge zur Sudanforschung

xiv

list of abbreviations

CAD The Assyrian Dictionary of the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago CAH Cambridge Ancient History (Cambridge 1923–39) CAH2 The Cambridge Ancient History (Cambridge 2nd edition, 1961–) CA Classical Antiquity CAJ Cambridge Archaeological Journal CEG H.P. Allan, Carmina epigraphica graeca saeculorum VIII–V a. Chr. n. [vol. I] and . . . saeculi IV a. Chr. n. [II]. “Texte und Kommentare”, 12, 15 (Berlin 1983–1989) CdE Chronique d’Égypte CDLI Cuneiform Digital Library Initiative, cdli.ucla.edu CIL Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum (Berlin 1863–) CIRPL E. Sollberger Edmond, Corpus des Inscriptions royales présargoniques de Lagaš (Geneve, 1956) CJ Classical Journal (American journal on classical history) ClA Classical Antiquity CQ Classical Quarterly CRAI  Comptes Rendus de l’Académie des Inscriptions et Belles Lettres CSIR-GB Corpus Signorum Imperii Romani – Great Britain DHA Dialogues d’histoire ancienne DMOA Documenta et monumenta orientis antiqui. Studies in Near Eastern Archaeology and Civilization. XXII. The Elephantine Papyri in English. Three Millennia of Cross-Cultural Continuity and Change (ed. B. Porten, Leiden, New York, Köln 1996) EEHAR Atti del convegno presso la Escuela Española de Historia y Archeología en Roma EphDR Ephemeris Dacoromana EGF Epicorum Graecorum Fragmenta (ed. G. Kinkel, Leipzig 1877) ENDC Proceedings (Estonian National Defense College) Proceedings ETCSL Electronic Text Corpus of Sumerian Literature, http://etcsl.orinst.ox.ac.uk FAOS Freiburger altorientalische Studien Gymnasium  Gymnasium. Zeitschrift für Kultur der Antike und Humanistische Bildung HANE.S History of Ancient Near East: Studies

list of abbreviations

xv

HCT  A Historical Commentary on Thucydides (eds. A.W. Gomme, A. Andrews, K.J. vol. 1–5 (Oxford 1945–81) Historia Historia. Zeitschrift für Alte Geschichte HThR Harvard Theological Review IG I2  Inscriptiones Graecae I: Inscriptiones Atticae Euclidis anno (403/2) anteriores (ed. F. Hiller von Gaertringen, Berlin 1924, 2nd edition) IG I3 Inscriptiones Graecae I: Inscriptiones Atticae Euclidis anno anteriores (eds. D. Lewis, L. Jeffry, Berlin 1981, 1994, 3rd edition) IG II2  Inscriptiones Graecae. Vol. II et III. Inscriptiones Atticae Euclidis anno posteriores. Editio altera– (ed. J. Kirchner, Berlin 1913–1940, 2nd edition) ILS  Inscriptiones latinae selectae (ed. H. Dessau, Berlin 1892–1916) IrAn Iranica Antiqua JANES Journal of the Ancient Near Eastern Society JAOS Journal of the American Oriental Society JAC Jahrbuch für Antike und Christentum JCS Journal of Cuneiform Studies JHS Journal of Hellenic Studies JMS Journal of Mediterranean Studies JNES Journal of Near Eastern Studies JÖAI Jahreshefte des Österreichischen Archäologischen Instituts in Wien JRA Journal of Roman Archaeology JRS The Journal of Roman Studies Klio Klio. Beiträge zur alten Geschichte Latomus Latomus. Revue d’Études Latines LÄ Lexikon der Ägyptologie LD IV C.R. Lepsius, Denkmäler aus Aegypten und Aethiopien nach den Zeichnungen der von Seiner Majestät dem Koenige von Preussen, Friedrich Wilhelm IV., nach diesen Ländern gesendeten, und in den Jahren 1842–1845 ausgeführten wissenschaftlichen Expedition auf Befehl Seiner Majestät, Abth. IV (Berlin, 1859) LIMC Lexicon Iconographicum Mythologiae Classicae LSJ Liddell and Scott’s Greek-English Lexicon (Oxford, 1st edition 1889–)

xvi

list of abbreviations

MDAI.R Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts (Römische Abteilung) MEFRA Mélanges de l’École Française de Rome. Antiquité NABU Nouvelles Assyriologiques Brèves et Utilitaires OBO Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis OCT Oxford Classical Text PM IV B. Porter, R.L.B. Moss, Topographical Bibliography of Ancient Egyptian Hieroglyphic Texts, Reliefs and Paintings, IV: Lower and Middle Egypt (Oxford 1934) PM2 II B. Porter, R.L.B. Moss, Topographical Bibliography of Ancient Egyptian Hieroglyphic Texts, Reliefs and Paintings2, II: Theban Temples (Oxford 1972) Pritchett 2 W.K. Pritchett, The Greek State at War, vol. 2 (Berkeley, Los Angeles, London 1974) Pritchett 3 W.K. Pritchett, The Greek State at War, vol. 3 (Berkeley, Los Angeles, London 1979) RAL Atti della Accademia Nazionale dei Lincei, Classe di Scienze Morali, Storiche e Filologiche. Rendiconti (Roma: Accademia Nazionale dei Lincei) RBPhil Revue belge de philologie et d’histoire RE Paulys Realencyclopädie der classischen Altertumswissenschaft REG Revue des Études Grecques RIB  The Roman Inscriptions of Britain (eds. R.G. Collingwood, R.P. Wright; Oxford 1965–) RIC  Roman Imperial Coinage (eds. H. Mattingly et al., London 1923–) RIME 1 D. Frayne, The Royal Inscriptions of Mesopotamia, Volume 1 (2700–2350 BC) (Toronto 2008) RIMA 1 A.K. Grayson, Assyrian Rulers of the Third and Second Millennia BC (to 1115 BC) (The Royal Inscriptions of Mesopotamia, Assyrian Periods, vol. 1, Toronto, Buffalo, London 1987, reprinted 2002) RIMA 2 A.K. Grayson, Assyrian Rulers of the Early First Millennium BC I (1114–859 BC) (The Royal Inscriptions of Mesopotamia, Assyrian Periods, vol. 2, Toronto, Buffalo, London 1991) RIMA 3 A.K. Grayson, Assyrian Rulers of the Early First Millennium BC II (858–745 BC) (The Royal Inscriptions of Mesopotamia. Assyrian Periods, vol. 3, Toronto, Buffalo, London 1996, reprinted 2002)

list of abbreviations

xvii

RIME 1 D.R. Frayne, Presargonic Period (2700–2350 BC) (The Royal Inscriptions of Mesopotamia. Early Periods, vol. 1. Toronto, Buffalo, London 2008) RIME 2 D.R. Frayne, Sargonic and Gutian Periods (2334–2113 BC) (The Royal Inscriptions of Mesopotamia. Early Periods, vol. 2, Toronto, Bufallo, London 1993) RIME 4 D.R. Frayne, Old Babylonian Period (2003–1595 BC) (The Royal Inscriptions of Mesopotamia. Early Periods, vol. 4, Toronto, Buffalo, London 1990) RINAP 4 E. Leichty, The Royal Inscription of Esarhaddon. King of Assyria (680–669 BC) (Winona Lake 2011) RM Römische Mitteilungen RSI Rivista Storica Italiana SAA 3 A. Livingstone, Court Poetry and Literary Miscellanea (Helsinki 1989) SAA 4 Queries to the Sungod: Divination and Politics in Sargonid Assyria (ed. I. Starr, Helsinki 1990) SAA 10 Letters from Assyrian and Babylonian Scholars (ed. S. Parpola, Helsinki 1993) SAA 19 A. Lenzi, Secrecy and the Gods. Secret Knowledge in Ancient Mesopotamia and Biblical Israel (Helsinki 2008) SEG  Supplementum Epigraphicum Graecum, vols. 1–11 (ed. J.E. Hondius, Leiden 1923–1954, vols. 12–25, ed. A.G. Woodhead, Leiden 1955–1971, vols. 26–41, eds. H.W. Pleket, R.S. Stroud, Amsterdam 1979–1994, vols. 42–44, eds. H.W. Pleket, R.S. Stroud, J.H.M. Strubbe, Amsterdam 1995–1997, vols. 45–49, eds. H.W. Pleket, R.S. Stroud, A. Chaniotis, J.H.M. Strubbe, Amsterdam 1998–2002, vols. 50–, eds. A. Chaniotis, R.S. Stroud, J.H.M. Strubbe, Amsterdam 2003–) SJ Studia Judaica TAPA Transactions of the American Philological Association TAR F. Schmidt-Dick, Typenatlas der römischen Reichsprägung von Augustus bis Aemilianus, vol. I: Weibliche Darstellungen, vol. II: Geographische und männliche Darstellungen (Vienna 2002; 2011) TGF A. Nauck, Euripidis Tragoediae superstites et deperditarum fragmenta; ex recensione Augusti Nauckii (1854), Lipsiae B.G. Teubneri 1854–69 ThesCRA 3 Thesaurus Cultus et Rituum Antiquorum: Divination, Prayer, Gestures and Acts of Prayer, Gestures and Acts of

xviii

list of abbreviations

Veneration, Hikesia, Asylia, Oath, Malediction (Los Angeles 2005) UAVA Untersuchtungen zur Assyriologie und vorderasiatischen Archäologie. Ergänzuingsbände zu ZA Urk. II. K. Sethe, Hieroglyphische Urkunden der griechischrömischen Zeit (Leipzig 1904–1916) Wb. A. Erman, H. Grapow, Wörterbuch der ägyptischen Sprache. Neudruck, vols. I–V (Berlin 1955) YClS Yale Classical Studies ZA Zeitschrift für Assyriologie und vorderasiatische Archäologie ZPE Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik List of abbreviations (ancient authors) according to OCD (The Oxford Classical Dictionary, eds. S. Hornblower, A. Spawforth, E. Eidinow, Oxford 2012, 4th edition)

List and Affiliations of Contributors Simone Agrimonti, University of Genoa. Borja Antela-Bernárdez, Autonomous University of Barcelona. Rachel Bruzzone, University College Freiburg, a branch of Albert-LudwigsUniversität in Freiburg. Bogdan Burliga, Gdańsk University. Tomasz Dziurdzik, Department of Archaeology of the Roman Provinces, Institute of Archaeology, University of Warsaw. Sebastian Fink, Leopold-Franzens Universität Innsbruck. Joshua R. Hall, Cardiff University. André Heller, Lehrstuhl für Alte Geschichte, Otto-Friedrich-Universität Bamberg. Dan-Tudor Ionescu, Metropolitan Library of Bucharest. Sławomir Jędraszek, Gdańsk University. Ivan Ladynin, Department of Ancient History Lomonosov Moscow State University. Pietro Mander, University of Naples “l’Orientale”. Robert Parker, Wykeham Professor of Ancient History, New College, Oxford University. Micah Ross, Center for General Education (通识教育中心), National Tsing Hua University (國立清華大學), Hsin Chu City (新竹市) (Taiwan). Eduard Rung, Department of History, Institute of International Relations, History and Oriental Studies, Kazan Federal University. Vladimir Sazonov, University of Tartu. Nicholas Sekunda, Gdańsk University. Krzysztof Ulanowski, Gdańsk University. Boaz Zissu and Hanan Eshel, Bar-Ilan University.

Introduction Two years ago I was travelling back from Wrocław to Gdańsk together with Nick Sekunda (Gdańsk University) where I had been attending a conference on Alexander the Great. It was a very good conference with a wide array of topics dedicated to Alexander, his campaigns, military achievements, and his aspirations to be divinely worshiped. The train journey between Gdańsk and Wrocław in those days in Poland lasted 10–12 hours, and we had a lot of time for a discussion. The question was why we, the University of Gdansk, could not organize such a conference to focus a group of scientists around similar studies. As the conversation progressed we decided that we had enough scientific capital to organize such a very specialized conference. Nick asked me about the general topic, and I explained that the best solution would be to find a theme revolving around the subjects of religion, the divine ambitions of rulers, and the military achievement in Antiquity. In my view this is an extremely fascinating area which is not explored enough because scientists focus solely on theological aspects, or the technical nuances of military campaigns. I suggested that the most appropriate title would be “The Religious Aspects of War”. After organizing the conference with the participation of nearly 60 scholars from around the world even more researchers asked me about the future plans of our initiative. Nick Sekunda was more interested in Hellenistic Warfare with an emphasis on the more pragmatic factors affecting the course of the war. Our third colleague, Karol Polejowski (Ateneum—University in Gdańsk) began to work on the publication of his book concerning the Middle Ages. I was a little bit puzzled and started to think about a publication in the spirit of the Melammu Project to show many possible ways of influencing our understanding of the role of divinity in ancient Near East and Greek warfare. The decisive impulse for the shape of this volume was given during my meeting in Warsaw with Anthony Spalinger from the University of Auckland. He advised me to use the different points of view from the above mentioned civilizations without focusing only on influences, but giving the reader the possibility to build their own opinions, and approaching the topic from many perspectives. I invited researchers from various scientific disciplines: Assyriology, Egyptology, History, History of Art, Archaeology, Classical Studies and Anthropology, and asked them to focus on the religious aspect of war and to send me their articles attempting to describe the problem from various perspectives. I received a series of articles which were concerned with the ideology and propaganda of war, with divination and divine signs, with special

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rituals and feasts, with official cults, with symbolism and the representation of the divine element with piety and morality of war, and even about the archaeological perspectives concerned. The participants being from many countries only confirmed the need for our studies and encouraged us to make further attempts in that direction in the next future. I want to thank Cezary Kucewicz from University College London, who offered his valuable assistance; in many cases his advice has been invaluable to the quality of this volume. A significant role in shaping this volume was the help offered by Piotr Walewski, Mateusz Kudelski, Kamil Korzeniewski and Kamil Niedziółka, both of Gdańsk University that made it became clearer, and gain additional scientific strength. Krzysztof Ulanowski

Part 1 The Ancient Near East

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War in Mesopotamian Culture Pietro Mander

War in Heaven: Nin-urta.k and Marduk

One of the best-known mythological poems is the one named after its incipit, “Lugal-e”. The oldest manuscripts date back to the end of the third millennium, and many more tablets have been found from the next two millennia. “Lugal-e” recounts the struggle between the warrior god Nin-urta.k, who was the son of the king of the universe, Enlil, and the demon Asag, who wanted to rule the world. Comprising over seven hundred verses, “Lugal-e” was one of the few Sumerian poems to survive from that abrupt, and not yet fully understood, change in the cultural tradition, which took place in the Kassite period. The importance of this poem in Mesopotamian culture is not only evinced by its extensive circulation, but also by the operation the clergy of Marduk accomplished in eleventh century Babylon, when these priests incorporated elements of the Nin-urta.k myth into their own myth concerning their polyad god Marduk.1 It is worth noting that Marduk was a warrior god as well. He was the son of the demiurge god Enki.k / Ea, the god of subterranean fresh water and wisdom (which included magic and exorcisms). Marduk had earlier assimilated the features of the exorcist god Asalluhi, who was also a son of Enki.k, and became the most important exorcist divinity. In this role, Marduk resembled Nin-urta.k, who was also an active fighter against the forces of chaos, such as the demon Asag. As a matter of fact, Asag epitomised the model for all the malefic powers, as the presence of Nin-urta.k in the healing cult of Isin, inside the temple of the healing goddess Gula, demonstrates.2 The culminating point of this operation by the priests of Marduk—a kind of ‘anointing’ to the hegemonic and unifying role Babylon was assuming in the political struggles of that period—was the composition of the poem in the Akkadian language “Enūma eliš”, “When above”, in which the clergy included 1  Cf. W.G. Lambert, “Ninurta Mythology in the Babylonian Epic of Creation” in Keilschriftliche Literaturen: ausgewählte Vorträge der XXXII. Reconcontre Assyriologique Internationale, Münster, 8.–12.7. 1985 (eds. K. Hecker, W. Sommerfeld, Berlin: D. Reimer, 1986) 55–60. 2  H. Avalos, Illness and Health Care in the ANE. The Role of the Temple in Greece, Mesopotamia, and Israel (Atlanta GA: Scholar Press, 1995) 114.

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the fight between Marduk and the sea goddess Ti’amat, patterned on the clash between Nin-urta.k and Asag. In so doing, the clergy could also connect Ninurta.k’s father Enlil to the story, in order to let this latter god offer the victorious Marduk lordship over the universe.

Divine Order vs. Chaos: The Role of Humankind

At the conclusion of the epic battle recounted in the poem “Lugal-e”, after Nin-urta.k had defeated his rival, he let the waters of the Tigris flow onto the plain, which would lead to the invention of agriculture. The god’s victory, therefore, not only enabled humanity to enjoy the prosperity brought about by a greater access to nutrition, but also allowed it to form a settled society, that is, as we shall see below, a city-state ruled by a king. In “Enūma eliš ”, as well, the victorious god Marduk devoted himself to arranging the universe, in a more consistent way than what Nin-urta.k accomplished in “Lugal-e”. Marduk not only created an orderly, liveable environment; he also fashioned the first man from clay mixed with the blood of the god Kingu, who was the chieftain of the monsters that formed Ti’amat’s army. This theme stems from another tradition in which Enki.k plays a pivotal role, creating man to run the universe, thus replacing the minor gods in this role.3 The new creature has a divine element inherent in his constitution, since Enki.k / Ea moulded him not only with clay, but also with the blood of a murdered god.4

The Individual

Man, therefore, is the only creature endowed with intellect, ṭēmu, “intellect, wit”, by virtue of this divine component. For this reason, the gods assigned him the task of running the universe in accordance with the divine principles. This task had earlier been assigned to the minor gods, hence it was a task for 3  See I.M. Kikawada, “The Double Creation of Mankind in Enki and Ninmah, Atrahasis I 1–351, and Genesis 1–2,” Iraq 45 (1983) 43–5. 4  W.G. Lambert, A.R. Millard, Atra-hasīs The Babylonian Story of the Flood (Oxford: Oxford at the Clarendon Press, 1969); J. Bottéro, “La création de l’homme et sa nature dans le poème d’atrahasîs” in Societies and Languages of the Ancient Near East—Studies in Honour of I.M. Diakonoff (eds. M.A. Dardamaev et al., Warminster UK: Aris & Phillips LTD, 1982) 24–32.

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gods, not for slaves. Man could replace the minor gods and as a consequence of man’s partially divine status, there are some important features in the nature of this newly created being. First of all, it must be observed that a person was individually generated at a divine level, before being generated as a creature in flesh and blood, born to its parents.5 The divinities from which the human being ensued were its tutelary divinities and represented the person’s divine components. This divine origin of human being is also clearly detectable in the everyday struggle of the ordinary person against the evil forces. In the celebration of the ritual “Maqlû”, to counter black magic the patient had to be transformed into a star after undergoing a trial in the presence of the gods, at which he was declared innocent and pure, while the warlock or witch who cursed him was convicted because he or she had violated the cosmic order.6 The aspect of the trial is of great relevance, as we shall see below. About man’s transformation into a star, it must be kept in mind that brightness is an expression of the Divine.7 After his death, a king becomes a star (see: king Šulgi (Third Dynasty of Ur, 2094–47 BC),8 and while a king is alive, the sovereign and his role are compared to the sun’s brightness: cf. Amar-Suena’s (Third Dynasty of Ur, 2046–38 BC) title dUtu-kalam-ma-ni “(god) Sun of his own country”; some 280 years later, in his famous stele of the Codex Hammurabi, Hammurabi (First Dynasty of Babylon, 1792–50 (?) BC), after restoring justice, as he had been appointed to by the gods, referred to himself as kīma Šamaš, “as the sun-god Šamaš”, and, because of this accomplishment, he became šarrum gitmālum “the perfect king”.9 5  J. Klein, “‘Personal God’ and Individual Prayer in Sumerian Religion” in Das Leben—Vorträge gehalten auf der 28. Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale in Wien 6.–10. Juli 1981, Archiv für Orientforschung, Beiheft 19) (eds. H. Hirsch, H. Hunger, Horn (Österreich): Verlag Berger, 1982) 295–306. 6  T. Abusch, “Ascent to the Stars in a Mesopotamian Ritual: Social Metaphor and Religious Experience” in Death, Ecstasy, and Other Wordly Journeys (eds. J.J. Collins, M.A. Fishbane, New York: State University of New York Press, 1995) 15–39. 7  Cf. E. Cassin, La splendeur divine: Introduction à l’étude de la mentalité mesopotamienne (Paris, La Haye: Mouton & Co., 1968). 8  W. Sallaberger, “Ur III-Zeit” in Mesopotamia, (OBO) 160 (eds. P. Attinger, M. Wäfler), AkkadeZeit und Ur III-Zeit (eds. W. Sallaberger, A. Westenholz (= OBO 160/3), Freiburg & Göttingen: Univesitätsverlag Freiburg Schweiz, Vandenhoek & Ruprecht, 1999) 119–390, 161–3. 9  M. Bonechi, “Hammurapi e Šamaš” in Il “codice” di Hammurabi: da monumento celebrativo a “codice” di leggi (ed. L. Verderame, EEHAR, 20–21 marzo 2014, Roma: Sapienza, Università di Roma) forthcoming.

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The Community of Persons: The City

The texts clearly describe the close relationship between agriculture, which Nin-urta.k’s victory had made possible; the city, as the seat of the temples; and kingship. A myth10 tells how the mother goddess Nin-tur elevated humanity from its beastly condition. To achieve this goal, she had men build cities, where they could celebrate rituals either for divination (that is to say: knowledge of the divine plan) or “for the worship of the gods” (that is: contact with the Divine). The city was conceived as the seat of divinity, and in order for both worship and divination, agriculture and construction to run smoothly, (this last activity was a kind of Stichwort for the city’s inhabitants), the gods made kingship descend from heaven. As every Mesopotamian city was the seat and dominion of a single divinity in the pantheon, all the cities together were a reflected image of the starry sky on the earth’s surface. This distribution of cities and relative divinities across space is grounded in a profound concept, because, as I have recalled above, light is the representation of the Divine and, as Bottéro explains, in mythology it is assumed to be an expression of being. Indeed, Bottéro describes the gods as creatures with a high ontological density with respect to man, and their “brightness”, melammû, indicates their quality.11 These two concepts, Being and the Divine, are not distinct from each other in Mesopotamian thought. One of the Sumerian terms for “star”, mul, has a second meaning as “sign”, thus offering an image for the concept that expresses “determination” or “defined form”, such as a specific constellation compared with the dark vault of the night sky. The spreading of the Divine throughout the human world takes on the appearance of this primary determination; by the same token, as a consequence of its impulse to conform to the divine will, time and again in history the human world itself generates unifying forces designed to protect this pantheon, which I would define as “territorial” (i.e. a pantheon reflected into a larger region), from tendencies that would disintegrate it. The unification of numerous city-states, if not all of Mesopotamia, or nearly, under the rule of the dynasty of a single city, constituted the realization of a celestial order, an order made visible by the revolution of the starry vault around the polar 10  See etcsl 1.7.4 The Flood Story—Segment A 1–10; Th. Jacobsen, The Harps that Once . . . Sumerian Poetry i Translation (New Haven CT, Yale University, 1987) 145–6. 11  J. Bottéro, Religion in Ancient Mesopotamia (Chicago, London: The University of Chicago Press, 2001) 38.

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axis. On a historical level, the creation of wide-ranging territorial states that included more than one city-state in their domains is a defining characteristic of ancient Mesopotamia; not surprisingly, the reason for this may be found in the mythology. Descending from heaven, as it does, kingship represents the axis connecting heaven to earth. Through kingship the divine force is spread through the universe, which is to say through the kingdom, which was considered to be the ordered world, as opposed to chaos. Through kingship humanity operates according to the divine will and can be connected to the heaven of the gods. Rituals such as divinization of the living sovereigns or the hieros gamos, dating to the mid-third and up to the mid-second millennium, express this same necessity in different ways. To put the world in order according to the divine model—that is to say, the divine will—is thus humanity’s chief task, one it can accomplish only under the leadership of the king, who is the intermediary with the gods. This complex subject is beyond the scope of the present paper; further references to it may be found in the accompanying bibliography. The struggles of the god Nin-urta.k and later the god Marduk served as a paradigm for those that exorcists daily sustained at their patients’ bedsides, against the attacking demons. War fought in the heavens was thus transferred to the world of men.12 And at the same time as on this personal level, that celestial war also determined the relationships between human communities—cities and kingdoms—but with a particular meaning.

War on Earth: Two Historic Wars

We are relatively well informed about two of the most ancient conflicts; they are the border war between the Sumerian cities-states of Umma and Lagaš and the long series of uninterrupted wars culminating in Hammurabi’s dominion over almost the totality of Mesopotamia. The former took place in the second half of the third millennium, around the twenty fourth century, the latter in the first half of the second millennium, ending with the destruction of the city of Mari by Hammurabi in 1759 BC.

12  Cf. P. Mander, “The Mesopotamian Exorcist and His Ego” in Ana turri gimilli, studi dedicati al Padre Werner R. Mayer, S.J. (eds. M.G. Biga, M. Liverani, Roma, Quaderno di Vicino Oriente V, Dipartimento di Scienze Storiche Archeologiche e Antropologiche dell’Università “La Sapienza”, 2010) 177–97.

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The relative documentation is uneven, given that Hammurabi’s wars— only occasionally mentioned in this king’s monumental inscriptions—are described in detail in letters that the officers of the king of Mari, Zimri-Lîm, who were stationed at Hammurabi’s court, sent to their sovereign to keep him abreast of diplomatic and military news. The war between Umma and Lagaš, on the other hand, is only recorded in dedicatory inscriptions. However, the relative abundance of information is only one reason for my choice. Both the sovereigns of the First Lagaš Dynasty (among them, E’anatum, En-metena.k and Iri-kagina.k) and the First Babylon Dynasty (I will mention only Hammurabi) fight on the decision of their respective male polyad divinities, Nin-ĝirsu.k and Marduk, whose typology fully belongs to what we could call the Nin-urta.k “paradigm”. I have earlier discussed Marduk, while Ninĝirsu.k was a Lagashite variant of Nin-urta.k, albeit with slight differences. A preliminary observation is in order. The cuneiform documentation on monuments is very often labelled as “propaganda”, as if the goal of its narrative were to impress and influence other people’s opinions. I, however, have elsewhere claimed that instead of the fossilised Latin word “propaganda” to describe the purpose of the monumental inscriptions, what should be used is its exact semantic opposite: “præservanda”.13 As a matter of fact, a very limited public had access to these inscriptions, when it was allowed at all, and their intention was to preserve—“præservare”— by means of words, and in this case, the written word—the deeds the king performed in order to fulfil his role as tutor and guardian of the cosmic order, in accordance with the gods’ will.14 This is not the place to discuss the ontological notion conveyed by the word, which Bottéro and Michałowski studied in depth;15 I will simply recall that, paradoxically enough, Bottéro quoted the Latin phrase “nomina sunt essentia rerum”, with which an Ancient Mesopotamian would have perfectly agreed.

13  P. Mander, Review of Tammy Schneider, “An Introduction to Ancient Mesopotamian Religion,” Bibliotheca Orientalis 69/3–4 (2012) 263–4. 14  Matthiae discussed this concept at length in: P. Matthiae, Il sovrano e l’opera (Bari, Roma: Laterza, 1994). 15  J. Bottéro, Mesopotamia—Writing, Reasoning, and the Gods (Chicago, London: The University of Chicago Press, 1992) 97–102; J. Bottéro, Religion in Ancient Mesopotamia (Chicago, London: The University of Chicago Press, 2001) 93; see: P. Michałowski, “Presence at the Creation” in Lingering over Words—Studies in Ancient Near Eastern Literature in Honor of William L. Moran (eds. T. Abusch et al., Atlanta GA: Scholar Press, 1990) 381–96.

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The War between the Cities of Umma and Lagaš

At the moment twelve documents devoted to this ancient conflict are at our disposal.16 They consist of epigraphs of unusual shapes, engraved on a variety of materials; unfortunately, we can determine neither their original placement nor their function. In any case, their use as propaganda may be ruled out. Moreover, considering their exterior shapes (that of the Stele of the Vultures, above all) I tend to believe they served as præservanda. The story begins with the violation of the border agreement between the two cities, a border Enlil had determined in heaven and the king of Kiš Mesalim accordingly established on earth by placing a stela on the spot. The king of Umma destroyed this stela when he trespassed the border to occupy the disputed borderlands, the Gu-edena. The role of Kiš will not be discussed here in any detail, as it probably involved a different kind of kingship.17 Of the twelve texts mentioned above, two provide a thorough report of the events: a) the “Stela of the Vultures,”18 b) the “Cones of En-metena.k”.19 A short synthesis of these two follows, in order to recall the most important facts. “Stela of the Vultures” Unfortunately in fragmentary condition, the text begins with the violations committed by Umma, to which the god Nin-ĝirsu.k reacted by generating E’anatum, whose name was imposed by the goddess Inana.k. The infant E’anatum was nursed by Nin-hursaĝ.k, which explains his extraordinary height: 2.75 m20 (lines 40’–104’). 16   Cooper arranged systematically and discussed these texts in detail: J.S. Cooper, Recostructing History from Ancient Sources. The Lagash-Umma Border Conflict (Malibu CA: Undena Publ., 1983). 17  P. Charvát “The Earliest History of the Kingdom of Kiš” in Who was King? Who Was Not King? (eds. P. Charvát, M. Vlčková, Prague: Institute of Archaeology of the Academy of Sciences of the Czech Republic, 2010) 16–22. 18  CDLI P222399, P431075 = RIME 1.09.03.01 = FAOS 05/1, Ean 01. 19  CDLI P431117 = RIME 1.09.05.01 = FAOS 05/1 Ent 28 = CIRPL Ent 28–9. 20  J.S. Cooper, Sumerian and Akkadian Inscriptions, I—Presargonic Inscriptions (Vol. 1, New Haven CT: The American Oriental Society Translations Series, 1986) 38.

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As instructed by Nin-ĝirsu.k in a dream (121’–ff.), E’anatum started the war, and, although wounded by an arrow (153’–7’), he evidently—the relative passage is very fragmentary—continued the fight until victory. He then seized the opportunity to restore the original border, heaping high the bodies of the Ummaite warriors who had been killed, as portrayed on the stele. Before a group of divinities, the king of Umma swore by each of them that in the future his city would respect Nin-ĝirsu.k’s properties (230’–563’). In this latter section, Bauer noted particular features that recall the Sumerian epic.21 The text ends listing the favours showed E’anatum by many divinities, who granted him further conquests (564’–635’). The stela itself portrays a gigantic Nin-ĝirsu.k, dwarfing the human figures, while triumphing over the heap of fallen enemies. On the back of the stela E’anatum’s army is shown, along with what are probably funeral rituals after the battle.22 “Cones of En-metena.k” The “Cones” di En-metena.k (together with other integrating epigraphic material) describes the origin of the border decided by the god Enlil and, on his command, traced on the ground by the king of Kiš, Mesalim (lines? 1–12). By trespassing that border, therefore, the prince of Umma violated a divine decree, and the god Nin-ĝirsu.k unleashed a war against Umma, which concluded with the heaping of the bodies of Umma’s dead warriors (13–31). En-metena.k’s uncle, E’anatum, is mentioned as the figure responsible for restoring the former border (32–68), but the new prince of Umma, Ur-Lumma, once again violated the agreement (69–88). Although En-anatum I (En-metena.k’s father, as well as E’anatum’s brother), fought in the ensuing invasion (89–94), it was En-metena.k who would win on the battlefield, erecting mounds of corpses. When Ur-lumma was killed in battle inside Umma itself, an Ummaite, Il, seized power and claimed the disputed lands, but now the gods themselves held him back, although the text does not elucidate exactly how (95–159). The text concludes by enumerating En-metena.k’s merits as a builder and the favours showered on him by the gods, before ending with a strong curse on all those who should dare to trespass the border in the future. From this brief summary, and in light of the information provided in the other ten texts, it seems clear that the sovereigns of Umma encroached the 21   J. Bauer, “Der vorsargonische Abschnitt der mesopotamischen Geschichte” in Mesopotamia, (OBO) 160 (eds. P. Attinger, M. Wäfler), Späturuk-Zeit und Frühdynastiche Zeit (eds. J. Bauer, R.K. Englund, M. Krebernik = OBO 160/1, Univesitätsverlag Freiburg Schweiz, Freiburg & Göttingen: Vandenhoek & Ruprecht, 1998) 429–585, 461. 22  Ibidem, 460.

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border more than once. One constant in the narrative is the god Nin-ĝirsu.k, the true owner of the disputed region, whose rights had been reasserted by the sovereigns of Lagaš. Despite their repeated intervention, however, their efforts would have been fruitless without the direct presence of the divine power on the battlefield. A sacrilegious violation, therefore, triggers an event which alternates between two extremes: A) An act of divination that shows the king which way to follow. It might not always be directly expressed, given that in the narrative pattern of the text the mere mention of the divine will suffice to indicate its existence. B) The victorious outcome, which ends in oaths or curses, both being discursive forms capable of influencing future behaviour by means of the divine presence invoked. Both extremes pertain to the celestial and not the human world, and for this reason, I believe, the texts do not refer to the military campaigns in any detail. This peculiar aspect seems to be the rule, considering that the most ancient document on the outcome of battles, recently edited by Steinkeller, appears to omit the very name of the king (unless it is mentioned in a lacuna), crediting the warrior Zababa, the Kiš polyad god, with each and every victory.23 The general context of the inscriptions is so manifestly focused on the religious aspect that the descriptions of the gods’ predilection for the sovereign acquire a particular significance, culminating in the “divine birth” of E’anatum in the “Stela of the Vultures”.24 To conclude the present section, I would like to underline the fact that the corpus of the texts omits those very details which most interest the majority of modern historians. The texts pass over military exploits, or political and economic records, or make just slight allusions to them, while entire sections are dedicated to describing or enumerating ritual acts, including the building of temples, or events which took place between the gods in the heavenly sphere. All these aspects puzzle the modern researcher, whose impulse would be simply to cut away all the oracles, oaths, curses, and göttliche Abstammung, and confine himself to examining just the data that he feels he can call 23  P. Steinkeller, “An Archaic ‘Prisoner Plaque’ from Kiš?,” Revue d’Assyriologie et Archaéologie Orientale 107 (2013) 131–157. I thank my colleague and friend F. Pomponio for pointing it out to me. 24   Å Sjöberg, “Die göttliche Abstammung der sumerisch-babylonischen Herrscher,” Orientalia Suecana 21 (1972) 87–112.

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“objective”. A misleading tendency, in my opinion, and in order to discuss it further, by way of example I have chosen the conflict Umma vs. Lagaš. As a matter of fact, besides the relative wealth of inscriptions, there was another reason for my choice: this border war is the paradigm Jacobsen studied in his seminal paper “The Historian and the Sumerian Gods”,25 where that scholar discussed this problem thoroughly. Having examined the methodology for the study of this class of texts, the Bau- und Weihinschriften, Jacobsen adopts a middle way, dismissing the idea of being able to “to think like a man from antiquity” (as Croce suggested), but opting to suspend judgement: it is no accident that he uses the Greek term epochē,26 which Husserl borrowed from ancient Greek philosophy and which constitutes a tenet of phenomenological thought. The example Jacobsen discussed is precisely the Umma vs. Lagaš war examined in this paper. He interprets it, however, not as the history of a military conflict, as it is held to be today, but as a form of lengthy legal proceedings culminating in the conviction of the criminal.27 Indeed, the polyad god of Umma, the god Šara, is never charged with any offence whatsoever, nor offended in turn; it is men who are exclusively to blame: the Umma sovereigns, whose behaviour was a violation of the cosmic order, albeit limited to a specific region. After the conviction, the champion of the gods, Nin-ĝirsu.k, is given the task of entering the battlefield to restore order. The god operates on two levels. Besides his direct involvement, he also works indirectly, by generating sovereigns such as E’anatum or En-metena.k, who are attributed with having a divine birth. In this regard, it should be remembered that much later, in the maqlû ritual for countering black magic, the gods were invoked to deliver judgements, and the sentence damned a witch or warlock who had violated the world order to disappear from the universe.

Hammurabi’s Wars

From a variety of sources covering the ten years (from 1770 to 1760 BC) of almost uninterrupted military campaigns that led Hammurabi to rule the whole of Mesopotamia, including monumental inscriptions, year names and letters reporting news to the sovereigns, we learn that divination was held 25  Th. Jacobsen, “The Historian and the Sumerian Gods,” JAOS 114 (1994) 145–53. 26  Ibidem, 149. 27  Ibidem, 149–150.

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in very high esteem. The Ancients used it not only to seek to understand the divine will on crucial points, but also turned to it for minor matters. They used it in wartime to locate as yet invisible enemy troops or to learn the outcome of a battle in advance. In civilian life divination was deemed to be documentary evidence in law suits to regain properties or possessions. As far as major issues are concerned, I have earlier recalled E’anatum’s incubation rite in the Nin-ĝirsu.k temple, an event that would trigger off the war against Umma. What follows is a passage from a letter to the king of Mari, Zimri-Lîm, from one of his emissaries, who is reporting on Hammurabi’s decisions.28 Frequent raids and looting of troops by the king of Larsa.m, Rîm-Sîn, have exasperated Hammurabi, who tells the unnamed emissary: Now I urged (the sun-god) Šamaš and (the polyad god) Marduk and they answered me with «yes»; I would not have risen to this offensive without (consulting) a god.29 Nonetheless, the most important documents for interpreting the meaning attributed to war during Hammurabi’s reign are nonetheless the stelae, lost to us, with the outstanding exception of one that is almost intact and kept in the Louvre, called Codex Hammurabi. It is well known that the corpus of the 280 laws is included between a Prologus (I 1–V 25) and an Epilogus (XL 1–XLII 44). In these two sections, the king, who had just accomplished the mission the gods assigned him, elucidates the nature of this mission. Through the polyad god of Babylon, Marduk, the greatest gods ordered Hammurabi to restore justice in his reign. Indeed, the conclusive line asserts that this is the task of the king: To make justice (mīšarum) prevail in the land, to abolish the wicked and the evil, to prevent the strong from oppressing the weak, to rise like the sun-god Šamaš over all humankind, to illuminate the land (I 40–8).30 This incipit is followed by a sequence of 25 strings, each of them mentioning a city, its polyad divinity, the name of the main shrine and other standard 28  D. Charpin, Hammu-rabi de Babylone (Paris: PUF, 2003) 84 = D. Charpin, Archives Royales de Mari XXVI/2 (Paris: Éditions Recherche sur les Civilisations, 1988) 385, 13–15; W. Heimpel, Letters to the King of Mari (Winona Lake IN: Eisenbraun, 2003) 333–4. 29  Heimpel, Letters . . ., 333–4. 30  M. Roth, Law Collections from Mesopotamia and Asia Minor (Atlanta GA: Society of Biblical Literature, 1997) 76–7.

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information. So, there are 25 units that bring together various manifestations related to one and the same cosmic force, the polyad divinity. Over these 25 cities Hammurabi, for the people’s good, (ana šīr niši ṭubbim I 49), extended his rule. This is the list of cities added to the Babylonian kingdom after their conquest by Hammurabi, who “freed” them, in order to bring them back into the celestial order. Just as Gilgameš, with his brightness (me-lam), forced his besieger Agga to surrender by the walls of Uruk, when Hammurabi achieves his goal he also shines over the conquered cities like a beneficial sun belonging to a divine order, which recalls Bottéro’s “beings with a high ontological density”, which I mentioned earlier.31 Conclusions The connection between the mythological level (Lugal-e, Enūma eliš) and that of the celebrative narration of military exploits (E’anatum, En-metena.k; Hammurabi) can be made only if the cosmological meaning of the former is explored more fully. The safest way to do this is a comparison with analogous mythological material from corresponding narrative contexts in other cultures. To make this comparison, I now turn to a seminal study by Ananda Coomaraswamy. Coomaraswamy broadly outlined such a comparison, gathering material from various mythological traditions to elucidate the cosmological meanings of the Indian myth of Indra and Namuci, which strongly resembles both Lugal-e and Enūma eliš.32 He assumed that the myth of Indra and Namuci was one of many manifestations—including the epic tale of the Round Table cycle Sir Gawain and the Green Knight—of what he described as a hidden framework common to the mythological heritage of several other cultures from around the globe. That myth therefore becomes the paradigm of the expression of concepts which are common to the majority of humanity.

31  J. Bottéro, Religion . . ., 38. 32  P. Mander, “The Magic Duel from Sumer to Grail: Considerations on a Study by A.K. Coomaraswany, Isimu—Revista sobre Oriente Próximo y Egipto en la antigüedad forthcoming.

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Elsewhere33 I have discussed Coomaraswamy’s study of the Mesopotamian material at length; here I will confine myself to examining those points that illuminate our understanding of the religious concepts underlying warfare. Theme a) A world ruler god, who intends to impose order on the universe, and whose paradigm is Indra, beheads a titan (Namuci), whose head rolls on the ground or, alternatively, becomes the sun. As a consequence of this feat, the victorious god can release the pent-up waters, which must be understood as the source of all things.34 In fact, the sun, which indicates the passing of days and months, is the symbol of time, which devours its own offspring. Even if no beheading is reported in either Lugal-e or Enūma eliš, it very likely appears in some as yet undocumented variation, where the solar nature of the severed head is evident, as the iconography shows.35 Theme b, c) The two contenders are not strangers to each other: they might even be brothers36 (theme b), or they may have been friends in the past, or the Titan may even have spontaneously offered himself as a victim to the god. I have discussed elsewhere the affinities between Asag and Nin-urta.k.37 Any reference to the struggle between Good and Evil is out of place, because Coomaraswamy mentions Puruṣa, the divine figure who, when split in half, gives rise to Heaven and Earth. The defeated god lends his body in order to form the cosmos, the parts of which are fashioned from his limbs38 (theme c). This latter variation is documented by the dismemberment of Ti’amat by Marduk. Theme g and h) Coomaraswamy further examines the topic of the bisection—such as that of Heaven and Earth—broadening his analysis to include the ‘body of death’ which Saint Paul exhorts man to cast off.39

33  Mander, “The Magic . . . forthcoming. 34  A.K. Coomaraswamy, “Sir Gawain and the Green Knight: Indra and Namuci,” Speculum 19/1 (1944) 104–25, 105. 35  H. Frankfort, The Art and Architecture of Ancient Orient, Fourth Revised Impression (Harmondsworth UK: Penguin Books, 1969) tab. 58 (B); A. Green, “Ancient Mesopotamian Religious Iconography” in Civilizations of the Ancient Near East (ed. J.M. Sasson, vol. III, New York: C. Scribner’s Sons—Simon & Schuster Macmillan, 2005) 1837–55, 1852. 36  Coomaraswamy, “Sir Gawain . . ., 106. 37  Mander, “The Magic Duel . . . forthcoming. 38  Coomaraswamy, “Sir Gawain . . ., 108. 39  Ibidem, 108–9.

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After his victory over his enemy, Indra becomes ‘Indra the Great’ and assumes the role that Namuci (Vṛtra) once held, before being beheaded.40 Not only does decapitation symbolize here the liberation of the sun from the darkness; it also stands for the production of multiplicity out of One. Beings can realise their own potential once they are “released from Varuṇa’s bonds”. It is important to observe that this realization is possible only between Heaven and Earth, that is to say, between Time (which is started by the regular rotation of the starry vault) and Space (which is expressed by the Earth’s breadth)41 (theme g). With this pivotal event, the course of time and becoming is set in motion, the symbol of which is the flowing of the waters. In figurative terms: The sacrifice of the One in order to repopulate the ‘wasteland’42 (theme h). Following Coomaraswamy’s cosmological interpretation, if the metaphysical “transition” from Unity to Plurality by means of the “creation” of Space and Time, and the return to Unity, constitute the universal meaning of the myth, this meaning forms the underlying principle of the more specific interpretation that Sumerians and Babylonians assigned to war. War, therefore, does not only enable both the restoration of a violated cosmic order (Lagaš vs. Umma) and the realization of the divine plan to revive justice (mīšarum) in the country (Hammurabi), but makes the defeated, and his mortal remains, part and parcel of the reorganization of the cosmos. Ninurta.k unleashes the waters of the Tigris, but, even more explicitly, Marduk organizes the world around the carcass of Ti’amat, whom he has defeated and killed. This, then, is the crucial element: not just the battle in itself, but, above all, the rituals performed upon the victorious outcome of that battle. And these rituals take two forms. The contraposition of two armies is not a deviation from the mythological pattern: the former army fights on behalf of Nin-urta.k, alias Nin-ĝirsu.k / Marduk, and the latter may consist of a multitude of beings, as documented in the mythology. The enemies defeated and killed by Nin-urta.k / Nin-ĝirsu.k, besides Asag, are well known, although the respective tales are lost to us. The Enūma eliš tells how Marduk could only confront Ti’amat after overcoming her army of eleven monsters, led by Kingu.43 40  Ibidem, 108–9. 41  Ibidem, 109. 42  Ibidem, 109, fn 2. 43  J.S. Cooper, The Return of Ninurta to Nippur (Roma: Pontificium Institutum Biblicum, 1978) 141–4; F.A.M. Wiggermann, Mesopotamian Protective Spirits (Groningen: Styx & PP, 1992) 145–7.

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The first ritual outcome of the battle concerns the remains of the fallen enemies. The heaps of corpses are more than just a macabre warning; they constitute the core of a religious ritual intended not only to pacify the ghosts (gidim / eṭemmu) of the enemies killed, but also to achieve this pacification by lifting their corpses on high, toward the heaven of the gods, as a sort of “raw material” snatched from the jaws of chaos. Unfortunately, the passage is fragmentary, but a heap of corpses can be found in Lugal-e. The following is the description of the conclusive phase of the battle between Nin-urta.k and Asag: “Nin-urta.k’s splendour covered the Land, he pounded the Asag like roasted barley, he . . . . . . its genitals (?), he piled it up like a heap of broken bricks, he heaped it up like flour, as a potter does with coals; he piled it up like stamped earth whose mud has been dredged. The hero had achieved his heart’s desire. Nin-urta.k, the lord, the son of Enlil, . . . . . . began to calm down”.44 Similarly to the act of heaping high the bodies of fallen enemies, in the erection of a ziggurat earth was lifted towards the sky (in the form of clay bricks), and the ziggurat became more and more slender towards the top, the point or the cella at which it touched the sky. This brings us to the second ritual outcome of the battle. Just as the defeated monster (Anzu) becomes the god’s helper in another tale from the Nin-urta.k myth,45 in the same way the defeated entered the winner’s orbit. Indeed, the oaths at the conclusion of the “Stela of the Vultures”, and likewise the erection of the copies of the stela of the Codex Hammurabi in cities across his empire, reflect the conclusion of the path taken by the vanquished lower forces, symbolically raised by the victors who had gained control over them. Another analogy is the story of how the king of Kiš Agga became Gilgameš vassal, when the latter defeated the former by appearing in all his brightness (me-lam) on the walls of Uruk. To highlight the overwhelming significance of this episode, I recall how Achilles’ shout caused the Trojans to retreat, 44  Transl. etcsl Nin-urta.k’s exploits: a šir-sud (?) to Nin-urta.k verses 281–99. See also the translations by J. van Dijk, LUGAL UD ME-LÁM-bi NIR-ĜÁL, tome I, Introduction, Texte composite, Traduction, (Leiden: Brill, 1983) 87-8 and Jacobsen, The Harps . . . (New Haven CT: Yale University, 1987) 250, resumed in Th. Jacobsen, “The Asakku in Lugal-e” in A Scientific Humanist—Studies in Memory of Abraham Sachs (eds. E. Leichty, M. de Jong Ellis, P. Gerardi, Philadelphia PA: Philadelphia University Museum, 1988) 225–32, 228–29. 45  Th. Jacobsen, The Treasures of Darkness (New Haven CT: Yale University Press, 1976) 128–129; Wiggermann, Mesopotamian Protective . . ., 151–157; P. Mander, “I Mischwesen nella religione mesopotamica” in Monstra. Costruzione e Percezione delle Entità Ibride e Mostruose nel Mediterraneo Antico—vol. I (ed. I. Baglioni, Roma: Edizioni Qasar, 2013) 149–59, 155.

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when the hero appeared before them at the Achaian trench, after learning of Patroclus’ death in Book 18 of the Iliad. This episode clearly echoes the one in the Sumerian poem, and its borrowing through the ages and different cultures clearly demonstrates its expressive power. Incidentally, it should be remembered that in the Lagaš inscriptions the diverting of canals is also mentioned as one of the violations perpetrated by Umma.46 Wu Yuhong, in fact, has put forth the theory that the mythical war between Agga of Kiš and Gilgameš of Uruk was the paradigm for real wars over access to irrigation.47 The triumphant brightness of the melammû of Nin-urta.k in Lugal-e, and Gilgameš himself in Gilgameš and Agga, as well as Hammurabi’s solar glow (kīma Šamaš), after he has restored justice, are powerful images, because they express the assertion of a principle which succeeds in reintegrating the vanquished, and thus restoring the cosmic order to the wasteland. Bibliography T. Abusch, “Ascent to the Stars in a Mesopotamian Ritual: Social Metaphor and Religious Experience” in Death, Ecstasy, and Other Wordly Journeys (eds. J.J. Collins, M.A. Fishbane, New York: State Universuty of New York Press, 1995) 15–39. H. Avalos, Illness and Health Care in the ANE. The Role of the Temple in Greece, Mesopotamia, and Israel (Atlanta GA: Scholar Press, 1995). J. Bauer, “Der vorsargonische Abschnitt der mesopotamischen Geschichte” in Mesopotamia, Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis (OBO) 160 (eds. P. Attinger, M. Wäfler), Späturuk-Zeit und Frühdynastiche Zeit (eds. J. Bauer, R.K. Englund, M. Krebernik = OBO 160/1, Univesitätsverlag Freiburg Schweiz, Freiburg & Göttingen: Vandenhoek & Ruprecht, 1998) 429–585. M. Bonechi, “Hammurapi e Šamaš” in Il “codice” di Hammurabi: da monumento celebrativo a “codice” di leggi (ed. L. Verderame, EEHAR, 20–21 marzo 2014, Roma: Sapienza, Università di Roma) forthcoming. J. Bottéro, “La création de l’homme et sa nature dans le poème d’atrahasîs” in Societies and Languages of the Ancient Near East—Studies in Honour of I.M. Diakonoff (eds. M.A. Dandamayev et al., Warminster UK: Aris & Phillips LTD, 1982) 24–32. ———, Mesopotamia—Writing, Reasoning, and the Gods (Chicago, London: The University of Chicago Press, 1992).

46  Ent. 28–9 lines 70–7. 47  W. Yuhong, “The Earliest War for the Water in Mesopotamia: Gilgamesh and Agga,” NABU 1998/4 n. 103, 93–5.

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———, Religion in Ancient Mesopotamia (Chicago, London: The University of Chicago Press, 2001). E. Cassin, La splendeur divine: Introduction à l’étude de la mentalité mesopotamienne (Paris, La Haye: Mouton & Co., 1968). D. Charpin, Archives Royales de Mari XXVI/2 (Paris: Éditions Recherche sur les Civilisations, 1988). ———, Hammu-rabi de Babylone (Paris: PUF, 2003). P. Charvát, “The Earliest History of the Kingdom of Kiš” in Who was King? Who Was Not King? (eds. P. Charvát, M. Vlčková, Prague: Institute of Archaeology of the Academy of Sciences of the Czech Republic, 2010) 16–22. A.K. Coomaraswamy, “Sir Gawain and the Green Knight: Indra and Namuci,” Speculum 19/1 (1944) 104–25. J.S. Cooper, The Return of Ninurta to Nippur (Roma: Pontificium Institutum Biblicum, 1978). ———, Recostructing History from Ancient Sources. The Lagash-Umma Border Conflict (Malibu CA: Undena Publ., 1983). ———, Sumerian and Akkadian Inscriptions, I—Presargonic Inscriptions (Vol. 1, New Haven CT: The American Oriental Society Translations Series, 1986). H. Frankfort, The Art and Architecture of Ancient Orient, Fourth Revised Impression (Harmondsworth UK: Penguin Books, 1969). A. Green, “Ancient Mesopotamian Religious Iconography” in Civilizations of the Ancient Near East (ed. J.M. Sasson, vol. III, New York: C. Scribner’s Sons—Simon & Schuster Macmillan, 2005) 1837–55. W. Heimpel, Letters to the King of Mari (Winona Lake IN: Eisenbraun, 2003). Th. Jacobsen, The Treasures of Darkness (New Haven CT, Yale University, 1976). ———, The Harps that Once . . . Sumerian Poetry in Translation (New Haven CT: Yale University, 1987). ———, “The Asakku in Lugal-e” in A Scientific Humanist—Studies in Memory of Abraham Sachs (eds. E. Leichty, M. de Jong Ellis, P. Gerardi, Philadelphia PA: Philadelphia University Museum, 1988) 225–32. ———, “The Historian and the Sumerian Gods,” JAOS 114 (1994) 145–53. I.M. Kikawada, “The Double Creation of Mankind in Enki and Ninmah, Atrahasis I 1-351, and Genesis 1–2,” Iraq 45 (1983) 43–5. J. Klein, “ ‘Personal God’ and Individual Prayer in Sumerian Religion” in Das Leben— Vorträge gehalten auf der 28. Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale in Wien 6.–10. Juli 1981, Archiv für Orientforschung, Beiheft 19) (eds. H. Hirsch, H. Hunger, Horn (Österreich): Verlag Berger, 1982) 295–306. W.G. Lambert, A.R. Millard, Atra-hasīs The Babylonian Story of the Flood (Oxford: Oxford at the Clarendon Press, 1969). ———, “Ninurta Mythology in the Babylonian Epic of Creation” in Keilschrift­liche Literaturen: ausgewählte Vorträge der XXXII. Reconcontre Assyriologique

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Internationale, Münster, 8.–12.7. 1985 (eds. K. Hecker, W. Sommerfeld, Berlin: D. Reimer, 1986) 55–60. P. Mander, “The Mesopotamian Exorcist and His Ego” in Ana turri gimilli, studi dedicati al Padre Werner R. Mayer, S.J. (eds. M.G. Biga, M. Liverani, Roma, Quaderno di Vicino Oriente V, Dipartimento di Scienze Storiche Archeologiche e Antropologiche dell’Università “La Sapienza”, 2010). ———, Review of Tammy Schneider, “An Introduction to Ancient Mesopotamian Religion,” Bibliotheca Orientalis 69/3–4 (2012) 263–4. ———, “I Mischwesen nella religione mesopotamica” in Monstra. Costruzione e Percezione delle Entità Ibride e Mostruose nel Mediterraneo Antico—vol. I, (ed. I. Baglioni, Roma: Edizioni Qasar, 2013) 149–59. ———, “The Magic Duel from Sumer to Grail: Considerations on a Study by A. Coomaraswamy” Isimu—Revista sobre Oriente Próximo y Egipto en la antigüedad forthcoming. P. Matthiae, Il sovrano e l’opera (Bari, Roma: Laterza, 1994). P. Michałowski, “Presence at the Creation” in Lingering over Words—Studies in Ancient Near Eastern Literature in Honor of William L. Moran (eds. T. Abusch et al., Atlanta GA: Scholar Press, 1990) 381–96. M. Roth, Law Collections from Mesopotamia and Asia Minor (Atlanta GA: Society of Biblical Literature, 1997). W. Sallaberger, “Ur III-Zeit” in Mesopotamia (eds. P. Attinger, M. Wäfler), Akkade-Zeit und Ur III-Zeit (eds. W. Sallaberger, A. Westenholz (= OBO 160/3), Freiburg & Göttingen: Univesitätsverlag Freiburg Schweiz, Vandenhoek & Ruprecht, 1999) 119–390. Å. Sjöberg, “Die göttliche Abstammung der sumerisch-babylonischen Herrscher,” Orientalia Suecana 21 (1972) 87–112. E. Sollberger, Corpus des inscriptions royales présargoniques de Lagash (CIRPL) (Genéve: E. Droz, 1956). H. Steible, Die altsumerischen Bau- und Weihinschriften—Teil I: Inschriften aus ‘Lagaš’ (FAOS 5/1, Wiesbaden: F. Steiner Verlag, 1982). P. Steinkeller, “An Archaic “Prisoner Plaque” from Kiš?,” Revue d’Assyriologie et Archaéologie Orientale 107 (2013) 131–157. J. van Dijk, LUGAL UD ME-LÁM-bi NIR-ĜÁL, tome I, Introduction, Texte composite, Traduction, (Leiden: Brill, 1983). F.A.M. Wiggermann, Mesopotamian Protective Spirits (Groningen: Styx & PP, 1992). W. Yuhong, “The Earliest War for the Water in Mesopotamia: Gilgamesh and Agga,” NABU 1998/4 n. 103, 93–5.

Some Remarks Concerning the Development of the Theology of War in Ancient Mesopotamia Vladimir Sazonov Warfare is the greatest affair of state, the basis of life and death. The Way (Tao) to survival or extinction.1 Sun Tzu, 544–496 BC, Art of War

Introduction2 As we know, religion and politics in Ancient Mesopotamia have always been very closely connected. Theology was a very influential and powerful political weapon. As theologian Espak rightly remarked: It can be stated that in Ancient Near Eastern, Old Testament and later Christian understanding, religious warfare or the theology of war was mostly in service to a desired political goal. When there was a political need to attack someone, theological reasoning was used to justify, explain or motivate the war.3 So, the theology of war4 very often served political goals not only in Ancient Near Eastern but in Old Testament5 and Christian ideologies too. This remains 1  Sun Tzu, Art of War (transl. R.D. Sawyer, Boulder-San Franscisco-Oxford: Westviews Press, 1994) 167. 2  This article was written with the financial support of grants ETF8993, ETF8669 and PUT500. I am very thankful for critical remarks to dr. Sebastian Fink and dr. Mait Kõiv. 3  P. Espak, “The Emergence of the Concept of Divine Warfare and Theology of War in the Ancient Near East,” ENDC Proceedings 14 (2011) 127. 4  Different aspects of the theology of war and justification of war in Ancient Near East have been discussed by many scholars (e.g. S.-M. Kang, Divine War in the Old Testament and in the Ancient Near East (Berlin, New York: Walter de Gruyter, 1989); F.M. Fales, “Preparing for War in Assyria” in Economie antique: La querre das les economies antiques (eds. J. Andreau, P. Brient, R. Descat, Saint-Bertrand-de-Comminges, France: Musée archéologiqque départemental, 2000) 35–62; W. Mayer, “Waffenreinigung im assyrischen Kriegsritual” in Kult, Konflikt und Versöhnung (Beiträge zur kultischen Sühne in religiösen, sozialen und politischen Auseinandersetzungen das antiken Mittelmeerraums, Veröffentlichungen des AZERKAVO/

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���6 | doi ��.��63/9789004324763_004

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the case even today in the post-modern and high-tech world of the Middle Eastern region at the beginning of the 21st century where the influence of radical political-religious movements and organizations—especially within Islam (e.g., Salafism)—has become significantly influential and religion is still very closely related to politics, to such an extent that politics and theology often cannot be separated. Theology is used even now by religious fundamentalists and extremists for their political goals and for the justification of wars, terror, genocide, etc.—for example, the Islamic State in Syria and Iraq.6 In this article I would like to provide an overview of the development of the theology of war in Ancient Mesopotamia from the Early Dynastic Period until Neo-Assyrian times.

Sumer and Akkad

In written sources and iconography we can find evidence for the theology of war in Mesopotamia from as far back as Early Dynastic Sumer. The earliest evidence for this comes from Early Dynastic Lagash, the ancient city from which we have managed to gather the largest number of royal inscriptions, including over 50 from the reign of Ur-Nanše (ca. 2520 BC). Almost all of these inscriptions describe building or rebuilding temples for important gods of Lagash such as Ninğirsu or Nanše, etc.,7 but, as shown by Peeter Espak, there is one SFB 493, vol. 2, Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2001) 123–33; W.J. Hamblin, Warfare in the Ancient Near East to 1600 BC. Holy Warriors at the Dawn of History (New York: Routlege, 2006); Z. Bahrani, Rituals of War. The Body and Violence in Mesopotamia (New York: Zone Books, 2008); R. Schmitt, “Der „Heilige Krieg” im Pentateuch und im deuteronomistischen Geschichtswerk” in Studien zur Forschungs-, Rezeptions- und Religionsgeschichte von Krieg und Bann im Alten Testament (AOAT 381, Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2011); P. Espak, “Evolution toward the concept of Holy War in the Ancient Near East” in Society of Biblical Literature with European Association, of Biblical Studies (International Meeting of Society of Biblical Literature, Tartu University, 25.–29. July 2010, Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2010) 52; Espak, The Emergence . . ., 115–29); See also D.S. New, Holy War. The Rise of Militant Christian, Jewish and Islamic Fundamentalism (North Caroline-London: McFarland&Company, Inc., Publishers, 2002). 5  A. Põldsam, “Sõjast ja rahust Heebrea Piiblis (Of War and Peace in the Hebrew Bible),” Eesti Akadeemilise Orientaalseltsi aastaraamat (2009/2010) 85–90. 6   See for example R. Martin, A. Barzegar, Islamism, Contested Perspectives on Political Islam (Stanford, California: Stanford University Press, 2010); C. Selengut, Sacred Fury: Understanding Religious Violence (Walnut Creek, CA: AltaMira Press, 2003). 7  Espak, “The Emergence . . .; concerning gods in Lagash see G.J. Selz, “The Development of Pantheon in Lagaš,” Acta Sumerologica Japonensia 12 (1990) 111–42.

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fragment among them (Ur-Nanše E1.9.6b) in which the wars of Ur-Nanše are mentioned. This text comes from a destroyed stele fragment which had been repurposed as a door socket in one house in Lagash.8 The first section of the text Obverse describes the construction of temples, walls and canal digging by Ur-Nanše. The second part of the text Reverse is more interesting, however; a war with Umma and Ur is mentioned there. Reverse Col. i 1–iii 1–11 [Ur-Nanše, king] of Lagaš went to war against the leader of Ur and the leader of Ğiša (Umma). The leader of Lagaš defeated and [captured] the leader of Ur. He captured admir[al]. He captured Ama-barasi and Kišibgal, lieutenants. [He captured] Papursag, son of U’u’u He captured [PN, the lieut]enant (and) buried (his own casualties with honour) in tumuli. He defeated the leader of Ğiša (Umma).9 As Espak points out, this text is probably the earliest known longer description of an historical event in Mesopotamian history and belongs to the first written records of warfare.10 All the previous texts from Early Dynastic Sumer were only very short statements about building temples or sometimes digging canals, or simply named the ruler at the time, or sometimes his titulary. In this Ur-Nanše inscription the city-ruler of Umma, named Pabilgatuk, was killed or captured. In addition, there is also a list of enemy officers and officials who were taken as prisoners by Ur-Nanše. Ur-Nanše also goes on to mention the construction of burial mounds.11 In Espak’s opinion it seems that these burials were meant for fallen soldiers (and they could also be enemy soldiers). The interesting fact is that no gods are mentioned in the text, no divine force at all. Actually we have no evidence from Ur-Nanše or any earlier period concerning the theology of war. I agree with the following opinion proposed by Espak:

8  V.E. Crawford, “Inscriptions from Lagash: Season Four 1975–1976,” JCS 29 (1977) 192–97. 9  RIME 1 Ur-Nanše E1.9.1.6b. 10  Espak, “The Emergence . . ., 118, 120. In 2013 Piotr Steinkeller published an article “An archaic ‘prisoner plaque’ from Kiš”—this is an edition of one archaic stele from city of Kiš (dated ED II or ED I period) and inscription is a list of prisoner of war and it is the earliest known historical document from Sumer and it gives some information about wars between Kiš and other cities (P. Steinkeller, “An Archaic ‘Prisoner Plaque’ from Kiš,” Revue d’assyriologie et d’archéologie orientale 1/107 (2013) 131–57. 11  RIME 1 Ur-Nanše E1.9.1.6b.

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Maybe this indicates that the concept of “holy war” or “theology of war” was not fully developed in the minds of the ancient Mesopotamians and warfare was seen as a fight between human forces. Since the early city deities were mostly gods of fertility and “benevolence”, and not mighty war lords, this idea seems plausible. Although divine advice and approval was most certainly requested of the gods by priests in various ceremonies and rituals before and during the war, the direct involvement of gods in violence between human armies might have been unusual thinking.12 Actually, the theology of war was developing all the time and, as early as c. 2400 BC or earlier, E-anatum,13 ruler of Lagash, tried to justify his military campaigns using theology, divine forces and gods. Here I will select only a few examples of wars between E-anatum and the leader of Umma and Akšak. E-anatum used theological justification for his aggressive politics and war. He also used theology for propaganda. xi 21–23 E-[anatum] destroyed the foreign lands for the god Ninğirsu.14 xi 24–xii 4 E-an[atum] restored to the god Ninğirsu’s control [his] belov[ed field], the Gu’eden[a].15 xvi 12–17) E-anatum gave the great battle net of the god Enlil to the leader of Ğiš[a] (Umma), and made him swear to him by it.16 xvi 18–24) The leader of Ğiša (Umma) swore to E-anatum: “By the life of the god Enlil, king of heaven and earth! I may exploit the field of the god Ninğirsu as an interest-bearing loan”.17 ii´ 1–5) [The god Ninğirsu] ordered E-anatum and he destroyed Ğiša (Umma).18 iv 20–v 8) All the foreign lands trembled before E-anatum, the nominee of the god Ninğirsu. In the year of the offensive of Akšak E-anatum, nominee of the god Ninğirsu, crushed Zuzu, king of Akšak, (all the way) from Antasur of Ninğirsu to Akšak, and killed him.19 12  Espak, The Emergence . . ., 120. 13  I.J. Winter, “Eannatum and the ‘King of Kiš’? Another look at the Stele of the Vultures and ‘Cartouches,’ in Early Sumerian Art,” Zeitschrift für Assyriologie und Vorderasiatische Archäologie 76 (1986) 205–12. 14  RIME E-anatum E1.9.3.1, 132. 15  RIME E-anatum E1.9.3.1, 132. 16  RIME 1 E-anatum E1.9.3.1, 132–133. 17  RIME 1 E-anatum E1.9.3.1, 133. 18  RIME 1 E-anatum E1.9.3.3, 143. 19  RIME 1 E-anatum E1.9.3.5, 147.

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As we have seen, E-anatum used gods (Enlil, Ninğirsu and other gods) to justify his wars. E-anatum’s military campaigns were undertaken by divine order given by the gods or divine powers. E-anatum shows in his inscriptions that he was led by Enlil or Ninğirsu; he was the chief or commander of the army of Lagash but was always supported or commanded by great gods. He “subjugates the foreign lands for the god Ninğirsu”. At the same time, E-anatum mentions that he was “E-anatum, granted strength by the god Ninğirsu” and he was “E-anatum, who has strength, declares the foreign land belongs to him”. In Peeter Espak’s opinion this is the first evidence of the idea of a theology of war: The inscriptions of the king E-anatum can be considered to be the first recorded evidence of “holy war” or “theology of war” in human history.20 If we look at texts from the next period in the kingdom of Akkad—the Sargonic Period (2334–2154 BC) when the first centralized territorial state was founded21—then the theology of war with the help and support of gods is clearer and seems to be better formulated. Sargonic kings used different ways to justify their aggression and military campaigns and the king was a warlike hero22 supported by gods. In one of his inscriptions the Akkadian king Narām-Sîn wrote as propaganda: Col ii 1’-15’) [Na]rām-S[î]n, mighty king, king of Akkad, and of the four quarters, spouse of the goddess Aštar-Annunitum,23 leader of the troops of the city of the god Ilaba, whe[n] the goddess Ištar . . . [h]im LACUNA24 In another inscription Narām-Sîn mentions that he is “on a mission from the goddess Ištar”.25 Many times in his inscriptions Narām-Sîn praises “the warlike Ištar” or ʽaštar-annunītum. As remarked by Aage Westenholz: 20  Espak, The Emergence . . ., 126. 21  See M. Liverani Akkad, the first world empire: structure, ideology, traditions (History of the Ancient Near East, Padova: S.A.R.G.O.N., 1993). 22  See about king as hero—G.B. Lanfranchi, “The King as a Hero in Ancient Mesopotamia” in Eroi, eroismi, eroizzazioni dalla Grecia antica a Padova e Venezia (Atti del Convegno Internazionele, Padova, 18–19 settembre 2006, Padova: S.A.R.G.O.N., 2007) 17–25. 23   The warlike Ištar, see for example G. Colbow, Der kriegerische Ištar: zu den Erscheinungsformen bewaffneter Gottheiten zwischen der Mitte des 3. und der Mitte des 2. Jahrtausends (München: Profil-Verlag, 1991). 24  RIME 2 Naram-Sîn E2.1.4.1, 88. 25  RIME 2 Naram-Sîn E2.1.4.3, 96, rev. ii 16–20; see for example inscriptions of E-anatum— RIME 1 E-anatum E1.9.3.1, 129–130, iv 18–19: “The goddess Inanna accompanied him”.

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I doubt very much that he invented that sobriquet for Akkade’s leading deity, but it suited his own taste excellently. I also doubt that Naramsin’s personal devotion to Ishtar was ever made and official Imperial ideology, as is sometimes asserted. With the possible exception of Sennacherib and Nabonidus, no Mesopotamian king ever sought to tamper with the religious beliefs and cult practices of their subjects.26 There was no doubt that to be on a mission from a god, goddess or gods meant that this mission (military or peaceful) was legitimate, was right, because it was done by divine command in the name of the gods. In another Narām-Sîn27 inscription about his campaigns against Ebla and Armanum, which he conquered and destroyed, we find: i 1–10) Whereas, for all time since the creation of mankind, no king whosoever had destroyed Armānum and Ebla, i 11–20) the god Nergal, by means of (his) weapons opened the way for Narām-Sîn, the mighty, and gave him Armānum and Ebla. i 21–29) Further, he gave to him Amanus, the Cedar Mountain, and the Upper Sea. i 30–ii 7) By means of the weapons of god Dagān, who magnifies his kingship, Narām-Sîn, the mighty, conquered Armānum an Ebla. ii 8–19) Further, from the side of Euphrates River as far as (the city of) Ulišum, he smote the people whom god Dagān had given to him fo the first time.28 Again, theology was used for the justification of Narām-Sîn’s aggressive politics against territories in Syria and Lebanon, but also in Zagros and Elam. This fine illustration of Narām-Sîn’s aggressive politics is not only represented in his inscriptions but also in his famous Victory Stele.29 26  O BO 160/3, 49. 27  RIME 2 Narām-Sîn E2.1.4.26, 132–133. 28  RIME 2 Narām-Sîn E2.1.4.26, 32–133. 29  Although the stele of Narām-Sîn is not the first triumph stele from Mesopotamia (see for example “Stele of Vultures” of E-anatum (see I.J. Winter, “After the Battle is Over: The “Stele of the Vultures” and the Beginning of Historical Narrative in the Ancient Near East” in Pictorial Narrative in Antiquity to the Middle Ages (eds. H. Kessler, M.S. Simpson, Washington D.C.: National Gallery, 1985) 11–32, or others steles), his stele is, however, the one of the best examples of state propaganda from Ancient Mesopotamia where the king was represented as a valiant, well-muscled, mighty man, invincible and deified hero, who killed Lullubeans. It was fashioned from sandstone and stands approximately

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From the Ur III period (2112–2004 BC) or the Old Babylonian Period (2000– 1595 BC) we can also uncover many good examples in which theology was used for the justification of wars. In A praise poem of Šulgi (Šulgi B) king Šulgi (2093–2047 BC) declares: 25–38.  I place my foot on the neck of the foreign lands; the fame of my weapons is established as far as the south, and my victory is established in the highlands. When I set off for battle and strife to a place that Enlil has commanded me, I go ahead of the main body of my troops and I clear the terrain for my scouts. I have a positive passion for weapons. Not only do I carry lance and spear, I also know how to handle slingstones with a sling. The clay bullets, the treacherous pellets that I shoot, fly around like a violent rainstorm. In my rage I do not let them miss. 39–51. I sow fear and confusion in the foreign land. I look to my brother and friend, youthful Utu, as a source of divine encouragement. I, Šulgi, converse with him whenever he rises over there; he is the god who keeps two meters high. It was taken by the Elamite king Šutruk­-nahhunte from Sippar to Susa in the 12th century BC (OBO 160/3, 67). The stele of Narām-Sîn with his inscription was found by archaeologists in Susa in South-West Iran and is now located in Paris in the Louvre. Narām-Sîn was represented as towering above his soldiers, 1.5 times taller than his warriors. On the stele Narām-Sîn is shooting his enemies with arrows from a bow and he wears a horned crown—this was a typical symbol of the deification of divine creatures in Mesopotamia. This horned crown was used only by gods and demons, and also defied rulers. This important attribute or sign of deification attests to the fact that NarāmSîn had already been deified during his reign (W. Orthmann, Der alte Orient, Propyläen Kunstgeschichte (Frankfurt am Main, Berlin, Wien: Propyläen-Verag, 1985) pics. 104; OBO 160/3, 67). If we compare, for example, the Narmer Palette from Egypt (31st century BC) with the Narām-Sîn stele we find many similarities (Bahrani, Rituals . . ., 110–119). Both are propagandistic steles. Although the Narmer Palette is over seven hundred years older than the Victory stele of Narām-Sîn, they have a lot of similarities. On both of them a king is represented killing enemies, depicted as a hero, larger than his enemies. Narmer, a king of Upper Egypt, is killing a defeated enemy kneeling in front of the Pharaoh. This is static. In the Victory Stele of Narām-Sîn the king is represented as physically very strong, dominating over all men. Both Narmer and Narām-Sîn are deified, and this is very important from an ideological point of view. In Egypt the pharaoh was represented as a living god, it is Egyptian tradition, but not from the point of view of theological aspects. On the stele of Narām-Sîn there is a divine emblem incorporating: the sun disk of the god Šamaš; a star which is probably the goddess Ištar, protector of Akkad dynasty; and Narām-Sîn wearing a horned crown, a symbol of deification (W. Farber, “Die Vergöttlichung Narāmsins,” Orientalia Nova Series 52 (1983) 67–72).

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a good eye on my battles. The youth Utu, beloved in the mountains, is the protective deity of my weapons; by his words I am strengthened and made pugnacious (?). In those battles, where weapon clashes on weapon, Utu shines on me. Thus I broke the weapons of the highlands over my knees, and in the south placed a yoke on the neck of Elam. I make the populations of the rebel lands—how could they still resist my weapons?—scatter like seed-grain over Sumer and Akkad.30 The Neo-Sumerian king Šulgi used theology very effectively to support his military activity. We can see in his hymns and royal inscriptions that the theology of war played an important part in royal ideology and politics and was used by Šulgi as an effective tool for launching wars, invasions, and of course for the annexation of countries (e.g., Elam). Theology helped Šulgi create a large territorial state (the Neo-Sumerian kingdom) and it was masterfully used in royal propaganda. Theology was also used by the kings of Isin, Larsa and Babyon to similar ends. From the Old Babylonian Period (2000–1595 BC) we find many good examples in which theology was used for the justification of wars. For example, in the inscriptions of King Hammurapi (1792–1750 BC) we see the following evidence: i 1–11 [Hamm]u-rāpi, mighty [ma]n, vali[ant k]ing, king who makes the four quarters be at peace, favorite of the god An, who [makes] splendid the . . . [of] the god En[lil], i 12–17 when the gods [An] (and) En[lil] magnified [his] destiny (and) the great gods called him (by name) i 18–28 with his fetters he tied up the enemy, [his] weapon smote the arm[y] that was hostile to hi[m], [in] combat he slew the ev[il ] land. [His] force . . . the disobe[dient].31

The Old and Middle Assyrian Periods

Moving on to Assyria, in order to show some examples of the development of the theology of war we must examine the historical period when the city-state Aššur had become more or less independent of rulers of the Third Dynasty of Ur (2112–2004 BC) after the fall of the Neo-Sumerian king. It is from this very 30  ETCSL translation t.2.4.2.02. 31  RIME 4 Hammu-rāpi E4.3.6.4, 338.

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moment that we can chart the beginning of the statehood of Aššur. The god Aššur was always seen by Assyrians as a real sovereign and owner of the Land of Aššur.32 The ruler of Aššur was simply his vice-regent. Only the god Aššur was regarded as almighty Lord of all Assyrian people.33 Lambert wrote about Aššur in a very interesting article where he remarked that “in early Assyrian inscriptions the rulers address him (i.e., the god Aššur) only bēlī ‘my lord’, and in early Assyrian names . . . it appears ilum/ilī ‘the god/my god’ means Aššur”.34 In the longest inscription of the ruler of Aššur, Erišum I,35 we can read the following: 35.) “Aššur is king, Erišum is (his) appointee.”36 This passage seems very similar to the passage from the text of Silulu who ruled in Aššur two or three generations earlier (c. 2000 BC) and who was mentioned in the Assyrian King List:37 1–6.) Aššur is king, Silulu is vice-regent of the city Aššur, son of Dakiki, herald of the city Aššur, (your/his servant).38 As Larsen remarked quite accurately:

32  S.W. Holloway, Aššur is King! Aššur is King! Religion in the Exercise of Power in the NeoAssyrian Empire (Leiden, Boston, Köln: Brill, 2002). 33  S. Parpola, “Monotheism in Ancient Assyria” in One God or Many? Concepts of Divinity in the Ancient World (ed. B.N. Porter, Transactions of the Casco Bay Assyriological Institute, Vol. 1, Casco Bay, 2000) 168–173. The motive of almighty Lord—compare with Christian and Muslim God. 34  W.G. Lambert, “The God Aššur,” Iraq 45 (1983) 82–3. 35  Erišum or Irišum. 36  RIMA 1, Erišum I, A.0.33.1, 21, lines 35–36. 37  B. Cifola, Analysis of Variants in the Assyrian Royal Titulary from the Origin to TiglathPilesar III (Napoli: Istituto Universitario Orientale, 1995) 8: “The King List becomes reliable starting from Sulili, the first of series of kings of Ashur whose contemporary epigraphic sources are preserved. The scribes maintained that they based their work on these texts to compile the King List itself”; see also I.J. Gelb, “Two Assyrian King Lists,” JNES 13/4 (1954) 209–30; J.J. Finkelstein, “Early Mesopotamia, 2500–1000 BC” in Propaganda and Communication in World History, Volume I, The Symbolic Instrument in Early Times (eds. H.D. Lasswell, D. Lerner, H. Speier, Honolulu: An East-West Center Book, the University Press of Hawaii, 1979) 63–4. 38  RIMA 1 Silulu A.0.27.1, 12–13, lines 1-6.

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It is echoed, of course, in the Middle Assyrian coronation ritual where the priests leading the procession cry: “Assur is king!” The reluctance in Assyria to make use of the title šarrum for human beings—in marked contrast to Babylonia—points directly back to the OA period (and earlier) where Assur alone was “king” and where a man ruled the city as Assur’s representative or vicar.39 We have strong evidence for the theology of war in Assyria dating back to the Middle Assyrian period when Aššur became a territorial kingdom since 14th– 13th centuries BC.40 The growth of power and the expansion into the Middle Assyrian Kingdom was directly connected to this new political-ideological program41 and, of course, to theology. The purpose of these Middle and NeoAssyrian kings’ geopolitical ambitions is splendidly reflected in their royal inscriptions42 that listed their successful military campaigns. In royal propaganda43 royal titles and epithets played a very significant role44 and their use therefore became more and more ambitious with every successive ruler. The kings began to use such universalistic titles and epithets as “king of the

39  M.T. Larsen, “The City and its King: On the Old Assyrian Notion of Kingship” in Le Palais er la Royauté (Archéologie et Civilisation), (ed. P. Garelli, XIXe Recontre Assyriologique Internationale, organisée par le grupe François Thureau-Dangin, Paris, 29 juin–2 juillet 1971, Paris: Librairie Orientaliste Paul Geuthner S.A., 1974) 288; see also S.W. Holloway, Aššur is King! . . . 40  Cifola, Analysis . . ., 24. 41  V. Sazonov, Die Königstitel und -epitheta in Assyrien, im Hethiterreich und in Nordsyrien (Ugarit, Emar, Karkemiš) in der mittelassyrischen Zeit: Strukturelle Gemeinsamkeiten, Unterschiede und gegenseitige Beeinflussung (Tartu: Tartu University Press, 2010) 37; J. Llop, “The Creation of the Middle Assyrian Provinces,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 131/4 (2011) 591–603. 42  H.D. Galter, “Assyrische Königsinschriften des 2. Jahrtausends v. Chr. Die Entwicklung einer Textgattung” in Assyrien im Wandel der Zeiten (eds. H. Waetzoldt, H. Hauptmann, HSAO 6, Heidelberg: Heidelberger Orientverlag, 1997) 53–9. 43  Concerning Assyrian propaganda see P. Garelli, “La propaganda royale assyrienne,” Akkadika 27 (1982) 16–29; G. Barjamovic, “Propaganda and practice in Assyrian and Persian imperial culture” in Universal Empire: A Comparative Approach to Imperial Culture and Representation in Eurasian History (eds. P. Fibiger Bang, D. Kolodziejczyk, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012) 43–59. 44  Cifola, Analysis . . .; V. Sazonov, “Die mittelassyrischen, universalistischen Königstitel und Epitheta Tukultī-Ninurtas I. (1242–1206)” in Identities and Societies in the Ancient EastMediterranean Regions. Comparative Approaches. Henning Graf Reventlow Memorial Volume (ed. T.R. Kämmerer, AOAT 395/1, Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2011) 235–76.

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universe” or “king of the four corners”,45 etc., and tendencies to universalism became stronger and more noticeable, leading to the cult of personality of the living kings. I present here only a selection of examples of the use of theology for the justification of war. King Shalmaneser I (1275–1244 BC), conqueror of Hanigalbat,46 used the god Aššur quite often in his propagandistic inscriptions to justify wars. The king was even given a weapon by this god: 22-41) When Aššur, the lord, faithfully chose me to worship him, gave me the scepter, weapon, and staff to (rule) property the blackheaded people, and granted me the true crown of lordship; at the time, at the beginning of my vice-regency, the land Uruatri rebelled against me. I prayed to the god Aššur and the great gods, my lords. I mustered my troops (and) marched up to the mass of their mountains. I conquered the lands Himme, Uatqun, Mašgun (or Bargun), Salua, Halila, Lūhu, Nilipahri (or S/ Zallipahri), and Zingun—eight lands and their fighting forces; fifty-one of their cities I destroyed, brunt, (and) carried off their people and property. I subdued all of the land Uruatri in three days at the feet of Aššur, my lord.47 Shalmaneser I tried to show that his war against Urautri (future Urartu), fought against rebels, was started with the support of the god Aššur, and was therefore a just war. It was Aššur’s wish to conquer Uruatri, and the enemy was subdued at the feet of the god. It seems that under the reign of son and successor to Shalmaneser I, king Tukultī-Ninurta I48 (1243–1207 BC), the theology of war was even more clearly developed and better presented. We can find the propagandistic theological justification of Tukultī-Ninurta I’s wars not only in his inscriptions49 but also 45  M.-J. Seux, “Les titres royaux ‘šar kiššati’ et ‘šar kibrāt arba’i,” Revue D’Assyriologie et D’Archéologie Orientale 59 (1965) 1–18; see also Sazonov, “Die mittelassyrischen . . ., 235–76. 46  A. Harrak, Assyria und Hanigalbat, A Historical Reconstruction of Bilateral Relations from the Middle of the Fourteenth to the End of the Twelfth Centuries B.C. (Hildesheim-ZürichNew York: Olms, 1987); S. Heinhold-Krahmer, “Zur Salmanassars I. Eroberungen im Hurritergebiet,” AfO 35 (1988) 79–104. 47  RIMA 1 Shalmaneser I A.0.77.1, 183, lines 22–41. 48  See W.G. Lambert, “The Enigma of Tukulti-Ninurta I” in Studies on the History of Assyria and Babylonia in Honor of A.K. Grayson (eds. G. Frame, L. Wilding, Leiden: Nederlands Instituut Voor Het Nabije Oosten, 2004) 197-202; Sazonov, “Die mittelassyrischen . . ., 235–76. 49  See RIMA 1, 231–99.

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in the Tukultī-Ninurta Epic.50 This very propagandistic poem celebrated an act of aggression against Babylonia by king Tukultī-Ninurta I in which the king of Assyria was portrayed as a brother of the warlike god Ninurta, adopted son of god Enlil, and as an honorable and extremely powerful ruler with no rival: His radiance is terrifying; it overwhelms all foes, Every pious king of the four world regions stand in awe of him. When he bellows like thunder, mountains totter, And when he brandishes his weapon like Ninurta, (15’) all regions of the earth everywhere hover in panic. Though the destiny of Nudimmud, he is reckoned as flesh godly in his limbs, By fiat of the lord of the world, he was cast sublimely from the womb51 of the gods. It is he who is the eternal image of Enlil, attentive to people’s voice, the counsel of the land, Because the lord of the world appointed him to lead the troops, he praised him with his own lips, Enlil exalted him as he (Enlil) were his (Tukulti-Ninurta’s) (20’) own father, right after his firstborn son!52 50  P.B. Machinist, “Literature as Politics: The Tukulti-Ninurta Epic and Bible,” Catholic Biblical Quarterly 38 (1976) 455–82; P.B. Machinist, The Epic of Tukulti-Ninurta I. A Study in Middle Assyrian Literature (A Dissertation Presented to the Faculty of the Graduate School of Yale University in Candidacy for the Degree of Doctor of Philosophy 1978); V. Sazonov, “Kuningas Tukultī-Ninurta I: Tema eepos, kuninglik ideoloogia ja propaganda / King Tukulti-Ninurta I: The Epic of Tukulti-Ninurta and Some Remarks Concerning the Royal Ideology and Propaganda of the Middle-Assyrian Kingdom,” Eesti Akadeemilise Orientaalseltsi aastaraamat (2013) 34–51. 51  cast sublimely from the womb—see for example Praise poem of Šulgi (Šulgi A, 1–6): “I, the king, was a hero already in the womb; I, Šulgi, was born to be a mighty man” (ETCSL t.2.4.2.01). The Neo-Assyrian kings also had divine origin—RINAP 4 Esarhaddon 43, 97: “The goddess Ištar, [my lady], gave me [a royal destiny] as [a gift] (while I was still) in the womb of my mother to refur[bish] the gods [. . .]”. 52  Enlil’s firstborn son was the god Ninurta. A King as son of a god or goddess is an old motive used since the Early Dynastic period—e.g., E-anatum was titled as “nourished with wholesome milk by the goddess Ninhursağ”—ga-zi-kú-a dnin-hur-sağ-ka-ke4 (RIME 1 E-anatum E1.9.3.1, 150, col. ii, lines 5–6). But not only the Early Dynastic rulers of Lagash designated themselves as “nourished with the pure milk of the goddess Ninhursağ” or “child born by the deity NN”. Lugal-zagesi, king of Uruk and Umma, and some others also used a similar epithet—“son born by the goddess Nissaba”—dumu-tu-da dnissaba (RIME 1

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Precious is he in (Enlil’s) family, for where there is competition, he has of him protection. No one of all kings was ever rival to him, No sovereign stood forth as his battlefield opponent.53 Here we undoubtedly see influences from earlier periods, especially the Sargonic period, but also the Ur III, Old Babylonian, etc. Benjamin Foster says of the Tukultī-Ninurta Epic that “the narrative is composed in a bombastic, heroic style, strongly reminiscent of the earlier epics about Sargonic kings”.54 Tukultī-Ninurta I invaded Babylonia and, as Foster rightly remarks, “by treachery of his Babylonian counterpart Kashtiliash, who broke a longstanding treaty between the two nations. Tukultî-Ninurta calls upon Shamash, god of treaties, to witness the Babylonian’s perfidy, and he assembles his forces”.55 Lugal-zage-si E1.14.20.1, 435, col. i, lines 26–27) and “nourished by wholesome milk the goddess Ninhursağ—ga-zu-kú-a dnin-hur-sağ (RIME 1 Lugal-zage-si E1.14.20.1, 435, col. i, lines 28–29). In one of his inscriptions the Akkadian king Šar-kali-šarrī was titled as “beloved son of Enlil”—“divine Šar-kali-šarrī, beloved son of Enlil, migthy king of Akkad . . .”— dŚar-kà-lí-LUGALrí DUMU da-dì-śu dEn-líl da-núm LUGAL A-kà-deki (RIME 2 Šar-kališarrī E2.1.5.2, 188-89). I think that Šar-kali-šarrī was the first king in the history of Mesopotamia to claim the status of son of the main god Enlil. So, the king will be identified with the warlike hero god Ninurta, son of the main god Enlil (see V. Sazonov, “Vergöttlichung der Könige von Akkade,” Beihefte zur Zeitshrift für alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 374 (2007) 333–37. Later it will become quite a popular phenomenon, especially in the period of domination I Dynasty of Isin. For example, one famous king of this dynasty Lipit-Ištar (1934–1924 BC) called himself in his hymns and texts the son of Enlil (Hymn Lipit-Eštar A, line 2: dli-pi2-it-eš4-tar2 dumu den-lil2-la2-me-en (ETCSL c. 2.5.5.1); Lipit-Eštar D line 39: [d]li-pi2-it-eš4-tar2 nun za-a-še3 ğal2-la dumu den-lil2-la2ke4 (ETCSL c. 2.5.5.4); So, there are some texts that show that Šar-kali-šarrī could be deified some years later. 53   B.R. Foster, Before the Muses. An Anthology of Akkadian Literature (Maryland, Bethesda: CDL Press, 1996) 214–5. 54  B.R. Foster, Akkadian Literature of the Later period (Guides to the Mesopotamian Textual Record, vol. 2, Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2007) 20. As the first Roman emperors Julius Caesar and Octavianus Augustus became prototypes and archetypes for their successive Roman emperors and all rulers of Late Antiquity, Middle Age and also later for the whole of Western Civilization from the fall of the Roman Empire until contemporary history, so the Sargonic kings Sargon and Narām-Sîn became the prototypes of ideal kings or archetypal rulers in the Ancient Near East for a very long time. 55  Foster, Akkadian . . ., 19–20.

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(32’) [The gods became angry56 at] the king of the Kassite’s betrayal of the emblem [of Shamash], Against the transgressor of an oath, Kashtiliash, the gods of heaven and netherworld. They were [angry] at the king, the land, and the people, (35’) They [were furious and with] the willful one, their shepherd. His lordship, the lord of the world became disturbed, so he [forsook] Nippur, He would not approach [ ] (his) seat at Dur-Kurigalzu. Marduk abandoned his sublime sanctuary, the city [Babylon], He cursed his favorite city Kar-[]. (40’) Sin left Ur, [his] holy place [ ], Sh[amash became angry] with Sippar and Larsa, Ea [ ] Eridu, the house of wisdom [ ], Ishtaran became furious w[ith Der ], Annunitu would not approach Agade [ ], (45’) The lady of Uruk cast [off her ]: (All) the gods were enraged [ ] [ ] on account of the verdict [ ]57



Neo-Assyrian Period

The Neo-Assyrian period continued Middle Assyrian traditions but, of course, several new ideas were added. The growth of power, the expansion of the NeoAssyrian Empire and the creation of Pax Assyrica58 in the 8th–7th centuries BC were all directly connected to the new political-ideological programs of

56  Compare with The Cursing of Agade, where gods also became angry because of NarāmSîn (ETCSL t.2.1.5) or with the cylinder Cyrus II, king of Persia (559–530 BC). In his propagandistic cylinder Cyrus II depicted King Nabonidus, last king of Babylon, as a very negative person who caused many problems in Babylonia, and because of him the gods became angry. 57  Foster, Before the Muses . . ., 213–214. 58  On Pax Assyrica see F.M. Fales, “On Pax Assyrica in the Eight-Seventh Centuries BCE and Its Implications, in Isaiah’s Vision of in Biblical and Modern International Relations” in Swords into Plowshares (eds. R. Cohen, R. Westbrook, New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2008) 17–35.

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the highly ambitious Neo-Assyrian kings such as Tiglath-Pileser III, Sargon II,59 Sennacherib,60 Esarhaddon and Aššurbanipal. The aim of these Assyrian kings’ geopolitical ambitions was splendidly reflected in their royal inscriptions that listed successful military campaigns, among other feats, which they tried to justify with the support of theology and the gods.61 Theological justification also played a very significant role in royal propaganda62 and royal ideology.63 Like other Ancient Near Eastern kingships, Assyrian kingship was sacred.64 As with Narām-Sîn, later Neo-Assyrian kings were represented on bas-reliefs as very strong, well-muscled, men, as heroes, chosen by gods or even deified. We know that the king in Assyria was depicted as a shepherd of mankind65 and as an appointee of gods, as vice-regent of the main god Aššur on the earth. Tiglath-Pileser III, Sargon II, Sennacherib and Esarhaddon, like many other Mesopotamian kings and their predecessors such as Ur-Namma, Šulgi and Sargon II, also represented themselves as a true shepherd—re’u(m) kēnu. Simo Parpola gives a very good description of the Assyrian king and his nature: ‘As a “perfect man”, the king was not only God in human form, whose government represented the “kingdom of heaven” upon earth; he was the very cornerstone of man’s salvation. As we shall see, he was presented in Assyrian ideology as a child of God—in this case represented by the goddess Ištar, the mother aspect of Aššur, rather than Aššur himself—and his appointed role was that of the “good shepherd” leading humans to the right 59  See W. Mayer, Assyrien und Urartu I. Der achte Feldzug Sargons II. im Jahr 714 v. Chr. (AOAT 395/1, Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2013). 60  See E. Frahm, Einleitung in Sanherib-Inschriften (Arhiv für Orientforschung, Wien: Institut für Orientalistik 1997). 61  B. Oded, War, Peace and Empire. Justifications for War in Assyrian Royal Inscriptions (Wiesbaden: Dr Ludwig Reichert Verlag, 1992). 62  Garelli, “La propaganda . . ., 16–29; Barjamovic, “Propaganda . . ., 43–59. 63  P. Garelli, “La conception de la royaute en Assyrie” in Assyrian Royal Inscriptions: New Horizons in literary, ideologival, and historical analysis, Papers of a Symposium held in Cetona (Siena) June 26–28, 1980 (ed. F.M. Fales, Roma: Insituto per L’Oriente, Centro per la antichità e ka storia dell’arte del vicino oriente, 1981) 1–11. 64   W. Röllig, “Zum ‘Sakralen Königtum’ im Alten Orient” in Staat und Religion (ed. B. Gladigow, Düsseldorf: Patmos, 1981) 114–25. 65  See for example the inscription of Aššurbanipal, who wrote: “The god Adad released his rains and the god Ea opened his springs. Year after year. I shepherded the subjects of the god Enl[il] in prosperity and with justi[ce].”—translated by—J. Novotny, Selected Royal Inscriptions of Assurbanipal (State Archives of Assyria Cuneiform Texts, Volume X, Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2014) Text 1, 90, iv 8.

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path as servants of God.66 Or as Mario Liverani states it: “A king, while he rules in Assyria is always legitimate, and legitimacy is expressed in religious terms. In a broader sense, the divine approval is not the cause of the legitimacy of this action, it is clearly its expressed form. Therefore it would be incorrect to speak of the Assyrian king as “non-absolutist” in so far as he acts in the name and stead of the god Aššur, since Aššur is precisely the hypostasis of Assyrian kingship’.67 The Assyrian war machine was closely related to the divine power of the gods; it depended on god and on divine forces. In battle scenes in bas-reliefs from Assyria we can find many scenes of plundering, razing and different forms of physical torture—humiliation over the enemy’s body and violence to the enemy’s body, impaling, etc. All these things were done with divine permission, in the name of great gods—Aššur, Šamaš, Enlil or Ištar. Depictions of such acts are commonly found in victory scenes from the Neo-Assyrian period.68 This ideology is already apparent in the texts of the first great Neo-Assyrian king Shalmaneser III69 (858–824 BC). Shalmaneser used rather long, propagandistic, ideological and theological introductions to his military campaigns in which he listed the main gods of Assyria who supported him and gave him power. Shalmaneser III wrote: i 1–10) God Aššur, great lord, king of all the great gods; god Anu, king of the Igigu and Annunaki gods, lord of the lands; god Enlil, exalted one, father of the gods, creator of all; god Ea, king of apsȗ, lord of wisdom and understanding, god Sîn, king of the lunar disk, lofty luminary; (i 5) god Šamaš, lofty judge of heaven (and) underworld; lord of all, god Ninurta, strong and mighty one, splendidly preeminent of the gods, goddess Ištar; mistress of war and battle, whose game is fighting; great gods, who decree destinies, who aggrandize my sovereignty, who have made great my

66  Parpola, “Monotheism . . ., 192; Garelli, “La propaganda . . ., 24. 67  M. Liverani, “The Ideology of the Assyrian Empire” in Power and Propaganda. A Symposium on Ancient Empires (ed. M.T. Larsen, Power and Propaganda, Copenhagen: Akademisk Forlag, 1979) 301. 68  Bahrani, Rituals . . ., 19. 69  Concerning Shalmaneser III see S. Yamada, The Construction of the Assyrian Empire. A Historical Study of the Inscriptions of Shalmaneser III (859–824 BC) relating to His Campaigns to the West (Leiden, Boston, Köln: Brill, 2000).

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dominion, power, my honorable name (and) my lofty command over (all) lords; i 11–23) Shalmaneser, king of all people, prince, vice-regent of Aššur, strong king, king of all the four quarters, sun(god) of all people, ruler of all lands, kings, desired object of the gods, chosen of the god Enlil, trustworthy appointee of Aššur, attentive prince, (i 15) who has seen remote and rugged regions, who has trodden upon the mountains peaks in all the highlands, receiver of booty and tax from all the (four) quarters, who opens paths above and below at whose strong attack for combat the (four) quarters are distressed (and) (i 20) cities convulsed, strong male who acts with the support of Aššur (and) the god Šamaš, the god of his allies, and has no rival among the princes of the four quarters, magnificent king of lands, who has kept progressing by difficult ways through mountains and seas; i 24–27) son of Ashurnasirpal (II), exalted prince, whose priesthood was pleasing to gods and (who) subdued all lands at his feet,70 pure offspring of Tukulti-Ninurta (II), who slew all his enemies and annihilated (them) like a flood.71 This lengthy introduction to one of his royal inscriptions (Shalmaneser III A.0.102.6) is a good example of the use of theology and gods in propagandistic ways and, more specifically, his justification of war and aggressive politics. Shalmaneser, empowered by the gods including the divine judge Šamaš, subdued the enemies at the feet of the gods. The king clearly presented himself as the agent of divine will, which lent justification and granted success to his violent acts.

70  “Subdued/put all lands at this feet (deity N)”—a very old motive used as far back as in in Early Dynastic Sumer—see for example RIME 1 Lugal-zage-si E.1.14.20.1, lines i 36– ii 16: “When god Enlil, king of all lands, gave to Luga-zage-si the kingship of the land, directed (all) the eyes of the land (obediently) toward him, put all the lands at his feet, and from east to west made them subject to him, then, from Lower Sea (along) the Tigris and Euphrates to the Upper Sea, he (Enlil) put their road in good order for him. From east to west, Enlil permitted him no rival”. See also Middle Assyrian sources (e.g., RIMA 1 Shalmaneser I A.0.77.1, 183, lines 22–41). 71  RIMA 3 Shalmaneser III A.0.102.6, 33-34.

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Among many different titles and epithets, Esarhaddon72 (reigned 681–669 BC) called himself zikaru qaradu—valiant warrior,73 ašarad kal malki— foremost of all rulers,74 migir ilani—favorite of the gods, etc. This approach proved to be equally popular among the later Neo-Assyrian kings, which can be amply demonstrated by way of the inscriptions of Esarhaddon. Like the ancient Sumerian kings (E-anatum, Ur-Namma) who referred to themselves as “true shepherd” and several other Mesopotamian kings, some among them Assyrian, Esarhaddon also continued this tradition and called himself rê’û kênu (true shepherd). Additionally, he listed his very ambitious titulary and added that he is “favorite of great gods, whom from his childhood the gods Aššur, Šamaš, Bel, and Nabu, Ištar of Niniveh, and Ištar of Arbela named for the kingship of Assyria”.75 Here we can see some similarities with older inscriptions from Sumer and Akkad when the god NN named those for kingship,76 or granted kingship, or Ištar supported Narām-Sîn.77 Esarhaddon waged many military conflicts and wars during his reign. Here are just a few examples of the way he presented his campaigns. At the beginning of one of Esarhaddon’s inscriptions the king emphasised that he was selected and chosen by gods, that he is their favorite and appointee:

72   The Neo-Assyrian king Esarhaddon (Akkadian: Aššur-aḫu-iddin “the god Aššur has given a brother”), who was third king of Sargonic dynasty (771–612 BC), son of Sennacherib. Concerning Esarhaddon see for example D.J. Wiseman, “The Vassal-Treaties of Esarhaddon,” Iraq 20/1 (1958); E. Leichty, “Esarhaddon’s Letter to the Gods” in Ah, Assyria. . . . Studies in Assyrian History and Ancient Near Eastern Historiography presented to Hayim Tadmor (eds. M. Cogan, I. Eph’al, Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1991) 52–57; W. Mayer, Politik und Kriegskunst der Assyrer (Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 1995) 381–97; M. Luukko, G. Van Buylaere, The Political Correspondence of Esarhaddon (State Archives of Assyria 16, Helsinki: Helsinki University Press, 2002); RINAP 4; J. Lauinger, “Esarhaddon’s Succession Treaty at Tell Tayinat: Text and Commentary,” JCS 1/64 (2012) 87–123; K. Ulanowski, “Divine Intervention during Esarhaddon and Alexander’s Campaigns in Egypt” in Alexander the Great and Egypt. History, Art, Tradition (eds. V. Grieb, K. Nawotka, A. Wojciechowska, Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 2014) 29–48.  73  RINAP 4 Esarhaddon 1, col II, 13. 74  RINAP 4 Esarhaddon 1, col II, 13. 75  See for example RINAP 4 Esarhaddon 77, 154. 76  P. Steinkeller, “On Rulers, Priests and Sacred Marriage: Tracing the Evolution of Early Sumerian Kingship” in Priests and Officials in the Ancient Near East, Papers of the Second Colloquium on the Ancient Near East. The City and its Life, held at the Middle Eastern Culture Center in Japan (Mitaka, Tokyo), March 22–24, 1996 (ed. K. Watanabe, Heidelberg: Universitätsverlag C. Winter, 1999) 104–13. 77  See for example RIME 2 Narām-Sîn E2.1.4, col ii 8´–15´.

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Esarhaddon, great king, mighty king, king of the world, king of Assyria, king of the four quartets (of the world), governor of Babylon, king of the land of Sumer and Akkad; the one to whom the god Ašsur has stretched out his hand, permanently selected by god Enlil, who was chosen by the god Marduk, favorite of the goddess Irnini.78 In another inscription of Esarhaddon79 we find several lines that illustrate the justification of his wars very well: i 53–62) I, Esarhaddon, who with the help of the great gods, his lords, does not turn back in the heat of the battle, quickly heard of their evil things. I cried out in mourning, I raged like a lion,80 and my mood became furious. In order to exercise kingship (over) the house of my father I beat my hands together. I prayed to the gods Aššur, Sîn, Šamas, Bēl, Nabu, and Nergal, Ištar of Niniveh, (and) Ištar of Arbela and they accepted my words. With their firm “yes”, they were sending me reelable omens, saying: “Go! Do not hold back, we will go and kill your enemies!”81 Later in the same inscription: i 74–76) The goddess Ištar, the lady of war and battle, whose loves my priestly duties, stood at my side, broke their bows, (and) she split open their tight battle ranks.82 In 671 BC Esarhaddon’s military expedition began against Egypt and Tyre, which was allied with Taharqa, king of Egypt.83 If we look at the beginning of this inscription (unfortunately the first lines are broken) we can see Esarhaddon trying to show that his campaign against Tyre and Egypt was a mission from

78  RINAP 4 Esarhaddon 133, 271–272, lines 8–9. 79  RINAP 4 Esarhaddon 1. 80  King as a lion is a very old motive. See for example A praise poem of Šulgi (Šulgi A): line 3: I am a fierce-looking lion, begotten by a dragon, line 14: I am the growling lion of Utu (ETCSL t.2.4.2.01). 81  RINAP 4 Esarhaddon 1, 13. 82  RINAP 4 Esarhaddon 1, 13. 83  K. Ryholt, “The Assyrian Invasion of Egypt. Literary Tradition. A survey of the narrative source material” in Assyria and Beyond. Studies Presented to Mogens Trolle Larsen (ed. J.G. Dercksen, Leiden: Nederlands Instituut Voor Het Nabije Oosten, 2004) 483–510.

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the god Aššur who “takes Esarhaddon” and sends him to war against Egypt and Tyre,84 as formulated in Esarhaddon’s inscription Esarhaddon 34:85 6´–8´) in my tenth campaign, the god Aš[šur . . .] had me take [. . . (and) made] me [set out] to [Magan and Meluhha, which are called] Kush and Egypt in (their) native tongue.86 These inscriptions make clear that the gods commanded Esarhaddon to wage the wars, and empowered him for fulfilling this divinely prescribed mission. The king connected all his invasions, annexations, deportations,87 and 84  We have hundreds of pieces of evidence from Ancient Mesopotamia where the ruler used theological justification for his military campaign or invasion of another country. For example, Cyrus II, king of Persia (559–530 BC) and descendant of Teispes, used the conquest of Babylonia’s main god Marduk as one such justification. In his propagandistic cylinder, Cyrus II depicted King Nabonidus, last king of Babylon, as a very negative person who caused many problems in Babylonia, and because of him the gods became angry. Cyrus shows himself, unlike Nabonidus, as very positive ruler and legitimate king who was supported by Marduk and called by Marduk into Babylon. Cyrus’s cylinder is a clear example of state propaganda composed with the aim of justifying the annexation of Babylonia and the usurpation of power in Babylon by Cyrus II who was actually an aggressor. The political methods of Cyrus II are actually very close to those of Neo-Assyrian kings such as Esarhaddon or Aššurbanipal (669–630 BC) who also did similar things and, in a similar way, tried to justify the conquest of countries and tribes in Babylonia by using theology, proclaiming religious “tolerance” all the while (R.J. van der Spek, “Cyrus the Great, Exiles and Foreign Gods, A Comparison of Assyrian and Persian Policies on Subject Nations. Extraction and Control” in Studies in Honor of Matthew W. Stolper (eds. W. Henkelman, C.E. Jones, M. Kozuh, Chr. Woods, Chicago: Oriental Institute Publications, 2014) 260). So, the kingship of Assyria in the first millennium BC had an impact on the formation of later Ancient Eastern regional royal ideologies such as those of the Neo-Babylonian kings or Teispids-Achaemenids—R. Rollinger, “Das teispidisch-achaimenidische Großreich: Ein ‘Imperium’ avant la lettere?” in Imperien in der Weltgeschichte: Epochenübergreifende und globalhistorische Vergleiche (eds. M. Gehler, R. Rollinger, Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2014) 149–192. 85  See K. Radner, “Esarhaddons Expedition from Palestine to Egypt in 671 BC: A Trek Through Negev and Sinai” in Fundstellen: Gesammelte Schriften zur Archäologie und Geschichte Altvorderasiens ad honorem Hartmut Kühne (eds. D. Bonatz, R.M. Czichon, F.J. Kreppner, Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 2008) 305–14. 86  RINAP 4 Esarhaddon 34, 87–8; Radner, “Esarhaddons Expedition . . ., 305–7. 87  B. Oded, Mass Deportations and Deportees in the Neo-Assyrian Empire (Wiesbaden: Reichert Verlag, 1979); W. Röllig, “Deportation und Integration, Das Schiksal von Fremden im assyrischen und babylonischen Staat, in Die Begeegnung mit dem Fremden, Wertungen

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killing with theology. All that he did was in the name of gods, by the support of the gods or by the wishes or orders of the gods. As we see in some examples of his campaign against a Sidon in revolt: ii 65–82) (As for) Abdi-Milkūti, king of Sidon, (who) did not fear my lordship (and) did not listen to the words of my lips, who trusted in the rolling sea and threw off the yoke of the god Aššur—I leveled Sidon, his stronghold, which is situated in the midst of the sea, like a flood, tore out is wall(s) and dwelling(s), and (ii 70) threw (them) into the sea; and I (even) made the site where it stood disappear. Abdi-Milkūti, its king, in face of my weapons, fled into the midst of the sea. By command of the god Aššur, my lord, I caught him like a fish from the midst of the sea and cut off his head.88 Thus Esarhaddon caught the king of Sidon and cut his head off by command of the god Aššur. It was the wish of the main god of Assyria. So this act of violence was justified by using theology. A similar justification of violence against the defeated enemy can be seen in an inscription of Aššurbanipal, the successor of Esarhaddon. In one scene, which seems idyllic at first glance, Aššurbanipal and his wife Aššuršarrat are having a banquet in the gardens of Nineveh; but here we also find the head of Teumman, the dead and defeated king of Elam. This, Aššurbanipal’s banquet scene from c. 645 BC, is now located in the British Museum.89 Aššurbanipal wrote: “I, Aššurbanipal, king of Assyria, displayed publicly the head of Teumman, king of Elam, in front of the gate inside the city”.90 Torture and humiliation over the enemy and his dead body was part and parcel of psychical influence. Not only had Aššurbanipal humiliated Teumman, captured him and cut his head off, it was all done by order of Aššur, main god of Assyria. Aššur ordered Aššurbanipal to destroy the kingdom of Elam, capture Teumman and kill him. In the name of Aššur, Teumman was beheaded and his dead body was then humiliated. und Wirkungen in Hochkulturen vom Altertum bis Gegenwart, (ed. M. Schuster, Colloquium Rauricum, vol. 4, Stuttgart-Leipzig: Teubner, 1996) 100–14. 88  RINAP 4 Esarhaddon 1, 16. 89  See Aššurbanipal’s banquet scene from Niniveh (645 BC), British Museum (London) – Bahrani, Rituals . . ., 22; J. Reade, Assyrian Sculpture (London: The British Museum Press, 2011) 88, fig. 106. 90  Bahrani, Rituals . . ., 41.

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Conclusion As we can see, theology played an extremely important role in warfare and especially in the justification of wars in Mesopotamia. We have hundreds of pieces of evidence from Ancient Mesopotamia where the ruler used theological justification for his military campaign or the invasion of another country. The theology of war in Ancient Mesopotamia developed with the new period and became better formulated and more complex during the course of history. If the inscription of Ur-Nanše (Early Dynastic ruler of Lagash) does not document the use theology (or much use of it) to support his wars against Umma (we have no evidence) then his grandson E-anatum certainly did use it and lot of relevant ideas were already quite well developed.91 Many ideas from the Early Dynastic period (E-anatum, En-metena, Lugal-zage-si, etc.) were adapted by Sargonic kings such as Sargon of Akkad or Narām-Sîn, or Neo-Sumerian kings (Ur-Namma, Šulgi) who tried to implement theology more effectively than their predecessors. We can see that the theology of war was used by Sargonic and Neo-Sumerian kings in their aggressive politics as a tool for justifying war; theology even helped them to create a centralized state (Akkadian empire, Neo-Sumerian kingdom). In the Ur III period we find many texts (especially Šulgi’s hymns,92 but also other texts—royal inscriptions, etc.) in which theology was often used very masterfully and to propagandistic ends, and it seems that the theology of war at that time was already quite welldeveloped. In Assyria as far back as the late second millennium (Middle Assyrian period) and the first millennium BC the theology of war became a very important part of state ideology, one of the fundamental pillars of state propaganda, and was used for justifying wars, deportations, mass killing, etc. Like their predecessors, the Neo-Assyrian kings tried to show that they were supported or commanded by the most significant gods of the Assyrian Empire such as Aššur, Enlil, Šamaš, Ištar of Nineveh and Ištar of Arbela, etc. All Assyrian kings’ wars were ordered by their gods. Shalmaneser III, TiglathPileser III, Sennacherib, Esarhaddon or Aššurbanipal used Assyrian traditions, ideas and methods of justifying war which had already been used for several generations. 91  See for example inscriptions of E-anatum—RIME 1, 125–167. 92  J. Klein, “A Self-Laudatory Šulgi Hymn Fragment from Nippur” in The Tablet and the Scroll: Near Eastern Studies in Honor of William W. Hallo (eds. M.E. Cohen, D.C. Snell, D.B. Weisberg, Bethesda: CDL Press, 1993) 124–31; J. Klein, “Shulgi of Ur: King of a NeoSumerian Empire” (Civilizations of the Ancient Near East, ed. J.A. Sasson, New York: Scribner, 1995) 843–57.

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Many ideas and phenomena originated from II or even III millennium BC, from Sumer and Akkad (for example, ideas that the king has no rival, or the king as a shepherd of mankind, or the divine origin of the ruler, lordship from Upper Sea to Lower or from the east to the west, or the ritual of the washing of weapons,93 etc.). So the theology of war is a very old and traditional phenomenon, continually changing, developing, transforming with each new epoch or new term of rule, yet still retaining many similarities with its earlier manifestations. If we compare the theological justification of the Neo-Assyrian kings with that of the period of E-anatum, En-metena, Lugal-zage-si or the Sargonic period or the Ur III period, we find a lot of similarities and certain differences. Of course, on one hand it was the same Mesopotamian cultural area where people greatly honored ancient tradition, while on the other hand it was also a dynamic culture, not isolated from outside influences. This is the reason why in the inscriptions of the Neo-Assyrian kings we find several elements originating from earlier times—from their predecessors in Assyria, but also from even the Early Dynastic, Sargonic, Neo-Sumerian and Old Babylonian periods. Bibliography Z. Bahrani, Rituals of War. The Body and Violence in Mesopotamia (New York: Zone Books, 2008). G. Barjamovic, “Propaganda and practice in Assyrian and Persian imperial culture” in Universal Empire: A Comparative Approach to Imperial Culture and Representation in Eurasian History (eds. P. Fibiger Bang, D. Kolodziejczyk, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge 2012) 43–59. R. Borger, “Zu den Asarhaddon-Vertragen aus Nimrud,” ZA 54 (1961) 173–96. B. Cifola, Analysis of Variants in the Assyrian Royal Titulary from the Origin to TiglathPilesar III, (Napoli:  Istituto Universitario Orientale, 1995). V.E. Crawford, “Inscriptions from Lagash: Season Four 1975–1976,” JCS 29 (1977) 192–197. G. Colbow, Der kriegerische Ištar: zu den Erscheinungsformen bewaffneter Gottheiten zwischen der Mitte des 3. und der Mitte des 2. Jahrtausends (Münchener vorderasiatische Studien, vol. 8, München: Profil-Verlag, 1991). 93  Mayer, “Waffenreinigung . . ., 123–33; see also R. Rollinger, “From Sargon of Agade, and the Assyrian Kings to Khusrau I and beyond: on the persistence of Ancient Near Eastern Traditions” in LEGGO! Studies presented to Prof. Frederick Mario Fales on the Occasion of his 65th Birthday (eds. G.B. Lanfranchi, D.M. Bonacossi, C. Pappi, S. Ponchia, Leipziger Altorientalische Studien 2, Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2012) 725–43.

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P. Espak, “Evolution toward the concept of Holy War in the Ancient Near East” in Society of Biblical Literature with European Association of Biblical Studies (International Meeting of Society of Biblical Literature, Tartu University, 25.–29. July 2010, Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2010) 52. ———, “The Emergence of the Concept of Divine Warfare and Theology of War in the Ancient Near East,” ENDC Proceedings 14 (2011) 115–129. F.M. Fales, “Preparing for War in Assyria” in Economie antique: La querre das les economies antiques (eds. J. Andreau, P. Brient, R. Descat, Saint-Bertrand-de-Comminges, France: Musée archéologiqque départemental, 2000) 35–62. ———, “On Pax Assyrica in the Eight-Seventh Centuries BCE and Its Implications in Isaiah’s Vision of in Biblical and Modern International Relations” in Swords into Plowshares (eds. R. Cohen, R. Westbrook, New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2008) 17–35. W. Farber, ‘Die Vergöttlichung Narāmsins,’ Orientalia Nova Series 52 (1983) 67–72. E. Frahm, Einleitung in Sanherib-Inschriften (Arhiv für Orientforschung, Wien: Institut für Orientalistik 1997). J.J. Finkelstein, “Early Mesopotamia, 2500–1000 BC” in Propaganda and Commu­ nication in World History, Volume I, The Symbolic Instrument in Early Times (eds. H.D. Lasswell, D. Lerner, H. Speier, An East-West Center Book, University Press of Hawaii: Honolulu, 1979) 50–110. B.R. Foster, Before the Muses. An Anthology of Akkadian Literature (CDL Press: Maryland, Bethesda). ———, Akkadian Literature of the Later period (Guides to the Mesopotamian Textual Record, vol. 2, Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2007). P. Garelli, “La conception de la royaute en Assyrie” in Assyrian Royal Inscriptions: New Horizons in literary, ideologival, and historical analysis, Papers of a Symposium held in Cetona (Siena) June 26–28, 1980 (ed. F.M. Fales, Roma: Insituto per L’Oriente, Centro per la antichità e ka storia dell’arte del vicino oriente, 1981) 1–11. ———, “La propaganda royale assyrienne,” Akkadika 27 (1982) 16–29. H.D. Galter, “Assyrische Königsinschriften des 2. Jahrtausends v. Chr. Die Entwicklung einer Textgattung” in Assyrien im Wandel der Zeiten (eds. H. Waetzoldt, H. Hauptmann, HSAO 6, Heidelberg: Heidelberger Orientverlag, 1997) 53–59. B. Gelb, I.J. Kienast, Die altakkadischen Königsinschriften des Dritten Jahrtausends v. Chr. (Freiburger Altorientalische Studien 7, Stuttgart, 1990). I.J. Gelb, “Two Assyrian King Lists,” JNES 13/4 (1954) 209–230. W.J. Hamblin, Warfare in the Ancient Near East to 1600 BC. Holy Warriors at the Dawn of History (New-York: Routlege, 2006). A. Harrak, Assyria und Hanigalbat, A Historical Reconstruction of Bilateral Relations from the Middle of the Fourteenth to the End of the Twelfth Centuries BC (HildesheimZürich-New York: Olms, 1987).

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S. Heinhold-Krahmer, “Zur Salmanassars I. Eroberungen im Hurritergebiet,“ AfO 35 (1988) 79–104. S.W. Holloway, Aššur is King! Aššur is King! Religion in the Exercise of Power in the ­Neo-Assyrian Empire (Leiden, Boston, Köln: Brill, 2002). S.-M. Kang, Divine War in the Old Testament and in the Ancient Near East (Berlin, New York: Walter de Gruyter, 1989). J. Klein, “A Self-Laudatory Šulgi Hymn Fragment from Nippur” in The Tablet and the Scroll: Near Eastern Studies in Honor of William W. Hallo (eds. M.E. Cohen, D.C. Snell, D.B. Weisberg, Bethesda: CDL Press, 1993) 124–131. ———, “Shulgi of Ur: King of a Neo-Sumerian Empire” in Civilizations of the Ancient Near East (ed. J.A. Sasson, New York: Scribner, 1995) 843–857. W.G. Lambert, ‘The God Aššur,’ Iraq 45 (1983) 82–86. ———, “The Enigma of Tukulti-Ninurta I” in Studies on the History of Assyria and Babylonia in Honor of A.K. Grayson (eds. G. Frame, L. Wilding, Leiden: Nederlands Instituut Voor Het Nabije Oosten, 2004) 197–202. G.B. Lanfranchi, “The King as a Hero in Ancient Mesopotamia” in Eroi, eroismi, eroizzazioni dalla Grecia antica a Padova e Venezia (Atti del Convegno Internazionele, Padova, 18–19 settembre 2006, Padova: S.A.R.G.O.N., 2007) 17–25. M.T. Larsen, “The City and its King: On the Old Assyrian Notion of Kingship” in Le Palais er la Royauté (Archéologie et Civilisation) (ed. P. Garelli, XIXe Recontre Assyriologique Internationale, organisée par le grupe François Thureau-Dangin, Paris, 29 juin–2 juillet 1971, Paris: Librairie Orientaliste Paul Geuthner S.A., 1974) 285–300. J. Lauinger, “Esarhaddon’s Succession Treaty at Tell Tayinat:  Text and Commentary,” JCS 1/64 (2012) 87–123. E. Leichty, “Esarhaddon’s Letter to the Gods“ in Ah, Assyria. . . . Studies in Assyrian History and Ancient Near Eastern Historiography presented to Hayim Tadmor (eds. M. Cogan; I. Eph’al, Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1991) 52–57. M. Liverani (ed.), Akkad, the first world empire: structure, ideology, traditions (History of the Ancient Near East. Studies V, Padova: S.A.R.G.O.N., 1993). ———, “The Ideology of the Assyrian Empire” in Power and Propaganda. A Symposium on Ancient Empires (ed. M.T. Larsen, Copenhagen: Akademisk Forlag, 1979) 297–317.  J. Llop, “The Creation of the Middle Assyrian Provinces,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 131/4 (2011) 591–603. M., Luukko, G. Van Buylaere, The Political Correspondence of Esarhaddon (State Archives of Assyria 16, Helsinki: Helsinki University Press, 2002). T. Maeda, “ ‘King of Kish’ in Pre-Sargonic Sumer,” Orient 17 (1981) 1–17. ———, “ ‘King of The Four Regions’ ” in the Dynasty of Akkade, Orient 20 (1984) 67–82.

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P.B. Machinist, “Literature as Politics: The Tukulti-Ninurta Epic and Bible,” Catholic Biblical Quarterly 38 (1976) 455–482. ———, The Epic of Tukulti-Ninurta I. A Study in Middle Assyrian Literature (A Dissertation Presented to the Faculty of the Graduate School of Yale University in Candidacy for the Degree of Doctor of Philosophy, 1978). R., Martin, A. Barzegar, Islamism, Contested Perspectives on Political Islam (Stanford, California: Stanford University Press, 2010). W. Mayer, Politik und Kriegskunst der Assyrer (Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 1995). ———, “Waffenreinigung im assyrischen Kriegsritual” in Kult, Konflikt und Versöhnung (Beiträge zur kultischen Sühne in religiösen, sozialen und politischen Auseinandersetzungen das antiken Mittelmeerraums, Veröffentlichungen des AZERKAVO/SFB 493, vol 2, Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2001) 123–133. ———, Assyrien und Urartu I. Der achte Feldzug Sargons II. im Jahr 714 v. Chr. (AOAT 395/1, Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2013). D.S. New, Holy War. The Rise of Militant Christian, Jewish and Islamic Fundamentalism (North Caroline-London: McFarland&Company, Inc., Publishers, 2002). J. Novotny, Selected Royal Inscriptions of Assurbanipal (State Archives of Assyria Cuneiform Texts, Volume X, The Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project, Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2014). B. Oded, Mass Deportations and Deportees in the Neo-Assyrian Empire (Wiesbaden, Reichert Verlag, 1979). ———, War, Peace and Empire. Justifications for War in Assyrian Royal Inscriptions, (Wiesbaden: Reichert Verlag, 1992). W. Orthmann, Der alte Orient, Propyläen Kunstgeschichte (Frankfurt am Main, Berlin, Wien: Propyläen-Verag, 1985). S. Parpola, “Monotheism in Ancient Assyria” in One God or Many? Concepts of Divinity in the Ancient World (ed. B.N. Porter, Transactions of the Casco Bay Assyriological Institute, vol. 1, Casco Bay, 2000) 165–209. A. Põldsam, “Sõjast ja rahust Heebrea Piiblis (Of War and Peace in the Hebrew Bible),” Eesti Akadeemilise Orientaalseltsi aastaraamat (2009/2010) 85–90. K. Radner, “Esarhaddons Expedition from Palestine to Egypt in 671 BC: A Trek Through Negev and Sinai” in Fundstellen: Gesammelte Schriften zur Archäologie und Geschichte Altvorderasiens ad honorem Hartmut Kühne (eds. D. Bonatz, R.M. Czichon, F. J. Kreppner, Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 2008) 305–314. J. Reade, Assyrian Sculpture (The British Museum Press: London, 2011). R. Rollinger, “From Sargon of Agade, and the Assyrian Kings to Khusrau I and beyond: on the persistence of Ancient Near Eastern Traditions” in LEGGO! Studies presented to Prof. Frederick Mario Fales on the Occasion of his 65th Birthday, (eds. G.B. Lanfranchi, D.M. Bonacossi, C. Pappi, S. Ponchia, Leipziger Altorientalische Studien 2, Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2012) 725–743.

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———, “Das teispidisch-achaimenidische Großreich: Ein ‘Imperium’ avant la lettere?” in Imperien in der Weltgeschichte: Epochenübergreifende und globalhistorische Vergleiche (eds. M. Gehler, R. Rollinger, Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2014) 149–192. W. Röllig, “Zum „Sakralen Königtum“ im Alten Orient” in Staat und Religion (ed. B. Gladigow, Düsseldorf: Patmos, 1981) 114–125. ———, “Deportation und Integration, Das Schiksal von Fremden im assyrischen und babylonischen Staat” in Die Begeegnung mit dem Fremden, Wertungen und Wirkungen in Hochkulturen vom Altertum bis Gegenwart (eds. M. Schuster, Colloquia raurica 4, Stuttgart-Leipzig: Teubner, 1996) 100–114. K. Ryholt, “The Assyrian Invasion of Egypt. Literary Tradition. A survey of the narrative source material” in Assyria and Beyond. Studies Presented to Mogens Trolle Larsen (ed. J.G. Dercksen, Leiden: Nederlands Instituut Voor Het Nabije Oosten, 2004) 483–510. V. Sazonov, “Vergöttlichung der Könige von Akkade,” Beihefte zur Zeitshrift für alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 374 (2007) 325–341. ———, Die Königstitel und -epitheta in Assyrien, im Hethiterreich und in Nordsyrien (Ugarit, Emar, Karkemiš) in der mittelassyrischen Zeit: Strukturelle Gemeinsamkeiten, Unterschiede und gegenseitige Beeinflussung (Tartu: Tartu University Press, 2010). ———, “Die mittelassyrischen, universalistischen Königstitel und Epitheta TukultīNinurtas I. (1242–1206)” in Identities and Societies in the Ancient East-Mediterranean Regions. Comparative Approaches. Henning Graf Reventlow Memorial Volume (ed. T.R. Kämmerer, AOAT 395/1, Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2011) 235–276. ———, “Kuningas Tukultī-Ninurta I: Tema eepos, kuninglik ideoloogia ja propaganda / King Tukulti-Ninurta I: The Epic of Tukulti-Ninurta and Some Remarks Concerning the Royal Ideology and Propaganda of the Middle-Assyrian Kingdom,” Eesti Akadeemilise Orientaalseltsi aastaraamat (2013) 34–51. A. Spalinger, “Esarhaddon and Egypt: An Analysis of the First Invasion of Egypt,” Orientalia Nova Series 43 (1974) 295–326. C. Selengut, Sacred Fury: Understanding Religious Violence (Walnut Creek, CA: AltaMira Press, 2003). G.J. Selz, “The Development of Pantheon in Lagaš,” Acta Sumerologica Japonensia 12 (1990) 111–142. M.-J. Seux, “Les titres royaux ‘šar kiššati’ et ‘šar kibrāt arba’i’,” Revue D’Assyriologie et D’Archéologie Orientale 59 (1965) 1–18. R. Schmitt, ‘Der „Heilige Krieg” im Pentateuch und im deuteronomistischen Geschichtswerk’ in Studien zur Forschungs-, Rezeptions- und Religionsgeschichte von Krieg und Bann im Alten Testament (AOAT 381, Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2011). P. Steinkeller, “On Rulers, Priests and Sacred Marriage: Tracing the Evolution of Early Sumerian Kingship” in Priests and Officials in the Ancient Near East, Papers of the Second Colloquium on the Ancient Near East. The City and its Life, held at the Middle

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Eastern Culture Center in Japan (Mitaka, Tokyo), March 22–24, 1996 (ed. K. Watanabe, Heidelberg: Universitätsverlag C. Winter, 1999) 104–113. ———, “An Archaic ‘Prisoner Plaque’ from Kiš,” Revue d’assyriologie et d’archéologie ­orientale 1/107 (2013) 131–157. Sun Tzu, Art of War (transl. R.D. Sawyer, Boulder-San Franscisco-Oxford: Westviews Press, 1994). K. Ulanowski, “Divine Intervention during Esarhaddon and Alexander’s Campaigns in Egypt” in Alexander the Great and Egypt. History, Art, Tradition (eds. V. Grieb, K. Nawotka, A. Wojciechowska, Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 2014) 29–48.  R.J. van der Spek, “Cyrus the Great, Exiles and Foreign Gods, A Comparison of Assyrian and Persian Policies on Subject Nations. Extraction and Control” in Studies in Honor of Matthew W. Stolper (eds. W. Henkelman, C.E. Jones, M. Kozuh, Chr. Woods, Chicago: Oriental Institute Publications, 2014) 233–264. A. Westenholz, W. Sallaberger, Mesopotamien: Akkade- Zeit und Ur III-Zeit (Annäherungen 3, OBO 160/3, Freiburg, 1999). I.J. Winter, “After the Battle is Over: The “Stele of the Vultures” and the Beginning of Historical Narrative in the Ancient Near East” in Pictorial Narrative in Antiquity to the Middle Ages (eds. H. Kessler, M.S. Simpson, Washington D.C.: National Gallery, 1985) 11–32. ———, “Eannatum and the ‘King of Kiš’? Another look at the Stele of the Vultures and ‘Cartouches’ ” in Early Sumerian Art, Zeitschrift für Assyriologie und Vorderasiatische Archäologie 76 (1986) 205–212. D. J. Wiseman, “The Vassal-Treaties of Esarhaddon,” Iraq 20 (1958) 1–99. S. Yamada, The Construction of the Assyrian Empire. A Historical Study of the Inscriptions of Shalmaneser III (859–824 BC) relating to His Campaigns to the West (Leiden, Boston, Köln: Brill, 2000).

Battle-Descriptions in Mesopotamian Sources I: Presargonic and Sargonic Period1 Sebastian Fink Our knowledge of ancient battles relies nearly exclusively on written sources and, even worse, in a lot of cases we only have battle descriptions from one side while the sources on the other side remain quiet. This is even the case for battles which are regarded to be of utmost historical importance, like those of the Persian wars. But are battle descriptions in general reliable? With only one source available for a certain battle, source-criticism must mainly rely on a literary analysis of battle descriptions. The limits of our knowledge of seemingly well-known battles in the Greek world were demonstrated by Reinhold Bichler 20092 and he clearly articulated the problems to reconstruct ancient battles from texts, which themselves have to reduce the complexity of the events they describe and try to give these events an appropriate interpretation—as the modern historian does. At this point it seems questionable if a comparison and source-critical analysis of battle descriptions can really contribute to the reconstruction of events on ancient battlefield. Therefore this article does not try to reconstruct the battles in third millennium Mesopotamia on the basis of a source-critical reading of royal inscriptions. The aim of this article is to analyze how wars and battles were described in early Mesopotamia in order to answer the question of whether battle-descriptions follow a template or if they are rather neutral descriptions of observed events. If the first is the case (which I assume), than this article should be a further step toward a literary history of battle descriptions in Mesopotamia, which could also prove useful for other branches of history. The method of choice is a chronological collection and analysis of battledescription that can be found in volumes I and II of the Royal Inscriptions of Mesopotamia Early Periods (RIME). The first royal inscriptions from Mesopotamia emerge around 2600 BC and are attributed to the Presargonic 1  I have to thank George Lang and Robert Rollinger for comments and language revision. 2  R. Bichler, “Probleme und Grenzen der Rekonstruktion von Ereignissen am Beispiel antiker Schlachtbeschreibungen” in Das Ereignis. Geschichtsschreibung zwischen Vorfall und Befund (= Internet-Beiträge zur Archäologie und Sudanarchäologie X, ed. M. Fitzenreiter, 2009) 17–34.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���6 | doi ��.��63/9789004324763_005

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Period of Mesopotamian history. Sargon of Akkad (c. 2300) is rightfully seen as a major turning point of Mesopotamian history because he created “the first world empire” in the Ancient Near East.3 The first known royal inscriptions contain no narration of what we would consider a historical event; they are often very short and consist of a king’s name and sometimes of a dedication of an object to a god. Nearly all of them are written in Sumerian, we only have a few instances of inscriptions in Akkadian, but basically an inscription written in logographic style could be read in several languages. The dating of the early texts and therefore the dating of the early kings is very uncertain4 and therefore I will give no exact years—the sequence of the kings often relies on the Sumerian King List which is quite a problematical source, but for large parts of early Mesopotamian history the only source for a chronological structure at all. Here I will present the texts simply in the geographical order in which they were presented by Frayne.

Presargonic Period

The first ‘description’ of a military event from the ancient city Kiš is a text from the king Enna-il, which is only known from a later copy.5 The text simply states: 1)dINANNA 2)en-na-il 3)DUMU 4)a-an[zú] (AM.[IM].MI).MUŠEN 5)NIM 6)GÍN.ŠÈ For the goddess Inanna, Enna-Il, son of A-Anzu, who smote Elam with weapons.6 The phrase for describing the military event is GÍN.ŠÈ which is quite formulaic and could be translated straightforward as “to (smote with) the axe”. The corpus of texts from Lagaš is more rewarding when dealing with our question and the first, somewhat longer description is found in Ur-Nanše 6b, reverse:

3  Akkad, the first world empire: structure, ideology, traditions (= HANE.S, v, ed. M. Liverani, Padova: Sargon Ed., 1993). 4   R IME 1, 13. 5  For the details see the discussion in RIME 1, 75. 6  R IME 1, 75.

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I 1)[ur-dnanše] 2)[lugal] 3)lagaš 4)lú.uri5 5)lú-gišKÚŠU.KI 6)ME+LAK 526 7)e-šè-DU 8)lú-lagaš II 1)lú-urí 2)GÍN.ŠÈ m[u]-⌜sé⌝ 3)mu-[dab5] Ur-Nanše, king of Lagaš went to war against the leader of Ur and the leader of Ğiša (Umma). The leader of Lagaš defeated and captured the leader of Ur.7 Then a long list of other captured enemies follows and at the end of the text a kind of dust-tumuli (SAḪAR.DU6.TAG4) is mentioned for the first time, which is interpreted by Frayne as an honorary burial for the dead soldiers of Lagaš. The burial of casualties of war in tumuli will accompany us as a reoccurring motif in Mesopotamian battle descriptions but the interpretations of these burials vary. As already mentioned Frayne interprets these tumuli as honorary burials of one’s own casualties and not as ‘heaps of the enemy dead (as some scholars have previously translated)’.8 He states that he follows Josef Bauer9 in this respect, but a look at Bauer’s article shows that he gives arguments for a contrary opinion and argues in favor of an interpretation of these tumuli as heaps of dead enemies.10 In the royal inscriptions of Ur-Nanše war is not a very prominent topic— only one out of thirty-three inscriptions describes acts of war in some detail. Things only change with the so called ‘Stele of the Vultures’11 with the inscription of the grandson of Ur-Nanše, E-anatum, who is one of the most prominent warrior-kings of the third millennium. It even seems that E-anatum had his own battle name.12 As the text describing the acts of war is much too long for a detailed discussion of every line, I will only give an overview of the structure

7  Ibidem, 92. 8  Ibidem, 90. 9  J. Bauer, “Der vorsargonische Abschnitt der mesopotamischen Geschichte” in Mesopo­ tamien. Späturuk-Zeit und Frühdynastische Zeit (= OBO 160/1, eds. J. Bauer, R. Englund, M. Krebernik, Freiburg Schweiz: Academic Press, 1998) 564. 10  For an in-depth discussion of the question who were the deads in this tumuli with a somewhat open result see G. Selz, D. Niedermayer, “The Burials after the Battle. Combining Textual and Visual Evidence” in It’s a Long Way to a Historiography of the Early Dynastic Period(s) (eds. R. Dittmann, G. Selz, Münster: Ugarit Verlag, 2015) 387–404. In this article Selz also clarifies that Frayne’s reference to Bauer is based on a misunderstanding. 11  For a discussion of this monument see Bauer, Der vorsargonische . . ., 457–462 with further references. 12  See RIME 1, 126 for a discussion and references to literature concerning this complicated issue.

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of the text. It should be mentioned that the text is not complete, as the Stele of the Vultures is only preserved in fragments. The first three columns describe the cause for the war, namely the evil acts of the leader of Ğiša / Umma, that enraged the god Ninğirsu. To solve this problem with Umma Ninğirsu causes the birth of E-anatum, who is accompanied by the goddess Inanna and breast-fed by the goddess Ninhursağ, and finally installed as the king of Lagaš (Col. iv–v). So E-anatum clearly has a divine mission. In columns vi–ix (columns viii and ix are heavily destroyed) Enanatum is told by Ninğirsu that he has to punish the evil neighbors in Umma. Peeter Espak interprets this text as the first recorded evidence for the concept of a ‘holy war’ as the war itself and even the implementation of the semen of king E-anatum in his mother’s womb are described as a result of the divine will.13 Due to the lacunas in the text the battle description is missing, we are just told in in the following columns that E-anatum won the war, established just regulations and thereby accomplished his divine mission. The rest of the text consists of oath-formulas that the defeated man of Umma had to swear in order to secure future peace with the aid of the gods. Even if the real battle description is more or less missing, this text clearly demonstrates that wining a battle is based upon divine favor and thereby the description of the events is highly interwoven with ideological matters. The destruction brought forth by E-anatum is even described as a destruction of which only gods are capable, a devastation originating from the king’s control of windstorms and floods: x 1é-an-na-túm-me 2gišKÚŠU.KI-a 3im-hul-im-ma-gim 4a-MAR mu-nitag4 E-anatum provoked a windstorm, like the baneful rain of the storm he provoked a flood there in Ğiša (Umma).14 At the end of the inscription we have a long list—the list begins after a lacuna and ends with one, so we do not know its exact length—of the victories of E-anatum. The list uses the already known formula “place name + GÍN.ŠÈ + sè” (rev. col. vi 10—rev. col. ix 2’). More interesting than the textual evidence is the pictorial one of this monument because it seems to contain the first depiction

13  P. Espak, “The Emergence of the Concept of divine Warfare and Theology of War in the Ancient Near East,” ENDC Proceedings 14 (2011) 115–29. 14  See RIME 1, 131.

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of a phalanx, i.e. a closed battle formation of foot soldiers equiped with shield and spear,15 and E-anatum, who is fighting on a chariot.16 In E-anatum 3 a new formula is introduced to describe the defeat of the enemy that uses the verb ‘ha.lam’—‘to destroy’: ii’4 gišKUŠU.KI 5e-ha-lam and he destroyed Ğiša (Umma)17 Also E-anatum’s incscription no. 5 features a list of cities smitten with the axe and mentions that tumuli were heaped up. In this inscription E-anatum is praised as a mighty warrior before whom all the foreign lands tremble.18 He appears to be the first ruler who constantly stresses his activities as a warrior in his inscriptions, but single stages of each battle are not mentioned in any detail, the defeat of the enemy is only described in stock phrases. In inscription 2 of En-anatum I19—the younger brother of E-anatum who succeeded him—we find an account of the battle between En-anatum and Ur-LUM-MA with some details, but again the main actors are the gods. They decide what is going to happen and the king is depicted as a tool of the goods who acts in order to establish the divine order. The structure of the text is characteristic for later battle descriptions from Mesopotamia and can be analyzed by the following pattern: 1) 2)

3)

The evildoer gathers an army, that often includes mercenary soldiers from foreign lands (vii 7–viii 1). The enemy transgresses (here the characteristic verb ‘bal’ is used, which basically means ‘to turn’ but its meaning in this context is ‘to transgress the terms of an agreement’ or ‘to transgress the divine world-order’) former agreements and borders (viii 2–4). The enemy does not care about the will of the gods but relies on his own strength and military power (viii 5–7).

15  The designation phalanx for the battle-formation depicted on the ‘Stele of the Vultures’ is common in Ancient Near Eastern Studies, see, e.g. Selz, Niedermayer, The Burials . . ., 394. 16   War scenes in Presargonic art are discussed in detail in E. Braun-Holzinger, Das Herrscherbild in Mesopotamien und Elam (= AOAT 342, Münster: Ugarit Verlag, 2007) 46–54. 17  RIME 1, 143. 18  Ibidem, 147. 19  Ibidem, 170–73.

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4)

The just king waits for the decision of his god and takes action according to the god’s will (viii 8–x 5). The just king defeats the enemy and reestablishes justice (x 6–xi 6).

5)

The inscription 1 of En-metena, the successor and son of En-anatum I, describes the ongoing conflict with Umma by using this very pattern. Additionally the inscription of En-metena gives an account of the history of the conflict with Umma before recounting the deeds of En-metena himself. Here we have the first occurrence of the later on well-known motive of the enemy full of fear who leaves his troops in order to save his own life: iii 15ur-LUM-ma 16ba-da-kar 17šà-ğišKÚŠU.KI-šè 18e.gaz 19anše-ni ÉREN60-am6 20gú-i7-LUM-ma-ğír-nun-ta-ka 21e-šè-tag4 22nam-lú-ulù-ba 23ğirìPAD.DU-bi 24eden-da e-da-tag4-tag4 Ur-LUM-ma escaped, but was killed in Giša (Umma) itself. His asses— there were sixty teams(?) of them—he abandoned on the bank of the LUM-ma-ğirnunta canal, and left the bones of their personnel strewn over the Eden district.20 In contrast to the poor behavior of his enemy, En-metena takes good care of his own casualties and gives them a proper burial (iii 25–27). Inscription 5 of URU-KA-gina, ruler of Lagaš, provides an interesting example of a fairly rare account of military events as the text recounts a seemingly successful campaign of URU-KA-gina’s enemy, Lugazl-zage-si of Umma, against the city-state of Lagaš. No battle is mentioned—maybe due to the fact that URU-KA-gina lost the battle—but the result of the defeat, the plundering of Lagaš and its various temples is described in detail. From the background of the concept of a holy war the defeat of URU-KA-gina who presented himself— like his forefathers did—as a righteous man who defends the claims of his god Ninğirsu, the defeat must have been an ideological disaster. At the end of the inscription listing the various destroyed temples the text states that Lugalzage-si of Umma is responsible for this destruction and that these actions are not a sin of URU-KA-gina. Thus Lugal-zage-si should be punished by his personal god (URU-KA-gina 5, vii 10–x 3)21 Interestingly, the sources from Umma do not mention military acts against Lagaš at all.22 20  Ibidem, 197. 21  Ibidem, 279. 22  Ibidem, 357–76.

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A text of An(u)bu (An(u)bu 1), a king of Mari, states that this king defeated (GÍN.SÈ) two cities and raised tumuli. This clearly shows us that the traditional Mesopotamian formulas of depicting war were widely spread already in Presargonic times.23 The same formulas are used in Sa’ūmu 1 and 224, Išṭup-Šar 125 and in the texts of the succeeding kings of Mari. In the Presargonic corpus from Mari no new ways of describing battles can be found, the repertoire is built on the well-known standard-formulas. The last two texts to be discussed in this examination of Presargonic royal inscriptions originate from Uruk—the numerous texts from Ur do not mention wars at all. The first is an inscription of En-šakuš-Ana in which he states: For Enlil, king of all lands, En-šakuš-Ana, lord of the land of Sumer and king of the nation—when the gods commanded him, he sacked Kiš (and) captured Enbi-Ištar, the king of Kiš. The leader of Kiš and the leader of Akšak, (when) both their cities were destroyed . . .26 Finally all the precious items looted from Kiš and Akšak are brought into the temple of Enlil. The last text even contains no direct allusion to war but bears witness of a new trope, one with ideological consequences—that of a king ruling the whole world: When the god Enlil, king of all lands, gave to Lugal-zage-si the kingship of the land, directed (all) the eyes of the land (obediently) toward him, put all the land at his feet, and from east to west made them subject to him then, from the Lower Sea, (along) the Tigris and Euphrates to the Upper Sea, he (Enlil) put their roads in good order for him.27 This new ideology might be seen as an implication of the formation of larger political units in Mesopotamia. The existence of such larger units and the claim of one ruler to be king of all lands increase the probability of large-scale conflicts and the existence of rulers continuously engaged in military conflicts. To sum up: in the Presargonic texts we have the evidence for warrior-kings like E-anataum who are constantly involved in warfare and who describe their victories in their inscriptions. But these inscriptions mostly use standardized 23  Ibidem, 300. 24  Ibidem, 307–9. 25  Ibidem, 312–13. 26  Ibidem, 430. 27  Ibidem, 436.

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phrases that contain no information about what was really going on during the battle. From an ideological point of view, as Espak has convincingly shown, the concept of divine warfare is documented in Presargonic times and the pattern developed in the Stele of the Vultures and described above shows up in many later royal inscriptions. As royal inscriptions are often known from copies by later scribes, e.g., the text of Enna-il28 discussed above survived in a Ur III period copy, this clearly demonstrates that scribes looked for existing models of describing the kings deeds. If we consider the high number of later copies of the inscriptions of the Sargonic Period, which are discussed in the next chapter, then it seems that they have been regarded as exemplary inscriptions of exemplary kings by the scribes who collected and copied them. A detailed study of Mesopotamian scribes copying ancient inscriptions is provided by Stefan Maul.29

Sargonic and Gutian Periods

As already mentioned in the introduction the rise of the first dynasty of Akkad can be seen as a major turning point in Mesopotamian history. For the first time a huge territory ranging from the Persian Gulf to the Mediterranean was under the control of one Dynasty. After five kings the Akkadian state experiences a ‘Period of Confusion’ and shortly afterwards the ‘first world empire’ is destroyed and only parts of it are taken over by the Gutium—a people from the east—for a short period of time. After the dynasty of Akkad the situation seems to have been like before its rise—Mesopotamia is divided into a number of city states again. A major obstacle for the history of Akkad is the fact that Akkad, the capital of this empire was never found.30 Nevertheless we have fairly a number of royal inscriptions from this period as originals and also as copies from later periods and—as one could guess—Sargon, the founder of the dynasty of Akkad had to fight numerous battles to establish his empire. The inscription Sargon 1 is known in two versions—an Akkadian and a Sumerian one—and provides a link to Lugal-zage-si who claimed to rule the world: 28  Ibidem, 75. 29  S. Maul, ‘Tontafelabschriften des „Kodex Hammurapi“ in altbabylonischer Monumen­ talschrift,’ ZA 102 (2012) 76–99. 30  See A. Westenholz, “The Old Akkadian Period: History and Culture” in Mesopotamien, Akkade-Zeit und Ur III-Zeit (= OBO 160/3, eds. A. Westenholz, W. Sallaberger, Freiburg Schweiz: Academic Press, 1999) 31–4.

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Sargon . . . conquered the city of Uruk and destroyed its walls. He was [victorious] over Uruk in battle, [conquered the city], captured [Lugal-z] age-si, king of [Ur]uk, in battle and led him off the gate of the god Enlil in a neck stock. (1–3).31 We can see that the description of the military events remain in the traditional formulas in this inscription. In Sargon 3 we find a first example of a feature that later on seems characteristic for the inscriptions of this dynasty—the use of exact numbers for the troops, casualties and captured enemies. It seems that the information in the text is now becoming a little more informative. The text states that Sargon conquered the city of Uruk with nine contingents from Agade and captured fifty governors and the king.32 In a famous inscription that reports that Sargon was victorious in 34 battles we have another exact number that was the basis for a heated discussion about the question whether Sargon had a standing army or not. Lines 34–37 of the text read: ‘5,400 men daily eat in the presence of Sargon.’33 While the instances of the use of exact—or seemingly exact—numbers are relatively few in the inscriptions of Sargon the inscriptions of his successor Rīmuš use numbers excessively. Here are some examples: Rīmuš 1, 1–13: ‘Rīmuš, king of the world, was victorious over Adab and Zabala in battle and struck down over 15,718 men. He took 14,567 captives.’34 Rīmuš 2, 1–13: ‘Rīmuš, king of the world, was victor[ious] over Umma and KI.AN in battle and struck down 8,900 men. He [took] 3,540 captives.’35 Rīmuš 3, 1–13: ‘Rīmuš, king of the world, was victorious over Ur and [Lagaš] in battle and struck down 8,040 men. He took 5,460 captives.’36 Rīmuš 3, 30–36: ‘Further, he expelled 5,985 men from their two cities and annihilated them.’37 This short list—it could be prolonged by details of nearly every inscription of this king—clearly exhibits that the style of the inscriptions changed with 31  RIME 2, 10. 32  Ibidem, 16. 33  Ibidem, 29. 34  Ibidem, 41. 35  Ibidem, 43. 36  Ibidem, 45. 37  Ibidem, 43.

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Rīmuš. Exact numbers are now considered to be an important part of battle descriptions. As it seems possible that some persons might think that these numbers are exaggerations Rīmuš anticipatorily swears in Rīmuš 6, 78–83, ‘by the gods Šamaš and Ilaba [. . .] that these are not falsehoods, (but) are indeed true.’38 In inscription 2 of Narām-Sîn we can find a detailed account of the route of the king and his army during a campaign against a coalition of Sumerian cities and Amorites: He (Narām-Sîn, went) from Ašimānum to Šišil. At Šišil he crossed the Tigris River and (went) from Šišil to the side of the Euphrates River. He crossed the Euphrates River and (went) to Bašar, the Amorite mountain. (ii 3–ii 20).39 The text gives the details of the route and depicts the opening of the battle as a personal decision of Narām-Sîn (iii 9–13). After his victory the outcomes of the battle are summarized as follows: ‘He struck do in the campaign a total of 9 chiefs and 4,325 man.’ (iv 13–18).40 Narām-Sîn 6 describes the events during a battle in much more detail then the texts discussed before. Ipḫur-Kiš, a rebel king, goes to war and starts raiding southern Mesopotamia. The locations of the battles are given in detail. The enemy of Narām-Sîn draws up his battle lines and waits for him to come. The encounter between the king and his enemies takes place ‘in between the cities of TiWA and Urum, in the field of the god Sîn’ (i 3’’–8’’), the second ‘right beside Kiš, at the gate of the goddess Ninkarrak’ (iii 14’–21’).41 Besides the common enumeration of names and numbers of captured enemies this text uses new metaphors for the description of the destruction: Further, he filled the Euphrates River with their (bodies), conquered the city of Kiš, and destroyed its wall. Further, he made the river/canal go forth in its (the city’s) midst and struck down 2,525 men within the city. (iv 25’–45’).42

38  Ibidem, 54. 39  Ibidem, 91. 40  Ibidem, 92. 41  Ibidem, 105–6. 42  Ibidem, 107.

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Narām-Sîn 23 mentions a personal deed of the king, namely a heroic act as hunter. The king ‘defeated ḪARšamat and personally felled a wild bull at Mount Tiba[r]’ (6–14).43 The heroism of Narām-Sîn culminates in a motif well known from Neo-Assyrian inscriptions but found here for the first time—the idea that a king has to outdo his predecessors by going to places where none of the former kings had gone before and by accomplishing deeds no one did before him. The passage reads as follows: Now, [wh]en he went [t]o Talḫadum—no king (previously) had gone on such a campaign—Narām-Sîn, king of Agade, went there and the goddess Aštar gave him no rival. (17–32).44 This motif is also present in Narām-Sîn 26. This inscriptions begins with the statement that ‘no king whosoever had destroyed Armānum and Ebla’ (i 5–10),45 and now we already know what is going to happen in the next lines. Narām-Sîn, the heroic king, is able to destroy these two cities. Later on in the inscription the personal heroism of the king is stressed by the statement that he personally captured an enemy king (iii 7–10).46 The inscriptions of the following kings are relatively short and show no new features concerning the description of military events. Only with Utu-ḫegal the inscriptions undergo relevant changes again. The idea of restoring the divine order is constantly stressed, so for example in Utu-ḫegal 1: For the goddess Nanše, the mighty lady, the lady of the boundary, Utuḫegal, king of the four quarters, restored into her (Nanše’s) hands the border of Lagaš on which the man of Ur had laid a claim.47 The longest and most elaborate surviving inscription of this king, Utu-ḫegal 4, has a highly literary depiction of the evil enemy, which runs as follows: [. . .] (as for) Gu[tium], the fanged serpent of the mountain, who acted with violence against the gods, who carried off the kingship of the land of Sumer to the mountain land, who fi[ll]ed the land of Sumer with wickedness, who took away the wife from the one who had a wife, who took 43  Ibidem, 127. 44  Ibidem, 131. 45  Ibidem, 132–33. 46  Ibidem, 134. 47  Ibidem, 281.

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away the child from the one who had a child, who put wickedness and evil in the land (of Sumer). (2–14).48 Clearly this situation is unbearable for the god Enlil, who therefore commissioned Utu-ḫegal to restore order by destroying the Gutium (15–23). In the following lines the text gives an account of the evil deeds of Tirigan, the king of Gutium. Tirigan had occupied both banks of the Tigris and he blocked—as Frayne interprets the text—the water from the fields in the south and closed the roads to the north, thereby ruining the economy of Sumer (33–45). All these features of the text are already known from earlier inscriptions and were only elaborated in this inscription, but the idea to include the following speech of the king to the citizens of Uruk and Kullab in a royal inscription is an innovation: He [Utu-ḫegal—S.F.] called out to the citizens of his city, (saying): “The god Enlil has given Gutium to me. My lady, the goddess Inanna, is my ally. The god Dumuzi-ama-ušumgal.-ana has declared ‘It is a matter for me’. The god Gilgameš, son of the goddess Ninsun, has assigned him (Dumuzi) to me as abiliff”. He made the citizens of Uruk (and) Kullab happy. His city followed him as if they were (just) one person. (53–68).49 The campaign starts with a six-days-journey and on the seventh day the battle against Tirigan takes places. In a quite difficult passage the preparations of Utu-ḫegal are described in the following way: 98ki-bé bar-gu-ti-um.KI 99giš mu-na-bar 100éren mu.na.lah5 In that place, against the Gutians, he laid a trap (and) led (his) troops against them. (98–100).50 The phrase in question is the compound verb in line 99 giš—bar. Its meaning is not entirely clear and as far as I can see this is the only instance of giš—bar as a compound verb. Frayne’s translation follows the Chicago Assyrian Dictionary, G, 107, s.v. “gišparru” which is seen as a loanword from Sumerian and translated as ‘a trap’. There are several first millennium bilingual texts quoted in the entry which use ‘giš.bar’ as noun and from the context it is clear that the 48  Ibidem, 284. 49  Ibidem, 285–86. 50  Ibidem, 286.

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meaning of this word has to be trap. If we rely on these late texts then we can interpret the text as the first description of a special manoeuver or stratagem. Summary Our overview of the battle descriptions from the beginnings of writing in Mesopotamia to the end of the Gutian Period is hampered—as always in antiquity—by the possibility that important texts are lost but the picture that evolves here is reasonably clear. In the first texts mentioning acts of war these events are depicted in a very formulaic way. Only with the ‘Stele of the Vultures’ war is described with a broader narrative and—as described by Peeter Espak51—can a theology of war be extracted from the texts. With Lugal-zage-si an ideology of world-rule is clearly expressed and realized to some extent by Sargon of Akkad. The inscriptions of the successors of Sargon show a keen interest in numbers. Beginning with Rīmuš exact numbers inform about dead enemies and captives. The inscriptions of Naram-Sîn give some details about the route of the royal army during the campaigns and new metaphors of destruction show up. Some major innovations can be found in the inscriptions of Utu-ḫegal. One of them uses for the first time a speech of the king to his troops as a stylistic element. Most probably this text also includes information on a stratagem and thereby introduced new ways of depicting acts of war. Bibliography J. Bauer, “Der vorsagonische Abschnitt der mesopotamischen Geschichte” in J. Bauer, R. Englund, M. Krebernik (1998) 429–585. ———, R. Englund and M. Krebernik, Mesopotamien. Späturuk-Zeit und Frühdy­ nastische Zeit (= OBO 160/1, Freiburg Schweiz: Academic Press, 1998). R. Bichler, “Probleme und Grenzen der Rekonstruktion von Ereignissen am Beispiel antiker Schlachtbeschreibungen” in M. Fitzenreiter (2009) 17–34. E. Braun-Holzinger, Das Herrscherbild in Mesopotamien und Elam (= AOAT 342, Münster: Ugarit Verlag, 2007). P. Espak, “The Emergence of the Concept of divine Warfare and Theology of War in the Ancient Near East,” ENDC Proceedings 14 (2011) 115–129.

51  Espak, The Emergence . . .

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M. Fitzenreiter, (ed.), Das Ereignis. Geschichtsschreibung zwischen Vorfall und Befund (= Internet-Beiträge zur Archäologie und Sudanarchäologie X, 2009). M. Liverani, (ed.), Akkad, the first world empire: structure, ideology, traditions (= HANE.S, v, Padova: Sargon Ed., 1993). S. Maul, ‘Tontafelabschriften des „Kodex Hammurapi“ in altbabylonischer Monu­ mentalschrift,’ ZA 102 (2012) 76–99. G. Selz, D. Niedermayer, “The Burials after the Battle. Combining Textual and Visual Evidence” in It’s a Long Way to a Historiography of the Early Dynastic Period(s) (eds. R. Dittmann, G. Selz, Münster: Ugarit Verlag, 2015) 387–404. A. Westenholz, “The Old Akkadian Period: History and Culture” in A. Westenholz, W. Sallaberger (1999) 17–117. ———, W. Sallaberger, Mesopotamien, Akkade-Zeit und Ur III-Zeit (= OBO 160/3, Freiburg Schweiz: Academic Press, 1999).

A Comparison of the Role of Bārû and Mantis in Ancient Warfare Krzysztof Ulanowski Divination played a huge role in both the Mesopotamian and Greek civilizations. Diviners were consulted by their clients in all possible situations. The results of divination were especially important during times of war, when associated with the very life of the king along with thousands of others. Divination was a salient characteristic of Mesopotamian civilization; likewise, in Greek politics and warfare, a leader who ignored omens would incur the ominous anger impressions of those by whom he was followed.1 In this paper I will compare the role and responsibility of diviners in two different civilizations in relation to the affairs of war. What did the Assyrian bārû and the Greek mantis (μάντις) have in common and in what ways did they differ? Could they really decide the course of battles? Would it be possible to describe the skills of the bārû priest in the words of Euripides: “the best mantis is he who guesses well”?2 War When writing systems first appeared in the history of both Mesopotamian and Greek civilizations, the first written works not only had a codifyingmythological nature, but above all a military character. Weil’s essay, L’Iliade ou le poème de la force holds that “the true hero, the true s­ ubject at the centre of the Iliad is force”.3 Homer was the poet of war and the Iliad needs hardly be mentioned. In the case of Mesopotamian civilization, one could refer not only to The Gilgamesh Epic, but also to many other Sumerian, and therefore early texts which have war as a leading motif, such as The Victory of Eanatum 1  M.A. Flower, The Seer in Ancient Greece (Berkeley, Los Angeles, London: University of California Press, 2008) 245. 2  Eur. F 973 Nauck TGF, cf. J. Dillery, “Chresmologues and Manteis: Independent Diviners and the Problem of Authority” in Mantikê. Studies in Ancient Divination (eds. S.I. Johnston, P.T. Struck, Leiden, Boston: Brill, 2005) 212. 3  S. Weil, L’Iliade ou le poème de la force, publié dans Les Cahiers du Sud (Marseille) de décembre 1940 à janvier 1941 sous le nom de Émile Novis.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���6 | doi ��.��63/9789004324763_006

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of Lagash, The Victory of Entemena of Lagash over Umma, The Victory of Utuhengal of Unug over Guti, Enmerkar and Ensuhgirana, The Lugalbanda Poems, Gilgamesh and Agga of Kish, Gilgamesh and Huwawa.4 War was deeply rooted in Mesopotamian culture and it belonged to the gifts offered by the civilization called ME.5 In many descriptions of war one can find even the poetic ones; in the myth of Anzu, the Bird Who Stole Destiny, in the description of the struggle between Anzu and the god Ninurta are used the words: “Both were bathed in the sweat of battle”.6 The Seven (Sebeti) who accompanied the war god Erra (Nergal), told him that war is a very noble profession i.e.: “Going to the field for the young and vigorous is like to a very feast”.7 The duels between gods were one of the most popular representations in the art of the Akkad period.8 According to the royal inscriptions, the Assyrians never lost a battle. In opinion of Holloway, the immanent censorship in the Assyrian visual sources included taboos on any representations of Assyrian military defeats, symptoms of physical weakness on the part of the great king and his army, or scenes revealing the military strength of the opposition (formed battles lines, etc). Each element of every victorious Assyrian campaign was an act of religious imperialism.9 It exists Mesopotamian tradition of a victory over an enemy in each year.10 The Assyrian kings asked the gods about whether and how they should go about waging war. The kings wanted assurance from the gods that their weapons and army would prevail.11 Similarly, during a siege, the kings 4  See H. Vanstiphout, Epics of Sumerian Kings. The Matter of Aratta (Atlanta: SBL, 2003); Eposy sumeryjskie (ed. K. Szarzyńska, Warszawa: Wydawnictwo Agade, 2003). 5  J. Bottéro, Mesopotamia. Writing, Reasoning, and the Gods (Chicago, London: The University of Chicago Press, 1992) 235–6. 6   Anzu, the Bird Who Stole Destiny, iii, 8 in B.R. Foster, From Distant Days: Myth, Tales, and Poetry of Ancient Mesopotamia (Bethseda Maryland: CDL Press, 1995) 128; Mit o ptaku Anzu, iii in Mity akadyjskie (ed. M. Kapełuś, Warszawa: Wydawnictwo Agade, 2000) 73. 7  How Erra Wrecked the World, i, 52 in Foster, From Distant . . ., 135; Erra, i in Mity . . ., 94. 8   E.A.  Braun-Holzinger,  Frühe Götterdarstellungen in Mesopotamien (Academic Press Fribourg, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht Göttingen, 2013) 73; R.M. Boehmer, Die Entwicklung der Glyptik während der Akkad-Zeit (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1965) 49–59, fig. 300. 9   S.W. Holloway, Aššur is King! Aššur is King! Religion in the Exercise of Power in the NeoAssyrian Empire (Leiden, Boston, Köln: Brill, 2002) 93. 10  L.R. Siddall, The Reign of Adad-nīrārī III. An Historical Analysis of An Assyrian King and His Times (Leiden, Boston: Brill, 2013) 33. 11  D. Nadali, “Assyrian Open Fields Battles. An Attempt at Reconstruction and Analysis” in Studies on War in the Ancient Near East. Collected Essays on Military History (ed. J. Vidal, Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2010) 130.

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asked the gods about which strategies they should employ; once this was known, the capture of a city by an Assyrian king was thought to be certain. Did the Greeks know the military character of the Assyrians?12 Herodotus, mentioning the first Pythian response regarding the Persian attack alluded to a Syrian chariot, which was to destroy people, city and temple alike.13 Haubold explains that Herodotus distinguishes between ‘Syrian’ and ‘Assyrian’, however, at least according to Rollinger, it seems, the Greeks generally did not.14 War in ancient Greece was treated not only as a holy festival but became a techne, as Achilles, the ideal warrior of the mythical period, was no longer sufficient and the wily Odysseus emerged as an alternative model stressing rivalry and competition but also intelligence, cleverness and trickery.15 Archilochus of Paros, a seventh century BC lyric poet, portrays himself as an infantry soldier and a poet: “I am the servant of Enyalios, Lord of Battle, and I know the lovely gift of Muses”,16 and Xenophon states that “it is fated by the gods that wars should exist, man should be cautious about beginning them and anxious to end them as soon as possible”.17 The Greeks’ ideas about warfare were permeated with religion.18 Some typical terms correlated with war were commonly used in the Greek world and included terms such as agon, kleos, aristeia and timē. Archaic Greek warfare has often been characterized as ‘agonal’ from the Greek word agon, meaning ‘contest’. Agon was mentioned by Thucydides as a typically Greek feature in the beginning of their civilization.19 It is worth mentioning here the Akkadian legend about Sargon, which concerns heroism and competition for glory among warriors. The story consists of a dialogue 12  In the opinion of Hale, there are a strong evidences for Ionian Greeks fighting the Assyrian armies in Syria in the 8th and 7th centuries BC, see J. Hale, “Not Patriots, Not Farmers, Not Amateurs: Greek Soldiers of Fortune and the Origins of Hoplite Warfare” in Men of Bronze: Hoplite Warfare in Ancient Greece (eds. D. Kagan, G.F. Viggiano, Princeton and Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2013) 176–193. 13  Hdt. 7.140. 14  Hdt. 7.63; J. Haubold, Greece and Mesopotamia. Dialogues in Literature (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013) 122; R. Rollinger, “The Terms ‘Assyria’ and ‘Syria’ again,” JNES 65 (2006) 283–7. 15  E.L. Wheeler, “The General as Hoplite” in The Armies of Classical Greece (ed. E.L. Wheeler, Aldershot: Ashgate, 2007) 255. 16  Fr. 1, see P.C. Millett, “Winning Ways in Warfare” in The Oxford Handbook of Warfare in the Classical World (eds. B. Campbell, L.A. Tritle, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013) 49. 17  Xen. Hell. 6.3.6. 18  L.B. Zaidman, P. Schmitt Pantel, Religion in the Ancient Greek City (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007) 101. 19  Thuc. 1.6.28.

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between the king, who addresses his warriors in praise of heroism,20 and the champion of the army (ašaredu) who answers, feeling growing strength and bravery. Finaly, the king agreed to erect a statue of the bravest warrior in front of his own.21 This text, in showing the heroism of the warriors (like the stars in the sky) and presenting their great weaponry and armor, is similar in style to the poems of Homer.22 The earliest text which uses the word agon in the sense of “battle” dates back to 458 BC.23 The concept of agon in the Greek world is endowed with the ideas of fairness and respect for one’s rival. Battles were seen as competitions for honor; their aim was to win glory, as opposed to destroying the enemy. It could therefore be concluded that the concept of agon included trust: one fights only an opponent who is worthy of it. The funeral games shared a similar agonistic character, as most of their proceedings were derived from warfare.24 In Homer and Herodotus, war is the source of undying fame (kleos), for the latter it is also the greatest impulse triggering historical change and development.25 In the Greek world, the most courageous warriors on the battlefield won the aristeia, the award for valor.26 Greek society was therefore very competitive, as men always aspired to win more honor and glory (timē). It was thought to have a real, almost physical existence in the Greek world; men ranked themselves against one another and the best was always the one who possessed the most timē. Timē could be captured through military prowess and exploits in war, and battles provided a special arena where men could win glory.27

20  Sargon, the Conquering Hero, i, 4–9 in J.G. Westenholz, Legends of the Kings of Akkade (Winona Lake, Indiana: Eisenbrauns, 1997) 63. 21  Sargon, the Conquering Hero, ii, 38-9 in Westenholz, Legends . . ., 67. 22  Il. 7.89–92. 23  A. Eum. 914. 24  Hdt. 8.122.5, 8.123.2, 8.124.8, Xen. Hell. 1.2.10; D.S. 11.25, 11.33, 11.76, 13.33, 14.53.4, 16.86, 17.46; Polybius 3.851–3, 6.39.9, Pritchett 2, 276–90. 25  K.A. Raaflaub, “Persian Army and Warfare in the Mirror of Herodotus’s Interpretation” in Herodotus and the Persian Empire (eds. R. Rollinger, B. Truschnegg, R. Bichler, Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2011) 30. 26  M. Trundle, “Commemorating Victory in Classical Greece. Why Greek Tropaia?” in Rituals of Triumph in Mediterranean World (eds. A. Spalinger, J. Armstrong, Leiden, Boston: Brill, 2013) 124. 27  Il. 4.225, 5.552–3, 6.208; J.E. Lendon, Song of Wrath. The Peloponnesian War Begins (New York: Basic Books, 2012) 7.

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Bārû

The bārû28 is a diviner; he is first mentioned in the third millennium BC.29 He was a kind of priest who was also a diviner. The Akkadian noun bārû, which is derived from the verb “to see”, literally means observer, seer or examiner. He was a specialist who solicited omens from the gods and interpreted the signs thus found.30 The bārû was an expert in bārûtu, the observation of signs in the world. Shamash inscribes omens into the world, for example, into the body of the sacrificial animals. A privileged place for the occurrence of such signs was in the entrails and livers of sacrificial animals, for it was believed that the gods placed such signs there.31 If the message from the gods were ‘written’ and ‘coded’, in order to ‘read’ it one needed a real technician, a specialist initiated into this ‘writing’.32 Bārû mediated the will of the gods to the king and made judgments about the congruity between the divine will and the king’s plans.33 The diviner is depicted enthroned in the presence of divinity, ready to pronounce the verdict.34 The diviners in Mesopotamia viewed themselves as integral links in a chain of transmission going back to the gods.35 The bārû priests were part of the royal court and they participated in all military expeditions. They used catalogues of battle omens and strategic queries

28  M. Hutter, Religionen in der Umwelt des Alten Testaments I. Babylonier, Syrer, Perser (Stuttgart, Berlin, Köln: Verlag W. Kohlhammer, 1996) 89–90; CAD, vol. B, 124. 29  H. Zimmern, Beiträge zur Kenntnis der babylonischen Religion (Leipzig: Hinrichs’sche Buchhandlung, 1901) 82. 30  W. Farber, “Witchcraft, Magic, and Divination in Ancient Mesopotamia” in Civilizations of the Ancient Near East (ed. J.M. Sasson, vol. III & IV, New York: Hendrickson Publisher’s, 2006) 1904. 31  Z. Bahrani, Rituals of War. The Body and Violence in Mesopotamia (New York: Zone Books, 2008) 63–4, F. Rochberg, The Heavenly Writing. Divination, Horoscopy, and Astronomy in Mesopotamian Culture (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004) 48; G. Manetti, Theories of Sign in Classical Antiquity (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1993) 5. 32  Bottéro, Mesopotamia . . ., 113. 33  SAA 19, 77. 34  SAA 19, 57. See “Ritualtafeln für den Wahrsager (bārû)” no. 1–20, ll. 122–5 in Zimmern, Beiträge . . ., 105. 35  D. Launderville, Piety and Politics. The Dynamics of Royal Authority in Homeric Greece, Biblical Israel, and Old Mesopotamia (Michigan, Cambridge: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 2003) 214, 216.

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to decide about the strategy of war.36 They were responsible for the medical help,37 spiritual und funerary services during the war time.38

Mari and Old Babylonian Period

In the OB period, diviners are also primarily seen to be engaged in state business having to do with diplomacy and mili­tary matters. One may summarize the functional role of diviners in the vast ma­jority of texts as being in service to the king in a variety of ways related to intelligence—as diplomats and spies in foreign courts, on the march with armies, in private council to kings, in charge of fortresses.39 The diviners of Mari accompanied troops on campaign, often working in teams of two.40 The diviner Erib-Sin made extispicies for well-being of the troops (the validity of one month time): The path was in place. The palace gate was sound. The cleft was in place. The two bases of the shepherd were attached right and left. The finger was sound. The outgrowth was a (male) battle ax. Lung and heart [were] sound. My upper parts were sound. In my verification the outlook was in place. The path descended toward the seat of the left. The palace gate was sound. The cleft was in place. The two bases of the shepherd were pulled out on the right and attached on the left. On the left, he (god) broke the finger. The outgrowth

36  E. Reiner, Astral Magic in Babylonia (Philadelphia: The American Philosophical Society, 1995) 64; Bahrani, Rituals . . ., 190–1, figs. 7.1–2. 37  It is known the contract from Idalium on Cyprus between its king Stasikypros and the physician Onasilos concerning the treatment of the wounded during the possible siege. There are no data that this physician was a kind of priest or diviner, see I. Eph’al, The City Besieged. Siege and Its Manifestations in the Ancient Near East (Jerusalem: The Hebrew University Magnes Press, 2013) 168; O. Masson, Les inscriptions chypriotes syllabiques (Paris: E. de Boccard, 1961) 235–44, no. 217. 38  F. De Backer, L’art du siege néo-assyrien (Leiden, Boston: Brill, 2013) 116. 39  S.F.C. Richardson, “On Seeing and Believing: Liver Divination and the Era of Warring States (II)” in Divination and Interpretation of Signs in the Ancient World (ed. A. Annus, Chicago: The Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago, 2010) 250. 40  26 145 in W. Heimpel, Letters to the King of Mari. A New Translation, with Historical Introduction, Notes, and Commentary (Winona Lake: Eisenbraunes, 2003) 173, 231.

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was a (female) battle ax. Lung, heart, and my upper parts were sound. My extispicies were sound for their days.41 In the 2nd millennium, the Mari kings eagerly employed diviners. More than forty-five diviners are known by name from the court of Zimri-Lim alone, posted in more than two dozen foreign palaces, fortresses, and towns. From the Mari period a lot of oracles remained.42 Every region, especially at the borders, i.e. at risk of war, had to have its diviner.43 The diviners predicted the threat of Babylon.44 The questions before commencing a campaign were always set: “If [the troops], whom he dispatched to Hammu-Rabi, (arrive), will HammuRabi not catch, not kill, not cause to kill, not detain for evil or peaceful intentions those troops? Will those who went out through the gate of Mari alive enter the gate of Mari alive?”45 Išhi-Addu, who was a diviner and military officer,46 made an extispicy on seizing the city in the next 3 days.47 A diviner accompanied the king into battle: “The diviner Ilšu-naṣir, servant of my lord, will lead the troops of my lord, and a Babylonian diviner will go with the Babylonian troops.”48 Ilšu-naṣir, the bārûm-priest, a servant of my lord “leads” the forces of my lord A Babylonian bārûm-priest goes With the Babylonian forces These 600 troops are (now) In Šabazim. The bārûm-priests are gathering Omens. When an omen appears favorable 41  26 96 in Heimpel, Letters . . ., 213, and see also 26 97–100’ in Heimpel, Letters . . ., 213–5. And, Hali-Hadun and Ilšu-naṣir 26 101 in Heimpel, Letters . . ., 215, Išhi-Addu 26 113, 116– 117, 120–129 in Heimpel, Letters . . ., 220–5. 42  Prophecy and other forms of divination were used in foreign politics as well as in interior politics, see J. Stöckl, Mine is Bigger than Yours: Divination (Ethical) Demands and Diplomacy in the Ancient Near East, paper in SBL (EABS) International Meeting 2010, Tartu. 43  26 138 in Heimpel, Letters . . ., 227. 44  See 26 160 in Heimpel, Letters . . ., 237. 45  100’ in Heimpel, Letters . . ., 215. 46  Heimpel, Letters . . ., 220. 47  26 117 in Heimpel, Letters . . ., 221. 48  Bahrani, Rituals . . ., 188; U. Jeyes, Old Babylonian Extispicy: Omen Texts in the British Museum (Istanbul: Nederlands Historisch-Archaeologisch Instituut te Istanbul, 1989) 15–6.

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150 soldiers Go out and 150 return.49 The seer Ašqudum was married to a princess and occasionally led military expeditions.50 His house covered more than a thousand square meters, resembled a scaled-down palace which indicated his prestige and wealth.51 The seers depicted themselves not just advisors to kings and generals, but as individuals who could literally win battles.52 The notion of leading an army may go back to the Near East. The expression “go in front of the army” was used by the Babylonian seer.53 In the OB letters to Zimri-Lim the god Addu is quoted for this admonition to the king. There are many examples of texts found at Mari, Eshnunna,54 and Emar55 connected to military affairs: This is what I (Adad [Addu] lord of Aleppo) d[esire] from you. When you go out on campaign. Do not go without an oracle, You will go out on a campaign. 49  ARMT II, 22.23–31, see S.-M. Kang, Divine War in the Old Testament and in the Ancient Near East (Berlin, New York: Walter de Gruyter, 1989) 42. 50  26 27 in Heimpel, Letters . . ., 191. 51  Flower, The Seer . . ., 50. 52  26 26–38 in Heimpel, Letters . . ., 191–6. 53  In the OB period, there are references to the diviner as “the one who walks in front of the army.” See M.L. West, The East Face of Helicon (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003) 349; M.A. Flower, “The Iamidae. A Mantic Family and Public Image” in Practitioners of the Divine. Greek Priests and Religious Officials from Homer to Heliodorus (eds. B. Dignas, K. Trampedach, Cambridge, MT, London: Harvard University Press, 2008) 203; Flower, The Seer . . ., 96; Jeyes, Old Babylonian . . ., 22–3. 54  “The Mari Prophetic Texts in Transliteration and English Translation” (trans. J.J.M. Roberts) in The Bible and the Ancient Near East (ed. J.J.M. Roberts, Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2002) 157–253; M. Nissinen, Prophets and Prophecy in the Ancient Near East (Atlanta: SBL, 2003) 13–95; see D. Charpin, “I Am the Sun of Babylon”: Solar Aspects of Royal Power in Old Babylonian Mesopotamia” in Experiencing Power, Generating Authority. Cosmos, Politics, and the Ideology of Kingship in Ancient Egypt and Mesopotamia (eds. J.A. Hill, P. Jones, A.J. Morales, Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology, 2013) 78–9. 55  Eph’al, The City . . ., 136–7, 153, 161; A. Tsukimoto, “Akkadian Tablets in the Hirayama Collection (I),” ASJ 12 (1990) 190, 7:29-37; D. Arnaud, Recherches au pays d’Aštata. Emar 6/Textes sumériens et accadiens/4, Textes de la bibliothèque, transcriptions et traductions (Paris: Recherche sur les civilisations, 1987) 42, ll. 8–19.

Role of bārû and mantis in Ancient Warfare

If I do not You will [not] g[o] out the gate.56 [M]orever Nergal, the [k]ing of Hubšalum St[o]od by your [si]de And by side of your army in the slaughter Whatever you vowed, And a large bronze sword Have made, and let them take (them) to Nergal.57 Adad is indeed the lord of decisions— Who g[o] at the side of my lord.58 Thus says Ishtar of Ninet: [“W]ith my strong weapons I will stand by you.59 The king without consulting the god Shall not make a treaty”60 Dagan instrute[d me] Saying, “I will open the battle”.61 [My lord] wrote me [as follow]s say[ing], “The dream which I saw was disturbing. . . . As soon as I heard the tablet of my lord, I summoned the diviners, and The question as follows I asked them, saying, [“M]y lord made an urgent question And [wro]te to me. What do you counsel?62 56  2.A.15 = AEM 1/1, 233, 11’–17’, The Mari . . ., 169. 57  5.A.4260 = AEM 1/1, 194, 24–30, The Mari . . ., 177. 58  12.A.3217 = ARM X 6 = AEM 1/1, 212, 33–34, The Mari . . ., 188–9. 59  31.A.2666 = AEM 1/1, 193. 16–18, The Mari . . ., 217. 60  34. A.925 + A.2050 = AEM 1/1, 199. 49–50, The Mari . . ., 225; see 285. 61  38. M.7306 = AEM 1/1, 205 = ARMT XXV, 816. 7–8, The Mari . . ., 229. 62  48. M.5704 = AEM 1/1, 225. 6–19, The Mari . . ., 241.

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The Mari prophetic texts forecast the latest Assyrian divinatory texts. Not only the structure but the content and main points are very similar. It is impossible to go on a campaign without an oracle, the assurance of the gods’ presence, and conviction about the certainty of victory. Without the gods’ agreement it is impossible to begin a war or to finish it, that is to say, make a treaty. Despite the significant difference in time, over a thousand years, the kings are associated with the same gods: Ishtar, Adad (Addu)63 and Nergal (not Ashur of course, as this is a god strictly linked to the city but for example, in case of Mari, this god is Dagan).64 The diviners are part of the military cortege, they participate in and enable dialogue between the gods and the king. The result of divination is known only to the king.

The Neo-Assyrian Period

In a series of queries65 to Shamash, the Assyrian kings determined the course to be taken in the battle. The best known queries are from the NA period, but we know them from the OB period (1900–1595) and the Kassite period (1475–1155) as well. The earliest queries, known as tamītu texts, have a similar grammatical or semantic formulation to the NA omens. The similarity indicates that the NA queries were based on a long tradition of oracular military strategies, going back to the beginning of the second millennium.66 The queries are attested only to Shamash, while the earlier ones from OB times, tamītus and ikribus, were directed to Shamash and Adad (although at times only to Shamash). The term nēpešti bārûti ‘extispicy’ is often attested in the tamītus.67 A Babylonian tamītu text is a question addressed to the Babylonian gods Shamash and Adad as a duo,68 and begins: “Shamash, lord of the judgment, Adad, lord of the inspection”.69 As a source of history, the importance of such queries is enhanced by the fact that they are free of any kind of tendentious editing, which characterizes 63  26 176 in Heimpel, Letters . . ., 243. 64  26 27 Heimpel, Letters . . ., 192. 65  The extispicy quries were among the earliest material published: J.A. Knudtzon, Assyrische Gebete an den Sonnengott für Staat und königliches Haus aus der Zeit Asarhaddons und Asurbanipals. 1893; H. Zimmern, Beiträge zur Kenntnis der babylonischen Religion. 1901; E.G. Klauber (ed.), Politisch-religiöse Texte aus den Sargonidenzeit. 1913. 66  Bahrani, Rituals . . ., 183. 67  SAA 4, XXIX. 68  W.G. Lambert, Babylonian Oracle Questions (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2007) VII, 1. 69  Ibidem, 5.

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the annals and other related royal records, or the self-serving interests permeating the correspondence of courtiers. The diviners may have manipulated some of the results of the extispicies, but not the fact stated in the queries placed before the god of justice.70 The military queries are characterized by the fact that they refer to the immediate future and ‘further’ future. These queries have not even the stipulated term.71 Several tamītus offer questions from kings about campaigns or other matters of historical interest.72 They are examples of how detailed questions were and how deep faith was in the necessity of such questioning to ultimately achieving success. The mode of questioning primarily shows that the questioner was experienced in matters of war and that every aspect of war was treated seriously; during a campaign there was no place for even the smallest mistake or the slightest negligence. At the international level, questions related to military campaigns are the most frequently recurring themes. Various questions about warfare are settled with divination: when is the right moment to go to war, what are the required forces, which techniques and which itinerary would help, what is the level of safety, what are the enemies’ intentions, what are the chances of success, and so on.73 In the NA queries to Shamash, an entire complicated battle strategy was drawn out on a papyrus and placed before the god (in front of his cult statue in the temple). The questioner then asked “Should this particular strategy, on this document, be followed?” The strategy was not written out in detail, like the other queries, but put before the god in the form of a drawing or diagram. The god, in the guise of his cult statue, observed the document and gave his response through the entrails of the sacrificial animal, which was offered at the same time as the submission of the document for divine consent.74 Representations of extispicy are known of in the military camp in NA art. On the reliefs from Ashurnasirpal II’s (883–859 BC) palace in Nimrud from the ninth century BC, the presence of the bārû priest (identified by his hat and fringed robe) in military campaigns is confirmed. In a relief depicting scenes of war from the king’s campaigns, a priest in a military camp is shown leaning

70  SAA 4, XIV. 71  U.S. Koch, “Concepts and Perception of Time in Mesopotamian Divination” in Time and History in the Ancient Near East. Proceedings of the 56th Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale at Barcelona 26–30 July 2010 (eds. Feliu et al., Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2013) 137–8. 72  Lambert, Babylonian . . ., 20. 73  See for example SAA 10, 100. 74  See Bahrani, Rituals . . ., 188.

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over the altar, in the process of examining the entrails of a sacrificial animal.75 In most of these scenes, priests stand in front of an altar, a high, table-like object with animal legs carved as its support. The priests wear tall headgear, a rounded dinos-like vessel is in some cases set in front of them on a stand. These oracular consultations are requests for signs of sanction from the gods at the moment of battle; they were a necessary step in justifying war and ensuring victory through the approval of the war by the divine. These catalogued battle omens and strategic queries reveal an intense anxiety and unease about deciding the tactics and strategies of war.76 Extispicy was performed in Tiglath-Pileser III’s (744–727) camp.77 Bēl-apluiddina combined his activities in the field of extispicy with being a commanding officer: Moving on from the city Anat I besieged the city Sūru, the fortified city of Kudurru, governor of the land Suhu. Trusting in extensive Kassite troops he attacked me to wage war and battle. I besieged the city (and) on the second day fought my way inside. In the face of my mighty weapons, Kudurru with 70 of his soldiers fell back to the Euphrates to save his life. I conquered the city, (iii 20) I captured 50 cavalrymen together with the troops of Nabû-aplaiddina, king of Karduniaš, Zabdānu his brother with

75  BM 124548, the North West Palace, king Ashurnasirpal II during the campaign of about 880 BC. See E.A.W. Budge, Assyrian Sculptures in the British Museum. Reign of Ashur-nasirpal (London: Trustees of the British Museum, 1914) pl. XVI; D. Collon, “Depiction of Priests 885–860 B.C. and Priestesses in the Ancient Near East” in Priests and Officials in the Ancient Near East: Papers of the Second Colloquium on the Ancient Near East, the City and Its Life, Held at the Middle Eastern Culture Centre in Japan (Mitaka, Tokyo, March 22–24, 1996) (ed. K. Watanabe, Heidelberg: C. Winter, 1999) 24, fig. 23; Reiner, Astral . . ., 64; Bahrani, Rituals . . ., 190–1, figs. 7.1–2; A. Livingstone, “New Dimensions in the Study of Assyrian Religion” in Assyria 1995. Proceedings of the 10th Anniversary Symposium of the NeoAssyrian Text Corpus Project. Helsinki, September 7–11, 1995 (eds. S. Parpola, R.M. Whiting, Helsinki: The Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project, 1997) 173, fig. 3; P. Collins, “Attending the King in the Assyrian Reliefs” in Assyrian Reliefs from the Palace Ashurnasirpal II. A Cultural Biography (eds. A. Cohen, S.E. Kangas, Hanover: N.H.: Hood Museum of Art, Dartmouth College, 2010) 190–1, fig. 7.8. 76  Bahrani, Rituals . . ., 188–9, figs. 7.1–2. 77  From Nimrud, carved about 730–727 BC (BM: Original Drawing I, 14. See R.D. Barnett, M. Falkner, The Sculptures of Aššur-nasir-apli II (883–859 B.C.), Tiglath-pileser III (745– 727 BC), Esarhaddon (681–669 BC) from the Central and South-West Palaces at Nimrud (London: The British Museum, 1962) 18–9, pl. LX, Or. Dr. I: pl. XIV.

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3,000 fighting men, (and) Bel-apla-iddina the diviner, their commanding officer.78 In the eighth campaign of Sargon II (721–705), a haruspex was evidently present at the king’s camp.79 In a detail within Sennacherib’s (704–681) relief series of the battle of Lachish, two priests in tall hats are performing a ceremony before an altar within the military camp.80 The representation of two priests performing a ceremony in front of an incense-burner, an altar and a chariot, sometimes with divine standards, is repeated continuously.81 This scene occurs in four of Sennacherib’s camps and it has its own space inside the camp, always on the top left-hand side with the two priests looking towards the right.82 We have only a few pieces of correspondence between Esarhaddon and Ashurbanipal with haruspices. Anyway, they play an important role in the policy-making decisions of both kings. We know as well not of an oracular text but rather a literal one, The Sin of Sargon, in which Sennacherib commissioned diviners to discover the cause of his father’s fate.83 Due to the letter of the divinatory Babylonian priest Kudurru to Esarhaddon we have knowledge of the presence of priests in the camp during the battle.84 We know the list of scholars accompanying Esarhaddon when the second invasion of Egypt took place. The list starts with seven astrologers (tupšar EAE, literary ‘scribe of the canonical omen series Enūma Anu Enlil’; often abbreviated to ‘scribe’ tupšarru),

78  A.0.101.1, iii 20, in: RIMA 2, 213. 79  SAA 4, XXX, see more F.M. Fales, Guerre et paix en assyrie. Religion et imperialism (Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 2010) 139; P.E. Botta, E. Flandin, Monument de Ninive (Paris: Imprimerie nationale, 1849–50) 14, vol. II, pl. 146. 80  BM 124914, South West Palace, see R.D. Barnett, E. Bleibtreu, G. Turner, Sculptures from the Southwest Palace of Sennacherib at Nineveh (London: British Museum Press, 1998) 165, fig. 2; Bahrani, Rituals . . ., 188; M. Micale, D. Nadali, “The Shape of Sennacherib’s Camps: Strategic Functions and Ideological Space,” Iraq 66 Nineveh. Papers of the 49th Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale, Part One (2004) 171–2. 81  Room V, slab 43; Room X, slab 7; Room XXXVI, slabs 15–16; Room XLVIII, slab 20, see E. Bleibtreu, “Kulthandlungen im Zeltlager Sanheribs” in Meqor Hajjim. Festschrift für Georg Molin zu seinem 75. Geburtstag (ed. I. Seybold, Graz: Akademische Druck- und Verlagsanstalt, 1983) 43–8; Collon, Depiction . . ., 24–5. 82  Micale, Nadali, The Shape . . ., 165–6. 83  SAA 4, XXXI; see H. Tadmor, B. Landsberger, S. Parpola, “The Sin of Sargon and Sennacherib’s Last Will,” State Archives of Assyria Bulletin 3 (1989) 3–51. 84  SAA 10, 371, rev. 6–11.

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followed by nine exorcists (āšipu), then five diviners (bārû), nine physicians (asû) and six lamenters (kalû).85 The Mantis and His Role during the Campaigns Mantis, from a contemporary perspective, is an elusive term. Plato in his Laches, has Nicias say: “It is necessary for a seer to recognize the signs of what will take place, whether a person is to meet with death or disease or loss of property, or with victory or defeat in war or some other contest.”86 The seer practiced what the Greeks called a technē, the general word for an ‘art,’ or ‘skill’. This art was called ‘the art of divination’ (mantikê technē).87 The notion that the seer was the practitioner of a specialized craft emerges as early as Homer. Calchas is the model of the archaic Greek seer par excellence: male, ornithomancer, problemsolver, closely connected with the gods and a prestigious warrior. In the Iliad, Calchas is described as someone who “knew all things that were, the things to come and the things past”.88 The mantis was therefore characteristically the mouthpiece of a god.89 Xenophon thought that a mantis was a basic requirement for any army.90 As such, the military mantis was an interpreter of signs, portents and dreams; in short, of all events beyond the normal order. Divinatory rituals were essential prior to combat. The most important role of the seer in Greek society was arguably on the battlefield.91 No general would 85  K. Radner, “The Assyrian King and his Scholars: The Syro-Anatolian and the Egyptian Schools” in Of God(s), Trees, Kings, and Scholars. Neo-Assyrian and Related Studies in Honour of Simo Parpola (eds. M. Luukko, S. Svärd, R. Mattila, Helsinki: The Finnish Oriental Society, 2009) 222. 86  Pl. Laches 195e, Pritchett 3, 48. 87  A. PV 484; Soph. OT 709; Hdt. 2.49, 83; F. Graf, Apollo (London, New York: Routledge, 2009) 51. 88  Il. 1.70. 89  Xen. Hell. 2.4.17–8. 90  Xen. Hell. 7.1.35. 91  Important studies of the seer in warfare are: H. Popp, Die Einwirkung von Vorzeichen (Diss., Erlangen, 1957); R. Lonis, Guerre et religion en Grèce á l’époque classique (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 1979); R. Parker, “Sacrifice and Battle” in War and Violence in Ancient Greece (ed. H. van Wees, London: Duckworth and the Classical Press of Wales, 2000) 299–314; M.H. Jameson, “Sacrifice before Battle” in Hoplites: The Classical Greek Battle Experience (ed. V.D. Hanson, London, New York: Routledge, 2004) 197–228; and above mentioned Flower, The Seer . . .

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leave the camp or begin a battle without first consulting his seer(s), as each stage of a campaign was tested in advance by means of extispicy.92 The diviners accompanied the army in all its operations.93 Only with the mantis’ consent and the fulfillment of specified conditions were the troops moved into battle.94 Common sense dictates that more than one seer was present on an expedition, in case the general’s favorite grew ill or was killed in battle. Without doubt the two most active periods for independent divination in the Greek world were the Persian and Peloponnesian Wars.95 The manteis regarded themselves as the official means of ascertaining the will and intention of the gods, quite apart from the exigencies of the tactical situation.96 In poetry and in prose, in myth and in history, seers are said to be able to win battles. Aeschylus even produced the hapax legomenon, ‘armyseer’,97 and Herodotus speaks of Deiphonus as mantis to the Greek stratiê at Mycale.98 Mantis was expected by the exercise of his art to work successfully for his clients, and his art involved no little sagacity, evolved both from the knowledge of his techne and long experience.99 The preparation for war had not only a technical but first of all a divinatory nature. Demophon in Eurypides’ Herakleidai says: “All my plans are carefully laid, the city under arms, the victims stand ready to be slain to every god whose due that is. My seers have filled the town with sacrifices to turn the foe to flight and keep our country safe. All those who chant prophetic words have I assembled and have examined ancient oracles, both public and secret, as means to save the city.”100 The military seer was responsible for two types of divination that preceded every engagement: the campground sacrifice called hiera and the battle-line sacrifice called sphagia. The seer was the one who sacrificed the offering during the campground sacrifice and then examined the entrails while the commander looked on.101 Later, the mantis gave the divine sanction for combat

92  Flower, The Seer . . ., 240. 93  S. Dalley, Ancient Mesopotamian Military Organization in Civilizations of the Ancient Near East (ed. J.M. Sasson, vol. I & II, New York: Hendrickson Publisher’s, 2006) 421. 94  Xen. Hell. 2.4.17–8. 95  Dillery, Chresmologues . . ., 184. 96  Pritchett 3, 78. 97  A. Ag. 122. 98  Hdt. 9.95. 99  Dillery, Chresmologues . . ., 200. 100  Eur. Heracl. 398–405, cf. Pritchett 3, 319. 101  Flower, The Seer . . ., 159; K. Banek, Religia i polityka w starożytnej Grecji. Od epoki mykeńskiej do Aleksandra Wielkiego (Kraków: Wydawnictwo UJ, 1985) 96–7.

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after inspecting the sacrifice.102 Xenophon in the Anabasis, encourages his men to join battle with the enemy by pointing out that all three types of omen are favorable: “the omens from sacrifice (hiera) are favorable, the bird omens are propitious, and the sphagia are excellent. Let us go against the enemy.”103 Manteis could have both military and strategic roles.104 The seers did more than just sacrifice and interpret signs of various kinds; they took an active part in devising strategy and leading the troops into battle. They could also be involved in the resolution of conflict and the maintenance of peaceful relations. For instance, the legendary Epimenides brokered a peace between Knossos and Athens.105 There is documentary evidence from the historical period that suggests this function as well. An inscription from c. 550 from Olympia makes clear that manteis were overseers of a treaty between the Anaitoi and Metapioi,106 and a Spartan treaty (end 5th, start 4th?) with the Aetiolians, or more specifically the Erxadieis.107 Disagree with the divine sentences or trying to annihilate the divine voice was widely considered to be a dangerous thing to do for humans.108 In the Iliad, Hector rejected the bird signs angrily: Zeus, that he himself promised to me and nodded assent. But you tell me to put my trust in birds, who spread wide their wings. I care nothing for them, I think nothing of them, whether they go to the right toward the dawn and the sun, or whether they go to the left toward the murky darkness. No, let us put our trust in the counsel of great Zeus, he who is lord over all mortals and all the immortals. One bird sign is best, to fight in defense of one’s country.109 The divination of the mantis and the speeches of the generals seem to have been two of the most popular means of building up morale in the Greek armies.

102  See Thuc. 6.69.2; Xen. An. 1.8.15. 103  Xen. An. 6.5.21. 104  Pritchett 3, 56–60. 105  Arist. Ath. Pol. I: Diels, i, 29f, see also Plat. Leg. 1.642d; Theopomp.FGH 155, FF 67 a, e, 68 b–c. 106  S EG 11.183. 107  Dillery, Chresmologues . . ., 200–1. 108  The most well-known in Mesopotamian civilization is the example of Naram-Sin’s rejection of the divine verdict. “Naram-Sin and the Enemy Hordes” 79–81 in Westenholz, Legends . . ., 317. 109  Il. 12.236–43.

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It was mantis who largely determined the course of the battles.110 Omens could deter battle or strategic movements, as well as devastate or increase morale. Onasander insists that “soldiers are far more courageous when they believe they are facing dangers with the good will of the gods . . . an auspicious sacrifice encourages even those who have private misgivings.”111 Dion knew that an eclipse had a natural cause; but since the soldiers were greatly disturbed by such a phenomenon in 357 BC, Dion’s mantis, Miltas of Thessaly, stood up in their midst and interpreted the eclipse as an omen of victory.112 Polyainos reports that “Alexander, after he had learned from the mantis that the hiera were favorable, ordered the victims to be carried around and shown to the soldiers in order that they might not depend on what they were told but on seeing with their eyes might have good hope concerning the ensuing danger.”113 On the other hand, a general could also decide to hide any unfavorable interpretation of the mantis for purposes of army’s morale.114

“Good both as a Seer and to Fight with the Spear”

In a few remarkable cases, manteis were not only present in battle, but also played important military roles,115 either leading an attack or devising special tactics.116 Homeric seers were warriors like their followers.117 In the 110  Plut. Arist. 11.2–3; 15.2–3, 17–8. The story of Plataia 479 BC, see Hdt. 9.61.3–62.1; Wheeler, The General . . ., 268; S. Oświęcimski, Zeus daje tylko znak, Apollo wieszczy osobiście. Starożytne wróżbiarstwo greckie (Wrocław: Ossolineum, 1989) 39; W. Burkert, Greek Religion. Archaic and Classical (Oxford: Blackwell, 2007) 113. 111  Onos. 10.26, Pritchett 3, 58. 112  Plut. Dion 24, Pritchett 3, 59. 113  Polyainos 4.3.14. 114  D.S. 17.97.4–7, Pritchett 3, 59–60. 115  Even among the seers it happened the cases of changing the opinion due to the results of divination. “The people of Croton say that Callias ran away from Telys the tyrant of the Sybarites and came to them, since the sacrifices (hiera) were not turning out favorable for him when he was sacrificing against Croton”, see Hdt. 5.44–5. In the Hellenistic period the seer Thrasybulus changed the employer cause he foretold victory the enemies, see Paus. 8.10.5. 116  Hdt. 6.83.2, 8.27.3; Thuc. 3.20.1. 117  Being a warrior was so important in the Greek society. Herodotus is also the authority for a strange rule concerning Oropus: the Thebans could not consult this oracle because the priestess there once gave them a choice: Amphiaraus could either be a mantis to them or a warrior, but not both. They chose the latter, Hdt.8.134.2. K. Trampedach, “Authority Disputed. The Seer in Homeric Epic” in Practitioners of the Divine. Greek Priests and Religious Officials from Homer to Heliodorus (ed. B. Dignas, K. Trampedach, Cambridge, MT, London: Harvard University Press, 2008) 229, ref. nos. 73–4.

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Iliad, Calchas repeatedly joined the fray; similarly, an Olympian shield-band illustrates the seer Amphiaraus with full military equipment. Pindar in his sixth Olympian (472 or 468 BC) emphatically stresses that the seer Hagesias was due the same praise that Adrastus had given to the seer Amphiaraus: “I long for the eye of my army, one who was good both as a seer and to fight with the spear.”118 The association of mantic and warlike abilities was thus fairly common in Greece, and the phrase “good both as a seer and to fight with the spear” had a long history both before and after Pindar. Pindar, in fact, had probably borrowed it from an epic poem called the Thebaid, and a roughly similar description of Amphiaraus appears in Aeschylus’s Seven against Thebes,119 performed in 467 BC.120 The messenger who describes the seven heroes in the play, refers to the seer Amphiaraus: “I would say that the sixth warrior is a man most prudent, the best seer in valor, the might of Amphiaraus.” Amphiaraus, even though, he could foresee that the expedition against Thebes would end in his own death, he participate in it.121 Flower notes that there are very few cases in which the evidence of different genres can be brought into perfect harmony, and thus it is highly significant that in this particular instance epic (the Thebaid), lyric (Pindar), tragedy (Aeschylus), prose (Aeschines) and an inscription (Cleobulus’s stele), all convey the very same image of the seer.122 Mopsus was also presented as an athlete during the funeral games for Jason’s grandfather Pelias.123 A variety of sources indicates that numerous seers were to be found in armies, cities and in the households of the wealthy. Aeschylus seems to imagine that ‘prophets’ (prophetai) and ‘dream interpreters’ were a regular component of a king’s household,124 and a century later we still hear of the seers who served the tyrant Dionysius II of Syracuse.125 Of course, we are interested in prominent seers in Greek history and myths that participated in battles. In myths, every army had its mantis: Calchas 118  Pi. O. 6.16–7; J.N. Bremmer, Greek Religion and Culture, the Bible and the Ancient Near East (Leiden, Boston: Brill, 2008) 137; Flower, The Iamidae . . ., 202, ref. no. 49. 119  E GF F 9; A. Sept. 568–9, 587–9; Flower, The Seer . . ., 94, 97, 184. 120  See Dillery, Chresmologues . . ., 175. 121  Od. 15.244–7. 122  Flower, The Seer . . ., 97. 123  J.N. Bremmer, “The Status and Symbolic Capital of the Seer” in The Role of Religion in the Early Greek Polis. Proceedings of the Third International Seminar on Ancient Greek Cut, organized by the Swedish Institute at Athens, 16–18 October 1992 (ed. R. Hägg, Stockholm: Paul Åströms Förlag, 1996) 99. 124  A. Ag. 409; A. Cho. 32–41. 125  Plut. Dion 24.

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served the Greeks at Troy and Helenus served the Trojans;126 other mythical warrior-seers include Amphiaraos, Calchas and Phineus.127 Ennomus, the augur (οἰωνιστής) was killed by Achilles.128 Even the Cyclopes once kept a ‘famous’ seer amongst them.129 The border of mythos and history is represented by Karnos,130 and Peripoltas.131 Historical sources similarly mention manteis who fought alongside other men. Xenophon, for instance, speaks of the mantis, or “the seer” (with the definite article), at Munychia, which may suggest that seers were regular members of Greek armies.132 Parker supposed that a mantis received a regular wage during campaigns.133 Greek sources mention many historical characters:134 Megistias—Thermopylae,135 Teisamenos, Hegesistratus136 of Elis, of the clan Telliadae—Plataea, mantis of Mardonius,137 Hippomachus of Leucas, mantis at Plataea on the Persian side,138 Stilbides, private mantis of Nicias,139 Miltas, mantis of Dion,140 Aristandros, mantis of Alexander.141 Alexander the Great surrounded himself with manteis, four of whom are known by name (Aristander, Demophon, Kleomantis and Peithagoras),142 and 126  S.I. Johnston, Ancient Greek Divination (Oxford: Blackwell, 2008) 116. 127  Apollod. Bibl. 1 [120], 9.21. 128  Il. 2.858–61. 129  Od. 9.508–10, W. Burkert, “Signs, Commands, and Knowledge: Ancient Divination between Enigma and Epiphany” in Mantikê. Studies in Ancient Divination (eds. S.I. Johnston, P.T. Struck, Leiden, Boston: Brill, 2005) 35. 130  See Burkert, Greek . . ., 357. 131  Plut. Cim. 1; ThesCRA 3, 15. 132  Dillery, Chresmologues . . ., 204. 133  R. Parker Polytheism and Society at Athens (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005) 117. 134  Others examples include Cleander of Phigalea in Arcadia, who seems to lead a slave revolt at Tiryns; Tellias of Elis, who comes up with an ingenious plan for a night assault for the Phocians in their war with the Thessalians; and Theaenetus, who proposes the escape of the Plataeans in 428/7, see Dillery, Chresmologues . . ., 200. 135  Hdt. 7.221, 228. 136  Hegesistratus, who had been Mardonius’s seer at Plataea in 479, at some later date was captured by the Spartans while he was serving as a seer on the island of Zacynthus. He had once before escaped execution by the Spartans, but this time they managed to kill him, see Hdt. 9.37–9. 137  Hdt. 9.37.1. 138  Hdt. 9.38.2. 139  Plut. Nik. 4.2; 23.7. 140  Plut. Dion 22. 141  Arr. An. 1.25.6; Plut. Alex. 30.9. 142  See Arr. An. 3.2.2, 4.15.7–8; Plut. Alex. 24.5, 26.6, 57.5.

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with magoi and Chaldean priests. Aristander of Telmessus, the most famous of them, served first under Philip II and then Alexander the Great between c. 356 and 327 BC.143 He accompanied Alexander to Asia in 334 BC, and is an outstanding example of a seer whose competence covered the interpretation of entrails, bird signs, and dreams, as well as natural phenomena.144 The employment of seers by Alexander is also attested by Posidippus: A mantis lies beneath the crow, the Thracian hero Strymon, supreme steward of bird-omens. This is the title Alexander gave him with his seal, for three times he defeated The Persians after consulting his crow.145 We know the names of two seers who were employed by king Pyrrhus of Epirus. One of them was Thrasybulus, he was the seer from the family of Iamidae, serving with the Mantineans against the Lacedaemonians under King Agis IV (244–241 BC), described as “both foret[elling] victory to the Mantineans and himself t[aking] part in the fighting”.146 He must have been a person of great wealth and influence, since he dedicated a statue of King Pyrrhus of Epirus at Olympia.147 The other was the seer Theodotus, who is mentioned by Plutarch as not allowing Pyrrhus to participate in a peace agreement after one of the victims for sacrifice, a ram, fell dead. Before Pyrrhus’s attack on Sparta in 273 BC, a seer told him that a victim without a lobe indicated that he would lose one of his relatives (who turned out to be his son Ptolemy).148 The sources indicated that manteis went to battle even if he knew that the result for him would be defeat and his own death.149 However, Xenophon said that a mantis cannot know his own destiny,150 the archetypal seer is said to foresaw his own death and even thought determined to fight.151

143  Flower, The Seer . . ., 93. 144  Ibidem, 35. 145  Posidippus 35 AB, cf. Bremmer, Greek Religion . . ., 138–9. 146  Paus. 8.10.5. 147  Paus. 6.14.9. 148  Plut. Pyrrh. 6.5, 30.3. 149  Hdt. 7.221, 228; Xen. Hell. 2.4.18. 150  Xen. Symp. 4.5. 151  Seers were courageous in battle. On the prestige of military mantis, see Pritchett 3, 49–56.

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The casualty lists152 from the classical period include individuals identified as mantis.153 The Athenian record of the war dead from the Erechtheid tribe for 460 or 459 mentions the seer Telenikos, as well as two generals who also fell in that season’s fighting. Another inscription is an Argive casualty-list from c. 400.154 This list mentions the name of a seer prominently near the top of the inscription. This testifies to the public recognition of the seer’s importance. Beneath the heading “The following died,” four individuals are listed by office in a single column, in a prominent position at the top of the stone; below these names everyone else was listed by phratry in four columns. Although the names are missing, the titles have survived: probasileus (a magistrate who acted in place of a king), seer, general, and, last of all, priest. If these are listed in order of importance, the implication is that being a seer, at least for the Argives, was more important than being a general or a priest.155 In 387 BC the maternal uncle of the Athenian orator Aeschines distinguished himself in a naval action after which he may have been formally awarded the aristeia, or prize for valor. Aeschines claims that his uncle, “along with Demaenetus, won the naval victory over Cheilon, the Lacedaemonian admiral.”156 His grave stele was found near the Attic deme of Acharnae in Attica. It has a relief depicting an eagle carrying a serpent in its talons, which is an obvious reference to the portent that appeared to Hector.157 The name and occupation of the deceased is inscribed above the relief: “Cleobulus, from Acharnae, seer.” An epigram, consisting of four hexameters, is inscribed below the relief in small letters: Cleobulus, son of Glaucus, the earth covers you in death, being good both as a seer and as a fighter with the spear, you whom once the demos (people) of great-hearted Erechtheus [crowned] having been the best throughout Greece [to win glory].158

152  The name of mantis was inscribed in larger letters than the rest in the early Athenian casualty list published as IG I2 929. 153  I G I3 1147 128–9= ML 33; SEG 29.361 3 column; Dillery, Chresmologues . . ., 201. 154  S EG 16.193. 155  Flower, The Seer . . ., 184; Bremmer, The Status . . ., 99; Bremmer, Greek . . ., 138. 156  Aeschin. 2.78. 157  Il. 12.195–229. 158  National Archaeological Museum, inv. no. 4473, see Flower, The Seer . . ., 96, 98, fig. 12.

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Xenophon describes a mantis who died bravely in the front line of battle at Munychia (403/404). This anonymous seer serving with Thrasybulus and the Athenian democrats from Phyle, who fought the Thirty Tyrants, predicted that they would be victorious if they did not attack until one of their own number was wounded or killed, and that he himself would die in the battle. He then selfconsciously fulfilled his own prophecy in an act of self-sacrifice, for Xenophon comments: “And he did not speak falsely; but when they took up their arms, just as if he was being led on by a certain fate, he was the first to spring forward and, falling upon the enemy, he was killed.”159 Other manteis killed during battle include Skiros of Dodona, who fell in battle during the war between Eleusis and Athens, and an unnamed seer who fell in the fighting and at Mantineia, as mentioned by Pausanias.160 Another well-known example is mentioned in Herodotus’ story about Megistias. “The seer Megistias from Acarnania, having looked into the entrails (hiera), proclaimed the death that would come for them at dawn”.161 King Leonidas ordered almost all the non-Spartan Greek forces to leave Thermopylae before the battle, among them Megistias, but he chose not to, preferring instead to send away his son.162 Theoclus ends his life by plunging into the ranks of the Lacedaemonians.163 Finally, Lysander’s seer fell with him before the walls of Haliartus in Boeotia in 395 BC,164 and the Athenian invasion of Egypt in the middle of the fifth century, the seer Telenikos perished, and we can still read his name in big letters on the inscription honoring the fallen.165 The clear indication of the prestige of military manteis is the relatively large number of statues dedicated to them, as the dedication of human statues seems to have been restricted to truly great men.166 Pausanias mentioned five monuments to manteis in Delphi, Olympia and other places.167 The poet Simonides of Ceos at his own expense made the epitaph for his mantic friend Megistias.168 Simonides must have clearly felt that his friend had done

159  Xen. Hell. 2.4.18–9. 160  Paus. 1.36.4, 1.38.3. 161  Hdt. 7.219.1. 162  Hdt. 7.221; Dillery, Chresmologues . . ., 203. 163  Paus. 4.21.2–12. 164  Plut. Lys. 28.5. 165  IG I3 1147.129. 166  Pritchett 3, 53. 167  Paus. 1.27.6, 3.11.5, 6.2.4, 10.1.10, 10.9.7. Pausanias mentions five statues dedicated to mantis, and for sure were more. See W.K. Pritchett, Greek Archives, Cults, and Topography (Amsterdam: J.C. Gieben, 1996) 134. 168  Hdt. 7.228.3; Xen, Hell. 2.4.18–19; Pritchett 3, 51.

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something to deserve such special and personal commemoration (no other Greek was identified by name on these pillars).169 This is the memorial of famous Megistias, whom once the Medes slew after they had crossed the river Spercheius, a seer who, although at that time he knew clearly that the Karae [spirits of death] were coming, did not endure to abandon Sparta’s leaders.170 On the so-called Navarchs monument, Lysander dedicated a statue of both himself and his seer Agias,171 whose bronze statue was also placed in the marketplace at Sparta. Agias’ fame, as Pausanias recounts, resulted from his exploits at the battle of Aegospotami: “They say that Agias while acting as seer to Lysander captured the Athenian fleet at Aegospotami except for ten ships.”172 Moreover, the seers were granted honours not only after their death but also during their lifetime. Polybius speaks of the precedence and honor enjoyed by the manteis in the early period. Manteis were often awarded citizenship and other high civic honors; they also received special consideration in the distribution of booty after battles. There is even some evidence to show their greed and lust for payment.173 The mantic family of the Iamidai from Olympia, who traced their descent from Iamos, son of Apollo, provides the best example of the high esteem and influence enjoyed by the manteis in the fifth century.174 The best of the seers, as mentioned above, could gain citizenship as a reward. Athens, for instances, awarded a crown to the diviner Cleobulus for his services during the campaign against Chilon.175 The Thasian mantis Sthorys and Amphitos of Acarnania were granted Athenian citizenship as a consequence of several successful prophecies.176 A stele preserves two enactments of the Athenian government; one a decree of the Boule and the other a decree of the Ecclesia, granting Sthorys of Thasos both Athenian citizenship and the right to eat in the Prytaneum.177 The most 169  Flower, The Seer . . ., 247. 170  Hdt. 7.228; Bremmer, Greek . . ., 99; Dillery, Chresmologues . . ., 203. 171  Paus. 10.9.7. 172  Paus. 3.11.6–8; Flower, The Seer . . ., 95. 173  Soph. Ant. 1055; Ath. 8.344ef. 174  Pritchett 3, 53. 175  Aeschin. 2.78, cf. P. Bonnechere, “Divination” in A Companion to Greek Religion (ed. D. Ogden, Oxford: Blackwell, 2007) 148. 176  Parker, Polytheism . . ., 117. 177  I G II2 17 + SEG 15.84 + SEG 16.42.

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remarkable seer seems to be Teisamenus, who won the privilege of full Spartiate status, something that was completely without parallel. Teisamenus, according to Herodotus, was told by Pythia that he was destined to win five contests. Misinterpreting this to mean athletic contests, he started to train and nearly won the pentathlon at Olympia. The Spartans, however, understood “contests” to mean ‘battles,’ and “tried, by offering him a wage, to make Teisamenus a leader in war, together with the Heraclid kings”.178 Before the grant of citizenship, Teisamenus was offered a joint-command with the kings of Sparta. He was to be put on the same level with the kings.179 The seer, alert to the Spartans’ urgency, raised his price: he demanded full citizen rights. The Spartans at first refused, but when they saw the threat of Persian attack looming, they conceded. Later, Teisamenus raised his price higher still: he demanded citizenship for his brother, Hagias, as well as for himself. Herodotus tells us that Teisamenus was here “imitating Melampus”,180 who had similarly won for himself half the kingdom of Argos, and one-third for his brother Bias. The Spartans agreed to both of Teisamenus’ demands, and with him as diviner, they won the battles of Plataea, Tegea, Dipaees, Ithome and Tanagra.181

Diviner or King?

In the ANE the situation is absolutely unequivocal. There was a known socalled protocol of the diviners, a kind of loyalty oath taken by diviners in which, among other things, one swore not to reveal the content of oracular consultations to unauthorized persons. It was an attempt to deal with such potential risk.182 Sennacherib (704–681 BC) tells of how he would assemble the diviners in separate groups, so that they could not communicate, and ask his question. So Sennacherib leaves this counsel to his son: never make any decision without the diviners, but make three or four groups of them.183 178  Hdt. 9.33–36. 179  According to Flower, Herodotus does not depict Tisamenus as having any active role in the actual battle, neither in marshaling the troops nor in the fighting. Herodotus must therefore mean that Tisamenus was the leader in the same way as Calchas. Homer speaks of Calchas as the one who “led the ships of the Achaeans into the land of Ilium through that seercraft (mantosune) that Phoebus Apollo had given him”, see Il. 1.71–2. Like Calchas, then, Tisamenus “leads” the army and practices the art of divination as Apollo’s gift. See Flower, The Seer . . ., 95. 180  Hdt. 9.34.1. 181  Hdt. 9.35.2; Dillery, Chresmologues . . ., 206–7. 182  A EM 1/1, 11–22, see The Mari . . ., 286. 183  S AA 3, 33, o. 13–7, o. 21–2; Burkert, Signs . . ., 40.

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The Greek historical sources did not report any heated confrontations between the generals and seers, but in the epics and tragedies political and military leaders often come into conflict with seers. Those genres focus on the aspect of confrontation, and so it is only to be expected that Oedipus, Creon, and Pentheus will disregard the counsel of Teiresias, or that Agamemnon will turn on Calchas, when the latter appears to undermine his authority.184 In the Iliad, the warrior-seer Polydamas185 is described as Hector’s close companion; yet twice he finds himself having to steer Hector on a safer course,186 and on two other occasions is violently rebuked by him for urging a more cautious plan of action.187 Some seers possessed the strategic ability and cleverness that made them comparable or even superior to their commanders.188 The mythological tradition knows king-seers, such as Anios of Delos (a son of Apollo), Mounichos (a king of the Molossians) and Phineus, the blind Thracian king whose divinatory qualities incited the Argonauts to shoot down the Harpies.189 The king of Sparta was accompanied on the battlefield by the mantis.190 The seer Teiresias in Euripides’ Phoenissae claims to be responsible for Athens’ victory over Eleusis: “I made the sons of Cecrops victorious, and, as you can see, I possess this golden crown, which I received as the first fruits of the enemy spoils”.191 The Lacedaemonian seer Hecas, for his part, interprets an omen, devises the strategy that leads to the defeat of the Messenians, and gives orders to the Lacedaemonian army.192 The mantis and the chieftain are ultimately oppositional forces,193 and this theme finds expression in tragedy. In Aeschylus’s Seven against Thebes, there is a verbally vivid description of Tydeus growing impatient with his seer Amphiaraus: Tydeus now rages at the Proetid Gate, but the seer does not allow him to cross the river Ismenus. For the sphagia are not favorable. But Tydeus, raging and eager for battle, shouts as a snake hissing at midday, and he 184  Soph. OT 316–462, Soph. Ant. 988–1090; Eur. Bacch. 215-369; Il. 1.1–120. 185  He is evidently not a professional seer and indeed is never called one in the poem. 186  Il. 12.61–79, 13.726–47. 187  Il. 12.230–50, 18 18.243–314. 188  See Hdt. 8.27.3; Paus. 10.1.10–1, 4.21.8; Thuc. 3.20.1–2. 189  Bremmer, The Status . . ., 100. 190  Xen. Lak. Pol. 13.7; Cic. De. Div. 1.95. 191  Eur. Ph. 854–7. 192  Paus. 4.21.7–12. 193  Dillery, Chresmologues . . ., 173.

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strikes at the wise seer, the son of Oecles, with reproaches, saying that he shrinks from death and battle through cowardice.194 An oracle given in Dodona warned soldiers to be “on their guard against their leaders” during the battle of Chaironeia—advice that was sure to destroy military discipline. Burkert notes that in many cultures and throughout history, diviners have been not merely under the surveillance of authorities but actively responsible for inciting rebellion against them.195 The final strategical decision was in the hands of the leader.196 According to Plato, “the law enjoins that the general rules the seer and not the seer the general.”197 Some generals kept tighter control over the soothsayers or were more adroit at concealing, or interpreting the omens.198 The most eminent generals of the fifth century (Tolmides, Cimon, Nicias, Alcibiades, and perhaps Pericles) were accustomed to employing private seers.199 The leader put pressure of taking military decisions on the seer.200 The Greeks seem to have strongly believed that the gods had good strategic sense and that they communicated with men by means of signs. So any general who disregarded the omens and the advice of his seer did so at his own peril.201 Cyrus, according to Xenophon, was taught the mantic art by his father, in order that he should know what the gods counseled and not to be at the mercy of seers, who might wish to deceive him, and in order that he should not be at a loss how to read the divine signs if he ever found himself without a seer.202 Xenophon clearly believed that divination was a teachable craft, and that any intelligent person could learn it. Nonetheless, he did not imply that professional seers were unnecessary. Rather, he was asserting that a commander needed to be able, if the circumstances required it, to get along without one.203 Xenophon declared that he himself was always present when omens were taken.204 He also adds that he learned much about the relevant liver signs himself just by often standing at the side of the mantis as he cut up 194  A. Sept. 377–83. 195  See Burkert, Signs . . ., 46. 196  Il. 1.75–91; Hdt. 9.61; Eur. Phoen. 754–9; Soph. OT 300–41; A. Sept. 377–80; Arr. An. 7.18; Xen. Cyr. 1.6.2; Onos. 4.5, 10.25–8; Jameson, Sacrifice . . ., 223–4; ThesCRA 3, 43. 197  Pl. Lach. 199a. 198  D S 13.97.5–7; Xen. Hell. 4.8.36. 199  Flower, The Seer . . ., 122. 200  Xen. An. 6.4.14; Plut. Arist. 18. 201  Flower, The Seer . . ., 144. 202  Xen. Cyr. 1.6.2. 203  Flower, The Seer . . ., 129. 204  Xen. An. 5.6.29.

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the victim.205 Aeneas the Tactician explicitly prescribed that during a siege the mantis should sacrifice only in the presence of a magistrate; to do otherwise might have a fatal influence on public opinion.206 Polybius reported that it was the custom of Philip V to take the splaghna of the victim into his own hands.207 Onosander, in his Strategikos, insisted that a general must himself be able to read the omens intelligently and that he should summon all his officers to inspect the victims since the gods command them to fight.208 A general took a risk in overruling the interpretation of the mantis and trusting in his own judgment; he risked punishment from gods and men if the seers prove to have understood the divine intention correctly.209 The Spartan generals found sacrificing and taking omens a good way of keeping their men in hand.210 Even though Herodotus mentioned that for the Spartans the mantis was a man of secondary importance, the case of Teisamenos suggests the opposite.211 The testimony of Pausanias differs from that of Herodotus. When he visited Sparta he noted that the Elean family of mantis, Spartan priests who fell in battle, were privileged with special burial.212 Xenophon reported that Lycurgus “ordained that the king shall offer all public sacrifices on behalf of the state in virtue of his divine descent and he shall be the leader of the army wherever the state sends it.”213 On active service the king acted as a priest in matters relating to the gods and as a general in matters relating to men.214 In contrast to Athens, the Spartan king could offer the sacrifice assisted by mantis, just as in the interpretation of oracles each Spartan king was the keeper of the oracles but was assigned two Πύθιoι who served as messengers to Delphi and were made

205  Xen. An. 6.4.15, see Burkert, Signs . . ., 42. 206  Aen. Tact. 10.4, Bremmer, The Status . . ., 108. On the other hand Curtius says that the seers examined the victims without the presence of Aleksander, see Curtius 7.7.8; Pritchett 3, 48–9. 207  Polybios 7.12.1. 208  Onos. 10.25. 209  Pritchett 3, 49, ref. 7. 210  A.R. Burn, Persia and the Greeks (London: Edward Arnold, 1962) 538. 211  Hdt. 9.33-6, Pritchett 3, 50, ref. no. 9; Bremmer, Greek . . ., 150; W. Burkert, The Orientalizing Revolution. Near Eastern Influence on Greek Culture in the Early Archaic Age (Cambridge MA, London: Harvard University Press, 1995) 42; Flower, The Iamidae . . ., 187, 197–200; Burkert, Greek . . ., 113; Burkert, Signs . . ., 44; ThesCRA 3, 15, 43; P. Cartledge, “The Spartan State in War and Peace” in The Landmark Herodotus. The Histories (ed. R.B. Strassler, New York: Pantheon Books, 2007) 730, 734. 212  Paus. 3.12.8, Pritchett 3, 50. 213  Xen. Lac. 15.2. 214  Xen. Lac. 13.11.

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cognizant of all oracles.215 As far as we know, two generals might react differently to the same portent. The mantis uttered his prognosis, the hegemon made the final decision and no general was ever impeached because of his observance or non-observance of a portent.216 Even defeat could not significantly change the prestige of the manteis in the Greek world. In an epigram dedicated to the dead of the battle of Coroneia, shortly after 446/447 BC, general Tolmides appears to have acted in spite of an unfavorable sign.217 This Athenian epigram explained how an unnamed demigod had given the Athenians an oracle which was interpreted as favorable; but it turned out to mean exactly the opposite and to involve their defeat. The oracle, as often happened, was obscure. In the second line of the epigram we find the ascription of the defeat to a divine power (“By divine power, you lost your lives in war”). After the defeat, neither the strategos Tolmides nor the mantis was repudiated for his failure. The epigrams conclude: “For all men forever he made accomplishment of oracles trustworthy and to be reckoned on”.218 The gods might grant favorable signs to the pious, which was still however not the same as an absolute guarantee of success. As long as a general merely indicated that the gods gave approval for battle or for a particular course of action, then the responsibility for a defeat laid with him alone. And thus it might often have been the case that a seer’s reputation could survive a major defeat that permanently destroyed the career of the general whom he served.219 Xenophon is quite certain that the gods give favorable omens in a crisis to those who revered them when things were going well.220 This was not exclusively a Socratic view. Pindar implies much the same thing in his eighth Olympian.221 Nonetheless, even the pious might find it difficult to interpret a particular omen, and it must have been the norm that both armies received favorable omens before an engagement. The gods gave advice and indicated their will; they did not guarantee success or victory.222 Diodorus’s account of Arginusae tells us distinctly about attitudes toward divination and the Greek mentality.223 Generally in the Greek world, especially before the Sicilian expedition in the midst of the Peloponnesian War,224 the Athenians had a 215  Pritchett 3, 67. 216  Ibidem, 139–40. 217  Bonnechere, Divination . . ., 148. 218  C EG 5; Pritchett 3, 89. 219  Flower, The Seer . . ., 183; see Burkert, Signs . . ., 42–3. 220  Xen. Hipparch. 9.8–9, Xen. Cyr. 1.6.3. 221  Pi. O. 8.1–8. 222  Flower, The Seer . . ., 83. 223  D.S. 13.97–103. 224  Thuc. 8.1.1.

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genuine faith in the validity of divination and of how the rites of divination, even when proven wrong in the event, cannot be easily discredited in the eyes of a true believer.225 Conclusions Both, the Mesopotamians and Greeks believed that the gods’ decisions had important strategic sense and they communicated them to men by means of signs. In both civilizations, the diviner was the mouthpiece of the gods. Their attributes were highly impressive; the throne in Mesopotamia, and the crown in Greece. In the ANE, divination was a specialized science to be mastered. In Mesopotamian tradition, divination was very professional knowledge and being a diviner was available only by long, difficult, long-term study. The art of divination in Greece, on the other hand, derived largely from a practical intelligence and was an individual power.226 The seer owed his prestige to the success and reliability of his prophecies,227 and charisma was far more important than book-learning or technical expertise.228 Xenophon clearly believes that divination was a teachable craft. The main difference could be in personal involvement; the Greek seers seem to have been less studious scholars and more engaged practitioners but this could be due to the different narration of our literary evidence. Both bārû and mantis were very often seers and warriors at the same time. It seems that the bārû was not only responsible for divination but that he also for going ‘in front of the army’. In the Greek milieu, it was possible for the mantis to be in conflict with the ruler, while in Mesopotamia such a situation was impossible and even unthinkable; this, however, was connected with the structure of the society. Nonetheless, in Mari times, diviners very often advised the king in military affairs: “our lord must give strict orders to guards and border guards outside. They must not be negligent”229 an ecstatic demand: “[If] you do not make that city gate, there will be a corpse heap. You will not succeed”.230

225  Flower, The Seer . . ., 8. 226  Trampedach, Authority . . ., 228. 227  E.M. Harris, Aeschines and Athenian Politics (Oxford, New York: Oxford University Press, 1995) 27. 228  See Hdt. 9.94.3. 229  26 172 in Heimpel, Letters . . ., 242. 230  26 221 in Heimpel, Letters . . ., 263.

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In the historical, archaeological and literary material we have only limited evidence of meetings between the Mesopotamian and Greek civilizations from which to draw the obvious statements and conclusions. The role of Greek mercenaries in the conflicts of the Near East is quite clear but the question of the eventual meeting of bārû and mantis on the battlefield is completely unknown to us, and for now it seems to be purely speculative. I do not exclude, and even assumed, that such meetings could have taken place during the campaigns in Anatolia, Syria and Cyprus, but there is no conclusive evidence for this way of thinking. It is for this reason that I decided on such a detailed description of these two concepts, to posit the fact that the number of similarities is too great to be considered merely accidental. Of course, we have much more evidence from the Greek world, but after diligent analysis I can state that the role and duties of bārû and mantis are surprisingly similar. Bibliography D. Arnaud, Recherches au pays d’Aštata. Emar 6/Textes sumériens et accadiens/ 4, Textes de la bibliothèque, transcriptions et traductions (Paris: Recherche sur les civilisations, 1987). Z. Bahrani, Rituals of War. The Body and Violence in Mesopotamia (New York: Zone Books, 2008). K. Banek, Religia i polityka w starożytnej Grecji. Od epoki mykeńskiej do Aleksandra Wielkiego (Kraków: Wydawnictwo UJ, 1985) . R.D., Barnett, M. Falkner, The Sculptures of Aššur-nasir-apli II (883–859 BC), Tiglathpileser III (745–727 BC), Esarhaddon (681–669 BC) from the Central and South-West Palaces at Nimrud (London: The British Museum, 1962). E. Bleibtreu, “Kulthandlungen im Zeltlager Sanheribs” in Meqor Hajjim. Festschrift für Georg Molin zu seinem 75. Geburtstag (ed. I. Seybold, Graz: Akademische Druckund Verlagsanstalt, 1983) 43–48. R.M. Boehmer, Die Entwicklung der Glyptik während der Akkad-Zeit (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1965). P. Bonnechere, “Divination” in A Companion to Greek Religion (ed. D. Ogden, Oxford: Blackwell, 2007) 145–160. P.E. Botta, E. Flandin, Monument de Ninive (Paris: Imprimerie nationale, 1849–50). J. Bottéro, Mesopotamia. Writing, Reasoning, and the Gods (Chicago, London: The University of Chicago Press, 1992). E.A. Braun-Holzinger, Frühe Götterdarstellungen in Mesopotamien (Academic Press Fribourg, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht Göttingen, 2013).

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J.N. Bremmer, Greek Religion and Culture, the Bible and the Ancient Near East (Leiden, Boston: Brill, 2008). ———, “The Status and Symbolic Capital of the Seer” in The Role of Religion in the Early Greek Polis. Proceedings of the Third International Seminar on Ancient Greek Cut, organized by the Swedish Institute at Athens, 16–18 October 1992 (ed. R. Hägg, Stockholm: Paul Åströms Förlag, 1996) 97–109. E.A.W. Budge, Assyrian Sculptures in the British Museum. Reign of Ashur-nasir-pal 885860 B.C. (London: Trustees of the British Museum, 1914). W. Burkert, Greek Religion. Archaic and Classical (Oxford: Blackwell, 2007). ———, “Signs, Commands, and Knowledge: Ancient Divination between Enigma and Epiphany” in Mantikê. Studies in Ancient Divination (eds. S.I. Johnston, P.T. Struck, Leiden, Boston: Brill, 2005) 29–50. ———, The Orientalizing Revolution. Near Eastern Influence on Greek Culture in the Early Archaic Age (Cambridge MA, London: Harvard University Press, 1995). A.R. Burn, Persia and the Greeks (London: Edward Arnold, 1962). P. Cartledge, “The Spartan State in War and Peace” in The Landmark Herodotus. The Histories (ed. R.B. Strassler, New York: Pantheon Books, 2007) 728–736. D. Charpin, “I Am the Sun of Babylon”: Solar Aspects of Royal Power in Old Babylonian Mesopotamia in Experiencing Power, Generating Authority. Cosmos, Politics, and the Ideology of Kingship in Ancient Egypt and Mesopotamia (eds. J.A. Hill, P. Jones, A.J. Morales, Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology, 2013) 65–96. P. Collins, “Attending the King in the Assyrian Reliefs” in Assyrian Reliefs from the Palace Ashurnasirpal II. A Cultural Biography (eds. A. Cohen, S.E. Kangas, Hanover: N.H.: Hood Museum of Art, Dartmouth College, 2010) 181–197. D. Collon, “Depiction of Priests and Priestesses in the Ancient Near East” in Priests and Officials in the Ancient Near East: Papers of the Second Colloquium on the Ancient Near East, the City and Its Life, Held at the Middle Eastern Culture Centre in Japan (Mitaka, Tokyo, March 22–24, 1996) (ed. K. Watanabe, Heidelberg: C. Winter, 1999) 17–46. S. Dalley, Ancient Mesopotamian Military Organization in Civilizations of the Ancient Near East (ed. J.M. Sasson, vol. I & II, New York: Hendrickson Publisher’s, 2006) 413–422. F. De Backer, L’art du siege néo-assyrien (Leiden, Boston: Brill, 2013). J. Dillery, “Chresmologues and Manteis: Independent Diviners and the Problem of Authority” in Mantikê. Studies in Ancient Divination (eds. S.I. Johnston, P.T. Struck, Leiden, Boston: Brill, 2005) 167–232. I. Eph’al, The City Besieged. Siege and Its Manifestations in the Ancient Near East (Jerusalem: The Hebrew University Magnes Press, 2013).

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Eposy sumeryjskie (ed. K. Szarzyńska, Warszawa: Wydawnictwo Agade, 2003). F. Fales, Guerre et paix en assyrie. Religion et imperialism (Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 2010). W. Farber, “Witchcraft, Magic, and Divination in Ancient Mesopotamia” in Civilizations of the Ancient Near East (ed. J.M. Sasson, vol. III & IV, New York: Hendrickson Publisher’s, 2006) 1895–1909. M.A. Flower, “The Iamidae. A Mantic Family and Public Image” in Practitioners of the Divine. Greek Priests and Religious Officials from Homer to Heliodorus (eds. B. Dignas, K. Trampedach, Cambridge, MT, London: Harvard University Press, 2008) 187–206. ———, The Seer in Ancient Greece (Berkeley, Los Angeles, London: University of California Press, 2008). B.R. Foster, From Distant Days: Myth, Tales, and Poetry of Ancient Mesopotamia (Bethseda Maryland: CDL Press, 1995). F. Graf, Apollo (London, New York: Routledge, 2009). J. Hale, “Not Patriots, Not Farmers, Not Amateurs: Greek Soldiers of Fortune and the Origins of Hoplite Warfare” in Men of Bronze: Hoplite Warfare in Ancient Greece (eds. D. Kagan, G.F. Viggiano, Princeton and Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2013) 176–193. E.M. Harris, Aeschines and Athenian Politics (Oxford, New York: Oxford University Press, 1995). J. Haubold, Greece and Mesopotamia. Dialogues in Literature (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013). W. Heimpel, Letters to the King of Mari. A New Translation, with Historical Introduction, Notes, and Commentary (Winona Lake: Eisenbraunes, 2003). S.W. Holloway, Aššur is King! Aššur is King! Religion in the Exercise of Power in the NeoAssyrian Empire (Leiden, Boston, Köln: Brill, 2002). M. Hutter, Religionen in der Umwelt des Alten Testaments I. Babylonier, Syrer, Perser (Stuttgart, Berlin, Köln: Verlag W. Kohlhammer, 1996). M.H. Jameson, “Sacrifice before Battle” in Hoplites: The Classical Greek Battle Experience (ed. V.D. Hanson, London, New York: Routledge, 2004) 197–227. U. Jeyes, Old Babylonian Extispicy: Omen Texts in the British Museum (Istanbul: Nederlands Historisch-Archaeologisch Instituut te Istanbul, 1989). S.I. Johnston, Ancient Greek Divination (Oxford: Blackwell, 2008). S.-M. Kang, Divine War in the Old Testament and in the Ancient Near East (Berlin, New York: Walter de Gruyter, 1989). P. Krentz, “Warfare and Hoplites” in The Cambridge Companion to Archaic Greece (ed. H.A. Shapiro, Cambridge University Press, 2007) 61–84. U.S. Koch, “Concepts and Perception of Time in Mesopotamian Divination” in Time and History in the Ancient Near East. Proceedings of the 56th Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale at Barcelona 26–30 July 2010 (eds. Feliu et al., Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2013) 127–142. W.G. Lambert, Babylonian Oracle Questions (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2007).

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D. Launderville, Piety and Politics. The Dynamics of Royal Authority in Homeric Greece, Biblical Israel, and Old Mesopotamia (Michigan, Cambridge: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 2003). J.E. Lendon, Song of Wrath. The Peloponnesian War Begins (New York: Basic Books, 2012). R. Lonis, Guerre et religion en Grèce á l’époque classique (Paris, Les Belles Lettres, 1979). A. Livingstone, “New Dimensions in the Study of Assyrian Religion” in Assyria 1995. Proceedings of the 10th Anniversary Symposium of the Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project. Helsinki, September 7–11, 1995 (eds. S. Parpola, R.M. Whiting, Helsinki: The Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project, 1997) 165–177. G. Manetti, Theories of Sign in Classical Antiquity (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1993). O. Masson, Les inscriptions chypriotes syllabiques (Paris: E. de Boccard, 1961). W. Mayer, Assyrien und Urartu I. Der Achte Feldzuf Sargons II. im Jahr 714 v. Chr. (Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2013). M. Micale, D. Nadali, “The Shape of Sennacherib’s Camps: Strategic Functions and Ideological Space,” Iraq 66 Nineveh. Papers of the 49th Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale, Part One (2004) 163–75. P.C. Millett, “Winning Ways in Warfare” in The Oxford Handbook of Warfare in the Classical World (eds. B. Campbell, L.A. Tritle, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013) 46–73. Mity akadyjskie (ed. M. Kapełuś, Warszawa: Wydawnictwo Agade, 2000). D. Nadali, “Assyrian Open Fields Battles. An Attempt at Reconstruction and Analysis” in Studies on War in the Ancient Near East. Collected Essays on Military History (ed. J. Vidal, Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2010) 117–152. M. Nissinen, Prophets and Prophecy in the Ancient Near East (Atlanta: SBL, 2003). S. Oświęcimski, Zeus daje tylko znak, Apollo wieszczy osobiście. Starożytne wróżbiarstwo greckie (Wrocław: Ossolineum, 1989). R. Parker, Polytheism and Society at Athens (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005). ———, “Sacrifice and Battle” in War and Violence in Ancient Greece (ed. H. van Wees, London: Duckworth and the Classical Press of Wales 2000) 299–314. H. Popp, Die Einwirkung von Vorzeichen (Diss., Erlangen, 1957). W.K. Pritchett, Greek Archives, Cults, and Topography (Amsterdam: J.C. Gieben, 1996). K.A. Raaflaub, “Persian Army and Warfare in the Mirror of Herodotus’s Interpretation” in Herodotus and the Persian Empire (eds. R. Rollinger, B. Truschnegg, R. Bichler, Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2011) 5–38. K. Radner, “The Assyrian King and his Scholars: The Syro-Anatolian and the Egyptian Schools” in Of God(s), Trees, Kings, and Scholars. Neo-Assyrian and Related Studies in Honour of Simo Parpola (eds. M. Luukko, S. Svärd, R. Mattila, Helsinki: The Finnish Oriental Society, 2009) 221–238.

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E. Reiner, Astral Magic in Babylonia (Philadelphia: The American Philosophical Society 1995). S.F.C. Richardson, “On Seeing and Believing: Liver Divination and the Era of Warring States (II)” in Divination and Interpretation of Signs in the Ancient World (ed. A. Annus, Chicago: The Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago, 2010) 225–266. J.J.M. Roberts, “The Mari Prophetic Texts in Transliteration and English Translation” in The Bible and the Ancient Near East (ed. J.J.M. Roberts, Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2002) 157–253. F. Rochberg, The Heavenly Writing. Divination, Horoscopy, and Astronomy in Mesopotamian Culture (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004). R. Rollinger, “The Terms ‘Assyria’ and ‘Syria’ again,” JNES 65 (2006) 283–287. L.R. Siddall, The Reign of Adad-nīrārī III. An Historical Analysis of An Assyrian King and His Times (Leiden, Boston: Brill, 2013). H. Tadmor, B. Landsberger, S. Parpola, “The Sin of Sargon and Sennacherib’s Last Will,” State Archives of Assyria Bulletin 3 (1989) 3–51. K. Trampedach, “Authority Disputed. The Seer in Homeric Epic” in Practitioners of the Divine. Greek Priests and Religious Officials from Homer to Heliodorus (ed. B. Dignas, K. Trampedach, Cambridge, MT, London: Harvard University Press, 2008) 207–230. M. Trundle, “Commemorating Victory in Classical Greece. Why Greek Tropaia?” in Rituals of Triumph in Mediterranean World (eds. A. Spalinger, J. Armstrong, Leiden, Boston: Brill, 2013) 123–138. A. Tsukimoto, “Akkadian Tablets in the Hirayama Collection (I),” ASJ 12 (1990) 177–259. H. Vanstiphout, Epics of Sumerian Kings. The Matter of Aratta (Atlanta: SBL, 2003). S. Weil, L’Iliade ou le poème de la force, Publié dans Les Cahiers du Sud (Marseille) de décembre 1940 à janvier 1941 sous le nom de Émile Novis. M.L. West, The East Face of Helicon (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003). J.G. Westenholz, Legends of the Kings of Akkade (Winona Lake, Indiana: Eisenbrauns, 1997). E.L. Wheeler, “The General as Hoplite” in E.L. Wheeler, The Armies of Classical Greece (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2007) 239–288. L.B. Zaidman, P. Schmitt Pantel, Religion in the Ancient Greek City (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007). H. Zimmern, Beiträge zur Kenntnis der babylonischen Religion (Leipzig: Hinrichs’sche Buchhandlung, 1901).

Eclipses and the Precipitation of Conflict: Deciphering the Signal to Attack Micah Ross Eclipses have inspired awe and wonder. To account for these celestial phenomena, pre-astronomical cultures often proposed mythological explanations for eclipses.1 These explanations varied, but many cultures imagined that the lunate shape of the eclipsed body resembled the normal sun or moon with a bite taken from it. Thus, cultures as varied as the Norse, Indians, Chinese, and Inca introduced a celestial being which devoured the eclipsed disk. These mythologies occupied a position between explanation and public religious narrative. Sometimes the devourers appeared in other legends; sometimes they merely explained the eclipse. The repetition of these stories did not impede the development of astronomical explanations, and an intermediary stage of mythological development acknowledged the role of the sun and moon in eclipses. In this stage, the tales imbued the celestial bodies with human motivations. Thus, Inuit said that an eclipse occurs when the sun stalked off after a fight and was overtaken by the moon. In Tahiti, the sun and moon met for amorous purposes. By the seventh-century BC, Assyrians explained lunar eclipses as seven demons attacking the moon.2 Even after Mesopotamians began to predict eclipses, iconography from the eclipse myth persisted, lasting until the Seleucid era. Clearly, the advent of astronomy did not dispel the reverence provoked by eclipses. In other words, some religious significance adhered to the phenomenon even after the causes of eclipses were understood. Thus, directly or indirectly, religion determined the responses provoked by eclipses. For Babylon, the relationship between religion and eclipses was unmediated. Egypt relied on Babylonian precedents. By the time of Greek dominance, divine inspiration was redefined in terms of personal astrology; for Classical historians, the relationship between religion and eclipses had become a literary trope. To connect an event with an eclipse was to connect it with the forces of the universe and imbue it with reverence. Even in the modern era, eclipses inspired and drew 1  M. Littmann, F. Espenak, K. Wilcox, Totality: Eclipses of the Sun (New York: Oxford, 2008) 39–48. 2  G. Azarpay, A. Kilmer, “The Eclipse Dragon on an Arabic Frontispiece-Miniature,” JAOS 98.4 (1978) 372–4.

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upon religious sentiments. In each of these cases, the wonderment provoked by eclipses has manifested in warfare.

Babylon and the Huber Hypothesis

Eclipses were correlated with armed conflicts early in written history. Omens in cuneiform astrological texts ascribed a dire meaning to eclipses and probably reflected more than superstitious fears. Huber has noted that Babylonian eclipse omens contained two classes: schematized predictions and highly specific descriptions.3 Huber conjectured that the latter class of predictions preserved empirical reports of eclipses which preceded violent changes of reign. Huber further hypothesized that the coincidence of eclipses and changes of reign in the Akkad Dynasty prompted the development of omen astrology.4 Huber has advanced a strong hypothesis which correlates calculated eclipses, historical events, and omen literature and significant challenges have countered his identification of the eclipses.5 Despite the validity of these objections, a focus on the assessment of the details risks a hasty rejection of an interesting proposal. Because of the frequency with which ancient accounts described eclipses before battles, a weaker corollary may be proposed: an eclipse may precipitate conflict. Babylonian astrologers regularly associated eclipses with the downfall of cities and the death of kings.6 These astrologers ascribed their omen literature to divine authors, but these sources did not maintain a causality between eclipses and state conflicts. Some writings suggest that Babylonian astrologers perceived celestial omens as unprovoked messages from the gods rather than 3  P. Huber, “Dating by Lunar Eclipse Omens with Speculations on the Birth of Omen Astrology” in From Ancient Omens to Statistical Mechanics (eds. L Berggren, B. Goldstine, Copenhagen: University Library, 1987) 3–4. 4  Huber, “Dating . . ., 11. 5  For objections, see U. Koch-Westenholz, Mesopotamian Astrology (Copenhagen: Carsten Niebuhr Institute of Near Eastern Studies, Museum Tusculanum Press, 1995) 14–6 and V. Gurzadyan, “On the Astronomical Records and Babylonian Chronology,” Akkadica 119–120 (2000) 177–86. For defenses and recapitulations, see P. Huber, “Astronomical Dating of Ur III and Akkad,” AfO 46–47 (1999/2000) 50–79; P. Huber, “Astronomy and Ancient Chronology,” Akkadica 119–120 (2000) 159-76 and P. Huber, “The Solar Omen of Muršili II,” JAOS 121.4 (2001) 640–4. 6  F. Rochberg-Halton, Aspects of Babylonian Celestial Divination (Horn: Verlag F. Berger, 1988) 16; H. Hunger, D. Pingree, Astral Sciences in Mesopotamia (Leiden, Boston, Cologne: Brill, 1999) 6.

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the cause of the predicted events.7 A causal relationship between eclipses and state conflicts corresponds more closely to modern assumptions about astrological doctrines and contemporary notions of fate than to ancient practices.8 Also in contrast to many popular assessments of astrology, Mesopotamians did not consider the predicted results of an eclipse inescapable. Because proper rituals could dispel unfavorable omens, the interpretation of omens and the execution of rituals guided Mesopotamian statecraft.9 Thus, for Babylonian astrologers, eclipse interpretation constituted an element of statecraft. Accordingly, Babylonian omen literature sought to clarify which king would suffer and how. The value of the portents lay in their interpretation: the death of a Babylonian king constituted a bad omen, but the death of a powerful inimical king at the hands of an ally was a good omen. In addition, a bad omen demanded the correct apotropaic rituals to be enacted.10 Hence, the same eclipse could demoralize one army yet inspire another. For example, the eclipse before the Battle of Gaugamela was observed by both Darius III and Alexander the Great. The eclipse was open to interpretation by both armies. At least one Mesopotamian interpretation is known: a tablet from 194 BC preserved an interpretation inimical to Babylon, but his interpretation may be explained as an empirical report of an eclipse and its effects.11 The Greek historian Arrian, though, leaves little doubt that Alexander adopted the eclipse as a favorable portent and sacrificed to the sun, moon, and earth.12 The fact that Alexander sacrificed to celestial bodies indicates that he was probably aware of the causes of an eclipse, but most historians have concluded that Classical Greeks did not have a well-developed astrological tradition of interpreting celestial phenomena.13 Darius would not have communicated the interpretation of the eclipse, and nothing suggests that Alexander benefited from an intelligence leak. Nor did Alexander disrupt the prescribed rituals. The favorable interpretation by Alexander simply fits a larger pattern of ambitious interpretation—namely, an eclipse offers bold leaders a divine sanction for their undertakings. 7  F. Rochberg, The Heavenly Writing (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004) 47–8. 8  Rochberg, Aspects . . ., 15 and F. Rochberg, In the Path of the Moon (Leiden, Boston: Brill, 2010) 411–24. 9  D. Lehoux, “Tomorrow’s News Today,” Representations 95.1 (2006) 117–9. 10  Rochberg, Writing . . ., 74–8. 11  E. Weidner, “Die astrologische Serie Enûma Anu Enlil,” AfO 14 (1941–4) 188. 12  Arr. An. 3.7. 13  For opposition to this general conclusion, see R. Waterfield, “The Evidence for Astrology in Classical Greece,” Culture and Cosmos 3.2 (1999) 3–15.

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Egypt and Eclipse Interpretation

Despite the esteem of contemporary Greeks, the decipherment of Egyptian hieroglyphics has disappointed modern historians of astronomy. Diogenes Laertius cites pseudo-Aristotle and Sotion to the effect that the Egyptians recorded 373 solar and 832 lunar eclipses, but none of these reports have survived.14 The evidence that has survived suggests that Egypt had limited astronomical development. In the few cases in which Egyptian sources seem to discuss eclipses, they described the phenomena as something “swallowing” the moon or “darkening” the sun, but none of these sources even reported a date for the phenomenon. Because Egyptian accounts of eclipses are generally less reliable than the Mesopotamian evidence, conclusions about the intersection of eclipses and political turmoil in Egypt must be considered with caution. The most tantalizing Egyptian evidence occurs in the form of a negative statement. A ninthcentury BC inscription now titled the Chronicle of Prince Osorkon reported a political revolt. In Regnal Year 25, Month 4 of the Harvest, day 25 . . . the sky did not swallow the moon, [but] a great convulsion broke out in this land . . . children of rebellion stirred up civil war between southerners and northerners . . .15 In his commentary, Caminos considered the possibility of a partial lunar or solar eclipse, but two other interpretations may explain the oddly negative phrasing. First, a predicted eclipse may have failed to occur (or was unobservable in Egypt). This interpretation accords with the fact that the account preserved a highly specific date. Secondly, Egyptian administrators, like their Assyrian contemporaries, may have expected conflicts after eclipses. Therefore, a revolt without a preceding eclipse may represent a separate class of troubled statecraft. The other preeminent Egyptian source on eclipses borrowed from Babylonian astrology.16 A Demotic text, now preserved in Vienna, reports the effects of eclipses for an Egyptian readership. The first portion of this 14  D.L. Proem. 2. 15  R. Caminos, The Chronicle of Prince Osorkon (Rome: Pontificium Institutum Biblicum, 1958) 88–90. 16  R. Parker, A Vienna Demotic Papyrus on Eclipse- and Lunar-Omina (Providence: Brown University Press, 1959) 28–9 and 53–4.

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papyrus (Text A) reworked the schematized predictions of Babylon for an Egyptian setting. The apodoses of the solar eclipses associated with these predictions have not survived, but among the eight surviving apodoses of the lunar eclipses, three predicted the fall of the Egyptian army in battle, the capture of the Egyptian king, or death in Egypt. The second portion of this papyrus (Text B) resembles the highly specific descriptions which Huber identified as empirical eclipse reports. This section was grimmer. Of twelve solar eclipses, nine apodoses implied some type of civil uprising.17 Of eight lunar eclipses, seven apodoses portended armed insurrections, including military revolts and brigandage. Even the prediction of abundant crops served only to explain the cause of quarrels. However these two texts are understood, Egyptians eventually adopted their Mesopotamian association of eclipses and civil uprisings.

Greece and Eclipse Prediction

While Egyptian eclipse reports may fall short of accounts by contemporary Greeks, Greek reports of eclipses often fall short of modern astronomical standards and differ from Babylonian reports both in accuracy and in the emphasis placed on the predictions. Among Greek historians, Herodotus reported three eclipses and associated them with military actions;18 Thucydides recorded three eclipses but associated only two of them with battles;19 a handful of Classical writers detailed the role of the eclipse at the Battle of Gaugamela; another group ascribed the surrender of Agathocles to a solar eclipse. In the Roman era, Cassius Dio counted an eclipse among the omens which bedeviled Pompey;20 and another eclipse marked the Pannonian Mutiny. After this flurry of doomed battles and ominous eclipses, such reports slide from view. In some cases, the connection between the eclipse and the battle remains unclear; in other cases, the darkness may not have been an eclipse or was recognized as another atmospheric phenomenon. Xenophon (c. 430–354 BC) provides examples of both types of reports. In Hell. 2.3, he vaguely associated a solar eclipse with the victory of Lycophron, reporting only the year and neglecting to record whether the eclipse or the victory occurred first. In An. 3.4, 17  For the separation into lunar and solar omens, see M. Ross, “A Survey of Demotic Astrological Texts,” Culture and Cosmos 11 (2007) 5–7 and 12–3. 18  Hdt. 1.74, 7.37, 9.10. 19  Thuc. 2.28, 4.52, 7.50. 20  D.C. 41.14.

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Xenophon reported that a great cloud engulfed the city of Larisa before its fall, but modern scholars suggest that the fall of Larisa coincided with the eclipse of 19 May 557 BC.21 In another case, Xenophon fails to identify ὁ ἥλιος μηνοειδὴς (a moon-shaped sun) with a partial eclipse.22 Plutarch later correctly identified the phenomenon.23 Such lapses suggest either a nascent state of astronomical development or a limited dissemination of astronomical knowledge. Whereas astrological predictions clarified Mesopotamian and Egyptian perceptions of eclipses, Classical histories elevated the prediction of the eclipse itself over its interpretation. Herodotus established this tendency to esteem the prediction of the eclipse over its interpretation with his famous report that Thales foretold the solar eclipse of 28 May 585 BC which stopped the Battle of Halys.24 Thales may have made some speculative declaration, but at best the insight of Thales was ephemeral, for no method clearly existed by which Greeks could predict eclipses.25 Besides, Herodotus implies that both Xerxes ( fl. 486–465 BC) was caught unawares by a solar eclipse and that Cleombrotus, surprised by an unexpected solar eclipse of 2 October 480 BC, abandoned his defenses after a victory at the Battle of Salamis.26 In the case of Xerxes, Herodotus reports that astrologers interpreted the eclipse, but their equation of the two armies with the two celestial bodies does not resemble Mesopotamian omen literature. More importantly for Herodotus, the eclipses came as a surprise and the Mesopotamian interpretation proved erroneous. Though Herodotus was not convinced by astrological predictions, he esteemed astronomical forecasts. Early Greeks, apparently, could neither reliably predict eclipses nor interpret them. Greeks often conceded that Mesopotamians were their predecessors in astronomy, yet evidence of Mesopotamian predictions of lunar eclipses (498 BC) and solar eclipses (358 BC) began after Herodotus. The date

21  G. Airy, “On the Eclipses of Agathocles, Thales, and Xerxes,” Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society of London 143 (1853) 179–200 and G. Airy, “On the Eclipse of Agathocles, the Eclipse at Larissa, and the Eclipse of Thales, with an Appendix on the Eclipse at Stiklastad,” Memoirs of the Royal Astronomical Society 26 (1858) 131–52. 22  Xen. HG. 4.3. 23  Plut. Ages. 17. 24  Hdt 1.74. 25  For a speculative explanation, see D. Couprie, “How Thales Was Able to ‘Predict’ a Solar Eclipse without the Help of Alleged Mesopotamian Wisdom,” Early Science and Medicine 9.4 (2004) 321–37. 26  Hdt 7.37, 9.10.

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of the earliest predictions remains an open question.27 Later Classical historians obfuscated the primitive development of Greek astronomy through exaggeration. Occasionally their claims strain belief. For example, Plutarch relates that Anaxagoras predicted the fall of a meteor.28 While some modern scholars would amend the fall of the meteor to the return of a comet, Greek accounts thus assume a fascination with prediction that betrays unfamiliarity with astronomy.29 Xenophon (or his sources, which were composed before his birth) demonstrates an incipient knowledge of astronomy through his description of a solar eclipse as a cloud and a partial solar eclipse as a moon-shaped sun. Herodotus concedes that eclipse prediction is possible but does not attribute the art to Mesopotamia. Instead, he reserves the art for sages. As an early Greek historian, Thucydides presumably had little familiarity with eclipses and would have reacted to them with curiosity. Contrary to expectations, though, Thucydides revealed little emotion in his reports of celestial phenomena. Thucydides reported an eclipse at the beginning of a summer month, near the close of hostilities with Sparta.30 This report agrees with the solar eclipse of 3 August 431 BC. In his account of the battle, though, Cicero moved the eclipse to the reopening of hostilities with Sparta and depicted Pericles as heartening his trembling soldiers with the technical explanations of Anaxagoras.31 Plutarch concurred with Cicero but embellished the account by having Pericles demonstrate the cause of the eclipse with his cloak.32 Unlike Babylonian astrologers who interpreted eclipses as divine communications even after astronomers had become proficient at predicting them, Classical historians presumed that an understanding of the causes of an eclipse negated its emotional effects. Despite the fact that Classical historians opted to introduce eclipses for dramatic effect, they favored rational explanations over superstition.33 Thucydides reported the ominous eclipse of 27 August 413 BC during the Second Battle of 27  For the earliest possible dates, see J. Steele, “Solar Eclipse Times Predicted by the Babylonians,” Journal for the History of Astronomy 28 (1997) 134 and J. Steele and F. Stephenson, “Lunar Eclipse Times Predicted by the Babylonians,” Journal for the History of Astronomy 28 (1997) 130. For the latest possible dates, see Hunger, Pingree, Astral Sciences . . ., 200. 28  Plut. Lys. 12. 29  M. West, “Anaxagoras and the Meteorite of 467 BC,” Journal of the British Astronomical Association 70 (1960) 368–9. 30  Thuc. 4.52. 31  Cic. Rep. 1.23. 32  Plut. Per. 35. 33  D. Levene, Religion in Livy (Leiden, New York: Brill, 1993) 119.

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Syracuse.34 In his account, Nicias led Athenian forces in an unsuccessful raid on Syracuse. When long-awaited Athenian reinforcements failed to extinguish Syracusan resistance, Nicias planned his retreat. However, a lunar eclipse interrupted his preparations. Nicias delayed for 27 days on the advice of a diviner and missed his chance to escape. Nicias lost the battle and was taken prisoner. When Plutarch embellished the account by Thucydides, he included a fragment of the historian Philochorus which stresses the proper interpretation of eclipses.35 According to Philochorus and Plutarch, Nicias erred because a lunar eclipse clearly favors a retreating army by cloaking the evacuation in total darkness.36 Notwithstanding the smug consolation of Classical historians, Thucydides, by recording the interpretation of this eclipse, offers a rare insight into an era when relatively little is known about the development of Greek astrology. Perhaps the diviner felt eclipses spelled doom for retreats because of the disastrous retreat of Cleombrotus during a solar eclipse. However, other than the origin of the 27 days as a reflection of the lunar sidereal cycle, the strategy of the diviner remains opaque. In Babylon the interpretation of the eclipse may have been questioned but early Greeks seem not to have had a uniform astrological tradition. Thus, the mention of an astrological assessment invited euhemeristic explanations from later Greeks and Romans.37 In 331 BC, after the conquest of Alexander, Greeks obtained better access to astrological traditions. Alexander also displayed a change in Hellenistic attitudes toward foreign omens. He made offerings to local divinities and appropriated religious customs. While Alexander prepared for the Battle of Gaugamela, the moon suffered an eclipse.38 His Mesopotamian enemy recorded the eclipse in their astronomical diaries and presumably considered the proper interpretation and the appropriate rituals, but Alexander sacrificed to the Sun, Moon, and Earth, adopted the omen as a favorable sign, and continued his attack.39 Although Alexander reverenced local divinities and conformed to religious customs, later in life he clarified his assessment of divination by 34  Thuc. 7.50. 35  Plut. Nic. 23, 28. 36  Plb. 9.19 declined to editorialize. 37  Y. Gillihan, Civic Ideology, Organization, and Law in the Rule Scrolls (Leiden: Brill, 2012) 450. 38  Plut. Alex. 19; Ptol. Fr. 1.4; Plin. HN 2.180. 39  For the Astronomical Diary, see A. Sachs, H. Hunger, Astronomical Diaries and Related Texts from Babylonia, vol. 1 (Vienna: Verlag der Ö sterreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1988) 179. For the Greek account, see Arr. An. 3.7. Compare the account by Curt. 4.10 who places both an interpretive strategy similar to the one described in Hdt. 7.37 and a scientific rationalization in the mouths of Egyptian diviners.

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quoting Euripedes: μάντις δ᾽ ἄριστος ὅστις εἰκάζει καλῶς, the best prophet is he who guesses well.40 Classical historians guessed, too, about the type of eclipse and the time of its occurrence. Three accounts suggest that an eclipse prompted the surrender of Agathocles. His surrender was probably a foregone conclusion, but the occurrence of the eclipse is not. Diodorus and Justin, both distant from the event, claimed the sun suffered an eclipse.41 Frontinus claimed the moon was eclipsed.42 Moreover, he used the eclipse as an opportunity to insert the literary trope of rational explanations, despite the fact that Agathocles chose to surrender rather than continue his retreat. Modern scholars have debated the use of this eclipse as a fixed chronological point.43 However, the ancient discussion of the eclipse is so vague and colorless, so removed from the event and subject to literary manipulation, that the very occurrence of the eclipse may be questioned. Although foreshadowing and motifs number among literary devices, the literary efforts of historians often seem misguided. Plutarch introduced eclipses when they are not needed but criticizes those who would read meaning in them. Frontinus ascribed a folkloric motif of rational inspiration to Agathocles but concluded the episode with surrender. At times, reality abjures the haphazard rhetorical embellishments of historians in favor of a cohesive narrative authored by providence. Alexander had gambled that an eclipse would mark the rise of the Macedonian Empire over the Persian Empire, but he did not guess that another eclipse would mark the close of the Macedonian Empire. More than a century and a half after Alexander, Perseus, the king of Macedonians lost several scattered battles to Romans. Perseus consolidated his armies, won back his territories, and deployed his collected force at Pydna to meet the Roman forces. On the night before hostilities, 21 June 168 BC (or, perhaps 2 September 172 BC), the moon suffered an eclipse.44 The Macedonians had forgotten the valiant example of Alexander making his own fate and fell into despair and panic.45 Among the Romans, Gallus, the commander of the second legion under the general Paulus, saved the day. Some reported that Gallus had predicted the eclipse.46 40  Plut. De defect. orac., 432c. 41  D.S. 20.5.5; Justinus 36. 42  Frontinus, Strategemata 1.12.9. 43  M. Stanley, “Predicting the Past: Ancient Eclipses and Airy, Newcomb, and Huxley on the Authority of Science,” Isis 103.2 (2012) 258–60. 44  Liv. 44.37. For a discussion of modern dating, see C. Nothaft, Dating the Passion (Leiden: Brill, 2011) 263. 45  Plut. Aem. 17. 46  Cic. Sen. 14.49; Liv. 44.37; Plin. HN 2.53; Frontinus Strategemata 1.12.8.

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Others suggested that he had explained the causes of the eclipse to fearful troops.47 Still others related that someone (perhaps Gallus) had interpreted the eclipse as a positive omen.48 Regardless of the achievement, Romans voted Gallus a consulship for his service. If the Battle of Gaugamela demonstrates that eclipses were open to tactical interpretation, then the Battle of Pydna highlights the notion that those tactics are subject to historical interpretation. While it is safe to say that Classical historians generally over-reported eclipses, it is also safe to say that this practice derived from the desire to create an effect. In some cases, no eclipse can be paired with the literary description.49 In other cases, the importance of the eclipse is overestimated. To take one example, Cassius Dio reports that many signs, including a solar eclipse, presaged the failure of Pompey at Dyrrhachium.50 This battle occurred on 10 July 48 BC, but the most proximate solar eclipse visible in Rome fell on 4 January 48 BC. Mesopotamians, who generally expected the results of an eclipse within 100 days, probably would have excused such a remote eclipse as unconnected to civil strife.51 If Roman astrologers limited the effect of eclipses, the details have not survived. In the account by Cassius Dio, the eclipse is nearly lost among a flurry of bad omens: wolves, owls, earthquakes, conflagrations, thunderbolts. The eclipse represents little more than a mere rhetorical flourish. Likewise, Plutarch and Cassius Dio heighten drama by adding eclipses to the historically unverifiable life of Romulus.52 One final conflict, the Pannonian Mutiny occurred after the death of Augustus in 14 AD. The conflict represents a coda to the lengthy Bellum Batonianum, which had been reinvigorated by the perceived lapse in Roman leadership. Specifically, the mutiny crystalized after the lunar eclipse of 27 September 14 AD, which was partially visible in the Pannonia. Tacitus and Cassius Dio both report the lunar eclipse as quelling the short-lived insurrection.53 Tacitus reported that the untutored soldiers imagined the luminosity of the moon to represent their efforts. As the eclipse progressed, they sounded horns to rally its light. However, according to Tacitus, the interpreters despaired when the clearing moon disappeared in a bank of clouds. 47  Cic. Rep. 1.23, V. Max. 8.11.1, Quint. Inst. 1.10.47. 48  Plb. 29.16; Plut. Aem. 17; Justinus 33.1; Zonaras 9.23. 49  D.S. 15.80 ; Plut. Pel. 31. 50  D.C. 41.14. 51  S. Parpola, Letters from Assyrian Scholars to the Kings of Esarhaddon and Assurbanipal (Kevelaer: Butzon and Bercker, 1983) XXV. 52  Plut. Rom. 12; D.C. 1.12. 53  Tac. Ann. 1.16, 1.28; D.C. 57.4.

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This account resembles the efforts of an insightful commander attempting to appropriate an omen for which the outcome was known but meeting with unexpected frustration. Cassius Dio neglects the details of interpretation and reported that the eclipse merely frightened the mutineers.

Astrological Tradition of Eclipses

The Pannonian Mutiny marks the beginning of a long gap in the intersection of battles and eclipses. In this gap, the Western astrological tradition solidified. Before the development of this tradition, when eclipses caused consternation among the citizenry, Europeans had no recourse to an authoritative body of texts or to common methods of interpretation to clarify the meaning of the eclipse. After Alexander made hundreds of years of astronomical Babylonian observations commonplace in the Hellenistic era, Greek astronomy developed quickly. Shortly after the Battle of Gaugamela, Aristotle first mentioned the zodiacal signs, and Callippus reformed the calendar. If Classical historians are trusted, these advances dispelled the fear of eclipses. During this same era, the doctrines of personal natal astrology also consolidated as a dogma compatible with other Greek philosophical schools. Presumably, Greeks learned about the Babylonian astrological tradition at the same time, but works like the Enuma Anu Enlil seem not to have immediately impressed them. Unlike Classical historians who had established eclipses and warfare as a literary trope, Greek and Roman astrologers did not particularly associate eclipses with battles. Drawing on the zodiacal signs, malefic and benefic planets, oppositions, trines and horoscopic charts of cuneiform,54 they abandoned the mundane astrology of statecraft and developed a natal astrology appealing to individuals. When he wrote the Tetrabiblos in the second century AD, Ptolemy specifically addressed the effects of eclipses. Ptolemy presented strategies for determining which geographical regions would be affected by the eclipse but does not count battles, riots, or public uprisings among the effects of eclipses.55 His contemporary Vettius Valens declined to associate eclipses with uprisings, as did Firmicus Maternus and Paulus Alexandrinus in the fourth century and Olympiodorus in the sixth century. In counterpoint to Ptolemy, Theophilus of Edessa dedicated an entire book to the intersection of astrology and war in the

54  F. Rochberg-Halton, “Elements of the Babylonian Contribution to Hellenistic Astrology,” JAOS 108 (1987) 51–62. 55  Ptol. Tetr. 2.6–9, 3.1.

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eighth century. This work considers a wide range of astrological techniques but does not address eclipses. Although the Babylonian tradition of mundane astrology might be considered moribund, a handful of sources preserved omens of a strikingly Mesopotamian character. In the fifth century, Hephaestio of Thebes reported the effects of lunar eclipses in each month.56 John of Lydus presented a similar tradition in the sixth century.57 Not only did these authors employ a Babylonian scheme for interpreting eclipses, but Hephaestio and John of Lydus associated eclipses with battles. Although both of these ancient astrologers ascribe the tradition to Egypt, modern scholars have drawn parallels with cuneiform.58 So, even though no direct chain of transmission can be established through citations, it can be argued that the Enuma Anu Enlil, the Demotic papyrus on eclipse omina, and these astrologers continued an astrological tradition of eclipses. To date, modern scholars have dedicated considerable effort to establishing this continuity through a comparison of the protases of these omens and the astronomy implied by them, but as Huber has noticed, the apodoses also merit consideration as cultural artefacts.59 The brief rejoining of eclipses and battles in the fifth century demonstrates the diminution of this once ominous phenomenon. At this time, firsthand accounts no longer associated battles and civil turmoil with eclipses. This divergence occurred neither for the want of battles nor for the want of eclipses. Late Antique Mediterranean cultures frequently met in battle, and they often observed eclipses, but for more than 380 years after the Pannonian Mutiny, battles and eclipses no longer converged. Zosimus reported that an eclipse occurred during the Battle of the Frigidus.60 However, no eclipse fell on 5 or 6 September 396 AD. Curiously, Zosimus introduced an eclipse but did not ascribe it any role in the battle. What had once been a harbinger of conflict had become a pro forma addendum to the after-action report. Although Classical historians might credit the disassociation of eclipses and battles to the diffusion of rationalist explanations, other interpretations derive from the changing dynamics of battle. 56  Heph. Astr. Apost. 1.21. 57  Lyd. Ost. 9. 58  C. Bezold, F. Boll, Reflexe astrologischer Keilinschriften bei griechischen Schriftstellern (Heidelberg: Winter, 1911) 45–54; Rochberg, Aspects . . ., 4 and 13–4; and C. Williams, “Some Details on the Transmission of Astral Omens” in From the Banks of the Euphrates (ed. M. Ross, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2008) 295–314. 59  Huber, “Dating . . ., 3–4. 60  Zos. 4.58.

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From Tactical Factor to Strategic Irrelevance

With certain provisions, the rationalist argument that astronomical predictions demystified eclipses does explain the decline in the association of eclipses and battles. However, this explanation is countered by the rise in personal astrology and the persistence of other rituals associated with warfare. Moreover, the development of astronomy may have mitigated the role of eclipses but not by explaining the causes of the phenomenon. Mesopotamians developed a system of interpretation before they could predict eclipses, and Greeks developed astronomy before they cultivated an astrological tradition. Yet, both cultures managed to temper the undesired effects of eclipses. Whereas Babylonians mitigated the awe prompted by eclipses through astrological predictions and prescribed rituals, Europeans obtained similar relief through planning and logistics. Thus, a general rule may be proposed: as skill at eclipse prediction improves, the oracular value of the eclipse decreases, in part because prediction enables some control over the circumstances in which the eclipse occurs. Even though improved skill at eclipse prediction enabled some control over the effect of eclipses, advances in astronomy did not convert Greeks and Romans from superstition to rationality. After all, Greeks continued to sacrifice before battles; Romans retained their augurs and consulted the sacred chickens. Rather, the predictability of eclipse enabled the emotional response to be mitigated by practical management of advances and delays. The role of delays in battles far from the center of the empire highlights another generality about the relationship of eclipses and battles. Thus, a second generality may be proposed: as supply lines lengthen, the oracular value of an eclipse decreases. Consequently, the emotions prompted by an eclipse seem capable of precipitating a local conflict, but not of directing geo-political hostilities. Empirical evidence suggests several circumstances are conducive to the precipitation of conflict by an eclipse. First, violent confrontation is more likely if the identity of enemy is not in doubt. Eclipses favor an outbreak of hostility between long-standing enemies rather than the opening of a new conflict. Secondly, given the limited range of eclipse visibility and the stronger effects of panic on shorter supply lines and more direct chains of command, eclipses are more likely to trigger violence among internal enemies, than to prompt an attack by foreign enemies. A corollary to this observation is that internal enemies are more likely to be irregular militaries. Under opposite circumstances, an eclipse is unlikely to precipitate conflict. Organized, hierarchical forces do not make spontaneous attacks. Nor are they, like Cleombrotus, prone to panicked retreat, especially if the eclipse had been predicted long in advance. Forces on distant campaigns have committed to their causes months before

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either the eclipse or combat. In other words, eclipses hasten rebellions, insurrections, and regional conflicts but not the strategic realignments of empires. In one set of circumstances, though, eclipses do seem to presage failure. Eclipses seem to hasten the surrender of besieged cities. Regardless of whether a solar eclipse or a dark cloud plunged Larisa into darkness, the despairing citizens abandoned their defenses, uncomforted by astronomical rationalizations. Nicias attempted to prolong his defense of Syracuse but had already determined to escape when he was surprised by a lunar eclipse. Likewise, the lunar eclipse of 22 May 1453 marked the fall of Constantinople.61 These cases may be interpreted as the propensity of eclipses to precipitate actions—in this case, surrender. The same logic may explain why a lunar eclipse prompted Agathocles to exchange his retreat for surrender. In each case, even though the conclusion may have been foregone, the timing of the final capitulation was yet subject to external forces. From the Pannonian Mutiny in 14 AD until about the eighth century, no battles were coupled with eclipses. This hiatus may derive from a change in conditions created by the Pax Romana. After the establishment of the Roman Empire, military conflicts were no longer local affairs prone to limited, regional conditions. The failure of regional rebellions, insurrections, and border skirmishes became a foregone conclusion, but internal enemies still occasionally struggled for control of the entire empire. However, these internal enemies operated as strategically as any regular military. So, too, did their astrology, apparently.

Modern Conflicts and Eclipses

Once the conditions which blocked the association of eclipses and battles had dissolved, the potential of eclipses to manifest engagements resurfaced. In fact, three conflicts of the nineteenth century underscore the observations drawn from ancient accounts. In 1803, the state of Ohio was admitted to the United States of America. In order to evade political domination, some members of the Shawnee tribe relocated from Ohio to Indiana, but their resettlement upset relations with neighboring tribes. Moreover, the move afforded only short-lived relief because the frontier was expanding into neighboring Indiana. Before these changes had taken place, contact with preceding colonial powers had 61  Two primary sources reported this event: George Sphrantzes, Chronicon 35, and the diary of Nicolò Barbero. For a translation of the diary, see J. Jones, Diary of the Siege of Constantinople, 1453 (New York: Exposition Press, 1969) 60.

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prompted several waves of religious revivalism.62 Political domination by the federal government had stimulated Tenskwatawa to a religious calling,63 and a perceived pattern of American encroachment had prepared a sympathetic audience for his message.64 Tenskwatawa met with limited success as a religious unifier until the Territorial Governor, William Henry Harrison, attempted to undercut his religious authority by issuing a challenge. In April 1806, Harrison wrote a letter demanding proof of Tenskwatawa’s religious authority, “If he is really a prophet, ask him to cause the sun to stand still, the moon to alter its course, the rivers to cease to flow, or the dead to rise from their graves,” challenged Harrison.65 In response, Tenskwatawa predicted the sun would go dark within a specified number of days. On 16 June 1806, a solar eclipse darkened many lands controlled by tribes which had resisted Tenskwatawa and solidified his regional religious authority. On the basis of this authority, the more famous brother of Tenskwatawa, Tecumseh, undertook several successful military actions. Few contemporary sources detail the conflict between Tenskwatawa and Harrison.66 In fact, had Harrison not later attained the presidency, the conflict with Tenskwatawa and the anecdote might have disappeared. Before Harrison’s election to the presidency in 1840, the account of the eclipse prediction was limited to letters and newspaper reports. The first person accounts were committed to writing only after Harrison’s election to the presidency. In the intervening years, the events were subject to revision. For example, the time reported for the eclipse may have been changed to match the time in almanacs printed for coastal cities.67 Later historians have tended to focus on how Tenskwatawa predicted the eclipse. Some have plausibly suggested that Tenskwatawa had access to an almanac; others have presumed the astronomical surveys of an 1869 eclipse also occurred in 1806 and argued that he knew about their travels.68 Notwithstanding the difficulty of reconstructing the challenge and the response, Tenskawata clearly managed to use the eclipse 62  A. Wallace, “New Religions among the Delaware Indians, 1600–1900,” Southwestern Journal of Anthropology 12.1 (1956) 7–11. 63  A. Cave, “The Shawnee Prophet, Tecumseh, and Tippecanoe: A Case Study of Historical Myth-Making,” Journal of the Early Republic 22.4 (2002) 640–2. 64  T. Willig, “Prophetstown on the Wabash: The Native Spiritual Defense of the Old Northwest,” Michigan Historical Review 23.2 (1997) 147. 65  L. Esarey, ed. Messages and Letters of William Henry Harrison, vol. 1 (Indianapolis: Indiana Historical Commission, 1922) 183. 66  A. Jortner, The Gods of Prophetstown (Oxford, New York: Oxford University Press, 2012) 6–7. 67  D. Steel, Eclipse (Washington, DC: The Joseph Henry Press, 2001) 194. 68  Jortner, Gods . . ., 8.

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to precipitate regional support which could be used for military ends. This regional support was possible because the people who witnessed the eclipse did not have a tradition of making detailed astronomical observations or predictions. In this way, the anecdote confirms the generality that eclipses are esteemed more greatly as oracles when they cannot be widely predicted. A decade before the political ramifications of the 1806 eclipse were committed to writing, another eclipse precipitated the Southampton Insurrection. The details of this case are better known, due in large part to the trial and confession of the leader of the slave rebellion, Nat Turner.69 Under Turner’s leadership, about seventy slaves and free Blacks attacked white Virginians of predominantly Black Southampton County. Nat Turner was a religious slave who had learned to read at an early age. When he observed the solar eclipse of 11 February 1831, he interpreted the event as a divine signal to revolt, but he did not spring to immediate action. Rather, he recruited conspirators and repurposed a symbolic date. Turner and his conspirators decided to strike on July 4, celebrated in America as Independence Day. However, in the intervening months, Turner and his collaborators lost faith in their liberation and abandoned their plans. Because Turner and his conspirators felt the impact of the eclipse wane, their response more closely resembled the practice of the Mesopotamians who fixed temporal limits for eclipses than that of the later classical authors who connected a battlefield defeat with an eclipse six months previous. On 13 August, though, Turner once more observed an astronomical disturbance in the form of a blue-green sun, probably caused by volcanic eruptions.70 Again, Turner interpreted the celestial events as a divine omen of displeasure with his abandonment of the plan and opened hostilities a week later on 21 August 1831. Not only does Turner embody the rule of a bold leader adopting an eclipse as divine sanction, but he also exemplifies the generality that eclipses prompt action among long-standing, internal enemies and offer inspiration to irregular militaries. In the course of the rebellion, Turner favored improvised weapons, in part because of the difficulty in procuring firearms, but also in part because silent weapons raised no alarm. Although his rebellion was suppressed within forty-eight hours, Turner himself remained a fugitive for two months. On 30 October, Turner was captured. A mere six days separated his 69  T. Gray, The Confessions of Nat Turner (Baltimore: Thomas R. Gray, 1831). 70  F. Russell, E. Archibald, “Previous Analogous Glow Phenomena, and Corresponding Eruptions” in The Eruption of Krakatoa and Subsequent Phenomena (ed. G. Symons, London: Trübner, 1888) 396–399; J. Milne, “Seismological Observations and Earth Physics,” The Geographical Journal 21.1 (1903) 13–4.

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trial on 5 November and his execution on 11 November. In that time, Turner related the astronomical details of his inspiration to Thomas Gray. Separating Turner’s account from Gray’s editorializing is no simple matter. For example, Turner seems unlikely to have chosen the word “hieroglyphic” for the cryptic messages he read in leaves. Nonetheless, some telling details emerge. Turner had taught himself to read and applied this ability to religious study. Perhaps as a result of his religious devotion, Turner believed himself the recipient of divine messages (in visions, characters on leaves, and numbers) since 1825. Although he had taught himself to read and had undertaken attempts to cast molds, press paper, and make gunpowder, Turner claimed no knowledge of predicting eclipses. However, astronomy was not far from his mind. Turner felt the Holy Spirit would reveal “the knowledge of the elements, the revolution of the planets, the operation of tides, and changes of the seasons” to him after the success of his rebellion.71 Even though his struggle suffered the doom typical of slave rebellions since the time of Spartacus, Turner followed in the same tradition as Alexander, a bold prophet who attempts to define a divine event. In fact, Turner considered himself divinely contacted long before the eclipse. To him, the eclipse served as a celestially acknowledged sanction for a plan suggested more by social status than superstition. Like the tribes united by Tenskwatawa or the conspirators of Nat Turner, the Zulu forces at the Battle of Isandlwana found inspiration in an eclipse. Quite likely, this response sealed their strategic advantage. In 1879, nearly 20,000 Zulu forces met a detachment of about 1800 British forces determined to confederate the independent states of the South African Republic and Zululand.72 While the British were outnumbered, the Zulu were outgunned. The British forces were armed with contemporary breech-loading rifles, two seven-pound mountain guns, and a rocket battery.73 Moreover, the Zulu, called from agricultural labors, carried thrusting spears and cowhide shields, were armed but exhausted and hungry.74 Despite their numbers, the Zulu delayed the battle. Though the reluctance of the Zulu to engage demonstrates rational selfpreservation, according to British accounts, the Zulu had an astrological reason to delay.75 The two armies had begun to approach each other on the day 71  Gray, Confessions . . ., 10. 72  I. Knight, Isandlwana 1879: The Great Zulu Victory (Oxford: Osprey, 2002) 49. 73  J. McAdam, “The Role of the Royal Artillery during the Anglo Zulu War,” Journal of the Anglo Zulu War Historical Society 10 (2001) 138–9. 74  J. Guy, “A Note on Firearms in the Zulu Kingdom with Special Reference to the Anglo-Zulu War, 1879,” The Journal of African History 12.4 (1971) 564. 75  Knight, Isandlwana . . ., 51.

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of a conjunction, that is, a new moon. The Zulu held days on which the moon was invisible as inauspicious, and the moon had not been observed before the attack. However, once the impact of the partial solar eclipse began, the Zulu could see the shadow of the moon, and they engaged. In this way, not only was the eclipse positively interpreted, but the Zulu avoided squandering their superior numbers in uncoordinated attacks as they had in other battles. As a result, the Zulu achieved one of the greatest routs of British colonial forces. Despite Zulu and British accounts of the eclipse, historians have questioned the visibility of the eclipse.76 The role of the eclipse was not acknowledged immediately by British historians. The unexpected outcome of the battle is a favored topic of speculation among military historians. First person British field reports did not emphasize the eclipse.77 Other accounts omitted the eclipse altogether.78 A letter from Commandant Schumbrecher to Colonel Wood mentioned the eclipse and expressed confidence that the Zulu would read it as a bad omen.79 Others have suggested that because only two-thirds of the sun was obscured, the eclipse would have passed unnoticed by the Zulu, but this suggestion ignores the British field reports of the eclipse. Perhaps these explanations merely apply the rationalizing hindsight of Philochorus and Plutarch. On the other hand, the role of the eclipse in inspiring warriors to rout a technically superior army may have been mitigated by modern historians because it undermines modern notions of progress. Regardless, it shows that respect for an eclipse can have strategic implications; moreover, it shows that the reverence accorded an eclipse extended well into the modern era. Conclusions Eclipses have been linked with battles, political revolts, and insurrections since Babylon. This association of eclipses and battles in the ancient world seems limited to the Mediterranean. India shared in Greek (and to a lesser degree Mesopotamian) traditions, but Indian historians did not connect eclipses to battles until the modern era. In 1762, an eclipse occurred during the Battle 76  I. Knight, “ ‘The Sun Turned Black’ The Isandlwana Eclipse Debate,” Journal of the Anglo Zulu War Historical Society 7 (2000) 21–2. 77  F. Colenso, History of the Zulu War and its Origin (London: Chapman and Hall, 1880) 292. 78  P. Thompson, Black Soldiers of the Queen: The Natal Native Continger in the Anglo-Zulu War (Tuscaloosa: University of Alabama Press, 2006) 73, note 66. 79  See the source numbered 1533.4 in H. Raugh, Anglo-Zulu War: A Selected Bibliography (Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press, 2011) 187.

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of Amritsar in which Sikhs drove back an Afghan invasion.80 Chinese courts viewed solar eclipses negatively but no accessible anecdotes associate them with battles.81 The absence of eclipses may have several explanations. In the case of India, the textual tradition may be complicated. In the case of China, developed bureaucratic hierarchies may have prevented most emotional reactions to celestial phenomena. As a panicked response, the precipitation of battle by an eclipse displays several trends. First, an eclipse-inspired attack favors an outbreak of hostility between long-standing enemies. Secondly, the combatants are likely to be regional militias or irregular militaries. Insurrections and slave revolts are more likely than reconfigurations of allies. Third, just as Babylonians limited the effect of an eclipse to a hundred days, a panicked response has a temporal limitation: the local excitement generated by an eclipse wanes without further stimulation. Fourth, eclipses are more likely to inspire forces with few other prospects, either due to desperation or commitment to a foreign campaign. Finally, if the eclipse occurred during open conflict, the panicked response might include the abandonment of defenses or strategies of retreat. Babylonians expressed this association of eclipses with battles through their astrological traditions. This association, rather than an independent empirical study or an application of developing astrological doctrines, was adopted by Egyptians and Greeks and was reflected in their astrological traditions. Mesopotamians developed rituals of statecraft, whereas Europeans focused on eclipse prediction and personal astrology. Nonetheless, the pairing of eclipses and battles emerged as a literary motif subject to folkloric interpretation and propagandistic manipulation. As skill at eclipse prediction improved, the oracular weight of eclipses decreased. Eventually, the articulation of the Roman Empire prompted changes in warfare which precluded the association of eclipses and battles, but when the nature of warfare changed again in the modern era, eclipses re-emerged as a tactical element. Bibliography G. Airy, “On the Eclipses of Agathocles, Thales, and Xerxes,” Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society of London 143 (1853) 179–200.

80  R. Kapoor, “The Historical Significance of the Total Solar Eclipse of Oct. 17, 1762 Passing over Panjab,” Indian Journal for the History of Science 45 (2010) 489–504. 81  S. Nakayama, “Characteristics of Chinese Astrology,” Isis 57.4 (1966) 445.

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———, “On the Eclipse of Agathocles, the Eclipse at Larissa, and the Eclipse of Thales, with an Appendix on the Eclipse at Stiklastad,” Memoirs of the Royal Astronomical Society 26 (1858) 131–52. A. Azarpay, G. Kilmer, “The Eclipse Dragon on an Arabic Frontispiece-Miniature,” JAOS 98.4 (1978) 363–74. C. Bezold, F. Boll, Reflexe astrologischer Keilinschriften bei griechischen Schriftstellern (Heidelberg: Winter, 1911). R. Caminos, The Chronicle of Prince Osorkon (Rome: Pontificium Institutum Biblicum, 1958). A. Cave, “The Shawnee Prophet, Tecumseh, and Tippecanoe: A Case Study of Historical Myth-Making,” Journal of the Early Republic 22.4 (2002) 637–73. F. Colenso, History of the Zulu War and its Origin (London: Chapman and Hall, 1880). D. Couprie, “How Thales Was Able to ‘Predict’ a Solar Eclipse without the Help of Alleged Mesopotamian Wisdom,” Early Science and Medicine 9.4 (2004) 321–37. L. Esarey, ed. Messages and Letters of William Henry Harrison, vol. 1 (Indianapolis: Indiana Historical Commission, 1922). Y. Gillihan, Civic Ideology, Organization, and Law in the Rule Scrolls (Leiden: Brill, 2012). T. Gray, The Confessions of Nat Turner (Baltimore: Thomas R. Gray, 1831). V. Gurzadyan, “On the Astronomical Records and Babylonian Chronology,” Akkadica 119–120 (2000) 177–86. J. Guy, “A Note on Firearms in the Zulu Kingdom with Special Reference to the AngloZulu War, 1879,” The Journal of African History 12.4 (1971) 557–70. P. Huber, “Dating by Lunar Eclipse Omens with Speculations on the Birth of Omen Astrology” in From Ancient Omens to Statistical Mechanics (eds. L. Berggren, B. Goldstine, Copenhagen: University Library, 1987). ———, “Astronomical Dating of Ur III and Akkad,” AfO 46–47 (1999/2000) 50–79. ———, “Astronomy and Ancient Chronology,” Akkadica 119–120 (2000) 159–76. ———, “The Solar Omen of Muršili II,” JAOS 121.4 (2001) 640–4. H. Hunger, D. Pingree, Astral Sciences in Mesopotamia (Leiden, Boston, Cologne: Brill, 1999). J. Jones, Diary of the Siege of Constantinople, 1453 (New York: Exposition Press, 1969). A. Jortner, The Gods of Prophetstown (Oxford, New York: Oxford University Press, 2012). R. Kapoor, “The Historical Significance of the Total Solar Eclipse of Oct. 17, 1762 Passing over Panjab,” Indian Journal for the History of Science 45 (2010) 489–504. I. Knight, Isandlwana 1879: The Great Zulu Victory (Oxford: Osprey, 2002). ———, “ ‘The Sun Turned Black’ The Isandlwana Eclipse Debate,” Journal of the Anglo Zulu War Historical Society 7 (2000) 21–2. U. Koch-Westenholz, Mesopotamian Astrology (Copenhagen: Carsten Niebuhr Institute of Near Eastern Studies, Museum Tusculanum Press, 1995).

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D. Lehoux, “Tomorrow’s News Today,” Representations 95.1 (2006) 105–22. D. Levene, Religion in Livy (Leiden, New York: Brill, 1993). M. Littmann, F. Espenak, K. Wilcox, Totality: Eclipses of the Sun (New York: Oxford, 2008). J. McAdam, “The Role of the Royal Artillery during the Anglo Zulu War,” Journal of the Anglo Zulu War Historical Society 10 (2001) 138–9. J. Milne, “Seismological Observations and Earth Physics,” The Geographical Journal, 21.1 (1903) 1–22. S. Nakayama, “Characteristics of Chinese Astrology,” Isis 57.4 (1966) 442–54. C. Nothaft, Dating the Passion (Leiden: Brill, 2011). R. Parker, A Vienna Demotic Papyrus on Eclipse- and Lunar-Omina (Providence: Brown University Press, 1959). S. Parpola, Letters from Assyrian Scholars to the Kings of Esarhaddon and Assurbanipal (Kevelaer: Butzon and Bercker, 1983). H. Raugh, Anglo-Zulu War: A Selected Bibliography (Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press, 2011). F. Rochberg, The Heavenly Writing (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004). ———, In the Path of the Moon (Leiden, Boston: Brill, 2010). F. Rochberg-Halton, “Elements of the Babylonian Contribution to Hellenistic Astrology,” JAOS 108 (1987) 51–62. ———, Aspects of Babylonian Celestial Divination (Horn: Verlag F. Berger, 1988). M. Ross, “A Survey of Demotic Astrological Texts,” Culture and Cosmos 11 (2007) 1–31. F. Russell, E. Archibald, “Previous Analogous Glow Phenomena, and Corresponding Eruptions” in The Eruption of Krakatoa and Subsequent Phenomena (ed. G. Symons, London: Trübner, 1888). A. Sachs, H. Hunger, Astronomical Diaries and Related Texts from Babylonia, vol. 1 (Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1988). M. Stanley, “Predicting the Past: Ancient Eclipses and Airy, Newcomb, and Huxley on the Authority of Science,” Isis 103.2 (2012) 254–77. D. Steel, Eclipse (Washington, DC: The Joseph Henry Press, 2001). J. Steele, “Solar Eclipse Times Predicted by the Babylonians,” Journal for the History of Astronomy 28 (1997) 133–9. J. Steele, F. Stephenson, “Lunar Eclipse Times Predicted by the Babylonians,” Journal for the History of Astronomy 28 (1997) 119–31. P. Thompson, Black Soldiers of the Queen: The Natal Native Continger in the Anglo-Zulu War (Tuscaloosa: University of Alabama Press, 2006). A. Wallace, “New Religions among the Delaware Indians, 1600–1900,” Southwestern Journal of Anthropology 12.1 (1956) 1–21.

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R. Waterfield, “The Evidence for Astrology in Classical Greece,” Culture and Cosmos 3.2 (1999) 3–15. E. Weidner, “Die astrologische Serie Enûma Anu Enlil,” AfO 14 (1941–4) 172–318. M. West, “Anaxagoras and the Meteorite of 467 BC,” Journal of the British Astronomical Association 70 (1960) 368–9. C. Williams, “Some Details on the Transmission of Astral Omens” in From the Banks of the Euphrates (ed. M. Ross, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2008) 295–314. T. Willig, “Prophetstown on the Wabash: The Native Spiritual Defense of the Old Northwest,” Michigan Historical Review 23.2 (1997) 115–58.

Part 2 Greece

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War and Religion in Ancient Greece1 Robert Parker I begin with an incident from the 380s, as reported by a contemporary, Xenophon (Hell. 4.7.2). The Spartan king Agesipolis was planning to lead a force against Sparta’s traditional enemy, Argos. Both Argos and Sparta claimed the same ethnic origin, as Dorians, and a convention existed that there should be no hostilities between them during certain festivals acknowledged by both; on the occasion of these festivals a truce was proclaimed between the two states.2 But, according to Xenophon, the Argives had developed the practice of declaring the truce ‘not when the time came but when the Spartans were about to invade’. So Agesipolis sent a messenger to the minor oracle of Zeus at Olympia and asked ‘whether it was safe for him to reject the truce’; he was told that it was indeed safe to reject a ‘truce unjustly offered’. Agesipolis then sent a second enquiry to the much more prestigious oracle of Zeus’ son Apollo at Delphi and asked ‘on the matter of the sacred truce, do you agree with your father?’ As a loyal son Apollo had to agree, and Agesipolis went ahead with his invasion. The story sounds rather too good to be true, but it is again mentioned, still in the fourth century, by Aristotle (Rhet. 2.23.12, 1398b 33–34); it was at all events credible to intelligent Greeks living in the same period. I start with that incident for two reasons: on the one hand it shows the influence that religious factors—the sacred truce, the consultation of oracles—could have on the conduct of war; on the other hand, it also shows how all parties manoeuvred within this religious framework to secure their own advantage: the Argives by fraudulent declaration of sacred truces, Agesipolis by putting questions to oracles in ways that they were forced to answer as he wanted. It seems very likely incidentally that the answer to his first question as reported by Xenophon reflects the actual question that he posed, which would therefore have been not just ‘is it safe to reject the sacred truce?’ but ‘is it safe to reject a sacred truce unjustly offered?’; if so, the question to Zeus was just as tendentious as that to Apollo.

1  The main studies are Pritchett 3; R. Lonis, Guerre et religion en Grèce à l’époque classique (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 1979); and (briefer) A. Jacquemin, Guerre et religion dans le monde grec (490–322 av. J.-C.) (Paris: Editions Sedes, 2000). 2  Cf. F.J. Fernandez Nieto, Los Acuerdos Belicos en la Antigua Grecia, vol. 1 (Santiago: Universidad de Santiago de Compostela, 1975) 147–84.

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It has often been thought that these manoeuvres by both sides are symptoms of a decline in piety in the fourth century, but I reject that interpretation. When the British anthropologist Edward Evans-Pritchard lived among the Azande of Sudan in the 1930s, he discovered that for the Azande divination was a part of everyday life which everybody believed in; but he also found that the Azande regularly manipulated divination to suit their own interests much as Agesipolis did.3 It is the society for which divination is important that also finds ways of, as it seems from outside, cheating with divination; and the same argument applies to the Argives and the sacred month. The incident shows not a decline in the importance of religious factors but just the opposite. I turn now to look at different phases of warfare and the role of religion in each. Divination could have an influence before a military campaign was launched, in two ways. There were unofficial collections of oracles publicized by oracle-singers which could affect public opinion.4 Thucydides tells us that, after the Athenian invasion of Sicily in 415 BC which ended in complete disaster in 413, the Athenians were angry with the oracle singers and other diviners who had encouraged them to hope for success in the campaign (Thuc. 8.1.1). These unofficial prophecies operated at the level of shaping public attitudes, not as part of the formal decision-making process. But it was also possible to consult an oracle as part of that formal process leading to the final decision to go to war. Consultation was not invariable. The Athenians probably did not consult before the invasion of Sicily in 415 (the silence of Thucydides on the point trumps picturesque elaborations in much later sources),5 but Thucydides tells (1.118.3) how at the start of the great Peloponnesian war in 431 the Spartans did consult Apollo of Delphi. The god told them that they would win ‘if they fought with full strength’, cautiously allowing himself a let-out should victory in fact elude the Spartans; Thucydides adds more surprisingly that Apollo supposedly promised to aid the Spartan side ‘both summoned and unsummoned’. That consultation is revealing in two ways. The first is the stage at which it occurs 3  ‘A Zande does not readily accept an oracular verdict which conflicts seriously with his interests . . . a man takes advantage of every loophole the oracle allows him . . . a man can define the terms of the answer by stating them in the question’: E. Evans-Pritchard, Witchcraft, Oracles and Magic among the Azande (abridged ed. by D. Gillies Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1976) 163. 4  See M.A. Flower, The Seer in Ancient Greece (Berkeley, Los Angeles, London: University of California Press, 2008) 58–65. 5  So at least claims R. Parker, Polytheism and Society at Athens (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005) 109-10. On consultations about going to war see R. Parker ‘Greek States and Greek Oracles’ in Oxford Readings in Greek Religion (ed. R. Buxton, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000) 87–8.

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within the Spartan decision-making process. The Spartans do not entrust the decision to an oracle while still thinking only vaguely about going to war. Thucydides makes very clear that on a human level the Spartans have firmly decided that the time for war has come: ‘the Spartans themselves had decided that the treaty had been violated and the Athenians were doing wrong, and sending to Delphi they asked the god whether it would go well for them if they fought’. So the role of the god is to reinforce a decision that the Spartans had provisionally reached for themselves. This does not mean, as rationalizing modern historians sometimes suppose,6 that the god merely ‘rubber-stamped’ the Spartan decision. How often, if ever, states were advised by an oracle not to go to war we do not know; too few cases are reliably described to allow us to track the workings of the institution in detail. What matters is that, in Spartan perception, the god could have said ‘no’, and the ‘yes’ will have been genuinely reassuring to them and to their allies. The second point to stress is that Sparta at this date had an immense military reputation and it was the general expectation throughout Greece that, if war came, Sparta would win and win quickly (Thuc. 5.14.3, 7.28.3). So in encouraging the Spartans to go to war, Apollo was not adopting a surprising position, merely echoing what most Greeks anticipated. Nor was he taking sides, except by promising his own added aid to the Peloponnesians. A state which had decided to fight needed to acquire divine support in the conflict. Conditional vows—if we win, then we will do the following in gratitude—could be made in advance. How common this practice was is not clear,7 but one such vow supposedly made before the battle of Marathon became famous: the Athenians are said to have vowed to sacrifice one goat annually to Artemis for every Persian killed, but killed so many that they had to set a fixed limit of 500 (Xen. An. 3.2.12).8 Further prayers might be made at decisive moments of a campaign or even of a battle: during the Persian invasion, for instance, Herodotus tells of the Athenians securing the aid of their kinsman, the North wind Boreas, against the Persian fleet, and of the Spartan commander Pausanias appealing successfully to Hera in her nearby sanctuary during the Battle of Plataea.9 There was also the possibility that gods, or more commonly heroes, might make appearances, epiphanies, in the course of

6  J. Fontenrose, The Delphic Oracle (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1978) 222. 7  See Pritchett 3, 230-239; Jacquemin, Guerre . . ., 54–7. 8  R. Parker, Athenian Religion: a History (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996) 154 n. 6. 9  Hdt. 7.189, 9.61.3; cf. J.D. Mikalson, Herodotus and Religion in the Persian Wars (Chapel Hill, London: The University of North Carolina Press, 2003).

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battle, whether they came in response to prayer or spontaneously.10 A famous instance was that of a rustic figure who was seen in the battle of Marathon using a plough to kill many Persians, and then disappeared: no one recognised him, but when the Athenians enquired of an oracle about him afterwards they were told to honour ‘Echetlaios hero’, Ploughshare hero (from echetle, ploughshare). Echetl(ai)os was duly shown in the depiction of the battle of Marathon in the Painted Stoa at Athens (Paus. 1.15.3, 1.32.5). That was painted about thirty years after the event, and the famous battle will surely have attracted stories in the intervening period; but it is not implausible that participants in the extraordinarily stressful situation of battles did sometimes think that they could detect supernatural helpers, and rumours of such sightings were certainly quick to find belief.11 We know about divine help supposedly given during battle above all from dedications made after it. Dedication of a portion, usually a tithe, of spoils after a battle was a custom unenforceable by law but, as far as we can see, always observed. From an overwhelming quantity of evidence12 let us take one item, an inscription recording a dedication made in the fifth century by Selinus in Sicily after an unknown victory: Because of the following gods the Selinuntines conquer. We conquer because of Zeus and because of Fear and because of Herakles and because of Apollo and because of Poseidon and because of the Tyndaridai and because of Athena and because of Apple-bringer (Malophoros) and because of Pasikrateia and because of the other gods, but most of all because of Zeus.13 Dedication of a gold object with the names of the gods is then prescribed, the gold to be ‘of sixty talents’. Sixty talents is ambiguous there: does it refer to a piece of gold costing sixty silver talents (silver being the common standard), or to a piece of gold actually weighing sixty talents, and thus about ten times

10  See Pritchett 3, 11–46, and V.J. Platt, Facing the Gods: Epiphany and Representation in Graeco-Roman Art, Literature and Religion (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011). 11  The ‘Angel(s) of/at Mons’ are a famous and controversial instance from the First World War. 12  See e.g. A. Jacquemin, Offrandes monumentales à Delphes (Athens, Paris: Bibliothèque des Écoles françaises d’Athènes et de Rome, 1999) 1999; T.S.F. Jim, Sharing with the Gods. Aparchai and Dekatai in Ancient Greece (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014). 13  R. Meiggs, D.M. Lewis, Greek Historical Inscriptions (To the End of the Fifth Century BC) (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1969) no. 38.

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more valuable? Sixty silver talents is already a large sum, sixty gold talents a huge one; dedication of spoils was a practice of major economic importance. The dedication from Selinus raises the question of the gods involved in warfare, and illustrates how misleading it can be to think in terms of a fixed class of war-gods.14 Some gods specialize in war, Ares and Athena above all, but almost any god can become involved. A passage from Euripides’ Heraclidae (347–352) is revealing. Iolaos, who is under Athenian protection, is speaking before a battle between Athens and Argos: ‘Our allies are no weaker than those of the Argives. Hera, the wife of Zeus, protects them, and Athena us; and this contributes to success, to have superior gods. For Pallas will not endure to be defeated.’ The passage is interesting for the theologically problematic situation of clashes between gods that can occur in a polytheistic world, but what concerns us here is that Athens is represented by a goddess who is a military specialist but Argos by one who is not: it is simply as chief goddess of Argos, thus as the city’s protectress in all situations, that Hera is expected also to protect her city in war. A different possibility is that of gods and heroes who have sanctuaries close to a battlefield, as seen for instance in the local figures to whom, according to Plutarch, the Greeks were told by Apollo at Delphi to pray before the battle of Plataea.15 We have seen the list of military helpers given by the Selinuntines on a particular occasion; on a different occasion they might have given a different list, and a different city would certainly have made quite different choices. I turn from the gods as helpers to the gods as advisers, the role of divination in warfare.16 The possibility of consulting an oracle before declaring war has already been mentioned. Anyone who has read almost any work of Xenophon is aware of the apparently central importance that divination has for him, summed up in a passage of his handbook of advice for the cavalry commander: If anyone is surprised that I have so often prescribed that one should act ‘with the gods’, it is certain that he will be less surprised if he often comes into danger, and if he realizes that in a war enemies plot against one another but seldom know whether these plots are well laid. It is impossible to find any other advisers in such matters except the gods. They

14  Cf. Jacquemin, Guerre . . ., 15–45. 15  Plut. Aristid. 11.3; on the problems of this passage see Parker, Polytheism . . ., 401 n. 55. 16  See e.g. R. Parker, “Sacrifice and Battle” in War and Violence in Ancient Greece (ed. H van Wees, London: Duckworth, 2000); R. Parker, “One man’s piety. The religious dimension of the Anabasis” in The Long March (ed. R. Lane Fox, New Haven, London: Yale University Press, 2004) (on Xenophon), Flower, The Seer . . .

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know everything, and give signs to those they wish to through sacrifices, birds of omen, voices and dreams.17 Omens are taken from sacrificial victims before embarking on a campaign, before leaving camp each morning on a march, before advancing into battle; some states take omens also before leaving the boundaries of their own territory, or crossing rivers. Bad omens are regularly said to delay action, and spontaneous portents such as earthquakes can also cause campaigns to be abandoned. Xenophon on campaign as described in his Anabasis used divination to make decisions about what to do as an individual—when offered the possibility of sole command, should he accept it?—and once in command about the conduct of the whole expedition—should he lead the army to the court of king Seuthes?18 On a literal reading the military influence of divination was so great that, one might say, it was more important to have a good seer than a good general; we know in fact that a few military seers were sufficiently in demand to become very rich.19 Was it really thus? Or was military divination a kind of show put on to reassure the troops and provide ritual reinforcement for the decisions of the general? That is a very complicated question, and it is surely wrong to see the whole system as a conscious fraud. The Greeks themselves were well aware that omens could be falsified,20 but that did not lead them, and should not lead us, to see nothing but cynicism in the whole system. Two points deserve emphasis. First, Xenophon is very insistent that one should only consult gods about matters that are beyond the reach of human intelligence. Divination for him is not a substitute for rationality, but a supplement to be used for questions inaccessible to reason (Xen. Mem. 1.1.9). Secondly, there must have been more flexibility in the system than may at first sight appear. Omens were taken from the entrails of sacrificial animals; if a first animal failed to give good omens, one could sacrifice a second; if that was unsatisfactory too, a third (three tries may have been by convention the limit, though such a rule is never stated explicitly). It is incredible that livers from three animals in succession will ever have given unambiguously negative signs, and if that is so the omens will never have stopped a general from doing what he was firmly resolved to do; when a general allowed himself to be deterred by omens, it must have been because he was already uneasy in his own mind about the wisdom of whatever action he was contemplating. 17  Xen. Eg. Mag. 9.8–9. 18  Xen. An. 6.1.19–24; 7.2.15–17, two instances from many. 19  Flower, The Seer . . ., 185. 20  Xen. Hell. 4.2.18, Xen. An. 6.4.14.

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An extraordinary contrast between Thucydides and Xenophon is here relevant. The whole apparatus of military divination that is so conspicuous in Xenophon is largely absent from Thucydides. Almost all that we see of it in him is the importance for the Spartans of the ‘crossing sacrifices’ (diabateria) that they performed before leaving Spartan territory; he mentions several expeditions aborted when crossing sacrifices proved inauspicious. There are also Spartan campaigns abandoned because of earthquakes, that great terror to the Spartans.21 But the pre-battle sacrifices so prominent in Xenophon appear only once in Thucydides (6.69.2), as an element of scene-setting in the description of a major battle, not as a factor affecting its outcome. We cannot explain the difference simply by arguing that Thucydides was a sceptic about divination whereas Xenophon was a believer: Thucydides is not describing his own beliefs, but the behaviour of historical Greeks. All the omen-taking described by Xenophon must also have been taking place in battles and campaigns described by Thucydides, even indeed in those conducted by Thucydides himself as general; but Thucydides is able to write as if nothing of the kind occurred. It follows that for Thucydides these practices did not ultimately make a difference. There is one famous exception where an Athenian general did allow himself to be influenced by a portent. In Sicily in 413, when the Athenian force was planning withdrawal, an eclipse of the moon occurred and in obedience to seers (and also to the mood of his troops), Nicias halted the withdrawal for twenty seven days with catastrophic results. Thucydides blames him for it (7.50.4), saying that Nicias was too given to theiasmos, an untranslatable word etymologically simply indicating something relating to the divine (theion), but presumably here more specifically divination or respect for omens. The reaction of pious later Greeks to that incident is very interesting. Plutarch explains that, because Nicias’ usual seer Stilbides had recently died, he lacked an experienced seer who would have interpreted the omen more sensibly. He quotes the third century Athenian Philochorus, who was himself a seer, for a different interpretation: an eclipse is a good omen for those wishing to escape, because one escapes more easily in the dark (Plut. Nic. 23.7–8). So, according to Philochorus and Plutarch, the problem was not that Nicias paid attention to seers, but that he paid attention to the wrong seer: a better seer would have given an interpretation that allowed the Athenians to do what they obviously needed to do to secure their safety.22 On this view, it was up to the seer and the general between them to develop a view of the gods’ will that made sense 21  Thuc 5.54.1, 55.3, 116.1 (diabateria); 3.89. 1; 6. 95.1; 8.6.5 (earthquakes). 22  Cf. Jacquemin, Guerre . . ., 116–17, on ‘Liberté dans l’interprétation et manipulation des présages’.

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in tactical terms. And it was because this usually happened that it was possible for Thucydides to ignore the role of divination other than in exceptional circumstances. I turn finally and briefly to two rather different questions. The first is that of rules of war, and the extent to which religion helped to define the permissible and impermissible. There was nothing in the ancient world equivalent to the Geneva convention; other obstacles aside, there was no forum in which the cities could have sat down to negotiate such a thing. But by the fifth century there were accepted norms, sometimes spoken of as ‘laws/customs (nomoi) of the Greeks’, and when these were violated loud protests were raised.23 Those particularly relevant here are those concerning respect for the sacred, in several aspects: the sacred truces surrounding festivals (already mentioned above); sacred persons, especially heralds; the sacred places and treasures of the enemy. It was also sometimes claimed that enemies who ‘held out their hands’ in surrender should not be killed, but ransomed; and the convention that a truce should be granted to allow burial of the dead when an enemy admitted defeat by suing for it was widely observed. About the origins, persistence and scope (to what extent if at all did barbarians benefit from these ‘laws of the Greeks’?), questions remain in debate that cannot be discussed here.24 I move instead to my last question, which is whether one can ever speak of ‘wars of religion’ in Greece. It is possible to be misled because the expression ‘Sacred War’ is very familiar to Greek historians. Four such Sacred Wars are conventionally recognized, even if the historicity of the first has been contested and the second is little more than a name for us.25 But these Sacred Wars were not wars of religion in the sense familiar from European history: they

23  See J. Ober, “The Rules of War in Classical Greece” in The Athenian Revolution: Essays on Ancient Greek Democracy and Political Theory (ed. J. Ober, Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1996), who usefully lists twelve such laws; and Jacquemin, Guerre . . ., 123–45. 24  Contrast Ober, “The Rules . . ., who argues that these hoplite conventions lasted from c. 700 BC to the Persian wars, serving the interests of hoplite aristocracies, and were destroyed by Athenian democracy, and the counter of P. Krentz, ‘Fighting by the rules: the invention of the hoplite agon,’ Hesperia 71 (2002), who sees the standard image of hoplite warfare and its associated conventions as itself a creation of the fifth c. and the Persian invasion. Cf. xx in this volume. 25   See e.g. M. Scott, Delphi and Olympia (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), index, s.v. Sacred War; on the political background of the Third Sacred War, see S. Hornblower, “Did the Delphic Amphiktiony Play a Poltical Role in the Classical Period” in Greek and Roman Networks in the Mediterranean (eds. I. Malkin, C. Constantakopoulou, K. Panagopoulou, London: Routledge, 2009).

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were either wars over what city or other body should control the sanctuary at Delphi, or wars against a state that was judged to have violated the rights of the sanctuary in some way, for instance by cultivating sacred land. There was no clash here of religious values. When states went to war, they often asserted religious offences of the other side as a justification: the Persians in 480 claimed to be burning Greek shrines in revenge for the burning of the temple of Kybebe at Sardis in 499 (Hdt. 5.102.1), Alexander a century and a half later professed to be avenging those Persian impieties when he led his great expedition. But supposed acts of sacrilege were at issue here, not belief. Greeks never fought one another or their neighbours on the ground that their own choice of gods or way of worshiping the gods was the one true way and that of others impious; there were, as we have seen, religious factors within Greek warfare, but there were no wars of religion. Bibliography E. Evans-Pritchard, Witchcraft, Oracles and Magic among the Azande, abridged ed. by D. Gillies (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1976) of the original (Oxford, 1937). F.J. Fernandez Nieto, Los Acuerdos Belicos en la Antigua Grecia (Santiago: Universidad de Santiago de Compostela, 1975). M.A. Flower, The Seer in Ancient Greece (Berkeley, Los Angeles, London: University of California Press, 2008). J. Fontenrose, The Delphic Oracle (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1978). S. Hornblower, “Did the Delphic Amphiktiony Play a Poltical Role in the Classical Period” in Greek and Roman Networks in the Mediterranean (eds. I. Malkin, C. Constantakopoulou, K. Panagopoulou, London: Routledge, 2009) 39–56. A. Jacquemin, Offrandes monumentales à Delphes (Athens, Paris: Bibliothèque des Écoles françaises d’Athènes et de Rome, 1999). ———, Guerre et religion dans le monde grec (490–322 av. J.-C.) (Paris: Editions Sedes, 2000). T.S.F. Jim, Sharing with the Gods. Aparchai and Dekatai in Ancient Greece (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014). P. Krentz, “Fighting by the rules: the invention of the hoplite agon,” Hesperia 71 (2002) 23–39. R. Lonis, Guerre et religion en Grèce à l’époque classique (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 1979). R. Meiggs, D.M. Lewis, Greek Historical Inscriptions (To the End of the Fifth Century BC) (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1969). J.D. Mikalson, Herodotus and Religion in the Persian Wars (Chapel Hill, London: The University of North Carolina Press, 2003).

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J. Ober, “The Rules of War in Classical Greece” in The Athenian Revolution: Essays on Ancient Greek Democracy and Political Theory (ed. J. Ober, Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1996) 53–71. R. Parker, Athenian Religion: a History (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996). ———, “Greek States and Greek Oracles” in Oxford Readings in Greek Religion (ed. R. Buxton, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000) 76–108. ———, “Sacrifice and Battle” in War and Violence in Ancient Greece (ed. H. van Wees, London: Duckworth, 2000) 299–314. ———, “One man’s piety. The religious dimension of the Anabasis” in The Long March (ed. R. Lane Fox, New Haven, London: Yale University Press, 2004) 131–153. ———, Polytheism and Society at Athens (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005). V.J. Platt, Facing the Gods: Epiphany and Representation in Graeco-Roman Art, Literature and Religion (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011). M. Scott, Delphi and Olympia (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010).

The Terrified Face of Alcyoneus: The Religious Character of Greek Warfare, or What about the Vanquished? Bogdan Burliga Why I am paralysed by Homer? Jaume Cabré, Confessions

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Introduction: Approaching Greek Religion and War

In the case of ancient Greece the subject ‘war and religion’ is a topic both promising as it is challenging. On the one hand, the theme offers a lot of possibilities for a satisfactory study which is due to the fact that religion permeated practically all aspects connected with the conducting of war.1 Many of them were collected and analyzed by Professor Pritchett in his seminal 1979 study.2 There he presented the numerous data and divided the source material into several categories: all of which reveal what Mikalson has called ‘practiced religion’.3 An overview of these activities confirms a strong impression that for the ancient Greeks warfare remained a profoundly religious affair, containing and requiring innumerable rites and rituals, undertaken with regard to the gods in order to win their favour:4 for the Greeks religious character of war and * English edition by Arcadia Press 2014, tr. M.F. Lethem. The translation of the Iliad by A.T. Murray, Loeb. I thank my former pupil, Dr. Daria Keiss-Dolańska, and Dr. Krzysztof Ulanowski, the editor of this volume, for their comments on an earlier draft of this article. 1  See the classic treatment by J.-P. Vernant, “The Society of the Gods” in his Myth and Society in Ancient Greece (New York: Zone Books, 1981) 92–109. 2  See Pritchett 3. There is a shorter but very valuable treatment by D.P. Tompkins, “Greek Rituals of War” in: The Oxford Handbook of Warfare in the Classical World (eds. B. Campbell, L.A. Tritle, Oxford: OUP, 2013) 527–41. 3  Greek Popular Religion in Greek Philosophy (Oxford, 2010) 2, n. 1. Concerning the VIIIth century BC Attica, R. Parker (Athenian Religion. A History, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1996) 27, says of the process of ‘The petrification of religious sentiment’. 4  E.g. Thuc. 6.32; Xen. Resp. Lac. 13.2–5; Ones. Strat. 10.25–26 and 34.1. See R. Garland, Religion and the Greeks (London, Bristol: Bloomsbury Academic, 1998) 19f., and 46. See H. van Wees, Greek Warfare. Myths and Realities (London 2004: Duckworth, 2004) 119, on ‘omens © koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���6 | doi ��.��63/9789004324763_009

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warfare belonged thus to the obvious ‘order of things’, something that needs no special justification or explication.5 Accordingly, granted the ubiquity and variety of Greek rituals connected with the conducting of war,6 the theme used to be analyzed from a traditional viewpoint (let us call it here antiquarian, or ‘descriptive’),7 and such an attitude and way of interpreting the religious dimension of warfare prevails in modern studies on the subject. It is supported by the rise of sociology and anthropology which are used as analytic tools providing the correct, necessary distance.8 This approach is strengthened and welcomed by an assumption that the Greeks had nothing similar to a written theology, no ‘Bible’, or another kind of Holy Scripture that would clearly define ‘the divine’. As ‘religion’ was, therefore, a matter of δρώμενα, rather than λεγόμενα,9 one should deal with and oracles’. It is worth quoting a short, yet telling definition of ritual in the Iron Age by C. Antonaccio (“Religion, basileis and Heroes” in Ancient Greece. From the Mycenaean Palaces to the Age of Homer (Edinburgh Leventis Studies 3; eds. S. Deger-Jalkotzy, I.S. Lemos, Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2006) 393): ‘ritual action (i.e. religion)’; cf. L. Bruit Zaidman, « Guerre et religion en Grèce à l’époque classique»  in Guerres et sociétés dans les mondes grecs (490–323), coord. par P. Brun, Paris: du Temps, 1999) 127–50. One of these rituals, very spectacular, was the dedicating of weapons to the gods, cf. A.H. Jackson, “Hoplites and the Gods: The Dedication of Captured Arms and Armour” in Hoplites. The Classical Greek Battle Experience (ed. V.D. Hanson, London, New York: Routledge, 1994) 228f.; also J. Larson, ”Votive Arms and Armor in the Sanctuaries of Goddesses: An Empirical Approach” in Le donateur, l’offrande et la déesse. Systèmes votifs des sanctuaires de déesses dans le monde grec (Kernos Suppl.23; ed. C. Prêtre, Liège: Université de Liege, 2009) 123–33. 5  See A.J. Holladay, M.D. Goodman, “Religious Scruples in Ancient Warfare,” CQ 36 (1986) 151–52. Cf. D. Dawson, The Origins of Western Warfare. Militarism and Morality in the Ancient World (Boulder CO: Westview Press, 1996) 53. 6  Scholars like to say of ‘embeddedness’; cf. J.N. Bremmer, Greek Religion (Greece & Rome New Surveys in Classics 24; Oxford: OUP, 1994) 2–4; see the famous essay by Ch. SourvinouInwood, “What Is Polis Religion?” in The Greek City. From Homer to Alexander (eds. O. Murray, S. Price, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1990) 297. 7  Cf. R. Parker, “Greek Religion” in The Oxford History of the Classical World (eds. J. Boardman, J. Griffin, O. Murray, Oxford: OUP, 1986) 266. 8  The modern sociological approach was inaugurated by Emile Durkheim’s influential study, yet it really begins in antiquity, with Aristotle’s treatment of ‘religion’ in the Politics. This mode of analysis was accompanied by the rise of historicism, requiring from the historian to describe and, eventually, to understand evens, not to judge (blame or praise) them—unless she/he prefers to become an unmasked moralist, or religious devotee; cf. Ch. W. Hedrick Jr., ‘The Ethics of World History,’ Journal of World History 16 (1995) 34. 9  R. Buxton, Imaginary Greece. The Contexts of Mythology (Cambridge: CUP, 1994) 150; cf. W. Burkert, Structure and History in Greek Mythology (Berkeley, Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1979) 36.

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the sociology of war rituals, rather than trying to reconstruct any scraps of ­‘theology’. As a clear exposition of the need of fulfilling religious rituals at war as scrupulously as possible remains Xenophon’s famous The Education of Cyrus (Cyropaedia)—a great epic tale in prose whose hero is proverbially pious and zealous in sacrificing to the gods.10 This sociological-historical approach is familiar enough among classicists, yet, whereas it remains a common way of analyzing the phenomenon of war and religion, it also remains only a part of truth. The reason for this is that the tendency to focus attention on ‘action’, valuable and justified as it stands, often seems to fall short of appreciating what the Greeks thought/felt, and how they explained the meaning of what happened to them. It seems, therefore, that for anyone interested in Greek warfare it is of equal importance to look how they tried to interpret, understand and explain events by looking for a hidden (divine) sense of events. This, in turn, is based on a logical assumption that whatever men did through a network of rituals resulted from the conviction, or unwavering confidence, that the gods were present at their wars. The Greeks used to act and to make various undertakings according to what they believed,11 and this was true not only of war but of life in general.12 Constructing shrines 10  On sacrifices cf. T. Szymanski, Sacrificia Graecorum in bellis militaria (diss. Marpurgi Cattorum: Koch, 1908) 8f.; R. Lonis, Guerre et religion en Grèce à l’époque classique. Recherches sur les rites, les dieux, l’idèologie de la victoire (Paris: Presses Univ. FrancheComté, 1979). 95–115; M.H. Jameson, « Sacrifice before Battle » in Hoplites. The Classical Greek Battle Experience (ed. V.D. Hanson, London, New York: Routledge, 1991) 197–227; R. Parker, “Sacrifice and Battle” in War and Violence in Ancient Greece (ed. H. van Wees, London: Duckworth and Classical Press of Wales, 2000) 299–314; T. Mojsik, “The Muses and Sacrifices before Battle” in Xenophon: Greece, Persia, and Beyond (Akanthina Monographs 5; ed. B. Burliga, Gdańsk: Fundacja Rozwoju Uniwersytetu Gdańskiego, 2011) 85–96. 11  A.D. Nock, “The Study of the History of Religion” in his Essays on Ancient Religion and History I (ed. Z. Stewart, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1972) 331. I am not persuaded by J.D. Mikalson’s statement that ‘The religion found in Greek tragedy is, like the language of Homer, a complex hybrid, a hothouse plant which never did and probably never could exist or survive in real life’ (Honor Thy Gods. Popular Religion in Greek Tragedy, Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1991) ix). What does the term ‘religion’ mean here? If we see the term as being synonymous with ‘ritual’, this would be true. But Greek tragedy deals with meditating the gods, so it is—like the Iliad—a kind of moral ‘commentary’; it constitutes a part of religious thought; see H. Lloyd-Jones, “Ancient Greek Religion,” Proceedings of American Philosophical Society 145 (2001) 461. 12  Adopting a sociological approach occasionally results in the claims that the Greeks did not believe in the gods, but only acknowledged their presence (see Plato, Apol. 24b: θεοὺς οὓς ἡ πόλις νομίζει οὐ νομίζοντα—on Socrates; cf. Euthyphr. 12e: εὐσεβές τε καὶ ὅσιον, τὸ

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and temples,13 organizing festivals and processions; performing sacrifices and consulting oracles14—all these activities relied on a deep conviction and faith that—as the Prussian scholar Wilamowitz-Möllendorf has put it eloquently— ‘Die Götter sind da’.15 Notwithstanding the lack of the Greeks’ inscribed/­written theology, one cannot thus omit their considerations as reflected in literary sources. So we come to a second way of approaching the issue of ‘the religious dimension of ancient Greek warfare’. One soon becomes aware that military conflict remains perpetually intriguing to the Greeks precisely because of the deeply rooted belief that the gods participated in the process.16 Clashes were fought, as it was believed, under divine guidance and deity’s watchful eyes;17 the sympathy of a god or goddess not only mattered, but was often a d­ ecisive περὶ τὴν τῶν θεῶν θεραπείαν), cf. J. Gould, “On Making Sense of Greek Religion” in Greek Religion and Society (eds. P.E. Easterling, J.V. Muir, Cambridge: CUP, 1985) 7f.; also G. Sissa, M. Detienne, The Daily Life of the Greek Gods (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2000) 167–8. To hold such a view seems to me to fall into a logical contradiction, which was Xenophon’s view in Mem. 1.1.5. For what nomidzein might mean, see R. Parker, On Greek Religion (Ithaca, London: Cornell Univ. Press, 2011) 36–7; also P. Veyne, Did the Greeks Believe in Their Myths? An Essay on the Constitutive Imagination (Chicago, London: University of Chicago Press, 1988) 1–2, 27–39. 13  See J.P. Crielaard, ‘Homer, History and Archaeology. Some Remarks on the Date of the Homeric” in Homeric Questions. Essays in Philology, Ancient History and Archaeology (ed. J.P. Crielaard, Amsterdam: Gieben, 1995) 247–273. 14  Cf. R. Osborne, Archaic and Classical Greek Art (Oxford, New York: OUP, 1998) 210; in particular this point was underlined by Pritchett 3,154. 15   Der Glaube der Hellenen I (Berlin: Weidmann, 1931) 17; see also R. Osborne, “The Living Presence of the Gods in Ancient Greece” in The Secret Lives of Art Works. Exploring the Boundaries between Art and Life (eds. C. van Eck, J. van Gastel, E. van Kessel, Leiden: Leiden University Press, 2014) 23–37; see now Parker’s fine study On Greek Religion . . ., 2–11. 16  See Il. 20.31–32; 20.47–55; 20.75. The speech of Thrasybulus in Xen. Hell. 2.4.14–17, may serve as a test case: he says that in battle the ‘the gods [. . .] are now manifestly fighting on our side’ (tr. L.C. Brownson, Loeb; οἱ δὲ θεοί [. . .] νῦν φανερῶς ἡμῖν συμμαχοῦσι; cf. also 7.5.13; Cyr. 3. 3. 34; Lys. 2.58; Cic, De nat. deor. 2.2.6). So it was at Marathon, in the case of the (notorious) vision of Pan by Phillipides as reported by Hdt. (6.105), or his earlier tale of Castor and Pollux who were present in the Spartan army (5.75). See P. Krentz, The Battle of Marathon (New Haven, London: Yale Univ. Press, 2010) 108–10; cf. generally A. Klöckner, “Getting in Contact: Concepts of Human-Divine Encounter in Classical Greek Art” in The Gods of Ancient Greece. Identities and Transformations (Edinburgh Leventis Studies 5; eds. J.N. Bremmer, A. Erskine, Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2010) 124–5. 17  A representative case is Apollo’s participation in fierce contest just before the death of Patroclus: 16.787–796. Here (verse 787) Homer openly says of the hero’s ‘end of life’— φάνη βιότοιο τελευτή; see also divine perspective of the fighting at 16.641–651.

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factor, as it also was in medieval times when the heavy armored knights called upon God.18 Consequently in ancient Greece war was undertaken with an expectation of divine aid.19 But as war always entails regrettable subjugation and loss of life, a great deal of confusion on the part of humans must have arisen, especially if one adopts the perspective of the fallen and vanquished. To deal with such perplexity is to move from a purely descriptive sociology, to a level of contemplation which is profoundly ethical in its character. So, to anyone interested nowadays in exploring the close connection between war and Greek religion, this issue may perhaps appear to be an equally interesting subject of study.20

From Art to Ethics: Becoming Alcyoneus

In many learned books on Greek art the face of the Giant Alcyoneus (Ἀλκυονεύς) is perhaps the most frequently reproduced detail of the slab that constituted a part of the famous east frieze of the Great Pergamum Altar, constructed ca. 180–160 BC21 and dedicated to Zeus and Athena.22 As, by a strange coincidence, the face of his tamer, the goddess Athena, has been damaged and remains enigmatic now, the modern viewer gazes only upon the emotions of the dying 18  See R. Osborne, “The Narratology and Theology of Architectural Sculpture, or What You Can Do with a Chariot But Can’t Do with a Satyr on a Greek Temple” in Structure, Image, Ornament. Architectural Sculpture in the Greek World (eds. P. Schulz, R. von den Hoff, Oxford: Oxbow Books, 2009) 2–12; cf. H.A. Shapiro, “Olympian Gods at Home and Abroad” in A Companion to Greek Art II (eds. T.J. Smith, D. Plantzos, Malden, Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2012) 405–10. 19  But not exclusively, as—to remind the most intrusive example—the notorious, sinister Prussian/German inscription Gott mit uns proves, although its origins go to the ancient times, and the idea was used by the Byzantines, cf. Maurice, Strat. 2. 18, who translates it into Greek, however, from Latin; see J. Haldon, Warfare, State and Society in the Byzantine World, 565–1204 (London, New York: Routledge, 1999) 24. 20  See W.K.Ch. Guthrie, The Greeks and Their Gods (London: Beacon Press, 1952) 113. 21  See Ch. Llinas, „Pergamon“ in Die griechische Kunst (eds. K. Papaioannou, J. Bousquet, Freiburg, Basel, Wien: Herder, 2002) 562–64. Now Alcynoeus’ face decorates, remarkably, the layout of the newest book by A. Stewart, Art in the Hellenistic World (Cambridge: CUP, 2014), as it did M. Lefkowitz’s study Greek Gods, Human Lives. What We Can Learn from Myths (New Haven: Yale Univ. Press, 2003). 22  Cf. A. Stewart, “Pergamo ara marmorea magna. On the Date, Reconstruction, and Functions of the Great Altar of Pergamon” in From Pergamon to Sperlonga. Sculpture and Context (eds. N.T. de Grummond, B.S. Ridgway, Berkeley, Los Angeles, London: University of California Press, 2000) 32f.

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monster, whom the valiant goddess grasps by the hair.23 And it is Athena (aided by the winged Nike24) who apparently dominates the composition of the slab.25 Yet, the face of the Giant has been sculpted with an amazing care for physiognomic details and even today makes a great impression on the onlookers visiting das Berliner Pergamonmuseum.26 The slab, as well the whole frieze, is also familiar to the students of Greek warfare as the monsters are shown to fight the gods and goddesses in the course of the famous Gigantomachy, a spectacular mythical match between the Olympic deities and the sons of Gaia. To be sure the mythological contest was the central theme of the Pergamon frieze of the altar erected on behalf of the king Eumenes II Soter (197–159 BC), but according to many scholars it bore an allegorical meaning too: it was commissioned in order to celebrate the Attalid victories over the invading Gauls.27 But why did the rulers of Pergamum decide to immortalize their accomplishments by using well known mythological episodes, rather than putting themselves on display and praising their own bravery in war? For modern scholars the answer seems to be obvious. The Greeks and their Hellenistic successors, the Macedonian dynasts, in this respect imitated an old ‘classical’ tradition, more specifically an Athenian one,28 which commemorated ‘the city’s courage’; 23  Interestingly, there is another, earlier picture of Athena and Alcyoneus, on the red figure kylix, attributed to Nicosthenes Painter. Here Heracles helps the goddess to slay the sleeping giant. 24  As in the parapet of the temple of Athena Nike on Acropolis, cf. A. Stewart, Greek Sculpture. An Exploration II (New Haven, London: Yale Univ. Press, 1992) pl. 419. 25  P.H. Demargne, H. Cassimatis, “Athena’’ in Lexicon Iconographicum Mythologiae Classicae (LIMC) II (München, Zürich: Artemis Verlag, 1984) 955–1044. 26  A. Stewart called famously such works of art ‘the baroque’: “Hellenistic Art: Two Dozen Innovations” in The Cambridge Companion to the Hellenistic World (ed. G.R. Bugh, Cambridge: CUP, 2006) 171–72. 27  Cf. G. Shipley, The Greek World after Alexander 323–30 BC (London, New York: Routledge, 2000) 312f. Shipley reminds us that Eumenes was engaged in critical with the Gauls from 188 BC onwards. After his victorious campaigns it was the Greeks themselves who gave the ruler the nickname ‘Nikephoros’ (‘Bearing Victory’). Consequently, in 181 the king organized in his capital Pergamon a festival in honour of Athena Nikephoros; cf. also H. Kähler, Der große Fries von Pergamon (Berlin: Gebr. Mann, 1948); see E.S. Gruen, “Culture as Policy: the Attalids of Pergamon” in From Pergamon to Sperlonga . . ., 17f.; cf. B. Dignas, ‘Rituals and the Construction of Identity in Attalid Pergamon’ in Historical and Religious Memory in the Ancient World (eds. B. Dignas, R. Smith, Oxford: OUP, 2012) 139. 28  The point is emphasized by M.D. Fullerton, Greek Art (Cambridge: CUP, 1998) 150–151; cf. esp. S. Muth, Gewalt im Bild. Das Phänomen der medialen Gewalt im Athen des 6. und 5. Jh. v. Chr. (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2008) 268f.; cf. P. Schultz, “Style, Continuity and the

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and its glorious achievements during the Persian wars in the form of a mythical ἀγών. Thus to recall a couple of the most spectacular examples, one may remind the eastern metopes of the Parthenon Frieze, or on the lost paintings that were on view in the Stoa Poecile.29 Be that as it may, for the purposes of this paper it is crucial to understand one basic fact only: that to the ancient viewers the masterpieces of Hellenistic art from Pergamum, it was the presence and centrality of the gods in the struggle being fought out that conjured up a picture so suggestive.30 As the altar itself was a religious construction, the same character—logically—carried over into the spectacular frieze. So, even if the mythical struggle was intended to represent a symbolic equivalent for an actual conflict, its immanent, essential and obvious feature was the participation of the gods: a perfect instance of how the Greeks perceived military conflict. Not only is it clear enough from the presence of divine participants in human conflict in Greek art, the Gigantomachy and other forms of mythical struggles had been extremely popular topics in Greek literature and history for a long time.31 Although a long acknowledged fact, it Hellenistic Baroque” in Creating a Hellenistic World (eds. A. Erskine and L. LlewellynJones, Swansea: Classical Press of Wales, 2011) 313. 29  Krentz, Battle of Marathon . . ., 16–17, inserts a reconstruction of how the painting by Micon and Panaenus might have looked; originally the draft was prepared by H. Schenck and appended to the book by C. Robert, Die Maratonschlacht in der Poikile und weiteres über Polygnot (Hallisches Winckelmannsprogramm 18, Halle: Niemeyer, 1895): it is an enlightening experience to learn how the Greeks might have imagined the presence of the gods on the battlefield. 30  Here the problem of the gods’ appearance is especially significant, as the modern sciences especially psychology, offer another, secular, type of explanation of how the Iliadic gods should be understood; see generally M.P. Nilsson, A History of Greek Religion (Oxford: Norton, 1949) 143; V. Platt, Facing the Gods. Epiphany and Representation in Graeco-Roman Art, Literature and Religion (Cambridge: CUP, 2011). The problem has begun in antiquity, with Heraclitus’ Homeric Problems and the rise of allegorical explanation; cf. A.M. van Erp Taalman Kip, “The Gods of the Iliad and the Fate of Troy,” Mnemosyne 53 (2000) 385f.; cf. G.S. Kirk, The Iliad: A Commentary. Volume II: Books 5–8 (Cambridge: CUP, 1990) 1–14. He rightly observes what may be a programmatic statement that ‘our own particular understanding of the nature of Homeric gods greatly affects the ways in which we respond to the Iliad as whole’; cf. N. Yamagata, Homeric Morality (Leiden, Köln, New York: Brill, 1993) 3f. 31  Here a perfect example remains the Ionic Monument of the Nereids from Xanthus in Lycia; cf. K. Schefold, Gods and Heroes in Late Archaic Greek Art (Cambridge: CUP, 1992) 55–67; cf. generally M.B. Gensheimer, “Greek and Roman Images of Art and Architecture” in The Oxford Handbook of Greek and Roman Art and Architecture (ed. C. Marconi, Oxford: OUP, 2014) 85f.

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is not a concept that the modern reader is able to evaluate easily.32 Nowadays, an aesthetic approach towards war in Greek art tends to have replaced the ancient perception of this phenomenon as an ethical drama.33 It was a sad reality, not only absorbing the gods, but shaped by them.34 Additionally, it is now asserted that if Greek religion was so deeply connected with cruelty, away with such a religion and such deities. As Plato and Christian thinkers once did,35 32  See Lefkowitz, Greek Gods, Human Lives . . ., 6; cf. L. Bruit Zaidman, P. Schmitt Pantel, Religion in the Ancient Greek City (Cambridge: CUP, 1992) 3. 33  On this problem, partly, see A. Pontynen, For the Love of Beauty. Art History and the Moral Foundations of Aesthetic Judgment (New Brunswick NY: Transaction Publishers, 2006). 34  Hesiod already talks about the two types of ‘Strife’ which characterized the agonistic nature of Greek social life (Op. 11–46); good or bad as these two powers may have been, what is certainly not denied in the Hesiodic vision is the fact of the domination of such deities (cf. Theog. 225–232); see M.L. West, Hesiod, Works & Days (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1978) 142–55, and his Hesiod, Theogony (Oxford 1966) 230–32; also H. van Wees, “Rivalry in History: an Introduction” in Competition in the Ancient World (eds. N. Fisher, H. van Wees, Swansea: Classical Press of Wales, 2011) 1f., on competition as ‘driving force’; cf. his ‘ “Stasis, Destroyer of Men”. Mass, Elite, Political Violence and Security in Archaic Greece » in Sécurité collective et ordre public dans les sociétés anciennes (Entretiens Hardt 54; préparés par C. Brélaz et P. Ducrey, Genève: Fondation Hardt, 2008) 1–48 (with discussion); also H. Singor, “War and International Relations” in A Companion to Archaic Greece (eds. K.A. Raaflaub, H. van Wees, Malden, Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2009) 598. 35  This is presupposed even in such exemplary piece as the Thucydidean Melian Dialogue (5.103–105), where it is brutally and cynically stated that the gods always stand on the side of the winners (on this see S. Hornblower, A Commentary on Thucydides III (Oxford, 2008) 241–45). The phenomenon of an obsession with power in Athenian thought had thus much to do with the interpreting of the traditional role of gods as powerful entities; cf. K.A. Raaflaub, “Democracy, Power, and Imperialism in Fifth-Century Athens” in Athenian Political Thought and the Reconstruction of American Democracy, (eds. J.P. Euben, J.R. Wallach, J. Ober, Ithaca, London: Cornell Univ. Press, 1994) 114–26. Here one is usually tempted to interpret Thucydides’ standpoint either as highly ironic, or deeply critical. Be that as it may and regardless of the historian’s personal stanza (I believe his judgment was deeply moral), he does not deny that for the participants in the dialogue themselves (not only for the Melians, obviously, but for the Athenians, too) the role of the gods was decisive. On the contrary: to be sure the Athenian are of course shockingly cynical, as were Critias (Sextus Empiricus, Adv. math. 9.54), Thrasymachus (Pl. Resp. 338c), or Callicles (Pl. Gorg. 483c–484a), but even if so, their cynicism was of a very old provenience: it simply goes to one line of the archaic understanding the gods and to the Iliad (see R. Buxton, “Religion and Myth” in The Cambridge Illustrated History of Ancient Greece (ed. P. Cartledge, Cambridge, 2004) 336. This similarity between the old Homeric and sophistic understanding of the mighty (and thus often abusing their power—hence ‘immoral’) gods explains the later strong reaction (whether justified or not—it is irrelevant here) from Plato; cf. D. Turkeltaub, “Perceiving Iliadic Gods,” HSCP 103 (2007) 51–81; see also a thoughtful paper by H. Lloyd-Jones, “Ancient Greek Religion and Modern Ethics,” Studi

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we too are prone to reject the disturbing idea of the (immoral) gods inspiring, allowing, and wallowing in gore and atrocities.36 And indeed, on this modern, moral ground whose rejection of violence is based also on the awareness of the effects of religious conflicts from early modern Europe, to the horrors of genocide during the WWII, ancient Greek religious ‘beliefs’ and practices, as found in literature and mythology, are often despised as strange, alien and bizarre.37 Be that as it may, this still remains, I suppose, our most troubling experience in engaging with the subject of ‘Greek religion and warfare’. The difficulty is not that warfare was obviously ‘religious’ in its social roots, as is demonstrated by the necessity of performing numerous rituals (this was always taken for granted by modern scholarship),38 or that wars were even sometimes called ‘sacred’,39 although in a quite different way, for example, as the medieval Crusades.40 The quandary appears so intriguing because of the deep conviction and c­ ertainty the Greeks held about the gods’ presence in war. Both actual participants and later observers, philosophers and historians alike, discussed italiani di filologia classica 20 (2002) 8. The same is true of Roman philosopher Lucretius who concluded that religion allows and leads to atrocities (tantum religio potuit suadere malorum: DRN, 1.101), and rejecting thus, e.g. the idea of animal sacrifices. 36  The two books of the Iliad (XX and XXI, narrating theomachy: 20.66: θεῶν ἔριδι) were the most famous instances of deities involved in war. Additionally, as modern scholars point it out, violence was also at the core, as the most Greeks seem to have believed, of religious animal sacrifice, see W. Burkert, “Sacrificial Violence: a Problem in Ancient Religions” in The Oxford Handbooks of Religion and Violence (eds. M. Juergensmeyer, M. Kitts, M. Jerryson, Oxford: OUP, 2013) 437f. There is perhaps some exaggeration in this statement but this blood rite remained undoubtedly important, and it was frequently recorded in Greek art. 37  R. Scruton, The Soul of the World (Princeton: Princeton Univ. Press, 2014) 1, has recently encapsulated the prevailing modern convictions succinctly but acutely: ‘And if faith justifies murder, faith is not an option’. To be fair, however, one must keep in mind that the presence of gods in wars was problematic and contested by the Greeks themselves, and their attitude, in many respects, overlaps with the modern, to remind the reader of Herodotus’ conviction (1.87.3) that Οὐδεὶς γὰρ οὕτω ἀνόητός ἐστι ὅστις πόλεμον πρὸ εἰρήνης αἱρέεται· ἐν μὲν γὰρ τῇ οἱ παῖδες τοὺς πατέρας θάπτουσι, ἐν δὲ τῷ οἱ πατέρες τοὺς παῖδας (cf. also 8.3.1). A particularly suggestive vision of a war as a monster ‘devouring’ warriors is found at Il. 19.313: πολέμου στόμα αἱματόεντος. 38  Cf. Y. Garlan, War in the Ancient World (London: Chatto & Windus, 1975) 18. 39  Cf. J.M. Hall, A History of the Archaic Greek World 1200–479 BCE (Malden, Oxford: Blackwell, 2007) 276f.; V. Parker, A History of Greece 1300–30 BC (Malden, Oxford: WileyBlackwell, 2014) 281. 40  And the conduct of war in medieval times as such: cf. M. Strickland, War and Chivalry. The Conduct and Perception of War in England and Normandy 1066–1217 (Cambridge: CUP, 1996), esp. ch. 3, 55–97.

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plenty of moral problems, dilemmas and essentially unanswerable questions.41 The presence and bellicosity of the deities thus complicated the Greek perception of war itself, insofar as conflicts which gave an opportunity for displaying bravery generated at the same time great moral dilemmas, since men knew that their gods not only permitted but were actively involved in killing (cf. Euripides, Hel. 38–41).42 It is this aspect that makes the experience of the ancient Greeks a most tragic one. The activity and engagement of the gods, who at the same time were regarded as the custodians of divine order and justice (cf., e.g., Il. 16. 384–388)43 in deadly wars were thus contested.44 In what follows I would ­propose to take a closer look at this problem from the point of view of the 41  Cf. generally L.M. Slatkin, “Gods” in The Homer Encyclopedia I (ed. M. Finkelberg, Malden, Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2011) 320. I agree with J.E. Robson who takes Greek myths to be ‘moral stories’ (‘Bestiality and Bestial Rape in Greek Myth’ in: Rape in Antiquity (eds. S. Deacy, K.F. Pierce, London: Duckworth and Classical Press of Wales, 1997) 65; see also H. Fränkel, Early Greek Poetry and Philosophy (Oxford: OUP, 1975) 64–65. 42  Compare the words of the dying Patroclus, see Il. 16.839–849. 43  For the gods representing moral order and justice, see H. Lloyd-Jones (The Justice of Zeus (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1971) ch. 1 and W. Allan (“Divine Justice and Cosmic Order in Early Greek Epic,” JHS 126 (2006) 1–35 who have argued such. This point is raised also by E. Kearns, “Order, Interaction, Authority. Ways of Looking at Greek Religion” in The Greek World (ed. A. Powell, London, New York: Routledge, 1995) 514 (an excellent study); cf. R. Osborne, Greece in the Making 1200–479 BC (London, New York: Routledge, 1996) 141. 44  So, the second part of the famous opinion by A.D. Nock that ‘The Greek attitudes which we have considered are very far from Christianity, very far from Ethical Culture’ (‘Greek Religious Attitudes’ in his Essays II, 548) must be treated only as partially correct. It is a mistake to claim, as Dawson does (Origins of Western Warfare, 53), that the Iliad is ‘the greatest of all literary glorifications of warfare’. As Kurt Raaflaub has proven, the despising of war begins with the Iliad (“Homer and Thucydides on Peace and Just War” in Experiencing War. Trauma and Society from Ancient Greece to the Iraq War (ed. M.B. Cosmopoulos, Chicago: Ares Publishers, 2007) 81f. It was the Iliad that presented war as tragedy and inspired the tragic poets in the fifth century BC (cf. W. Bernard, ‘Homers Ilias. Die “Bibel” der Griechen’ in Troia. Traum und Wirklichkeit (eds. B. TheuneGroßsskopf et al., Stuttgart: Archäologisches Landesmuseum Baden-Württemberg, 2001) 100. H. van Wees, ‘War and Peace in Ancient Greece’ in War, Peace and World Orders in European History (eds. A.V. Hartmann, B. Heuser, London, New York: Routledge, 2001) 39, reminds that in Greek culture there is no glorifying war as such; the same is argued by S. Hornblower, ‘Warfare in Ancient Literature: the Paradox of War’ in The Cambridge History of Greek and Roman Warfare I (eds. P. Sabin, H. van Wees, M. Whitby, Cambridge: CUP, 2007) 22–53. The ambiguous status of the Iliad was pointed out well by Simone Weil in her famous essay ‘The “Iliad”, Poem of Might’ in her Intimations of Christianity among the Ancient Greeks (London, New York: Routledge, 1998) 24–55; see especially C. Macleod,

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v­ ictims of war, those who failed to win. How did the Greeks regard them and how did they explain their failure? What was the role of divine force in their downfall? Alcyoneus was a Giant, a monster whose fault, for which he could never be forgiven, was that he stood on ‘bad’ side’. In other words he was a rebel against the Olympians who represented cosmic justice.45 Yet, first and foremost, he was also a loser whose fate was to be killed, which fact makes an interesting point d’appui—what about men who have became the vanquished party in war or battle?46 Here lies one of the most interesting moral issues which I perceive to be so important to the ancient thinkers, poets and historians: the cause of those who have been deceived and left by the gods. I consider these questions became a source of anxiety and disturbance for the Greeks, and that their comprehension of them was far from being satisfactory. Humanity remained with open questions, without any clear answers. These and like perplexities stand behind many descriptions of war which contain worrisome, ‘controversial’, yet profoundly ethical issues of the gods’ sense of justice.47 It was often assumed by ancient Greek thinkers, and by many their modern followers, that the winners were (always) right, so victories usually led to the conviction that the gods must have taken the side of those who had won, as divine force had simply helped the victors to gain success.48 This was indeed the reason for making sacrifices and taking other appropriate steps in order to

Homer, Iliad Book XXIV (Cambridge: CUP, 1982) 1–8; and J.M. Redfield, “Warfare and the Hero in the Classical World,” Laetaberis 3 (1984) 4. 45  Schefold, Gods . . ., 153. 46  Generally, the fate of captives was miserable, as they remained at the victor’s disposal and mercy; cf. P. Ducrey, Warfare in Ancient Greece (New York: Scholten Books, 1986) 233–252; see H. van Wees, “Defeat and Destruction: the Ethics of Greek Warfare” in “Böser Krieg”. Exzessive Gewalt in der antiken Kriegsführung und Strategien zu deren Vermeidung (eds. M. Linder, S. Tausend, Graz: Grazer Universitätsverlag, 2011) 69–110; also A. Gat, War in Human Civilization (Oxford: CUP, 2006) 215. 47  Recently C. Dewald, “Justice and Justifications: War Theory among the Ancient Greeks” in Just War in Religion and Politics. Studies in Religion and Social Order (eds. J. Neusner, B.D. Chilton, R.E. Tully, Lanham MD: University Press of America, 2013) 28f., asks whether the Greeks had an idea resembling the later concept of ‘just war’ (discussed openly later by St. Augustine). Her answer is: no. 48  So in Xenophon’s Anabasis, 1.8.16, the watchword of the Greek mercenaries before the battle of Cunaxa was Ζεὺς σωτὴρ καὶ νίκη (‘Zeus Saviour and Victory’. In the Cyropaedia, 3.3.21, gods are even called parastatai, they stand abreast in the same battle line (an idea found, of course, in Homer); cf. N. Sekunda, Greek Hoplite 480–323 BC (Oxford: Osprey, 2000) 21.

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keep the gods as allies.49 But the dilemma does not seem to be so straight, as seems at first glance.50 Let us take a closer look at the most troubling instance. It is mythical and representative, but it retained its value as a paradigmatic case. It defined for centuries the way in which the Greeks interpreted the sense of human existence and fate.

Hector’s Perspective

The importance of the iconic Attalid frieze is also significant as it provides a visualization of what an earlier, equally famous, and, let us say, archetypal war story tells. For the ancient Greeks such story was—first and foremost—the Homeric Iliad.51 The war praised by the poet was fought out by the Achaeans and the Trojans, but with the substantial participation and direct intervention of the gods, vividly engaged in a human conflict. In this sense the Iliad was a religious text.52 When reading the poem an irrefutable impression arises that the gods’ activity in that great deadly match is overwhelming, and decisive for the course of the whole action.53 It is the gods who, in fact, decide the fate of the Trojan war, whereas men seem to have been shown as puppets whose fortunes, triumphs or miseries, victories or failures, are determined by the will, prejudices, or caprices (principally envy, but indifference occasionally) of the mighty, divine powers.54 This is worth bearing in mind, especially if r­ emember 49  In this context we are reminded of Pericles’ statement in Plutarch’s Life of Pericles, 8.6: he was to have said that to be sure the gods were invisible but their presence may have been inferred from the blessings they give to the men. One of such blessings were military victories; see Lonis, Guerre . . ., 265f. 50  As Euripides’ Hecube and Andromache, to take the most spectacular examples, prove. It also Euripides who was the author of the memorable sentence: ‘If gods do anything base, they are not gods’ (fr. 286b. 7 Kannicht; translation by Parker, On Greek Religion . . ., 34); see H. Lloyd-Jones, “Honour and Shame in Ancient Greek Culture” in his Greek Comedy, Hellenistic Literature, Greek Religion, and Miscellanea. Academic Papers (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1990) 256. 51  See E. Kearns, “The Gods in the Homeric Epics” in The Cambridge Companion to Homer (ed. R.L. Fowler, Cambridge: CUP, 2004) 59f. 52  Lefkowitz, Greek Gods., 53f. The same was stated by E.R. Dodds, The Greeks and the Irrational (Berkeley, Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1951) 2. 53  Lloyd-Jones, Justice of Zeus . . ., ch. 1; cf. R. Rutherford, Homer (Greece & Rome New Surveys in Classics 26, Oxford, 1996) 44. 54  For example: Il. 12.396–401; 13. 1–2; 13.59–61; 13.434–435; 13.90f. (Poseidon’s appeal to continue battle); 13.128; 13.232–239; 14.147f.; 15.56–77 (a rhetorical prolepsis: Zeus decides about and predicts the course of the whole war); 15.467–470; 15.604–614 (another

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Herodotus’ famous statement that it was Homer, together with Hesiod, who gave to the Greeks the names of gods (2.53),55 and that a deity is jealous (1.32.1; 7.46.4).56 Here the gods’ engagement in human affairs on the battlefield is particularly pertinent when we take into the consideration one conspicuous example, worth remembering in this context. It concerns the two main heroes of the Iliad, Achilles and Hector, when fighting their last deadly duel.57 At the moment, when Achilles is triumphantly about to slay Hector, he observes something strange, namely that it will be not him who is actually taking the Trojan hero’s life, but the valiant daughter of Zeus. It will be Pallas Athena, as he argues, who with the hero’s spear will kill Hector (Il. 22.270–271: οὔ τοι ἔτ’ ἔσθ’ ὑπάλυξις, ἄφαρ δέ σε Παλλὰς Ἀθήνη ἔγχει ἐμῷ δαμάᾳ; ‘No more is there any escape for thee, but forthwith shall Pallas Athene lay thee low by my spear’; tr. A.T. Murray, Loeb; cf. also 15.613–614: ἤδη γάρ οἱ ἐπόρνυε μόρσιμον ἦμαρ / Παλλὰς Ἀθηναίη ὑπὸ Πηλεΐδαο βίηφιν). Nicholas Richardson in his remarks on the passage quotes the words of another distinguished scholar, Professor Malcolm Willcock, who called it ‘the most extreme case of divine assistance to a warrior in the Iliad’.58 Yes, truly stated and well said. In the Homeric poem this female deity is shown to be not only a divine patron of the deadly match, but someone who actively participates in the murderous game on the banks of the Scamander.59 When reading the Iliad one cannot avoid an obtrusive ­impression that, in fact, the mighty figure of Athena dominates the Trojan prolepsis on Hector’s fate); 16.119–121 (on Aias); 16.249–252; 16.525; 16.646–647 and 655; 16.684–691; 16.686–791; 17.81; 17.97–104; 17.175–177 (Hector’s really horrific reflection— given Zeus’ statement at 17.201–208); 17.446–447; 17.544–552; 17.567–573; 18.117–119; 18.311 (the Trojans are ‘fools’, as they follow Hector’s unwise advice to fight); 18.328; 19.86– 145 (a tale on Ate (Delusion) beguiling humans and gods); 19.408–410; 20.296 (Poseidon on Aeneas); 20.325; 21.215 (on Achilles); 21.284–286; 21.595–596 (Apollo saves Agenor); 22.209–247 (Zeus puts the fates of the two warriors on scales, and Athena deceives Hector). See R. Janko, The Iliad: a Commentary. Volume IV: Books 13–16 (Cambridge: CUP, 1995) 1–7. 55  Cf. G. Murray, Five Stages of Greek Religion (London: Kessinger Publishing, 1935) 44. 56  See L.A. Tritle, “Laughing for Joy”: War and Peace among the Greeks” in War and Peace in the Ancient World (ed. K.A. Raaflaub, Oxford: Blackwell, 2007) 185; cf. K.J. Dover, Greek Popular Morality in the Time of Plato and Aristotle (Oxford: Blackwell, 1974) 77–78. 57  For the first time they have meet earlier; Il. 20. 419–454. See recently P.J. Ahrensdorf, Homer on the Gods and Human Virtue. Creating the Foundations of Classical Civilization (Cambridge: CUP, 2014) 73–133. 58  N. Richardson, The Iliad: a Commentary. Volume VI: Books 21–24 (Cambridge: CUP, 1996) 134; see M.M. Willcock, The Iliad of Homer (London: St. Martin’s Press, 1984) 295. 59   Cf. R. Parker, “Athena” in The Oxford Classical Dictionary. Fourth Edition (eds. S. Hornblower, A. Spawforth, E. Eidinow, Oxford: OUP, 2012) 194.

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plain.60 It is certainly true that under the sobriquet Πρόμαχος,61 ever since the fifth century a Phidian image in the imagination of the majority of the Greeks, she is ubiquitous, she leads the action, she is warmonger (Il. 5.872–887; 22.394– 399),62 she takes personal care of the (favoured) warriors.63 In other words, her role as a ‘mistress’ of war,64 is quite similar to that pictured on the Pergamene frieze.65 As a result, if one turns one’s attention to her victims, one comes to realize that the position and fate of the sculpted monster, and warrior hero of the poem, were by no means different. Their lot was to the same extent miserable and deplorable. Like Alcyoneus, Hector is shown exactly at the moment of facing his death,66 and it is the figure of the bellicose, sinister and merciless

60  As was observed by Jane Ellen Harrison, Introductory Studies in Greek Art (London: T.F. Unwin, 1885) 301–302; see especially S. Woodford, The Trojan War in Ancient Art (Ithaca: Cornell Univ. Press, 1998). 61  Cf. Demosthenes, 19. 272; on her famous statue by Phidias cf. now C.C. Davison, Pheidias. The Sculptures & Ancient Sources I (BICS Suppl. 105; London: Institute of Classical Studies, 2009) ch. 8 [‘Athena Promachos’]) 277–296. Also as Parthenos, she was imagined by Phidias in military entourage, carrying Winged Victory; cf. N. Spivey, M. Squire’s lavishly illustrated Panorama of the Classical World (London: Thames & Hudson, 2004) 79; see T.H. Carpenter, Art and Myth in Ancient Greece (London: Thames & Hudson, 2002) 46. 62  Cf. W.F. Otto, Die Götter Griechenlands. Das Bild des Göttlichen im Spiegel des griechischen Geistes (Frankfurt am Main: Verlag Klostermann, 2002) 57. 63  E.g. in the Odyssey, 13.296–299, but she refuses to help the Trojan women (Il. 6.309–311) and deceives Ajax (Sophocles, Ajax, 92); cf. S. Deacy, “Athena and Ares: War, Violence, and Warlike Deities” in War and Violence . . ., 185–98; also her Athena (Milton Park, New York: Routledge, 2007) 57f.; generally H. van Wees, Status Warriors. War, Violence and Society in Homer and History (Amsterdam: Gieben, 1992) 142f. 64  Cf. A. Villing, “Athena as Ergane and Promachos: the Iconography of Athena in Archaic East Greece” in Archaic Greece. New Approaches and New Evidence (eds. N. Fisher, H. van Wees, London: Duckworth and Classical Press of Wales, 1998) 147–68. A. Chaniotis quotes a Hellenistic inscription from Pergamon (I. Pergamon, 14), where an unnamed soldier expresses a deep conviction to have been saved by Athena (War in the Hellenistic World. A Social History (Malden, Oxford: Blackwell, 2005) 143. 65  B. Graziosi, The Gods of Olympus. A History (New York: Metropolitan Books, 2014) 10, suggests that with regard to war there was a difference in perceiving the roles of Athena and Ares; the former ‘favors tactics and discipline, having none of the mad, murderous rage of Ares’; also J.-P. Durand, “The Powers of War: Ares and Athena in Greek Mythology” in Greek and Egyptian Mythologies (ed. Y. Bonnefoy, Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1981) 114. 66  On this see especially J. Redfield, Nature and Culture in the Iliad. The Tragedy of Hector (Durham, London: Duke University Press, 1994) 69–98.

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warrior-goddess who cuts off the threads of their lives.67 The Homeric Hymn to her (11: Εἰς Ἀθηνᾶν), testifies eloquently to her destructive power: δεινήν, ᾗ σὺν Ἄρηϊ μέλει πολεμήϊα ἔργα περθόμεναί τε πόληες ἀϋτή τε πτόλεμοί τε, καί τ’ ἐρρύσατο λαὸν ἰόντα τε νισόμενόν τε. Χαῖρε θεά, δὸς δ’ ἄμμι τύχην εὐδαιμονίην τε (‘Dread is she, and with Ares she loves the deeds of war, the sack of cities and the shouting and the battle. It is she who saves the people as they go to war and come back. Hail, goddess, and give us good fortune and happiness!’).68 This truth appears even more evident in the episode with Hector which is narrated from his perspective. As he throws his javelin which misses Achilles, at the same moment Hector realizes that the gods have no favor for him yet (cf. also Il. 5.193—on Pandarus; and 15.461—on Teucrus). This is a really tragic moment as he is suspecting and afraid that he has been left without any divine support and must die. An earlier commentary upon this case may be found in the end of Book IV, 539–542, where one acknowledges that ‘Then could no man any more enter into the battle and make light thereof, whoso still 67  The inevitability of death is what differentiates humans from gods (henceforth ‘mortals’, θνητοί. thnetoi—a synonym for men, in, e.g., Homer, Od. 5.213; 19.593; Hes. Op. 108; Theog. 967; Hdt. 1.216; 2.68; 8.98; E. HF, 451; Bacch. 395); cf. B. Graziosi & J. Haubold, Homer: The Resonance of Epic (London, New York: Bloomsbury Academic, 2005) 132; cf. B.S. Strauss, The Trojan War. A New History (New York: Simon & Schuster, 2006) 85f. and 117f. H. van Wees apparently undermines the importance of the gods for the Greeks as recorded in the Iliad, pointing out that the fighters ‘rely much less on the supernatural than one might have expected’ (“Heroes, Knights and Nutters. Warrior Mentality in Homer” in Battle in Antiquity (ed. A.B. Lloyd, London: Classical Press of Wales, 1996) 11–12); but cf. A.W.H. Adkins, ‘Homeric Ethics” in A New Companion to Homer (eds. I. Morris, B. Powell, Leiden, New York, Köln: Brill, 1997) 709; see Rutherford, Homer . . ., 44. 68  Tr. H.G. Evelyn-White (Loeb). And the same is true in the case of the Homeric Hymn to Ares (8: Εἰς Ἄρεα), although the difficulties with its precise dating are notorious. Let us call the attention to two epithets which potentially are contradictory: the Lord of War is the father of Nike (Νίκης εὐπολέμοιο πάτερ) and an ally of Themis (συναρωγὲ Θέμιστος). The hymn in itself is a fine example of contradictory expectations: to be sure Ares is addressed with a tremendous piety but his craft is of course not highly valued, as the last prayer shows: rather, the god of war is expected to be a guarantee of peace and quiet life which clearly indicates Greek fear of war. Accordingly, Ares was not especially and widely worshipped by the Greeks, so Zeus openly hates this child for his favoring carnage and gore (Il. 5.890–891; see also Hes. Op. 145–146: Ἄρηος / ἔργ’ ἔμελε στονόεντα καὶ ὕβριες; cf. Apollonius Rhodius, Arg. 2.989: ὕβρις στονόεσσα καὶ Ἄρεος ἔργα); see W. Burkert, Greek Religion (Cambridge Mass.: Harvard Univ. Press, 1998) 169; cf. L. Rawlings, The Ancient Greeks at War (Manchester, New York: Manchester University Press, 2007) 177–180, and J. Brouwers, Henchmen of Ares. Warriors and Warfare in Early Greece (Rotterdam: Karwansaray, 2012) 142.

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unwounded by missile or by thrust of sharp bronze, might move throughout the midst, being led of Pallas Athene by the hand, and by her guarded from the onrush of missiles’ (Ἔνθά κεν οὐκέτι ἔργον ἀνὴρ ὀνόσαιτο μετελθών,ὅς τις ἔτ’ ἄβλητος καὶ ἀνούτατος ὀξέϊ χαλκῷ δινεύοι κατὰ μέσσον, ἄγοι δέ ἑ Παλλὰς Ἀθήνη χειρὸς ἑλοῦσ’, αὐτὰρ βελέων ἀπερύκοι ἐρωήν).69 So, here one has a clear indication of why Hector’s efforts failed entirely. Although he was, as Odysseus was also, the dearest to the gods, as he always sacrificed to them (Il. 24.33–34), this proved to be of little account. This impression of sense of tragedy is strengthened by the fact that it was Apollo himself, a god who accuses other deities of lack of empathy for the hero. Behind all this the vengeful goddess stands. It is she who has decided of Hector (Il. 15.612–614: μινυνθάδιος γὰρ ἔμελλεν / ἔσσεσθ’· ἤδη γάρ οἱ ἐπόρνυε μόρσιμον ἦμαρ / Παλλὰς Ἀθηναίη ὑπὸ Πηλεΐδαο βίηφιν).70 Of course, Hector made a fatal, ‘human’ error (as he himself realizes: 22.99–100), when he rejected Polydamas’ proposition to withdraw behind the walls of Troy. Similarly, Patroclus refused the wise advice of Achilles (16.46). But then it was knowledge privy to the reader/ listener, not available to the hero. Now it is too late, as Hector realizes that any surrender to Achilles will not assuage the anger of the Achaean raging bull (Il. 21.214–215; 21.220; 22.10; 22.40–41), who will show no mercy to his family and whole Troy, as Priam misleadingly hoped (22.56–57). 69  Regarding this aspect B. Graziosi, “Introduction” in Homer, the Iliad (tr. A. Verity, Oxford: OUP, 2011) XVI–XVII, observes that: ‘Divine inspiration, then, is not just a matter of conventional inspirations to the Muses: it tells us something crucial about how the poet views the things’. Hector’s tragedy is anticipated by his triumph over the dying Patroclus (16.818–842). Here Hector shows his arrogant pride (aiming also at defiling his adversary’s corpse: 17.125–126), as earlier Patroclus showed it having killed Cebriones (16.745–750), and Achilles will later show to the dying Hector (22.331–336); on this see K.A. Raaflaub, “Father of All, Destroyer of All: War in the Late Fifth-Century Athenian Discourse and Ideology” in War and Democracy. A Comparative Study of the Korean War and the Peloponnesian War (eds. D. McCann, B.S. Strauss, Armonk, London: M.E. Sharpe, 2001) 328. 70  Here an old dilemma appears: had the Homeric heroes a free will to decide about their own fate, or was the whole course of the action decided, as it seems, by fate, or the gods (cf. Il. 16.688). Such is the case with Sarpedon (16.441), then Patroclus (cf. 644–651), or Pandarus (5.115–121). Opinions vary, answers differ. Many scholars pointed out the decisive role of the gods, but others—of men, see W. Kullmann, ‘Gods and Men in the Iliad and Odyssey,’ HSCP 89 (1985) 15, who emphasized human independence in making decisions; so did Lloyd-Jones, Justice of Zeus . . ., 10. But see Il. 16.684–691 (again, the case of Patroclus: Homer does not deny an autonomy of the warrior’s decision to fight but adds that, notably, that it was Zeus who put in him ‘fury in the breast’).

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Hector’s perspective on his own fate remains paradigmatic as the Homeric narrator enables us, not for the first time it is true, to see the events through the eyes of man and god. First, we have the report of what Zeus had done. He ‘lifted on high his golden scales, and set therein two fates of grievous death (δύο κῆρε τανηλεγέος θανάτοι), one for Achilles and one for horse taming Hector; then he grasped the balance by the midst and raised it; and down sank the day of doom of Hector, and departed to unto Hades; and Phoebus Apollo left him’ (22.209–213). Accordingly, the total loneliness of the Trojan hero is emphasized by the action undertaken at once by Athena who simply cheats Hector by words (κερδοσύνῃ),71 and urges him to stand up and face Achilles. This is the peak of the tragic irony, for Hector, unconscious of the divine fraud, recovers hope. But when his spears do not hurt Achilles, an understanding of his own awaiting doom comes quickly: όποι ἦ μάλα δή με θεοὶ θάνατον δὲ κάλεσσαν (22.297).72 The whole passage is thus a realization of the objections and fears Hector had addressed to Glaucus previously (17.175–178). It was not the vision of coming to the grips with the Achaeans which terrified him so enormously but the unpredictability, and capriciousness of the deity: οὔ τοι ἐγὼν ἔρριγα μάχην οὐδὲ κτύπον ἵππων· ἀλλ’ αἰεί τε Διὸς κρείσσων νόος αἰγιόχοιο, ὅς τε καὶ ἄλκιμον ἄνδρα φοβεῖ καὶ ἀφείλετο νίκην ῥηϊδίως, ὁτὲ δ’ αὐτὸς ἐποτρύνει μαχέσασθαι. If any, these words fully deserve to be counted among the truly tragic in two ways. Firstly, it evidences the weighty nature of human constraints, and secondly, the vanity and ephemeral nature of human endeavor, even if they were heroic accomplishments. It was Professor Rutherford who once paid attention to the Odyssey as a philosophical poem. Perhaps the same is even nearer to truth when one is dealing with the Iliad which was treated by the Greeks as a ‘Bible’. Hector’s case reveals at least one basic fact the ancient Greeks knew about the pessimistic realities of their own religion and gods. It was a very hard world whose peculiarities often had nothing to do with any expectations and ideas men possessed about their deities.73 71  See the classic treatment by M. Detienne, J.-P. Vernant. Cunning Intelligence in Greek Culture and Society (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1991); cf. B. Louden, “The Gods in Epic, or the Divine Economy” in A Companion to Ancient Epic (ed. J.M. Foley, Malden, Oxford: Blackwell, 2005) 95–96. 72  Cf. Hector’s last reflections: 22.298–304. R.B. Rutherford, “The Philosophy of the Odyssey,” JHS 106 (1986) 145–162. 73  I think the same is true with the tragedy of Nicias, whose fate carries some Homeric tones—perhaps not accidentally. This time the pupil of gods became a pious and good man but much less successful commander whose army failed to win Syracuse—a notorious military failure of the Athenian army for which Nicias paid with his life: he was killed

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Envoi: Simonides’ Enigma

There is preserved a meaningful story, repeated by Cicero in his De natura deorum, 1.22.60. For anyone studying the problem of the Hellenic gods it remains exceptionally important, if not crucial. Its importance—that’s a paradox, indeed, but perhaps lesser than it might seem—lies of course in the confession of ignorance on the title matter.74 The story runs that Simonides, a famous poet and sage, was once asked by the tyrant Hiero what a deity is. He delayed his answer for several days, concluding that the more he considers the issue, the more the answer becomes unclear and difficult to address adequately.75 by the Spartans on the instigation of some Syracusans. Both the historian Thucydides (who was a very careful reader of the Homeric Iliad) and a later reader of Thucydides’ work, the biographer Plutarch, saw in Nicias’ life a peripatheia, a true drama, an ethical problem and thus—a dark, inexplicable riddle. They simply question why did this politician deserve such unjustified fate. Such curiosity lies behind Thucydides’ vivid account of the Sicilian expedition in Book VII. It is also clear that it constituted the core of Plutarch’s vita of Nicias (see esp. chapters 1, 4, 6, 11 and 26 of his biography), comparing him with the Roman Crassus. In both pieces a very sharp contrast between a man’s good character and his exceptional piety, even if it was sometimes close to the symptoms known from Theophrastus’ portrait of the ‘Superstitious Man’: Char. 16) is made (cf. W.D. Furley, “Thucydides and Religion” in Brill’s Companion to Thucydides (eds. A. Rengakos, A. Tsamakis, Leiden: Brill, 2006) 415–438. Nicias’ cruel end must have been felt vigorously and generated, again, in many observers questions which were most pivotal, those concerning human destiny, justice of the divine force, and the logic according to which such divine force operates, if at all. This was certainly the particularly distressing, if not frustrating case when considering the role of the divine, or the lack of any divine guidance. Such helplessness in obtaining any knowledge at all, interpreted by some scholars as a proof of a cool religious attitude held by Thucydides—a thinker of the sophistic Aufklärung, is seen in the historian’s notorious posthumous judgment of Nicias (7.88; cf. Hornblower, Comm. on Thuc. III . . ., 741–43). 74  On the difficulties of understanding the nature of the Greek gods cf. Burkert, Greek Religion . . ., 216f.; see also Gould, “On Making Sense . . ., 7f.; cf. the essays in What Is a God? Studies in the Nature of Greek Divinity (ed. A.B. Lloyd, London, Swansea: Classical Press of Wales, 1997; also P. Cartledge, “Putting the Greek Gods in Their Places,” American International History Review 18 (1996) 106, and Ch.W. Hedrick Jr., ‘Religion and Society in Classical Greece’ in A Companion to Greek Religion (ed. D. Ogden, Malden, Oxford: WileyBlackwell, 2007) 283f. 75   Nec ego nunc ipse aliquid adferam melius. Ut enim modo dixi, omnibus fere in rebus, sed maxime in physicis, quid non sit, citius, quam quid sit, dixerim. Roges me, quid aut quale sit deus: auctore utar Simonide, de quo cum quaesivisset hoc idem tyrannus Hiero, deliberandi sibi unum diem postulavit; cum idem ex eo postridie quaereret, biduum petivit; cum saepius duplicaret numerum dierum admiransque Hiero requireret, cur ita faceret, “Quia, quanto

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The anecdote looks familiar, as it corresponds to the sentiments expressed occasionally by other Greek intellectuals: to name two of the most famous, Xenophanes of Colophon and Protagoras of Abdera. The former is held to have said that no one could ever know of the nature of the gods (Diels & Kranz, FVS 21, B34),76 a conviction which was connected with his criticism of the Homeric imagination of the gods.77 The latter confessed his famous agnostic stance by assessing that he has no sure knowledge whether the gods exist or not, or how they look like (Diels & Kranz, FVS 80, B4; Cicero, De nat. deor. 1.12.29; 1.42.117).78 Not different in tone is the sentiment expressed by Semonides of Amorgos (Fr.1 Bergk): ὦ παῖ, τέλος μὲν Ζεὺς ἔχει βαρύκτυπος πάντων ὅσ’ ἐστὶ καὶ τίθησ’ ὅκηι θέλει, νοῦς δ’ οὐκ ἐπ’ ἀνθρώποισιν, ἀλλ’ ἐπήμεροι ἃ δὴ βοτὰ ζόουσιν, οὐδὲν εἰδότες ὅκως ἕκαστον ἐκτελευτήσει θεός Surprisingly, these and like remarks, widely known,79 are also relevant to modern scholarly uncertainty, but of another kind: for example, where was the term theos taken from?80 In consequence, given that, nonetheless, the world was for the Greeks ‘full of the gods’, as Thales was to have said (πάντα πλήρη θεῶν εἶναι πάντα πλήρη diutius considero,” inquit “tanto mihi spes videtur obscurior; see Buxton, Imaginary Greece, 145f.; cf. M. Clark, Exploring Greek Myth (Malden, Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2012) 16. 76  οὐδέ τις ἔσται εἰδὼς ἀμφὶ θεῶν (‘nor will there ever be a man who knows about the gods’ (tr. K. Freeman, Ancilla to the Pre-Socratic Philosophers (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard Univ. Press, 1948), 20; cf. Kearns, ‘Order, Interaction, Authority’, 511; also J.-P. Vernant, “Mortals and Immortals: the Body of the Divine” in his Mortals and Immortals (ed. F.I. Zeitlin, Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1992) 27; cf. B. Snell, Die Entdeckung des Geistes. Studien zur Entstehung des europäischen Denken bei den Griechen (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1975) 131. 77  See W. Burkert, “Homer’s Anthropomorphism: Narrative and Ritual” in New Perspectives in Early Greek Art (ed. D. Buitron-Oliver, Washinghton: National Gallery of Art, 1991) 81–91. 78  Cf. E. Kearns, “Religious Practice and Belief” in A Companion to the Classical Greek World (ed. K.H. Kinzl, Malden, Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2006) 311f. 79  S.C. Humphreys, The Strangeness of Gods. Historical Perspectives on the Interpretation of Athenian Religion (Oxford: CUP, 2004) 54; see J. Strauss Clay, The Wrath of Athena. Gods and Men in the Odyssey (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1983) 17–18. 80  As W. Burkert, “From Epiphany to Cult Statues: Early Greek Theos” in What Is a God? . . ., 15f.; Bremmer, Greek Religion . . ., 11.

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θεῶν εἶναι),81 it must be added that human encounter with a deity was always a highly terrifying experience. In the Iliad, 20.131, Hera expresses a somewhat memorable credo: χαλεποὶ δὲ θεοὶ φαίνεσθαι ἐναργεῖς ‘hard are the gods to look upon when they appear in manifest presence’, a conviction which has been repeated in the Odyssey, 7.201 and 16.161.82 These statements may be regarded as a generalization which expresses the common experience of the ancient Greeks.83 But the Homeric observation particularly fits the military sphere, which may be interpreted as an extreme situation, in which one not only meets god(s), but realizes at the same time that his or her life may be actually at stake.84 As war was ‘king of all and father of all’ (Heraclitus’ notorious dictum: Diels & Kranz, FVS 22, B53),85 and a ‘teacher of violence’ (Thuc. 3.82.2),86 the problem of the gods’ eager participation in the killing, and by the same in its legitimization, must have been, in result, exceptionally acute. Usually, the winners were seen to have enjoyed the sympathy of the gods. Victory itself, it was commonly believed, was the evidence for this. Yet if one examines the case of the deities’ participation in conflict, given their capricious sympathies and antipathies, their active role led also to profoundly troublesome considerations, especially if analyzed with a regard to the victims of war (prisoners, the fallen, and suchlike), who had not always stood on the ‘bad’ side.87 It was often 81  Diels & Kranz, FVS II, 11A, fr. 22 (Aristotle, De anima, 411a 7); cf. Hes. Op. 250, quoted by Clement of Alexandria in his Exhortation to the Greeks (Protr. 2.41.1–2). 82  Cf. the notes in the relevant volumes of A Commentary on Homer’s Odyssey, Oxford. 83  Even Lucian’s highly combative and ironic attitude towards traditional religious beliefs and rituals (with animal sacrifice at the head) proves exactly the contrary: their constant validity and application in Graeco-Roman societies. 84  So Apollo says of Achilles that ‘he shall have dread hereafter when some god shall come against him in battle (Il. 20.129–131). 85  Πόλεμος πάντων μὲν πατήρ ἐστι, πάντων δὲ βασιλεύς, καὶ τοὺς μὲν θεοὺς ἔδειξε τοὺς δὲ ἀνθρώπους, τοὺς μὲν δούλους ἐποίησε τοὺς δὲ ἐλευθέρους (eds. H. Diels, W. Kranz, Die Fragmente der Vorsokratiker I (Berlin: Weidmann, 1951); cf. K.A. Raaflaub, “War and the City: The Brutality of War and Its Impact on the Community” in Combat Trauma and the Ancient Greeks (eds. P. Meineck, D. Konstan, New York: Palgrave and Macmillan, 2014) 15. See the commentary by W.K.Ch. Guthrie, A History of Greek Philosophy I (Cambridge: CUP, 1962) 446–49. 86  ὁ δὲ πόλεμος ὑφελὼν τὴν εὐπορίαν τοῦ καθ’ ἡμέραν βίαιος διδάσκαλος; with S. Hornblower’s note: A Commentary on Thucydides I (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1991) 482; see A.W. Gomme, A Historical Commentary on Thucydides II (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1956) 373–74. 87  This is also Sarpedon’s tragic bad luck (16.433–457), esp. 441: ἄνδρα θνητὸν ἐόντα πάλαι πεπρωμένον αἴσῃ; see J.M. Cook, The Greeks in Ionia and the East (London: Thames & Hudson, 1962) 41.

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a subject of reflection that those who died on battlefield lost their life only for this reason—that the gods so decided.88 From this point of view Hector’s Trojan and Nicias’ Sicilian failures are especially memorable, let us say, paradigmatic cases. We may close these remarks with the words Hector addresses to Andromache (Il. 6.488–490) that no one can avoid his fate—regardless of being humble or noble (μοῖραν δ’ οὔ τινά φημι πεφυγμένον ἔμμεναι ἀνδρῶν, οὐ κακὸν οὐδὲ μὲν ἐσθλόν, ἐπὴν τὰ πρῶτα γένηται) which supports Professor Taplin’s opinion that the Iliad ‘is not evidently a story of right and wrong; it tells of a world in which all suffer, and where the suffering is not apportioned by deserving’.89 This statement rings as really tragic, and it perfectly summarizes a message that the Iliad contains. From it there follows that in war there was no exception to who was killed, no rule remained valid. Above all, it emphasized a realization that is not particularly reassuring: of the capriciousness and indifference of godhead. Even if humans were fully conscious of this fact, it by no means minimized their profound feeling of sorrow, conversely—it deepened it more. Undoubtedly, such a sense of sorrow pervades the whole Iliad, and in this respect Professor Lateiner is quite right calling the poem ‘a n ­ arrative

88  Again, it must be remembered that in the Iliad (at least) this did not mean to blame or accuse the gods for all the carnages that always follow on from war (so, in the Odyssey, 1.32–44, Zeus famously and explicitly concedes that it is men themselves who are responsible for the miseries that have fallen upon them, yet they still prefer to accuse the divine). Rather, it should be taken to mean an expression of what remained for man inexplicable and inacceptable. It meant asking, first of all, then, sometimes, in later literature, contesting (see n. 47, above). S. Pulleyn, Prayer in Greek Religion (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1997) 196–197 quotes Il. 13.631ff. as an example of a critical apostrophe to the god. But, given that such feelings were expressed in religious language and by the recalling of the gods, remains valid, for it indicates that they cannot be used as an argument in proving that the Greeks ‘invented’ their deities; cf. Lloyd-Jones, Justice of Zeus . . ., 10. 89  “The Spring of the Muses: Homer and Related Poetry” in Literature in the Greek and Roman Worlds. A New Perspective (ed. O. Taplin, Oxford: OUP, 2000) 25. But this statement is true as far as the poet’s interest lies apparently in suffering as such: specifically one may say of Homer’s philanthropia and compassion; see esp. 13.343–344: μάλα κεν θρασυκάρδιος εἴη / ὃς τότε γηθήσειεν ἰδὼν πόνον οὐδ’ ἀκάχοιτο; 22.437–515: Andromache’s despair after the death of her husband; see Od. 8.81–82), rather than highlighting, or looking obsessively, at any price, at who was the guilty party in war (cf. n. 95, below). Homer was thus concerned with the effects of war on men’s ethos, their disastrous, tragic consequences, but this is not to say that his heroes did not retain their own ethos or arete, which they regarded worth fighting and dying for: tragedy results from these emotions too; see R.B. Rutherford, ‘Tragic Form and Feeling in the Iliad,’ JHS 102 (1982) 152f.

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of and meditation on death’.90 In the context of our subject, one may add, also, that the consciousness and proximity of death in war were all the more terrific, the more one realized that gods played a major, indeed decisive, role in it (cf. esp. Il. 5.405–409; 16.433–45791). In the gloomy realities of war, that ‘march of folly’,92 the dilemma connected with the gods’ engagement in gore and savagery must have appeared far more challenging and disquieting, carrying an overwhelming ‘message’ of human helplessness:93 it is this just this helplessness which the Iliad is also about—the suffering of the heroes, their pain and lack of the knowledge of their fate, they become in this way their listeners.94 From there it follows that heroism brought little or no happiness, except one thing which remained worth dying for: fame. However, as Colin Macleod has perceptively written of the epic’s heroes,95 ‘in seeking glory, they always face death’.96 Lust for fame appears thus to be a substitute only, a vain effort. The path the heroes ascend step by step is a path of no return.97 The ghost of Achilles realizes this bitter and poignant truth in Hades and transmits it to the visiting Odysseus (Od. 11.488–491), and his pungent confession remains, perhaps, the most emphatic, yet frightening commentary on

90  In an excellent chapter “The Iliad: an Unpredictable Classic” in Cambridge Companion to Homer . . ., 11. One is reminded that the same point was observed of Alexander the Great by the Emperor Marcus Aurelius in his Meditations, 3.3. 91  The conversation between Zeus and Hera is paradigmatic. Especially shocking ring Hera’s advice and her claim (450–451) that if Sarpedon is dear to Zeus, the father of gods should let him die; cf. van Wees, Status Warriors . . ., 145. 92  The title of the famous 1984 study by B.W. Tuchman, although she used it to characterize the decision of the Trojan defenders to introduce a wooden horse inside their walls. 93  Cf. M.C. Nussbaum, The Fragility of Goodness. Luck and Ethics in Greek Tragedy and Philosophy (Cambridge: CUP, 2001) 1–22; cf. J. Burgess, Homer (London, New York: I.B. Tauris, 2015) 39. 94  A fine illustration of this is found in the Odyssey, 8. 525–531, when the hero weeps listening to the song describing the sack of the city; cf. J.B. Hainsworth, ‘Books V–VIII’ in A Commentary on Homer’s Odyssey I (eds. A. Heubeck, S. West, J.B. Hainsworth Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1988) 381–82. 95   Homer, Iliad XXIV, 5, citing Il. 12.32–328. He rightly says (5–6) that ‘The many killings in the poem are meant to evoke horror and pathos, not bloodthirsty glee’. 96  Also S.L. Schein, The Mortal Hero. An Introduction to Homer’s Iliad (Berkeley, Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1984) 67–88. 97   See J. Griffin, Homer on Life and Death (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1980) 103–143; cf. Z. Głombiowska, Człowiek i świat w poezji starożytnych Greków i Rzymian (Gdańsk: Wydawnictwo UG, 1994) 27; also H. Arendt, Kondycja ludzka (Polish tr. A. Łagodzka, Warszawa: Fundacja Aletheia, 2000) 24.

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the subject ‘Greek war and religion’.98 In the margin, one may add that it may perhaps be somewhat surprising, but it is due to the specific nature of the role that the Greeks believed the gods played in war,99 that their experience of suffering still remains pertinent now. This is especially true nowadays, when in a Western, secularized society with huge range of different experiences, it is not an easy task for the modern, sophisticated mind, fond of many theories, to grasp the feelings the ancient Greeks. My point is thus that when talking of the moral implications of the god’s presence in war, one ought not to exaggerate the differences.100 True, the Greeks conceived their deities differently, but we are still far from statement that their thoughts and reflections concerning such fundamental human experiences as pain, fear of being killed, or certainty of imminent death, were totally different from the modern experience. Different as it was, the Greek religious experience led to formulating ethical questions not quite so alien to us as some would suppose. There is fortunately a short modern poem which could be helpful in understanding what the Greeks felt, and making their feelings more comprehensible. I have in mind the masterpiece by the eminent Polish poet Zbigniew Herbert (1924–1998), entitled Nike Who Hesitates. It is of course well known to Polish classicists, but especially fitting in this context:101 Most beautiful is Nike at the instant when she hesitates the right hand beautiful like a command leans against the air but her wings are aquiver because she sees a lone youth he is walking a long rut 98  See R. Scodel, Epic Facework. Self-Presentation and Social Interaction in Homer (Swansea: Classical Press of Wales, 2008) 29–30. 99  Lateiner (n. 90, above) calls these gods ‘terrifying, unpredictable, cruel’; cf. especially R. Parker, “Gods Cruel and Kind: Tragic and Civic Theology” in Greek Tragedy and the Historian (ed. Ch. Pelling, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1997) 143–160; see too W. Mastronarde, “The Gods” in A Companion to Greek Tragedy (ed. J. Gregory, Malden, Oxford: Blackwell, 2005) 321f. 100  Cf. esp. M. Kitts, “What Is Religious about the Iliad?,” Religion Compass 7 (2013) 226–27. Bruit Zaidman and Schmitt Pantel, Religion, 3, call Greek religion ‘unfamiliar territory’ which ‘requires a preliminary mental readjustment’. 101  Translated by M. Lugowski.

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of a war wagon along a gray road in a gray landscape of rocks and an occasional juniper bush this youth will soon die just now the scale with his fate falls suddenly to the ground Nike has a tremendous desire to walk up and kiss him in the forehead but she is afraid that he who has not known yet the sweetness of fondling upon knowing it might run away like the others at the time of battle and so Nike hesitates and finally resolves to remain in a position which she was taught by the sculptors very much ashamed of this moment of feeling moved she understands well that tomorrow at dawn they must find the boy with his chest open eyes closed and a tart obol of fatherland under the stiff tongue Had Homer ever the possibility to read these words, he certainly would have agreed wholeheartedly with and approved of them. It was also his vision and his perspective on human fate at war. This fate, regardless of somewhat different attitudes that prevail in our own, modern culture,102 was inextricably linked with a deep confidence about the divine engagement in atrocities. 102  But see n. 100, above.

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Human tragedy, as it is presented in the Iliad,103 irrefutably proves something that appears to be trivial now, although it was not always so obvious, namely, that Greek ethical thinking, so close to us, had its roots in their religion. Bibliography A.W.H. Adkins, “Homeric Ethics” in A New Companion to Homer (eds. I. Morris, B. Powell, Leiden, New York, Köln: Brill, 1997) 694–713. P.J. Ahrensdorf, Homer on the Gods and Human Virtue. Creating the Foundations of Classical Civilization (Cambridge: CUP, 2014). W. Allan, “Divine Justice and Cosmic Order in Early Greek Epic,” JHS 126 (2006) 1–35. C. Antonaccio, “Religion, basileis and Heroes” in Ancient Greece. From the Mycenaean Palaces to the Age of Homer (= Edinburgh Leventis Studies 3, eds. S. Deger-Jalkotzy, I.S. Lemos; Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2006) 381–95. H. Arendt, Kondycja ludzka (Polish tr. A. Łagodzka; Warszawa: Fundacja Aletheia, 2000). W. Bernard, „Homers Ilias. Die “Bibel” der Griechen“ in Troia. Traum und Wirklichkeit (eds. B. Theune-Großsskopf et al., Stuttgart: Archäologisches Landesmuseum Baden-Württemberg, 2001) 98–102. J.-P. Durand, ‘ “The Powers of War: Ares and Athena in Greek Mythology” in Greek and Egyptian Mythologies (ed. Y. Bonnefoy, Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1981) 114–15. J.N. Bremmer, Greek Religion (= Greece & Rome New Surveys in Classics 24; Oxford: OUP, 1994). J. Brouwers, Henchmen of Ares. Warriors and Warfare in Early Greece (Rotterdam: Karwansaray, 2013). J. Burgess, Homer (London, New York: I.B. Tauris, 2015). W. Burkert, Structure and History in Greek Mythology (Berkeley, Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1979). ———, ‘Homer’s Anthropomorphism: Narrative and Ritual’ in New Perspectives in Early Greek Art (ed. D. Buitron-Oliver, Washington: National Gallery of Art, 1991) 81–91. ———, “From Epiphany to Cult Statues: Early Greek Theos” in What Is a God? Studies in the Nature of Greek Divinity (ed. A.B. Lloyd, London, Swansea: Classical Press of Wales, 1997) 15–34. 103  It is not a coincidence that for Aristotle epic was closely linked with tragedy. In the Poetics, 1459b 14, he famously called the Iliad ‘pathetic’, as it deals—literally—with pathos, suffering; cf. L. Tarán, D. Gutas, Aristotle, Poetics (Leiden, Boston: Brill, 2012) 291.

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———, Greek Religion (Cambridge Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1998). ———, “Sacrificial Violence: a Problem in Ancient Religions” in The Oxford Handbooks of Religion and Violence (eds. M. Juergensmeyer, M. Kitts, M. Jerryson, Oxford: OUP, 2013) 437–54. R. Buxton, Imaginary Greece. The Contexts of Mythology (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994). ———, “Religion and Myth” in The Cambridge Illustrated History of Ancient Greece (ed. P. Cartledge, Cambridge: CUP, 2004) 320–44. A. Chaniotis, War in the Hellenistic World. A Social History (Malden, Oxford: Blackwell, 2005). T.H. Carpenter, Art and Myth in Ancient Greece (London: Thames & Hudson, 2002). P. Cartledge, ‘Putting the Greek Gods in Their Places,’ American International History Review 18 (1996) 104–12. M. Clark, Exploring Greek Myth (Malden, Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2012). J. Strauss Clay, The Wrath of Athena. Gods and Men in the Odyssey (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1983). J.M. Cook, The Greeks in Ionia and the East (London: Thames & Hudson, 1962). J.P. Crielaard, “Homer, History and Archaeology. Some Remarks on the Date of the Homeric World” in Homeric Questions. Essays in Philology, Ancient History and Archaeology (ed. J.P. Crielaard, Amsterdam: Gieben, 1995) 201–88. C.C. Davison, Pheidias. The Sculptures & Ancient Sources I (BICS Suppl. 105; London: Institute of Classical Studies, 2009). D. Dawson, The Origins of Western Warfare. Militarism and Morality in the Ancient World (Boulder CO: Westview Press, 1996). S. Deacy, “Athena and Ares: War, Violence, and Warlike Deities” in War and Violence in Ancient Greece (ed. H. van Wees, London: Duckworth and Classical Press of Wales, 2000) 185–98. ———, Athena (Milton Park, New York: Routledge, 2008). P. H. Demargne, Cassimatis, “Athena” in Lexicon Iconographicum Mythologiae Classicae (LIMC) II (Zürich, München: Artemis Verlag, 1984) 955–1044. M. Detienne, and Vernant, J.-P. Cunning Intelligence in Greek Culture and Society (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1991). C. Dewald, “Justice and Justifications: War Theory among the Ancient Greeks” in Just War in Religion and Politics. Studies in Religion and Social Order (eds. J. Neusner, B.D. Chilton, R.E. Tully, Lanham MD: University Press of America, 2013) 27–50. H. Diels, W. Kranz, Die Fragmente der Vorsokratiker I (Berlin: Weidmann, 1951). B. Dignas, “Rituals and the Construction of Identity in Attalid Pergamon” in Historical and Religious Memory in the Ancient World (eds. B. Dignas, R. Smith, Oxford: OUP, 2012) 119–44. E.R. Dodds, The Greeks and the Irrational (Berkeley, Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1951).

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The Burning of Greek Temples by the Persians and Greek War-Propaganda* Eduard Rung In 330 BC the soldiers of Alexander the Great, inspired by Thaïs of Athens, burned down the splendid palaces in Persepolis.1 This outrageous action was reported by Diodorus Siculus, Arrian, Plutarch and some other authors.2 Arrian (An. 3.18.12) supposes that the burning of Persepolis’ palaces formed part of the implementation of Alexander’s panhellenic program in the war against the Persians: He burnt down the Persian palace, though Parmenio advised him to preserve it, for many reasons, and especially because it was not well to destroy what was now his own property, and because the men of Asia would not by this course of action be induced to come over to him, thinking that he himself had decided not to retain the rule of Asia, but only to conquer it and depart. But Alexander said that he wished to take vengeance on the Persians, in retaliation for their deeds in the invasion of Greece, when they razed Athens to the ground and burnt down the temples. He also desired to punish the Persians for all the other injuries they had done the Greeks (translated by E.J. Chinnock). Diodorus (17.72.2–3) and Plutarch (Alex. 38.1–7) stress the role of Thaïs of Athens in the burning of Persepolis. Diodorus (17.72.2–3) reports: * I would like to express my sincere thanks to Dr. Dorothy Thompson (Girton College, Cambridge, UK) for polishing my English in this article. 1  On the burning of Persepolis by Alexander, see especially: J.M. Balcer, “Alexander’s Burning of Persepolis,” IrAn 13 (1978) 119–33; E.F. Bloedow, “Alexander the Great ‘Under Fire’ at Persepolis,” Klio 79 (1997) 341–53; G. Morrison, “Alexander, Combat Psychology, and Persepolis,” Antichthon 35 (2001) 30–44. 2  Also in Curtius (5. 6. 19–20), Strabo (15. 3. 6) and Athenaeus (13. 576 d–e). Arrian and the vulgate sources disagree as to the role of the courtesan Thaïs. A.B. Bosworth, A Historical Commentary on Arrian’s History of Alexander, vol. 1 (Oxford: Oxford Universiy Press, 1980) 331 reports that the vulgate version and the deliberate firing are generally understood as depending on motives other than revenge: (i) as a demonstration to the people of Asia that the Persian Empire had perished; (ii) a reaffirmation to the Greek world that Alexander was still aware of the problem of his homeland; (iii) an attempt to destroy the morale of the Persians by burning the symbol of their empire. © koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���6 | doi ��.��63/9789004324763_010

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Thaïs said that for Alexander it would be the finest of all his feats in Asia if he joined them in a triumphal procession, set fire to the palaces, and permitted women’s hands in a minute to extinguish the famed accomplishments of the Persians. This was said to men who were still young and giddy with wine, and so, as would be expected, someone shouted out to form the comus and to light torches, and urged all to take vengeance for the destruction of the Greek temples (translated by C.H. Oldfather). Thus, as one can conclude from Diodorus’ account, someone in the Macedonian forces, at this particular juncture, proclaimed the slogan of revenge and this stimulated the crowd of soldiers to set fire to Persepolis’ palaces. Diodorus (17.72.6) further explicitly states that “it was most remarkable that the impious act of Xerxes, king of the Persians, against the acropolis of Athens should have been repaid in kind after many years by one woman, a citizen of the land which had suffered it”. Plutarch, however, reports this story somewhat differently (Alex. 38.17). He emphasizes that the said Thaïs was responsible for the idea of revenge against the Persians: “it would be a still greater pleasure to go in revel rout and set fire to the house of the Xerxes who burned Athens” (Plut. Alex. 38.4). Plutarch goes on to report that the soldiers who had set fire to the palaces of Persepolis indeed believed that this act of revenge would mean the end of the campaign in Asia and their return home: “For they hoped that the burning and destruction of the palace was the act of one who had fixed his thoughts on home, and did not intend to dwell among Barbarians” (38.7). Despite the different versions of the event, there is a consensus in the sources that the background for Alexander’s burning of Persepolis was a Greek sense of the need for revenge going back to the period of the Persian wars. In this chapter my aim is to consider the slogan of revenge against the Persians who had burned down the Greek shrines and, further, to take account of other aspects of this theme: (a) the Persian practice of burning Greek shrines in the period of the Persian wars; (b) the influence of Persian imperial policy in Greece on Greek consciousness and ideology, and (c) when it was that this Greek slogan for revenge actually effected policy, and the consequences of this development. It is well known that the Persians had systematically burned Greek shrines since the time of the Ionian revolt down to Xerxes’ invasion of Greece in 480 BC.3 Herodotus (5.102) explicitly states that the burning of the temple of 3  Cyrus the Great has been already responsible for the burning of Greek temples in Asia Minor, e.g. temple in Phocaea (Hdt. 1.144). R.J. van der Spek, “Cyrus the Great, Exiles, and the Foreign Gods: A Comparison of Assyrian and Persian Policies on Subject Nations” in Extraction & Control. Studies in Honor of Matthew W. Stolper (eds. M. Kozuh, W.F.M. Henkelman, C.E. Jones,

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Cybele during the Ionian attack on Sardis in 498 BC was the main pretext for the subsequent burning of Greek temples by the Persians. Hornblower suggests that Herodotus is here adopting or reporting a Persian line of explanation, which presented the Ionian revolt as an act of Greek aggression, to which the Persians then replied in kind. As Hornblower notes, the ‘orientalizing’ theme of Persian temple-burning in 480 was important long after Herodotus’ own time, as it was used as the pretext for Alexander the Great’s invasion of Asia; Herodotus’ earlier point about Sardis was naturally forgotten, or at any rate not followed up, in later accounts and later propaganda.4 Of course, one cannot be certain why the Persians actually did burn the Greek temples, given their usual religious tolerance towards foreign gods and cults.5 Some alternative views have been suggested for this Persian impiety in Greece. The most popular view is that the destruction of the temples by the Persians was due to the religious situation in Iran, as well as deriving from certain features of the Iranian religion of Zoroastrianism. I note here just a few of the most indicative scholarly views. Munn claims that the redistributive burning of Greek temples in the time of Xerxes resonates with the zealous temper expressed in the name of right religion by Xerxes in the Daiva inscription at Persepolis.6 George ­supposes that the Persian burning of some Greek shrines stood in contrast to C. Woods, Chicago: The Oriental Institute, 2014) 236 mentions this action of Cyrus along with others as an argument against scholarly opinion on Cyrus’ religious tolerance. On the Persian practice of burning Greek shrines, see: P. Tozzi, “Per la storia della politica religiosa degli Achemenidi: Distruzioni persiane di templi greci agli inizi del V secolo,” RSI 89 (1977) 18–32; G. Firpo, “Impero universale e politica religiosa. Ancora sulle distruzioni dei templi greci ad opera dei Persiani,” ASNP ser. 3 16,2 (1986) 331–93. On the Persian attitude to Greek temples, see: P. Funke, “Die Perser und die griechischen Heiligtümer in der Perserkriegszeit” in Herodot und die Epoche der Perserkriege. Realitäten und Fiktionen. Kolloquium zum 80. Geburtstag von Dietmar Kienast (ed. B. Bleckmann, Köln, Weimar, Wien: Böhlau, 2007) 21–34. 4  S.  Hornblower (ed.), Herodotus Histories Book V (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2013) 9. 5  This is the most traditional view, on which see, for example: A.T. Olmstead, History of the Persian Empire (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1948) 465; R.N. Frye, The Heritage of Persia (Cleveland: World Publishing, 1963) 78, 82, 120; R. Ghirshman, Iran: From the Earliest Times to the Islamic Conquest (Harmondsworth: Penguin Books, 1978) 133 T. Cuyler Young, Jr., “The Early History of the Medes and the Persians and the Achaemenid Empire to the Death of Cambyses,” in CAH2 4 (1988) 42, 100, 102, 111; M.A. Dandamaev, V.G. Lukonin, The Culture and Social Institutions of Ancient Iran (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989) 358. In criticism of this concept, see: van der Spek, Cyrus . . ., 233–6. 6  M. Munn, The Mother of the Gods, Athens and Tyranny of Asia (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2006) 227 n. 19.

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the veneration of yet other Greek holy places and reflected the Persian practice of burning the abodes of enemy gods.7 Dandamaev and Lukonin suggest that by destroying the temples and removing the statues of their gods, Xerxes strove to deprive a hostile population of the help of their local gods.8 Kuhrt came to opposite conclusion: “the destruction of temples in Greece and perhaps Asia Minor does not fit with the statement that the king replaced the worship of daivas with the cult of Auramazda, while Xerxes’ sacrifices to Greek gods and use of local rituals and practices contradicts any such notion”.9 Some scholars assume that the Persian treatment of Greek shrines is comparable with similar sacrilegious actions in Egypt, Babylonia and other places where it is reported that the Persians also destroyed local temples.10 It is striking that four distinguished experts in the Achaemenid history (in ‘Herodotus and Babylon Reconsidered’), while considering the literary tradition of Xerxes’ destruction of the Babylonian temples, refer to similar practice in Greece: “It has recently become clear that Greek accusations made against Persians, of hierosylia and sacrilege have their Sitz im Leben in the Greek experience of temple destruction in the course of Xerxes’ Greek ­campaign. Yet it is clear that these destructions were part of the war strategy and not a religiously motivated act of vengeance by the Persians, as Herodotus and others have implied”.11 The problem of Achaemenid religious policy is too complex 7  P.  Georges, Barbarian Asia and the Greek Experience (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1994) 56. 8  Dandamayev, Lukonin, Culture . . ., 360. 9  A.  Kuhrt, The Persian Empire: A Corpus of Sources from the Achaemenid Period (Oxford: Routledge 2007) 242. 10  For an evaluation of the Greek evidence for the Persian misdeeds and destruction of temples in Egypt and Babylon, see: I. Ladynin, “Adversary Ḫšryš(Ȝ): His Name and Deeds According to the Satrap Stela,” CdE 87 (2005) 108–109; A. Kuhrt, S. Sherwin-White, “Xerxes’ Destruction of Babylonian Temples” in Achaemenid History. vol. II: The Greek Sources (Proceedings of the Groningen 1984 Achaemenid History Workshop) (eds. H. SancisiWeerdenburg, A. Kuhrt, Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten, 1987) 69–78; W.F.M. Henkelman, A. Kuhrt, R. Rollinger, J. Wiesehöfer, “Herodotus and Babylon Reconsidered” in Herodot und das Persische Weltreich—Herodotus and the Persian Empire. Akten des 3. Internationalen Kolloquiums zum Thema “Vorderasien im Spannungsfeld klassischer und altorientalischer Überlieferungen”, Innsbruck, 24–28. November 2008 (eds. R. Rollinger, B. Truschnegg, R. Bichler, Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 2011) 449–70. There is a tendency in the historiography to challenge the testimony of Classical authors on Xerxes’ ‘sacrilegious’ actions towards the native temples and cults in Egypt as well as in Babylonia. 11  Henkelman, Kuhrt, Rollinger, Wiesehöfer, Herodotus . . ., 458.

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to be discussed here in detail12; however, it is still necessary to put forward some arguments in support of the idea that Persian ‘sacrilegious’ actions were not reflections of their more general religious policy, but rather were caused by the actual experience of military campaign in Greece.13 This view corresponds with the Greek explanation of the Persian burning of the temples since it focuses not on the religious enmity between the Greeks and Persians but instead stresses the idea of revenge, which, strictly speaking, was the chief factor in their relations leading to war. Besides, in almost all cases, which involved Greek temples and shrines, the Persians also burned other buildings inside the cities and annihilated local population. The earliest written example of such an act against a Greek city was recorded by Ctesias (FGrHist. 688. F. 13.22). According to Ctesias, when Darius crossed the bridge over the Propontis he razed to the ground the homes and temples of the Chalcedonians (Χαλκηδονίων οἰκίας καὶ ἱερὰ ἐνέπρησεν), because they planned to set the bridge near them adrift and because they destroyed the altar which Darius had dedicated on his way through in the name of Zeus Diabaterios. Similar words are found in Herodotus’ accounts of the Persian destructions of Greek temples in 490 and 480/79 BC. Herodotus also records that the Persians set fire to the Ionian cities including their temples in 494 BC (6.32: τὰς πόλις ἐνεπίμπρασαν αὐτοῖσι τοῖσι ἱροῖσι). In the case of the Samians, neither their city nor temples were burned down in 494 BC (Hdt. 6.25: οὔτε ἡ πόλις οὔτε τὰ ἱρὰ ἐνεπρήσθη). In contrast, when in 490 BC the Persians were enslaving the Naxians they burned down both their temples and the city (Hdt. 6.96: οἱ δὲ Πέρσαι ἀνδραποδισάμενοι τοὺς κατέλαβον αὐτῶν, ἐνέπρησαν καὶ τὰ ἱρὰ καὶ τὴν πόλιν); similarly, in 480 BC the cities and temples of Phocis were set alight by Xerxes (Hdt. 8.33: καὶ ἐς τὰς πόλις ἐνιέντες πῦρ καὶ ἐς τὰ ἱρά). Herodotus refers particularly to the burning of the cities of various Phocian ethnic c­ ommunities—the Panopeans, Daulians and Lilaeens, but makes no mention of their temples being burnt (Hdt. 8.35: καὶ γὰρ τῶν Πανοπέων τὴν πόλιν ἐνέπρησαν καὶ Δαυλίων καὶ Λιλαιέων). He similarly omits mention of tem12  See: A. Kuhrt, “The Problem of Achaemenid ‘Religious Policy’ ” in Die Welt der Götterbilder (eds. B. Groneberg, H. Spieckermann, Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2007) 117–42. 13  The case of Babylon shows a close parallel. There is a Greek tradition of a destruction of sanctuaries by Xerxes in Babylon (e.g. sanctuary of Bel) and Alexander’s intention to restore them (Arr. An. 3.16.4; 7.17.1; Strabo. 16.1.5). The possible Xerxes’ destruction of Babylonian temples was probably connected with a revolt mentioned by Ctesias (FGrHist. 688. F.13.25), and was therefore intended as a punishment for the rebellious country. There is no Greek or Egyptian direct evidence of a Persian destruction of local temples in Egypt, however, according to the Aramaic papyri from Elephantine, some Egyptian temples were destroyed by Cambyses (DMOA. XXII. B 19–20).

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ples, when recording the burning of Thespiae and Plataea in Boeotia at the hands of the Persians (Hdt. 8.50: ἐμπρήσας Θεσπιέων τὴν πόλιν αὐτῶν . . . καὶ τὴν Πλαταιέων ὡσαύτως). On his retreat from Athens, however, which had survived the destruction by Xerxes one year earlier, according to Herodotus (Hdt. 9.13), Mardonius burnt down the walls, houses and temples (ἐμπρήσας τε τὰς ᾿Αθήνας, καὶ εἴ κού τι ὀρθὸν ἦν τῶν τειχέων ἢ τῶν οἰκημάτων ἢ τῶν ἱρῶν, πάντα καταβαλὼν καὶ συγχώσας). What these accounts suggest is that the burning of temples was not an explicit policy on the part of the Persians during their campaigns against the Greeks. Herodotus refers to acts of revenge on only a few occasions.14 A careful reading of his account of the burning of the temple of Cybele in Sardis by the Greeks (Hdt. 5.102) clearly shows that this temple was not set alight intentionally but was demolished as a result of the burning of the city (καὶ Σάρδιες μὲν ἐνεπρήσθησαν, ἐν δὲ αὐτῇσι καὶ ἱρὸν ἐπιχωρίης θεοῦ Κυβήλης). And in recounting acts of Persian aggression Herodotus draws particular attention to the burning of Greek temples by the Persians as examples of retaliation: τὸ σκηπτόμενοι οἱ Πέρσαι ὕστερον ἀντενεπίμπρασαν τὰ ἐν ῞Ελλησι ἱρά (Hdt. 5.102); τὰ ἱρὰ συλήσαντες ἐνέπρησαν, ἀποτινύμενοι τῶν ἐν Σάρδισι κατακαυθέντων ἱρῶν (on Eretria: Hdt. 6.101). There are, however, some additional examples of temple-burning in Herodotus which are not connected by him with any acts of revenge, but are plain accounts of setting fire to temples. One such example is the burning of the temple of Apollo in Abae (Hdt. 8.33); secondly, there was the Persian plan to burn down Delphi, which was never effected since, as Herodotus shows, the deity became involved (Hdt. 8.35–39). In both of these cases, the Persian actions were not directed immediately against the Greek gods or cults. It was simply the case, according to other Greek authors, that the Persians, considered sacrilegious by the Greeks, in the course of their invasion plundered Greek shrines; they also removed to Persia a variety of sacred objects, as they had already done from Egypt and Babylonia.15 Arrian (An. 3.16.7–8) reports on such booty, found by Alexander in Susa in 330 BC: “Many other things were 14  On the idea of revenge in Greek ideology and culture: H. Bellen, “Der Rachegedanke in der griechisch-persischen Auseinandersetzung,” Chiron 4 (1974) 43–67; H.-J. Gehrke, “Die Griechen und die Rache. Ein Versuch in historischer Psychologie,” Saeculum 38 (1987) 121–49. 15  On the removal to Persia of sacred objects from Egypt and Babylonia: Ladynin, “Adversary Ḫšryš(Ȝ). . ., 110–11; Kuhrt, Sherwin-White, Xerxes . . ., 70–2 and Henkelman, Kuhrt, Rollinger, Wiesehöfer, Herodotus . . ., 453–8, an attempt to downplay Greek evidence for Xerxes’ destruction of the Babylonian temples and removal of the statue of Bel-Marduk (Hdt. 1.183).

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also captured there, which Xerxes brought with him from Greece, especially the bronze statues of Harmodias and Aristogeiton. These Alexander sent back to the Athenians . . .” (πολλὰ δὲ καὶ ἄλλα κατελήφθη αὐτοῦ, ὅσα Ξέρξης ἀπὸ τῆς ῾Ελλάδος ἄγων ἦλθε, τά τε ἄλλα καὶ ῾Αρμοδίου καὶ ᾿Αριστογείτονος χαλκαῖ εἰκόνες. καὶ ταύτας ᾿Αθηναίοις ὀπίσω πέμπει ᾿Αλέξανδρος).16 Arrian provides further information when reporting the arrival of Greek embassies to Alexander in Babylon in 323 BC (An. 7. 19.2): He also gave the ambassadors permission to take with them all the statues of men and images of gods and the other votive offerings which Xerxes had carried from Greece to Babylon, Pasargadae, Susa, or any other place in Asia (ὅσους δὲ ἀνδριάντας ἢ ὅσα ἀγάλματα ἢ εἰ δή τι ἄλλο ἀνάθημα ἐκ τῆς ῾Ελλάδος Ξέρξης ἀνεκόμισεν ἐς Βαβυλῶνα ἢ ἐς Πασαργάδας ἢ ἐς Σοῦσα ἢ ὅπῃ ἄλλῃ τῆς ᾿Ασίας). In this way it is said that the brazen statues of Harmodius and Aristogeiton, as well as the monument of the Oelcaean Artemis, were carried back to Athens (translated by E.J. Chinnock). This account carries with it the implication that the removal of sacred and other objects from Greece to Persia in the course of Xerxes’ invasion in 480 BC was devoid of any religious motivation. In addition, we should note that the Greek authors reporting the Persians’ plundering of Greek temples in all cases employ the verb συλάω, ‘pillage’, ‘plunder’. According to Herodotus, when the Persians captured Miletus in 494 BC they plundered the temple and oracle before they set them alight (Hdt. 6.19: ὁ νηός τε καὶ τὸ χρηστήριον, συληθέντα ἐνεπίμπρατο). And when they captured Eretria in 490 BC, they plundered and then burned the temple as well (Hdt. 6.101: τὰ ἱρὰ συλήσαντες ἐνέπρησαν). As for the temple of Apollo at Abae, the Persians also plundered this before they burnt it down (Hdt. 8.33: τὸ ἱρὸν συλήσαντες ἐνέπρησαν). Herodotus also lays stress on the Persians’ intention to plunder Delphi and to deliver the treasures there to king Xerxes (8.35: ὅκως συλήσαντες τὸ ἱρὸν τὸ ἐν Δελφοῖσι βασιλέϊ Ξέρξῃ ἀποδέξαιεν τὰ χρήματα). Scholars often make the point that in many cases the Persians in fact treated Greek gods in a not unfriendly manner; on occasion Persians even showed

16  According to Pausanias (1.8.5), the statues of Harmodias and Aristogeiton were returned to Athens only by Antiochus. Valerius Maximus (2.10. ext.1) ascribes this to Seleucus; Pliny the Elder (NH 34.70), to Alexander. Bosworth, A Historical . . ., 317 resolves this contradiction by suggesting that Alexander merely promised the return of the statue-group during his stay in Susa.

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themselves anxious to respect Greek gods.17 There are numerous examples that could be adduced but we will mention only those that relate to the Persian wars. The Lindian chronicle twice mentions Persian offerings to Athena of Lindos, though it is probable that two reports relate to the same event—the attack on Rhodes by Persian forces in 490 BC. According to the first record, Artaphernes sent earrings, a dress, tiara, bracelets, knife and ornate clothing to the temple of Lindos (Lind. Chron. XXXII. 65–69). The second entry records that, after failing to capture Rhodes by siege, Datis removed his garment and sent this, together with his bracelets, tiara and dagger, and also his chariot, as an offering to the goddess (Lind. Chron. XLII. 35–38).18 The offering made by Datis during the expedition against Greece in 490 BC to the temple of Apollo on Delos was well known (Hdt. 6.97). Finally, Herodotus mentions a sacrifice which Xerxes, after taking Athens in the summer of 480 BC, ordered the Athenian exiles to make on the Acropolis (Hdt. 8.54). In spite of the fact that Persian ‘sacrilegious’ actions in Greece were not caused by enmity towards Greek religion or Greek gods, the Greeks themselves considered these as impious and needing to be remembered and revenged. Herodotus reports that both the Greeks and the Persians were well aware of the significance of temple burning in Greek policy and propaganda, as becomes clear in several of his comments (Hdt. 8.109, 140, 143–144). Moreover, a number of Greek authors mention the Greek decision not to rebuild the temples destroyed by the Persians, so as to leave them as memorials for the next generations. Isocrates (4.156) claims a similar decision was first taken by the Ionians, but Diodorus Siculus (11.29.4) and Lycurgus (Leocr. 81) see this rather as a requirement of the so-called Plataean oath.19 There has been much debate about the authenticity of the Plataean oath,20 but it is clear from other Greek sources that a decision on this subject was indeed taken by the Greeks during the Persian wars. This is reflected in the archaeological data and confirmed 17  P.  Briant, From Cyrus to Alexander. A History of the Persian Empire (Winona Lake, Indiana: Eisenbrauns, 2002) 547–9; P. Georges, Barbarian Asia . . ., 57–8. 18  C.  Higbie, The Lindian Chronicle and the Greek Creation of Their Past (Oxford:  Oxford University Press, 2003). 19  It must, however, be noted that there is no mention of this in the text of the oath preserved on the Acharnae stela: Tod II. 204 = GHI 88. 20  P.  Siewert, Der Eid von Plataiai (München: Verlag C.H. Beck, 1972); H. van Wees, “ ‘The Oath of the Sworn Bands’: The Acharnae Stela, the Oath of Plataea and Archaic Spartan Warfare” in Das frühe Sparta (eds. A. Luther, M. Meier, L. Thommen, München: Franz Steiner Verlag, 2006) 125–64; P. Krentz, “The Oath of Marathon, not Plataia?,” Hesperia 76 (2007) 731–42; recently: P. Cartledge, After Thermopylae: The Oath of Plataea and the End of the Graeco-Persian Wars (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013).

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by Plutarch’ reference (Per. 17) to Pericles’ congress decree (itself also the subject of scholarly controversy21) and by the date when construction work was started on the Athenian Acropolis in the mid fifth century BC.22 The origin, therefore, of the idea of taking revenge on the Persians for their burning of the Greek shrines, appears to be contemporary with the period of the Persian Wars. This is clear enough from Aeschylus, who in his ‘Persians’ (472 BC) explicitly expresses the idea. The context here is a description of the Persians’ sacrilegious actions in Greece (ll. 809–812): For in coming to the land of Hellas they did not shrink in reverence from plundering the statues of the theoi or to burn their temples. The altars and the shrines of the daimones are no more to be seen, utterly overturned from their very foundations and scattered in confusion. (οἳ γῆν μολόντες ῾Ελλάδ’ οὐ θεῶν βρέτη / ᾐδοῦντο συλᾶν οὐδὲ πιμπράναι νεώς· βωμοὶ δ’ ἄιστοι, δαιμόνων θ’ ἱδρύματα / πρόρριζα φύρδην ἐξανέστραπται βάθρων). (translated by Niall McCloskey and John Porter) The Persians, as the text continues, had already suffered for their sacrilegious actions in Greece in the outcome of the battle of Salamis; new sufferings will await them in the future in the battle of Plataea and even later (ll. 813–819): As a result, having acted evilly, they suffer evils as great or greater, while others are still to come, nor yet has the foundation of their misfortunes been laid: it still must be capped off such is the great libation of the blood of those slaughtered that will be poured on the land of the Plataeans by the Doric spear. The mounds of corpses will bear silent testimony to the eyes of mortals even to the third generation, 21  See, for example: R. Seager, “The Congress Decree: Some Doubts and a Hypothesis,” Historia 18 (1969) 129–31; G.L. Cawkwell, “The Peace between Athens and Persia,” Phoenix 51 (1997) 126. 22  A.E. Raubitschek, “The Peace Policy of Pericles,” AJA 70 (1966) 39; I.S. Mark, The Sanctuary of Athena Nike in Athens: Architectural Stages and Chronology (Princeton: Hesperia Supplement 26, 1993) 100–101.

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warning that, being mortal, one must not have thoughts greater than one’s station (translated by Niall McCloskey and John Porter). Herodotus also writes of the necessity of taking revenge on the Persians in the context of Xerxes’ peace proposals to the Athenians; he suggests that instead of making pacts, it is necessary for the Athenians to take revenge on the Persians (Hdt. 8.144: τοῖσι ἡμέας ἀναγκαίως ἔχει τιμωρέειν ἐς τὰ μέγιστα μᾶλλον ἤ περ ὁμολογέειν). There is no clear indication in the sources that the idea of taking revenge for the Persian practice of temple burning had any significance in the period from the Persian wars down to Philip of Macedon. It was nowhere explicit in the proclaimed goal of the Delian League (Thuc. 1.96 speaks of ἀμύνεσθαι ὧν ἔπαθον δῃοῦντας τὴν βασιλέως χώραν,23 but he does not specifically refer to the religious factor; so revenge is rather for the Persian devastation of Greece more generally). In the Spartan-Persian war of 400–394 BC the slogan of ‘Freedom of the Greeks of Asia Minor’ was dominant.24 And in Isocrates’ orations (Panegyricus and Philip) revenge for Persian religious crimes in Greece was not put forward as one of the main arguments for launching a Greek expedition for the conquest of Asia.25 The theme of revenge appears again in Diodorus (16.89.2) who attributes it to Philip of Macedon after the battle of Chaeronea:

23  On the meaning of Thucydides here, see: P.A. Brunt, “The Hellenic League Against Persia,” Historia 2 (1953/4) 150; R. Sealey, “The Origins of the Delian League”, in Ancient Society and Institutions. Studies Presented to Victor Ehrenberg on his 75th Birthday (ed. E. Badian, Oxford: Blackwell, 1967) 238, 241; A.H. Jackson, “The Original Purpose of the Delian League,” Historia 18 (1969) 12–6; H.R. Rawlings III, “Thucydides on the Purpose of the Delian League,” Phoenix 31 (1977) 1–8; N.D. Robertson, “The True Nature of the ‘Delian League’ 478–461 BC I,” AJAH 5 (1980 [1981]) 73–4. 24  See: R. Seager, C.J. Tuplin, “The Freedom of the Greeks of Asia: On the Origins of a Concept and the Creation of a Slogan,” JHS 100 (1980) 144–6. 25  On the slogans of panhellenism in the fifth and fourth centuries BC: M.A. Flower, “From Simonides to Isocrates: The Fifth Century Origins of Fourth Century Panhellenism,” ClA 19 (2000), 65–101. J. Seibert, “ ‘Panhellenischer’ Kreuzzug, Nationalkrieg, Rachefeldzug oder Eroberungskrieg?—Überlegungen zu den Ursachen des Krieges gegen Persien” in Alexander der Grosse. Eine Welteroberrung und ihr Hintergrund. Vorträge des Internationalen Bonner Alexanderkolloquium, 19.–21.12.1996 (ed. W. Will, Bonn: R. Habelt, 1998) 23, cites only two passages in Isocrates (Paneg. 185 and Philip. 125), and claims that in both the ‘Rachemotiv’ (concept of revenge) plays a subordinate role; in response to Seibert’s argument, see: E.F. Bloedow, “Why did Philip and Alexander Launch a War against the Persian Empire,” AnCl 72 (2003) 263–4.

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He spread the word that he wanted to make war on the Persians on the Greeks’ behalf and to punish them for the profanation of the temples, and this won for him the loyal support of the Greeks (translated by C.H. Oldfather). It seems probable that, in the changed political conditions in Greece and for his own advantage, Philip revived the old Greek slogan of revenge against the Persians for their acts of temple-burning in Greece during the Persian wars. It is difficult to say if this slogan went down well among the Greeks at that time, but the continuation of the Athenians’ cooperation with the Persians during Alexander’s invasion of Asia shows that it was not a fruitful one. Alexander had inherited this slogan from his father, as shown by the events at Persepolis.26 The conclusion must be that, while the burning of Greek shrines by the Persians was an expression of a religious aspect of war, it did not add up to war against either Greek religion or Greek gods, nor indeed did it represent any form of religious war. The Persian ‘sacrilegious’ actions were not reflections of their more general religious policy, but rather were caused by the actual experience of military campaign in Greece. The slogan of revenge against the Persians appeared originally as an expression of Greek war propaganda. Later, in the time of Philip and Alexander, it became a demonstration of Macedonian, anti-Persian propaganda that aimed, as Diodorus (16.89.2) rightly says, to win the loyal support of the Greeks. Bibliography E. Badian (ed.), Ancient Society and Institutions. Studies Presented to Victor Ehrenberg on his 75th Birthday (Oxford: Blackwell, 1967). J.M. Balcer, “Alexander’s Burning of Persepolis,” IrAn 13 (1978) 119–33. H.  Bellen, “Der Rachegedanke in der griechisch-persischen Auseinandersetzung,” Chiron 4 (1974) 43–67. B. Bleckmann (ed.), Herodot und die Epoche der Perserkriege. Realitäten und Fiktionen. Kolloquium zum 80. Geburtstag von Dietmar Kienast (Köln, Weimar, Wien: Böhlau, 2007). E.F. Bloedow, “Alexander the Great ‘Under Fire’ at Persepolis,” Klio 79 (1997) 341–53. 26  On this slogan of revenge for Xerxes’ burning of Greek temples in the policy and propaganda of Philip and Alexander: M.A. Flower, “Alexander the Great and Panhellenism” in Alexander the Great in Fact and Fiction (eds. A.B. Bosworth, E. Baynham, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000) 101.

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———, “Why did Philip and Alexander Launch a War against the Persian Empire,” AnCl 72 (2003) 261–74. A.B. Bosworth, A Historical Commentary on Arrian’s History of Alexander, vol. 1 (Oxford: Oxford Universiy Press, 1980). ———, E.  Baynham (eds.), Alexander the Great in Fact and Fiction (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000). P.  Briant, From Cyrus to Alexander. A History of the Persian Empire (Winona Lake, Indiana: Eisenbrauns, 2002). P.A. Brunt, “The Hellenic League Against Persia,” Historia 2 (1953/4) 135–63. P. Cartledge, After Thermopylae: The Oath of Plataea and the End of the Graeco-Persian Wars (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013). G.L. Cawkwell, “The Peace between Athens and Persia,” Phoenix 51 (1997) 115–30. T.  Cuyler Young, Jr., “The Early History of the Medes and the Persians and the Achaemenid Empire to the Death of Cambyses,” in CAH2 4 (1988) 1–52. M.A.  Dandamaev, V.G.  Lukonin, The Culture and Social Institutions of Ancient Iran (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989). G.  Firpo, “Impero universale e politica religiosa. Ancora sulle distruzioni dei templi greci ad opera dei Persiani,” ASNP ser. 3 16,2 (1986) 331–93. M.A. Flower, “Alexander the Great and Panhellenism” in Bosworth, Baynham (2000) 96–135. ———, “From Simonides to Isocrates: The Fifth Century Origins of Fourth Century Panhellenism,” ClA 19 (2000) 65–101. R.N. Frye, The Heritage of Persia (Cleveland: World Publishing, 1963). P.  Funke, “Die Perser und die griechischen Heiligtümer in der Perserkriegszeit” in Bleckmann (2007) 21–34. H.-J. Gehrke, “Die Griechen und die Rache. Ein Versuch in historischer Psychologie,” Saeculum 38 (1987) 121–49. P.  Georges, Barbarian Asia and the Greek Experience (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1994). R. Ghirshman, Iran: From the Earliest Times to the Islamic Conquest (Harmondsworth: Penguin Books, 1978). B.  Groneberg, H.  Spieckermann (eds.), Die Welt der Götterbilder (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2007). W.F.M.  Henkelman, A.  Kuhrt, R.  Rollinger, J.  Wiesehöfer, “Herodotus and Babylon Reconsidered” in Rollinger, Truschnegg, Bichler (2011) 449–70. C. Higbie, The Lindian Chronicle and the Greek Creation of Their Past (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003). S.  Hornblower (ed.), Herodotus Histories Book V (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press 2013). A.H. Jackson, “The Original Purpose of the Delian League,” Historia 18 (1969) 12–6.

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M. Kozuh, W.F.M. Henkelman, C.E. Jones, C. Woods (eds.), Extraction & Control. Studies in Honor of Matthew W. Stolper (Chicago: The Oriental Institute, 2014). P. Krentz, “The Oath of Marathon, not Plataia?,” Hesperia 76 (2007) 731–42. A. Kuhrt, S. Sherwin-White, “Xerxes’ Destruction of Babylonian Temples” in SancisiWeerdenburg and Kuhrt (1987) 69–78. ———, The Persian Empire: A Corpus of Sources from the Achaemenid Period (Oxford: Routledge, 2007). ———, “The Problem of Achaemenid ‘Religious Policy’ ” in Groneberg and Spieckermann (2007) 117–42. I. Ladynin, “Adversary Ḫšryš(Ȝ): His Name and Deeds According to the Satrap Stela,” CdE 87 (2005) 87–113. A.  Luther, M.  Meier, L.  Thommen (eds.), Das frühe Sparta (München: Franz Steiner Verlag, 2006). I.S. Mark, The Sanctuary of Athena Nike in Athens: Architectural Stages and Chronology (Princeton: Hesperia Supplement 26, 1993). G.  Morrison, “Alexander, Combat Psychology, and Persepolis,” Antichthon 35 (2001) 30–44. M. Munn, The Mother of the Gods, Athens and Tyranny of Asia (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2006). A.T.  Olmstead, History of the Persian Empire (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1948). A.E. Raubitschek, “The Peace Policy of Pericles,” AJA 70 (1966) 37–41. H.R. Rawlings III, “Thucydides on the Purpose of the Delian League,” Phoenix 31 (1977) 1–8. N.D. Robertson, “The True Nature of the ‘Delian League’ 478–461 BC I,” AJAH 5 (1980 [1981]) 64–96. R.  Rollinger, B.  Truschnegg, R.  Bichler (eds), Herodot ind das Persische Weltreich— Herodotus and the Persian Empire. Akten des 3. Internationalen Kolloquiums zum Thema “Vorderasien im Spannungsfeld klassischer und altorientalischer Überlieferungen”, Innsbruck, 24–28. November 2008 (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 2011). H. Sancisi-Weerdenburg, A. Kuhrt (eds.), Achaemenid History, vol. 2: The Greek Sources (Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten, 1987). R. Seager, “The Congress Decree: Some Doubts and a Hypothesis,” Historia 18 (1969) 129–40. R. Seager, C.J. Tuplin, “The Freedom of the Greeks of Asia: On the Origins of a Concept and the Creation of a Slogan,” JHS 100 (1980) 141–54. R. Sealey, “The Origins of the Delian League” in Badian (1967) 233–56. J.  Seibert, “ ‘Panhellenischer’ Kreuzzug, Nationalkrieg, Rachefeldzug oder Eroberungskrieg?—Überlegungen zu den Ursachen des Krieges gegen Persien” in Will (1998) 5–58.

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P. Siewert, Der Eid von Plataiai (Vestigia 16) (München: Verlag C.H. Beck, 1972). R.J. van der Spek, “Cyrus the Great, Exiles, and the Foreign Gods: A Comparison of Assyrian and Persian Policies on Subject Nations” in Kozuh, Henkelman, Jones, Woods (2014) 233–64. P. Tozzi, “Per la storia della politica religiosa degli Achemenidi: Distruzioni persiane di templi greci agli inizi del V secolo,” RSI 89 (1977) 18–32. H. van Wees, “ ‘The Oath of the Sworn Bands’: The Acharnae Stela, the Oath of Plataea and Archaic Spartan Warfare” in Luther, Meier, Thommen (2006) 125–64. W. Will (ed.), Alexander der Grosse. Eine Welteroberrung und ihr Hintergrund. Vorträge des Internationalen Bonner Alexanderkolloquium, 19.–21.12.1996 (Bonn: R. Habelt, 1998).

Weather, Luck and the Divine in Thucydides Rachel Bruzzone Thucydides, the historian of the Peloponnesian War, offers only one extended analysis of warfare, following his episode on Corcyraean stasis (3.82–3). In this editorializing passage, he lists the disappearance of piety as one of the forms of social decay associated with the war: human relationships are no longer founded on faith (3.82.6), neither side practices reverence (3.82.8), and oaths lose their hold on humanity (3.83.2). In this paper, I argue that his four lengthy episodes featuring the fall of the small city of Plataea form a cohesive narrative illustrating this sacrilege. Plataea is a particularly appropriate backdrop for a depiction of this metamorphosis in Greek morality, weighted as the city is with the sacred legacy left behind by the Persian War victory of 479 BCE, an event that involved dramatic manifestations of, in particular, Spartan piety. In one of several demonstrations of their faith, the Spartans refused to defend themselves from Persian attacks until their leader Pausanias’ prayer to the local temple of Hera rendered pre-battle sacrifices auspicious (Hdt. 9.61.3–62.1). Herodotus, at least, regards that this belief was well founded, for he surmises that Demeter intervened directly in the battle (Hdt. 9.65.2). The mounting impiety that takes place at Plataea in the Peloponnesian War is particularly disturbing because Thucydides’ narrative implies that the divine forces associated with the onetime victory over barbarians indeed exist and object to transgression. The dialogue between the Spartan king Archidamus and the Plataeans insistently argues that the sacred forces of Plataea judge events there and can be expected to intervene on the side of justice. And indeed, traditional elements of divine intervention, including luck, darkness, fire and storms,1 consistently ­protect 1  In Homer, darkness can hide a man even during daytime, and can be used to interfere in a battle (e.g. Od. 23.371–2; Il. 5.23–4, 344–6, 506–8; 16.567–8), sometimes by making heavy things light for chosen individuals (Il. 12.445–50). Gods can inspire thoughts (e.g. Hdt. 1.27.3), and change or limit human perception (e.g. Od. 19.476–9; Soph. Aj. 51–2; E. Ion 14; Pl. Smp. 179d). Belief in the divinity of the natural world, and its capacity to punish injustice, transcends literary genres (See e.g. A.H. Sommerstein ed., Aeschylus’ Eumenides (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989) 236–7; J.D. Mikalson, Athenian Popular Religion (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1983) 18–30). The gods employ their most obvious tool, violent weather, liberally in all types of literature (e.g. Od. 5.291–6; Aesch. Ag. 192–204; Hdt. 8.13). Such intervention was thought to be especially crucial in the Persian Wars, when the Persians suffered a series of disastrous storms. Herodotus reports that the god Boreas deliberately destroyed much of the Persian fleet at Cape Sepias to help the Greeks. This

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and help Plataea’s defenders, while blinding, confusing, and frightening its attackers.2 Invasion Thucydides’ account of the initial Theban attack first establishes Plataea as an extraordinarily lucky city; the episode in fact seems so unlikely that it has been read as demonstrating the role of the unforeseeable in war.3 Three hundred Thebans slip into the city, intending either to convince or to compel it to join the rest of Boeotia (2.2.1). Reinforcements follow, but fail to reach Plataea in time. After a brief capitulation, the Plataeans fight back, but their luck, most often in the form of extraordinary natural phenomena, is more decisive in the victory than their own efforts in battle. The forces of nature in this narrative, as will be the case in every Plataean episode, are more decisive than any human action. Thucydides repeatedly remarks on the dark night in which the conflict takes place (2.2.1 περὶ πρῶτον ὕπνον, 3.1 ἐν τῇ νυκτί, 3.4 νύκτα, ἐν νυκτὶ, 4.2 διὰ νυκτὸς, ἐν σκότῳ, 5.1 τῆς νυκτὸς, 2.2.5.2 τῆς νυκτὸς). This darkness disorients the Thebans (2.4.2), but Thucydides twice observes that the Plataeans know the town and are thus unimpeded (2.3.4, 4.2). The Plataeans deliberately take advantage of the darkness that they know will confuse their opponents (2.3.3), but they also ­display understanding of events appears to have been widely accepted, for the grateful Athenians established a temple for the god beside the Ilissos River (7.189.3), and nearly 50 years later Aristophanes’ Philocleon refuses to change the cloak he was wearing when Boreas delivered Greece (Vesp. 1124). 2  Thucydides rarely introduces the divine into his work, for example not allowing his characters to comment on the violation of Decelea. But this apparent discrepancy between his treatment of Plataea and other cities is in keeping with one of his characteristic techniques, the use of exemplary narratives that serve as templates for the reader to supply elsewhere when appropriate. S. Hornblower, Thucydides and Pindar (Oxford: OUP, 2004) 342–3 describes Thucydides’ single account of a pre-battle sacrifice: “The message appears to be ‘I am not going to tell you this sort of thing every time: please bear it in mind and assume it elsewhere.’ ” J. Price, Thucydides and Internal War (Cambridge: CUP, 2001) 13 discusses Thucydides’ treatment of stasis: “This is a variation of a known narrative technique of Thucydides, by which he relates one instance of a recurring event in great detail so that it may serve as an exemplar for all similar instances in the narrative.” H.R.R. Rawlings, The Structure of Thucydides’ History (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1981) 212–15 and W.R. Connor, Thucydides (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1984) 144 also discuss Thucydides’ tendency to use exempla. 3  H.-P. Stahl, Thukydides: Die Stellung des Menschen im geschichtlichen Prozess (Munich: C.H. Beck’sche Verlagsbuchhandlung, 1966) 65–74.

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strangely keen vision in the night, unlike the baffled Thebans. Despite the darkness, they quickly notice when the Thebans make their only viable escape attempt (2.4.4 αἴσθησις γὰρ ταχεῖα ἐπεγένετο), with Thucydides’ unusual use of the substantive calling attention to the idea of perception,4 emphasizing the Plataeans’ immunity to the dark that blinds their attackers. The Thebans remain blinded by darkness well after the text suggests dawn should have come to their aid. Plataean resistance begins precisely at first light (2.3.4 αὐτὸ τὸ περίορθρον),5 Thucydides’ emphatic phrasing calling attention to the timing, which the reader might otherwise overlook. Thucydides reports that the Thebans then gain the upper hand “two or three times” (2.4.2), but eventually lose. They flee the scene and attempt to escape the city, but become lost, at which point Thucydides observes that they have particular trouble escaping because it was the moonless time of month (2.4.2). In the time it took for the battle to go back and forth, the rout to occur and the defeated troops to lose their way in flight, the arrival of dawn should have rendered the moonlessness of the night irrelevant, especially in the springtime, when the attack occurred.6 Instead, time seems to stand still until the Plataeans’ work is finished.

4  P. Huart, Le Vocabulaire de l’Analyse Psychologique dans l’Œvre de Thucydide (Paris: Librarie C. Klincksieck, 1968) 173–4. 5  H CT 2.4 translates περίορθρον as “the darkest hour before the dawn.” This translation makes the apparently nonsensical narrative more logical but stretches the meaning of the word, which LSJ translates as simply “dawn.” J. Classen, J. Steup, Thukydides (Berlin: Weidmann, 1889) 5 take περίορθρον to be “gerade die Zeit des ersten Hahnenschreis.” The Greeks thought of it as part of the night (R.W. Wallace, ΟΡΘΡΟΣ, TAPA 119 (1989) 201–7, at 201–4), which ended at dawn, with the rosy fingers of Ἠώς indicating shafts of light emerging over the horizon. Like English “dawn,” “sunrise” and “daybreak,” ὄρθρος is used in apparently contradictory ways. The most important outlier is Plato’s description of the time between it and daybreak as sufficient for the serious intellectual work of his Nocturnal Council (Lg. 909a, 968a). Most people would still be in bed (Thuc. 3.112.3–4) but the industrious (Hes. Op. 574–7; Ar. Eccl. 462) might be up and about—indeed, well-run households should arise at this time of “night” (Pl. Lg. 808a). The fact that some might be busy argues against Wallace’s conclusion that ὄρθρος occurs several hours before any light appears in the sky, especially given the problems with artificial lighting he cites in his argument for people going to bed early. 6  The US Naval Observatory reports that the period between civil twilight (dawn) and full sunrise at Plataea on April 29, the day on which there was a new moon in 431 BCE, currently lasts 28 minutes (5:04–5:32), suggesting that it must have been at least near daybreak by the time the Thebans fled and became lost. Alternatively, if the storm was heavy enough to block out the sunrise completely, the absence of the moon should not have been a factor in the battle at all.

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Violent weather is also a key factor in the Plataean victory. Thucydides reports that in the main scuffle the Thebans face the Plataean men, who are fighting in great disorder (2.4.2 πολλῷ θορύβῳ). The women and slaves, meanwhile, hurl objects from above, while the rain that fell in the night, which Thucydides describes as violent, causes further problems (2.4.2 καὶ ὑετοῦ ἅμα διὰ νυκτὸς πολλοῦ ἐπιγενομένου). The Plataean troops are thus only the first of three obstacles the Thebans confront, and Thucydides’ characterization of their action as “very chaotic” (2.4.2) casts doubt on their influence on the outcome of the battle. Thucydides normally treats such uproar as fatal;7 indeed, this is the only conflict in Thucydides in which chaotic fighting results in victory,8 suggesting that the Plataeans’ own contribution to the conflict was not the deciding factor. After the Plataean victory, tuchê works against the invaders when many of them mistakenly rush into a large house along the city wall whose door happens to stand open (2.4.5 ἔτυχον). The Plataeans themselves play an almost entirely passive role in the capture, simply “seeing that (the Thebans) had been cut off” (2.4.6). They must only shut the door of the house and gather those Thebans who are still wandering about in confusion (2.4.7), ready to surrender unconditionally after their horrible night in Plataea. The flooding produced by the extraordinary storm also prevents Theban reinforcements from arriving in time to avert their compatriots’ annihilation, an event Thucydides describes at length (2.5.1–3): οἱ δ’ ἄλλοι Θηβαῖοι, οὓς ἔδει ἔτι τῆς νυκτὸς παραγενέσθαι πανστρατιᾷ, εἴ τι ἄρα μὴ προχωροίη τοῖς ἐσεληλυθόσι, τῆς ἀγγελίας ἅμα καθ’ ὁδὸν αὐτοῖς ῥηθείσης περὶ τῶν γεγενημένων ἐπεβοήθουν. ἀπέχει δὲ ἡ Πλάταια τῶν Θηβῶν σταδίους ἑβδομήκοντα, καὶ τὸ ὕδωρ τὸ γενόμενον τῆς νυκτὸς ἐποίησε βραδύτερον αὐτοὺς ἐλθεῖν. ὁ γὰρ Ἀσωπὸς ποταμὸς ἐρρύη μέγας καὶ οὐ ῥᾳδίως διαβατὸς ἦν. πορευόμενοί τε ἐν ὑετῷ καὶ τὸν ποταμὸν μόλις διαβάντες ὕστερον παρεγένοντο.

7  J.E. Lendon, “The Rhetoric of Combat: Greek Military Theory and Roman Culture in Julius Caesar’s Battle Descriptions,” CA 18 (1999) 273–329, at 282–5. 8  θόρυβος indicates ineffective, undisciplined or excessively brutal tactics at 1.49.4, 4.14.3, 8.10.4, and 84.2; it leads to defeat or near-defeat at 3.22.6, 4.127.1, 129.4, 5.110.7, 7.3.1, 37.3, 40.3, 44.4, and 81.4; armies try to create θόρυβος among their enemies at 3.26.1, 78.1, 7.22.1, and 8.71.1; at 4.104.1 it prevents an effective defense; θόρυβος leads an ally to become concerned at 5.52.1; unnecessary panic strikes Athens at 8.92.7. The Plataean passage is the only instance in which θόρυβος is associated with a successful military action.

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After the message about what had happened was reported to them while they were still on the road, the other Thebans—who should have arrived when it was still night with an entire army, in case something turned out badly for those who had gone in—were coming to help. But Plataea is 70 stades from Thebes, and the rain that fell during the night made them travel more slowly. For the Asopus river was swollen and getting across it was not easy. Traveling in the rain and crossing the river with difficulty, they arrived late. The extended description of the elements of nature and the Thebans’ difficulty in making headway across the river leaves the reader with a growing sense that the natural world, now consisting of the storm, darkness, and the Asopus, conspire to protect Plataea. This would not have been an unusual thought in his day: rivers were sacred forces protecting the local people; Darius’ ghost in Aeschylus’ Persai, for example, calls the Asopus a φίλον πίασμα to the Boeotian land (806), and this very river became a symbol of barbarian hybris when the Persians crossed it onto Plataean soil in defiance of their seer’s advice in Herodotus (9.36–42).9 If the first episode leaves the reader mystified at the strange behavior of the weather and luck at Plataea, the next episode, a dialogue before the Peloponnesian attack (2.71–4), suggests an explanation. This conversation concentrates almost exclusively on religion, a striking and unusual topic in Thucydides. King Archidamus, whom Thucydides throughout has presented as a traditional and pious Spartan,10 betrays a reluctance to attack that implies that he himself believes that aggression against Plataea might offend the gods, an implication that is reinforced both by the previous Plataean episode and 9  Cf. Hdt. 6.76.2: Cleomenes, unable to obtain sacrifices favorable for crossing the Erasinus River, “said that on the one hand he admired the Erasinus for not betraying its citizens,” but that the Argives would nevertheless not go unscathed. He turns back and makes his journey by sea. Xen. An. 1.4.18 reports the case of a river that had never before been fordable becoming so in deference to Cyrus, presumably through divine intervention. Hes. Op. 737–41 describes the appropriate ritual before crossing a river, noting that “the gods hate him [who crosses a river inappropriately] and send suffering afterward” 10  For the characterization of Archidamus as a wise and traditional Spartan, see F.M. Wasserman, “The Speeches of King Archidamus in Thucydides,” CJ 48 (1953) 193–200; L. Edmunds, Chance and Intelligence in Thucydides (HUP: Cambridge, 1975) 90; E.F. Bloedow, “The Speeches of Archidamus and Sthenelaidas at Sparta,” Historia 30 (1981) 129–43, at 135; G. Crane, Thucydides and the Ancient Simplicity (University of California Press: Berkeley, 1998) 212; P. Debnar, Speaking the Same Language (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2001) 66–9.

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when the natural world continues to aid the Plataeans and hinder their attackers in the subsequent siege.

The Plataean Dialogue

The Plataeans first characterize the Peloponnesian attack as a violation of both the gods and the Spartans’ own ancestors buried at Plataea (2.71.2–4). They cite Pausanias’ sacrifice to Zeus the Liberator in Plataea’s agora and point out that the same man declared Plataea inviolable (2.71.2), an edict the living Spartans ignore. The Plataeans call as witnesses to their suffering those gods who received prayers before the great victory, the divinities of their own land and the ancestral gods of Sparta, and accuse Sparta of sacrilege (2.71.4). It is unusual for even one side of a debate in Thucydides to appeal to the gods,11 but only here do both sides agree that the divine might take an interest in the unfolding crisis. The Spartan king initially claims that he himself is on the side of the gods (2.72.1), but religious scruples seem to trouble him, for he makes one of the few apparently sincere attempts in Thucydides to avoid violence. He urges the Plataeans to remain philoi to both sides (2.72.1) and promises that, if they temporarily abandon their city, Sparta will deliver food to the refugees while protecting their city for the duration of the war (2.72.3). When his offer is not accepted, Archidamus continues to behave as if he is troubled by the religious implications of an attack on Plataea. Before the subsequent siege, he, too, invokes the gods and heroes of the land, delivering a highly unusual statement directly to “however many gods and heroes possess this Plataean land” (2.74.2), and attempts to win their favor and counter the Plataean accusations. He tells his divine listeners that “we came into this land here only because those men first violated the oath;” reminds them that he has made many reasonable offers in vain (πολλὰ καὶ εἰκότα); and asks them to take his side and punish those who offended first (2.74.2). Few such prayers occur in Thucydides, and this is the most elaborate.12 The fact that Archidamus apparently feels that he must explain his behavior to the Plataean divinities, while the locals themselves simply call these entities as witnesses, suggests that he 11  S. Hornblower, Commentary on Thucydides 2 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1996) 445 discusses the scorn that normally meets appeals to religion. 12  Brasidas also appeals to the gods before attacking Acanthus (4.87.2–3), and the Athenians call on the divine after their speech at Sparta (1.78.4). E. Badian, “Plataea Between Athens and Sparta” in Boiotika (eds. H. Beister, J. Buckler, Munich: Editio Maris, 1989) 95–111, at 98 dismisses Archidamus’ prayer as “all rhetorical display”

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fears that the sacred world will not judge him to be in the right, and will come to his opponents’ aid—as in fact turns out to be the case. Siege The next Plataean episode, a siege (2.75–8), features some of the most dramatic natural activity in Thucydides, and scholars throughout the ages have observed that the storm that rescues Plataea from a dangerous fire is reminiscent of Croesus’ salvation in Herodotus. Foster offers the most thorough discussion of the natural world in this conflict, noting in particular the unusually prominent role played by the Plataean soil.13 In the context of the larger Plataean sequence, this and other features of the narrative help confirm the pattern of natural—and, implicitly, divine—intervention. The central portion of this second attack is literally a struggle for the soil of Plataea, which Archidamus fewer than ten OCT lines earlier had described as the possession of local divinities who had made it favor the Greeks in the Persian War battle (2.74.2). The soil seems to make its loyalties known again when Plataea’s few defenders easily resist the Spartans’ earth-working efforts, while the overwhelming force brought to bear by the Peloponnesians fails to make headway. The Plataeans prevent the growth of an enormous Peloponnesian mound along the city wall by excavating earth from beneath it, an operation that (as HCT 2.208–9 observes) would have required slow, careful digging to avoid collapse or detection. But even though this delicate maneuver competes with the 24-hour forced labor of a large army performing a simple task, the mound subtly sinks at the same rate that it grows for a long time (2.76.2), baffling the attackers. The Plataeans also manage to erect a wooden wall inside their city for part of the siege (2.75.4–76.3), and later a second wall outside of it (2.76.3), without any sign of the grueling effort required from their enemies. The Peloponnesians, on the other hand, have great difficulty moving the soil of Plataea, as Foster has observed.14 They spend a great deal of time building their mound, laboring day and night, and sleeping and eating in shifts. Their work takes on a frantic air, as they throw “onto (the mound) brush and rocks and earth and anything else that might finish (the work)” (2.75.2). The labor is

13  E. Foster, “The Rhetoric of Materials: Thucydides and Lucretius,” AJP 130 (2009) 367–99, at 369–78 also argues that the Plataean earth plays a lively role in the conflict. 14   Ibidem, 372–3.

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also forced (2.75.3), a strategy that appears nowhere else in Thucydides.15 As Foster notes, “while the Spartans have many men, the Plataeans have a natural ally in their own heavy earth”16—but the earth is far heavier and less cooperative with the Spartans than it is with the Plataeans. Thwarted in a variety of attempts to take Plataea, the Peloponnesians finally try to burn the city, hoping that a chance wind will assist them (2.77.2). Their hopes are badly out of place in a narrative in which nature has consistently opposed them and now does so again, when a sudden storm saves the city, and Thucydides draws out the suspense by describing the fire for 16 OCT lines (2.77.2–5); his decision to describe the thunder that accompanies it (2.77.6) suggests that he, and not just his informers, saw the event as one with religious import.17 Few storms play a decisive military role in Thucydides, but in this case, as in the account of the previous attack and the escape that follows, the historian gives credit for the city’s salvation to the weather, reporting that the downpour “put out the fire and ended the danger” (2.77.6). Thucydides ends this episode by calling attention to the improbability of the Plataean success, encouraging the reader to examine its causes more carefully. He emphatically states that 480 men were inside the city during the siege, and no more (2.78.4). Earlier he had also reported that the Plataeans consider themselves “few against many” (2.76.3), and that the Spartans expect a quick victory due to the labor of their large army (2.75.1). Additionally, as the Peloponnesians prepare their attempt to burn Plataea, they fill the ditch around the city quickly “because of their many hands” (2.77.2). The successful Plataean resistance seems so unlikely that Stahl again argues that it demonstrates unpredictability in warfare.18 Especially after the Plataean Dialogue, it is reasonable to conclude that the Plataeans’ success is due to the fact that they are not fighting alone. Rather, the spirits of the place, having chosen sides just as the participants of the Plataean Dialogue expected, aid its defenders.

15  Although the Spartans make no obvious mistakes and seem rather to be thwarted by circumstances, their failure at Plataea may reflect a general feeling that Spartans lacked talent at siege warfare (Hdt. 9.70.2; Thuc. 1.102.2). 16  Foster, The Rhetoric . . ., 372–3. 17  Hornblower (2007) 145 notes that “the thunder was not worth mentioning unless it was seen by some as an indication of the attitude of Zeus”. 18  Stahl, Thukydides . . ., 83.

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Escape The Plataeans are extraordinarily fortunate one last time in the final narrative passage, when half of the besieged men escape, again aided by a ferocious storm and accompanied by unusual hints of divine activity. The identity of one of the men who proposes the breakout, the seer Theainetus son of Tolmides (3.20.1), suggests early on that this is not a mundane operation. This man, the only named seer in Thucydides, also helps lead the escape alongside Eupompides (3.22.1). A mantis normally offered religious guidance,19 on rare occasions adding strategic advice,20 but nowhere else in Thucydides’ work does a mantis propose military action, much less lead it, suggesting that Thucydides may have adjusted the narrative so as to endow the Plataean story with further religious import.21 Luck again favors the defenders of Plataea as they perform an escape that has been deemed “almost too good to be true.”22 An area of the Peloponnesian fortification “where it happened that the wall opposite them had not been plastered” (3.20.3) allows them to count the bricks and calculate the appropriate height for ladders with which to scale it.23 Just as they displayed eerily keen vision in the storm and darkness of the first episode, they again accomplish their ends remarkably effortlessly. Thucydides reports that they perform the count without difficulty, a statement that draws Gomme’s skepticism: “it was clearly not easy to count the layers, in spite of ῥᾳδίως καθορωμένου.”24 Fortunately for the Plataeans, the weather continues to confuse, blind and deafen their enemy but not themselves (3.22.1): “they then went out against the wall of the enemies after escaping notice of the guards, who on the one hand did not see them through the darkness, and on the other did not hear them with the wind rattling so as to drown out the noise of their approach.” The guards observe that something has happened only after the majority of the Plataeans have scaled the wall (3.22.4), but even after this realization, the storm and the dark night keep them from understanding what is happening 19  Pritchett 3, 48–9. 20   Ibidem, 56. 21  For more on manteis see K. Ulanowski in this volume. 22  E.L. Harrison “The Escape from Plataea: Thucydides 3.23,” CQ 9 (1959) 33. 23  Edmunds, Chance . . ., 162 observes the role of luck in this operation. E. Eidinow, Luck, Fate and Fortune (London: I.B. Tauris, 2011) 131 notes that there are only 11 appearances of the noun tuchê in Thucydides. 24   H CT 2.280.

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(3.22.5). They are effectively paralyzed, unable to move from their posts in confusion (3.22.6). In the meantime, the Plataeans perform a far more sophisticated operation, silently passing ladders, guarding those who are momentarily vulnerable (3.23.2), and sending weapons forward to the unarmed frontrunners (3.22.3). Mud (πηλός) is particularly associated with Plataea, appearing in each of the Plataean conflicts but only rarely elsewhere in Thucydides,25 and its most prominent appearance is in this episode. As the escape occurs, Thucydides reports that the Plataeans “were lightly armed and shod only on the left foot for sure-footedness in the mud” (3.22.2). As commentators have noted, this explanation makes little sense, given the difficulty of walking in one shoe.26 But, as Bal observes, conflicts between the persona an author would like to project and his literary goals regularly produce statements that “measure the difference between the text’s overt ideology, as stated in such (authorial) comments, and its more hidden or naturalized ideology, as embodied in the narrative representations.”27 In this case, the story further associates the Plataeans with the city’s earth, which first thwarted Theban attempts to flee in the nighttime attack (2.4.2) and then proved so cooperative with the Plataean excavation, while Thucydides’ rationalizing explanation preserves his rational persona. The hint of the divine is all the more powerful because, as several scholars have observed, the apparently bizarre attire is that of a chthonic ritual,28 further adding to the religious atmosphere already established in the sequence. The Plataeans choose a stormy night for their escape, and the weather once more cooperates enthusiastically. Ice makes its only appearance in Thucydides in a final storm so fierce that it fills the ditch surrounding the city with neckdeep water, the ideal depth to conceal an armed man without drowning him. Once again, moreover, the historian’s grammar makes the Plataeans as much the recipients of the weather’s favor as engineers of their own salvation 25  This word appears only three other times in the rest of Thucydides’ work (1.93.5, 4.4.2, 7.84.5), one of them in the equally eerie Pylos episode and another as the Athenian soldiers in Sicily desperately drink the bloody mud of the Assinarus. 26  E.g. Hornblower, Commentary . . ., 406–7. 27  M. Bal, Narratology: Introduction to the Theory of Narrative (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1985, Reprinted 1997) 31. 28  L. Edmunds, “Thucydides on Monosandalism” in Studies Presented to Sterling Dow on his Eightieth Birthday (ed. K.J. Rigsby; Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1984) 71–4; P. Vidal-Naquet, The Black Hunter (Trans. A. Szegedy-Maszak; Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1986) 64.

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(3.23.5): ἐγένετο δὲ καὶ ἡ διάφευξις αὐτοῖς μᾶλλον διὰ τοῦ χειμῶνος τὸ μέγεθος.29 Just as Thucydides’ earlier use of the substantive aisthesis emphasized the Plataeans’ capacity for vision, the rare word διάφευξις30 here underscores the idea of a lucky escape (3.23.5). The natural world continues to intervene as fire and darkness assist the Plataeans and blind their enemies. First, the Peloponnesian torches make their bearers’ position obvious to the Plataeans shooting from the dark, but blind the Peloponnesians to the Plataeans hidden in the blackness (3.23.4). After the escape, the torches perform a final service, showing the Plataeans that their pursuers, having failed to observe which road the Plataeans took despite the close quarters of the fight, blunder off down the wrong road (3.24.1). The escaping Plataeans are said to pass the heroon of the hero Androcrates (3.24.1). As Woodhouse points out, the mention of the tomb is unnecessary if Thucydides’ goal is simply to convey an accurate account of the action.31 But the landmark is another reminder of the Battle of Plataea, which took place near the tomb. Indeed, Androcrates was among those to whom the Greeks sacrificed before the battle (Plut. Arist. 11.3), so a final nod to him is a fitting conclusion to the series of conflicts at Plataea, in which divinities associated with the Persian Wars seem to come alive again to favor Plataea’s defenders. Conclusions The three conflict narratives at Plataea thus combine with the Plataean Dialogue to provide pervasive and consistent hints that the sacred forces of the Plataean land, including the Spartans’ own fallen ancestors, object to the Peloponnesians breaking their Persian War oaths by attacking the city. This pattern renders the final episode, the Plataean Debate and the “trial” following it, even more tragic. In the last minutes of their lives, the Plataeans again beg that their city’s sacred legacy not be forgotten, and appeal directly to the divinities 29  “And their escape happened rather because of the magnitude of the storm.” J. Classen, J. Steup, Thukydides (Berlin: Weidmann, 1892) 45: “γίγνεσθαι hier nicht bloss als Passivum zu ποιεῖσθαι . . ., sondern mit der Nebenbedeutung des glücklichen Erfolgs”. 30  Classen, Steup, Thukydides . . ., 42 observe that this is the only appearance of διάφευξις in Thucydides’ era. 31  W.J. Woodhouse, “The Greeks at Plataia,” JHS 18 (1989) 38–9: “Few can have read the passage in Thucydides without having been struck by the apparent pointlessness of his remark as to the position of the monument in question.” He goes on to justify its appearance on topographic grounds.

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of their land (3.59.2). The Spartans, however, simply ask each Plataean individually the “brief question” of whether he had been useful to Sparta in the Peloponnesian War (3.52.4), a question that implicitly rejects Plataea’s Persian War past. The Plataeans are accordingly condemned (3.68.1), their city razed (3.68.3), and their land handed over to Thebes (3.68.3). Because the land, physical city, and its natural forces behaved almost like a living thing attempting to defend itself throughout the sequence, this mutilation evokes the kind of pity that similar treatment of a sentient creature would. With its citizens dead, the city of Plataea, along with its sacred inhabitants, is only beginning to suffer enslavement to its old enemy Thebes, just as its people had feared (3.58.5). This reading of Thucydides’ Plataea sequence suggests that his treatment of the divine is more nuanced than is sometimes thought.32 He is often conceived of as an atheist, but true atheism seems to have been very rare even among the most radical thinkers of his era. Rather, his presentation of the events at Plataea suggests that he views justice, the divine, and forces of nature to be an interconnected whole, an idea that would be familiar in many earlier and contemporary philosophers as well as the more traditional thinkers who might, like Herodotus, also believe in personified divinities (6.117.3). Thales, for example, famously claimed that “all things are full of gods” (T 22 DK); Xenophanes objected to gods in human shape but believed in a sentient, controlling force (e.g. F 24, 25 DK); Anaxagoras’ Nous manages the universe (e.g. F 12 DK); the Hippocratic treatise On the Sacred Disease suggests that the natural world is divine (18.1–2), with no hint that the view might be controversial;33 and Socrates was accused not of atheism but of introducing new gods. The author who emerges from this reading of the Plataea sequence, a historian who uses an exemplary narrative to explore the religious implications of the Peloponnesian War, is a creative thinker, but also a man who belongs to his own era.

32  See e.g. K.J. Dover, Greek Popular Morality (Oxford: Blackwell, 1974) 129–41; D.B. Martin, Inventing Superstition (Cambridge: HUP, 2004) 37–50; J.N. Bremmer, “Atheism in Antiquity” in The Cambridge Companion to Atheism (ed. M. Martin; Cambridge: CUP, 2007) 11–19; M.A. Flower, “Athenian Religion and the Peloponnesian War” in Art in Athens during the Peloponnesian War (ed. O. Palagia; Cambridge: CUP, 2009) 1–23; and A. Gregory, The Presocratics and the Supernatural (London: Bloomsbury, 2013). 33  L. Edelstein, Ancient Medicine: Selected Papers of Ludwig Edelstein (Trans. C.L. Temkin. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1967) 208.

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Bibliography E. Badian, “Plataia Between Athens and Sparta” in Boiotika (ed. H. Beister, J. Buckler; Munich: Editio Maris, 1989). M. Bal, Narratology: Introduction to the Theory of Narrative (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1985, Reprinted 1997). E.F. Bloedow, “The Speeches of Archidamus and Sthenelaidas at Sparta,” Historia 30 (1981) 129–43. J.N. Bremmer, “Atheism in Antiquity” in The Cambridge Companion to Atheism (ed. M. Martin; Cambridge: CUP, 2007) 11–19. J. Classen, J. Steup, Thukydides (Berlin: Weidmann, 1862–1922). W.R. Connor, Thucydides (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1984). G. Crane, Thucydides and the Ancient Simplicity (University of California Press: Berkeley, 1998). P. Debnar, Speaking the Same Language (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2001). K.J. Dover, Greek Popular Morality (Oxford: Blackwell, 1974). L. Edelstein, Ancient Medicine: Selected Papers of Ludwig Edelstein (Trans. C.L. Temkin. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1967). L. Edmunds, Chance and Intelligence in Thucydides (Cambridge: HUP, 1975). ———, “Thucydides on Monosandalism” in Studies Presented to Sterling Dow on his Eightieth Birthday (ed. K.J. Rigsby, Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1984) 71–4. E. Eidinow, Luck, Fate and Fortune (London: I.B. Tauris, 2011). M.A. Flower, “Athenian Religion and the Peloponnesian War” in Art in Athens during the Peloponnesian War (ed. O. Palagia; Cambridge: CUP, 2009) 1–23. E. Foster, “The Rhetoric of Materials: Thucydides and Lucretius,” AJP 130 (2009) 367–99. A.W. Gomme, A. Andrews, K.J. Dover, A Historical Commentary on Thucydides (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1945–81) 5 Vols. A. Gregory, The Presocratics and the Supernatural (London: Bloomsbury, 2013). E.L. Harrison, “The Escape from Plataea: Thucydides 3.23,” CQ 9 (1959) 30–3. S. Hornblower, Commentary on Thucydides (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1991–2008). ———, Thucydides and Pindar (Oxford: OUP, 2004). ———, “Thucydides and Plataian Perjury.” In A.H. Sommerstein, J. Fletcher, eds. Horkos: the Oath in Greek Society (2007). Exeter. P. Huart Le Vocabulaire de l’Analyse Psychologique dans l’Œvre de Thucydide (Paris: Librarie C. Klincksieck, 1968). J.E. Lendon, “The Rhetoric of Combat: Greek Military Theory and Roman Culture in Julius Caesar’s Battle Descriptions,” CA 18 (1999) 273–329. D.B. Martin, Inventing Superstition (Cambridge: HUP, 2004).

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J.D. Mikalson, Athenian Popular Religion (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1983). M. Munn, “Thucydides on Plataea, the Beginning of the Peloponnesian War, and the ‘Attic’ Question” in Oikistes: Studies in Constitutions, Colonies and Military Power in the Ancient World (eds. V.B. Gorman, E.W. Robinson, Leiden: Brill, 2002) 245–69. J. Price, Thucydides and Internal War (Cambridge: CUP, 2001). W.K. Pritchett, The Greek State at War (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1979). H.R.R. Rawlings, The Structure of Thucydides’ History (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1981). A.H. Sommerstein, ed., Aeschylus’ Eumenides (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989). H.-P. Stahl Thukydides: Die Stellung des Menschen im geschichtlichen Prozess (Munich: C.H. Beck’sche Verlagsbuchhandlung, 1966). P. Vidal-Naquet, The Black Hunter (Trans. A. Szegedy-Maszak, Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1986). R.W. Wallace, “ΟΡΘΡΟΣ,” TAPA 119 (1989) 201–7. F.M. Wasserman, “The Speeches of King Archidamus in Thucydides,” CJ 48 (1953) 193–200. W.J. Woodhouse, “The Greeks at Plataia,” JHS 18 (1989) 33–59.

Xenophon’s Piety within the Hipparchikos Simone Agrimonti The number of references to the divine in Xenophon’s Hipparchikos, a handbook of military advice, is a striking feature, considering the apparently secular nature of the topic. Gods, sacrifices, and the religious duties of the hipparchos are a constant presence in the pages of the Hipparchikos. Xenophon dedicates particular attention to the gods and tells the cavalry commander that he will surely need their help to accomplish the most difficult or dangerous actions. Thus, he should do everything necessary to win their favour. The Hipparchikos, also known with the English title The cavalry commander, was written between 371 and 355 BC1 and was named after the two commanders of the Athenian cavalry, the hipparchoi (οἱ ἵππαρχοι). It is a short handbook that has the aim of helping a future hipparchos make the Athenian cavalry more efficient and lead it to victory. Pieces of advice contained in this work range from taking care of the horses to tactical measures, from recruitment to strategic plans. What may seem surprising is that the Greek word θέος (god), declined in all its possible forms, occurs twenty-five times: this frequency in such a short work highlights the importance religion has in the Hipparchikos.2 References to the gods fall into two main categories: on the one hand the author often reminds the reader that the hipparchos has to pray to the gods, offer sacrifices and hold wonderful mounted parades to them in order to win their favour. On the other hand, Xenophon also stresses the importance of the gods’ action in helping the cavalry commander. The necessity of receiving divine help is underlined through the constant use of the formula ‘with divine favour’ (σὺν θεῷ) which appears seven times;3 other relevant expressions are ‘with the 1  For the dating of the work, see É. Delebecque, Essai sur la vie de Xénophon (Paris: C. Klincksieck, 1957) 430–1; C. Petrocelli, Ipparchico. Manuale per il comandante della cavalleria (Bari: Edipuglia, 2001) XI–XII. Unidentified textual references are to the Hipparchikos. Translations are my own. I would like to thank Nick Granitz for his help in improving the first draft. 2  The contrast between the military argument and the massive presence of religion seems particularly sharp to us, modern readers, who tend to imagine warfare as a secular activity. For ancient Greeks this opposition may not have been remarkable. 3  Xen. Eg. Mag. 5.14, 6.1, 7.3 (twice), 7.14, 9.2, 9.8.

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gods being favourable’ (θεῶν ἵλεων ὄντων 1.2, 5.14) and ‘we need the gods as our strong allies’ (θεῶν συμμάχων ἰσχυρῶν δεῖ 7.4). One question then naturally arises: how should we explain this massive presence of the divine and religious element? What is the meaning of the numerous references to the gods that dot the whole work? Why does the author choose to insert them? The possible answers to these questions are many. First of all, one might disagree with my conviction that these references are a significant number and explain them just as a casual phenomenon. Or the constant reference to the gods might be interpreted just as a literary device, a sort of traditional formula without any real significance. Finally, some scholars have supposed that these numerous allusion to the gods are insincere: through them Xenophon was faking a deep religious feeling he did not really have.4 In this paper, I will consider all the various references to the gods and to the religious aspects of the role of hipparchos, in order to offer my answer to the questions mentioned above; particular attention will be paid to the last one. Throughout the analysis of all the passages concerning the divine element and other relevant points of the handbook, I will show that the massive presence of the religious element actually reflects the great importance the author gave to this sphere. The first possible approach is that we should not give too much importance to the passages relating to religion. References to religion are not numerous enough in and of themselves to constitute a hard proof that the author wanted to stress this particular aspect. This position can however be easily discarded by looking at the very end of the work. Here Xenophon explains to the reader the reason of his insistence in mentioning the gods. εἰ δέ τις τοῦτο θαυμάζει, ὅτι πολλάκις γέγραπται τὸ σὺν θεῷ πράττειν, εὖ ἴστω ὅτι ἢν πολλάκις κινδυνεύῃ, ἧττον τοῦτο θαυμάσεται, καὶ ἤν γε κατανοῇ ὅτι, ὅταν πόλεμος ᾖ, ἐπιβουλεύουσι μὲν ἀλλήλοις οἱ ἐναντίοι, ὀλιγάκις δὲ ἴσασι πῶς ἔχει τὰ ἐπιβουλευόμενα. τὰ οὖν τοιαῦτα οὐδ’ ὅτῳ συμβουλεύσεταί τις οἷόν τε εὑρεῖν πλὴν θεῶν· οὗτοι δὲ πάντα ἴσασι καὶ προσημαίνουσιν ᾧ ἂν ἐθέλωσι καὶ ἐν ἱεροῖς καὶ ἐν οἰωνοῖς καὶ ἐν φήμαις καὶ ἐν ὀνείρασιν. εἰκὸς δὲ μᾶλλον ἐθέλειν αὐτοὺς συμβουλεύειν τούτοις, οἳ ἂν μὴ μόνον ὅταν δέωνται ἐπερωτῶσι τί χρὴ ποιεῖν, ἀλλὰ καὶ ἐν ταῖς εὐτυχίαις θεραπεύωσιν ὅ τι ἂν δύνωνται τοὺς θεούς. If anyone is surprised that I have written so often about working with divine favour, I can assure him he will be less surprised, if he is going to be often in peril, and if he will consider that in time of war enemies plot 4  For this view, see below.

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against each other, but they seldom know what will come of their plots. Therefore, you could not find anybody else who can give counsel in these sorts of cases except the gods. They know all things, and warn whomever they want through sacrifices, omens, voices, and dreams. And one may assume that they prefer to counsel those who do not only ask what they should do in the hour of need, but also in prosperous situations honour them at the best of their ability (9.8–9).5 The author himself seems to be conscious of the peculiarity of such a recurring presence of the divine.6 Because of this, he offers to the reader a detailed explanation of his choice, telling him that all the passages mentioning the gods, far from being just a casual presence, do have a precise meaning. The explicit self-analysis that is carried out in these lines also challenges the second interpretation proposed. It is in fact hard to believe that if the all the references to the field of divine were only a literary device, a formula without any deeper meaning, the author would have dedicated the two final paragraphs of the work to an explanation of these references. We should instead admit that these passages want to convey a precise religious message, namely that a constant respect and attention to the gods is the most important prerequisite for the success of the Athenian cavalry. Once we accept the idea that the various passages convey a precise religious message, the last question we have to answer is whether the convictions expressed in the work were true or not, that is, if Xenophon effectively believed in the outmost importance of the religious element. Some doubts have in fact been raised on the sincerity of the author’s mentions of the religious duties of the hipparchos. This interpretation was first proposed by Paul-Louis Courier in the nineteenth century.7 The French author is convinced that the continuous references to sacrifices and to the gods are an expedient through which Xenophon wants to pretend religious piety. This behaviour was intended to divert suspicions about his religious beliefs. At that time a former disciple of Socrates like Xenophon could easily be suspected of impiety. Although in 399 BC Xenophon was far from Athens, the memory of the trial and the consecutive execution of 5  The Greek text is that of é. Delebecque, Xenophon. Le commandant de la cavalerie. Texte établi et traduit (Paris: Les Belles lettres, 1973). 6  Unfortunately, we cannot say whether at Xenophon’s time military handbooks had already developed their own conventions. We can just note that Aeneas Tacticus’ Poliorcetica, the closest parallel for this period, does not have significant references to the gods or to religious themes. 7  P-L. Courier, Oeuvres complètes (Paris: Paulin, 1834) vol. 4, 235 n. 1.

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Socrates was very probably still alive in him. The author thus felt necessary to constantly remark his acceptance of the traditional religion, his belief in sacrifices and the necessity of worshipping the gods. The idea of the author being influenced by the memory of Socrates’ trial is also somewhat supported, though in different terms, by édouard Delebecque.8 In analysing the final paragraphs of the Hipparchikos, he maintains that Xenophon, while writing these lines, did not want to excessively stress his conviction about the unpredictable nature of war. The memory of what had happened to Socrates thus led him to mention the gods and their relevance again, confirming his faith in the traditional civic religion. Delebecque’s analysis is actually focusing just on the very last passages of the work. However, these paragraphs have a huge relevance for the interpretation of the religious feeling of the whole work, since they are supposed to explain it. Admitting that Xenophon’s remarks are here insincere would lead us to doubt many of the expressions of religiosity in the work. According to these scholars, references to religion are not sincere and do not reflect the author’s real attitude towards religion. Moreover, even though passages concerning the divine may somehow have reflected real religious feelings, the choice of inserting them into the work was due to an external factor, namely, the necessity of appearing pious towards traditional gods, in order to avoid any trouble with the Athenian demos. However, this interpretation does not sound very convincing to me. There are several reasons which make me think that the author has chosen to insert religious references without any external pressure. First of all, time is a relevant factor. The Hipparchikos, as I have said, is unanimously dated after 371 BC, thus at least twenty-eight years after Socrates’ trial. It is quite hard to believe that, still at that time, an author could be afraid of possible popular reactions to the point of inserting false religious elements in his work. Xenophon would probably be more worried about his recent status as a lakonistes and close friend of a Spartan king.9 Beside that consideration, a second and crucial element are the motivations Xenophon himself presents in the already mentioned last paragraphs. Since

8  Delebecque, Xenophon. Le commandant . . ., 110–11 n. 7. 9  Charge with lakonismos as the cause of the exile: Diog. Laert. 2.51. The date and reasons of Xenophon’s exile are a much troubled point. On it, see in particular C. Tuplin, “Xenophon’s Exile Again” in Homo viator. Classical essays for John Bramble (eds. M. Whitby, P. Hardie, M. Whitby, Bristol: Bristol Class. Press, 1987) 59–68, who argues for 394 BC as the date of the exile, and P.M. Green, “Text and Context in the Matter of Xenophon’s Exile” in Ventures into Greek History (ed. I. Worthington, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1994) 215–27, who prefers 399 BC.

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they are crucial for the interpretation of Xenophon’s religious attitude within the Hipparchikos, I will now analyse them in detail. The main reason that he pays such attention to religious topics is that the gods are omniscient, and this is the main characteristic that distinguishes them from men. This gap in knowledge, although it always holds true, is increased further during war. War is in fact a situation of greatest uncertainty, as Xenophon does not fail to remember ‘enemies plot against each other, but they seldom know what will come of their plots’ (9.8). This conception of war as a moment of great uncertainty is a theme to which the Hipparchikos devotes significant attention, one of which Xenophon seems to be really concerned.10 He is in fact aware that fourth-century military practice has become both strategically and tactically more complex. Even if major pitched hoplite battles continue to take place, they are now just a part of the conflict and they increasingly tend to become less decisive.11 Within this frame, particular aspects of the art of war, such as scouting and information gathering, trickery and deception, gain significant importance. In the Hipparchikos, Xenophon is very concerned about these themes,12 and often gives advice on mitigating the uncertainty of the new style of Greek warfare. For example, many paragraphs of chapter four are dedicated to the absolute importance of acquiring information, through spies and groups of scouts, about the enemy: ‘Since discovering the enemy as far off as possible is most useful both for attack and defence’ (4.5).13 Significant attention is paid to the necessity of knowing the locations through which the cavalry move, while the last paragraphs of this chapter instead stress the importance of hiding your position and manoeuvres from the enemy. Another example of the relevance given to these new aspects of war is chapter five, which is entirely devoted to the theme of deception. The good hipparchos should in fact be able to conceal the number of his horsemen, to covertly get close to the enemy and suddenly attack him, to pretend to organize sea expeditions, and so on. Xenophon is so convinced of the importance of this 10  A similar depiction of war can be found in Thuc. 1.78. 11  A good example of this phenomenon are the two major pitched hoplite battles of Nemea and Coronea, fought in 394, that failed to end the Corinthian war. This phenomenon can however be traced back to the Archidamian war: the battle of Delion, the first major pitched battle of this phase of the war, only took place seven years after the beginning of the conflict and failed to change the outcome. 12  Such aspects of war can also be found in the Agesilaos, presented through the positive model of the Spartan king; Xen. Ages. 1.17; 6.7. 13  τὸ γὰρ ὡς ἐκ πλείστου προαισθάνεσθαι πολεμίων χρήσιμον καὶ πρὸς τὸ ἐπιθέσθαι καὶ πρὸς τὸ φυλάξασθαι.

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theme, that he says: ‘Since nothing is more useful at war than deception’ (5.9).14 Xenophon, thanks to his considerable military experience, perfectly understood the characteristics of this way of waging war, in which deception and reconnaissance play a fundamental role. He discussed these themes in detail in the Hipparchikos because he thought that the new Athenian hipparchoi would need his advice to deal with the threats of this type of warfare. This theme and the considerations Xenophon makes are closely linked to the role played by the gods. Many of the most relevant elements of cavalry warfare can be summarized into a single point: the importance of acquiring reliable information, in order to mitigate the constant state of uncertainty. According to Xenophon, the role of the gods is precisely to help the pious commander gather information through their omniscience. He is convinced that the gods, being in the position of knowing everything, can help mortals, who cannot rely on any other reliable source of aid. The gods are thus configured as the only certain and fixed point in the extreme uncertainty of war; divine help is the remedy against the continuous uncertainty in war which affects soldiers and generals. Thus, when explaining why he has decided to insert so many references to religion in his work, Xenophon does it by closely linking both the faith in the gods and the necessity of receiving their help to his considerations about some features of the contemporary military practice about which he really cared, that is to say the importance of information gathering and deception. This close correlation between religious themes and some of the most important military aspects of the work leads to the conclusion that Xenophon’s references to divine were sincere. A third element in favour of the sincerity of religious references, is the complexity and internal consistency of the religious system elaborated in the work. In order to demonstrate this point, I shall now focus on religious references, still paying particular attention to the role played by the gods. We have seen that, in numerous passages of the work, they are mentioned helping (or hopefully helping) the hipparchos perform his duties: from the training of the cavalrymen to the conception of new tricks to be used against the enemy. The number of the passages involving divine help is too high to make here a complete list: for clarity’s sake I will treat them as a uniform group, not focusing on the features of every reference, which are, however, quite small. When one tries to understand the dynamics involved in the assistance provided by the gods, he immediately has to face a difficulty: divine help is always described in general terms, without providing details that could help the reader understand the exact functioning of this phenomenon. For example, a very recurrent 14  ὄντως γὰρ οὐδὲν κερδαλεώτερον ἀπάτης ἐν πολέμῳ.

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expression, that I have already mentioned, is ‘with divine favour’ (σὺν θεῷ). In other passages, we may read that something can be accomplished ‘with the gods being favourable’ (θεῶν ἵλεων ὄντων) or only ‘if the gods give their consent’ (θεῶν συνεθελόντων 9.7). In order to have a clearer view of this point, it is better to rely again on the interpretation given by the author himself in the final paragraphs: ‘Therefore, you could not find anybody else who can give counsel in these sorts of cases except the gods. They know all things, and warn whomever they want through sacrifices, omens, voices, and dreams. And one may assume that they prefer to counsel those who do not only ask what they should do in the hour of need, but also in prosperous situations honour them at the best of their possibility’ (9,9). From this passage we understand that Xenophon has a precise idea of how the gods may help mortals. Having an absolute knowledge of all things, they can advise humans and tell them what they should do. This communication between gods and mortals happens through the traditional means of Greek religion: sacrifices, omens, and dreams. The gods here just have the role of counselling, warning against making mistakes and thus leading to prosperity. This important function is the only way they have to interfere with human actions; Xenophon does not seem to imagine the possibility for the gods to practically intervene in first person in human events. In the Hipparchikos in fact, the chance of them deciding the fate of a battle, spreading terror in the enemies of the hipparchos, or giving courage to his men, is never ventilated. The gods can just send the commander presages, in order to help him taking right decisions.15 From this conception of the divine action Xenophon derives the importance of offering sacrifices, which have a double function. On one hand they are the most important means of communication between men and gods, the one used by somebody who, being in trouble, needs divine advice to take an important step. On the other hand, sacrifice, through the immolation of a sacrificial victim, is also a way to show one’s piety and gain the goodwill of the gods. Xenophon, at the end of chapter nine, explicitly says that the gods’ assistance should not be taken for granted (9.9). The hipparchos who has always 15  In some of his other works, Xenophon takes a far less clear position on the possibility of direct divine intervention. On the gods’ influence over history (especially in the Hellenika) see V. Gray, The character of Xenophon’s Hellenica (London: Duckworth, 1989) 154–7; J. Dillery, Xenophon and the history of his time (London, New York: Routledge, 1995) 179–237; H. Bowden, “Xenophon and the scientific study of religion” in Xenophon and his World: papers from a conference held in Liverpool in July 1999 (ed. C. Tuplin, Stuttgart: Franz Steiner, 2004) 241–5.

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been pious, even when the situation was favourable, has more chances of receiving divine help. However, the need of showing to the gods constant devotion and respect, is not introduced for the first time in this paragraph. On the contrary, this is just the final reference to something that has already emerged in the whole work. The necessity of a hipparchos being respectful to the gods is already present in the very beginning of the Hipparchikos. The first chapter in fact starts by saying: ‘The first thing to do is to sacrifice to the gods and pray to them.’ (1.1);16 another example of that is the beginning of chapter three, where the reader is told that sacrifice is one of the duties the commander must perform himself. However, ritual offers are not the only way through which the good commander can honour the gods: Xenophon also stresses the importance of processions, in which the cavalry will take part. He devotes many words about how to properly teach cavalrymen to perform well in these occasions. Chapter three is entirely dedicated to this topic and the author repeatedly underlines that processions should be ‘most pleasing both to the gods and to the spectators’ (3.2); and that they are made ‘to the satisfaction of both gods and men’ (3.4).17 Xenophon thus mentions a list of acts that give the hipparchos the possibility to show his devotion; in this way, he can win the favour of the gods, who will hopefully remember his piety and consequently help him in case of war. What I have here described is an overall picture, just in its most important elements, of the approach to religion and divine Xenophon has in the Hipparchikos. The elements we have mentioned and analysed create a consistent ideological structure: the conduct of the good hipparchos is closely related to the conception of the nature of the gods and the way they interact with the pious commander. Such a complex and well-constructed religious thought can hardly be seen as a mere concession to external pressure. We should thus admit that the references to the sphere of divine come from the author’s actual belief. The last point in favour of this interpretation is the fact that many of the religious beliefs and dynamics in the Hipparchikos can also be found in the rest of Xenophon’s works, where they are paid significant attention.18 Their presence in works such as the Anabasis, the Hellenica and the Cyropaedia, confirms 16  Πρῶτον μὲν θύοντα χρὴ αἰτεῖσθαι θεοὺς. 17  Xen. Eg. Mag. 3.2: Τὰς μὲν οὖν πομπὰς οἴομαι ἂν καὶ τοῖς θεοῖς κεχαρισμενωτάτας καὶ τοῖς θεαταῖς εἶναι; 3.4: πάντα ἐπιδεδειγμένα ἔσται καὶ τοῖς θεοῖς καὶ τοῖς ἀνθρώποις. 18  Xenophon is actually the author who gives us most of the information about the religious elements of Greek warfare. His contribution is so relevant that R. Parker, “Sacrifice and battle” in War and violence in ancient Greece (ed. H. van Wees, London: Duckworth

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that the ideas expressed in the cavalry handbook belong to the global religious feeling and conception of divine of this author. Since comparing the religious elements of the Hipparchikos with the related concepts from all other works by Xenophon would require too much time and lies outside of the theme of this research, I will just focus on a couple of passages which, according to my opinion, best show the deep relation between the handbook on the cavalry commander and the remaining works. The parallel I find the most relevant belongs to the Cyropaedia. The passages I am going to focus on belong to a long dialogue between Cyrus and his father Cambyses, who are marching together against the enemy. Two paragraphs in particular recall concepts that we have already found in the Hipparchikos. Let’s read what Cambyses says: Μάθε δέ μου καὶ τάδε, ἔφη, ὦ παῖ, τὰ μέγιστα· παρὰ γὰρ ἱερὰ καὶ οἰωνοὺς μήτε σαυτῷ μηδέποτε μήτε στρατιᾷ κινδυνεύσῃς, κατανοῶν ὡς ἄνθρωποι μὲν αἱροῦνται πράξεις εἰκάζοντες, εἰδότες δὲ οὐδὲν ἀπὸ ποίας ἔσται αὐτοῖς τὰ ἀγαθά. My son, also learn from me this lesson, which is the most important of all: never run a risk with yourself or your army contrary to the omens or the auspices, being conscious that men choose their lines of action by guess, and they do not know from which of these they will get advantages (Xen. Cyr. 1.6.44) οὕτως ἡ ἀνθρωπίνη σοφία οὐδὲν μᾶλλον οἶδε τὸ ἄριστον αἱρεῖσθαι ἢ εἰ κληρούμενος ὅ τι λάχοι τοῦτό τις πράττοι. θεοὶ δέ, ὦ παῖ, αἰεὶ ὄντες πάντα ἴσασι τά τε γεγενημένα καὶ τὰ ὄντα καὶ ὅ τι ἐξ ἑκάστου αὐτῶν ἀποβήσεται, καὶ τῶν συμβουλευομένων ἀνθρώπων οἷς ἂν ἵλεῳ ὦσι, προσημαίνουσιν ἅ τε χρὴ ποιεῖν καὶ ἃ οὐ χρή. εἰ δὲ μὴ πᾶσιν ἐθέλουσι συμβουλεύειν, οὐδὲν θαυμαστόν· οὐ γὰρ ἀνάγκη αὐτοῖς ἐστιν ὧν ἂν μὴ θέλωσιν ἐπιμελεῖσθαι. So, human knowledge does not know how to choose for the best more than if one would decide what to do by lot. But the gods, my son, being eternal know everything: past events, present ones, and what will come from each of these things, and among the men who consult them, they reveal to those towards whom they are propitious what they should and should not do. But that they do not give advice to everybody, this is hardly surprising: since nothing compels them to care if they are unwilling (Xen. Cyr. 1.6.46). and the Classical Press of Wales, 2000) 299–301 refers to the Classical Greek set of rituals and sacrifices as “the Xenophontic system”.

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The Persian king begins talking about the absolute necessity of relying on the signs the gods can provide: sacrificial victims and birds. This is due to the distrust in the human capacity of taking right decisions, especially at war. This theme is taken up in the following paragraph, with the striking image of men deciding their actions by ballot (kleroumenoi), followed by a consideration about the omniscience of the gods: the contrast between human ignorance and divine knowledge is strikingly similar in the two works. Finally, we are told in which way the gods may help the pious man: if asked, they will probably tell him what he should do. However, Cambyses warns that they do not advise everyone. The necessity of winning the gods’ favour has already been stressed by Cyrus a few pages earlier. One sentence in particular deserves our attention for its close resemblance to the Hipparchikos: ὅτι εἰκότως ἂν καὶ παρὰ θεῶν πρακτικώτερος εἴη ὥσπερ καὶ παρ’ ἀνθρώπων ὅστις μὴ ὁπότε ἐν ἀπόροις εἴη, τότε κολακεύοι, ἀλλ’ ὅτε τὰ ἄριστα πράττοι, τότε μάλιστα τῶν θεῶν μεμνῇτο. that man would be more effective with the gods, as with men, who did not flatter them when he was in adversity, but especially remembered the gods when he was successful (Xen. Cyr. 1.6.3). In the following paragraph, Cambyses says that Cyrus, since he has always been respectful towards the gods, can now imagine to receive their help. Based on a comparison between the two texts, Xenophon believes that the gods have the power of helping men through the exams of victims, presages, and dreams. The wise commander, being conscious of the limits of human knowledge, must never take important military decisions without divine advice. Because of the crucial role played in war by divine favour, it is important to win the gods’ goodwill; to do this, the commander should always show himself devoted and honour them, even when he does not need their help. Another confirmation of the crucial importance that communication between men and gods has in Xenophon’s ideology is proved by his own behaviour at the head of a group of soldiers, as narrated in the Anabasis. He in fact always acts (or pretends to do so) in a very pious way: he constantly seeks advice from the gods for any important decision.19 Moreover, he always ­complies with 19  The extent to which Xenophon is a reliable narrator of his own role and behaviour during the retreat is much debated. However, what we are really interested in is what he tells us that he did, not what he really did. Xenophon attributes to his character the features of the ideal commander, including being pious towards the gods. On this, see also Bowden, Xenophon . . ., 230 n. 2. For Xenophon’s piety as a commander in the Anabasis

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whatever he is told to do. I will just recall you a couple of significant examples: in the Anabasis Xenophon offers a sacrifice to Zeus and asks him whether he should be supreme commander of the army; but the god denies and he thus refuses the command, which is instead given to Cheirisophos (Xen. An. 6.1.22–4, 31). Xenophon relies again on the will of Zeus in Thrace: the god will tell him to leave the country. However, similar examples are so numerous that Xenophon himself tells the soldiers: ‘As you see, soldiers, I offer all the sacrifices I can both on your behalf and my own’ (Xen. An. 5.6.28).20 We have seen most of the religious beliefs expressed in the Hipparchikos can also be found in other of Xenophon’s works. Themes such as the importance of seeking divine advice, the way gods help mortals, the religious duties of a good commander, clearly quite dear to the Athenian historiographer, are given considerable attention in many texts. The religious references of the Hipparchikos are not isolated, but deeply integrated within Xenophon’s religious mindset. Consequently, they can hardly be considered a mere preventative measure against possible allegations of impiety. This conclusion is also strongly supported by the other elements mentioned above. Not only may one hardly believe that Xenophon, thirty years after Socrates’ trial, was still worried about suffering the same fate of his teacher. What I find far more convincing are the characteristics of the references to religion and divine. These elements are in fact given considerable attention and, if put together and correctly analysed, they create an elaborate picture. If compared with other texts, this religious system proves to be perfectly consistent with Xenophon’s religious thought, as it appears from his other works. I am thus convinced of the genuine character of all the references to the field of divine: Xenophon inserted these factors not because of some external pressure, but only because of his own convictions. The crucial role given to religion in war is due to the author’s belief that the gods, even though they do not personally intervene on the battlefield, can decide the fate of a war by helping the pious commander. He thus has to be very devout, offering sacrifices and respecting the gods. If the hipparchos acts in this way, Xenophon is confident the gods will give him their decisive support.

see G. Hutchinson, Xenophon and the Art of Command (London: Greenhill Books, 2000) 45–51. 20  Ἐγώ, ὦ ἄνδρες, θύομαι μὲν ὡς ὁρᾶτε ὁπόσα δύναμαι καὶ ὑπὲρ ὑμῶν καὶ ὑπὲρ ἐμαυτοῦ.

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Bibliography H. Bowden, “Xenophon and the scientific study of religion” in Xenophon and his World: papers from a conference held in Liverpool in July 1999 (ed. C. Tuplin, Stuttgart: Franz Steiner, 2004). P.-L. Courier, Oeuvres Complètes (Paris: Paulin, 1834). É. Delebecque, Essai sur la vie de Xénophon (Paris: C. Klincksieck, 1957). ———, Xenophon. Le commandant de la cavalerie. Texte établi et traduit (Paris: Les Belles lettres, 1973). J. Dillery, Xenophon and the history of his time (London, New York: Routledge, 1995). V. Gray, The character of Xenophon’s Hellenica (London: Duckworth, 1989). P.M. Green, “Text and Context in the Matter of Xenophon’s Exile” in Ventures into Greek History (ed. I. Worthington, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1994) 215–27. G. Hutchinson, Xenophon and the Art of Command (London: Greenhill Books, 2000). R. Parker, “Sacrifice and battle” in War and violence in ancient Greece (ed. H. van Wees, London: Duckworth and the Classical Press of Wales, 2000) 299–314. C. Petrocelli, Ipparchico. Manuale per il comandante della cavalleria (Bari: Edipuglia, 2001). C. Tuplin, “Xenophon’s Exile Again” in Homo viator. Classical essays for John Bramble (eds. M. Whitby, P. Hardie, M. Whitby, Bristol: Bristol Class. Press, 1987) 59–68.

The Mounted Torch-Race at the Athenian Bendideia Nicholas Sekunda The first reference to the cult of Bendis in Greek literary sources comes in a fragment of the Ephesian lyric poet Hipponax, who wrote around 510 BC.1 The cult of Bendis is first mentioned in Attic literature in fragments of the Θρãτται written by the comic poet Kratinos, which dates to circa 430 BC. In one of these fragments the goddess is mentioned as carrying two spears for hunting.2 This feature, along with her Thracian dress, has enabled Bendis to be identified on Attic Red-Figure vases painted at about the same time.3 The goddess is also mentioned, though on the island of Lemnos, in the Λήμνιαι of Aristophanes, perhaps of a slightly later date.4

The Bendideia at Athens

At first the cult may have been introduced into Athens by Thracian immigrants and slaves.5 The goddess may have been worshipped in Athens from some time before becoming officially recognized as a state cult. The cult of Bendis became recognized officially at Athens after consultation with the oracle at Dodona.6 1  M.L. West, Iambi et Elegi Graeci ante Alexandrum Cantati, Volumen I (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1989) 127 frg. 127 = Th. Bergk, Poetae Lyrici Graeci, Vol. II (Leipzig: B.G. Teubner, 1882) 496–7 frg. 120. 2  R. Kassel, P. Austin, Poetae Comici Graeci (PCG) IV (Berlin, New York: Walter de Gruyter, 1983) 159–66 frg. 73–89 esp. 165 frg. 85. Popov argued that the weapon carried by Bendis was originally a two-headed spear (D. Popov, ‘Essence, Origine et Propagation du Culte de la Déesse Thrace Bendis,’ DHA 2 (1976) 289–303 at 295). 3  L IMC sv. Bendis 1–2. No. 1 in the list is ARV² 1023, 147 painted by the Phiale Painter. No. 2 was at first thought to be non-Attic, possibly Boeotian (C. Watzinger, Griechische Vasen in Tübingen (Reutlingen: Gryphius-Verlag, 1924) 59, taf. 41; cf. E. Simon, Opfernde Götter (Berlin: Mann, 1953) 25. 4  R. Kassel, P. Austin, Poetae Comici Graeci (PCG) III 2 (Berlin, New York: Walter de Gruyter, 1984) 212 frg. 384. 5  Eg. Z. Gočeva, “Le Culte de la Deesse Thrace Bendia a Athenes” in Primus Congressus Studiorum Thracicorum = Thracia II (Sophia: Bulgarian Academy of Science, 1974) 81–6. 6  I G ii² 1283, 6.

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This original consultation, with the oracle is mentioned in an inscription recording a decree of the Athenian assembly, IG ii² 1283,7 moved in archonship of Polystratos, which fell between the years circa 269–262 BC. The first mention of the cult of the goddess Bendis as a state cult in Athens comes in a second Athenian inscription, the accounts of the treasures of the Other Gods for 429/8 BC.8 Therefore establishment of the cult came before, but presumably not much before, that date. Nilsson and Ferguson both proposed that the cult was probably established in 431 BC, at the start of the Peloponnesian War, when Athens was in alliance with the Thracian king Sitalkes.9 Parke thought that it was motivated by Athenian interests in the Thraceward regions, which had been further stimulated by the Peloponnesian war, and an alliance with King Sitalkes.10 Parker attributes the establishment of the state cult of Bendis to the general fascination Athenians had for Thrace at that period.11 Indeed, the comic authors in the early years of the conflict provide evidence for the hope of Thracian help. In the first year of the war (431 BC) Thucydides (2.29.5) records that Sitalkes promised to send Athens cavalry and peltasts. A fragment of the comic poet Hermippos, preserved in Athenaeus (1. 27e–28a), composed during the early stages of the Peloponnesian War in the 420s, lists a whole host of goods pouring into Athens in a mock-epic catalogue. Alongside hoplite mercenaries from Arcadia he lists peltasts sent by the Thracian king Sitalkes ‘an itch to plague the Lakedaimonians’. Aristophanes, in the Acharnians (160) first performed in 425 BC, wishes for an army of Odomanti, who for two drachmas a day will ‘petast down’ (katapeltazien) all of Boeotia. According to Gomme this passage ‘expresses some of the Athenian feeling of weakness before a peltast attack’ following the battle of Spartolos in 429 BC.12 Be that 7  On IG ii² 1283 see J. Pečírka, The Formula for the Grant of Enktesis in Attic Inscriptions (Prague: Argonaut, 1966) 122–130; N.F. Jones, The Associations of Classical Athens. The Response to Democracy (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999) 43. 8  IG i² 310 = IG i³ 383 vs. 143. 9  M.P. Nilsson, “Bendis in Athen” in From the Collections of the Ny Carlsberg Glyptothek III (1942) 169–188, esp. 187 (a revised version of this work was re-published in the author’s Opuscula selecta III (1960) 55–80); W.S. Ferguson, “The Attic Orgeones,” HThR 37 (1944) 96–104 at p. 98; cf. Pečírka, Formula . . ., 130 who supports this date, though not ruling out an earlier one. 10  H.W. Parke, The Oracles of Zeus Dodona. Olympia. Ammon (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1967) 149. 11  R. Parker, Athenian Religion. A History (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1996) 174–5. 12  A.W. Gomme, A Historical Commentary on Thucydides, The Ten Years’ War, Volume II, Books II–III (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1956) 214.

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as it may, it certainly reflects the great military potential that the Athenians judged that the acquisition of a force of peltasts would give them. It should be noted that Bendis was accompanied by Deloptes, a Thracian healing god, and that the cult of Asklepios had not been introduced into Athens at that time. Consequently Mommsen thought the Bendideia were established after one of the plagues which ravaged Athens during the years 445, 430 or 420 BC.13 Planeaux favours a date of 429 BC itself, or if not, a date within the very short period of time 431–429 BC. He notes the political relations with Thrace at that time, but also that this was the period when the plague was at its worst in Athens. The reasons for the introduction may have been a complex of associated factors.14 The temple of Bendis was probably built at this time. It is mentioned by Xenophon (Hell. 2.4.11) in his account of events of 404/3 BC, lying alongside the temple of Artemis Mounychia.15 The location of the temple was most probably prompted by the presence of an already existing cult of Artemis in Mounychia.16 A third Athenian inscription (IG i³ 136) records a decree of the assembly regulating details of the cult of Bendis.17 This inscription was at first dated to around 431 BC, as it was thought to deal with the initial establishment of the cult. The inscription certainly dates to before 411, for it mentions the board of the kolakretai, which was abolished in that year. The name of the secretary of the tribe holding the prytany is given as [Π]ασιφõν Φρεάρ[ριος]. Raubitschek pointed out that Pasiphon was known to have been a stratēgos in 410/09, and consequently suggested a date of around 412.18 Bingen noted that the non-­ stoichedon orthography was a feature of the period circa 412–405, and suggested a date later than 430, and he furthermore restored the name of the eponymous archon as Κλε[όκριτος], who is known to have held office during 13  A. Mommsen, Heortologie (Leipzig: B.G. Teubner, 1863) 425 sq. 14  C. Planeaux, “ ‘The Date of Bendis’ Entry into Attica,” CJ 96.2 (2000–01) 165–192 at 179–82. 15  As regards this cult see C. Montepaone, « Il Mito di Fondazione del Rituale Munichio in Onore di Artemis » Recherches sur les cultes grecs et l’occident, 1 (Naples: Cahiers du Centre Jean Bérard, V, 1979) 65–76. 16  R. Garland, The Piraeus from the fifth to the first century BC (Ithaca N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1987) 121. On the reasons for the location of the cult in Piraeus see also C. Montepaone, “Bendis tracia ad Atene: L’Integrazione del ‘Nuovo’ Attraverso Forme dell’Ideologia,” Annali Istituto Universitario Orientale, Napoli: Archeologia e Storia Antica 12 (1990) 103–121 esp. at 115. 17  F. Sokolowski, Lois sacreés des cités grecques. Supplement (Paris: E. de Boccard, 1962) no. 6, 20–23. 18   S EG 10 (1949) 64b, note on p. 41.

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the year 413/2.19 This dating has been accepted in IG i³ 136. The decree of the assembly must, therefore, be concerned not with the original establishment of the cult, but with changes made to the already established practices in 413/2.

The Mounted Torch-Race

Torch-races are mentioned as having taken place at a number of Athenian festivals, including the Panathenaia, the Apatouria, the Anthesteria and the Epitaphia, and also at the festivals of Prometheus, Pan, Bendis, Hermes, and Theseus.20 Of all these the torch-race at the Bendideia was unique, as it was the only one which was carried out on horseback rather than on foot. The first and only reference to the mounted torch-race at the Bendideia comes at the beginning of Plato’s Republic. Plato’s character Socrates tells us (327 A) that he went down to the Peiraios with Glaukon the son of Ariston, to pay his respects to the goddess (τῇ θεῷ) and to see the new games. Athenians usually used the term ‘the goddess’ to mean Athena, and, indeed, the scholiast to Plato and sources following him understood the words of Plato to be referring to Athena and the festival of the Lesser Panathenaia.21 This is clearly a mistake, however, for later passages (eg. 354 B) clearly set the work at the Bendieia. Later ancient commentators on the passage make it clear that Socrates has gone down to the Peiraios to worship the goddess Artemis and to see the festival of the Bendideia.22 Socrates meets some of his friends, led by Polemarchos, who ask him if he is going to see the evening mounted torch-race in honour of the goddess. Socrates asks (328 A) if the riders will pass the torch along one to another and vie with each other on their horses. Polemarchus says yes, invites the group to his house, and suggests that after dinner they should go and talk to the neoi who have taken part in the torch-race. The mounted torch race must have been

19  J. Bingen, « Le Decret SEG X 64 (Le Piree, 413/2?) » Rev. Belge Ph. 37 (1959) 36–7; cf. R. Develin, Athenian Officials 684–321 BC (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989) 156. 20  Cf. J.G. Frazer, Pausanias’s Description of Greece Vol. II (London: Macmillan & Co., 1913) 391–3; cf. J.R. Sitlington Sterret, “The Torch Race,” AJP 22 (1901) 393–419. 21  Ed. G.C. Greene, Scholia Platonica etc. (= Philological Monographs published by the American Philological Association VIII, 1938) 188 ἑοπτὴ ἐνταῦθα τὴν τῶν μικρῶν Παναθηναίων φκσίν· “At this point he is talking about the festival of the Lesser Panathenaia”. 22  Cf. Sitlington Sterret, The Torch . . ., 403.

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a very spectacular event, as well as one demanding great standards of horsemanship, for it seems to have been held after dusk.23 At the very beginning of the Republic Plato seemingly locates the place and the date of the action in great detail. Socrates goes down to the Piraeus to worship the goddess, ‘and wishing to see in what way they would carry out the festival, seeing that for the first time there would be games’. They see the procession of citizen devotees and of Thracians,24 and were making their way back to the city, when they met Polemarchos. They are told that there is to be a mounted torch-race in the evening in honour of the goddess, upon which Socrates exclaims ‘That is new indeed!’ (καινόν γε τοῦτο) and a night festival (pannuchis). It should be noted that the mounted torch-race and the pannychis were two separate events.25 Although the festival may well have been established for some time, and had perhaps always included the pannuchis from its inception, Socrates’ declaration that the mounted torch-race is ‘new indeed’ indicates that Plato wishes the reader to believe that the dramatic date of the Republic is the year in which the mounted torch-race was first run.26 Long before the inscription of 413/2 recording new regulations for the cult of Bendis was found, Momsen, later followed by Shorey and Ferguson, had suggested that the text of Plato implies, not that the Bendideia as a whole was new, but rather that special new ceremonies were instituted circa 411 BC.27 Some pictorial information on the competition is provided by an anepigraphic carved relief (Fig. 1), perhaps dating to the late fifth or early fourth century BC, now in the British Museum (2155).28 Eight naked athletes, wearing only headbands on, line up behind two cloaked figures, who stand in front of 23  H.W. Parke, Festivals of the Athenians (London: Thames s Hudson, 1977) 151. 24  There were separate parades of citizens and Thracians, and separate bands of citizen and Thracian orgeones, the latter splintering into two with one in the Piraeus and one in the city (R. Garland, The Piraeus from the fifth to the first century B.C. (Ithaca N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1987) 119). 25  L. Deubner, Attische Feste (Berlin: Keller, 1932) 219. 26  Cf. C. Planeaux, “ ‘The Date of Bendis’ Entry into Attica,” CJ 96.2 (2000–01) 165–192 at 174. Planeaux (178–9) later argues against this interpretation, and that the processions too must have been new to Socrates. 27  A. Mommsen, Feste der Stadt Athen im Altertum (Leipzig: B.G. Teubner, 1898) 490 n. 4 “Mit letzterer Auffassung mag man sich benügen, da es hernach von der zu Ross exekutieren Lampas heist: καινόν γε τοũτο”; P. Shorey, Plato V. The Republic, Volume I (Loeb ed. Cambridge Mass., London: Harvard University Press, 1937) viii n. f; cf. W.S. Ferguson, “The Attic Orgeones,” HThR 37 (1944) 96–104, esp. 97–8, 103–4. 28  Compare a similar relief to Artemis found at Brauron published in BCH 83 (1959) 595 fig. 26.

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them. Only the first athlete carries a torch. This supports the statement of Plato that the race was a relay-race. Torch-races run at Athenian festivals could be either open to individual competitors, or be relay events. In the case of individual torch-races, it would be possible, in theory at least, for non-citizens to compete. Relay torch-races would have to have been run by tribal teams however, and there would appear to be no doubt that the event would have been restricted to citizens.29 A dedication to Bendis by a person called Daos, who states that he had been victorious in the torch-races, has been discovered at Kamariza in the Laurion district. It has been suggested that Daos is was Thracian, and possibly a slave.30 This suggestion is presumably based on the assumption that the name Daos is Thracian. The personal name Δᾶος is only twice attested for Thrace (in the city of Apollonia-Sozopolis) by the Lexicon of Greek Personal Names in Volume IV (p. 87), and four time elsewhere for that volume. By contrast it is listed five times in volume 1, twice in Volume III.A, three times in Volume III.B, and no less than seventeen times for Volume V.A. It possibly occurs under the form Δαους in Volume V.B (at Anabarzos in Cilicia). In Volume II it is listed five times for Athenian citizens and another five times for non-Athenians, in at least two cases by metics. Daos is used frequently by Menander in his plays, 29  R. Parker, Athenian Religion. A History (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1996) 171 assumes that the torch-race was performed by Thracians. 30  P.G. Themelis, “Votive base to Bendis from Kamariza,” Horos 7 (1989) 23–9.

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admittedly mostly for slaves, but once, in The Arbitrants, for an Attic shepherd. Thus there is no compelling reason to believe that the Daos responsible for the dedication to Bendis was not an Athenian citizen.31 It should be noted that it is not stated in which torch races Daos had been victorious, but the fact that the dedication was to Bendis suggests that it was in the Bendideia. In front of the athletes stand two bearded figures clad in himatia, one carrying another torch, while the foremost figure pours out a libation to the goddess Bendis, who, depicted in larger-than-life scale, stands in front of the whole group. These first two figures are usually interpreted as ‘trainers’,32 by which, presumably, tribal gymnasiarchs are meant. No references are preserved to equestrian gymnasiarchs in the fourth century, however, so this interpretation is not likely. Whilst there can be no doubt that the eight athletes constitute a tribal team, the two cloaked figures could be interpreted in a number of ways. Firstly they could be the two hipparchai who commanded the Athenian cavalry as a whole, which is, I believe, the most probable explanation. Alternatively one of the figures could be the phylarches, who commanded each tribal regiment, and the second figure could be the hipparchos commanding the wing to which this tribal regiment belonged, or, less probably, the hyperetes, or ‘sergeant-major’ of the tribal cavalry regiment.

The Dramatic Date of Plato’s Republic

The dramatic dates in which Plato sets his works are notoriously full of internal contradiction, a self-evident fact first noted by Eduard Zeller in 1873 and most recently restated by John Graham.33 We do not know whether Plato inserts irreconcilable chronological material into his works deliberately, or through carelessness. After an initial discussion taking place in the street, Socrates and Glaucon are invited by Polemarchos to his house, where the later action of the Republic takes place, in the presence of Lysias and Euthydemos, brothers of Polemarchus, and of their father Kephalos, who is described as very old and not able eas31  He is listed as such in with a query LGPN II at 99, see also Parker, Athenian Religion . . ., 172. 32  E.g. Garland, The Piraeus . . ., 118 (& fig.21); H.W. Parke, Festivals of the Athenians (London: Thames Hudson, 1977) 151 ‘team of eight young men and their two trainers who are older and bearded’. 33  J. Graham, “Plato’s Anachronisms” in Corolla Cosmo Rodewald (ed. N. Sekunda, Gdańsk: Fundacja Rozwoju Uniwersytetu Gdańskiego, 2007) 67–74; see also K. Moors, “The Argument Against a Dramatic Date for Plato’s Republic,” Polis 7 (1987) 6–31.

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ily to make the journey from the Piraeus to Athens (328 B–E), while Socrates describes himself as on the threshold of old age (328 C–E). Socrates would have been aged fifty-eight in 411 BC.34 According to the anonymous Lives of the Ten Orators preserved in Plutarch’s Moralia (835 C–E) Lysias was born in 459/8 BC and left for Thurioi with his brother Polemarchos at the age of fifteen in 444/3 BC, when his father Kephalos was already dead. He arrived back in Athens in 411/10 BC, ‘when the Four Hundred already had possession of the city’. He left Athens again in 404 BC, when his brother Polemarchos was put to death at the hands of The Thirty. Hence Plato is clumsy in locating the beginning of the Republic chronologically. Allan, Dover and others have argued for the primacy of the biographical details as suggested in the Republic for the biography of Lysias over the evidence given by the Lives of the Ten Orators.35 There is, however, no reason to doubt the evidence of the Lives, and Kephalos must have been dead before Lysias left Athens.36 Despite this difficulty Boeckh seems to have been the first to suggest that Plato intended to put the dramatic date of Plato’s Republic in 411 BC,37 that is in the year of Lysias’ return from Thureoi: an earlier date is impossible. Boeckh noted, however, that Kephalos would have had to be at least eighty-four to be alive in 411.38 In later places in the Republic anachronistic events and persons abound. The two most obvious anachronisms, also noted by Boeckh, are references to the strength of Polydamas of Scotussa (338 C), who only became famous after his victory in the pankration in 408 BC, and to the wealth of Ismenias the Theban (336 A), whose wealth was due to Persian gold, which he only started to receive in 395 BC (Xen., Hell. 3.5.2).39 There are many other anachronisms in the Republic, which have led many modern scholars to believe that the work was written over a long period of time, or was not originally conceived of as a single unified work.40

34  Cf. D. Nails, “The Dramatic Date of Plato’s Republic,” CJ 93.4 (1998) 383–96 at 385. 35  D.J. Allan, Plato: Republic . . ., 19–21; J.K. Dover, Lysias and the Corpus Lysiacum (= Sather Classical Lectures, Volume 39, Berkeley, Los Angeles: California University Press, 1968) 38–9. 36  See Graham, Plato’s Anachronisms . . ., 70. 37  A. Boeckh, Gesammelte Kleine Schriften (Leipzig: B.G. Teubner, 1874) IV 437–449. A list of later scholars supporting Boeckh’s date, or arguing for other dates, or arguing that no dramatic date can be established is given by Nails, ‘Dramatic Date’ 383. 38  Boeckh, Gesammelte . . ., 446. 39   Ibidem, 446–7; Nails, Dramatic Date . . ., 386–7. 40  Nails, Dramatic Date . . ., 393.

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It seems probable that Plato worked on the Republic over time, introducing references to historical events on the section of the work he was engaged in at the time, as suited his current purposes. The manuscript was then put to one side for a while before work was recommenced on another section. It was only when the work was finally prepared for publication that the beginning section was conceived and added. Plato intended to imply to the reader that the action took place when the mounted torch-race was run for the first time in the Bendideia. Therefore Plato makes two mistakes. Not only is it a mistake to introduce Kephalos into the work, it was also a mistake to introduce Lysias, for Lysias only returned to Athens in 411/10 BC, ‘when the Four Hundred already had possession of the city’. However, the decree regulating the cult of Bendis, which we may presume introduced the mounted torch-race, was passed by the Athenian assembly in 413/2. Therefore the first torch-race would have been run either in that year, or in the year 412/11 at the latest. So Plato’s dramatic date is at least a year too late for the events he describes. There is no mention of the introduction of a mounted torch-race in the preserved parts of the decree of 413/2, but the inscription is in an extremely fragmentary condition. Bingen concluded that the inscription dealt, among other matters, with the inauguration of the nocturnal celebrations, although I do not personally believe that all these particular ceremonies need to be new.41 The evidence from Plato’s Republic, despite the confusion over the date, strongly suggests that the mounted torch-race was introduced by this decree.

The Reason for the Changes in the Bendideia

Towards the end of 413, the Athenians appointed a board of ten probouloi ‘to stabilize and check the activities of the council and assembly in the post-­ Sicilian crisis. The creation of the office is evidence of how severe the crisis was perceived to be’.42 The probouloi were selected one from each of the ten tribes, as is made clear by the following gloss:43 41  Followed by Parker, Athenian Religion . . ., 172. 42  The words of B.S. Strauss, Fathers and Sons in Athens. Ideology and Society in the Era of the Peloponnesian War (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993) 184. Thuc. 8.1.3 states that the probouloi should prepare measures to reference to the present situation as there might be occasion. Cf. A.W. Gomme, A. Andrews, K.J. Dover, A Historical Commentary on Thucydides V Book VIII (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1981) 6–7. 43  I. Bekker, Anecdota Graeca (Berlin: Typis et impensis G. Reimeri, 1814) 298, here quoted from P. Foucart, « Le poète Sophocle et l’oligarchie des Quatre Cents, » Revue de Philologie 17 (1893) 1–10 at 4 n. 1.

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Πρόβουλοι· ἄρχοντες δέκα ἐξ ἐκάστης φυλῆς εἶς, οἵτινες συνήγον τὴν βουλὴν καὶ τὸν δήμον. Among other things, the probouloi were presumably to propose changes in religious practices. This would provide the occasion for a religious reform in 413/2, but why would the probouloi seek to reform the cult of Bendis in particular? The Athenians had contracted a force of Thracian mercenaries to come to Athens in order to serve in the Sicilian expedition, but they only arrived after the departure of the fleet. The Athenians immediately sent them back, as they were unwilling to incur the expense due to their current shortage of money. They appointed one Dieitrephes to conduct them back, giving him instructions to make use of them to damage the enemy as they sailed back along the coast. The result was a wholesale slaughter in the small Boeotian town of Mykalessos, which the Thracians carried out with great savagery.44 It is evident from Thucydides’ description of this incident that it was generally thought to be deplorable, especially as the Athenians had used barbarians against Greeks.45 In my view it was this incident, committed by Thracians returning from service with Athens, which induced the probouloi to recommend changes in the cult of Bendis: a Thracian deity.

The Thessalian Origin of the Mounted Torch-Race

A mounted torch-race seems a rather exotic competition to have been introduced into Athens, and this has led various scholars to suggest, since Bendis is a Thracian goddess, that the mounted torch-race may have been a Thracian custom. This suggestion runs into the difficulty, however, that so far the mounted torch-race is unattested in Thrace.46 Furthermore, an anecdote in Polyaenus’

44  The Mykalessos incident is, in fact, alluded to in his discussion of the reasons for establishing the cult by Parker, Athenian Religion . . ., 174. 45  Thuc. 7.29–30 with A.W. Gomme, A. Andrews, K.J. Dover, A Historical Commentary on Thucydides IV (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1970) 409–10. This is just as Aristophanes had foreseen in his Acharnians ten years previously cf. B.B. Rogers, The Acharnians of Aristophanes (London: G. Bell & Sons Ltd., 1930). 46  L. Deubner, Attische Feste (Berlin: Keller, 1932) 219 “die jedenfalls von den Thrakern geritte wurde”: H.W. Parke, Festivals of the Athenians (London: Thames Hudson, 1977) 151 ‘The Thracians must have been responsible for the innovation of racing on horseback. They were well known as horsemen and lived in a country more suited to horse-breeding than Greece. Whether such races were held in Thrace is not known’.

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Stratagems (3.9.60) suggests that Thracian horses were unused to burning torches:47 Iphicrates carried off a great deal of booty from Odrysian territory. A large number of Odrysians was pursuing him. Having few horsemen, he gave them burning torches and told them to charge the enemy. The Odrysians’ horses, unable to endure the unfamiliar sight of the flame, turned around and fled. Given that we lack evidence for the mounted torch-race from Thrace, I believe it is more probable that the mounted torch-race evolved in Thessaly, perhaps at Pherai in connection with the cult of Enodia. It is reasonable to suppose that Enodia was the patron deity of the mounted torch race, but there is no proof to support this belief. Enodia (also spelt Ennodia), the goddess ‘of the wayside’ was a Thessalian deity closely connected with equestrian matters, and with the Thessalian ­hippeis. An inscription from Larissa, dating to the end of the third century BC, records religious ordinances for the city, and in that inscription a stele to Enodia Μυκατία is recorded as being located near the hipparcheion.48 Mikro-Kiserli, the ancient Sykyrion, was the site of a fortress guarding the Tempe Pass,49 which during the Hellenistic period was manned by a garrison supplied by the forces of the Thessalian League. A series of inscriptions, dating to the second and first centuries BC, record dedications made to a deity by the garrison. Three of these refer to the deity as Phosphoros ‘bearer of light’50 and one as Artemis.51 On Thessalian coins Enodia is typically depicted riding a horse side-saddle, and carrying either torches in both hands or a single torch in her right hand. According to literary sources Phosphoros was a title given to Artemis when she carried a torch, and thus connects the deity

47  Translation from Polyaenus, Stratagems of War, edited and translated by P. Krentz, E.L. Wheeler (Chicago: Ares, 1994) 277. 48  B. Helly, « A Larisa, Boulversements et remise en ordre de sanctuaires, » Mnemosyne 23 (1970) 250–96 at 253, 274, 294. 49  Fr. Stählin, Das Hellenische Thessalien (Stuttgart: J. Engelhorns Nachfolger, 1924) 90 esp. n. 7. 50   I G ix (2) 1060, 1061, 1063. In a note to 1061 Wilamowitz is credited for the identification of Phosphoros (or Φαεσφόρος) with Artemis. It should be noted that dedications are also made to other deities at Mikro-Kiserli. 51   I G ix (2) 1058.

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worshipped by the soldiers of the garrison with Enodia.52 The dedications to Artemis/Phosphoros confirm the military connections of that deity, and suggest her identity with Enodia. It is necessary to underline at this point that within Thessaly Ennodia is never explicitly identified with Artemis, though she is outside. The mounted torch-race is attested in Thessaly. Inscriptions from the beginning of the first century BC list victors in the mounted torch-race (ἄφιππολαμπάδας) at the Eleutheria, the federal festival of the Thessalian League, held in Thessaly.53 Indeed Deubner noted the existence of these Thessalian parallels in the context of his discussion of the Bendideia.54 The Eleutheria, or ‘freedom festival’ dedicated to Zeus Eleutherios, was introduced to Thessaly after the re-founding of the Thessalian League in 196 BC following the liberation of Thessaly from Macedonian domination, and was held at a new temple built in Larissa.55 The games comprised other equestrian competitions, horse-races, the ‘cavalry scout’, the ‘cavalry sally’ and the ‘bull-hunt’ (here ταυροθηρία, elsewhere the ‘bull-attack’ ταυροκαθαψία). The latter sport, at least, is attested only in Thessaly. Thessaly was one of the very few areas of Greece with a tradition of equestrian agonistic competition. The horse was so deeply integrated into Thessalian society that horses were included in the marriage ceremony.56 Although the mounted torch-race is only attested in Thessaly so far at the Eleutheria festival, it is reasonable to assume that the competition was long established in Thessaly. The centre of the cult of Enodia seems originally to have been at Pherai, where the goddess (Artemis) is invariably termed Enodia. The importance of the goddess in her home city of Pherai is demonstrated by her appearance on the silver coinage of that city struck both by Alexander of Pherai and by Astomedon (=Aristomedon).57 Outside Pherai worship of Enodia is first 52  Eg. Schol. Aristoph., Lys. 443 who tells us that Artemis is called Phosphoros when she is torch-bearing, and connects this deity with Hekate; or Schol. Theocrit., Id. 2, 12 which tells us that Hekate is called Artemis and Torchbearer and Phosphoros; Cf. P. Philippson, Thessalische Mythologie (Zürich: Rhein-Verl, 1942) 76–77. 53   I G ix. 2. 528, 16; 531, 18 (= Ditt., Syll.³ 1059). 54  Deubner, Attische . . ., 219 n. 6. 55  Polyb. 18.47.7 on the creation of the Thessalian League; cf. R. Parker, Cleomenes on the Acropolis. An Inaugural Lecture delivered before the University of Oxford on May 1997 by Robert Parker Wykeham Professor of Ancient History (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998) 18 on the Eleutheria with references. 56  H.D. Westlake, Thessaly in the Fourth Century B.C. (London: Methuen, 1935) 4, 42. 57  A. Moustaka, Kulte und Mythen auf Thessalischen Münzen (= Beiträge zur Archäologie 15, Würzburg: K. Triltsch, 1983) 30–36, pl. 10: 67, 68, 71.

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attested at Larissa, where she is first mentioned in a metrical dedication dating to the third quarter of the fifth century.58 It is possible that the cult only began to spread outwards from Pherai to the other cities of Thessaly at a later date, perhaps as a consequence of the rise in the power of the Pheraian tyranny during the first half of the fourth century.59 In other cities of Thessaly the deity is called by her proper name Enodia, or Enodia Pheraia. Elsewhere she either preserves her proper name, or may be termed Artemis Pheraia outside Thessaly. Worship of the deity is attested epigraphically in a large number of Thessalian cities, as well as at Argos, Epidauros, Sikyon, Corinth, Athens, Issa in Dalmatia and in western Macedonia.60 Pausanias (2.23.5) mentions that the cult of Artemis Pheraia existed in Athens at the time of his writing in the second century AD, but, if she was ever one of the official gods worshipped at Athens or not, it is extremely doubtful there would have been an existing festival of Artemis Pheraia to which the mounted torch-race could be attached when it was introduced into Athens in 413/2 BC as an athletic competition. Although Enodia is to be considered as a separate deity from Artemis, as was stressed by Robert, she belonged to group of connected deities, which become syncretized with Artemis in later literary sources.61 The essential distinction is between usage within Thessaly and Macedonia, and elsewhere. In the former she is Ennodia and can have epithets of her own; in the latter she often becomes an epithet. The closest already established Athenian god to Enodia/Artemis Pheraia in religious 58   I G ix, 2, 575. 59  Cf. P. Chrysostomos, « Enodia-Enodia et Hécate-Enodia » in La Thessalie. Quinze années de recherches archéologiques, 1975–1990 Bilans et Perspectives. Actes du Colloque internationale. Lyon 17–22 avril 1990 (eds. J-C. Decourt, B. Helly, K. Gallis, Athens: Kapon, 1994) Vol. II, 339–46 at 340 (in Greek). 60  L. Robert, Hellenica. Recueil d’Épigraphie de Numismatique et d’Antiquités grecques XI–XII (Paris: Librairie d’Amérique et d’Orient, 1960) 588–95; BÉ 1964, 225; 1972, 252; 1980, 313; 1981, 313, 316. It is worth underlining that the Macedonian references to the deity come from western Macedonia, bordering Thessaly, and not eastern Macedonia, bordering Thrace. See now P. Chrysostomou, Η Θεσσαλική θεά Εν(ν)οδία η Φεραία θεά (Athens: TAPA, 1998) non vidi. 61  After e.g. W. Burkert, Greek Religion Archaic and Classical (trans. John Raffan, Oxford: Blackwell’s, 1985) 171 who states that Hekate becomes equated with Artemis from the fifth century onwards. Enodia is given as a title of Hekate by Sophokles in a fragment of his Rhizotomoi (A. Pearson, The Fragments of Sophocles II (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1917) 176 frg. 535 and compare Antigone 1199–1120, where the ‘names Hekate and Hades are euphemistically avoided’ (Brown in Sophocles Antigone (ed. M. Griffith, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999) 330). We also find the equation of torch-bearing Hekate with Enodia in Euripides, Helen 569–70.

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identity already possessing a major religious festival was Bendis. According to a gloss in Hesychius, Bendis seems to have been considered as a Thracian equivalent of Artemis among the Athenians,62 and by extension to Enodia. This is why the probouloi considered it appropriate that a mounted torch-race should be incorporated into the Bendideia. In 403 BC Thrasyboulos, rebelling against the rule of the Thirty, marched from Phyle to Mounychia, and there gathered forces against them. In a description of the action Clemens Alexandrinus mentions that the action took place where there now stands an altar to Phosphoros.63 Artemis Phosphoros is mentioned in an inscription of circa 182/1 BC.64 Presumably the cult of Phosphoros in Mounychia was connected with the sanctuary and cult of Artemis-Bendis,65 and was brought to Athens along with the mounted torch-race.

The Oligarchic Dimension

We have so far looked at the activities of the ten probouloi from a purely religious point of view. I have suggested that the torch-race was introduced into the festival of Bendis, who was originally a Thracian goddess, to atone for the massacre at Mykalessos, carried out by Thracians dismissed from Athenian service. The religious thinking lying behind the decision may have been that it was necessary the ‘hellenize’ the festival by introducing a Thessalian practice that was appropriate to the cult, but this is impossible to tell. The activities of the ten probouloi in 413/2 also ushered in a time of intense political upheaval at Athens, and it could be worthwhile considering if their activities had a political aspect too. Thucydides at 8.1.3 describes the ten probouloi as being ‘old men’, and indeed the two we know of are old. Hagnon had been general in 440/39 BC.66 In 480 BC at the age of 16 Sophocles was chosen to head a choir of boys at the ­celebrations of victory over the Persians at Salamis, his date of birth is usually 62  βενδῖς· ἡ Ἄρτεμις, Θρᾳκιστί· παρὰ δὲ Ἀθηναίοις ἑορτὴ Βενδίδεια (ed. K. Latte, Hesychii Alexandrini Lexicon recensuit et emendavit. Volumen I Α—Δ (Hauniae: Munksgaard, 1953) B 5214). 63  κατὰ τὴν Μουνυχίαν ἐξέλιπεν, ἔνθα νῦν ὁ τῆς Φωσφόρου βωμός ἐστι. Clemens Alexandrinus, Strom. I. 24 (418 P) = 102. 64   I G ii² 902, 8. 65  Cf. U. von Wilamowitz-Moellendorf, Der Glaube der Hellenen I (ed. Basel: Schwabe, 1956) 176 n. 1. 66  Kirchner PA 171; J.K. Davies, Athenian Propertied Families 600–300 BC (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1971) 227; R. Develin, Athenian Officials . . ., 91.

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put at 497/6: so he would, therefore have been at least 83 when appointed proboulos.67 Both the high age of the probouloi and the lack of any time limit on their tenure of office may both be regarded as oligarchic features.68 As a political institution probouloi are found in earlier Greek city-states, such as Megara.69 Hagnon is alleged by Lysias (12.65) to have forwarded the government of the Four Hundred. Hagnon’s son, Theramenes, indeed was one of the individuals responsible for establishing the rule of the Four Hundred, and was later one of the Thirty.70 Sophocles is known to have been an associate of Socrates (Plato, Republic 329b). He also displayed philo-Lakonian tendencies in his dress, for his statue in the Lateran Museum portrays him wearing Lakonian sandals.71 According the Aristotelian Atheniaon Politeia (32.2) the men most responsible for establishing the rule of the Four Hundred ‘were Pisander, Antiphon, Phrynicus and Theramenes, men who were well born, and appeared outstanding in intelligence and judgement’.72 Aristotle (Rhet. 3.18.6) preserves a dialogue that took place between Sophocles and one of the oligarchs, Peisander, that was largely responsible for establishing the rule of the Four Hundred.73

67  M.H. Jameson, “Sophocles and the Four Hundred,” Historia 20,5–6 (1971) 541–68 at p. 545; M. Vickers, Sophocles and Alcibiades. Athenian Politics in Ancient Greek Literature (Stocksfield: Acumen, 2008) 11 with further bibliography at n. 40. 68  C. Hignett, A History of the Athenian Constitution to the End of the Fifth Century (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1952) p. 269; Vickers, Sophocles and Alcibiades . . ., 95. 69  Aristoph. Acharn. 755; M. Ostwald, Oligarchia. The Development of a Constitutional Form in Ancient Gceece (Historia Einzelschriften 144, Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 2000) 26. 70  Though according to A.W. Gomme, A. Andrews, K.J. Dover, A Historical Commentary on Thucydides V Book VIII (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1981) 7 this allegation ‘is hardly more than an aspect of his malice against Hagnon’s son Theramenes’. 71  N. Sekunda, “Laconian shoes with Roman senatorial laces” in Sparta and Laconia, From Prehistory to Pre-Modern (= British School at Athens Studies 16, eds. W.G. Cavanagh, C. Gallou, M. Georgiadis, London: British School at Athens, 2009) 253–9 at 256–7. 72   Aristotle. Athenian Constitution. Translation with an Introduction and Notes by P.J. Rhodes (London: Penguin, 2002) 77. 73  In Athen. 13.604d. See H.C. Avery, Prosopographical Studies in the Oligarchy of the Four Hundred (Princeton Ph.D. UMI 1959) 286 on the varying ways in which this passage could be interpreted. Translation after M.H. Jameson, ‘Sophocles and the Four Hundred,’ Historia 20,5–6 (1971) 541–68 at 543, where he discusses the possible dates of this exchange, which he places late on during the four-month rule of the Four Hundred. He also deals most effectively with the criticism that this passage deals with another individual named Sophocles. See also Vickers, Sophocles and Alcibiades . . ., 96 n. 6.

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when Sophocles was asked by Peisander if he had voted, as had the other probouloi, to establish the 400, he answered yes. “What? Didn’t it occur to you that this was wrong?” “Yes,” he said, “for there was nothing better to do.” In the opinion of Ion of Chios, Sophocles ‘was in political matters neither clever nor active, but like any one of the worthy Athenians’. As Victor Ehrenberg pointed out, much depends on how we understand the word χρηστῶν ‘worthy’ in this passage. He concludes that, whilst ‘it is, of course, true that on the whole his mind ran on rather conservative lines’, he was not a radical oligarch.74 Michael Vickers has described Sophocles as ‘a moderate oligarch’.75 An oligarch nevertheless.

Thessalian Connections

Close contacts between prominent Athenian euporoi and Thessalian aristocratic families are not so evident for the late fifth century than earlier on, when, famously, for example, Peisistratos named one of his sons Thessalos ‘presumably, after a Thessalian xenos’,76 but they are nevertheless there. For example the historian Thucydides mentions (8.92.8), without further comment, the presence of Thoukydides of Pharsalos, Athenian proxenos in that city,77 at Athens in 411 BC, ‘presumably a xenos of the historian’s family’.78 In Plato’s Crito (45c) Crito urges Socrates to flee to Thessaly and to put himself under the protection of Crito’s xenoi there. Following Davies ‘Platonic reminiscence and Socratic tradition made Sokrates’ companion and fellow demesman Kriton (I) a well off-man (Plato. Apol. 33e and Kriton 44b), willing and able . . . to help his friends financially’.79 Kriton’ son was called Kritoboulos,

74  V. Ehrenberg, Sophocles and Pericles (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1954) 138. 75  M. Vickers, Oedipus and Alcibiades in Sophocles (= Xenia Toruniensia IX, Torun: Wydawnictwo Naukowe Uniwersytetu Mikołaja Kopernika, 2005) 38. 76  G. Herman, Ritualised Friendship and the Greek City (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987) 21. 77  M.B. Walbank, Athenian Proxenies of the Fifth Century BC (Toronto, Sarasota, 1978) no. 74 (non vidi). 78  Herman, Ritualised Friendship . . ., 141 n. 66. 79  J.K. Davies, Athenian Propertied Families 600–300 BC (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1971) 336; J. Stenzel, “Kriton (3),” RE 11 (1922) 1932.

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and from Xenophon (Oik. 2.3) we know that his estate was worth over 8 talents 2,000 drachmas.80 In other word he was substantially wealthy. One further example might be Kritias, ‘a man of whom one would gladly know much more’.81 Kritias was later on one of the leaders of ‘The Thirty’ and a member of one of the oldest families in Athens. It is disputed whether he was a member in the regime of the ‘Four Hundred’ or one of the leaders of the 5,000 in opposition to the latter.82 It is thought that Kritias was forced into exile ‘by the people’ (Xen. Hell. 2.3.15) along with Alkibiades in 406 following the Athenian naval defeat at Notion. At any rate, in the words of Theramenes he was absent from Athens later on in 406, in the trial of the generals following Arginousai when ‘he was establishing a democracy in Thessaly along with Prometheus, and arming the penestai against their masters (Hell. 2.3.36). In the Memorabilia (1.2.24) Xenophon states that when he was away from Athens he fell in with men who put lawlessness before justice.83 Historians have long asked why Kritias did not flee with Alcibiades to Thrace.84 To me the answer is obvious, Kritias had guest-friends in Thessaly. In the past it was impossible to say what Kritias might have been doing in Thessaly at all, because the personal name Prometheus has up until now been unattested in Thessaly, but a newly-found inscription from the Thessalian city of Atrax at last may help us to throw some light at last upon this period in the career of Kritias.85 The text records a court ruling: a panel of judges, composed of at least seven members, excludes a genos from the community because of the unacceptable acts committed by one of the members of that genos. The troublemaker’s name is Promatheus, the genos complained of is that of the Kelaindai and the matter has engaged the entire city . . .

80  S.B. Pomeroy, Xenophon Oeconomicus. A Social and Historical Commentary (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1994) 224 ‘Critoboulus is a member of the liturgical class’. 81  G. Norwood, “The Earliest Prose Work of Athens,” CJ 25 (1929–30) 373–382 at 381. 82  H.T. Wade-Gery, Essays in Greek History (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1958) 279; G. Adeleye, “Critias: Member of the Four Hundred?,” TAPA 104 (1974) 1–9. 83  Xen. Mem. 1.2.24. 84  M. Ostwald, From Popular Sovereignty to the Sovereignty of Law. Society and Politics in FifthCentury Athens (Berkeley, Los Angeles: California University Press, 1986) 464. 85  L. Darmezin, A. Tziafalias, “The Twelve Tribes of Atrax: A Lexical Study” in Old and New Worlds in Greek Onomastics (= Proceedings of the British Academy 148, ed. E. Matthews, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007) 21–28 at 21.

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The genos’ name is derived from the adjective meaning ‘black’ or ‘dark’, later replaced by μέλας. The authors note that according to one mythological tradition, Prometheus was the husband of one of the Pleiades named Kelainō. ‘It is probably not pure chance that the two names appear in the context, even if nothing, to our knowledge establishes a particular link between the city of Atrax and the myth of Prometheus’.86 Now we can say that Kritias was most probably operating alongside his Atragian guest-friend Promatheus during his years of political activity in Thessaly.87 The newly found inscription is to be dated to the end of the third century BC or to the beginning of the second on account of its lettering an dialect, and so presumably deals with a later generation of the same family that in former times had engaged in activities that were similarly unacceptable to his fellow citizens. Kritias is known to have composed a Constitution of the Thessalians.88 Whether this was composed during his time in Thessaly or not is unknown. We have already discussed the likelihood that the mounted torch-race was a Thessalian practice, possibly originating at Pharai where it was associated with the cult of Enodia, and the likelihood that the cult, and presumably the associated festival, had started to spread to other cities in Thessaly no later than the fifth century. Thus we have now seen that there are grounds to think that the mounted torch-race would have been known to Athenian wealthy families with guest-friends in Thessaly. An individual who may have been closely involved in the introduction of the mounted torch-race to Athens is Stephanos son of Thallos of the deme Lamptrai. He died shortly before 389, leaving considerable estates. His close links with Thessaly are not attested in any of the literary sources, but they are demonstrated by the typically Thessalian name he gave to his son Kineas, who may well have been given the name of a Thessalian guest-friend of Stefanos. Possibly the family of Stephanos son of Thallos had guest-friends in Pherai itself, but this is not necessary for the argument. In fact the name Kineas,

86  Ibidem, 25–6. 87  In commenting on this passage A. Burford, Land and Labor in the Greek World (Baltimore, London: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1993) 200, 263 n. 45 suggested that Prometheus may be the young Jason of Pherai. 88   H. Diels, W. Kranz, Die Fragmente der Vorsokratier (Berlin: Weidmannsche Verlagsbuchhandlung, 1952) No. 88, 31. Wade-Gery, Essays in Greek History . . ., 271–292 also thinks he is the author of the περὶ πολιτείας usually attributed to Herodes Atticus.

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which is not an uncommon name in Thessaly, is indeed attested in Pherai in an inscription which has been dated to circa 440–430 BC.89 The son of Stephanos, Kineas, was probably born a little before 400 BC. Kineas’ son, who was called Thallos, distinguished himself at the battle of Tamynai in 348 BC (Plut. Phoc. 13.3), and served as secretary of the citizen orgeones of Bendis in 337/6. His son, Stephanos son of Thallos, in turn served as an epimeletes of the same association in the late fourth or early third ­century.90 A later descendant of the same family, one Kineas son of Nikomachos of the deme Lamptrai, held the offices of hipparchos and stratēgos in the second half of the third century BC.91 It has been noted that the Bendideia was one of the most important Athenian state festivals, probably involving a hecatomb. IG ii² 1496 informs us that in 334/3 BC the income of 457 drachmas received by the state from the sale of hides at the Bendidia was only surpassed by that from the city Dionysia with 858 drachmas, and the Olympia with 671 ­drachmas.92 Those who held office in the citizen orgeones of Bendis were presumably drawn from the ranks of the wealthiest.93 Given the close connection of the family with both Thessaly and the cult of Bendis, it is not inconceivable that Stephanos son of Thallos was instrumental in the establishment of the mounted torch race at Athens.

The Coup of the Four Hundred

I am not trying to suggest that the mounted torch-race was introduced into the Bendideia for overtly political reasons. The aim of the activities of the probouloi was to find the best ways to atone for the sacrilege committed, and to expunge the ‘miasma’ the city had incurred. Rather, it was introduced by a group of men 89   L GPN III.B, 230 s. v. no. 9. 90  The family is reconstructed by Davies, APF 491–3. 91  G.R. Bugh, The Horsemen of Athens (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1988) 203; I.G. Spence, The Cavalry of Classical Greece. A Social and Military History with Particular Reference to Athens (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1993) 302 no. 87; for the date see LGPN 2 Κινέας (13) 261. 92  R.R. Simms, “The Cult of the Thracian Goddess Bendis in Athens and Attica,” Ancient World 18 (1988) 59–76 at 61. 93  On the citizen orgeones of the cult of Bendis see N.F. Jones, The Associations of Classical Athens. The Response to Democracy (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999) 259–62 and in particular 260 on the financial responsibilities of the officers of the society. It is possible that the citizen orgeones of the cult were formed as a result of the reforming legislation of 413/2.

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who would have naturally regarded the introduction of an equestrian event into the Bendieia as an ennobling act. Nevertheless, an inevitable consequence of the introduction of this new competition, whether intended by the legislators or not, would have been to accelerate the politicization of the Athenian cavalry, acting as a focus of agonistic athletic activity for the neaniskoi of the Athenian hippeis. The more these young men trained together and competed as a separate group, and the more they associated together in general, the more they developed a distinct political identity and ideology, later to be utilized extremely successfully by the leaders of ‘The Four Hundred’ and then by ‘The Thirty’. Indeed, the ‘Four Hundred’ would probably have consisted in the main of the fathers of the young men serving in the cavalry, which in 410/09 BC probably numbered between 450 and about 600 men.94 A large proportion of the senior officers of the cavalry, the philarchoi and the hipparchoi, would also have been supplied by members of the ‘Four Hundred’. Most of the Athenian cavalry would constitute young men in their twenties and thirties drawn from the wealthiest families of Athens.95 As such they tended to be a highly politicized body displaying oligarchic and philo-­ Laconian tendencies, adopting Lakonian dress and long hairstyles and proudly displaying on their faces the scars received from exercises in the gymnasium.96 In his comedy The Knights, performed in 424, Aristophanes has his anti-hero Paphlagon, representing the democrat Kleon, calling the chorus composed of hostile cavalrymen neaniskoi (vs. 731). Antiphanes, an Attic comic poet also active in the last half of the Fifth Century, also wrote a comedy called the Neaniskoi,97 though not enough has survived to allow us to form any conclusions about its plot. The assembly which dissolved the democracy in 411 was held not on the Pnyx but at Kolonos ‘at the temple of Poseidon’ (Thuc. 8.67.2). Thucydides is referring to the precinct of the Temple of Poseidon Hippios. The choice of this sanctuary as venue suitable for voting in this new constitution was highly ­significant.98 Sophocles was himself a native of Kolonos. The dramatic location 94  I.G. Spence, “Athenian Cavalry Numbers in the Peloponnesian War: IG 1³ 375 Revisited,” ZPE 67 (1987) 167–75. 95  Bugh, The Horsemen . . ., 64–5; cf. A. Martin, Les Cavaliers Athéniens (Paris: E. Thorin, 1887) 318. 96  Ibidem, 518. 97  Kassel, Austin, PCG II . . ., 402–3. 98  P. Siewert, “Poseidon Hippios am Kolonos und die athenischen Hippeis” in Arktouros: Hellenic Studies Presented to Bernard M.W. Knox on the Occasion of His Sixty-fifth Birthday

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of his final last play Oedipus at Colonus, which was only actually performed in 401 BC, well after Sophocles death in 406/5 BC, reflects his attachment to the sanctuary of Poseidon Hippios.99 There he describes the area as euhippos or ‘famed for horses’ (668–9), and later he states that the most prized gifts to the city were the horse and power over the sea (707–11). One of the neokoroi (temple warders) mentioned in an inscription listing the possessions of the sanctuary, which probably dates to 413/12 when the temple treasures were moved to Athens at the beginning of the Dekeleian war for safe-keeping,100 was Chairelaos of Kikynna (PA 15137), the same individual whose name is given in the list in Xenophon of the Thirty Tyrants (Hell. 2.3.2).101 During the course of this meeting, Thucydides (8.67.3–68.) has Peisander propose the appointment of five proedroi, who are to select 100 men including themselves, each of whom is in turn to co-opt three men. The resulting 400 thenceforth to constitute a new council with unrestricted authority. The timing of these events seems also to have been carefully planned. According to Aristotle (Ath. Pol. 32.1) the old Council of 500 was dissolved on 14 Thargelion before the expiration of his term of office, and the new Council of 400 took over on 22 Thargelion. Both the Scholiast to Plato and Proclus date the annual festival of the Bendideia, and thus the mounted torch-race as taking place on 19 Thargelion.102 The selection of the 400 would have therefore taken place over the intervening period in which the festival of the Bendideia would have taken place.103 The sequence of events is given by Thucydides at 8.69.1 to 8.70.1. According to his account it was ‘immediately after’ (ὕστερον ἤδη) the meeting at Kolonos, ‘on that day then’ (τῇ οὖν ἡμέρᾳ ἐκείνῃ). In other words, it was not

(ed. G.W. Bowersock, W. Burkert, M. Putnam, Berlin, New York: Walter de Gruyter, 1979) 280–89; Spence, Cavalry . . ., 188–9; W.D. Furley, Andokides and the Herms: A Study of Crisis in Fifth-Century Athenian Religion (London: Institute of Classical Studies, School of Advanced Study, University of London, 1996) 91–2 n. 62. 99  Vickers, Sophocles . . ., 95–6. 100   I G I³ 405; W.E. Thompson, “The Neokoroi of Poseidon Hippios,” Hesperia 40 (1971) 232–4. 101  A.M. Woodward, “Financial Documents from the Athenian Agora,” Hesperia 32 (1963) 144–186 at 158. 102  G.C. Greene (ed.), Scholia Platonica etc. (= Philological Monographs published by the American Philological Association VIII, 1938) 188; ed. E. Diehl, Procli Diadochii in Platonis Timaeum Commentaria 1 (1903) 26. 103  A point made by M. Ostwald, From Popular Sovereignty to the Sovereignty of Law. Society and Politics in Fifth-Century Athens (Berkeley, Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1986) 378 n. 153.

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on the same day, but on a day very shortly after,104 that the Four Hundred, each carrying a concealed dagger and ‘accompanied by the one hundred and twenty young men (neaniskoi) whom they made use of whenever there was any need of their handiwork’, broke into the bouleuterion.105 At 8.69.4 the neaniskoi are prefixed by the title Ἔλληνες ‘Greek youths’ in some manuscripts. It has been suggested that ‘The Hellenic Youths’ were foreigners, not Athenian citizens, as the title, indeed, might suggest.106 Why, one may ask, does Thucydides give the specific number of 120 to this group of neaniskioi? it suggests a regular formation, as oposed to a force assembled at random. I would like to suggest that if the ethnic qualifier ‘Greek’ is to stand, then the 120 Greek youths are the force of hamippoi then in Athenian service. In the pseudo-Aristotelian Athenian Constitution, which seems to have been published in the 320s BC,107 one of the duties of the Athenian Council is to hold an inspection of the hamippoi ‘and if it rejects anyone that is the end of his paid service’(49.1). So, it is safe to conclude that in the 320s BC and hamippoi were regularly maintained and paid, even in times of peace, in the Athenian army. This not always been the case. In his work called The Cavalry Commander (5.13), which Delebecque dated to 357 BC,108 Xenophon states that the hipparchos is to demonstrate to the city the weakness of cavalry without infantry, as compared to that with pedzoi hamippoi, and, having got his infantry to use it. This might imply that the Athenians only recruited and paid a force of hamippoi irregularly, for example only in times of war. Diodoros (15.85.4) tells us that at the battle of Mantineia in 362 BC the Athenian cavalry were inferior to their Theban counterparts ‘in their numbers and the equipment of their psiloi and in their tactical arrangement they were far inferior to their opponents. Indeed, they only had a few javelin-throwers’. This is partially confirmed by Xenophon 104  Thus P.J. Rhodes, A Commentary on the Aristotelian Athenaion Politeia (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1993) 405 “Thucydides’ account is not wholly unambiguous, but probably the dismissal of the old boule did not take place on the same day as the Colonus assembly”. A.W. Gomme, A. Andrewes, J.K. Dover, A Historical Commentary on Thucydides. Volume V. Book VIII (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1981) 180 “The interval since Kolonos was presumably short”; contra C. Hignett, A History of the Athenian Constitution to the End of the Fifth Century (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1952) 276 ‘It was perhaps later on the same day as the meeting at Kolonos’. 105  Following the Loeb translation of Charles Forster Smith 311. 106  G. Grote, A History of Greece Vol. VII (London: John Muray, 1869) 273 ; cf. I.M.J. Valeton, “De inscriptionis Phrynicheae partis ultimae lacunis explendis,” Hermes 43 (1908) 481–510, especially 483–5. 107  Rhodes, Commentary . . ., 51–8. 108  E. Delebecque, Essai sur la vie de Xénophon (Paris: Libraire C. Klincksieck, 1957) 430.

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(7.5.23–4), who tells us that the cavalry on the Lakedaimonian side was formed like a phalanx of hoplites, six deep and without πεζῶν ἅμιππων, Epaminondas on the other hand, have made a strong wedge of his cavalry, with ἁμίππους πεζοὺς drawn up with them.109 I would like to suggest that the 120 Greek neaniskoi mentioned by Thucydides ‘whom they made use of whenever there was any need of their handiwork’ as participating in the events of 411 were hammipoi. No historical source specifically mentions that Athenians made use of hamippoi during the Peloponnesian war. Sophocles, in his tragedy Antigone (985), the production date of which is unknown seemingly compares the swiftness of the North Wind to a hamippos, although of unstated nationality. The Boeotians, on the other hand, seem to have regularly used such troops. For example Thucydides (5.57.2) informs us that the Boeotians possessed 500 cavalry and the same number of hamippoi in 418 BC.110 One would normally expect that hamippoi would be recruited in the same numbers as the cavalry force, but this was not always the case, as is evidenced by the battle of Mantineia, cited above, in which the Athenians fielded ‘only a few javelin-throwers’ as hamippoi. Hence the number of 120 does not debar the Greek neaniskoi from being hamippoi, nor the fact that they are neaniskoi, for the hamippoi would have to have been recruited from young men in the prime of physical fitness, as their tactical role was to run alongside the horses. Xenophon, again in his work The Cavalry Commander (9.7) recommends that the infantry who will fight with the cavalry will be most effective if it is put together from men who are most hostile to the enemy. In the realities of the Peloponnesian War then, the hamippoi would have been recruited from groups of political exiles who had found shelter in Athens. Thucydides (6.43) mentioned among the forces that the Athenians sent to Sicily 120 Megarian exile psiloi. These troops had been recruited from among the Megarian exiles who had fled to Athens in 424 BC.111 The 120 Megarian exile psiloi might indeed have been hamippoi, although the Athenans only sent 30 cavalry to Sicily. Another group will be the Plataeans who have escaped the destruction of their city, and had been awarded Athenian citizenship.112 109  The manuscripts read ἄννιποι. 110  The manuscripts read ἄννιποι, but this was corrected to ἅμιπποι by Harpocration. 111   Mentioned Thuc. 4.74.2. Cf. A.W. Gomme, A. Andrewes, J.K. Dover, A Historical Commentary on Thucydides, Volume IV, Books V 25–VII (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1970) 310 “exile had impoverished them”. The number of 120 is to be treated as coincidental. The Megarians would have been lost in Sicily anyway. 112  See e.g. Dem. 59 (Against Neara) 104.

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The big stumbling block with associating the 120 Greek neaniskoi with the force of hamippoi in Athenian service, is that the exiles living in Athens would have been pro-democratic in their sympathies, and in fundamental political opposition to the leaders of the 400. This might have been balanced out to a certain extent, with their association with the Athenian cavalrymen on a personal basis, but the problem remains. One key stage in the downfall of the Four Hundred, whose reign lasted for no more than four months (Ps-Aristotle Ath.Pol. 33.1), was the arrest of Alexikles, who was stratēgos during the year 412/11 and being of oligarchic sympathies was favourably inclined towards the hetaireiai (Thuc. 8.92.4). He was sent, along with the taxiarchos Aristokrates, to construct a fort at Eëtoneia.113 When this was announced to the Four Hundred who were at that time sitting in session in the bouleuterion, Theramenes offered to go immediately to help Alexikles, and took another of the stratēgoi who was of oligarchic persuasion, proceeded to the Peiraeus to the rescue together with ‘Aristarchos and some neaniskoi of the hippeis’ (Thuc. 8.92.7). Albert Martin has suggested the band of 120 neaniskoi who expel the old boulē of 500 from the bouleuterion and replace them with the Four Hundred may have been recruited largely from the ranks of the cavalry,114 and that they are identical to the ‘neaniskoi of the hippeis’ who some months later accompany Aristarchos in the attempt of the 400 to rescue Alexikles. In that case they would have been recruited from among the ranks of the young hippeis who had assembled to carry out the mounted torch-race at the Bendideia festival which had only taken place a couple of days earlier. As we have seen there is evidence that there were eight riders in each tribal team, but we are looking for the number of twelve. Later on in the coup of 404 BC some neaniskoi with daggers helped Kritias seize Theramenes (Xen. Hell. 1.3.23). In 403 BC, after the deposition of ‘The Thirty’ and the retirement of the most extreme oligarchs to Eleusis, ‘The Ten’, with the aid of the hipparchoi, took care of the ‘Men of the City’ against the ‘Men of Piraeus’. We are told (Xen., Hell. 2.4.24) that even men of the cavalry 113  According to Thucydides (8.90.3), the fort at Eëtoneia was being built to let the Lakedaimonians into Attica. According to A. Moreno, Feeding the Democracy. The Athenian Grain Supply in the Fifth and Fourth Centuries BC (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007) 121–5 the fort was being built to safeguard the supply of grain from Euboeia. 114  A. Martin, Les cavaliers athéniens (BÉFAR fasc. 47, Paris: E. Thorin, 1887) 472 following Classen. Cf. A.W. Gomme, A. Andrewes, K.J. Dover, A Historical Commentary on Thucydides V Book VIII (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1981) 180–1, who compare the use of neaniskoi by Kritias to overawe the Boule in Xen. Hell. 2.3.23.

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did guard duty by night, being quartered in the Odeion and keeping with them their horses and their shields. They patrolled along the walls in the evening onwards with their shields, and towards dawn with their horses, constantly in fear of the ‘Men of Piraeus’. No wonder that later on in the Republic (375 A) Plato asks if there is any difference for the purposes of guarding (εἰς φυλακὴν) between a well-bred (γενναίου) hound and a well-born youth (νεανίσκου εὐγενοῦς). Conclusion I suggest that this emerging solidarity and radicalization of the neaniskoi of the hippeis may have been due, in part, to the introduction of the mounted torch-race into the Bendideia festival. This may explain why it is unattested, either textually or epigraphically, other than in Plato’s Republic. The contest may have been discontinued shortly after the restoration of democratic government at Athens, though we have no evidence as to the date when this may have happened. Bibliography G. Adeleye, “Critias: Member of the Four Hundred?,” TAPA 104 (1974) 1–9. D.J. Allan, Plato: Republic Book I (2nd ed. 1944). Aristotle. Athenian Constitution. Translation with an Introduction and Notes by P.J. Rhodes (London: Penguin, 2002). H.C. Avery, Prosopographical Studies in the Oligarchy of the Four Hundred (Princeton Ph.D. UMI 1959). I. Bekker, Anecdota Graeca (Berlin: Typis et impensis G. Reimeri, 1814). Th. Bergk, Poetae Lyrici Graeci, Vol. II (Leipzig: B.G. Teubner, 1882). J. Bingen, « Le Decret SEG X 64 (Le Piree, 413/2?), » Revue de Philologie 37 (1959) 36–7. A. Boeckh, Gesammelte Kleine Schriften (Leipzig: B.G. Teubner, 1874). G.R. Bugh, The Horsemen of Athens (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1988). A. Burford, Land and Labor in the Greek World (Baltimore and London: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1993). W. Burkert, Greek Religion Archaic and Classical (trans. John Raffan, Oxford: Blackwell’s, 1985). P. Chrysostomos, « Enodia-Enodia et Hécate-Enodia » in La Thessalie. Quinze années de recherches archéologiques, 1975–1990 Bilans et Perspectives. Actes du Colloque

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internationale. Lyon 17–22 avril 1990 (eds. J-C. Decourt, B. Helly, K. Gallis Athens: Kapon, 1994) Vol. II, 339–46. P. Chrystomos, Η Θεσσαλική θεά Εν(ν)οδία η Φεραία θεά (Athens: TAPA, 1998). L. Darmezin, A. Tziafalias,  “The Twelve Tribes of Atrax: A Lexical Study” in Old and New Worlds in Greek Onomastics ( = Proceedings of the British Academy 148, ed. Elaine Matthews, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007) 21–28. J.K. Davies, Athenian Propertied Families 600–300 BC (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1971). E. Delebecque, Essai sur la vie de Xénophon (Paris: Libraire C. Klincksieck, 1957). L. Deubner, Attische Feste (Berlin: Keller, 1932). E. Diehl, Procli Diadochii in Platonis Timaeum Commentaria 1 (1903). H. Diels, W. Kranz, Die Fragmente der Vorsokratier (Berlin: Weidmannsche Verlags­ buchhandlung, 1952). R. Develin, Athenian Officials 684–321 BC (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989). J.K. Dover, Lysias and the Corpus Lysiacum (= Sather Classical Lectures, Volume 39, Berkeley and Los Angeles: California University Press, 1968). V. Ehrenberg, Sophocles and Pericles (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1954). W.S. Ferguson, “The Attic Orgeones,” HThR 37 (1944) 96–104. P. Foucart, « Le poète Sophocle et l’oligarchie des Quatre Cents, » Revue de Philologie 17 (1893) 1–10. J.G. Frazer, Pausanias’s Description of Greece Vol. II (London: Macmillan & Co., 1913). W.D. Furley, Andokides and the Herms: A Study of Crisis in Fifth-Century Athenian Religion (London: Institute of Classical Studies, School of Advanced Study, University of London, 1996). R. Garland, The Piraeus from the fifth to the first century BC (Ithaca N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1987). Z. Gočeva, “Le Culte de la Deesse Thrace Bendia a Athenes” in Primus Congressus Studiorum Thracicorum = Thracia II (Sophia: Bulgarian Academy of Science, 1974) 81–6. A.W. Gomme, A Historical Commentary on Thucydides, The Ten Years’ War, Volume II, Books II–III (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1956). A.W. Gomme, A. Andrewes, J.K. Dover, A Historical Commentary on Thucydides, Volume IV, Books V 25–VII (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1970). ———, A Historical Commentary on Thucydides. Volume V. Book VIII (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1981). J. Graham, ‘Plato’s Anachronisms’ Corolla Cosmo Rodewald (ed. Nicholas Sekunda, Gdańsk: Fundacja Rozwoju Uniwersytetu Gdańskiego, 2007) 67–74. M. Griffith (ed.), Sophocles Antigone (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999).

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G. Grote, A History of Greece Vol. VII (new ed., London: John Murray, 1869). G.C. Greene (ed.), Scholia Platonica etc. (= Philological Monographs published by the American Philological Association VIII, 1938). B. Helly, « A Larisa, Boulversements et remise en ordre de sanctuaires » Mnemosyne 23 (1970) 250–96. G. Herman, Ritualised Friendship and the Greek City (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987). C. Hignett, A History of the Athenian Constitution to the End of the Fifth Century (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1952). M.H. Jameson, “Sophocles and the Four Hundred,” Historia 20, 5–6 (1971) 541–68. N.F. Jones, The Associations of Classical Athens. The Response to Democracy (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999). R. Kassel, P. Austin, Poetae Comici Graeci (PCG) III 2 (Berlin, New York: Walter de Gruyter, 1984). ———, Poetae Comici Graeci (PCG) IV (Berlin, New York: Walter de Gruyter, 1983). K. Latte (ed.), Hesychii Alexandrini Lexicon recensuit et emendavit. Volumen I Α–Δ (Hauniae: Munksgaard, 1953). A. Martin, Les cavaliers athéniens (Paris: E. Thorin, 1887). A. Mommsen, Heortologie (Leipzig: B.G. Teubner, 1863). ———, Feste der Stadt Athen im Altertum (Leipzig: B.G. Teubner, 1898). C. Montepaone, « Il Mito di Fondazione del Rituale Munichio in Onore di Artemis, » Recherches sur les cultes grecs et l’occident, 1 (Naples: Cahiers du Centre Jean Bérard, V, 1979) 65–76. ———, «  Bendis tracia ad Atene: L’Integrazione del «Nuovo» Attraverso Forme dell’Ideologia » Annali Istituto Universitario Orientale, Napoli: Archeologia e Storia Antica 12 (1990) 103–121. K. Moors, “The Argument Against a Dramatic Date for Plato’s Republic,” Polis 7 (1987) 6–31. A. Moreno, Feeding the Democracy. The Athenian Grain Supply in the Fifth and Fourth Centuries BC (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007). A. Moustaka, Kulte und Mythen auf Thessalischen Münzen (= Beiträge zur Archäologie 15, Würzburg: K. Triltsch, 1983). D. Nails, “The Dramatic Date of Plato’s Republic,” CJ 93.4 (1998) 383–96. M.P. Nilsson, “Bendis in Athen” in From the Collections of the Ny Carlsberg Glyptothek III (1942) 169–188. G. Norwood, “The Earliest Prose Work of Athens,” CJ 25 (1929–30) 373–382. M. Ostwald, From Popular Sovereignty to the Sovereignty of Law. Society and Politics in Fifth-Century Athens (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1986).

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———, Oligarchia. The Development of a Constitutional Form in Ancient Greece (Historia Einzelschriften 144, Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 2000). H.W. Parke, The Oracles of Zeus Dodona. Olympia. Ammon (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1967). ———, Festivals of the Athenians (London: Thames Hudson, 1977). R. Parker, Athenian Religion. A History (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1996). ———, Cleomenes on the Acropolis. An Inaugural Lecture delivered before the University of Oxford on May 1997 by Robert Parker Wykeham Professor of Ancient History (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1998). A. Pearson, The Fragments of Sophocles II (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1917). J. Pečírka, The Formula for the Grant of Enktesis in Attic Inscriptions (Prague: Argonaut, 1966). P. Philippson, Thessalische Mythologie (Zürich: Rhein-Verl, 1942). C. Planeaux, “ ‘The Date of Bendis’ Entry into Attica,” CJ 96.2 (2000–01) 165–192. Polyaenus, Stratagems of War (eds. P. Krentz, E.L. Wheeler Chicago: Ares, 1994). S.B. Pomeroy, Xenophon Oeconomicus. A Social and Historical Commentary (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1994). D. Popov, « Essence, Origine et Propagation du Culte de la Déesse Thrace Bendis, » DHA 2 (1976) 289–303 . P.J. Rhodes, A Commentary on the Aristotelian Athenaion Politeia (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993). L. Robert, Hellenica. Recueil d’Épigraphie de Numismatique et d’Antiquités grecques XI–XII (Paris: Librairie d’Amérique et d’Orient, 1960). B.B. Rogers, The Acharnians of Aristophanes (London: G. Bell & Sons, 1930). N. Sekunda, “Laconian shoes with Roman senatorial laces” in Sparta and Laconia, From Prehistory to Pre-Modern (= British School at Athens Studies 16, eds. W.G. Cavanagh, C. Gallou, M. Georgiadis, London: British School at Athens, 2009) 253–9. P. Shorey, Plato V. The Republic, Volume I (Loeb ed. Cambridge Mass., London: Harvard University Press, 1937). P. Siewert, “Poseidon Hippios am Kolonos und die athenischen Hippeis” in Arktouros: Hellenic Studies Presented to Bernard M.W. Knox on the Occasion of His Sixty-fifth Birthday (Berlin, New York: Walter de Gruyter, 1979) 280–89. R.R. Simms, “The Cult of the Thracian Goddess Bendis in Athens and Attica,” Ancient World 18 (1988) 59–76. E. Simon, Opfernde Götter (Berlin: Mann, 1953). J.R. Sitlington Sterret, “The Torch Race,” AJP 22 (1901) 393–419. F. Sokolowski, Lois sacreés des cités grecques. Supplement (Paris: E. de Boccard, 1962).

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I.G. Spence, The Cavalry of Classical Greece. A Social and Military History with Particular Reference to Athens (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1993). ———, “Athenian Cavalry Numbers in the Peloponnesian War: IG I³ 375 Revisited,” ZPE 67 (1987) 167–75. Fr. Stählin, Das Hellenische Thessalien (Stuttgart: J. Engelhorns Nachfolger, 1924). J. Stenzel, „Kriton (3),“ RE 11 (1922). B.S. Strauss, Fathers and Sons in Athens. Ideology and Society in the Era of the Peloponnesian War (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993). P.G. Themelis, “Votive base to Bendis from Kamariza,” Horos 7 (1989) 23–9. W.E. Thompson, “The Neokoroi of Poseidon Hippios,” Hesperia 40 (1971) 232–4. I.M.J. Valeton, «  De inscriptionis Phrynicheae partis ultimae lacunis explendis,  » Hermes 43 (1908) 481–510. M. Vickers, Oedipus and Alcibiades in Sophocles (= Xenia Toruniensia IX, Torun: Wydawnictwo Naukowe Uniwersytetu Mikołaja Kopernika, 2005). ———, Sophocles and Alcibiades. Athenian Politics in Ancient Greek Literature (Stocksfield: Acumen, 2008). H.T. Wade-Gery, Essays in Greek History (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1958). M.B. Walbank, Athenian Proxenies of the Fifth Century BC (Toronto, Sarasota, 1978). C. Watzinger, Griechische Vasen in Tübingen (Reutlingen: Gryphius-Verlag, 1924). M.L. West, Iambi et Elegi Graeci ante Alexandrum Cantati, Volumen I (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1989). H.D. Westlake, Thessaly in the Fourth Century BC (London: Methuen, 1935). U. von Wilamowitz-Moellendorf, Der Glaube der Hellenen I (ed. Basel: Schwabe, 1956). A.M. Woodward, “Financial Documents from the Athenian Agora,” Hesperia 32 (1963) 144–186.

Like Gods among Men. The Use of Religion and Mythical Issues during Alexander’s Campaign* Borja Antela-Bernárdez The religiosity of Alexander the Great has been a question that attracted many scholars and researchers.1 In fact, we know better Alexander’s daily religious practices that any other person in Antiquity.2 Likewise, Alexander’s divinization is one of the main research topics in the scholarship about him.3 Our purpose in the present study is to focus on the religious aspects of Alexander’s conquest of Persia. First, we must bear in mind that Alexander was, according to the ancient sources, a very pious person, and an expert in the religious practices and various divinities; he was always concerned with religious questions and involved in daily practices of the traditions in relation to the gods. We must be conscious, in this context, that Alexander cannot act * This paper is part of a wide research about the impact of Alexander the Great’s campaign against Persia and the relationship between History and Conflict in Antiquity. As such, this research has been developed within the Research Group History of the Conflict in Antiquity (2014SGR1111) of the Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona, funded by the Generalitat de Catalunya. The author would like to thanks the organizers for being part of the present volume. This paper was also dedicated to Max & Frida. 1  J.-P.V. Balsdon, “The ‘Divinity’ of Alexander the Great,” Historia 1 (1950) 363–88; L. Edmunds, “The Religiosity of Alexander the Great,” GRBS 12 (1971) 363–91; E. Fredricksmeyer, “Three Notes on Alexander’s Deification,” AJAH 4 (1979) 1–9; E. Badian, “The deification of Alexander the Great,” in Ancient Macedonian Studies in Honor of Charles F. Edson (ed. H. Dell, Thessaloniki: Institute for Balkan Studies, 1981), 27–71; E. Fredricksmeyer, “On the Background of the Ruler Cult” in Ancient Macedonian Studies . . ., 145–156; G.L. Cawkwell, “The deification of Alexander the Great: A note” in Ventures into Greek History (ed. I. Worthington, Oxford: University Press, 1994) 496–306; E. Badian, “Alexander the Great between two thrones and heaven” in Subject and Ruler. The cult of the ruling power in classical antiquity (ed. A. Small, Ann Arbor: Cushing Malloy, 1996) 11–26; E. Fredricksmeyer, “Alexander’s Religion and Divinity” in Brill’s Companion to Alexander the Great (ed. J. Roisman, Brill: Leiden, 2003) 257–278. 2  J.M. Blazquez, “Alejandro Magno, Homo Religiosus” in Alejandro Magno. Hombre y mito (eds. J. Alvar, J.M. Blázquez, Madrid: Ediciones Clásicas, 2000) 99–152; Fredricksmeyer, “Alexander’s Religion . . ., 258. 3  F.J. Gómez Espelosín, La leyenda de Alejandro. Mito, historiografia y propaganda (Madrid: Servicio de publicaciones de la Universidad de Alcalá de Henares, 2007) 183–4 for an optimousa good bibliographical survey of the topic.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���6 | doi ��.��63/9789004324763_014

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as a private, as far as he is a Macedonian king and as such, he had a key role in management of the relationship between the Macedonian community and the gods.4 In fact, we must consider the Macedonian kings as mediators between the Macedonian kingdom and the divine. Therefore, Alexander, as with his predecessor Philip, was at the head of any kind of religious institutional act or activity involving the realm. We must not forget that the division between religion and state, between civil and religious matters, was much vaguer than in present times and the frontiers between the two were not always easy to trace during the ancient period. These two domains were always very closely linked in Antiquity. The present paper focuses on the use of religion and mythical issues during Alexander’s campaign. In order to do so, we attend specifically to three main questions: the theme of revenge, the religious memories of the Persian Wars, and the use of mythical characters by Alexander as propaganda.

The Theme of Revenge

First, we must carefully consider the question of the propaganda employed by Alexander in relation to two factors: first, the tradition of the use of religious legitimation for war and the imperialism that started during Philip II’s reign; and second, the context, especially intellectual, of Alexander’s lifetime in the Greek mentality. Both factors are, actually, deeply linked. To begin with, and starting with the propaganda of Philip, we must remember Squillace’s interesting perspectives, which we follow here, developing a deep analysis of the question.5 In this sense, Philip had already presented his conquests and military interferences in foreign polis-states as a result of the need to defend the gods. This was the case, for example, in the Third Sacred War, when Philip showed himself to be the protector of Delphi, and so, of Apollo, in the fight against the Phocians and Thebans. The idea of a Sacred War was, actually, very effective and a great success of Macedonian propaganda in Greece, as far as it allowed Phillip to validate his war and sanctify the 4  P. Christesen, S.C. Murray, “Macedonian Religion” in A Companion to Ancient Macedonia (eds. I. Worthington, J. Roisman, Oxford: Blackwells, 2011) 428–45, esp. 440–43; M. Mari, “Traditional Cults and beliefs” in Brill’s Companion to Ancient Macedonia (ed. R. Lane Fox, Leiden: Brill, 2011) 453–65. 5  G. Squillace, “Consensus Strategies under Philip and Alexander. The Revenge Theme” in Philip II and Alexander the Great. Father and Son, lives and afterlives (eds. D. Ogden, E. Carney, Oxford: University Press, 2010) 76–80.

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his aspirations for expansion. Likewise, through victory, the Macedonian king strengthens the connection with the gods’ favour and protection, obtaining great prestige as Apollo’s guardian. This defence of Delphi, the Panhellenic sanctuary par excellence of the Greeks, surely assured Philip that, as his victory had demonstrated, he had the gods on his side. This divine protection must have a cause, and in Macedonian political propaganda that cause cannot be anything other than the Panhellenic nature of Philip’s mission in Greece. In fact, Philip became a hero of the Greek traditions and gods as a result of his image as a defender of the gods. Not in vain, for he was a descendant of Heracles and we must not forget that Heracles was the main Panhellenic hero, champion of Greek civilization and the gods.6 As the new Heracles, Philip presented himself as acting under the auspices of the divine. Nevertheless, we must bear in mind what the Panhellenic political perspectives meant in the complex historical context of the Greek poleis of the Fourth Century BC. Calls from authors like Isocrates or even Demosthenes for the union of the Greeks in a common cause became a reality forced by the arms of the Macedonian king with the submission of the enemies of Philip to accept peace and take part in the Sinedrion of Corinth, a vehicle granting and executing Macedonian hegemony.7 But in the speeches and writings of intellectuals, the union of the Greeks was also linked to the need to reclaim the attention of the Greeks and focus it on a common enemy beyond the frontiers of the Greek world, in order both to eliminate internal conflict between the poleis, to create cohesion and to find common gain. Philip intended to continue with the construction of his image as protector of the gods, and even more, as the avenger of injuries suffered during the Persian Wars, in order to start a campaign of retribution against Persia for Xerxes’ impious attacks on the Greek gods. Far from a simplistic vision, the theme of revenge actually seems to be multifaceted. First, because it seems surprising in our judgement that Macedon could ask for the role of avenger against Persia, so far as the Macedonians were, in fact, part of the Persian army during the Persian Wars. Maybe Alexander’s destruction of Thebes, the unforgiving traitor among the Greeks since the times of the Persian invasion, could be understood as an attempt to erase 6  Ch.F. Edson, “Antigonids, Heracles and Beroea,” HSCPh 45 (1934) 213–246, esp. 219; B. AntelaBernárdez, “Simply the Best: Alexander’s last words and Macedonian royal kingship,” Eirene 47 (2011) 118–126. 7  B. Antela-Bernárdez, “El día después de Queronea: la Liga de Corinto y el imperio macedonio sobre Grecia” in Grecia ante los imperios (eds. J.M. Cortés Copete, E. Muñiz, R. Gordillo, Sevilla: Servicio de Publicaciones de la US, 2011) 187–195.

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the fact that the Macedonians were also traitors to Greece under Xerxes’ command.8 On the other hand, the right to take revenge for injuries to the Greek gods seems to be related, in the Macedonian case, to the key role of the Macedonian king as responsible for the nation before the divine, and so as a unique religious authority. In the end, vengeance allowed the Greeks to be led together under one unique slogan. Likewise, it seems noteworthy to remember the texts of Isocrates to Philip and Alexander, where he indicates that if they could find success in attempting to gather the Greeks together under their command and lead them in the conquest of Persia, they would certainly gain everlasting fame, which actually meant immortal glory and perhaps even divinity. This purpose can be clearly observed in Isocrates’ speech To Philip: No, it is not with a view to the acquisition of wealth and power that I urge this course, but in the belief that by means of these you will win a name of surpassing greatness and glory. Bear in mind that while we all possess bodies that are mortal, yet by virtue of good will and praise and good report and memory which keeps pace with the passage of time we partake of immortality.9 Moreover, this is not a unique passage in our sources exhorting Philip to lead the Greeks and as a result obtain immortal glory, i.e., almost heroic status (as holder of kleos). In this sense, two good examples can be quoted; the first one is a fragment of Isocrates’ second letter to Philip: Be assured that a glory unsurpassable and worthy of the deeds you have done in the past will be yours when you shall compel the barbarians—all but those who have fought on your side—to be serfs of the Greeks, and

8  M. Brosius, “Why Persia became the enemy of Macedon” in A Persian Perspective: Essays in Memory of Heleen Sancisi-Weerdenburg (eds. A. Kuhrt, W. Henkelman, Leiden: Brill, 2003) 227–237; I. Worthington, “Alexander’s Destruction of Thebes” in Crossroads of History: The Age of Alexander the Great (eds. W. Heckel, L.A. Tritle, Claremont: Regina Books, 2003) 65–86; B. Antela-Bernárdez, “Alejandro Magno, Poliorcetes” in Fortificaciones y Guerra de asedio en el Mundo Antiguo (eds. J. Vidal, B. Antela-Bernárdez, Zaragoza: Pórtico, 2012) 77–134; B. Antela-Bernárdez, “Furious Wrath: Alexander’s siege of Thebes and Perdiccas false retreat” in Ancient Warfare: Introducing Current Research (ed. G. Lee, Cambridge: Scholars Press, 2015) [in print]. 9  Isocr. 5.134 (trans. G. Nolin, Loeb ed.).

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when you shall force the king who is now called Great to do whatever you command. For then will naught be left for you except to become a god.10 The second, and maybe the most clear, is one of Aristotle’s texts which strangely seems to relate to Philip or Alexander, as far as its contents are so close to the texts quoted by Isocrates:11 But if there is any one man so greatly distinguished in outstanding virtue, or more than one but not enough to be able to make up a complete state, so that the virtue of all the rest and their political ability is not comparable with that of the men mentioned, if they are several, or if one, with his alone, it is no longer proper to count these exceptional men a part of the state; for they will be treated unjustly if deemed worthy of equal status, being so widely unequal in virtue and in their political ability: since such a man will naturally be as a god among men.12 Beyond the perspective of Aristotle, closely linked with his conception of virtue, in the case of Isocrates we must consider the value of his political ideal.13 Isocrates’ political proposal aims the Greeks to unite them against a common enemy, allowing them to stop the traditional internal strife among themselves.14 The true enemy is the barbarian, now embodied by the Persians. The individual who could unify Greece would gain unforgettable glory, and all that would be left for him would be to become a god. I assume that Isocrates is thinking in terms of a posthumous cult at this stage, but we do not know what Philip understood by it. But when Alexander accomplishes all of these challenges, he actually claimed what Isocrates’ promised: divinity.

10  Isocr. Ep. 3.2 (trans. G. Nolin, Loeb ed.). 11  M.M. Markle, “Support of Athenian Intellectuals for Philip: A Study of Isocrates’ Philippus and Speusippues’ Letter to Philip,” JHS 94 (1976) 86. Also, S. Perlman, “Isokrates’ Advice on Philip’s Attitude towards Barbarians (V, 154),” Historia 16 (1967) 343. 12  Arist. 1284a13 (trans. H. Rackham, Loeb ed.). 13  P. Merlan, “Isócrates, Aristotle and Alexander the Great,” Historia 3 (1954) 60–81; B. AntelaBernárdez, Alexandre Magno e Atenas (Santiago de Compostela: Servicio de Publicacions da USC, 2005) 218–48. 14  B. Antela-Bernárdez, “Panhelenismo y Hegemonía. Conceptos políticos en tiempos de Filipo y Alejandro,” DHA 33 (2007) 69–89.

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The Persian Wars Revisited

The narrative of revenge transformed the Macedonian campaign against Persia into a kind of sequel to the Persian Wars, which means, after Philip’s assassination, the need to develop an image of Alexander in Macedonian propaganda as permanently linked with the events and historical facts of the Persian invasion of Greece. In this sense, it seems of great interest to demonstrate the way our sources show Alexander and Xerxes as contraries, opposing one’s history to the other. We cannot forget that Xerxes represents, for the Greek audience, a character strongly marked by hybris and impiety against the gods. In contrast to Xerxes, Alexander is always depicted endowed with vivid, intense religious feeling and respect for the gods, even those who were not Greek gods. The best example of these contrasting actions can be viewed in the passages of the sources that record the crossing of the Hellespont by both kings. The first example can be viewed in connection with the offering of libations by Xerxes during his crossing of the Hellespont: All that day they made preparations for the crossing. On the next they waited until they could see the sun rise, burning all kinds of incense on the bridges and strewing the road with myrtle boughs. At sunrise Xerxes poured a libation from a golden phial into the sea, praying to the sun that no accident might befall him which would keep him from subduing Europe before he reached its farthest borders. After the prayer, he cast the phial into the Hellespont, and along with it a golden bowl, and a Persian sword which they call “acinaces”. As for these, I cannot rightly determine whether he cast them into the sea for offerings to the sun, or repented having whipped the Hellespont and gave gifts to the sea as atonement.15 The same idea of impious behaviour and lack of respect for the (Greek) gods is shown in the well-known passage of Xerxes’ outrage at the gods, especially Poseidon, again during the crossing of the Hellespont: When Xerxes heard of this, he was very angry and commanded that the Hellespont be whipped with three hundred lashes, and a pair of fetters be thrown into the sea. I have even heard that he sent branders with them to brand the Hellespont. He commanded them while they whipped to utter words outlandish and presumptuous, “Bitter water, our master thus 15  Hdt 7.54 (trans. A.D. Godley, Loeb ed.).

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punishes you, because you did him wrong though he had done you none. Xerxes the king will pass over you, whether you want it or not; in accordance with justice no one offers you sacrifice, for you are a turbid and briny river”. He commanded that the sea receive these punishments and that the overseers of the bridge over the Hellespont be beheaded.16 Herodotus’ account is also echoed in the word Aeschillus put in the mouth of his character of the shadow of the dead Darius, father of Xerxes, in the drama The Persians: For he [Xerxes] conceived the hope that he could by shackles, as if it were a slave, restrain the current of the sacred Hellespont, the Bosporus, a stream divine; he set himself to fashion a roadway of a new type, and, by casting upon it hammer-wrought fetters, made a spacious causeway for his mighty host. Mortal though he was, he thought in his folly that he would gain the mastery of all the gods, yes, even over Poseidon. Must this not have been a disease of the soul that possessed my son?17 Not even the tombs seem, in the eyes of the Greek, to escape from Xerxes’ impious character. A good example, again in the context of the crossing of the Hellespont, is the threat Protesilaus’ tomb in Eleaus received: He [Xerxes] had been in the habit of bringing women right into the temple of Protesilaus at Elaeus and doing impious deeds there.18 The last of our examples during the crossing of the Hellespont comes from the stay of Xerxes in Troy, and the sacrifices and threat he offered to the Gods, especially Athena, and the Heroes: When the army had come to the river  Scamander, which was the first river after the beginning of their march from Sardis that fell short of their needs and was not sufficient for the army and the cattle to drink— arriving at this river, Xerxes ascended to the citadel of Priam, having a desire to see it. [2] After he saw it and asked about everything there, he sacrificed a thousand cattle to Athena of Ilium, and the Magi offered

16  Hdt 7.35. 17  Aesch. Pers. 745–751 (trans. H.W. Smyth, Loeb ed.). 18  Hdt. 7.33.

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libations to the heroes. After they did this, a panic fell upon the camp in the night.19 In front of these accounts, the narratives about Alexander and his crossing of the Hellespont are fully developed in trying to present him as a pious figure, in clear opposition to Xerxes: According to the prevalent story Alexander made from Elaeus for the Achaean harbor, and steered the admiral’s ship himself when he crossed, sacrificing a bull to Posidon and the Nereids in the midst of the Hellespont strain, and pouring into the sea a drink offering from a golden bowl. They also say that he was the first to disembark on Asian soil armed cap-à-pie, that he set up altars both where he started from Europe and where he landed in Asia to Zeus of Safe Landings, Athena, and Heracles, and that he then went up to Troy, and sacrificed to the Trojan Athena, dedicated his full armor in the temple, and took down in its place some of the dedicated arms yet remaining from the Trojan war, which, it is said, the hypaspist henceforth used to carry before him into battle. Then he sacrificed also to Priam at the altar of Zeus of Enclosures (so runs the story), praying Priam not to vent his anger on the race of Neoptolemus, of which he himself was a descendant.20 Xerxes is not the only Persian king which Alexander appears to be placed in opposition to, thus, he is not, in fact, a unique example. Again in relation to the respect shown by Alexander to the cults of conquered populations, very far from the usual offensive threats made by the Persians against foreign divinities, the case of Cambises can be quoted, especially in relation to Egypt and Babylon.21 This can be observed in the case of the respect shown by Alexander to Apis and Cambises’ mad behaviour towards the cow-god. In fact, Cambises’ actions can hardly be less impious: When the priests led Apis in, Cambyses—for he was all but mad—drew his dagger and, meaning to stab the calf in the belly, stuck the thigh; then laughing he said to the priests: “Simpletons, are these your gods, creatures of flesh and blood that can feel weapons of iron? That is a god worthy of 19  Hdt 7.43. 20  Arr. An. 1.11.6–8 (trans. P.A. Brunt, Loeb ed.); A.B. Bosworth, A Historical Commentary on Arrian’s History of Alexander (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1980–1995) I, 100. 21  Fredricksmeyer, “Alexander Religion . . ., 259 and n. 24.

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the Egyptians. But for you, you shall suffer for making me your laughingstock.” So saying he bade those, whose business it was, to scourge the priests well, and to kill any other Egyptian whom they found holidaymaking. So the Egyptian festival ended, and the priests were punished, and Apis lay in the temple and died of the wound in the thigh. When he was dead of the wound, the priests buried him without Cambyses’ knowledge.22 Thus, Alexander’s behaviour is clearly intended to be compared in contrast with the memory of preceding Persian conquerors, placing them in stark contrast to his own ability to accept the religious practices of conquered peoples and offering a kind attention to the acceptance of these cults and gods almost, as if they were his own. Thence he crossed the stream and came to Memphis where he offered sacrifice to Apis—and the other gods, and celebrated a gymnastic and musical contest, the most distinguished artists in these matters coming to him from Greece.23 The memories of the past were very current and present at almost every point during Alexander’s campaign; this is especially evident from a religious perspective. Good evidence for this is the three main examples of actions of war related to religious memories that use the religious sphere to justify extreme military decisions: The destruction of Thebes, the massacre of the Branchidae and the looting and burning of Persepolis. On the matter of the destruction of Thebes, a tense situation and harsh threat given by Alexander to the Thebanid rebels is explicitly justified by Arrian with religious arguments that discharged Alexander for the responsibility of having committed a horrific massacre, the likes of which modern observers would probably label genocide: But the Thebans having effected their revolt suddenly and without any previous consideration, the capture of the city being brought about in so short a time and without difficulty on the part of the captors, the slaughter, being great, as was natural, from its being made by men of the same race who were glutting their revenge on them for ancient injuries, the 22  Hdt. 3.29. 23  Arr. An. 3.1.4; Bosworth, A Historical Commentary . . ., I, 262: “this is Alexander’s first sacrifice to a native deity in native guise”.

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complete enslavement of a city which excelled among those in Greece at that time both in power and warlike reputation, all this was attributed not without probability to the avenging wrath of the deity. It seemed as if the Thebans had after a long time suffered this punishment for their betrayal of the Greeks in the Median war.24 In the case of the Branchidae, the uncontrolled violence shown by Alexander in his decision to kill them all is again a result of the memory of the Persian Wars, and the definitive cause of this punishment is strongly linked with the religious crime of the ancestors of the Branchidae against Apollo. Herodotus, again, explains (6.19) the events that transpired during the Persian Wars, but the more transparent account is that of Strabo: Next after the Poseidium of the Milesians, eighteen stadia inland, is the oracle of Apollo Didymeus among the Branchidae. It was set on fire by Xerxes, as were also the other temples, except that at Ephesus. The Branchidae gave over the treasures of the god to the Persian king, and accompanied him in his flight in order to escape punishment for the robbing and the betrayal of the temple.25 Alexander’s decision to exterminate the Branchidae is recorded by Curtius: While Bessus was bringing to him, he came to a little town, whose inhabitants were called Branchidae. They were by Xerxes’ Order (when he returned from Greece) transplanted from Miletus, and assigned this settlement in consideration of their having pillaged the Temple of Apollo Didymaeus, in his favour (. . .). They expressed a great deal of joy at the king’s arrival, and readily surrendered both themselves and their town to him. (. . .) The next day, when the deputies of the Branchidae came to meet him, he commanded them to attend him, and being come to the town, he entered the gates thereof with par of his army, and ordered the phalanx to surround the place, and upon the signal given, to pillage that receptacle of traitors, and put them all to the sword.26

24  Arr. An. 1.9.6–7; Bosworth, A Historical Commentary . . ., I, 88. 25  Strab. 14.1.5 (trans. H.L. Jones, Loeb ed.). 26  Curt. 7.5.32 (trans. J. Digby); H.W. Parke, “The Massacre of the Branchidae,” JHS 105 (1985) 59–68; C. Sierra, “La venganza se sirve fría: Tebanos, Bránquidas y el recuerdo de las Guerras Médicas” in Más allá de la batalla. El impacto de la guerra contra la población

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Finally, we can observe that accounts of the burning of the palace of Persepolis also stress the same perspectives. Arrian’s account is actually very clear in attributing the episode to religious factors: He burnt down the Persian palace, though Parmenio advised him to preserve it, for many reasons, and especially because it was not well to destroy what was now his own property, and because the men of Asia would not by this course of action be induced to come over to him, thinking that he himself had decided not to retain the rule of Asia, but only to conquer it and depart. But Alexander said that he wished to take vengeance on the Persians, in retaliation for their deeds in the invasion of Greece, when they razed Athens to the ground and burnt down the temples. He also desired to punish the Persians for all the other injuries they had done the Greeks.27 In the case of Diodorus, the account is more detailed, but the conclusions are, in fact, very similar to those of Arrian: At this point one of the women present, Thaïs by name and Attic by origin, said that for Alexander it would be the finest of all his feats in Asia if he joined them in a triumphal procession, set fire to the palaces, and permitted women’s hands in a minute to extinguish the famed accomplishments of the Persians. This was said to men who were still young and giddy with wine, and so, as would be expected, someone shouted out to form the comus and to light torches, and urged all to take vengeance for the destruction of the Greek temples. Others took up the cry and said that this was a deed worthy of Alexander alone. When the king had caught fire at their words, all leaped up from their couches and passed the word along to form a victory procession in honour of Dionysius. Promptly many torches were gathered. Female musicians were present at the banquet, so the king led them all out for the comus to the sound of voices and flutes and pipes, Thaïs the courtesan leading the whole performance. She was the first, after the king, to hurl her blazing torch into the palace. As the others all did the same, immediately the entire palace area was consumed, so great was the conflagration. It was most remarkable that the impious act of Xerxes, king of the Persians, against the civil en el mundo antiguo (eds. J. Vidal, B. Antela-Bernárdez, Zaragoza: Pórtico, 2013) 55–66. 27  Arr. An. 3.18.12.

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acropolis of at Athens should have been repaid in kind after many years by one woman, a citizen of the land which had suffered it, and in sport.28 As we have seen, the more interesting parts of the memories of the Persian Wars for Alexander’s propaganda were those linked with religious issues, as Arrian’s account of the destruction of Thebes demonstrates in detail. Likewise, there were other religious issues that were used to justify the military measures and violent acts of retribution, both in Thebes and in the case of the Branchidae and Persepolis.

Men becoming Heroes, Heroes becoming Gods. Planned Imitatio

The process through which Alexander started an intense imitation of his ancestor Achilles is a very well-known subject that has attracted many scholars. Nevertheless, Achilles was not a unique referent used by Alexander to differentiate his behaviour from that of an ordinary man. Both in questions of mythological perspective and physical adoption, Heracles, Alexander’s ancestor also, served him as a model. Next, we briefly analyse the recreation of certain aspects of the mythical figures of Achilles, Heracles and Dionysos by Alexander, as essential elements in his programme of propaganda. Through these mythical characters, we can observe a series of changes in the perception of the campaign by the conqueror. In the case of Achilles the links are very old and may have begun during Alexander’s early childhood, thanks to reinforcement from Olympia and her circle in the Macedonian court, treating the young Alexander as if he was Achilles, as the sources show.29 The identification was so strong that even Alexander’s close friends would become part of this mode of thinking, as is the case of Hefestion, always a special case, who appears to have been considered something of a new Patroclus.30 Nevertheless, beyond this, we also find many episodes during Alexander’s campaign where an explicit imitation and assimilation of the Iliad is shown.31 As a result of his young age and 28  Diod. 17.72.2–6 (trans. Bradford Welles, Loeb ed.). 29  Plut. Alex. 5.8; 15.8–9; 24.10. Also, Pl. Rep. 390e is the source of Plutarch in this point. See also J.R. Hamilton, “Alexander Early Life,” G&R 12 (1965) 117–124; Heckel, Who is who . . ., 153 (s.v. “Lisimachus”). 30  Arr. An. 1.12.1; 7.14.4; 7.14.4, 16.8. 31  L. Pearson, The Lost Histories of Alexander the Great, Florida (1960), 10. The remembrance of the Iliad is present in examples like the fight against the river, the killing of

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his family links with Achilles, Alexander surely preferred him as referent to that of Agamemnon, who was recommended in Isocrates’ speeches.32 In fact, Agamemnon’s family were strongly marked by some sacrileges, like those carried out by Agamemnon’s father Atreus and his twin brother Thyestes, and he can also be observed as a symbol of authoritarian rule, so similar to the figure of a tyrant. So, Achilles, almost a teenager like Alexander himself, who fought with bravery in the first rank, was closer to Alexander’s own character in battle.33 Achilles allows Alexander to suggest some aspects of his propaganda. First, Herodotus talks (1.3.5) of the siege of Troy as a direct precedent to the Persian Wars, so if Alexander was renewing the Persian Wars he could also bear in mind the siege of Troy as his own precedent.34 As such Achilles is a simple warrior fighting against barbarians, and being also a key agent for victory. From a physical perspective, both Alexander and Achilles were young and beardless, far from the ideal of the king as a bearded father.35 Alexander used this Baetis in Gaza or the comparison between Roxanna and Briseis. On the fight of the river: D.S. 17.97.3; L. Prandi, Diodoro Siculo. Biblioteca storica, libro XVII. Commento storico (Milano: Vita e Pensiero, 2013) 163; on Baetis: Curt. 4.6.29; J.E. Atkinson, A Commentary on Q: Curtius Rufus’ Historiae Alexandri Magni, Books 3 and 4 (Amsterdam: Gieben Publisher, 1980) 342; Heckel, Who is who . . ., 71 s.v. “Batis”; on Roxanna like Briseis: Curt 8.4.26. On this kind of artifice in Alexander’s historians, see E. Carney, “Artifice and Alexander’s History” in Alexander the Great in Fact and Fiction (eds. A.B. Bosworth, E.J. Baynham, Oxford: University Press, 2000) 272. 32  B. Antela-Bernárdez, “Panhelenismo . . ., 82. Also, on the use of Homer to provide historical examples by Fourth Century BC Athenian orators, especially Isocrates, see D.H. Hamilton, “Greek Rhetoric and History: The Case of Isocrates” in Arktouros: Hellenic Studies Presented to Bernard M.W. Knox (ed. G.W. Bowersock, Berlin: De Gruyter, 1979) 294–295. 33  Probably, a conscious identification with Achilles was planned by Alexander: A. Cohen, “Alexander and Achilles—Macedonians and Mycenaeans” in The Ages of Homer: A Tribute to Emily Townsend Vermeule (eds. J.B. Carter, S.P. Morris, Austin: University of Texas Press, 1995) 483; contra P. Carlier, “Homeric and Macedonian Kingship” in Alternatives to Athens (eds. R. Brock, S. Hodkinson, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000) 259–268. 34  Alexander used to travel keeping with him a copy of the Iliad: Plut. Alex. 8.2; Plin. H.N. 13, 2–3; J.R. Hamilton, Plutarch: Alexander (London: Bristol Classical Press, 1999) 20–21; P. Pédech, Historiens compagnons d’Alexandre (Paris: Les Belles Letres,1985) 45 has argued that this copy of the Iliad was in fact an edition commented by Aristotle and Callisthenes for Alexander’s own use. Also, G. Bounoure, “L’odeur du héros. Un thème ancien de la légende d’Alexandre,” QS 17 (1983) 11, 38 n. 33. 35  Plut. Alex. 4; J.R. Hamilton, Plutarch . . ., 9–13; V. Alonso Troncoso, “The Bearded King and the Beardless Hero. From Philip II to Alexander the Great” in Philip II and Alexander . . ., 13–24; R.R. Smith, Hellenistic Royal Portraits (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988) 46.

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esthetical tool in his own representations. Also like Achilles, Alexander tries to associate himself with the lion.36 We must not forget that the lion motif was also an icon of Alexander’s assimilation with Heracles. Likewise, the incorporation of the iconographical element of the ἀναστολή into his image in art would probably be related to his identification with Achilles.37 Although the links with the Achillean model were evident throughout the whole Asian campaign, a change seems to start on the way to Egypt, when the assimilation of the image of Heracles, Alexander’s Macedonian ancestor, began to be stressed more strongly. This assimilation, easily observable through the iconography of Alexander’s coinage during these times, comes to a head during a visit to Siwah, where the priests revealed that, like Heracles, Alexander was not just a hero (like Achilles had been) but even more: the son of the god Zeus Ammon.38 As such, Alexander gained more security in his dealings for victory: as far as Achilles dies to obtain victory before the walls of Troy, Heracles survives and himself enjoyed the success of his deeds. In fact, Heracles seems to fit Alexander’s own propaganda better (a good example is the episode of Aornos’ Rock),39 as far as he can be considered the main heroic figure in Greek mythology, usually observed in close relation with the progress of (Greek) humankind.40 Then, Alexander and Heracles are both great 36  Il. 22.262, 24.40; Plut. Alex. 2.6; J.R. Hamilton, Plutarch . . ., 4–5; K.C. King, Achilles: Paradigms of the War Hero From Homer to the Middle Ages (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1987) 19; E. Schwarzenberg, “The Portraiture of Alexander” in Alexandre le Grand: Image et Réalité (ed. E. Badian, Geneva: Foundation Hardt, 1975) 249; P. Moreno, “L’immagine di Alessandro Magno nell’opera di Lisippo e di altri artisti contemporanei” in Alexander the Great: Reality and Myth (eds. J. Carlsen et al., Roma: L’Erma di Bretschneider, 1993) 101–36, esp. 103–4; id., “Alessandro e gli artisti del suo tempo” in Alessandro Magno, storia e mito (Roma: L’Erma di Bretschneider, 1995) 127; id., “L’immagine di Alessandro nella ‘maniera’ classica (323–301 a.C.)” in Alessandro Magno . . ., 140–2. Also F. Olaguer Feliu, Alejandro Magno y el arte (Madrid: Encuentros, 2000). The lion motive was also an iconical element of Alexander’s assimilation with Heracles. 37  B. Kiilerich, “The Public Image of Alexander the Great” in Alexander the Great: Reality . . ., 87–8; A.M. Nielsen, “The Mirage of Alexander—A Minimalist View” Alexander the Great: Reality . . ., 140. 38  Fredricksmeyer, “Alexander’s Religion . . ., 270–8; A.J. Classen, “The Libyan God Ammon in Greece before 331 B.C.,” Historia 8 (1959) 349–355; A.B. Bosworth, “Alexander and Ammon,” in Greece and the Eastern Mediterranean in Ancient History and Prehistory: Studies Presented to Fritz Schachermeyer (ed. K.H. Kinzl, Berlin: Akademia Verlag, 1977) 51–75. 39  D.S. 17. 85.1–2; G. Radet, “Aornos,” JS (1929) 69–73. 40  M.S. Silk, “Heracles and Greek Tragedy,” G&R 32 (1985) 4–5; A.R. Anderson, “Heracles and his Successors,” HSPh 39 (1928) 8.

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founders of cities, civilizers and PanHellenic protectors. Not in vain did the image of Heracles have such prominence in the reconciliation of the Greeks, perfectly fitting the new objectives, more ambitious than a simple invasion of Asia Minor by Alexander. Nevertheless, the Macedonian background of the cult of Heracles cannot be dismissed, especially in relation to the mythical ancestry of the Argeads.41 At the same time, the more usual epithets of Heracles were kosmokrator (universal ruler), soter (defender of humanity, which in fact means just the Greeks: Haerens 1948), hoplophylax (guardian of the arms), promachos (protector), aniketos and kallinikos (victorious) were all very useful to Alexander’s political intentions and propaganda within the Greek world.42 Likewise, these epithets are also strongly linked with war.43 Finally, Heracles was also an interesting referent as far as once died he became a god. Likewise, the behaviour and especially the excess Alexander assumed in his own life, both as an undefeated warrior, kind conqueror, drinker or killer of friends, he is actually revealing in some way the same uncontrolled, almost divine, nature of his ancestor Heracles, and this can be observed by a Greek audience, probably, as a step towards claiming divinity, following Heracles’ example.44 Actually, the use of Heracles as an iconical reference seems better than that of Achilles, destined to die as a condition for glory, once the first phase of the conquest of Asia was successfully completed.45 Lastly, Dionysos, also an ancestor of Alexander by way of Deianira, is the referential figure of the remote conquests.46 Considered “the god that comes from the east”, and even “the unrecognized god”, Dionysos is also a civilizer and a furious, terrible figure. The best example is recorded by Euripides, in a work 41  O. MØrkholm, Early Hellenistic Coinage: From the Accession of Alexander to the Peace of Apamea (336–188 B.C.) (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001) 42; A. Stewart, Faces of Power: Alexander’s Image and Hellenistic Politics (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993) 93; P. Goukowski, Essai sur les origines du mythe d’Alexandre: 336–270 av. J.C. (Nancy: Université de Nancy, 1978–1981) I, 17, n.13. 42  Arr. An. 4.11.7; A.B. Bosworth, A Historical Commentary . . ., II, 84–86; B. Antela-Bernárdez, Alexandre Magno e Atenas . . ., 179–248. On the use of heroic models by Alexander, see also M. Flower, “Alexander the Great and Panhelenism” in Alexander the Great in Fact . . ., 107–19. 43  L.R. Farnell, Greek Hero Cults and Ideas of Immortality (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1970) 146–8. 44  Silk, “Heracles and . . ., 5. 45  G. Nagy, The Best of the Achaeans (Baltimore: The John Hopkins University Press, 1999) 69–71. 46  Hdt. 8.137–138; Isocr. 5.32. The main study is P. Goukowski, Essai sur . . ., esp. vol. II, titled “Alexandre et Dionysos”.

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which was written during his stay at the Macedonian court: arriving in Thebes, and not recognized as a god, Dionysos unleashed his fury provoking horror and destruction.47 The message of Alexander with this assimilation seems clear, especially if we bear in mind that during the remote conquests Alexander had also started to ask for proskynesis and divinization.48 Then, we can consider this assimilation in similar terms to those of Achilles and Heracles, as politically motivated.49 And again, the Macedonian perspective of Dionysos must not be forgotten.50 What victory in war gives, religion confirms. The assimilation with Dionysos seems to start at some point near the burning of the palace of Persepolis, when Alexander engaged, maybe helped by the Athenian courtesan Thais, a dionysiac procession.51 Nevertheless, we do not know if Dionysos would finally, in the passage of time, completely replace Achilles and Heracles with Death finding Alexander in Babylon. But it seems interesting to note that, contrary to Achilles or Heracles, Dionysos was himself a god not just a warrior or a hero. His visual aspect as a young male and his character as conqueror and civilizer, victorious against the barbarian peoples, seems to join the best and most useful elements of both Achilles and Heracles for Alexander’s

47  We must bear in mind that, in addition to the Iliad, Alexander also travelled with a copy of Euripides’ Bacchae: Plut. Alex. 8.3; Hamilton, Plutarch . . ., 144; T.S. Brown, “Alexander’s Book Order,” Historia 16 (1967) 359–368. 48  J.M. O’Brien, Alexander the Great: The Invisible Enemy (London: Routledge, 1992) 155; A.B. Bosworth, “Alexander, Euripides, and Dionysos” in Transitions to Empire: Essays in Greco-Roman History 360–146 B.C., in Honor of Ernst Badian (eds. R.W. Wallace, E.M. Harris, Oklahoma: University of Oklahoma Press, 1996) 140–166. 49  On the cults to Heracles and Dionysos in Macedonia until the Roman age, see J. Gagé, “Alexandre le Grand en Macédonie dans la Ière moitié du IIIe siécle ap. J.C.,” Historia 24 (1975) 1–16. 50  Goukowski, Essai sur . . ., II, 8–9, with bibliography; E. Fredricksmeyer, “The ancestral Rites of Alexander th Great,” CP 56 (1966) 179–82; M.-H. Blanchand, “Les Cultes Orientaux en Macédoine Grecque dans l’Antiquité,” Ancient Macedonia IV (Thessaloniki: Institute for Balkan Studies, 1986) 84. In defence of the Thracian, nearly Macedonian, origins of the cult to Dionysos, see N.G.L. Hammond, G.T. Griffith, A History of Macedonia (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1979) II, 166. 51  Arr. An. 3.18.11; Curt. 5.7.3-7; D.S. 17.72.2-6; Plut. Alex. 38.2–8; Bosworth, A Historical Commentary . . ., I, 330–332; Prandi, Diodoro Siculo . . ., 118. See also, E. Fredricksmeyer, “Alexander and the Kingship of Asia” in Alexander the Great in Fact. . . ., 149–51; H. SancisiWeerdenburg, “Alexander and Persepolis” in Alexander the Great. Reality . . ., 177–188. On Thais, see Heckel, Who is who . . ., 262; S. des Bouvrie, “Euripides, Bakkhai and Menadism” in Aspects of Women in Antiquity (eds. L.L. Lovén, A. Strömberg, Jonsered: Astron Forlag, 1998) 58–68.

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ends.52 Dionysos was also frequently linked with considerable loot and wealth, as the triumphal Alexander.53 As far as Heracles would need to die in order to be considered divine, Dionysos seems more appropriate for Alexander to become a god among men.54 Conclusions As we have just seen in the above examples and commentaries, we can observe the main importance of the religious elements in the war of Alexander against Persia, not only from the point of view of legitimating his actions, but also as a source of power and a transformation of royal authority towards the later practices of the Hellenistic rulers. In this sense, it should be asked what reasons Alexander would have had for claiming to be a living god, and although there is a strong controversy on this matter, we have always considered that there is a pragmatic reason: after all, Alexander needed to create an element of common connection that involved all the peoples under his rule, so different in kind, culture and religion, that only one thing can be commonly accepted by all of them: Alexander himself.55 As the Romans perfectly understood some hundred years later, divinization was the best method to settle into the rulership gained by force of arms. War and religion hand in hand in the construction of a unique empire. Bibliography V. Alonso Troncoso, “The Bearded King and the Beardless Hero. From Philip II to Alexander the Great” in Philip II and Alexander, Lifes and Afterlifes (eds. D. Ogden, E. Carney, Oxford: University Press, 2010) 13–24. A.R. Anderson, “Heracles and his Successors,” HSPh 39 (1928) 7–58. 52  N. Davis, C.M. Kraay, The Hellenistic Kingdoms, Portrait Coins and History (London: Thames and Hudson, 1973) fig. 52 provides a good example. 53  A. Piganiol “Les Dionysies d’Alexandre,” REA 42 (1940) 285–292. Also, on Alexander’s looting and the profits of the Macedonian conquest, see B. Antela-Bernárdez, “La campaña de Alejandro. Esclavismo y dependencia en el territorio de conquista” in Los espacios de la esclavitud y la dependencia en la Antigüedad (ed. M. Valdés, Besançon: Presses Universitaires de Franche-Comté, 2015) [in print]. 54  J. Tondriau, “Alexandre le Grand Assimilé a Diferentes Divinités,” RPh 25 (1949) 43–46 for a collection of ancient sources recording Alexander as a New Dionysos. 55  B. Antela-Bernárdez, “Alejandro Magno o la demostración de la divinidad,” Faventia 29 (2007) 89–103.

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B. Antela-Bernárdez, Alexandre Magno e Atenas (Santiago de Compostela: Servicio de Publicacions da USC, 2005). ———, “Alejandro Magno o la demostración de la divinidad,” Faventia 29 (2007) 89–103. ———, “Panhelenismo y Hegemonía. Conceptos políticos en tiempos de Filipo y Alejandro,” DHA 33 (2007) 69–89. ———, “El día después de Queronea: la Liga de Corinto y el imperio macedonio sobre Grecia” in Grecia ante los imperios (eds. J.M. Cortés Copete, E. Muñiz, R. Gordillo, Sevilla: Servicio de Publicaciones de la US, 2011) 187–195. ———, “Simply the Best: Alexander’s last words and Macedonian royal kingship,” Eirene 47 (2011) 118–126. ———, “Alejandro Magno, Poliorcetes” in Fortificaciones y Guerra de asedio en el Mundo Antiguo (eds. J. Vidal, B. Antela-Bernárdez, Pórtico: Zaragoza, 2012) 77–134. ———, “Furious Wrath: Alexander’s siege of Thebes and Perdiccas false retreat” in Ancient Warfare: Introducing Current Research (ed. G. Lee, Cambridge: Scholars Press, 2015) [in print]. ———, “La campaña de Alejandro. Esclavismo y dependencia en el territorio de ­conquista” in Los espacios de la esclavitud y la dependencia en la Antigüedad (ed. M. Valdés, Besançon: Presses Universitaires de Franche-Comté, 2015) [in print]. J.E. Atkinson, A Commentary on Q: Curtius Rufus’ Historiae Alexandri Magni, Books 3 and 4 (Amsterdam: Gieben Publisher, 1980). E. Badian, “The deification of Alexander the Great” in Ancient Macedonian Studies in Honor of Charles F. Edson (ed. H.J. Dell, Thessaloniki: Institute for Balkan Studies, 1981) 27–71. ———, “Alexander the Great between two thrones and heaven” in Subject and Ruler. The cult of the ruling power in classical antiquity (ed. A. Small, Ann Arbor: Cushing Malloy, 1996) 11–26. J.-P.V. Balsdon, “The ‘Divinity’ of Alexander the Great,” Historia 1 (1950) 363–88. J.M. Blázquez, “Alejandro Magno, Homo Religiosus” in Alejandro Magno. Hombre y mito (eds. J. Alvar, J.M. Blázquez, Madrid: Ediciones Clásicas, 2000) 99–152. A.B. Bosworth, “Alexander and Ammon” in Greece ant he Eastern Mediterranean in Ancient History and Prehistory: Studies Presented to Fritz Schachermeyr (eds. K.H. Kinzl, Berlin: Akademia Verlag, 1977) 51–75. ———, A Historical Commentary on Arrian’s History of Alexander (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1980–1995). ———, “Alexander, Euripides, and Dionysos” in Transitions to Empire: Essays in Greco-Roman History 360–146 B.C., in honor of Ernst Badian (eds. R.W. Wallace, E.M. Harris, Norman: Oklahoma University Press, 1996) 140–166. G. Bounoure, “L’odeur du héros. Un thème ancien de la légende d’Alexandre,” QS 17 (1983) 3–46.

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S. Perlman, “Isokrates’ Advice on Philip’s Attitude towards Barbarians (V, 154),” Historia, 16 (1967) 338–343. A. Piganiol, “Les Dionysies d’Alexandre,” REA 42 (1940) 285–292. L. Prandi, Diodoro Siculo. Biblioteca storica, libro XVII. Commento storico (Milano: Vita e Pensiero, 2013). H. Rackham (trans.), Aristotle (London: Harvard University Press, 1944). G. Radet, “Aornos,” JS (1929) 69–73. H. Sancisi-Weerdenburg, “Alexander and Persepolis” in Alexander the Great: Reality and Myth (ed. J. Carlsen, Roma: L’Erma di Bretschneider, 1993) 177–188. E. Schwarzenberg, “The Portraiture of Alexander” in Alexandre le Grand: Image et Réalité (ed. E. Badian, Geneva: Foundation Hardt, 1975) 223–278. C. Sierra, “La venganza se sirve fría: Tebanos, Bránquidas y el recuerdo de las Guerras Médicas” in Más allá de la batalla. El impacto de la guerra contra la población civil en el mundo antiguo (eds. J. Vidal, B. Antela-Bernárdez, Zaragoza: Pórtico, 2013) 55–66. M.S. Silk, “Heracles and Greek Tragedy,” G&R 32 (1985) 1–22. R.R.R. Smith, Hellenistic Royal Portraits (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988). H.W. Smyth (trans.), Aeschyllus (London: Harvard University Press, 1926). G. Squillace, “Consensus Strategies under Philip and Alexander. The Revenge Theme” in Philip II and Alexander the Great. Father and Son, lives and afterlives (eds. D. Ogden, E. Carney, Oxford: University Press, 2010) 76–80. A. Stewart, Faces of Power: Alexander’s Image and Hellenistic Politics (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993). J. Tondriau, “Alexandre le Grand Assimilé a Diferentes Divinités,” RPh 25 (1949) 43–46. I. Worthington, “Alexander’s Destruction of Thebes” in Crossroads of History: The Age of Alexander the Great (eds. W. Heckel, L.A. Tritle, Claremont: Regina Books, 2003) 65–86.

Defence and Offence in the Egyptian Royal Titles of Alexander the Great* Ivan Ladynin For any epoch of Ancient Egyptian history, the traditional royal names played the most important role in the presentation of their bearers.1 During the third millennium BC there appeared five royal titles which were used in combination with especially composed names; and in the early second millennium BC, when the royal declarations started being conveyed in linear inscriptions rather than in pictographical monuments, there appeared a standard sequence of these titles. The first of them was the so-called Horus name which described the king as a temporary terrestrial incorporation of the sun-andsky god Horus;2 the second was the name of Two Ladies, which somehow accentuated the king’s connection with the two goddesses of his crown (the snake-goddess Uadjet, i.e. the uraeus on the king’s front, and the vulture goddess Nekhbet, who personified kerchief covering the king’s hind-head); the third name was that of Golden Horus, which was probably intended to stress that the king’s flesh was made of gold, like the flesh of real gods;3 the fourth name is often called by Egyptologists “solar prenomen”, “throne-name” or the “name of the king of Upper and Lower Egypt” (this is a conventional

* I am sincerely grateful to Prof. Ian Worthington (University of Missouri) for reading the manuscript of this paper and correcting inevitable imperfections of my English. 1  See in general on the Ancient Egyptian royal name-giving: J. von Beckerath, Handbuch der ägyptischen Königsnamen (Münchner ägyptologische Studien 49, Mainz: Zabern, 1999) 1–33; R. Leprohon, “Patterns of the Royal Name-Giving” in UCLA Encyclopedia of Egyptology (eds. E. Frood, W. Wendrich, Los Angeles, 2010) 1–10 (https://escholarship.org/uc/item/51b2647c); R. Leprohon, The Great Name: Ancient Egyptian Royal Titulary (Writings from the Ancient World 33; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2013) 7–20. If not indicated otherwise, general information of the Ancient Egyptian royal names given below can be checked in these publications. 2  A.O. Bolshakov, “Royal Portraiture and Horus’ Name” in L’art de l’Ancien Empire égyptien. Actes du colloque, Musée du Louvre, les 3 et 4 avril 1998 (ed. Chr. Ziegler, Paris: Éditions du Louvre, 1999) 311–2. 3  O.D. Berlev, “Zolotoe imya egipetskogo tsarya (The Golden Name of Egyptian King)” in JeanFrançois Champollion i deshifrovka egipetskih ieroglifov ( Jean-François Champollion and the Decipherment of the Egyptian Hieroglyphs) (ed. I.S. Kaznelson, Moscow: Nauka, 1979) 41–59.

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translation of the title nsw-bity preceding it),4 and it described the king’s connection to the supreme sun-god and the utmost ruler of the word Re (in fact, this name including the name of Re must have characterized a specific creature, which seemed similar to the sun-god in its substance but existed separately of it and was embodied in the king);5 finally, the fifth name of the king was his personal name given at his birth, which was preceded by the title “son of Re”. The whole set of these names was composed normally at the time of king’s accession to throne; each of the first former four names was a wordcombination that conveyed some message; and taken together they presented a sort of ideological program for the reign that was inaugurated with their composition. This tradition was maintained by the foreign rulers of Egypt in the first millennium BC; it continued well into the Greco-Roman time and did not cease before the successors of Diocletian.6 However, one can definitely say that the meaning of some of these titles must have been vague for the Egyptians already in the first millennium BC. This must apply first of all to the names of Two Ladies and Golden Horus; moreover, in a number of occasions from the start of the first millennium BC onwards these names could be absent from the titularies of the kings, whose legitimacy in Egypt should not be questioned.7 The key topoi of the royal sacrality at that time (as, in fact, earlier) were certainly conveyed by the Horus’ name, by the solar prenomen, and by the title of the son of Re attached to the personal name of the king.

4   See on it in more details: A.I. Blöbaum, “Denn ich bin ein König, der Maat liebt”: Herrscherlegitimation im spätzeitlichen Ägypten (Aegyptiaca Monasteriensia 4; Aachen: Shaker, 2006) 62–70. 5  Yu.Ya. Perepyolkin, Keye i Semnekhkere: K ishodu solnzepoklonnicheskogo perevorota v Egipte (Kiya and Smenkhkare: On the Outcome of the Sun-worship Revolution in Egypt) (Moscow: Nauka, 1979) 268. It is deplorable that the interpretations by Oleg Berlev and Yuri Perepyolkin are not known to the international scholarship in other language than Russian; but due to their importance I feel it impossible to dispense with references to them. 6  See the royal names of the Nubian Dynasty XXV and the Persian Dynasty XXVII: Blöbaum, “Denn ich bin . . ., 313–27, 344–6; the royal names of the Argeads: Ibidem, 419–428; the royal names of the Ptolemies: von Beckerath, Handbuch . . ., 234–47; the royal names of the Roman emperors: J.-Cl. Grenier, Les titulatures des empereurs romains dans les documents en langue égyptienne (Papyrologica Bruxellensia 22; Bruxelles: Fondation égyptologique Reine É lisabeth, 1989). 7  M.-A. Bonhême, Les noms royaux dans l’Egypte de la troisième période intermédiaire (Bibliothèque d’étude 98; Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale du Caire, 1987) 256–7.

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The royal names of Alexander as a legitimate Pharaoh are known fairly well8 and were extensively discussed, though sometimes addressed rather descriptively.9 At present an important contribution to this research is being made by Francisco Bosch-Puche of the Griffith Institute at Oxford: his intention is to present a comprehensive classification of Alexander’s royal names in all their attested forms, both in the hieroglyphic inscriptions and in the Demotic documents of the period.10 On some points I disagree with my colleague: I believe that a splendid titulary of Alexander attested on a pedestal from the Oasis Bahariya and containing all the five traditional names11 is in fact not from his time but is an early Ptolemaic imitation;12 and I think there 8  H. Gauthier, Le livre des Rois d’Égypte. T. IV: De la XXVe dynastie à la fin des Ptolémées. Premier fascicule. (Mémoires publiés par les membres de l’Institut français d’Archéologie orientale 20; Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale du Caire, 1915) 199–203; von Beckerath, Handbuch . . ., 232–233; Blöbaum, “Denn ich bin . . ., 419–22. 9   S.  Burstein, “Pharaoh Alexander: A Scholarly Myth,” AncSoc 22 (1991) 139–45; H. de Meulenaere, “Le protocole royal de Philippe Arrhidée,” CRIPEL 13 (1991) 53–8; G. Hölbl, “Königliche Legitimität und historische Umstände im Spiegel der pharaonischen Titulaturen der griechisch-römischen Zeit” in Sesto Congresso Internazionale di Egittologia (Torino, 1–8 sett. 1991). Atti: I (Turin: Societa italiana per il Gas, 1992) 273–5; G. Hölbl, “Zur Legitimation der Ptolemäer als Pharaonen” in Selbstverständnis und Realität: Akten des Symposiums zur ägyptischen Königsideologie in Mainz 15.–17.6.1995 (ed. R. Gundlach, Chr. Raedler; Ägypten und Altes Testament 36(1) = Beiträge zur altägyptischen Königsideologie 1; Wiesbaden: Harrasowitz, 1997) 22–7; B. Menu, “Le tombeau de Pétosiris (4): Le souverain de l’Égypte,” BIAO 98 (1998), 249–52; G. Capriotti Vitozzi, “Note sull’immagine di Alessandro Magno in Egitto” in Atti del V Convegno Nazionale di Egittologia e Papirologia, Firenze, 10–12 dicembre 1999 (ed. S. Russo, Firenze: Istituto Papirologico “G. Vitelli”, 2000) 30–1; J. Kahl, “Zu den Namen spätzeitlicher Usurpatoren, Fremdherrsher, Gegen- und Lokalkönige,” ZÄS 129 (2002) 35–6, 39; J.D.C. Sales, Ideologia e propaganda real no Egipto ptolomaico (305–30 A.C.) (Lisbon: Fundacão Calouste Gulbenkian, 2005) 139–43, 173–9. 10  F. Bosch-Puche, “The Egyptian Royal Titulary of Alexander the Great, I: Horus, Two Ladies, Golden Horus, and Throne Names,” JEA 99 (2013) 131–54; F. Bosch-Puche, “The Egyptian Royal Titulary of Alexander the Great, II: Personal Name, Empty Cartouches, Final Remarks, and Appendix,” JEA 100 (2014) (forthcoming); F. Bosch-Puche, J. Moje, “Alexander the Great’s Name in Contemporary Demotic sources,” JEA 101 (2015) (forthcoming). 11  F. Bosch-Puche, “L’‘autel’ du temple d’Alexandre le Grand à Bahariya retrouvé,” BIAO 108 (2008) 29–44. 12  I have made this point of mine clear in my Russian publications (I. Ladynin, “ ‘Altar’ ” iz khrama Amona v oazise Bahariya s egipetskoy titulaturoy Alexandra Velikogo. I: Nadpisi pamyatnika (The ‘Altar’ from the Temple of Amun at the Baharia Oasis with the Egyptian Royal Names of Alexander the Great. I: Inscriptions of the Monument),” VDI 2(289) (2014)

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is no reason to add to Alexander’s titles a Horus name on a fragment of A clepsydra of unknown provenance, now preserved at the State Hermitage at St. Petersburg.13 However, even without these objects, there are a number of edifices in Egypt built in the time Alexander and bearing his royal names. Of five traditional names Alexander’s doubtless attestations inside Egypt contain only three: Horus name; the throne name of a king of Upper and Lower Egypt; and the personal name combined with the title “son of Re”.14 As already mentioned, the absence of the names of Two Ladies and of Golden Horus in his titulary is not unusual for the first millennium BC; and in this respect a natural parallel for the case of Alexander is certainly the protocols of Cambyses II and Darius I.15 The recognition of these Achaemenids as Pharaohs at least by a part of Egyptian elite and, probably, their own interest for this should not be doubted; and the three names that they and Alexander possessed were in fact cardinal for defining their Pharaonic sacrality. There is a degree of variability in the hieroglyphic writing of Alexander’s throne and personal names;16 however, the latter just transcribes his Greek name in hieroglyphs, and the former is known only in one variant (though its reconstruction is debatable: it can be read either stp.n-Ra mry-Imn “The chosen of Re, Beloved by Amun”17 or mryRa stp.n-Imn “The beloved by Re, Chosen by Amun”.18 Unlike them, the Horus name of Alexander is attested in Egypt in two variants, one of them falling into 3 sub-variants: mk-Kmt (“Defending/Defender of 3–12; “ ‘Altar’ iz khrama Amona v oazise Bahariya s egipetskoy titulaturoy Alexandra Velikogo. I: Interpretazia i datirovka (The ‘Altar’ from the Temple of Amun at the Baharia Oasis with the Egyptian Royal Names of Alexander the Great. II:  Interpretation and Date),” VDI 3(290) (2014) 3–20) as well as in a lecture, which I gave together with F. BoschPuche under the auspices of the New College, Oxford, on 11 February 2014 (I plan to publish in due course its text being an expanded version of these Russian publications). 13  Bosch-Puche, “The Egyptian Royal Titulary of Alexander the Great, I . . ., 134; see: I. Ladynin, “A Fragment of an Early Hellenistic Egyptian Clepsydra from the State Hermitage, St. Petersburg (Inv. No ДВ 2507а): A Native View of Early Macedonian Rule in Egypt” in Ruthenia Classica Aetatis Novae: A Collection of Works by Russian Scholars in Ancient Greek and Roman History (eds. A. Mehl, O. Gabelko, A. Makhlayuk, Stuttgart: Steiner, 2013) 93–116. 14  Blöbaum, “Denn ich bin . . ., 419–23. 15  Ibidem, 392–6. 16  Ibidem, 421–2; Bosch-Puche, “The Egyptian Royal Titulary of Alexander the Great, I . . ., 142–54 (on the throne-name). 17  von Beckerath, Handbuch . . ., 232–3. 18  de Meulenaere, “Le protocole royal . . ., 55–57; see on this debate: Bosch-Puche, “The Egyptian Royal Titulary of Alexander the Great, I . . ., 148–51.

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Egypt”)19 attested at the bark sanctuary at Luxor (see below); and HoA on tknxAswt (“Brave ruler, trampling on foreign countries”,20 with shortenings HoA on (“Brave ruler”)21 and on (“Brave”).22 The first and the third sub-variants of the latter form of the name are attested at the temple of Akhmenu at Karnak, in a room restored in the time of Alexander, while the second and the third are found at the temple of Thoth at Hermopolis (see below). The variance in the basic forms of the Horus name is also not unusual: it is attested for many kings of Egypt starting with Mentuhotep II/I who re-united Egypt at the end of the twenty-first century BC, before the Middle Kingdom.23 Minor changes of subsidiary epithets in the Horus names are attested for a great number of kings, including, shortly before Alexander, Nectanebo II;24 but the basic forms of the Horus names were in the first millennium BC varying with the kings Piye,25 Shebitqu26 and Nepherites I27 (Bosch-Puche added to them Hakoris28 but what he had in mind was not a real shift of the title but an usurpation of a predecessor’s monument, on which his name was retained).29 19  Blöbaum, “Denn ich bin . . ., 419; Bosch-Puche, “The Egyptian Royal Titulary of Alexander the Great, I . . ., 132 I. 20  Urk. II 6. 14; Blöbaum, “Denn ich bin . . ., 419; Bosch-Puche, “The Egyptian Royal Titulary of Alexander the Great, I . . ., 133 II.2. 21  LD IV 3a, 3c; E. Winter, “Alexander der Grosse als Pharao in ägyptischen Tempeln” in Ägypten—Griechenland—Rom: Abwehr und Berührung, Städeliches Kunstinstitut und Städtliche Galerie 26. November 2005–26.Februar 2006 (eds. H. Beck, P. C. Bol, M. Büchling, Frankfurt am Main: Liebighaus; Tübingen/Berlin: Wasmuth, 2005) 209 fig. 2; Blöbaum, “Denn ich bin . . ., 419; Bosch-Puche, “The Egyptian Royal Titulary of Alexander the Great, I . . ., 133 II.1. 22  Winter, “Alexander . . ., 210 fig. 3a–b; Blöbaum, “Denn ich bin . . ., 419; Bosch-Puche, “The Egyptian Royal Titulary of Alexander the Great, I . . ., 133 II.1. 23  H. Stock, Die erste Zwischenzeit Ägyptens. Untergang der Pyramidenzeit, Zwischenreiche von Abydos und Herakleopolis, Aufstieg Thebens (Rome: Pontificium Institutum Biblicum, 1949) 78–9; A.H. Gardiner, “The First King Menthotpe of the Eleventh Dynasty,” Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archaologischen Instituts, Abteilung Kairo 14 (1956) 42–51; D. Arnold, “Zur frühen Namensformen des Königs MnTw-Htp Nb-xpt-Ra,” Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archaologischen Instituts, Abteilung Kairo 24 (1969) 38–42; J. von Beckerath, “Mentuhotep II,” in Lexikon der Ägyptologie, IV (eds. W. Helck, E. Otto, W. Westendorf, Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1982) 66–8. 24  Blöbaum, “Denn ich bin . . ., 411. 25  Ibidem, 366. 26  Ibidem, 371. 27  Ibidem, 398. 28  Bosch-Puche, “The Egyptian Royal Titulary of Alexander the Great, I . . ., 136 n. 20. 29  Blöbaum, “Denn ich bin . . ., 400 n. 84.

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The distribution of these titles on the monuments of these kings shows that their variants were not local (e.g., two major variants of Shebitqu’s Horus name are both attested at Karnak); thus, this variance has probably to be explained by the consequent changes in protocol during a respective reign. One should wonder whether it is possible to discern a similar evolution of Alexander’s protocol attested on his Egyptian monuments.

The Bark-Sanctuary of Alexander the Great at Luxor and the Graffito of Ankhpakhered

The earliest of Alexander’s monuments in Egypt must have been the sanctuary of divine bark at Luxor once erected by Amenophis III and refurbished under Alexander.30 A graffito in the name of a priest Ankhpakhered on the wall of the Luxor temple31 says that the building activities at Luxor started under his direction on the first day of the first month of Alexander’s Year 1 (col. 5: rnpt-zp 1 1 tpy Axt sw 1 xr Hm (n) nsw-bity Arksndrys),32 which 30  M. Abdel-Razig, Die Darstellungen und Texte des Sanktuars Alexanders des Großen im Tempel von Luxor (Archäologische Veröffentlichungen 16; Mainz: Zabern, 1984). 31  PM2 II 335 (219). 32  According to: K. Jansen-Winkeln, “Eine Bau- und Bittinschrift am Tempel von Luxor,” ZÄS 140 (2013) 2, 5 comm. 12. M. Abdel-Razig (“Ein Graffito der Zeit Alexanders des Grossen im Luxortempel,” ASAE 69 (1983) 213) read the date as “Year 3”; however, K. JansenWinkeln emended it from his own collation of the text as “Year 1” (K. Jansen-Winkeln, Biographische und religiöse Inschriften der Spätzeit aus dem Ägyptischen Museum Kairo. 1: Übersetzungen und Kommentare (Ägypten und Altes Testament 45/1; Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2001) 180; see now his overall publication of the text: Jansen-Winkeln, “Eine Bau- und Bittinschrift . . ., 2, pl. II; F. Bosch-Puche confirmed to me personally from his own collation the reading by Jansen-Winkeln). G. Gorre, Les rélations du clergé égyptien et des Lagides d’après les sources privées (Studia Hellenistica 45; Leuven: Peeters, 2009) 54–5) suggested relying on this emendation that “Alexander” of the text is the son of Alexander the Great and Roxane, so that the works started under the direction of the priest Ankhpakhered in prt II, Year 4 of Philip Arrhidaeus (col. 1 of the graffito; March– April 320 BC) had to be completed in AHt I, Year 1 of the son of Alexander and Roxane (November–December 317 BC; see on the conversion of the Argeads’ years in Egypt into absolute chronology: P.W Pestman, Chronologie égyptienne d’après les textes démotiques (332 av. J.-C.–453 ap. J.-C.) (Papyrologia lugduno-batava 15; Leiden: Brill, 1967) 11–12; J. von Beckerath, Chronologie der pharaonischen Ägypten (Münchner ägyptologische Studien 46; Munich; Berlin: Zabern, 1997) 198). This is highly doubtful, as in such case an earlier activity of Ankhpakhered is described in his graffito after a later one; besides, there was no building at all at Luxor under the son of Roxane (M. Chauveau, Chr. Thiers,

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corresponded in fact to 15 November 332 BC; in fact, this must have been be the first month of Alexander’s stay in Egypt!33 So precise a date might, of course, be conventional;34 but anyway, it indicates the start of these activities very early in Alexander’s Year 1, i.e. the Egyptian year 332/1 BC. The first publisher of this graffito,35 Abd el-Razig, thought that it described the erection of some building in the temple of Amenophis III at Luxor;36 unfortunately, it is not quite clear from his words if he meant specifically the bark sanctuary or some other structure. Recently D. Schäfer said definitely but without much argumentation that the graffito applied to the bark sanctuary.37 In the most recent and compendious publication of the text Jansen-Winkeln strongly doubted that the structure described in the graffito can be any of those known to us from the time of the Argeads in Theban region: in his idea, the term “golden house” used in the text is applicable neither to the bark sanctuary at Luxor built under Alexander nor to the bark sanctuary at Karnak built after his death, in the formal reign of Philip III Arrhidaeus.38 Let us, however, examine the information of the graffito thoroughly.39 Ankhpakhered said that on 1 Axt I Year 1 of Alexander, he made a foundation inside a “golden house of Amenopet” (col. 6: pD.i Ss wHa.i wAwA(t) m “L’Égypte en transition: des Perses aux Macédoniens” in: La transition entre l’empire achéménide et les royaumes hellénistiques (Persika 9; eds. P. Briant, F. Joannès, Paris: De Boccard, 2006) 395–6). Thus, the king named in the text is without doubt Alexander the Great. 33  A final episode of the siege of Gaza that preceded the invasion in Egypt is November 332 BC: J. Seibert, Die Eroberung des Perserreiches durch Alexander der Großen auf kartographischer Grundlage (Beihefte zum Tübinger Atlas des Vorderen Orients. Reihe B: Geisteswissenschaften 68; Wiesbaden: L. Reichert, 1985) 85 n. 29. 34  Jansen-Winkeln, “Eine Bau- und Bittinschrift . . ., 5 comm. 12; F. Bosch-Puche, “Alexander’s Egyptian Names in the Barque Shrine at Luxor Temple,” in Alexander the Great and Egypt: History, Art, Tradition. Wrocław/Breslau 18./19. November 2011 (Philippica 74; eds. V. Grieb, K. Nawotka, A. Wojciechowska, Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2014) 81–2 n. 152. 35  The transcription of the text published by G. Daressy (“Notes et remarques,” Recueil de travaux relatifs à la philologie et à l’archéologie égyptiennes et assyriennes 14 (1893) 33–4) was in fact no more than a signal of its existence calling for a further investigation. See on its research history: Jansen-Winkeln, “Eine Bau- und Bittinschrift . . ., 1 n. 7. 36  Abdel-Razig, “Ein Graffito . . ., 217. 37   D. Schäfer, “Alexander der Große. Pharao und Priester” in: Ägypten unter fremden Herrschern zwischen persischer Satrapie und römischer Provinz (Oikumene Studien zur antiken Weltgeschichte 3; ed. St. Pfeiffer; Frankfurt am Main: Antike, 2007) 59: “ein Art Bauinschrift für das Alexandersanktuar”. 38  PM2 II 99–102. 39  Jansen-Winkeln, “Eine Bau- . . ., 9.

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pr-nbw n Imn-Ipt . . . “I spread a cord, I untied a rope in the golden house of Amenipet . . . (the designations of the god follow)”.40 Abd el-Razig pointed out that the term “golden house” might mean not necessarily a treasury but a room, in which god’s limbs were preserved.41 The bark sanctuary at Luxor was intended to host a manifestation of Amun-Re coming on a visit from Karnak on the feast of Opet;42 thus, the designation “golden house”, if applied to a repository of divine substance, corresponded to the purpose of this building.43 Further on, Anchpahered defined the dimensions of the structure built (col. 6): its “height” (i.e. length: kAw) was 11 “god’s cubits” (mH-nTr);44 its “depth below the roof” (i.e. height: mDw.f xr kApw) was 9 “god’s cubits” (= 472.5 cm); and the signs denoting the width (wsx) of the structure were read as 6½ “god’s cubits” (= 341.25 cm) by Abd el-Razig45 and 5½ “god’s cubits” (= 288.75 cm) by Jansen-Winkeln.46 A possibility strangely overlooked by the students of the graffito is comparing these figures with the real dimensions of the bark sanctuary at Luxor. A couple of observations should be made beforehand. First, one can easily see that Ankhpakhered did not use fractions of his measurement units: he spoke of a half cubit only when he measured a really small stretch. Second, the definition of the sanctuary’s height as “depth below the roof” makes it very clear that he spoke about the interior and not exterior measurements of his structure. Besides, there was an empty space over the roof in the bark sanctuary 40  Ibidem, 2–3. 41  Wb. I 517.8–9; a designation for mammisi, i.e. a specific building in the Egyptian temples of the Late Period and the Graeco-Roman time dedicated to the birth of a child of a divine couple: F. Daumas, Les mammisis des temples égyptiens (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 1958) 348 n. 4, 514; Abdel-Razig, “Ein Graffito . . ., 217. 42  L. Bell, “The New Kingdom ‘Divine’ Temple: The Example of Luxor” in: Temples of Ancient Egypt (ed. B.E. Shafer, London: American University in Cairo, 1997) 158, 293 n. 101. 43  M. Abd el-Razig read at the end of col. 6 grH.f wAh(t) aAyt “he (a shift from the 1st to the 3rd pers. occurring in Egyptian inscriptions) completed the processional sanctuary of the temple”: Abdel-Razig, “Ein Graffito . . ., 213 n. 15. This indication pointed at the bark sanctuary (as the aim of the processional route of the feast of Opet; see my preceding footnote) quite definitely; however, K. Jansen-Winkeln emended this reading into grH n wAH aAt (“end of the foundation in the hard stone”: Jansen-Winkeln, “Eine Bau- . . ., 2–3. 44  See on this measure unit, with bibliography: Ibidem, 6 comm. 17. One “god’s cubit” makes 52.5 cm: Ibidem, 9 n. 12 (with reference to S. Vleeming, “Maße und Gewichte” in Lexikon der Ägyptologie, III (eds. W. Helck, E. Otto, W. Westendorf, Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1980) 1209). 45  Abdel-Razig, “Ein Graffito . . ., 212–13. 46  Jansen-Winkeln, “Eine Bau- . . ., 2–3. In fact, the former version does not seem impossible; see the photography of the inscription: Ibidem, pl. III.

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reconstructed by Alexander at Luxor perhaps used for giving oracles;47 thus, the interior of the sanctuary was lower than the overall height of the structure. With these provisos the comparison of the real dimensions of the sanctuary48 with the figures in the graffito give the following results: Length: real: 600 cm. (=  11.43 “god’s cubits”); in the graffito: 577.5 cm (rounded down to 11 “god’s cubits”); Width: real: 360 cm. (= 6.86 “god’s cubits”); in the graffito, if the reading by Abd el-Razig is accepted: 341.25  cm49 (rounded down to 6½ “god’s cubits”); Height: real: 490 cm. (=  9.33 “god’s cubits”); in the graffito: 472.5  cm (rounded down to 9 “god’s cubits”). Taking into account Ankhpakhered’s habit of rounding down, one should say that the figures of the graffito fit the real measurements of the bark sanctuary at Luxor rather well. What remains to be considered in the evidence of his graffito is the information that the work at the structure was completed by 9 Axt II of the same year (23 December 332 BC), i.e. in 39 days (col. 6–7: grH n wAH aAt nfry(t) (r) 2 Axt sw 9 m rnpt tn mH hrw 39 “end of laying the hard stone till 9 Axt II in this year, filling 39 days”).50 It has been said that the date for the start of the refurbishing might be unrealistic, and, if so, one should perhaps also question the date of its finish; but is the entire time span, however short, unrealistic too? Probably not, when the matter is really about so small a structure! If the identification of the edifice rebuilt under Ankhpakhered with the bark sanctuary at Luxor is accepted, then it certainly belonged to the very start of Alexander’s time in Egypt and might be said, indeed, to inaugurate his reign there. In this case Alexander’s Horus name mk-Kmt (“Defender of Egypt”) attested at Luxor only51 must have been compiled for him almost at the very point of his entering Egypt. As this put AN end to the Second Persian Domination, the motive of this name, i.e. the protection of the country,52 must 47  Abdel-Razig, Die Darstellungen . . ., 9, pl. III. 48  Ibidem, pl. I, III. 49  288.75 cm, if the reading by K. Jansen-Winkeln (see my note 46) is accepted, though the comparison that is being made now seems itself to be an argument for the earlier version by M. Abd el-Razig. 50  Jansen-Winkeln, “Eine Bau- . . ., 2–3. 51  Abdel-Razig, Die Darstellungen . . ., 36, 55, 59, pl. 10, 12; Blöbaum, “Denn ich bin . . ., 419; see, with a detailed characteristic: Bosch-Puche, “Alexander’s Egyptian . . ., 64. 52  Kahl, “Zu den Namen . . ., 35–6.

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have been highly topical at the moment. One should certainly not underrate that aside of such motive the epithets of Alexander’s Horus’ name having parallels in earlier royal titles must have expressed a feeling of continuity to his predecessors (thus, mk-Kmt is attested in a Two Ladies’ name of Ramesses II mk-Kmt waf-xAswt “Defender of Egypt, Bending Foreign Countries”, a Horus’ name of Sethi II kA-nxt mk-Kmt “Mighty Bull, Defender of Egypt”, a Two Ladies’ name of Ramesses IV mk-Kmt waf-pDt-9 “Defender of Egypt, Bending Nine Bows”, a Horus’ name of Nectanebo II mry-tAwy mk-Kmt “Beloved by Two Lands, Defender of Egypt”; tkn-xAswt is attested in a Two Ladies’ name of Nectanebo II sxr-ib-nTrw tkn-xAswt “Making joyful the heart of gods, Trampling on foreign countries”).53 However, the repertory of earlier royal names was wide enough to allow quite a liberal choice among them; thus, the task of denoting succession to predecessors could be accomplished with the help of an epithet with almost any wished meaning! Thus, the epithets for each new royal protocol, and Alexander’s protocol as well, must have been certainly chosen for their meaning.

The Horus’ Name HoA on tkn-xAswt and the Argeads’ Building at Hermopolis

As already mentioned, another Horus name of Alexander had the complete form HoA on tkn-xAswt (“Brave ruler, trampling on foreign countries”) attested at the room restored by Alexander in the temple of Akhmenu at Karnak, which had once been erected by Thuthmosis III.54 This name is obviously distinct from the first in its motive: it reflects not just the defense of the country on the part of the king but his offence on the outer world. To be mentioned in a royal name this action must have had a prospect of success: however, the meaning of the verb tkn used in this name (“to approach with hostility”)55 implies that this offence was inconclusive and its outcome was not known yet. Probably, this is enough to assume that the name was compiled before the final victories of Alexander over the Persians in 331 and 330 BC.

53  Check for these antecedents: Blöbaum, “Denn ich bin . . ., 419. 54  PM2 II 119–20 (394–398); P. Barguet, Le temple d’Amon-Rê à Carnak: Essai d’éxegèse (Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale, 1962) 192–7; Schäfer, “Alexander der Große . . ., pl. 1–18 (photos by St. Pfeiffer). 55  Wb. V 334. 7; F. Bosch-Puche, “The Egyptian Royal Titulary of Alexander the Great, I . . ., 133 n. 12.

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There is, however, an episode, in which the motive of this future victory must have become prominent in Alexander’s propaganda: namely the aftermath of his visit to the oracle of the Siwa Oasis. The only one of the oracle’s answers to Alexander that is made known by Callisthenes, as we know via Strabo, was the declaration of the king being the son of Zeus; however, according to the same author, on his return to Memphis Alexander met the Milesian ambassadors with the news from their local oracles not only on the same point but also on Alexander’s future victory near Arbela.56 According to Bosworth, “we can be sure that the Milesians did send oracles to Memphis”, because otherwise “it would have taken a simple declaration by the Milesians . . . to make a laughingstock of Callisthenes”.57 One should probably agree with this; and while the mention of the battle of Arbela could be adjusted by Callisthenes ex eventu, there is no reason to doubt that this embassy could bring a prediction of some big victory over the Persians. As remarked by Fredrichsmeyer about the eventual allegation of Cleitarchus’ tradition that the oracle of Ammon promised to Alexander the dominion over the entire world, “even if we think of the ‘world’ in this context as essentially the oikumene consisting of the Persian empire in the East and the Mediterranean basin in the West, there is no evidence whatever to support Cleitarchus’ claim to the effect that Alexander already by now (by the time of his consultation at Siwa) had conceived an appetite for it all”.58 The passage of Callisthenes’ work transmitted by Strabo makes it more probable that like other oracles addressed by Alexander or his father Philip the oracle of Siwa predicted to him more or less vaguely triumph over Persia.59 The topicality of this propagandist motive at Alexander’s return from Siwa gives a reason to speculate that at this point a new Horus name could be introduced for him. Let us repeat that, at any rate, its compilation before the ultimate victory of Alexander over Darius is doubtless. Further history of this title can be traced from what we know on the building of the Argeads at the temple of Thoth at Hermopolis.60 Its remains are preserved very poorly after the demolitions of the nineteenth century; but the façade of its pronaos was drawn by John Gardner Wilkinson in 1822 (quoted 56  FgrH 124. F. 14a = Strab. 17.1.43. 57  A.B. Bosworth, “Alexander and Ammon” in Greece and the Eastern Mediterranean in Ancient History and Prehistory: Studies Presented to Fritz Schachermeyr on the Occasion of His Eightieth Birthday (ed. K.H. Kinzl, Berlin, New York: De Gruyter, 1977) 73. 58  E.A. Fredricksmeyer, “Alexander, Zeus Ammon, and the Conquest of Asia,” TAPA 121 (1991) 201–2. 59  Ibidem, 202. 60  PM IV 165, 167.

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as “Wilkinson MSS.* I, 133”).61 This drawing62 shows somewhat chaotically the inscriptions on the vanished portico of the temple: in its upper part there was the protocol of Alexander’s successor in Egypt Philip III Arrhidaeus; and below went a large composition with the royal names of Alexander. His Horus name there is HoA on (“Brave ruler”),63 which is a shortening of the complete title HoA on tkn-xAswt (“Brave ruler, trampling on foreign countries”) and if this title was preserved so demonstratively on a monument after the death of Alexander, when the building was carried out already in the name of his successor, there is a good reason to believe it did not change till the very end of his reign. In conclusion, I would like to return to an article by Stanley Burstein that appeared over two decades ago.64 He doubted if the existence of Alexander’s titulary should indicate to us his interest in legitimating his power over Egypt according to its local tradition. In Burstein’s opinion, the variability of Alexander’s royal names revealed the absence of a uniform concept underlying it; if so, the initiative for its compiling must have come not from the Macedonian king or his surrounding but from the Egyptian priests who needed merely “to maintain intact the succession of the god kings of Egypt essential to cosmic survival”,65 without giving any particular loyalty to a foreigner who filled the vacancy of a ritual-king. The interpretation I proposed is intended to show that, contrary to the view of Burstein, there is a possibility to trace in the varying Horus names of Alexander a reaction to the political circumstances of his reign. There is, certainly, no doubt that these names were composed by Egyptian priests; however, the message attached to them described rather adequately the features of Alexander as a king-warrior that might have replaced one another before the Egyptians in the course of the years 332–331 BC. This presentation of Alexander in terms of the Egyptian sacral kingship as a defender of Egypt and, soon, as an offender of its foes corresponded closely enough to the propagandist needs of the new Macedonian masters of 61  PM IV 167. 62  Reproduced in: Winter, “Alexander der Grosse . . ., 209, fig. 2. 63  According to S. Snape, “there is no irrefutable evidence linking his name with the Portico, unless Wilkinson’s copies of texts on the monument can be taken as reliable” (S.R. Snape, D.M. Bailey, The Great Portico at Hermopolis Magna (British Museum Occasional Publications 63; London: British Museum, 1988) 3). However, with another shortening of the same Alexander’s name being attested at Hermopolis (see my note 22), there is not much doubt about their reliability. 64  Burstein, “Pharaoh Alexander . . . 65  Ibidem, 145.

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the country. Thus, there is a good reason to see in the compilation of these names, to say the least, a conscious loyalty of those who performed that task (as it had once been the case with Udjahorresnet, who compiled the titulary of Cambyses II);66 but maybe it was due also to the direct order of Macedonians, who wished to translate necessary ideas to their Egyptian subjects via the most important terms of the Egyptian sacral kingship. Bibliography M. Abdel-Razig, “Ein Graffito der Zeit Alexanders des Grossen im Luxortempel,” ASAE 69 (1983) 211–18. M. Abdel-Razig, Die Darstellungen und Texte des Sanktuars Alexanders des Großen im Tempel von Luxor (Archäologische Veröffentlichungen 16; Mainz: Zabern, 1984). D. Arnold, “Zur frühen Namensformen des Königs MnTw-Htp Nb-xpt-Ra,” Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archaologischen Instituts, Abteilung Kairo 24 (1969) 38–42. P.  Barguet, Le temple d’Amon-Rê à Carnak: Essai d’éxegèse (Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale, 1962). J. von Beckerath, “Mentuhotep II” in Lexikon der Ägyptologie IV (eds. W. Helck, E. Otto, W. Westendorf, Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1982) 66–8. ———, Chronologie der pharaonischen Ägypten (Münchner ägyptologische Studien 46; Munich, Berlin: Zabern, 1997). ———, Handbuch der ägyptischen Königsnamen (Münchner ägyptologische Studien 49, Mainz: Zabern, 1999). L. Bell, “The New Kingdom ‘Divine’ Temple: The Example of Luxor” in Temples of Ancient Egypt (ed. B.E. Shafer, London: American University in Cairo, 1997) 127–184. O.D. Berlev, “Zolotoe imya egipetskogo tsarya (The Golden Name of Egyptian King)” in Jean-François Champollion i deshifrovka egipetskih ieroglifov ( Jean-François Champollion and the Decipherment of the Egyptian Hieroglyphs) (ed. I.S. Kaznelson, Moscow: Nauka, 1979) 41–59. A.I.  Blöbaum, “Denn ich bin ein König, der Maat liebt”: Herrscherlegitimation im spätzeitlichen Ägypten (Aegyptiaca Monasteriensia 4; Aachen: Shaker, 2006). A.O. Bolshakov, “Royal Portraiture and Horus’ Name” in L’art de l’Ancien Empire égyptien. Actes du colloque, Musée du Louvre, les 3 et 4 avril 1998 (ed. Chr. Ziegler, Paris: Éditions du Louvre, 1999) 311–32. 66  A.B. Lloyd, “The Inscription of Udjahorresnet. A Collaborator’s Testament,” JEA 68 (1982) 166–90.

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M.-A.  Bonhême, Les noms royaux dans l’Egypte de la troisième période intermédiaire (Bibliothèque d’étude 98; Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale du Caire, 1987). F. Bosch-Puche, “L’‘autel’ du temple d’Alexandre le Grand à Bahariya retrouvé,” BIAO 108 (2008) 29–44. ———, “The Egyptian Royal Titulary of Alexander the Great, I: Horus, Two Ladies, Golden Horus, and Throne Names,” JEA 99 (2013) 131–54. ———, “Alexander’s Egyptian Names in the Barque Shrine at Luxor Temple” in Alexander the Great and Egypt: History, Art, Tradition. Wrocław/Breslau 18./19. November 2011 (Philippica  74; eds.  V.  Grieb, K.  Nawotka, A.  Wojciechowska, Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2014) 55–89. ———, “The Egyptian Royal Titulary of Alexander the Great, II: Personal Name, Empty Cartouches, Final Remarks, and Appendix,” JEA 100 (2014) (forthcoming). F.  Bosch-Puche, J.  Moje, “Alexander the Great’s Name in Contemporary Demotic sources,” JEA 101 (2015) (forthcoming). A.B. Bosworth, “Alexander and Ammon” in Greece and the Eastern Mediterranean in Ancient History and Prehistory: Studies Presented to Fritz Schachermeyr on the Occasion of His Eightieth Birthday (ed. K.H. Kinzl, Berlin, New York: De Gruyter, 1977) 51–75. S. Burstein, “Pharaoh Alexander: A Scholarly Myth,” AncSoc 22 (1991) 139–45. G. Capriotti Vitozzi, “Note sull’immagine di Alessandro Magno in Egitto” in Atti del V Convegno Nazionale di Egittologia e Papirologia, Firenze, 10–12 dicembre 1999 (ed. S. Russo, Firenze: Istituto Papirologico “G. Vitelli”, 2000) 27–53. M. Chauveau, Chr. Thiers, “L’Égypte en transition: des Perses aux Macédoniens” in La transition entre l’empire achéménide et les royaumes hellénistiques (Persika 9; eds. P. Briant, F. Joannès, Paris: De Boccard, 2006) 375–404. G. Daressy, “Notes et remarques,” Recueil de travaux relatifs à la philologie et à l’archéologie égyptiennes et assyriennes 14 (1893) 33–4. F. Daumas, Les mammisis des temples égyptiens (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 1958). E.A.  Fredricksmeyer, “Alexander, Zeus Ammon, and the Conquest of Asia,” TAPA 121 (1991) 199–214. A.H. Gardiner, “The First King Menthotpe of the Eleventh Dynasty,” Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archaologischen Instituts, Abteilung Kairo 14 (1956) 42–51. G. Gorre, Les rélations du clergé égyptien et des Lagides d’après les sources privées (Studia Hellenistica 45; Leuven: Peeters, 2009). J.-Cl.  Grenier, Les titulatures des empereurs romains dans les documents en langue égyptienne (Papyrologica Bruxellensia 22; Bruxelles: Fondation égyptologique Reine Élisabeth, 1989).

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G.  Hölbl, “Königliche Legitimität und historische Umstände im Spiegel der pharaonischen Titulaturen der griechisch-römischen Zeit” in Sesto Congresso Internazionale di Egittologia (Torino, 1–8 sett. 1991). Atti: I (Turin: Societa italiana per il Gas, 1992) 273–5. ———, “Zur Legitimation der Ptolemäer als Pharaonen” in Selbstverständnis und Realität: Akten des Symposiums zur ägyptischen Königsideologie in Mainz 15.– 17.6.1995 (eds. R.  Gundlach, Chr.  Raedler, Ägypten und Altes Testament 36(1)  =  Beiträge zur altägyptischen Königsideologie 1; Wiesbaden: Harrasowitz, 1997) 22–7. K.  Jansen-Winkeln, Biographische und religiöse Inschriften der Spätzeit aus dem Ägyptischen Museum Kairo. 1: Übersetzungen und Kommentare (Ägypten und Altes Testament 45/1; Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2001). ———, “Eine Bau- und Bittinschrift am Tempel von Luxor,” ZÄS 140 (2013) 1–20. J.  Kahl, “Zu den Namen spätzeitlicher Usurpatoren, Fremdherrsher, Gegen- und Lokalkönige,” ZÄS 129 (2002) 31–42. I.  Ladynin, “A Fragment of an Early Hellenistic Egyptian Clepsydra from the State Hermitage, St. Petersburg (Inv. No ДВ 2507а): A Native View of Early Macedonian Rule in Egypt” in Ruthenia Classica Aetatis Novae: A Collection of Works by Russian Scholars in Ancient Greek and Roman History (eds. A. Mehl, O. Gabelko, A. Makhlayuk, Stuttgart: Steiner, 2013) 93–116. ———, “ ‘Altar’ iz khrama Amona v oazise Bahariya s egipetskoy titulaturoy Alexandra Velikogo. I: Nadpisi pamyatnika (The ‘Altar’ from the Temple of Amun at the Baharia Oasis with the Egyptian Royal Names of Alexander the Great. I: Inscriptions of the Monument),” VDI 2 (289) (2014) 3–12. ———, “ ‘Altar’ iz khrama Amona v oazise Bahariya s egipetskoy titulaturoy Alexandra Velikogo. I: Interpretazia i datirovka (The ‘Altar’ from the Temple of Amun at the Baharia Oasis with the Egyptian Royal Names of Alexander the Great. II:  Interpretation and Date),” VDI 3 (290) (2014) 3–20. R. Leprohon, “Patterns of the Royal Name-Giving” in UCLA Encyclopedia of Egyptology (eds. E. Frood, W. Wendrich, Los Angeles 2010) 1–10 (https://escholarship.org/uc/ item/51b2647c). ———, The Great Name: Ancient Egyptian Royal Titulary (Writings from the Ancient World 33; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2013). A.B.  Lloyd, “The Inscription of Udjahorresnet. A Collaborator’s Testament,” JEA 68 (1982) 166–90. B.  Menu, “Le tombeau de Pétosiris (4): Le souverain de l’Égypte,” BIAO 98 (1998) 249–52. H. de Meulenaere, “Le protocole royal de Philippe Arrhidée,” CRIPEL 13 (1991) 53–8.

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Yu.Ya. Perepyolkin, Keye i Semnekhkere: K ishodu solnzepoklonnicheskogo perevorota v Egipte (Kiya and Smenkhkare: On the Outcome of the Sun-worship Revolution in Egypt) (Moscow: Nauka, 1979). P.W. Pestman, Chronologie égyptienne d’après les textes démotiques (332 av. J.-C.–453 ap. J.-C.) (Papyrologia lugduno-batava 15; Leiden: Brill, 1967). J.D.C. Sales, Ideologia e propaganda real no Egipto ptolomaico (305–30 a.C.) (Lisbon: Fundacão Calouste Gulbenkian, 2005). D.  Schäfer, “Alexander der Große. Pharao und Priester” in Ägypten unter fremden Herrschern zwischen persischer Satrapie und römischer Provinz (Oikumene Studien zur antiken Weltgeschichte 3; ed. St. Pfeiffer, Frankfurt am Main: Antike, 2007) 54–74. J.  Seibert, Die Eroberung des Perserreiches durch Alexander der Großen auf kartographischer Grundlage (Beihefte zum Tübinger Atlas des Vorderen Orients. Reihe B: Geisteswissenschaften 68; Wiesbaden: L. Reichert, 1985). S.R.  Snape, D.M.  Bailey, The Great Portico at Hermopolis Magna (British Museum Occasional Publications 63; London: British Museum, 1988). H. Stock, Die erste Zwischenzeit Ägyptens. Untergang der Pyramidenzeit, Zwischenreiche von Abydos und Herakleopolis, Aufstieg Thebens (Rome: Pontificium Institutum Biblicum, 1949). S. Vleeming, “Maße und Gewichte” in Lexikon der Ägyptologie III (eds. W. Helck, E. Otto, W. Westendorf, Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1980) 1199–1214. E.  Winter, “Alexander der Grosse als Pharao in ägyptischen Tempeln” in Ägypten— Griechenland—Rom: Abwehr und Berührung, Städeliches Kunstinstitut und Städtliche Galerie 26. November 2005–26. Februar 2006 (eds.  H.  Beck, P.  C.  Bol, M.  Büchling, Frankfurt am Main: Liebighaus; Tübingen/Berlin: Wasmuth, 2005) 204–15.

Egyptian Warriors: Machimoi, in Coroplastic Art— Selected Examples Sławomir Jędraszek The subject of my paper deals with problems surrounding the interpretation of terracotta figurines from Hellenistic Egypt. In it an attempt will be made to answer the question of whether any particular groups of terracotta figurines and plaques, within the huge spectrum of iconographic and stylistic variations produced, can be associated with the native military class, which were called the machimoi. In order to do this I intend to carry out an analysis of certain aspects of the iconography of these figurines, above all in the case of Egyptian deities. I have chosen as examples for analysis the particularly popular solar deity Harpocrates,1 who is depicted as a naked young boy with a finger raised to his lips, and also the apotropaic deity called Bes, who is depicted as a deformed dwarf, represented by a whole series of images as a benevolent being who functions as the protector of the family, especially during the night.2 I hope to illustrate the religious (essentially private religious practices) as well as the political and social aspects of the spheres within which they operated. As Jan Winnicki showed in his study, groups of Egyptian professional soldiers, a native military cast, whom the Greeks called machimoi, are found serving under Ptolemy I Soter I, from the very beginning of his reign. The Greek historian Diodorus Siculus makes it clear that certain groups of Egyptians found fighting on Ptolemy’s side at the battle of Gaza in 312 BC,3 were not 1  About Harpocrates figurines in Egyptian Hellenistic coroplastic art, see: L. Török, Hellenistic and Roman Terracottas from Egypt (Roma: “L’Erma” di Bretschneider, 1995) 20–22; D.M. Bailey, Catalogue of the Terracottas in the British Museum, vol. VI, Ptolemaic and Roman Terracottas from Egypt (London: British Museum Press, 2008) 13–17. 2  For more about the Egyptian dwarf-deity known as Bes, see: H. Altenmüller, “Bes,” LÄ I (1975) 720–724, (col.); J.F. Romano, “The origin of the Bes-Image,” BACE 2 (1980) 39–56; J.F. Romano, “Notes on the Historiography and History of the Bes-image in Ancient Egypt,” BACE 9 (1998) 89–101; M. Malaise, “Bes et les croyances solaires” in Studies in Egyptology: presented to Miriam Lichtheim. Vol 2 (ed. S. Israelit-Groll, Jerusalem: Magnes Press, The Hebrew University, 1990) 680–729. 3  J.K. Winnicki, “Die Ägypter und das Ptolemäerheer,” Aegyptus 65, 1/2 (1985) 47; see also: Ch. Fischer-Bovet, Army and Society in Ptolemaic Egypt (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press 2014) 41; About Egyptian elite see: A.B. Lloyd, “The Egyptian elite in the

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���6 | doi ��.��63/9789004324763_016

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simply baggage-carriers: but in the words of Diodorus himself ‘a great number were the Egyptians, of whom some carried the missiles and the other baggage, but some were (fully) armed (kathōplismenon) and serviceable for battle’.4 The same views were also presented, for example by the scholar Philippe Rodriguez in his article ‘Les Égyptiens dans l’armée de terre ptolémaïque (Diodore, XIX, 80, 4)’.5 He also noted: “La société égyptienne, depuis longtemps, affectait à ses membres une tâche à laquelle correspondait le plus souvent un statut, statut héréditaire dans la majorité des cas. Pour le métier des armes, il en allait comme pour les autres arts ou fonctions”.6 As Christelle Fischer-Bovet has also shown, throughout the Ptolemaic period machimoi seem to have played an increasing role in the Ptolemaic army and represented an ever-larger share of it.7 She also argued that the Ptolemaic machimoi were not at the bottom of the social ladder as is commonly thought.8 Also, what appears singularly important is that the term machimoi was not coined by the Ptolemies as a designation only for the soldiers of Egyptian origin. Fischer-Bovet also showed that the term machimos was not automatically a determinant of ethnicity. But rather, it is a category related to the type of land allocation, and it may be connected with their military functions.9 The situation of this group, as an ethnic category, was generally changed before the battle of Rafia in 217 BC.10 The Egyptians had up to this time, as indicated above, generally played an auxiliary role, but they now took on a new role in the army. At this battle they would appear armed in the Macedonian fashion and formed up as a phalanx for the first time. Polybius (5.65) tells us that: [5] Polycrates undertook the training of the cavalry of the guard, about seven hundred strong, and of the cavalry from Libya and of those enlisted in

early Ptolemaic period” in The Hellenistic world: new perspectives (eds. D. Ogden, S. Le Bohec-Bouhet; et al., London: Classical Press of Wales and Duckworth, 2002) 117–136; A.B. Lloyd, “The Ptolemaic Period (332–30 BC)” in The Oxford History of Ancient Egypt (ed. I. Shaw, Oxford, New York: Oxford University Press, 2000) 395. 4  D.S. 19.80.4. 5  Revue des Études Grecques, tome 117, janvier–juin 2004, 104–124. 6  P. Rodriguez, “Les Égyptiens dans l’armée de terre ptolémaïque (Diodore, XIX, 80, 4),” REG 117 (2004/1) 115–116. 7  Ch. Fischer­-Bovet, “Egyptian Warriors: The Machimoi of Herodotus and the Ptolemaic Army,” CQ 63.1 (2013) 210. 8  Ibidem, 210. 9  Ibidem, 219. 10  G. Hölbl, A History of the Ptolemaic Empire (New York: Routledge, 2001) 131.

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the country,11 all of whom, numbering about three thousand, were under his command. [8] They also armed in the Macedonian fashion three thousand Libyans under the command of Ammonius of Barce.[9] The Egyptians supplied twenty thousand men to the phalanx and were commanded by Sosibius.12 This fact suggests that previously, at the battle of Gaza for example, they may have been equipped as lightly armed warriors, perhaps in the old Egyptian fashion, which was no longer effective. Their number: 20,000 phalangites and 2,300 cavalry (inclusive of the Libyans armed in the Macedonian fashion) comprised practically a third part of the army fielded.13 The reasons for mobilizing the Egyptians were doubtless complex and varied, but certainly the most important one was the need to field the most numerous army in the shortest possible time. For this reason recourse was made to the local reserves, and above all to the machimoi, although the reforms of king Ptolemy IV Philopator (221–204) embraced all Egyptians. According to Polybius (5.107.1–3) the arming of the Egyptians and their use in battle was to have tragic political consequences. The Egyptians were buoyed up by their victory and were no longer obedient to orders. Soon revolts against Ptolemaic rule broke out. The account of Polybius directly connects these events with the uprising which broke out in 207/206 to 186 BC, and which embraced the whole of Upper Egypt.14 In later periods the role of Egyptians increased significantly. In the opinion of Fraser in the second century BC we find Egyptians serving in the royal guard in the garrison of Alexandria. Also in opinion Fischer-Bovet, “some bodyguards of Ptolemy II came from Egyptian military families and were thus probably hired as machairophoroi”.15 In this general characteristic the Ptolemaic machimoi have many interesting aspects, which may correspond, or have associations with Egyptian religion in the Ptolemaic times. For example, Fischer-Bovet has demonstrated in her research, that the katoikoi hippeis and the 7-aroura machimoi serving under 11  Translation modified by Ch. Fischer-Bovet, (Fischer-Bovet, Army . . . 79). See also: Ch. Fischer-Bovet, W. Clarysse, “A military reform before the battle of Raphia?,” Archiv für Papyrusforschung 58 (2012) 28. 12  Fragments of Polybius by the Christelle Fischer-Bovet, Fischer-Bovet, Army . . . , 79. 13  See also: Fischer-Bovet, Army . . ., 80, table 3.7. 14  F.W. Walbank, The Hellenistic World (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1993) 119–120; S.M. Burstein, “The Ethiopian War of Ptolemy V: An Historical Myth,” BzS 1 (1986) 17–23. 15  Fischer-Bovet, Army . . ., 152.

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Chomenis financed one of the temples to the god Soknebtunis at Kerkeosiris in the Fayoum during the reign king Ptolemy VIII Euergetes II (P.Tebt. I 63, ll. 18–23; P.Tebt. 61a, ll. 51–105);16 and she also suggests that the Egyptians were integrated into the army. What is more, she suggests that the soldiers were also incorporated into the local elite. Some of the examples imply the formation of local elite that comprises both Greek and Egyptian soldiers acting on behalf of the local deity.17 At this place, we should also mention that we have evidence for the association of Egyptian deities like Osiris with ephebic institutions. This fact may indicate that we have Greco-Egyptian and Egyptian young males exercising in the gymnasium.18 The question is how did the relationships between the machimoi and religion, especially private religion, as well as the established Egyptian deities look? Nowadays, it is relatively easy to arrive at an intuitive understanding of the difference between state and private religion (personal piety),19 and official cult. I am not interested directly in rituals undertaken by the king, but I want to examine the rites associated with the protection of soldiers, especially Egyptians. I am of the opinion that such intuitive definitions have merit in that they are probably closer to the ancient mindset, especially when we take into 16  Ibidem, 343, tab. A.2, no. 30; See also Ch. Fischer-Bovet, “Army and Egyptian temple building under the Ptolemies” in Conference Paper, XXV International Congress of Papyrology, The University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, Version 1.0 October, Princeton/Stanford Working Papers in Classics (2007) 1–20. [publication online] 17  Fischer-Bovet, Army . . ., 361–362; See also Ch. Fischer-Bovet, Army . . ., 14. About Egyptian local elites in Hellenistic period see A. Blasius, “Die lokalen Eliten im ptolemäischen Ägypten” in Lokale Eliten und hellenistische Könige zwischen Kooperation und Konfrontation (eds. B. Dreyer, P.F. Mittag, Berlin: Verl. Antike, 2011) 132–190. 18  Fischer-Bovet, Army . . ., 285. 19  See the article by Michela Luiselli, which mentions is among other things, also some problems about specific terms like personal religion and piety: M.M. Luiselli, “Personal Piety (modern theories related to)” UCLA Encyclopedia of Egyptology (2008) 1–9; J. Baines, “Society, Morality, and Religious Practice” in Religion in Ancient Egypt: Gods, Myths, and Personal Practice (eds. B.E. Shafer et al., Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1991) 180n. See also J. Assmann, “Conversion, Piety and Loyalism in Ancient Egypt” in Transformations of the inner self in ancient religions (eds. J. Assmann, G.G. Stroumsa, Leiden, Boston: Brill, 1999) 31–44; M.M. Luiselli, “Images of Personal Religion in Ancient Egypt: An Outline” in Kult und Bild: die bildliche Dimension des Kultes im Alten Orient, in der Antike und in der Neuzeit (eds. M.M. Luiselli, J. Mohn, S. Gripentrog, Würzburg: Ergon Verlag, 2013) 13–39.

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account the ‘silence’ that is associated with all archaeological material, such as terracotta figurines and coroplastic art in general. Some years ago the French researcher Françoise Dunand, formulated the view, based on the material from the Cairo Museum, that Egyptian terracottas coming from the Hellenistic and Roman periods alike, in the majority of cases fulfilled a religious function, which linked them directly with the secret world of cult and ritual.20 The same views were also presented by Donald M. Bailey in his Catalogue of the Terracottas in British Museum, from Ptolemaic and Roman periods.21 We can suggest that their iconographic formulas, were related to personal beliefs, or manifestations of personal religious cult, faith and domestic religion and personal piety. In the context of Egyptian warriors, we would expect that an Egyptian deity will play a role in the beliefs of the Egyptian military elite and soldiers. It is only natural to suspect a connection between Egyptian deities and the Egyptian soldiery, particularly with Egyptian soldier-priests. In this context, we have some interesting terracottas coming from the Ptolemaic times. For example, in the collections of the British Museum, there are several examples of terracotta figures, showing Egyptian deities with military equipment22 such as swords, knives and different types of shields as well as being dressed in military uniforms, such as the most popular Egyptian apotropaic, domestic deity Bes, and the “Horus the Child”—that is Harpocrates, a manifestation of Horus, the son of Osiris and Isis. We can suggest that the addressees of such images could be both Egyptians and Greeks and Macedonians, but especially Egyptians? In the same collection, we have an interesting example of such an Egyptian deity associated with military uniform and equipment. Nicholas Sekunda, in his popular book about Reforms in the Ptolemaic Army,23 suggested that this terracotta plaque (from Collection Fouquet) is 20  F. Dunand, Religion populaire en Egypte romaine: Les terres cuites isiaques du Musée du Caire (Leiden: Brill, 1979); S. Jędraszek, “Religijne znaczenie sztuki koroplastów na przykładzie zabytków pochodzących z Egiptu okresu grecko-rzymskiego,” Przegląd Religio­znawczy 3, 248 (2013) 3–21. 21  Bailey, Catalogue . . ., 1–3. 22  Ibidem, 35, no. 3068GR pl. 12; 39–40, no.: 3095EA–3102GR pl. 16–18. 23  N. Sekunda, A. McBride, Seleucid and Ptolemaic Reformed Armies 168–145 BC. Volume 2: The Ptolemaic Army (Stockport: Montvert Publ, 1994) 75, fig. 95; More about Ptolemaic and Seleucid reforms, carried out in 160 BC, when was the armies were reorganized to make them more successful and competitive against the might of the Romans, see N. Sekunda, Hellenistic Infantry Reform in the 160’s BC. (Łódź: Oficyna Naukowa MS, 2001). See also Fischer-Bovet, Clarysse, A military . . ., 26–35.

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Figure 1 Harpocrates armed, on model shield. Egypt, Hellenistic period, Collection Fouquet. After P. Perdrizet, Les terres cuites grecques d’Égypte de la collection Fouquet (Nancy, Berger-Levrault, 1921), pl. XXXII

typical for Hellenistic iconography, and it can be dated back to the end of the second century, or the beginning or middle of the first century, on the grounds of its military equipment and various stylistic criteria. It shows an Egyptian machimos, shown in the convention of the Graeco-Egyptian god Harpocrates, whose armour, in the opinion of Paul Perdrizet, is reminiscent of Egyptian types.24 The very fact that a warrior is shown in a Graeco-Egyptian convention is sufficiently interesting in itself to give rise to a whole discussion on the significance of the iconography of Harpokrates, when shown in his military manifestation, and equally connects this type of representation and the traditions of native military service. This object (but not this object alone)25 may be taken as the evidence, not only for the presence of Egyptians in the Ptolemaic armed forces, but also of their adoption of contemporary military equipment characteristic for the armed forces of the Hellenistic kingdoms. The dwarf Bes, after his transformation from an original leonine form into his later military form in the Hellenistic period often shown fully armed,26 24  25 

26 

P. Perdrizet, Les terres cuites grecques d’Égypte de la collection Fouquet (Nancy: BergerLevrault, 1921) pl. XXXII. See also the interesting terracotta plaque (The Collections of the British Museum, from second to first century BC), modeled as rectangular shaped shield. God Harpocrates, wearing Macedonian armour. He holds in his right hand a spear and a small round shields on his left arm. (Bailey, Catalogue . . ., 35, no. 3065EA, pl. 12). See also interesting terracotta plaque from Memphis (now in Collection Petrie Museum, UC8792), as above also rectangular shape, is decorated with a figure of Harpocrates. God was shown in relief in centre, wearing a mail cuirass and sword, and rectangular shield; (http://petriecat.museums.ucl .ac.uk/detail.aspx#66528). Bailey, Catalogue . . ., 40, no. 3102GR, pl. 18; S. Jędraszek, “Wojownicze Bóstwo Bes,” Scripta Biblica Et Orientalia 4 (2012) 145–177; C. Boutantin, Terres cuites et culte domestique: bestiaire de l’E� gypte gréco-romaine (Leiden, Boston: Brill, 2014) 137; S. Hodjash, God Bes’s

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Figure 2

Harpocrates armed, on model shield. Ptolemaic period, second to first century BC. Egypt, Fayum. ©The Trustees of the British Museum.

indicating his protective role in driving away demons. A very common pose in terracotta represents the god in his aggressive aspect, wielding with his right hand a sword held on high, and various kinds of shields (such as the Galatian images in the Ancient Egyptian Art, in the Collection of the Pushkin State Museum (Moscow: Vostochnaya Literatura, 2004) 108 no. 80; 109 no. 81; 110 no. 82; E. Breccia, Terrecotte figurate greche e greco-egizie del Museo di Alessandria (Bergamo: Officine dell’Istituto italiano d’arti grafiche, 1930–1934) 56, pl. XXII, fot. 7; A.J. Reinach, “Les Galates dans L’Art Alexandrin,” Monuments et mémoires 18 (1911) 37–38; See also the interesting discussion about Egyptian gods in foreign armour: F. Naerebout, “Cuius regio, eius religio? Rulers and Religious Changes in Greco-Roman Egypt” in Power, politics, and the cults of Isis. Proceedings of the Vth International Conference of Isis studies, Boulogne-sur-Mer, October 13–15, 2011 (eds. L. Bricault, M.J. Versluys, Leiden, Boston: Brill, 2014) 51–55.

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(Celtic) oval shields called the thureos)27 on his left arm. We know of other examples, in which the god bears a small round shield,28 most probably of Macedonian origin, on his left arm. Another interesting example, shows a flask modeled as Bes. The deity is shown in a running position, wearing a Macedonian armour, a cuirass over a tunic with short sleeves and pteryges.29 This example (and the other) may correspond with an interesting terracotta group: a Macedonian horseman trampling enemies,30 which a iconographic prototypes could have been 27  F. Dunand, Catalogue des terres cuites grèco-romaines d’Egypte (Paris: Ministère de la culture, de la communication et des grands travaux, Réunion des musées nationau, 1990) 38, no. 30 (E2400), 39, no. 31–33 (E 20695; N 4207; E29796) 41, nr 40 (E 29795). About the Celtic shield known as thureos (door-shaped), see N. Sekunda, “The Introduction of Cavalry Thureophoroi into Greek Warfare,” Fasciculi Archaeologiae Historicae 19 (2006) 9–17; N. Sekunda, “Military forces. A. Land forces” in The Cambridge History of Greek and Roman Warfare: Vol. I: Greece, the Hellenistic World and the Rise of Rome (eds. P. Sabin, H. van Wees, M. Whitby, New York: Cambridge University Press Dec. 2007) 340–341. See also U. Hausmann, “Zur Eroten und-Gallier, Ikonographie in alexandrinischen Kunst” in Alessandria e il mondo ellenistico–romano, Studi in onore di Achille Adriani 5 (Rome: “L’Erma” di Bretschneider, 1992) 283–295; See also statuettes, Erotes with the thureos shield, H.P. Laubscher, “Ein ptolemäisches Gallierdenkmal,” AntK 30, 2 (1987) 152, 21.7; Török, Hellenistic . . ., 45, no. 36; S. Besques, Catalogue raisonné des figurines et reliefs en terre-cuite grecs, étrusques et romaines: Époques hellénistique et romaine. Cyrénaique, Égypte ptolémaique et romaine (Paris: Editions des Musées nationaux 1992) 104, Fot. 64a; E. Breccia, Municipalité d’Alexandrie. Alexandrea ad Aegyptum; guide de la ville ancienne et moderne et du Musée gréco-romain (Bergamo: Istituto italiano d’arti grafiche, 1914) 271–272, fig. 137. 28  Perdrizet, Les terres cuites . . ., 46. p. XLI, no. 131; Laubscher, Ein ptolemäisches . . ., 151, 154, pl. 21, 6; see also, P. Ghalioungui, G. Wagner, Terres cuites de l’Egypte gréco–romaine de la collection P. Ghalioungui, Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts. Deutsches Archäologisches Institut. Abteilung Kairo, 30 (2), (1974) 191–192, pl. 61e; W. Weber, Die ägyptisch-griechischen terrakotten (Berlin: K. Curtius, 1914) 159; E. Breccia, Terrecotte figurate greche e greco–egizie del Museo di Alessandria II (Bergamo: Officine dell’Ist. Italiano d’Arti Grafiche, 1934) 37, no. 189. (23246), pl. XLIX 242; A. Adriani, Annuaire du Musée Gréco–Romain (1935–1939), (Alexandrie: Société de publications égyptiennes, 1940) 108, pl. XLII, no. 25116. 29  Bailey, Catalogue . . ., 40, no. 3103EA, pl. 18; See also V. Tran Tam Tinh, “Bes,” LIMC III/1 (1986) 104, 77b, 77d; see also: F. Naerebout, Cuius . . ., 44; F. Dunand, Catalogue . . ., 39–41, no 34 (AF 6839), no. 37 (E 20694), no. 39 (E 29794). 30  J. Fischer, “A triumphant Macedonian horseman: Evidence of a Ptolemaic Victory Monument” in Faraoni come dei, Tolemei come Faraoni, Atti del V Congresso Internazionale Italo-Egiziano Torino, Archivio di Stato 8–12 Dicembre 2001 (eds. N. Bonacasa et al. , Torino: Museo Egizio di Torino Palermo: Università degli studi di Palermo, Dipartimento di beni culturali, Sezione archeologica, 2003) 375–380. One exceptionally interesting group

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Figure 3 Bes armed, with sword and shield. 2ndC BC–1stC BC (?). ©The Trustees of the British Museum.

of terracotta figurines from Ptolemaic Egypt shows a rider dressed in the Macedonian fashion in a triumphal pose. Originally the terracottas would have been painted, but the colours have only been preserved irregularly. On his head the rider wears the Macedonian national headgear, a type of beret known as a kausia, together with heavy cavalry boots on his feet. In some versions of the terracotta the rider wears a short tunic, while in other representations he wears the short type of Greek cavalry cloak known as the chlamys. The iconographic motif of the Macedonian rider shown in a triumphal pose could date to any time from the beginnings of Ptolemaic rule in Egypt onwards. However the figure of the Gaul shown under the hooves of the horse is surely a reference the victory of Ptolemy II Philadelphos over the Galatians in 275 BC. The series of miniature figurines repeating this scene are surely based on a monumental prototype: a statue group commemorating this victory which once stood somewhere in Alexandria. Such a monument, encoded with its propaganda message, fits in well with what we know of the political activities of the monarchs who then ruled the lands of the Nile. For example, in the opinion of Joseph Vogt, the representation has a symbolic character, showing the victory of the Macedonians over the Egyptians (J. Vogt, Die griechisch-agyptische Sammlung Ernst

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Figure 4

281

Bes with sword and shield. Ptolemaic period, probably third to second century BC. ©The Trustees of the British Museum.

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actual riders of Macedonian descent, who were present in the Lagid armed forces.31 Another interesting example of the deity Bes, is a figure once in the Fouquet collection, bearing a round shield and trampling on an oval shield, possibly reflecting the victory of the Ptolemaic army over a mercenary revolt in 275 BC.32 At a point when Ptolemy II was caught between the forces of his own brother Magas of Kyrene, attacking from the west, and those of Antiochus I (281–261 BC) attacking from the east, the Gauls mutinied, hoping to profit from the situation. Ptolemy reacted quickly, forcing the around 4,000 mercenaries onto an island in the ninth (and middle) Sebennytic branch mouth of the Nile, named after the town of Sebennytos33 which lay upon it, where, as Pausanias informs us “they perished at one another’s hands or by famine”.34 Images such as Bes, and also Harpocrates, in their military forms, could be addressed at Egyptians and Greeks and Macedonians alike, but, as I would like to suggest, mainly at Egyptians. By way of conclusion I would like to make the following remarks: First I have not found any papyrological evidence, for instance to connect the god Bes with the Ptolemaic machimoi, based on the sources from Upper Egypt. This is one of the ways in which my research will be directed in the future. Second we should give sufficient attention to a significant complication in research in this field, namely the Hellenization of some native Egyptians, not least the semantic translation of some of their names into their Greek equivalents, which may mask the presence of the local ethnic element in the military elite surrounding the king during this period.

von Sieglin. 2. Terrakotten. Expedition Ernst von Sieglin. Ausgrabungen in Alexandria. Bd. II, 2. (Leipzig: Giesecke & Devrient, 1924) 61, 187. 31  About guard cavalry regiments in Ptolemaic Egypt, see N. Sekunda, “The Ptolemaic Guard Cavalry Regiment,” Anabasis 3 (2012) 93–108. 32  H.P. Laubscher, Ein ptolemäisches . . ., 133; W.H. Mineur, Callimachus, Hymn to Delos, Introduction and Commentary (Leiden: Brill, 1984) 17; E. Kistler, Funktionalisierte Keltenbilder: die Indienstnahme der Kelten zur Vermittlung von Normen und Werten in der hellenistischen Welt (Berlin: Verlag Antike, 2009) 214. 33  Strabo 17, 19; H. Hubert, M. Mauss, R. Lantier, J. Marx, M. R. Dobie, The greatness and decline of the Celts (London, K. Paul, Trench, Trubner, 1934) 51; S. Jędraszek, “Wybrane aspekty odnoszące się do obecności celtyckich najemników w siłach militarnych Lagidów” in Celtica. Studia z dziejów Celtów, T.1 (ed. D. Waszak; Kalisz: Stowarzyszenie “Humanitas”, Oświęcim: Wydawnictwo Napoleon V, 2013) 71–92. 34  (Paus. 1.7.2, translation W.H.S. Jones Loeb ed.). See also Callim. Hymn 4, 171–187.

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Figure 5

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A pottery flask, modelled in the round, in the form of Bes riding a horse, which has fallen to its knees. Ptolemaic period, second century BC. ©The Trustees of the British Museum.

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Figure 6 Bes as warrior. Egypt, Tell Atrib, Hellenistic period, Collection Fouquet. After, H.P. Laubscher, “Ein ptolemäisches Gallierdenkmal,” AntK 30, 2 (1987) 154, pl. 21.6.

Third common sense dictates that Egyptian deities like Harpocrates and Bes should have been mainly worshiped by Egyptian warriors, both by lower rank and hierarchy and but also by the military elite.35 Fourth in the case of terracotta statuettes, which imagined the deity in the iconographic context of warriors, we have multi-level symbolism of meaning. Finally, with regard to the Bes aspect, it should be noted that the unusually diverse iconography of this deity refers to its military aspect constitutes a mechanism enabling an unusually broad range of contemporary interpretations, not only aimed at the attributes of the deity itself, but enabling the drawing of conclusions regarding historical changes which took place in Hellenistic and also in Roman Egypt, as has been implied in this paper.

35  According to David Frankfurter: “. . . Bes the soldier, reflecting a new Egyptian image of protective power developed through the centuries Greek and Roman rule, [. . .] His shield is Galatian, however, not Roman, suggesting a Barbarian from the Roman perspective instead of the southern tribes that Bes had traditionally recalled. His strength comes from this new frontier”, after: D. Frankfurter, “Religion in Society: Greco-Roman” in A Companion to Ancient Egypt: Two Volume Set (ed. A.B. Lloyd, Chichester: John Wiley & Sons, 2010) 528.

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———, “Images of Personal Religion in Ancient Egypt: An Outline” in Kult und Bild: die bildliche Dimension des Kultes im Alten Orient, in der Antike und in der Neuzeit (eds. M.M. Luiselli, J. Mohn, S. Gripentrog, Würzburg: Ergon Verlag, 2013) 13–39. M. Malaise, “Bes et les croyances solaires,” in Studies in Egyptology : presented to Miriam Lichtheim. Vol. 2 (ed. S. Israelit-Groll, Jerusalem: Magnes Press, the Hebrew University, 1990) 680–729. W.H. Mineur, Callimachus, Hymn to Delos, Introduction and Commentary (Leiden: Brill, 1984). F. Naerebout, “Cuius regio, eius religio? Rulers and Religious Changes in Greco-Roman Egypt” in Power, politics, and the cults of Isis. Proceedings of the Vth International Conference of Isis studies, Boulogne-sur-Mer, October 13–15, 2011 (eds. L. Bricault, M.J. Versluys, Leiden, Boston: Brill, 2014) 36–61. P. Perdrizet, Les terres cuites grecques d’Égypte de la collection Fouquet (Nancy: BergerLevrault, 1921). A.J. Reinach, “Les Galates Dans L’Art Alexandrin,” Monuments et mémoires 18 (1911) 37–116. J.F. Romano, “The origin of the Bes-Image,” BACE 2 (1980) 39–56. ———, “Notes on the Historiography and History of the Bes-image in Ancient Egypt,” BACE 9 (1998) 89–101. P. Rodriguez, “Les Égyptiens dans l’armée de terre ptolémaïque (Diodore, XIX, 80, 4),” REG 117 (2004/1) 104–124. N. Sekunda, A. McBride, Seleucid and Ptolemaic Reformed Armies 168–145 BC. Volume 2: The Ptolemaic Army (Stockport: Montvert Publ, 1994). N. Sekunda, Hellenistic Infantry Reform in the 160’s BC (Łódź: Oficyna Naukowa MS, 2001). ———, “The Introduction of Cavalry Thureophoroi Into Greek Warfare,” Fasciculi Archaeologiae Historicae 19 (2006) 9–17. ———, “Military forces. A. Land forces” in The Cambridge History of Greek and Roman Warfare: Vol. I: Greece, the Hellenistic World and the Rise of Rome (eds. P. Sabin, H. van Wees, M. Whitby, New York: Cambridge University Press, 2007) 325–357. ———, “The Ptolemaic Guard Cavalry Regiment,” Anabasis 3 (2012) 93–108. L. Török, Hellenistic and Roman Terracottas from Egypt (Roma: “L’Erma” di Bretschneider, 1995). V. Tran Tam Tinh, “Bes,” LIMC III/1 (1986) 98–108. W. Weber, Die ägyptisch-griechischen terrakotten (Berlin: K. Curtius, 1914). J.K. Winnicki, “Die Ägypter und das Ptolemäerheer,” Aegyptus 65, 1/2 (1985) 41–55.

Part 3 Rome

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Clenar larans etnam svalce: Myth, Religion, and Warfare in Etruria Joshua R. Hall The Etruscans were a notoriously superstitious people when it came to religion. Livy describes the Etruscans as ‘more devoted to religion’ than all other peoples (5.1.6), while Arnobius, at the beginning of the fourth century AD, could still recall the Etruscans as the source of all superstition (7.26.4). This picture is often repeated by modern authors, but at least as far back as Pallottino, we have been reminded that perhaps it was the differences between Greco-Roman religion and that of the Etruscans which resulted in this ancient consensus.1 While considerable work has been done on the religion of the Etruscans in the last century and first decades of this century, its relationship with warfare has been almost entirely ignored.2 The purpose of this paper is to explore the links between these two aspects of Etruscan society and to serve as a preliminary survey showing how war and religion influenced one another. It will first look at how religion and warfare fit into a complex picture of social power and its execution, next we will examine the connections between the deities of the Etruscan pantheon and warfare, and finally this paper will examine evidence for practical connections between religion and warfare in Etruria.

Religion, War, and Social Power

The analysis of this chapter is heavily influenced by modern ideas of social power and the creation of networks of power within a given society. Within this modern theory, the work of Michael Mann occupies an important place.3 The framework that he has created for social analysis helps to understand the interactions of different social phenomenon with each other; these phenomena are broken down into four basic types of social power: ideological,

1  M. Pallottino, The Etruscans (London: Penguin, 1955) 154–57. 2  For an up to date introduction to Etruscan religion (with bibliography), see G. Camporeale, Gli Etruschi: Storia e civiltá (third edition) (Milan: UTET, 2011) 135–56. 3  M. Mann, The Sources of Social Power. Volume 1: A history of Power from the Beginning to AD 1760 (New Edition) (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012).

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economic, military, and political.4 Unique to Mann’s conception of social power is his separation of military power from political. For the current analysis, it is helpful to acknowledge, as Mann does, that different sources of power affect different expressions of said power, and that to understand the workings of a society we must understand how these elements of power were expressed. In Etruria, all aspects of social power were expressed through the dominant elites who seem to have ruled the Etruscan cities. In particular, the following analysis examines how ideological and military power were connected throughout Etruscan history in order for the dominant social players to maintain their positions. The intertwining of ideological and military power can be seen as far back as the Terramare culture, for which we now have evidence of ritual destruction of bronze swords/daggers being incorporated into a burial ritual.5 Although these practices were not common in Etruria during much of the Bronze Age, as the Iron Age culture developed, the institutionalizing of the warrior identity in burial began to be elaborated.6 The ritualized warrior burial reached its zenith around the turn of the eighth century, a predominance which lasted until the middle of the seventh century.7 These “ritualized warriors” should not, however, be confused with actual warriors/soldiers; we cannot say for sure whether the individuals we have recovered from tombs actually fought in wars, but what is important for us to acknowledge is the inclusion of this warrior ideal as an element of elite identity.8 4  Ibidem, 22–28. This type of analysis in sociology is not entirely new, although Mann’s articulation is the most useful and influential in the modern scholarship, see R. Schroeder, “Introduction: the IEMP model and its critics” in An Anatomy of Power: the Social Theory of Michael Mann (eds. J.A. Hall, R. Schroeder, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005) 1–16. 5  C. Iaia, “Warrior identity and the materialization of power in Early Iron Age Etruria,” in Accordia Research Papers Volume 12 (eds. R.D. Whitehouse, J.B. Wilkins, London: Accordia Research Institute, University of London, 2013) 72–4. 6  Ibidem; C. Iaia, “Metalwork, rituals and the making of elite identity in central western Italy at the Bronze-Iron Age transition” in Exchange Networks and Local Transformations: interaction and local change in Europe and the Mediterranean from the Bronze Age to the Iron Age (eds. M.E. Alberti, S. Sabatini, Oxford: Oxbow Books, 2013) 102–16. 7  P.F. Stary, “Foreign Elements in Etruscan Arms and Armour: 8th to 3rd centuries B.C.,” PPS 45 (1979) 179–206. 8  C. Riva, The Urbanization of Etruria (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010) 74–95. For a comparative view on Greek “warrior burials” see J. Whitley, “Objects with Attitude: biographical facts and fallacies in the study of Late Bronze Age and Early Iron Age warrior graves,” CAJ 12 (2002) 217–32.

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Although the militaristic aspects of these burials is often emphasized, they provide evidence that power was expressed in a more complicated way, and often included religious, or cultic, aspects. As Riva points out, tools relating to ritual sacrifice and cooking were present in a number of these tombs.9 Connections between military and religious power exist, also, outside of the tomb. For example, the frieze from Poggio Civitate (Murlo) (inv. 68-265) depicts a seated figure, most probably a figure of authority, holding a lituus while his attendant, immediately to the figure’s rear, holds a spear and sword at the ready.10 An actual example of a lituus was found in a sixth century tomb at Caere.11 This priestly “wand” is described by the Roman sources as a “curved staff without knots.”12 Further evidence provides a link between elites (“ritualized warriors”) and religion. We know that certain presumably elite families were closely connected to certain deities and certain rituals. When the Romans sacked Veii (c. 396), the young men who were responsible for moving Juno’s statue back to Rome were apprehensive about touching the statue as only members of a certain Etruscan gens were accustomed to touching it.13 It is also known that some Etruscan families had familial cults associated with important deities, such as the cult of Uni Ursmnei, or Uni of the Ursmnei family.14 We also know, from the Capua Tablet (TLE 2), that certain families were responsible for conducting rituals prescribed by a formal religious calendar.15

9  Riva, Urbanization . . ., 90–3. 10  Illustrated in R.H. Sinos, “Godlike Men: a discussion of the Murlo Procession Frieze” in Murlo and the Etruscans: art and society in Ancient Etruria (eds. R.D. de Puma, J.P. Small, Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1994) 102, fig. 11.3. Connections between religious and political iconographies of power at Poggio Civitate have been proposed by A. Tuck, “The Social and Poitical Context of the 7th Century Architectural Terracottas at Poggio Civitate (Murlo)” in Deliciae Fictiles III. Architectural Terracottas in Ancient Italy: New Discoveries and Interpretations (eds. I. Edlund-Berry, G. Greco, J. Kenfield, Oxford: Oxbow, 2006) 130–35. 11  A. Pfiffig, Religio Etrusca (Graz: Akademische Druck- u. Verlagsanstalt, 1975) 99. 12  Livy 1.18. It was purported to have been brought to Rome, as a religious or regal symbol by the early kings, cf. Cic. De Div. 2.80; Verg. Aen. 7.187. 13  Livy 5.22. 14  J.-R. Jannot, Religion in Ancient Etruria (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2005) 81–2. 15  Ibidem, 81. For a full analysis of the Capua Tablet, see M. Cristofani, Tabula Capuana: un calendario festive di età arcaica (Florence: L.S. Olschki, 1995).

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Unlike in the Greek world, there was not a strong tradition of dedicating captured arms or spoils in Etruscan temples.16 There is evidence, though, that Etruscan cites or individual elites did dedicate offerings of some kind after a military victory, although this does not seem to be common.17 Rather than practicing this ritualized dedication, it is more likely that Etruscan elites dedicated entire temples after military victories.18 This behavior was common in the neighboring Roman Republic, with Becker counting 37 instances of new temple dedication during the Republican period.19 The only certain instance of an Etruscan temple being dedicated by an individual is that of Pyrgi, dedicated by Thefarie Velianas.20 If, indeed, temples were commonly dedicated by victorious generals, or other private citizens after a military victory, their importance should not be underestimated. These structures add a religious element to the dialogue of monumentality already at play with elite constructions, such as those at Poggio Civitate and Acquarossa.21 Temples dedicated after a military victory would keep that success in the forefront of socio-political discussions 16  The closest parallel to these Hellenic dedications in Central Italy is perhaps the Roman practice of dedicating the spolia opima. This practice itself is controversial in the modern literature, and has recently been reviewed by M. McDonnell, “Aristocratic Competition, Horses, and the Spolia Opima Once Again” in A Tall Order: writing the social history of the Ancient World. Essays in honor of William V. Harris (eds. J.-J. Aubert, Z. Várhelyi, Munich: K.G. Saur, 2005) 145–60. 17  There is some evidence of Etruscan dedications at Delphi after a military victory. Though the source of the dedications in question is unknown, Strabo (5.2.3) does record that Caere kept a sanctuary at Delphi and it is possible the dedications originated from that city. The Etruscan dedications may have been part of a play for “spatial dominance” at the sanctuary, possibly competing with Lipara; see M. Scott, Delphi and Olympia: the spatial politics of panhellenism in the archaic and classical periods (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010) 91–3; G. Colonna, “Apollon, les Étrusques et Lipara,” MÉFRA 96 (1984) 557–78. Evidence of individuals dedicating offerings after a victory is provided by the Elogia from Tarquinia, which may claim that Velthur Spurinna dedicated a number of metal items to a deity following a successful military campaign: M. Torelli, Elogia Tarquiniensia (Florence: Sansoni, 1975) 30–38. Interpretation of these inscriptions, however, is difficult and should be made with caution, see the review of T.J. Cornell, “Principes of Tarquinia,” JRS 68 (1978) 167–73. 18  H. Becker, “The Economic Agency of the Etruscan Temple: elites, dedications and display” in Votives, Places and Rituals in Etruscan Religion (eds. M. Gleba, H. Becker, Leiden: Brill, 2009) 87–99. 19  Ibidem, 92 n. 20. 20  G. Colonna, “La donazione pyrgense di Thefarie Velianas,” ArchCl 17 (1965) 286–92. 21  G.E. Meyers, “Introduction: the experience of monumentality in Etruscan and Early Roman architecture” in Monumentality in Etruscan and Early Roman Architecture: ideology and innovation (eds. M.L. Thomas, G.E. Meyers, Austin: University of Texas Press, 2012) 1–20.

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in those communities. Keeping these memories in the minds of contemporary peers enhanced the status and power of those who dedicated the temples.22 This would have been extremely important in a socio-political environment which saw elite families competing for power within their communities. Temples and other monumental structures also provided ample space for elites to display, advertise, and encourage their way of life, including warfare.23 This is best shown by the terracotta plaques which were used to decorate many of these structures.24 These frieze plaques showed a number of military scenes, such as the departure of warriors, victory,25 and cavalry charges/maneuvers.26 Beyond the basic association of some of these plaques with temples, there is a possible linkage of religion and warfare in the images themselves. The best example of this is from Tuscania currently in Munich;27 the plaque shows the departure of two warriors on foot, and a third mounting a chariot, but the lead figure, who is not armed, is holding what is most probably a lituus.28 Whether this is an image of warriors being escorted to the next life or departing for actual war, the presence of a priest confirms a connection between warfare and religion.29 Although brief, this survey has shown how elite Etruscan families used religion in conjunction with warfare to enhance or maintain their position in 22  J. Marcus, “Monumentality in Archaic States: lessons learned from large-scale excavations of the past,” in Theory and Practice in Mediterranean Archaeology: Old World and New World perspectives (eds. J.K. Papadopoulos, R.M. Leventhal, Los Angeles: The Cotsen Institute of Archaeology, 2003) 115–34. 23  This display would have been important within the immediate community, as well as on a regional level if it is true that foreigners would have frequented these temples: F. Glinister, “Gifts of the Gods: sanctuary and society in Archaic Tyrrhenian Italy” in Inhabiting Symbols: symbol & image in the ancient Mediterranean (eds. J.B. Wilkins, E. Herring, London: Accordia Research Institute, University of London, 2003) 137–47. 24  C. Roth-Murray, “Elite Interaction in Archaic Etruria: exploring the exchange networks of terracotta figured frieze plaques,” JMS 17.1 (2007) 135–160. 25  C. Chateigner, “Cortèges en armes en Étrurie,” RBPhil 67.1 (1989) 122–38. 26  For instance, the cavalry frieze of the so-called Veii-Velletri-Rome system shows a number of charging horsemen. See: N. Winter, Symbols of Wealth and Power: Architectural Terracotta Decoration in Etruria and Central Italy, 640–510 B.C. Supplement to the Memoirs of the American Academy in Rome 9 (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2009) 311–94. 27  Museum antiker Kleinkunst 5033. 28  Chateigner, Cortèges . . ., 124–25, fig. 1. 29  Note the analysis of the iconography of power at Chiusi, J.-R. Jannot, “Insignia Potestatis: les signes du pouvoir dans l’iconographie de Chiusi” in La Civiltà di Chiusi e del suo Territorio. Atti del XVII convegno di studi Etruschi ed Italici Chianciano Terme. 28 maggio– 1º giugno 1989 (ed. G. Maetzke; Florence: L.S. Olschki, 1993) 217–37.

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society. This was done through a ritualized burial beginning in the Iron Age, which displayed the deceased as both warrior and executor of ritual. As funeral rights were becoming less ornate and complicated, new means of display were developed, such as the dedication of temples and the development of a complicated iconography of power, which exploit both religious and militaristic themes.

The Gods and War

The gods of Etruria were portrayed, in some instances, as warriors. This is not uncommon in the Ancient Mediterranean. In the Hellenic world, a number of gods were associated with war or were thought to actively participate in mortal warfare.30 Ares was the god of war par excellence. He is portrayed in some sources as representing “the mindless carnage of combat” and all of the awful things that that entailed.31 Alternatively, Ares, the embodiment of war, could also be seen in a more positive light, even being described as πολισσόε (protector of cities),32 which is more often associated with Athena. Sharing primacy in war along with Ares was Athena, who is often represented as the cool and cunning side of warfare: tactical and orderly. The personalities of these two deities of war, however, are considerably more complicated than we have time to explore.33 Within the Greek pantheon, as well, we find a number of other deities associated with war, which may have varied from polis to polis.34 The Etruscan pantheon is no less diverse and interesting than that of the Greeks, in some ways it is even more interesting. What sets it apart, however, is our comparative lack of knowledge, thanks to the usual combination of lack of Etruscan literature and questionably useful Greco-Roman sources. We do know, however, that this pantheon was complex and seemed to have been influenced, in some ways, by contact with Hellenic and Latin culture although, we cannot underestimate the differences between the Etruscan deities and

30  L. Rawlings, The Ancient Greeks at War (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2007) 177–79. 31  Ibidem, 177. See W. Burkert, Greek Religion (Oxford: Blackwell, 1985) 169–70. 32  HH 8. 33  See S. Deacy, “Athena and Ares: war, violence and warlike deities” in War and Violence in Ancient Greece (ed. H. van Wees, Swansea: The Classical Press of Wales, 2000) 285–98. 34  Cf. A.C. Villing, “Aspects of Athena in the Greek Polis: Sparta and Corinth” in What is a God? Studies in the nature of Greek divinity (ed. A.B. Lloyd, Swansea: The Classical Press of Wales, 1997).

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their supposed Greek and Roman counterparts.35 This being said, the pantheon of the Etruscans had parallels for both Ares and Athena. Laran has come to be identified with Ares/Mars within the Etruscan pantheon.36 It has been suggested that this deity was added into the Etruscan pantheon relatively late in their cultural history.37 We do not hear of him until the fourth century BC, and he is not found among the gods of the Piacenza liver. His equivalency with Ares/Mars is confirmed by a number of depictions along canonical lines, such as his participation in a gigantomachy on a mirror from Populonia38 or his placement with Turan, Aphrodite.39 Athena/ Minerva is represented in the Etruscan pantheon by Menerva. Many images exist of Menerva as an armed deity, often using similar iconography to that of the Hellenic variety of the deity.40 The origin of Menerva is controversial, with some scholars believing her to be an indigenous Etruscan deity, while others believe that she was an externally influenced creation.41 Other deities appear as armed figures in Etruscan iconography. Mariś, once thought to be the Etruscan equivalent of Mars, appears armed in many depictions.42 The nature of this deity, though, is controversial, and his place within Etruscan religious workings is not well understood. De Grummond has proposed that Mariś is best understood as an equivalent to the Latin Genius, although a consensus has yet to be reached.43 Sethlans, the Etruscan interpretation of Hephaistos/Vulcan, is depicted on a fourth century mirror from Arezzo wielding a two headed axe.44 Although there is no strong connection between Sethlans and warfare, as a god of crafts he may have been

35  N.T. de Grummond, Etruscan Myth, Sacred History, and Legend (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology, 2006) 12–15. 36  de Grummond, Etruscan . . ., 138–40; Jannot, Religion . . ., 164–65; E. Simon, “Ares/Laran,” LIMC 2.498–505. 37  Jannot, Religion . . ., 164. 38  Simon, Ares/Laran . . ., 501, with bibliography. 39  Ibidem, 502–503. 40  de Grummond, Etruscan . . ., 71–8. 41  Cf. M. Torelli, “Religione e rituali dal mondo latino a quello etrusco: un capitol della protostoria,” AnnFaina 16 (2009) 120–21; E. Simon, “Gods in Harmony: the Etruscan Pantheon” in The Religion of the Etruscans (eds. N.T. de Grummond, E. Simon, Austin: University of Texas Press, 2006) 59; Jannot, Religion . . ., 147–49. 42  For example CSE 2.16a, which shows Mariś, armed with a spear, seated in the presence of Tinia and Lasa. 43  de Grummond, Etruscan . . ., 140–44. 44  CSE 1.1.13a.

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associated with the production of arms and armour,45 although his cult is almost unknown from the archaeology of Etruria. A number of heroic figures, whose story is as much mythology as history, are also characterized by their military character. Important for our discussion are the figures of Caele and Avle Vipinas. The exploit most closely associated with the Vipinas is the etymological association of Caele and the Caelian Hill in Rome. The often cited speech of the emperor Claudius also describes Caele as the companion of Macstarna, who was to become the Roman king, Servius Tullius.46 Importantly for Etruscan religion, however, the brothers Vipinas famously ambush and most likely captured the prophet Cacu. In various images, the brothers are depicted as armed and threatening towards the prophet and his assistant, Artile.47 This story may be representative of the importance of the revealed divine knowledge of Etruscan religious belief, it was important enough to be taken by the sword. The gods of Etruria were not just figures to be etched on mirrors or sculpted in bronze, they played an active part in the lives of the Etruscans. The gods communicated through a variety of signs which could be interpreted by those with sacred knowledge, the elites of which we have spoken above. Knowledge of divination was passed down through families, and was most likely a guarded secret.48 Of these practices, the divinatory examination of livers and entrails (haruspicy) is possibly the most well known. This examination could tell the haruspex the will of the gods through observation of the blood, anatomical defects, or disease.49 Undoubtedly the gods were consulted in this manner when war was on the horizon. Although typically associated with Roman practices, divination by watching the flight of birds, “taking the auspices,” was practiced in Etruria. We likely have an example of this practice being used to seek the gods’ will regarding warfare in a painting from the François Tomb, Vulci. An Etruscan augur named Vel Saties is watching the flight of what is likely a woodpecker, a bird sacred to Laran. If this interpretation of the painting is correct, it shows the importance of avian divination to warfare.50

45  Cf. Burkert, Greek Religion . . ., 167–68. 46  ILS 212.1.8-27. See, T.J. Cornell, The Beginnings of Rome: Italy and Rome from the Bronze Age to the Punic Wars (c. 1000–264 BC) (London: Routledge, 1995) 133–38. 47  de Grummond, Etruscan . . ., 28 (fig. II.5), 174–75 (figs. VIII.1–2). 48  Cic. Fam. 6.6; Tac. Ann. 11.14. Cf. N.T. de Grummond, “Prophets and Priests” in The Religion of the Etruscans (eds. N.T. de Grummond, E. Simon, Austin: University of Texas Press, 2006) 34–35; Jannot, Religion . . ., 5–8, 23. 49  Jannot, Religion . . ., 21–4. 50  Ibidem, 27–8.

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The form of divination for which we have the most knowledge of, however, is the art of the fulgurator, brontoscopia, the examination of thunder and lightning. Understanding the will of the gods through lightening was extremely important for the Etruscans. The exact nature of how this worked is not quite clear, however. Some sources believed that only nine gods of the Etruscan pantheon could wield the lightning-bolts which communicated with mortal men.51 To further elaborate the tradition, Seneca describes three different types of lightning which have different meanings.52 This tradition is controversial among modern historians, however, and influences ranging from the Near East to the Greek world have been proposed as the source of this Roman tradition about the Etruscans.53 What is important for the current survey, though, is a divinatory calendar based on brontoscopy preserved in an early Byzantine text. John the Lydian (fl. 6th century AD) compiled a work on omens (de ostentis) which included a section (27–38) on brontoscopia. For some time, this text has been neglected because it drew strong opinions on its antiquity.54 Recently, though, a strong argument has been made by Turfa as to its usefulness in analyzing Etruscan society.55 In brief, although the calendar owes some of its structure and contents to a Near Eastern or Mesopotamian origin, the bulk of the information it contains can be included in the discussion of Etruscan history. The contents of the calendar reveal the importance of divining war to the Etruscans. While thunder being heard on four days throughout the year may indicate the coming of peace, approximately thirty-one days of the year signal war if thunder is heard.56 The details of these predicted wars are diverse. For example, if thunder is heard on “25 November” the coming war will be “very dangerous,” while thunder on the next day, “26 November,” will signal civil war and much death.57 The varying degrees of severity and threat could indicate a mechanism by which the diviner could manipulate those listening to his advice. The abundant appearances of warfare in the Brontoscopic Calendar are 51  Pliny NH 2.138–40. Tinia is also credited with possessing three types of lightning. 52  Sen. Q Nat. 2.39, 49; see however 2.47. 53  For the most up-to-date discussion with full bibliography, see J.M. Turfa, Divining the Etruscan World: the Brontoscopic Calendar and religious practice (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012) 51–9. 54  G. Dumézil, Archaic Roman Religion: with an appendix on the religion of the Etruscans (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1970) 2.637–49. 55  Turfa, Divining . . ., 3–18. 56  We could, possibly, include two more instances. For “27 June” thunder would indicate “danger from the army for the men in power,” while thunder on “3 January” indicates “loss after victory for those in war.” Although these do not directly predict war, they do pertain to war. Translations adapted from Turfa, Divining . . ., 88, 96. 57  Ibidem, 95.

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a further link between religion and warfare in Etruria. Because the interpretation of these omens was restricted to certain elite families, this ritual helped to further the dominance of the elite classes. This section has surveyed the role of the gods in warfare. Certain deities were closely associated with warfare, and show close parallels to Greek and Roman gods. Martial pressure in the form of an ambush or raid allowed certain Etruscan heroes to seize and exploit the religious knowledge of prophets. Between the actual deities of the Etruscan pantheon, and the revealed knowledge of the prophets, enlightened Etruscans were able to see the will of the gods through certain portents, the best known to us being through thunder. Conclusions The preceding survey is meant as an introduction to the association between war and religion in the Etruscan world. Although it is brief and leaves much analysis to be done, it has shown that religion and warfare had a complex relationship in Etruria. From contributing to the identity of Iron Age elites, to being two parts of the Etruscan iconography of power, war and religion combined to elevate certain individuals and families above their peers. We have also seen how the gods were both equipped for war and were willing to share their knowledge of wars to come through divinatory rituals. Above all, I hope that this paper has given the reader an overview of how an intertwining of religious and military rituals and symbolism contributed to the network of power which helped to support the despotic heterarchy of the Etruscan elites. Bibliography H. Becker, “The Economic Agency of the Etruscan Temple: elites, dedications and display” in Votives, Places and Rituals in Etruscan Religion (eds. M. Gleba, H. Becker, Leiden: Brill, 2009) 87–99. W. Burkert, Greek Religion (Oxford: Blackwell, 1985). G. Camporeale, Gli Etruschi: Storia e civiltá (third edition) (Milan: UTET, 2011). C. Chateigner, “Cortèges en armes en Étrurie,” RBPhil 67.1 (1989) 122–38. G. Colonna, “La donazione pyrgense di Thefarie Velianas,” ArchCl 17 (1965) 286–92. ———, “Apollon, les Étrusques et Lipara,” MÉFRA 96 (1984) 557–78. T.J. Cornell, “Principes of Tarquinia,” JRS 68 (1978) 167–73. ———, The Beginnings of Rome: Italy and Rome from the Bronze Age to the Punic Wars (c. 1000–264 BC) (London: Routledge, 1995).

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M. Cristofani, Tabula Capuana: un calendario festive di età arcaica (Florence: L.S. Olschki, 1995). N.T. de Grummond, Etruscan Myth, Sacred History, and Legend (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology, 2006). ———, “Prophets and Priests” in The Religion of the Etruscans (eds. N.T. de Grummond, E. Simon, Austin: University of Texas Press, 2006) 27–44. S. Deacy, “Athena and Ares: war, violence and warlike deities” in War and Violence in Ancient Greece (ed. H. van Wees, Swansea: The Classical Press of Wales, 2000) 285–98. G. Dumézil, Archaic Roman Religion: with an appendix on the religion of the Etruscans (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1970). F. Glinister, “Gifts of the Gods: sanctuary and society in Archaic Tyrrhenian Italy” in Inhabiting Symbols: symbol & image in the ancient Mediterranean (eds. J.B. Wilkins, E. Herring’ London: Accordia Research Institute, University of London, 2003) 137–47. C. Iaia, “Warrior identity and the materialization of power in Early Iron Age Etruria” in Accordia Research Papers Volume 12 (eds. R.D. Whitehouse, J.B. Wilkins, London: Accordia Research Institute, University of London, 2013) 71–95. ———, “Metalwork, rituals and the making of elite identity in central western Italy at the Bronze-Iron Age transition” in Exchange Networks and Local Transformations: interaction and local change in Europe and the Mediterranean from the Bronze Age to the Iron Age (eds. M.E. Alberti, S. Sabatini, Oxford: Oxbow Books, 2013) 102–16. J.-R. Jannot, “Insignia Potestatis: les signes du pouvoir dans l’iconographie de Chiusi” in La Civiltà di Chiusi e del suo Territorio. Atti del XVII convegno di studi Etruschi ed Italici Chianciano Terme. 28 maggio–1º giugno 1989 (ed. G. Maetzke, Florence: L.S. Olschki, 1993) 217–37. ———, Religion in Ancient Etruria (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2005). M. Mann, The Sources of Social Power. Volume 1: A history of Power from the Beginning to AD 1760 (New Edition) (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012). J. Marcus, “Monumentality in Archaic States: lessons learned from large-scale excavations of the past” in Theory and Practice in Mediterranean Archaeology: Old World and New World perspectives (eds. J.K. Papadopoulos, R.M. Leventhal, Los Angeles: The Cotsen Institute of Archaeology, 2003) 115–34. M. McDonnell, “Aristocratic Competition, Horses, and the Spolia Opima Once Again” in A Tall Order: writing the social history of the Ancient World. Essays in honor of William V. Harris (eds. J.-J. Aubert, Z. Várhelyi, Munich: K.G. Saur, 2005) 145–60. G.E. Meyers, “Introduction: the experience of monumentality in Etruscan and Early Roman architecture” in Monumentality in Etruscan and Early Roman Architecture: ideology and innovation (eds. M.L. Thomas, G. E. Meyers, Austin: University of Texas Press, 2012) 1–20.

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M. Pallottino, The Etruscans (London: Penguin, 1955) 154–57. A. Pfiffig, Religio Etrusca (Graz: Akademische Druck- u. Verlagsanstalt, 1975). L. Rawlings, The Ancient Greeks at War (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2007). C. Riva, The Urbanization of Etruria (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010). C. Roth-Murray, “Elite Interaction in Archaic Etruria: exploring the exchange networks of terracotta figured frieze plaques,” JMS 17.1 (2007) 135–160. R. Schroeder, “Introduction: the IEMP model and its critics” in An Anatomy of Power: the Social Theory of Michael Mann (eds. J.A. Hall, R. Schroeder, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005) 1–16. M. Scott, Delphi and Olympia: the spatial politics of panhellenism in the archaic and classical periods (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010). E. Simon, “Ares/Laran,” LIMC 2.498–505. ———, “Gods in Harmony: the Etruscan Pantheon” in The Religion of the Etruscans (eds. N.T. de Grummond, E. Simon, Austin: University of Texas Press, 2006) 45–65. R.H. Sinos, “Godlike Men: a discussion of the Murlo Procession Frieze” in Murlo and the Etruscans: art and society in Ancient Etruria (eds. R.D. de Puma, J.P. Small, Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1994) 100–17. P.F. Stary, “Foreign Elements in Etruscan Arms and Armour: 8th to 3rd centuries B.C.,” PPS 45 (1979) 179–206. M. Torelli, Elogia Tarquiniensia (Florence: Sansoni, 1975). ———, “Religione e rituali dal mondo latino a quello etrusco: un capitol della protostoria,” AnnFaina 16 (2009) 119–48. A. Tuck, “The Social and Poitical Context of the 7th Century Architectural Terracottas at Poggio Civitate (Murlo)” in Deliciae Fictiles III. Architectural Terracottas in Ancient Italy: New Discoveries and Interpretations (eds. I. Edlund-Berry, G. Greco, J. Kenfield, Oxford: Oxbow, 2006) 130–35. J.M. Turfa, Divining the Etruscan World: the Brontoscopic Calendar and religious practice (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012). A.C. Villing, “Aspects of Athena in the Greek Polis: Sparta and Corinth” in What is a God? Studies in the nature of Greek divinity (ed. A.B. Lloyd, Swansea: The Classical Press of Wales, 1997). J. Whitley, “Objects with Attitude: biographical facts and fallacies in the study of Late Bronze Age and Early Iron Age warrior graves,” CAJ 12 (2002) 217–32. N. Winter, Symbols of Wealth and Power: Architectural Terracotta Decoration in Etruria and Central Italy, 640–510 B.C. Supplement to the Memoirs of the American Academy in Rome 9 (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2009).

The Ara Pacis Augustae and the Campus Martius: Peace and War, Antinomic or Complementary Realities in the Roman World1 Dan-Tudor Ionescu The main aim of my study is to try to decipher and understand the symbols and the myths encrypted in the friezes of the facades of the famous Altar of the Augustan Peace (the Ara Pacis Augustae) situated in the Campus Martius (the Field of Mars, nowadays the Campo Marzio) in Rome. The Ara Pacis Augustae was erected (according to the Roman ritual of constitutio/religious beginning of the construction process) on the fourth of July 13 BC and it was consecrated (according to the Roman rite of dedicatio/­definitive consecration of a religious building or space to the gods) on the thirtieth of January 9 BC. Augustus himself had written in his Res Gestae 12 (his ‘Deeds’ or political autobiography and testament) that on the occasion of his safe return from Gaul and Spain the Senate of Rome had decided to build in his honour an Ara (Altar) of the Augustan Peace, during the consulates of Tiberius Nero and Publius Quinctilius. The thirtieth of January was the birthday of Livia, Augustus’ wife; however, one cannot affirm in all certainty that the dedication of the Ara Pacis Augustae (‘The Altar of the Augustan Peace’) was done on purpose on Livia Augusta’s birthday. According to the Res Gestae 11–13 (mainly 12.2), a yearly sacrifice should have commemorated this event (the erection of the Ara Pacis (‘the Altar of Peace’) in honour of Augustus’ return from the provinces of Gaul and Spain). The authorities in charge with the cult sacrifices within the Ara Pacis Augustae were the Roman pagan priests, the Senate of Rome, and the Vestal Virgins. The annual sacrifice was probably meant to commemorate both this event and the peace brought by Augustus’ new regime.2 1  The content of this article is a continuation of my research written and previously published in Italian and entitled: D.-T. Ionescu, “Ara Pacis Augustae: un simbolo del’età augustea. Considerazioni storico-religiose tra Pax Augusta e Pax Augusti”, Civiltà Romana I (2014) 75–107. 2  E. La Rocca, Ara Pacis Augustae In Occasione del Restauro della Fronte Orientale (Roma: L’Erma di Bretschneider, 1983) 10–11; in fact, the emphasis Augustus had put in his Res Gestae 34.1–3 on his role as the Pacator Urbis and on the honors bestowed upon him by the grateful Roman Senate (the clupeus i.e. the shield put into the Curia Iulia for his qualities of virtus, pietas, iustitia, and clementia) is proof enough (at least in my humble opinion) for the image he intended to leave to posterity. According to Suetonius’ Vita Divi Augusti (28.2), Augustus

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This Ara Pacis Augustae was not the only one monument of this kind built during the reign of Augustus: to the south of Rome, before the Porta Capena (the Capena Gate) and the temple of Honos et Virtus (the deities of Honour and Courage), there had been constructed another altar, the Ara Fortunae Reducis (the Altar of the goddess Fortuna Redux, the Good Fate that presided over Augustus’ happy return from Syria to Rome in the year 19 BC). This Ara Fortunae Reducis was constituta (erected) on the twelfth of October 19 BC and it was dedicata (consecrated) on the fifteenth of December the same year. In the same area of the Porta Capena, at least according to Livy (Ab Urbe Cond.1.26.2–5), the victor Horatius over the three Curiatii had stabbed his sister to death, because she dared to weep for her dead betrothed, one of the vanquished Curiatii brothers. One should also remember that two of the Horatii had fallen in this combat between champions (Livy Ab Urbe Cond.1.25.14). This mythical fight has united the Latin cities of Alba Longa and Rome, under the leadership of Rome. Both Augustus and the Roman Senate were well aware of the connection between different historical regions of Rome (such as the Palatine hill, the Capitolium hill, the Porta Capena area, and the Campus Martius) and the founding myths of Rome. According to the myth and legend narrated by Livy (Ab Urbe Cond.1.16.1–2), on the Campus Martius (the field dedicated to the war god Mars) Romulus himself was mustering his army, near the swamp of Capra (Palus Caprae or the swamp of the Goat), and there he was taken to Heaven by the gods, according to the vision narrated by Julius Proculus to the bewildered first Romans (Livy Ab Urbe Cond.1.16.3–8). There in the time of Romulus was built an altar to Mars (Ara Martis) and this field was destined to abide the military exercises of the first Roman armies, the dilectus (recruitment) of the future young soldiers, himself in one of his edicts proclaimed that he “Quam voluntatem, cum prae se identidem ferret, quodam etiam edicto his verbis testatus est: Ita mihi salvam ac sospitem rem p.sistere in sua sede liceat atque eius rei fructum percipere, quem peto, ut optimi status auctor dicar et moriens ut feram mecum spem, mansura in vestigio suo fundamenta rei p.quae iecero” /“His good intentions he not only expressed from time to time, but put them on record as well in an edict in the following words: May it be my privilege to establish the State in a firm and secure position, and reap from that act the fruit that I desire: but only if I may be called the author of the best possible government, and bear with me the hope when I die that the foundations which I have laid for the State will remain unshaken;” and Suetonius concluded this passage: ‘Fecitque ipse se compotem voti nisus omni modo, ne quem novi status paeniteret/And he realized his hope by making every effort to prevent any dissatisfaction with the new regime:’ for the Latin original text and the English translation vide Suetonius, Lives of the Caesars vol. I (with an English translation by J.C. Rolfe; London, New York: William Heinemann, The Macmillan Co., The Loeb Classical Library, 1914; T.E. Page, W.H.D. Rouse eds.) 164–5.

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the military and athletic contests of the Roman youth, and finally the assemblies of the Comitia Centuriata (it was initially the military assembly of the Roman people in arms, grouped into classes/social-economic groups and divided into centuriae/hundreds that elected future magistrates endowed with the power of military commanders). In this field dedicated to Mars and to the Roman Iuventus (therefore to Youth as the future of the Eternal City) by the will of the Senate of Rome it was consecrated an altar to the Augustan Peace.3 The Ara Pacis was integrated in a system of monuments in the northern part of the Campus Martius: the Mausoleum Augusti (the Mausoleum of Augustus), the Meridianum/Horologium Solarium Augusti (the Solar Meridian/ Clock of Augustus), the Ustrinum Augusti (the funeral pyre of Augustus), and the Pantheon (the temple dedicated to all gods). In the Res Gestae Divi Augusti (“The Deeds of the Divine Augustus” 11–13), one can hear over a span of time of two millennia Augustus’ very words: he basically wrote that the Roman Senate had ordered to be built in his honour the Ara Fortunae Reducis (the Altar of the Fortuna Redux, the goddess Fortune that presided over happy returns home from voyages and expeditions) and the Ara Pacis Augustae, and that sacrifices were to be performed there in his honor by the magistrates, the priests, and the Vestal virgins. There is an obvious correlation between the architectural 3  E. Ponti, Ara Pacis Augustae Origine-Storia-Significato (Roma: Vittorio Ferri-Editore, 1938) 11; La Rocca, Ara . . ., 11; S. Settis, “Die Ara Pacis,” in Kaiser Augustus und die Verlorene Republik (Mainz am Rhein: Verlag Philip Von Zabern, 1988) 401; in fact these two phases in the building and consecration of the Ara Pacis Augustae are mentioned by Ovid (Fasti.1.709). The date of Fourth of July as the Constitutio (Building, Construction) of the Ara Pacis is given also by the Fasti Amiternini (the Fasti from Amiternum) and by the Fasti Antiates (the Fasti of Antium). According to both the Fasti Amiternini and with the Res Gestae 12.2, the Constitutio Arae (the Construction of the Altar) had taken place in the year 13 BC, under the consulship of Tiberius Nero and Publius Quinctilius Varus (the future Roman army commander responsible later in the AD 9 for the disaster of three Roman legions and nine auxiliary units in the Teutoburg Forest) vide A. Murdoch, Rome’s Greatest Defeat in the Teutoburg Forest (Thrupp Stroud, Gloucestershire: Sutton Publishing Limited, 2006) 55–6; both Tiberius and Varus appearing as consuls on the southern frieze of the Ara (Altar), between Augustus and the Flamines (the special collegium/association of Roman priests) and the Consecratio/Dedicatio Arae Pacis Augustae (the Consecration of the Altar of the Augustan Peace) had taken place on the Thirtieth of Januray (Livia’s birthday), according to the Acta Fratrum Arvalium (the Acts of the Arvalian Brothers), to the Fasti Caeretani (the Fasti from Caeres), to the Fasti Verulani (the Fasti from Verulum), and also according to the Fasti Praenestini (the Fasti from the city of Praeneste; Fasti was a type of Roman-Italic religious-astronomical calendar). Moreover, the Fasti Praenestini contain the valuable information that the Dedicatio Arae Pacis has taken place during the consulship of Drusus and Crispinus that was in the year 9 BC vide Settis, “Die Ara Pacis. . . , 400–1.

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and sculptural monuments that were mentioned in the Res Gestae and the very text of the Res Gestae; one can find here the ingenious device of the political ideology promoted by Augustus. That was in fact the official initiative of the Senate and thus the continuity between the new regime of personal power and the old republican forms of government were apparently ensured. Although it could appear a bit far-fetched and anachronistic, this is in fact true political propaganda. Nevertheless, it was a shrewder move than the mere proclaiming of the virtues of the Princeps (the Princeps Senatus, the first of the Senators that was no other than the Emperor Augustus himself) by himself: it was in fact the old representative institution of the Res Publica (the “Public Thing” i.e. the Roman state), the Roman Senate that empowered the magistrates, the pagan priests, and the Vestals to sacrifice on this altar in honour of the “Augustan Peace” or Pax Augusta.4 One should underline that we have started with the assumption that the altar or Ara that has been found in the area of San Lorenzo in Lucina, underneath the foundations of the Ottoboni-Peretti-Fiano-Almagià palace, was the true above mentioned Ara Pacis Augustae. In fact, although the majority of the scholars admit that identification, there are also other scholars who doubt or even deny that allegation.5 Nevertheless, for the start of this study we shall begin with the assumption that the Ara found underneath the foundations of the Palazzo Ottoboni-Peretti-Fiano-Almagià is the true Ara Pacis Augustae. Returning to the period previous to the foundation of the Ara Pacis Augustae, one should return to the Ara Fortunae Reducis. The erection of the Ara Fortunae Reducis was preceded by the ceremony named ire obviam, going to encounter the main character of this ritual, in that case Augustus himself. The consul L. Lucretius, part of the praetors, of the plebeian tribunes (tribuni plebis), and of the senators went in Campania in order to meet Augustus returning from Syria. This event happened, as we have mentioned above, in the year 19 BC. It was so to say a kind of precedent to the building of the more important Ara Pacis Augustae during the years 13–9 BC. (therefore from six to ten years later), honouring Augustus’ return from Gaul and Spain.6 4  P. Zanker, Augustus und die Macht der Bilder (München: C.H. Beck Verlag, 1987) 126–7. 5  S. Weinstock, “Pax and the Ara Pacis,” JRS 50 (1960) 58 apud M. Schütz, “The Horologium on the Campus Martius reconsidered,” JRA 24.1 (2011) 86. 6  La Rocca, Ara . . ., 9–11: as a matter of fact, the Augustan ideology of power has vacillated between the image of the young and new Caesar Octavian (at the very beginning of Caius Octavian’s spectacular political career at the young age of nineteen years old struggling to be seen as the rightful and legitimate heir of the “Divine Julius”/Divus Iulius), the image of the young all conquering hero of the oijkoumevnh/ο΄ιkoυμένη (oikoumene was the known

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The General Description of the Monument. The Outer Upper Friezes

We shall dwell here more on the external upper friezes of this monument. It is in fact a monument built out of marble and on the original north and south sides of the monument one can find two long relief scenes with deep religious significance. About two thirds of the persons represented there are members of the four religious and priestly collegia from Rome and also of the greatest sacerdotia (priesthoods) of the pagan roman religion: the pontifs (pontifices), the augurs (augures), the XV (quindecemdecem) viri sacris faciundis (“the and civilized world to the ancient Greeks and Romans) immediately after the victorious battle of Actium (the second day of September 31 BC) and the conquest of Egypt (30 BC)Caesar Octavian as the victor terra marique (“conqueror over land and sea”), the pacator orbis (“peacemaker over the world”), and eventually the dominus mundi (“the world master:” in fact this image is going back to the icon of the ideal Hellenistic King, the new Alexander the Great as a kind of world master or kosmokravtwr/koσμοκράτωρ); and finally the Augustan iconography has arrived to the image of the mature Imperator Caesar Augustus (“Emperor Caesar Augustus”: Imperator was the victorious Roman military commander of an army that proclaimed him as such), the benevolent patron and protector of the “Restored State” or Res Publica Restituta. It is enough to mention here the statue of Augustus discovered at (Livia’s?) villa (manor country house) at Prima Porta as the eternally youthful and invincible Imperator, making the gesture of adlocutio/allocutio (allocution was his speech addressed to the Roman soldiers) and the statue of the mature Augustus on the Via Labicana as vir togatus, the man wearing the toga and perhaps in the gesture of offering sacrifice. This last and final image that Augustus has chosen to leave of himself to posterity is paradoxically more tributary to the ideals of the Optimates leaders (the ‘Best men’ of the Roman aristocracy that were also a political faction of a kind of Roman ‘Tories’), such as Cato the Younger, as the great Pompey in his mature age, and as M. Tullius Cicero, men hostile to the political or social innovations or revolutions, the res novae, than to the ideas of the populares leaders (the Roman ‘Whigs’ so to say, the reformers and populist leaders of the Roman nobility/nobilitas), such as Julius Caesar (C. Iulius Caesar). To be fair and square, the young Octavian at the very beginning of his political career bore more resemblances with a Catilina type of leader than to the image of the ‘first man of the Senate’ (Princeps Senatus) the stern guardian of the “way of the ancestors” (mos maiorum) who, according to his very words in the Res Gestae 34.3: “Post id tem[pus] auctoritate [omnibus praestiti, potes] tatis au[tem] nihilo amplius [habu]i quam cet[eri qui] mihi quoque in ma[gis]tra[t]u conlegae [ fuerunt]”/“After that time I had outdone all in prestige/influence (auctoritas), nevertheless I had no more legal power (potestas) than the others who were my colleague officials (magistratus)” (here the English translation from Latin is mine) vide I. Lana, L. De Biasi, A.M. Ferrero (eds.), Gli Atti Compiuti e i frammenti delle opere di Cesare Augusto Imperatore (a cura di Luciano de Biasi e Anna Maria Ferrero) (Torino: Unione Tipografico-Editrice Torinese/UTET, vol. I–II; Classici Latini Collezione Fondata da Augusto Rostagni Diretta da Italo Lana, 2003).

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fifteen men in charge with performing holy things/sacred affairs”), the VII (septem)viri epulonum (“the seven men in charge with the public banquets”), and the four flamines (Flamen Dialis, Flamen Martialis, Flamen Quirinalis, i.e. the flamines or priests in charge with the cult of Jupiter/Jove, Mars, and Quirinus, and also the newly appointed Flamen Iulialis in honor of the Divus Iulius, the deified Julius Caesar). On the original south side of the Altar of Augustan Peace, there appeared Augustus himself and his right hand man, Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa. They both appear here in the posture of a “man wearing the toga and with the head covered or veiled by his toga”/(vir togatus) capite velato, or “men dressed in togae with their heads veiled by their togae” (viri togati capitibus velatis); this is an attitude with a profound spiritual and religious meaning to the ancient Romans, marking on the Ara Pacis Augustae the importance of these two men. Apart from them both hewn in stone in this ritual posture on the original south side of this monument, only two other male figures on the original north side of the Ara Pacis Augustae are wearing their togae over their heads. This posture emphasizes their utmost importance as priests. Because most of the other members (at least the men) taking part in this procession or gathering are only crowned (but not with the head covered or velato capite), these four individuals are also marked out in this manner as the main priestly figures of this crowd. One can also notice that around Augustus are standing most of the lictores (the men wearing the fasces, the bundle of twigs wrapped around the axe as the symbol of power of the Roman magistrate); he is represented as the tallest person of them all (except of Agrippa, who is represented of equal stature with Augustus). In reality, Augustus was quite a short man and because of that he wore high heeled shoes.7 This was done in order to hide his small physical stature, but on the monument he towered the other figures around him, except his son in law Marcus Agrippa. Reading the Res Gestae 12, one can realize that it was offered an yearly sacrifice to the Pax Augusta (there is an implicit words play here: the “Augustan Peace” or the “August Peace”) at her particular altar (Ara), not only by a single association (collegium) of Roman priests, but by all the important magistrates, the highest priests, and the Vestal Virgins. This was in itself a renewal and a transformation of the traditional Roman state religion into something new, according to the lines of the Augustan moral, juridical, and religious reforms. The Roman priests had exerted earlier only their religious function in their capacity as religious magistrates of the Roman state, sometimes parallel or in close succession/connection with political, administrative, or even military duties. Only through the consulting of the Sibylline books (libri ­sibyllini) 7  Zanker, Augustus . . ., 127.

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could they have had, as priests exerting a purely religious function, a true influence in the political and civic decisions taken in the Roman state, by the “Senate and the People of Rome,” according to the traditional Roman formula (Senatus Populusque Romanus/“The Roman Senate and People”). Nowadays under Augustus’ brave new regime, although the different Roman priesthoods worked closer together than ever before, they could in fact only pray the gods and goddesses for the welfare of Rome and of the Roman people.8 Only the most important figures as Augustus and Agrippa can be safely identified. Augustus himself is identifiable not because of its preserved portrait (because his face on the southern frieze of the Ara Pacis) was destroyed, but because of his high stature, his privileged position in the procession (between the Flamines and the Augures), and because of the fact he is surrounded by the lictores. The rest, be they possibly Livia, Iulia, Tiberius, Drusus, Antonia Minor, the children Lucius and Caius Caesar or Germanicus etc., because of their idealized features, are not easily recognizable. One can only agree with Zanker’s words that: “Im Dienst der erneuerten pietas löst sich das Problem der Macht und Rangordnung von sich selbst. Der Historische Augenblick wird zum Leitbild für eine ewige Ordnung.”9 8  According to Ibidem, 127–8 the bad portents or bad omina for the future of Rome were erased from the Sibylline books during Augustus’ reign and the books themselves were taken (probably from the Capitolium or Capitoline hill) to the Palatine hill, where they were placed under the custody of the god Apollo Palatinus (“Apollo on the Palatine hill,” near the house of Augustus). Before starting the military expeditions, the Princeps always needed good omina; the Roman emperor was always looking for good portents and prophetic signs, before going to war. Augustus himself was represented with the curved stick or staff of the augures, the lituus in his right hand, on an altar of the Lares (the gods of the Roman household and sometimes of the crossroads); to his right stands one of his grandsons (Caius or Lucius Caesar), and to his left their mother and his daughter Julia, like a kind of goddess Venus, according also to Ibidem, 128–9. The veiled heads of the priests on the Ara Pacis showed that the ceremony is about to begin vide Ibidem, 128. In fact, because the figures are looking in different directions, they could as well to be at the beginning or at the end of the ritual procession leading to the Ara Pacis; or they could as well be the gathering just before or immediately after the sacrifice has taken place. 9  Ibidem, 128: “In the service of the renewed religious piety/pietas, the problem of power and ranking/hierarchy is solved by itself. The historical view will become a leading image/icon for an eternal order of things;” according to E. Bartman, Portraits of Livia Imaging the Imperial Woman in Augustan Rome (Cambridge, New York, Melbourne: Cambridge University Press, 1999) 88–9, the woman character on the monument that was identified as Livia is of foremost importance; she did not wear here the traditional garment of the Roman matrons, the stola, but a wrapped palla, a traditional dress on the funerary republican portraiture; she looks a bit downwards, her gaze and her smile are serene. Although she is separated by

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The Roman priests are surrounding in fact the family of the Princeps (Augustus), the most important members of the Julian-Claudian House. One can see here an ideal image of the ruling and interconnected gens Iulia (the Julia extended family or clan) and gens Claudia (the Claudia extended family), reduced only to the size of the family of Augustus as a warrant for Rome’s inner peace, tranquility, prosperity, and external military victories in the future.10 It is in line also with the verses of Ovid’s Fasti (1.721) that wished eternal life for the peace bringing house of Augustus; the women of the Augustan family some distance from Augustus, they both alone among the almost a hundred figures represented here are wearing a kind of diadem and their heads are veiled. Some other characters are veiled (like Agrippa), some wear a diadem (like Tiberius or Drusus), but none except Augustus and Livia wears both symbols. Both her dress and her look (including the hairstyle), as well the fact that she is closely followed by Tiberius and at some distance by Drusus (her sons by her first husband), it nears Livia to the nursing Mother Goddess of the eastern façade vide Bartman, Portraits . . ., 90. In conclusion, one can see that the designer of this monument strove to identify Augustus’ family with the Roman State (Res Publica), although because of the physical distance between Augustus and Livia they cannot be perceived as a Hellenistic Royal Couple; the western and respectively eastern facades of the monument are divided according to gender, the West being reserved for the gods and heroes and the East for the goddesses, according also to Bartman, Portraits . . ., 88. One can argue about that, because of the probable representation of male deities on the so called Dea Roma panel on the eastern façade; for all the discussion vide Bartman, Portraits . . ., 86–92. 10  Zanker, Augustus . . ., 130: “Diese Opferprozession der Ara Pacis war eine überaus reflektierte Idealprojektion des erneuerten Staates-entworfen wohlgemerkt nicht im Auftrag des Augustus, sondern des Senates zu dessen und des neues Staates Ehren . . . Denn die Bevölkerung Roms erlebte ja immer wieder die entsprechenden rituellen Aufzüge und hatte in all den Jahren gelernt, daβ Macht, Staatsamt, Senatsgeschäft und selbst militärischer Erfolg nicht das wichtigste waren, sondern die Verehrung der Götterund damit verbunden das Wohl des Herrscherhauses.” (“This sacrificial procession of the Ara Pacis/the Altar of Peace was a well reflected ideal projection of the renewed state-a projection of course drawn not in the name of Augustus, but of the Senate and to the honour of the new state . . . then the people of Rome lived again and again the characteristic ritual features and had learned all these years that not power, state function, affair of the senate, not even military success were the most important things, but the worship of the gods and bound to it, the well-being of the ruling family”). It is difficult to find better words to express the policy of Augustus: apparent return to the old forms of the Roman Res Publica where the Senate had at least in theory (but more often in practice) the ultimate says; but in fact in Augustus’ new world the Auctoritas Principis (“the authority/prestige/influence of the prince/emperor”) always prevailed. The extended family of Augustus and Livia is seen here on the Ara Pacis as a kind of symbol of the Roman People, along with the main priestly dignitaries of Rome.

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are dressed like the goddesses represented by the statues of Classical Greece. Drusus, represented on the southern panel of this procession or gathering, is dressed in half military garments (he wears the paludamentum, the military mantle of a high ranking Roman commander), because he is about to head north in 13 BC to command the Roman armies in Germany, after the conquest of the Alps.11 One can see here either these two friezes on the north and respectively on the south side of the Ara Pacis as two complementary halves of the same procession (because the persons involved are looking into different directions, they could well be at the beginning as well as at the end of the procession) or as two different parallel processions that corresponds to each other.12 On the southern façade one can see the following order of the characters: the Pontifices (fragmentary preserved), then the Augures (among them as the character nr. 15, with a heavily damaged face Augustus himself that appears with the head veiled by his own toga, in the ritual posture known as capite velato/with the head veiled by a fold of his toga) and the Flamines (among them as the tallest man, equal in stature with Augustus, there is Agrippa, represented also as velato capite, with the head veiled by his toga; a child, identified as the character nr. 30/perhaps Caius Caesar, is closely following Agrippa; from here begins Augustus’ own family). The nr. 31 character, a woman in a dignified posture, with the head veiled and crowned, wearing a kind of diadem, was identified mostly as Livia Augusta, Augustus’ wife. The male character nr. 33, a togatus (a man dressed with a toga), was identified as Tiberius; the female character nr. 35 and the child (nr. 36) were identified respectively as Antonia Minor (the daughter of Octavia, Augustus’ sister and the wife of Marc Anthony) and her son Germanicus, and behind them, dressed in a half military garment (a sort of paludamentum) there is Drusus (the character nr. 38). In the year 13 BC he was about to ride off to the Germanic lands beyond the Rhine, after the campaigns of conquest of the Alps from 19–15 BC (vide supra). On the northern façade the family of Augustus continues the procession; there is another child that holds the garment (toga) of an adult figure (this is the child who turns his head and looks back, following after the character nr. 35; he could possibly have been Lucius Caesar that thus corresponds to his brother Caius Caesar on the opposite façade; nevertheless, one should bear in mind that the identification of all the characters on the southern and northern friezes and 11   Ibidem, 130. 12  This is in fact the idea of the correspondence between the characters of the northern and respectively of the southern frieze vide La Rocca, Ara . . ., 37–8; Settis, “Die Ara Pacis . . ., 402 and 416.

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especially that of the children is highly hypothetical and fiercely disputed and contested). After these figures then follow the Quindecemviri sacris faciundis, another group of Augures, and the Septemviri Epulonum; therefore almost all of the great religious dignitaries and collegia were represented on the southern and respectively on the northern side of the Ara. In Augustus’ time there were four Flamines: Dialis (the Flamen of Iuppiter), Martialis (the Flamen of Mars), Quirinalis (the Flamen of Quirinus), and finally Iulialis (the Flamen of the Divus Iulius, the deified Caesar). There is an essential idea of symmetry here: Tiberius (the thirty third character on the southern side) corresponds symmetrically to the thirty fifth character on the northern side (identified as Iulia or Julia, Augustus’ daughter). Augustus (the character nr. 15 on the southern frieze) appears in the posture of Augur and of Pontifex Maximus.13 The original western and respectively eastern facades of the Ara Pacis Augustae represent, on their upper level, panels with friezes describing mythological subjects; thus the reconstructed upper north-western panel of the Ara Pacis represent the Lupa Capitolina (the she-wolf of the Capitolium hill) and the twin brothers Romulus and Remus (that are seen here as the suckling whelps of the female wolf, on the Palatine hill). The bearded war god Mars fully armed and in full armor is behind the wolf and behind her are the two human cubs and in front of her there is a herdsman (perhaps Faustulus; we should return later on the identity of this character) leaning on his long staff. In the background there is a tree and a bird on a tree’s twig. One should later come back to the full mythological significance of these images. This upper panel was badly damaged during the course of time and it was heavily reconstructed by the modern restorers. The south-western (i.e. to the southern corner of the western façade) upper panel of the western façade of the Ara Pacis, one of the best preserved friezes of this monument, represents the scene of a sacrifice: a mature, bearded man with veiled head (velato capite), is probably in the act of pouring a libation from a (now lost) vessel to an altar (the palm of his outstretched right hand is missing); two young boys (perhaps young teenagers consecrated to the gods, camilli pueri) are bringing an animal (a sow) for sacrifice. The Camillus (a young boy consecrated to the gods) in front of the bearded and head veiled man is bearing in his upheld and elbow bent left hand a ritual saucer (lanx) with fruits on it; in his right hand, that hangs along his body, he holds a kind of jar used for pouring drinks or libations. The other Camillus (or rather a priestly servant in charge with bringing the sacrificial animal 13  In the year 29 BC Augustus has refuted any triumphal honours bestowed upon him. From his refusal it was born the initiative of the Senate that gave birth to the Ara Pacis. Vide La Rocca, Ara . . ., 10, 24–5, 26–9, 30–7, and especially 38–9.

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to the altar, servant known as victimarius)14 that comes close behind is driving the sow to the altar. Behind the bearded man there is a partially recognizable young male figure with long hair that holds up straight with his right hand (the arm being also elbow bent) a kind of long spear or long staff (maybe a scepter?). In the uppermost corner of the panel, right behind and up from the heads of the camilli, there is the representation of a rectangular temple with a triangular upper front. 14  P. Rehak, Imperium and Cosmos Augustus and the Northern Campus Martius (Wisconsin: Uiversity of Wisconsin Press, 2006) 113–15 and respectively 116–17; for the identification of the herdsman in the scene representing Mars, the twins, and the lupa (the she-wolf), most scholars have opted for Faustulus. However, D. Castriota, The Ara Pacis Augustae and the Imagery of Abundance in Later Greek and Early Roman Imperial Art, (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1995) 154–5, because of the garment worn by the supposed shepherd and also because of the sheer length and type of his staff, believes that the so called Faustulus shepherd is in fact the maternal grandfather of the twins, King Numitor of Alba Longa (vide Castriota, The Ara Pacis Augustae . . ., 156–7 and 160–1). Nevertheless, during that mythical time when Romulus and Remus were nourished by the she-wolf under the guardianship and protection of their divine father (the war god Mars), King Numitor of the city of Alba Longa who was the father of the Vestal Rhea Silvia (the human mother of Romulus and Remus) was imprisoned by the orders of his own brother, the usurper Amulius. It is hard to conceive here that the artist who actually carved the scene or the designer of this scene (or even more so their supervisor) to have so blatantly violated the logic of the Roman founding myth as to represent Numitor in a scene where Faustulus was a far more appropriate character (Livy, Ab Urbe Cond.1.3.10–11: 1.4.1–9). The reconstructed tree and the bird sitting on a branch of this tree could either be a recall of Jupiter’s protection upon the future founders of Rome (Jove’s eagle being the bird) or rather a reference to Mars the divine father of the twins, the bird being actually a woodpecker, an animal consecrated to Mars, like the wolf herself; the tree could well be the Ruminalis fig tree/Ficus Ruminalis of the Lupercal cavern of the Palatine hill, vide O. Rossini, Ara Pacis (Roma, Milano, Verona: Mondadori Electa, 2006) 34–5. However, this reconstruction of the western façade (the panel with Mars) is contested by A. Dardenay, Les Mythes Fondateurs de Rome Image et Politique dans L’Occident Romain (Paris: Éditions Picard A. et J. Picard, 2010) 97–8 and 103–6 that sees in it the love scene of the encounter between the war god Mars and the Vestal virgin Rhea Silvia (Ilia, the mother of Romulus and Remus). Nevertheless, in that case what would have been the role of Faustulus as by stander? Dardenay, Les Mythes . . ., 97–8 wrote that this character, leaning on what resembles a long staff, is not in fact Faustulus, but the god Somnus. Dardenay, Les Mythes . . ., 103–6 based her demonstration on different examples chosen from the Roman art of the period (first century BC–first century after Christ/AD); if her demonstration is correct, then the entire reconstructed scene with the she wolf (the Lupa) and the Twins (Romulus and Remus) should be revised (because it would have been an anticipation of what was to come, a fact not so common in the ancient Greek and Roman art).

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The main entrance to the interior of the Ara Pacis Augustae was and still is on the centre of the western side of this most famous monument; another symmetrical open gate is also located in the middle of the original eastern side of the Ara Pacis. In this study, as it is generally agreed, we use the original geographical orientation of the facades of the Ara Pacis, as it was originally found in the area of the church and Piazza San Lorenzo in Lucina, buried underneath the foundations of the Palazzo Ottoboni-Peretti-Fiano-Almagià (this palace built during the Italian Renaissance is known from the family names of its successive owners from the early sixteenth to the early twentieth centuries). The eastern façade of the Ara Pacis has two most important upper friezes on the external face of this side of the monument. There is also another entrance into the inner altar on this eastern façade, but because of the higher ground near the prolongation of the Via Flaminia/the Flaminia Highway (the ancient Via Lata/the Roman Broadway, nowadays Via del Corso), this second entrance has no steps, as its western counterpart indeed has. On the south-eastern corner panel of this façade one can see in its full glory the upper outer frieze representing a seated woman, in all probability a goddess; she wears a long garment that goes up to her ankles, but leaves her upper chest naked, barely covering her breast. Her arms and her neck are almost uncovered, with the exception of parts of her long dress that goes around her arms. She wears earrings, her feet are bare, and her head with curly hair is covered by a long veil that falls over her neck, shoulders, and back. She keeps with her right hand a young child that almost embraces her right breast. In her lap she holds another baby that grabs her left arm. Behind her and in front of her are two seated young women, with naked breast, both having a mantle floating over their head; one of them is sitting on a swan, the other on a kind of dragon. Under these figures are a cow and a sheep, vegetation, and near in the background is represented an overthrown jar in the grass, under the swan. One can see waves under the dragon, probably symbolizing the powers of the sea. The entire picture seems to represent the ideas of abundance, richness, and fertility.15 On the north-eastern corner of the eastern façade, one encounters a heavily reconstructed upper frieze panel on the exterior. It represents a seated female deity, wearing a helmet, a sheathed sword at her belt, and a kind of tunic; she is seating on a pile of weapons. Behind her is a young male figure; only his head was relatively well preserved.16 15  Settis, “Die Ara Pacis . . ., 413 and 423. 16  There is a great problem in exactly identifying the characters on the western and respectively on the eastern facades of this monument. The mature bearded man with the head veiled, capite velato, who was probably holding a long spear (a hasta that is now almost

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The northern and respectively the southern facades are representing either a ceremonial procession or the assembly of the most important persons, religious figures, and prestigious families of Augustan Rome. They are a kind of political statement or rather they could be seen as such by the modern viewer. The dominant artistic idea here seems to be that of symmetry. Returning to the eastern façade of the Ara Pacis (the “Altar of Peace”), we encounter first the problem of identifying the goddess represented on the south-eastern upper frieze. She was successively identified with many a deity: Dea Tellus (Terra Mater, the goddess Mother Earth, or even Italia, the personified Italy as the land of choice of the Roman Empire), Pax Augusta (the Augustan Peace seen as a female deity), Venus Genitrix (the love goddess Venus that gives birth to all living creatures), and even with Ceres (the goddess Demeter to the ancient Greeks), the Italic goddess of crops, agriculture, and rustic wealth.17 On the north-eastern frieze panel of the same eastern entirely lost, one can see only its trace on the marble) in his left hand (his right hand, now missing from his wrist, was probably opened in the act of offering or was holding a libation jar), was identified mostly as Aeneas. This was from the time of J. Sieveking, “Zur Ara Pacis Augustae,” JÖAI 10 (1907) 175–6 and it was generally accepted as an identification by the scholars. Nevertheless, P. Rehak, “Aeneas or Numa? Rethinking the meaning of the Ara Pacis Augustae,” ABull 83.2 (2001) 190–1, because the mature man that is the main character of the sacrifice scene appears much more advanced in years than Aeneas at the time of his arrival on the coast of Latium, identifies him with King Numa Pompilius (contra La Rocca, Ara . . ., 40–3; Rossini, Ara . . ., 30–3). The attendant behind this man (of whom we have only a head and a trace of a kind of long staff, either sceptre or shepherd’s staff like that of his grandfather’s Anchises) was identified either as Aeneas’ son Iullus Ascanius or as Aeneas’ faithful travel companion Achates (La Rocca, Ara . . ., 40). Nevertheless, his attributed face seems more to be like that of the type represented by the presumed head of the deity Honos, therefore being more pertinent to the north-eastern corner frieze probably representing the Dea Roma vide G. Moretti, L’Ara Pacis Augustae (Roma: Libreria dello Stato, 1948) 157–9; in fact Moretti, L’Ara 153–5 attributes this head to the figure behind the Aeneas panel, identifying this elusive attendant of Aeneas either with Achates or with Eubuleus, but it is more likely that this head belonged originally to the Dea Roma panel (vide La Rocca, Ara . . ., 50–1). R. Paribeni, Ara Pacis Augustae (Roma, Bergamo: Istituto Nazionale L.U.C.E., 1932) table 13 identifies this head of a young male god/hero (demigod) possibly with Bonus Eventus.The same problem of multiple possible identities is with the goddesses that appear on the eastern façade and their attendants and we shall dwell upon this problem later on in this article. 17  G. Sauron, L’Histoire Végétalisé Ornement et politique à Rome (Paris: Édition A. et J. Picard, 2000) 34 for Tellus; P. Zanker, The Power of Images in the Age of Augustus (tr. by Alan Shapiro; Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press, 1988) 172–6 tends to believe that this goddess to have been Pax (the personified Peace), but he did not reject the possibility of her being Tellus (the goddess Earth), Italia, Venus, or even Ceres. La Rocca, Ara . . .,

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façade, the goddess sitting on a pile of weapons and wearing a helmet and a sword was most frequently identified as Dea Roma (the warlike goddess Rome); this frieze was badly damaged during the course of time and it was consequently heavily reconstructed or restored.

The Inner Altar and its Iconography

The person that enters into the Ara from the original western gate must ascend a marble stairway of nine or ten steps until he or she arrives on the inner platform; in order to climb to the inner altar for performing the sacrifice, the pagan Roman priest had to climb another eight or nine steps of marble. In all, the stairway has eighteen steps. The inner altar has as external decorations griffins on its own upper precinct walls and it probably had three levels of outer decorations and two inner friezes (these are still clearly recognizable, especially the inner one on the original northern wall of the inner altar). On the inner side of the facade walls, therefore in an opposite position to the external decorations of the inner altar, there is a different decorative pattern of boukravnia/­ bouvkrana/βουκράνα/βουκράνια (ox skulls), ritual saucers (paterae), and garlands. This is a clear hint to animal sacrifices; moreover, there is a series of narrow openings on the platform level of the external facades; in fact these are narrow channels that go through the external facades of the Ara, meant probably as a draining system of rain water (it is difficult to think of these channels as being intended for the flowing of the blood of sacrificial victims, because, 43–8 writes about the goddess Tellus (the Mother Earth), the Roman counterpart of the Greek Earth goddess Gaia/Gai’a or Gh’/Γα̂α or Γ̂η; vide Rossini, Ara . . ., 35–9 is undecided between Tellus, Ceres (the Roman counterpart of the Greek goddess Demeter), and Venus Genitrix sung by Lucretius in his poem De natura rerum (1.1–8): the Roman goddess of love and beauty (Venus ‘the giver of birth/Genitrix’ to the Romans, Aphrodite to the ancient Greeks) was seen in this poem by Lucretius as the mother of all living beings and even as the ultimate source of eternal youth and regeneration for the entire world or universe (the Cosmos/kovsmoı/kόσμoς or order of things for the Greek philosophers). Horace in his Carmen Saeculare 29–32 had praised both goddesses Ceres and Tellus. Although the Roman deities were apparently precise in their attributes and functions, under the Greek-Hellenistic influence and because of the own dynamic of the Roman religious cult, already during the age of Augustus it was unavoidable to not have been some syncretistic religious cults. The two young female figures flanking the goddess could be identified either with the Aurae or the Horai (La Rocca, Ara . . ., 46; because of their veils flowing over their heads as being blown by a gentle wind or breeze, these possible Horai are known also as the Aurae Velificantes in the history of Roman art).

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if there were animal sacrifices performed on this Ara, the blood of the animal victims would have flown on the steps of the inner altar and then, from the platform it would have dripped on the steps that lead from the western entrance to the ground level of the Tiber shore).18 The preserved decoration on the outer and upper northern part of the inner altar represents a sacrificial procession; there are represented here a young attendant (a boy consecrated to the gods i.e. a Camillus) that leads the sacrificial procession, followed by a male priestly figure dressed in a kind of toga (a vir togatus), and two fasces (axe in a bundle of twigs) bearers or lictores; the animals to be sacrificed are a sheep that marches in front and two cows, as victims of a preliminary sacrifice to Janus (a god closely associated with Pax) and to Pax herself. A few young men dressed in short kilts called limus are guarding, driving and attending the animals destined for sacrifice.19 On the inner face of the same part of the inner altar there is cut in stone a procession of female figures, possible of Vestal virgins; on the opposite southern part of the inner altar, there are also scarce preserved fragments of inner and outer reliefs. From these friezes very few parts of human bodies were preserved and we could assume, by judging on the friezes on the northern upper part of the inner altar that here were also hewn in stone religious rituals.20 However, there were also other two 18  This mental reconstruction of the functionality of the Ara is of course valid only if this monument is truly the Ara Pacis Augustae mentioned by the Res Gestae 12.2; contra Weinstock, “Pax . . ., 44–58; there are four draining channels on each northern and respectively southern external side of the Ara, and two draining channels (one on the basis of each half) on the eastern and respectively western outer side of the Ara. 19  E. Simon, Ara Pacis Augustae (Greenwich Connecticut: New York Graphic Society LTD; Tübingen: Verlag Ernst Wasmuth, 1967) 15; P. Holliday, “Time, History, and Ritual on the Ara Pacis Augustae,” ABull 72.4 (1990) 552–3 describes more accurately this sacrificial procession as that of the young Camillus holding an acerra (a casket for incense), the togate priest, the lictor (attendant and body guard) of the priest, the other sacrifice attendant called the calator; the sacrificial animals are the ram and the steer as preliminary victims destined to the gods Janus and Jove (Jupiter) and a heifer or goat as the sacrificial victim for the goddess Pax herself. Ten victimarii are following with the animals, among them two sacrifice executioners or popae (one with a culter or long sacrificial knife and one with a kind of hammer/malleus, mace, or axe that is another kind of weapon made for the animal sacrifice); there are other two attendants that carry different things, one a kind of sacrificial knife (culter) on a platter and another the ladle (simpulum) and pail (situla) for the entrails of the slaughtered animals (exta). Another Camillus closes this section of the procession. 20  Holliday, “Time . . ., 552–3: six Vestal Virgins represented on the inner face of the northern inner altar advance in a slow motion; they have different sizes (statures) but the same clothing. Each of them wears a suffibulum, a white head covering bound under

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lower levels of friezes on the external northern, eastern, and southern sides of the inner altar; nevertheless the decorations is not at all preserved and there are only unrecognizable traces of the original patterns that were once cut into stone. On the western side the inner altar is open, because it was there the place of entering for sacrifices, offerings, and possibly also other religious acts (such as libations, prayers etc.). The inner Ara was thus, from the sacrificant’s point of view, the most important component of what we name the Ara in this particular case. In fact the inner altar was the true sacrificial altar and therefore the religious nucleus of the whole construction. In the case of the outer precinct walls with friezes, it appears that the marble friezes were superimposed on square blocks of volcanic tufa and of travertine and above the basis of the whole structure lies the layer on which all these are built upon, layer that is pierced by the above mentioned outlets for draining the rain water (four on each of the northern and southern sides, two on the eastern and respectively on the western side).21 The corners of the precinct walls are adorned with four pilasters with Corinthian decoration and the inner decoration of the upper level of the precinct is made up of boukravnia/ βουκράνια, of a kind of ritual saucers (paterae), and of garlands made out of plants (fruits and leaves). The Corinthian type pilasters appear also as boundary markers of the frieze panels on the eastern and respectively on the western facades. On the contrary, the inner altar, being the nucleus of the whole open (roofless) structure, has no pilasters at all. Instead, his four upper corners are ornate with lion headed griffins that have a double tail (on the inner and on the outer side of the inner altar’s corners), a typical motif of the arts of the Near East and of the Middle East.22 The inner side of the external precinct walls is divided on three decorative levels (the upper one with boukravnia/ βουκράνια and garlands, the separation band of decoration with upright palmettes and lotus buds, and the lower level decorated with vertical ‘laths’ i.e. a masonry combination of grooves and ridges).23 The sacrificial altar is accessible through the chin and a mantle closely wrapped around their bodies. The first one carries a spherical incense jar, the second one a simpulum, and the third and fourth tablets with written ritual prescriptions. The last two Vestals appear to bear no object at all. The six Vestal priestesses are preceded by two togati characters, a young attendant and, in front of him, an assistant carrying the double rods. The entire procession is ended by another male attendant that carries also the same insignia (i.e. the double rods). 21  Simon, Ara . . ., 9. 22   Idem, 11. 23   Ibidem, 10; thus it is created for the viewer the impression of a (in reality fake) fence, although the “laths” i.e. ridges and grooves are only decorative in their role for the precinct wall vide Rehak, Imperium . . ., 103.

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a stair of eight steps, starting from the inner platform. The priests who did the sacrifice should have ascended the first nine steps starting from the western entrance and by stepping on the tenth they found themselves on the inner platform of the monument. From there they have more seven steps to climb, until they trod on the eight of the steps that is the altar table. The basis of the sacrificial table of this altar was constituted by the four great marble steps of the series of eight steps that leads to the sacrificial table proper. They were originally cut into the tufa foundations that still exist under the Palazzo PerettiFiano-Almagià. The fourth one constituted the platform of the altar pedestal or the prothysis, the place were stood those who offered sacrifice.24 The last four steps lead to the sacrificial table or small platform of the inner altar. The general ideas suggested by the external and internal friezes of the Ara Pacis Augustae could have been manifold: one should insist only here on the ideas of the cosmic time cycles and of the renewal of the Golden Age (Aurea Aetas) during Augustus’ reign, without the necessity of a cataclysmic or catastrophic change.25 24  Simon, Ara . . ., 10–11 and pls. 1–2. 25  Holliday, “Time . . ., 542–57; Rome during Augustus’ lifetime was already permeated by ideas of the cyclical time. These concepts originated both from the Roman (Etruscan and Italic Indo-European) religious beliefs as well as from Greek-Hellenistic (mainly Stoic Philosophy), Babylonian, and Iranian conceptions of cyclical time. It is not at all impossible that Indian ideas of cyclical time to have been known to the ancient Romans, of course most probable through Iranian (Parthian and Persian), Babylonian, and Hellenistic Near Eastern intermediaries. Anyway, the conception of cyclical time (anacyclosis) was not confined in Antiquity to India and the Middle East or to Greece; in the European Far West the Celtic Druids had also the idea of the cosmic cycles, at least judging from the Celtic myths and epics preserved in later Briton (Welsh/Cymru) and Gaelic (Old Irish and Middle Irish) written versions. The Germanic (Old Norse) mythology (known to us only in a late variant already influenced by Christianity at the beginning of the second millennium of the Christian era) also had a conception of cyclical time, clearly expressed by the Icelandic mythical poem (the Poetical Edda). However, all these religious ideas underlined the end of the world through Fire (the Ekpyrosis/Final Universal Conflagration mentioned by Heraclitus of Ephesus and later by the Stoic philosophers) or through a radical and drastic renewal (metacosmesis/diacosmesis) that implies destruction of the previous order or kovsmo”/κόσμος. The first great Roman and Latin epic poet, Ennius, was conscious in his Annales (figs. 96–100) of the symbolic significance of the eagles seen by Romulus: the twelve eagles seen by Romulus from the Palatine hill as flying ter quattuorque (in three groups of four birds each) were symbols of the one hundred and twelve years or (after the passing of that period) of the twelve centuries or saecula (a saeculum was approximately one hundred or one hundred and ten years) given to Rome for existence. Later the Neo-Pythagorean philosophers and the Stoics brought to Rome the ideas

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The southern, uppermost, and external side of the inner altar as well as the northern one has two winged lion headed griffins each (oriented towards the west and respectively towards the east) as the four symbolic guardians of the altar;26 the decoration that continues from the griffins’ tails is formed of of the Magnus Annus or the Great Cosmic Year (a Cosmic Cycle). Gradually, the idea of cosmic year permeated the Roman religious mentality of at least a part of the educated aristocratic elite. After the end of the civil wars, Augustus was seen as the Dux Pacificus, the leader bringer of peace. His political gestures were made to echo the mythical prototypical gestures of Pater Aeneas (‘Father Aeneas’) and of Romulus. Seen in that perspective, the Ara or Altar we are speaking of could be seen as conflating the historical and the mythical time in the frieze processions of the outer facades and in the frieze processions of the inner altar vide Holliday, “Time . . ., 542–3 and passim. The idea of Roma Aeterna appeared probably also during Augustus’ time, possibly under the influence of Cicero’s thinking on the cycles of Roman history vide Ibidem, 543–4 and 556–7 (an eloquent testimony is the Augustan age poetry of Horace, Ovid, Virgil, and Tibullus). The doctrine of the eternal return or of the cyclical time was familiar to the Greek world: see the idea of the recurrence of political constitutions and of political and military events, the cycle of empires and so on and so forth, in the works of Heraclitus of Ephesus, of Plato, Aristotle, Polybius, in the works of the philosophers of the Stoa (the philosophers of the ‘Portique’ i.e.the Stoics), of Sallustius (Catilina 2.1–6), and of Cicero (De Re Publica 1.29.45) vide E. Barker, From Alexander to Constantine Passages and Documents Illustrating the History of Social and Political Ideas (Oxford: Oxford at the Clarendon Press, 1956) 113, n.1. 26  For the symbolic meaning of the griffins vide Rehak, Imperium . . ., 102–3; the apotropaic guardian griffins in Greek mythology were located in the Far North and Far East of the Ancient World known to Herodotus (Hist.3.116), as the northern guards of the gold fought for by the Arimasps (Arimaspi, a mythical people located possibly somewhere in the Ural, Central Asia/Altai mountains, or Siberia). However, it can be a matter of discussion whether or not the symbol of the four (winged and lion-headed) griffins was also a sign or an allusion to heroism, preciousness, and the return of the Golden Age (Aurea Aetas), as Rehak, Imperium . . ., 103 suggests. Nevertheless, after the Secular Games (Ludi Saeculares) of the year 17 BC the theme of the Aurea Aetas was very much in vogue in Augustan Rome and the building of the Ara Pacis belongs specifically to this period. The griffins or sphinxes appear also on the shoulders of Augustus’ breastplate of the statue from Prima Porta, serving there probably as symbols of the guardians of this world vide Zanker, Augustus . . ., 192. There would be needed a whole other discussion on the cosmic symbolism of the statue of Augustus from Prima Porta, on the themes of dominion over Space and Time that appear there, on the three cosmic levels represented on the statue’s breastplate (the upper level of heavenly and astral deities, the middle level of the realm of men, the lower level of the chthonian deities), vide Zanker, Augustus . . ., 189–192. However, it is only enough to be remembered here a series of diplomatic and military victories that created the Augustan idea of the Parta Victoriis Pax, the peace born out of military victories: the battle of Actium (2 September 31 BC) and the Roman conquest of Egypt (30 BC), the Roman conquest of the North-Western Spanish (Celtiberian)

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S shaped acanthus volutes; while the northern side of the inner altar has both a considerable part of the external and of the internal decoration preserved (speaking about the upper level, located just under the griffins), the decoration of the southern side of the inner altar is preserved in a very poor shape, very fragmentarily indeed. Therefore the procession that once stood on the upper outer level of the southern side is reduced to only a few broken fragments of human bodies carved in marble. There are also twelve fragments of decorative frieze that represent draped women; these were ascribed to the podium of the inner altar, although they were not included in the present reconstruction of the Ara. It appeared to have been a complex scene, with at least two women dressed as amazons (in tunics that leave one of their breasts naked) and bearing weapons. The functionality of this scene as well as its precise structure remains unclear. There are also five other fragments of larger size, pertaining probably to the lost side friezes of the inner altar.27 The form of the inner altar is that of a rectangular platform with a pulvinar (a projecting terminal) at each end. The eight or nine steep steps give access on the western side to the sacrificial platform. On the eastern side of the inner altar there are only three or four steps within the enclosure that give access to peoples of the Astures et Cantabri (around 25–13 BC), the conquests of the Alpine Celtic and Rhetic peoples by the Roman armies in the years 16–15 BC, the restitution to the Romans of the Roman military standards captured at Carrhae by the Parthians after tough diplomatic negotiations in 20 BC (a theme exploited heavily by Augustus in the Forum Augustum and the temple of Mars Ultor), the starting of the Roman military conquest of Germany in the years 12–9 BC, and finally the continuation in the same period of the Roman military expansion into the Illyricum (Dalmatia and Pannonia). Around the year 13 BC the might of Rome appeared stronger as ever, eternal, and unstoppable. This ‘aggressive peace making’ so to speak (or peace in the inside and wars of conquest on the open outer edges of the Roman Empire) is the other side of the coin representing the Augustan period when the Ara Pacis was built. 27  Rehak, Imperium . . ., 101 with all the references; nevertheless, Rehak’s idea of the women being the personification of the pacified provinces of the Roman Empire it remains still a work hypothesis and not a full theory. Otherwise how can one explain the fragments of Amazon frieze sculptures with weapons and therefore not fully vanquished (if they would have been disarmed, although dressed in Amazon tunics it would have made sense; although possibly being still armed they represented regions not fully pacified and only partially conquered by the Roman sword). One should also remember that the very location of the Ara Pacis was in itself important and symbolic: located within a Roman mile north of the pomoerium, the sacred boundary that separated in Roman Antiquity the civilian political power of the Roman magistrates (imperium domi) from the military power of the war time commanders (imperium militiae/militare) vide Rehak, Imperium . . ., 98.

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other pulvinar. That is because of the higher ground on the eastern entrance to the Ara, towards the Via Flaminia/Via Lata, compared to the western side oriented towards the Tiber. There have been searched many parallels to this inner altar, mainly from the Hellenistic Age altars of Greece and Sicily: the highly ornamented altars (Prünkaltäre or “luxury altars”) such as the “Nymph Altar” at Knidos, the altar of Dionysus at Kos, the altar of Poseidon and Amphitrite at Tinos, the “Altar Court” at Samothrace (formed of an enclosure wall and an inner altar), as well as the most famous of them all, the Pergamon Altar. The chronological range that included all these monuments is from the last quarter of the fourth century BC (i.e. during the reign of the Macedonian King Philip III Arrhidaeus, Alexander’s first successor) for the “Altar Court” at Samothrace to the mid-second century BC for the Pergamon Altar. The majority of the above quoted Hellenistic altars are from the late third century BC. It is interestingly enough for the altars evolution that the Altar Court at Samothrace is without any frieze at all while the Pergamon Altar, a century and a half later, is so richly ornate. In fact the relief decoration of the Pergamon Altar is both inside and outside the enclosure wall and has also an inner altar. The artistic style of the Pergamon Altar, being so “baroque” ante litteram, makes it an uncanny prototype for the Augustan Ara. Classical quoted examples like the Altar of the Twelve Gods in Athens (in the Athenian public square or Agora), because of its structural features (a low enclosure wall with only one entrance) could be dismissed as earlier models of the Ara. There remained only the Augustan parallels, such as the Augustan Age altar at Miletus (an inner altar and an enclosure wall with only one entrance, decorated with figural panel reliefs and garland frieze), the late Republican Roman temple at Bantia in Southern Italy, and the temple of Janus in the Forum Romanum (the Roman Forum), attributed as foundation to the second legendary king of Rome, Numa Pompilius. This temple was the Index Pacis Bellique (“the Pointer to War and Peace”) and marked the symbolic passage from one status to another (when the temple doors were closed, it was peace; when they were open, there was war); immediately after the conquest of Egypt (30 BC), in 29 BC the temple of Janus was closed by the order of the Senate, for the first time during Octavian’s lifetime. The two other of the three closures of the Janus temple during Augustus’ reign (Res Gestae 13; Cassius Dio Rom.Hist. 51.20.4) had occurred probably in 25 BC and in 13 BC (the year of the Constitutio of the Ara Pacis Augustae); then in 10 BC followed renewed hostilities in Illyria and Dalmatia, while between 12–9 BC unfolded the first Roman military campaigns deep into the lands of the “Great Germany/Free Germany” (Germania Magna/Germania Libera).28 28   Ibidem, 99–100; here Rehak thinks that the so called Altar of Piety (Bwmo;” th’ ” Deisidaimoniva”/ βωμο‵ς τηˆς δεισιδαιμονίας) in Athens was in fact the Altar of the Twelve

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In conclusion, the inner altar (which is the Ara proper, the altar stricto sensu) is ornate with four (winged) lion-griffins that function as apotropaic guardians. They continue a Greek artistic tradition, but also a much more ancient Eastern artistic legacy that dates back to the third millennium BC and had entered Etruscan art in the so called ‘Orientalizing’ period of the ancient Greek art (the 7th–6th centuries BC). The small frieze near the top of the inner altar occupies a height of about 32 cm and unfolds over about at least five of the eight available surfaces. On the outer east side of the inner altar one encounters only two preserved figures, a shorter and younger togatus character (a man dressed in the Roman garment called toga) to the far left and a taller one to the far right. On the southern and respectively on the northern outer sides we have two parallel processions, the direction of movement being apparently from the east end to the west end of the altar, from the left to the right of the observer on the northern side and from the right to the left of the viewer on the southern side. One can distinguish four victimarii or sacrifice attendants that carry implements and accompany animals destined to be sacrificed; they wear a kind of short tunic (limus) that was worn unfastened by fibulae (fibulas, a kind of ancient safety pins/bucklers to keep the clothes in place on oneself) on the shoulders and that was rolled around the waist belt, thus freeing both arms for holding and bearing different things. On the inner east side of the interior altar we can see fifteen men and three sacrificial animals, two oxen (bulls or cows) and a sheep. Ovid in his Fasti (1.720) mentions that a white animal was sacrificed at the Ara Pacis each year, specifying neither the kind nor the gender of the animal to be sacrificed.29 The frieze of the inner altar continues on the projecting arms of the inner altar’s walls: the south side of the northern arm of the inner altar (or rather the inner side of the altar’s north arm) includes cut into stone a procession of figures moving from left to right: there are thus depicted five female characters (Vestal virgins by dress) of different heights (and thus apparently of different ages), flanked by a pair of male figures. The inner (north) side of the south arm of the inner altar has preserved only two men moving from right to left: one of them is a togatus capite velato (dressed in the toga drawn around his head, with the head veiled) and the other is a flamen that is a pagan Roman priest that wears his distinctive pointed cap or hat (galerus). Probably the gods (Bwmo;” tw’n Dwvdeka Qew’n/βωμο‵ς τωˆν δώδεκα θεωˆν); vide La Rocca, Ara . . ., 11–14 and 16 about the link between the garlands and the boukravnia/βουκράνια with the imperial cult in the Augustan age. However, Augustus was still alive during the first years of Ara’s existence and he would have become a god or rather a divine entity (divus) only after his death, at least in the Latin West of the Roman Empire. 29  Rehak, Imperium . . ., 101–2 (with all bibliographical references).

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two p ­ rocessions of the interior sides of the original northern and respectively southern arms of the inner altar were meeting each other on the original eastern interior side (i.e. the west oriented inner side of the inner altar or the face of the eastern side that is oriented towards the west of the inner altar, being an internal side), possibly at the centre of this eastern inner face. Nevertheless, from this part of the inner altar no other fragments have survived, in order for us to be able to draw some firm conclusions. Less than a half of the inner altar’s frieze has survived the ravages of time; as a matter of fact it has survived only a number of thirty-two human figures, from which twenty-seven are males and five are females. This makes roughly the same ratio men/women on the outer friezes of the precinct walls and on the inner altar’s friezes.30 The western side is the entrance gate for both the precinct outer wall of the Ara Pacis Augustae and for the inner altar. I consider that the choosing for entrance of the western side of the Ara Pacis Augustae by the unknown master architect who had planned the construction of this monument was not a random choice; the lay out of the Augustan monuments on the field of Mars in Rome could be the key to the deciphering of the hidden reasons behind the original orientation of the Ara Pacis Augustae and also of the symbolic significance at least of the upper outer friezes of the precinct walls of the Ara Pacis. This is a too long story to be extensively treated here. There is a deep, although quite obvious symbolism of an Altar of the Augustan Peace located in the Campus Martius, the field consecrated to the warlike Italic god Mars from the oldest times of the origins of Rome. Suffice to say that one should see the Ara Pacis not only as a monument whose iconography reflects the political mythology (or the mythologized ideology, if you want) of the Augustan regime; it is also a monument that is a product of the mathematical and astronomical science of the Hellenistic-Roman world, as well as of the technical and artistic expertise of its makers. Last, but not least, it is a smaller reflection or a fragment of a larger world vision.31 30   Ibidem, 102. 31  The list of contributions on this topic is very long; however, I shall quote here the following authors: E. Almeida Rodriguez, “Il Campo Marzio Settentrionale. Solarium e Pomoerium,” Atti della Pontificia Accademia Romana di Archeologia. Rendiconti 511 (978–1980) 195–212; E. Buchner, “L’orologio solare di Augusto,” Atti della Pontificia Accademia di Archeologia Rendiconti 53 (1980–1982) 331–45; E. Buchner, Die Sonnenuhr des Augustus: Nachdruck aus RM 1976 und 1980 und Nachtrag über die Ausgrabung 1980/1981 (Mainz am Rhein: P. von Zabern, 1982); E. Buchner, “Horologium Augusti: Neue Ausgrabungen in Rom,” Gymnasium 90 (1983) 494–508; E. Buchner, “Sonnenuhr des Augustus und römischer Fuss” in Bauplanung und Bautheorie der Antike (mit Beiträge von W. Hoepfner et alii aus dem Kolloquium des Architekturreferates des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts,

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The Possible Form and Function of the Altar

It has long been a matter of discussions whether or not on the Ara that we are currently analyzing in this article were performed animal sacrifices. The Res Gestae 12 mentioned expressly a yearly sacrifice/anniversarium sacrificium that was to be performed on the Ara Pacis Augustae. Nevertheless, it is difficult to imagine the slaughtering of an ox or even of a goat, heifer, or sheep on the small inner altar table. In order to sacrifice there a bull, a cow, a pig, or whatever kind of animal, first the sacrificial victim had to be brought upstairs to the sacrificial table; therefore the animal must have been driven to one of the entrances (presumably to the western entrance facing the Tiber shore, although the eastern one was even more accessible from the Via Lata and has fewer steps to climb to the upper platform; in fact there are only three steps to climb when someone had entered through the eastern open gate, but the inner altar is walled and closed on its eastern side) and then it had to be dragged upstairs and slaughtered on a truly small upper platform. There is also the Berlin (4) 1983 (Berlin: DAI Vertrieb, Wasmuth, 1985) 215–8; E. Buchner, “Horologium Solarium Augusti” in Kaiser Augustus und die Verlorene Republik (Mainz am Rhein: Verlag Philip Von Zabern, 1988) 240–4; E. Buchner, Neues zur Sonnenuhr des Augustus (Nürnberg: Bildungszentrum der Stadt Nürnberg, 1993–1994) 77–84; E. Buchner, “Ein Kanal für Obelisken. Neues vom Mausoleum des Augustus im Rom,” AW 273(1996) 161–68; vide et K. Buchner, ‘Imperium nullum nisi unum’ in L’Idéologie de l’Impérialisme Romain. Colloque de Dijon le 18 et 29 Octobre 1972, 134–45; contra M. Schütz, “Zur Sonnenuhr des Augustus auf dem Marsfeld Eine Auseinandersetzung mit E. Buchners Rekonstruktion und seiner Deutung der Ausgrabungsergebnisse, aus der Sicht eines Physikers,” Gymnasium 97 (1990) 432–57; M. Schütz, “Der Capricorn als Sternzeichen des Augustus,” A&A 37 (1991) 55–67; M. Schütz, “The Horologium on the Campus Martius reconsidered,” JRA 24.1(2011) 78–86; for the mathematics of the age vide G.V. Bummelen, The Mathematics of Heaven and Earth. The Early History of Trigonometry (Princeton and Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2009). There are interesting debates for and against E. Buchner’s thesis in P.J. Heslin, “Augustus, Domitian, and the so-called Horologium Augusti,” JRS 97 (2007) 1–20 and P.J. Heslin, “The Augustus Code: a response to L. Haselberger,” JRA 24.1 (2011) 74–7, which is generally against E. Buchner’s thesis, while L. Haselberger, “A Debate on the Horologium of Augustus: Controversy and Clarifications,” JRA 24.1 (2011) 47–73 and R. Hannah, “The Horologium of Augustus as a sundial,” JRA 24.1 (2011) 87–95 are for Buchner’s thesis. A more balanced opinion is represented by G. Alföldy, “The Horologium of Augustus and its model at Alexandria,” JRA 24.1 (2011) 96–8. As for my humble opinion and ideas in this debate, vide D.-T. Ionescu, “Alexander’s Monarchy and the Principate of Augustus. Meditating on Relevant Aspects of an Ideological Interface,” EphDR 13 (2011) 7–75 (esp.60–4) and D.-T. Ionescu, “The Ara Pacis Augustae. Symbolic Iconography and Mythology of the Friezes,” EphDR 15 (2013) 99–174.

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alternative view that the sacrificial victim was actually brought to the eastern entrance of the Ara and slaughtered there and then, without entering beyond the precinct walls; in fact, in this alternative view the sacrifice happened before the precinct of the Ara and not inside of it. As a conclusion to this theory, the officiating priests would have entered through the western gate into the Ara, offering bloodless sacrifices of fruits, cakes, and/or wine on the Ara’s upper platform, while the bloody sacrifice of animals would have taken place outside the eastern gate to the Ara.32 There was also a lot of discussion whether or not the outer southern and respectively northern frieze (hewn on the precinct walls) and also the sacrifice row of characters hewn into stone on the wings of the inner altar represented either the procession that went with the occasion of the constitutio (the building or establishment of the Ara Pacis on the Fourth of July 13 BC; it is highly probable that the beginning of these works were accompanied by the religious Roman ritual of inauguratio)33 or it represented the solemn consecration (dedicatio or consecratio) of the altar on Thirtieth of January 9 BC.34 32  J.M.C. Toynbee The Ara Pacis Reconsidered and Historical Art in Roman Italy (London: Italian Lecture British Academy From the Proceedings of the British Academy 39: Geoffrey Cumberledge Amen House, 1953) 73–4; contra Rehak, Imperium . . ., 103 who considers that idea broadly implausible, although even he is forced by the “reality of such cramped quarters” to acknowledge the even narrow plausibility of Toynbee’s theory; in truth Rehak considers that in the most general sense, the Ara Pacis served as a memorial and symbol of the Augustan Peace (Pax Augusta). Inside the Ara there is too little space for allowing such ample processions as those rendered in stone on the southern and respectively on the northern outer friezes of the precinct of the Ara. There is also a too small sacrificial table, located between both sides: the closed eastern side and the open western side of the inner altar. Ovid (Fasti 1.719) mentions a small fire for burning incense, which is possible to have taken place on the upper inner platforms of the interior altar, but a large fire would have irretrievably damaged the marble, a fact that is not proven by reality. 33   Vide Holliday, “Time . . .,” 547; in fact, turning again to the Res Gestae 12, one can find (applied to the year 13 BC) the expression: “. . . aram Pacis Augustae . . . consacrandam censuit,” therefore Augustus himself uses the verb consacrari (to be consecrated to) instead of constituere (to constitute with the sense of to build, to construct, to initiate the process of constructing something) that has a whole different meaning, a thing already realized by G. Wissova in 1904 vide G.M. Koeppel, “Die historischen reliefs der römischen Kaiserzeit. V. Ara Pacis Augustae” Teil 2, BJ 188 (1988) 97, n.1–4; vide et G.M. Koeppel, “Die historischen reliefs der römischen Kaiserzeit. V. Ara Pacis Augustae” Teil 1, BJ.187(1987) 102, n.4. 34  Toynbee, The Ara . . ., 74 numbers six Vestal virgins and their attendants (apparitores) with rods on the inner side of the left wing of the interior altar walking ahead of the sacrificial victims and then followed the animals intended for sacrifice: a heifer, a steer, and a sheep (or ram); according to the theory of Ryberg, Toynbee continues, the heifer was

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the animal regularly offered to the goddess Pax, while the steer was destined to Jupiter and the sheep to Janus. These three deities (Jupiter, Janus, and Pax) were closely associated to each other. These three sacrificial animal victims (the heifer, the steer, and the sheep/ram) are depicted on the outer side of the left wing of the inner altar, along with more apparitores and a priest. Moretti, L’Ara . . ., 282 considers that this was not the ceremony of the Constitutio Arae (Fourth of July 13 BC), but the Dedicatio Arae (Thirtieth of January 9 BC); in fact he sees the whole of the processions represented on this Ara as the synthesis of all the important moments of the Ara and of all the rites, rituals, and processions that accompanied the most important moments of its history: the Constitutio Arae (Fourth of July 13 BC) and the Dedicatio Arae (Thirtieth of January 9 BC). R. Billows, “The Religious Procession of the Ara Pacis Augustae: Augustus’ Supplicatio in 13 BC,” JRA 6(1993) 80–92 sees the two phases of Constitutio Arae and Dedicatio (Consecratio) Arae as being one (Constitutio or Dedicatio he uses interchangeably for the event on the Fourth of July 13 BC), while (probably for the event that took place on the Thirtieth of January 9 BC) he uses the term Inauguratio (Arae). Although this thesis (in my humble opinion) is untenable, because the inauguratio (the religious rituals that involved the Roman priests called the augures that took the auspicia, reading the signs of the future by watching the flight of birds; they also took over the ritually consecrated space from the possession of its original deity, be it numen or genius loci, be it a god or a goddess that presided over that particular space; “Si deus, Si dea . . .” was the Latin formula repeated by Roman and modern authors alike in and respectively for this ritual from of consecration of a ritual space that accompanied the inauguratio) took place before the construction (constitutio) of a monument and the dedicatio (or consecratio, the religious rite or ritual by which a building was definitely consecrated to a specific deity, god or goddess) happened (most probably and logically) after its completion (I am most grateful to Professor J. Pollini for all these details concerning the Roman polytheistic rituals, thanks to a discussion we had in Rome in July 2014). He (Billows) nevertheless analyses all the successive theories about the precise functionality of the friezes of the Ara Pacis: 1. The theories depicting the sacrifice accompanying the dedicatio or constitutio of the Ara, vide Simon, Ara . . ., 16–17; J. Pollini, Studies in Augustan ‘Historical’ Reliefs (Berkeley: University of California Press, PhD thesis 1978) 75–112; La Rocca, Ara . . ., 38. 2. The inauguration (inauguratio) performed by Augustus of the terrestrial templum, as destined to become the space occupied by the Ara Pacis Augustae vide Pollini 1978, 16–17; M. Torelli Typology and Structure of Roman Historical Reliefs (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, Jerome Lectures fourteenth ser. 1982, 1992); La Rocca, Ara . . ., 3. The idea that the friezes are depicting “a kind of hidden triumph”/“eine Art verdeckten Triumphes” (Settis, “Die Ara Pacis . . ., 420) is also rejected by Billows on iconographical evidence, as he rejects also the previous two theories. 4. The theory of Bowersock, exposed in K.A. Raaflaub, M. Toher (eds.), Between Republic and Empire. Interpretations of Augustus and His Principate (with contributions by G.W. Bowersock et alii, Berkeley, Los Angeles, Oxford: University of California Press: 1990, 392–393) was that the procession on the southern and northern friezes represented an honour bestowed upon Augustus by his family, friends, and also by the heathen priestly order (ordo sacerdotum) of ancient Rome when he became Supreme Pontif or Pontifex Maximus in the year 12 BC instead of his former old enemy and fellow triumvir

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The Ara Pacis and the Meridianum/Horologium Solarium Augusti

When anyone speaks about the systems of measuring time in Antiquity, it is nevertheless compulsory to discuss the different calendars used in Antiquity. We have dealt with this issue before in the course of this study; however we must also draw some applied conclusions to the issue at hand (namely the correlation between the Ara Pacis Augustae and the Montecitorio obelisk/ gnomon-meridian system). The ancient Romans had used three calendars; the first one allegedly established by Romulus, a lunar calendar with only ten months (the names of the months September, October, November, and respectively December in our own language, although they refer to the ninth, tenth, eleventh, and respectively twelfth month of the solar year, mean actually the seventh, eighth, ninth, and tenth month of the old moon calendar), then one of twelve months supposedly invented by the second mythical King of Rome, the wise Numa Pompilius. Julius Caesar bade a mathematician and astronomer from Alexandria in Egypt, Sosigenes (a Greek by name), and asked him to come up with a more precise calendar and the result was the so called Julian calendar. This calendar was finally adopted under the Principate of the still young then Octavian Caesar (the future Augustus) in the year 30 BC, with the slight modification of adding an intercalary day every four years, as it had been stated in Ptolemaic Egypt more than two centuries before in the “Canopus Decree”, in order to correct the slightly imperfect calculation of the solar year. To honor him and his illustrious uncle, the deified Julius Caesar (Divus Iulius), the Romans changed the old Latin names of the months July and August (namely Quinctilis and Sextilis, respectively the fifth and the sixth month of their oldest calendar made according with the phases of the moon) into the names we still use today, starting from the Latin words Iulius (the month of July: mensis Iulius or mensis Iulii) and Augustus (month of August: mensis Augustus or mensis Augusti). Opposed to the ancient Greeks and to the modern Europeans (and Europe shaped modern cultures on every continent), the M. Aemilius Lepidus, exiled at Circei (Billows considers that nothing can support this theory). 5. The showing of a supplicatio (public prayer to the gods) in honour of Augustus, followed by an animal sacrifice vide Billows, “The Religious . . .,” 80–9. It is clear that the real significance of the outer and inner friezes of this Ara would shed light on the true function of the Ara itself. Billows conclusion nevertheless is that this is probably the true theory on the function of what we use to call the Ara Pacis Augustae. Before Billows, Holliday, “Time . . ., 542–57 proposed that the friezes of the Ara represent a generalized or rather a generic supplicatio, a thing that, if proved true, would resolve any issue in this respect vide Rehak, Imperium . . ., 133.

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ancient Romans placed the pivots or cardines of the sun year, the equinoxes and the solstices, not at the beginning of each season of the astronomical year, but at the middle of the conventional season (Plin. NH 18.222). A reminiscence of this practice can be seen in the modern distinction established between the beginning of the calendar spring, summer, autumn, and winter (respectively the first of March, June, September, and December) and the astronomical respective seasons of the year (twenty first of March/the Spring Equinox and the beginning of the astronomical spring, twenty first of June or the Summer Solstice and the start of the astronomical summer, twenty first of September as the Fall Equinox and the beginning of the astronomical autumn, and eventually twenty first of December as the winter solstice and the start of astronomical winter). On the Flavian meridian associated with our obelisk-gnomon, the central point between the Spring Equinox (the beginning of the Ram or Aries/KRIOS/ΚΡΙΟΣ) and the Summer Solstice (the first degree in the sign of the Crab or Cancer/KAGKROS/ΚΑΓΚΡΟΣ) falls in the fifteenth degree of the Bull or Taurus/TAUROS/ΤΑΥΡΟΣ, right where it appears QEROUS ARCH/ ΘΕΡΟΥΣ ΑΡΧΗ, the Beginning of Summer, on the same meridian. Therefore, although on this Roman age meridian the mathematical and astronomicalastrological concepts are written in Greek, the whole conception of the calendar that revolves around the cardines placed in the middle of the yearly seasons is nevertheless Roman.35 The sole or basis (pedestal) of the obelisk, according to the report written by J. Stuart in 1750, as it was found in 1748 during the excavation, ran not with the sides parallel to the meridian and the front perpendicular to it, but turned by fifteen degrees towards the west. Thus the meridian line ran on a South-North direction, while the pedestal of the obelisk had its north-eastern side facing the Ara Pacis, precisely because of this 15° rotation with respect to the meridian axis. In the fifteenth century, this pedestal of the obelisk had been already discovered by the humanist Pomponius Laetus, who wrote that it was surrounded by a seven steps rectangular stone structure (septem gradus circum) having inscribed on its four angles or corners the Greek names of the winds, such as (in the North-East) the Greek name of the Northern Wind, BOREAS/ ΒΟΡΕΑΣ. This was done according to Vitruvius’s principles exposed in the De arch.1.6.6–7 and 1.6.8; already Timosthenes had ideated the 12 (twelve) divisions of the “rose/dial of the winds”. Pliny the Elder’s remark that “Augustus addidit mirabilem suum” (NH 36.72: “Augustus has added his own miracle/ 35  Schütz, “The Horologium . . ., 81–2 (esp.82, n.17) contra Haselberger, “A Debate . . ., 55, n. 9, based on E. Buchner, Die Sonnenuhr des Augustus (Mainz: Verlag Philip von Zabern, 1982a) 63–6 and 79.

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miraculous instrument”) suggests that the system of measuring time (whether horologium solarium or meridianum), seen as a technological and scientific wonder of the age, was in fact added after the erection of the obelisk in that location and possible that it was not part of the original plan.36 The problem of the equinoctial line: was it truly extended until it reached the Ara Pacis? If this was so, then we would probably have a true solar clock (horologium solarium), defined by two intersecting and perpendicular on each other axis of symmetry (the North-South Meridianum/Meridian and the EastWest equinoctial or equatorial line). This is nevertheless only a possibility, not confirmed by any hard fact or archaeological discovery. We are not even sure that the ensemble Ara Pacis-Gnomon (the obelisk as a shadow maker)-­ Meridian/Horologium was even conceived from the start as an integrated whole with a precise aim. The meridian could well have been part of an ulterior adding to the obelisk and not thought of ab initio as the dial for the gnomon (that means here the obelisk). It would have been a necessity only for a Horologium Solarium, the very existence of it being not at all sure.37 Moreover, due to the imprecision of celebrating Augustus’ precise birthday according to the two Roman calendars already in use under his reign (the old Roman one and the newly reformed Julian calendar, even further improved under Augustus by the application of the Egyptian reform mentioned by the “Canopus Decree”), the symbolic significance of the Ara Pacis as a commemorative monument of Augustus’ birthday becomes a little blurred.38 However, it remains the 36  Schütz, “The Horologium . . .,” 83: the Latin verb addere indeed suggests that something not yet existent is created and added to something that is already in existence. 37  For this theory of the necessity of a Horologium Solarium vide Haselberger, “A Debate . . ., 68–9; contra Schütz, “The Horologium . . ., 83. Nevertheless, even Haselberger points out that, except the obelisk itself, the physical appearance of Augustus’ Horologium Solarium was unclear; however it considers the precise alignment of the equinoctial line on the Ara Pacis’s axis of symmetry that leads to the western entrance to the monument. This argument is thoroughly and I think soundly combated and refuted by Schütz, “The Horologium . . ., 84–5. The obelisk could have been erected initially without any meridian; a Meridianum or a Horologium Solarium would have been inconceivable without a gnomon-obelisk. 38  Schütz, “The Horologium . . ., 84; moreover, in the Augustan astronomical treatise of Manilius (Astronomica) the term aequinoctium does not appear directly, but it is indirectly marked as the moment when either the day conquers the night or vice versa and the Fall Equinox is for him an intersection between the ecliptic and the celestial equator (Spring or Fall Equinox vide Manil. Astronom.2.242; 3.254 etc. apud Schütz, “The Horologium . . ., 84, n.27); likewise for Ovid in the Fasti (3.878) the equinox is only the moment when the day and the night have both equal length; therefore there are no deeper symbolic and mythological meanings associated with the equinox (Schütz, “The Horologium . . ., 84).

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­ ndeniable fact that the obelisk was erected sometime between the years 10 u and 9 BC, just before the Dedicatio or Consecratio Arae Pacis Augustae on the thirtieth of January 9 BC, Livia’s birthday.39 However, it appears much more plausible that the equinoctial lines of the Augustan and Flavian meridians to have fallen both slantwise, in an oblique direction in respect with the axis of symmetry of the western entrance to the Ara Pacis; these equinoctial lines (the Augustan and the Flavian one) would have formed an angle with the line of steps leading to the western entrance, just under the north-western half of the western façade of the Ara.40 It appears to me more plausible that Michael Schütz’s theory of associating the sculptural, iconographical, and architectural program of the Ara with the feast of the Parilia (Twenty First of April that was also the Founding Day of Rome in the year 754/753 BC) to be correct, although his support of Weinstock’s denying of the identity of the Ara was, in my opinion, soundly refuted by Toynbee with logical and iconographical arguments; it is most interesting his (Schütz’s) idea that on the Parilia the sunrise could have been seen by looking from the eastern portal of the Ara.41 There was also a counterattack against the theory of Michael Schütz: Robert Hannah defended the thesis of Buchner, basing his argumentation also on Pliny the Elder’s Naturalis Historia (36.72) and the use by the ancients of a “daylight triangle” noted as ABC; A represents the noon on the winter solstice while G on the diagram is the gnomon of the sundial.42 Pliny the Elder (NH 6.212) mentions the “aequinoctio die medio” (“the moment of midday or noon in the day of the equinox”) that is extremely important in the discussion of the existence of a possible Horologium Solarium and its relationship with the Ara.43 Moreover, Hannah considers that the affirmations of Pliny the Elder (NH 36.72) are not appropriate in describing a solar meridian, but they are more adequate to describe a solar clock (Horologium Solarium).44 However, 39  Haselberger, “A Debate . . ., 69, n.46. 40  Schütz, “The Horologium . . ., 85, fig. 2. 41   Ibidem, 85–6, n.29–30; vide Ovid.Fast.4.721–862 for the description of the Parilia; for the opposing theories on the true identity of the Ara vide Weinstock, “Pax . . ., 44–58 contra J.M.C. Toynbee, “The Ara Pacis Augustae,” JRS 51 (1961) 153–156. Simon, Ara . . ., 9 thinks that the existence of the two portals was not satisfactorily explained. Schütz, “The Horologium . . ., 86 admits that in this issue of the gnomon-obelisk, the meridian/sundial, and respectively the Ara ‘the current state of affairs is admittedly dissatisfying’. 42  Hannah, “The Horologium . . ., 88, n.4, fig. 52. 43   Ibidem, 87, n.2. 44   Ibidem, 87–8; moreover, Hannah mentions that exist at least two mentioned cases of solar meridian and a third case of a vertical instead of a horizontal meridian (Hannah, “The Horologium . . ., 87, n.4).

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we do not know for sure that it had ever been a “daylight triangle” and also a longer equinoctial line that are the markers of a true Horologium Solarium. The only things we do know is that the different instruments used in Antiquity for measuring time were in form spherical, hemispherical, and flat/planar; the Horologium Solarium (Solar Clock) and the Meridianum (Solar Meridian) both enter in the category of flat instruments (included in a flat surface such as a platea made out of travertine with a marked South-North bronze line in the case of the meridianum and a net of lines in the case of the horologium). According to Buchner’s reconstructions, the types of horologium solarium are basically of two main forms: like the spread wings of a bat and respectively circular.45 The main argument brought by Hannah against the thesis of Schütz is that he takes into account only the elliptical shadow left by the globe on the top of the obelisk and not the whole length of the shadow left by the entire obelisk.46 Bringing in modern day examples such as the Cenotaph’s obelisk from Dunedin (New Zealand), Hannah tries to show empirically that the length of the shadow of Augustus’ obelisk (and not only the length of the shadow from its bronze globe located on the top of the gnomon-obelisk) plus the actual penumbra of the obelisk would have pointed towards the centre of the Ara at Augustus’ birthday (he means here the total length of the shadow including the penumbra and the shadow left by the tip of the obelisk i.e. the bronze globe).47 The sole problem is that, although the height of the cenotaph’s obelisk of Dunedin would be “reasonably close” to the total height of Augustus’ gnomon-obelisk, part of the computations made by Hannah are totally approximate and not precise (as those of Schütz’s) and his observations are only empirical and based on a single example.48 Moreover, because Schütz calculates starting from the elliptical shadow left by the bronze globe located on the top of the obelisk that would mean he took in fact into account the whole length of the shadow left by the entire obelisk and therefore Hannah’s counterargument becomes untenable.49 However, as it was previously stated, the exact height of the Augustan gnomon-obelisk is not precisely known, because of the problems involving the number of levels of its pedestal, as it 45   Ibidem, 89. 46  Hannah, “The Horologium . . ., 90–1. 47   Ibidem, 92–3, figs. 93–5. 48   Ibidem, 91 and 94. 49  Mainly that Schütz had not taken into account the whole length of the gnomon-obelisk’s shadow; even Hannah admits that the elliptical shadow of the bronze globe obelisk represents the tip of the whole shadow left by the entire obelisk (Hannah, “The Horologium . . ., 91, n.13–16 for his own precise calculations).

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was already shown by the Bandini-Stuart-De Marchis archaeological report of 1750.50 In conclusion, all our reconstructions (including the most scientifically grounded that is the theory of Schütz) stand on weak ground. The conclusions of Hannah’s article deserve attention: they are moderate and, without suggesting that on a particular important hour the shadow of the obelisk pointed towards the Ara (probably meaning the centre of the Ara and therefore its axis of symmetry), he insists that the shadow pointed towards the Ara during Augustus’ birthday.51 Nevertheless, his support for the existence of a Horologium Solarium and not of a simple solar meridian (as it is proven both by the archaeological evidence so far available to us as well as by the more plausible theory of M. Schütz) is disputable, to say the least. According to Hannah’s calculations the shadow of the gnomon-obelisk would have not touched the Ara between roughly the seventh of November and the fifth of February, leaving therefore out of question the moment of Augustus’ conception under the sign of the Capricorn, around the winter solstice. Varro (RR 1.28.1–2) wrote that, according to the old Roman calendar of King Numa Pompilius, the first day of spring occurred on the day of twenty third of the zodiacal sign Aquarius, the first day of summer on the twenty third day of Taurus (the sign of the Bull in the zodiac), the first day of autumn on the twenty third of Leo (the sign of the Lion), and the first day of winter on the twenty third day of Scorpio (the sign of the Scorpion). In the new Julian calendar these dates would have been approximately our days named seventh of February, ninth of May, eleventh of August (Sextilis mens according to the oldest Roman calendar of Romulus, with the year beginning on the first of March), and the winter would have begun around the tenth day of November.52 In conclusion, Hannah suggests, very interestingly that the virtual or imaginary line left by the gnomon-obelisk’s shadow towards the Ara could have marked a temporary boundary between the seasons of the year, by its very presence or absence (in the interval between the seventh of November and the fifth of February).53 The conclusive remark on this issue is that of the great scholar Géza Alföldy: although he is more inclined to the traditional thesis of Buchner about the Horologium Solarium, like Haselberg he acknowledges that the actual form and dimensions (‘spatial expanse’) of this kind of putative Augustan sundial remains unknown. Moreover, he tries to see it in connection with a possible model of a gnomon-obelisk and Horologium Solarium in Alexandria in Egypt, 50  Haselberger, “A Debate . . ., 61–2 (61, fig.10; 63, fig.11). 51  Hannah, “The Horologium . . ., 94. 52   Ibidem, 94, n.19; vide et Plin. NH 18.221–222. 53   Ibidem, 94–5.

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probably constructed by the initiative of Marc Anthony, Octavian’s sworn enemy in the final struggle for the domination of the Roman Empire. He correlates the obelisk of Montecitorio, dedicated originally by the ancient Egyptians to the sun god (Sol for the ancient Romans) and brought there by the order of Augustus with the obelisk in the present day Vatican St. Peter’s Square, brought, erected, and consecrated there by Caligula in his “Circus of the area consecrated to the god Vaticanus” or Circus Vaticani (both obelisks share similarities in shape, including the bronze globe with a spine on top, a HellenisticRoman innovation by no means similar to the ancient Egyptian tradition). He quotes, as examples of this Egyptian fashion of the obelisks, the two smaller obelisks that were originally placed in the front of the Mausoleum of Augustus (Mausoleum Augusti); the triangular composition of the three Augustan obelisks, two smaller in the front of his Mausoleum and one in the vicinity of the Ara would have found parallels in Alexandria of Egypt, ruled first by Cleopatra VII and Marc Anthony, and then by Augustus’ trusted men, Caius Cornelius Gallus his praefectus fabrum (his commander of the military craftsmen) and the first praefectus Aegypti (governor of Egypt that was personally selected by Augustus from the equestrian order) and then by the second prefect of Egypt, Publius Rubrius Barbarus. This last character had actually erected two obelisks at Alexandria in the front of Augustus’ temple there, while Augustus was still alive, in the years 13–12 BC. Moreover, the Vatican obelisk brought by Caligula from Egypt to Rome was already inscribed and inaugurated by Cornelius Gallus in late 31 BC, while he was still only Octavian’s praefectus fabrum; this obelisk could have been originally a monument ordered by Marc Anthony as gnomon of a gigantic sundial at Alexandria of Egypt, in the same area of the city with the obelisks later associated with P.Rubrius Barbarus. Interestingly enough, it is the same period of time (13–9 BC, 13–12 BC, and respectively 10–9 BC) correlated with the construction of both the Ara Pacis and the erection of the gnomon-obelisk in the northern Campus Martius. The inscription in Greek ΕΤΕΣΙΑΙ ΠΑΥΟΝΤΑΙ (“the Etesians winds are stopping”) that we find on the Flavian meridian was probably a truthful reproduction of the Augustan original inspired by a Greek-Egyptian model from Alexandria.54 Alföldy concludes on a similar tune with Haselberger: there existed a Horologium Solarium Augusti in the northern Campus Martius and it was important for e­ stablishing 54  Alföldy, “The Horologium . . ., 96–7; Haselberger, “A Debate . . ., 68–9; C.H. Lange, Res Publica Constituta Actium, Apollo and the Accomplishment of the Triumviral Assignment (Leiden, Boston: Brill, 2009) 6–7 is nevertheless more inclined to accept M. Schütz’s theory: ‘Sadly, this theory (i.e. E. Buchner’s) did not stand the test of time and a physicist from Tübingen’ (i.e. Schütz).

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the calendar as well as showing to the ordinary Romans who was really in charge in Rome and beyond, not only in solving problems pertaining to the sphere of mortal humans, but also with regulating time that was the province of the gods.55 The problem of the true identity of the Ara now housed by the Museo del Ara Pacis in Lungotevere was seriously taken into account starting from 1960; while in the Renaissance (the sixteenth century) the fragments discovered from the Ara were considered parts of Roman triumphal monuments, only in 1879 the archaeological genius of Friedrich von Duhn had the intuition that all the fragments discovered under the Ottoboni-Peretti-Fiano Palazzo in the region of Via and Piazza San Lorenzo in Lucina in the Campo Marzio (Rome) were in fact parts of the famous Ara Pacis Augustae, mentioned in the “Deeds of the Divine Augutus” or Res Gestae Divi Augusti 12.2.56 However, in the year 1960 55  Alföldy, “The Horologium . . ., 98 for the importance of the existence of a Horologium Solarium in the self-representation of Augustus before the Senate and the People of Rome; Haselberger, “A Debate . . ., 69–70 about the symbolic importance of the ensemble Horologium Solarium Augusti-Ara Pacis Augustae in the Augustan urban transformation of Rome and in regulating chronology and civic life in Rome and in the Roman Empire according to the cosmic cycles of heavens. 56  La Rocca, Ara . . ., 11–13 for the Res Gestae (11–13) and the monuments directly connected by symbolical and ideological links with the Ara Pacis, namely the Ara Fortunae Reducis and the Aedes Iani Quirini in Argileto. An interesting fact is that, according to Cass. Dio (Hist. Rom. 54.25.3), the Roman Senate had initially decided to erect the Ara Pacis inside the Curia Senatus; Augustus had in fact refuted this idea and preferred the Northern Campus Martius vide Rossini, Ara . . ., 5. The first recuperated fragments of the Ara Pacis appear in fact from an incised drawing or engraving made by Agostino Veneziano before 1536; it was about the lower outer frieze, with a swan with spread wings and the floral and vegetal decoration. In 1566 the cardinal Giovanni Ricci da Montepulciano acquired nine marble blocks for a price of 125 scudi, including the so called Tellus-Pax panel (the panel with the representation of the nourishing goddess, either Pax/Peace or Tellus/ Earth). The cardinal’s secretary had in fact even written a letter to the secretary of the Grand Duke of Tuscany Cosimo I of Medici in 1569, telling him by means of this letter that these sculptural friezes are Roman reliefs with triumphal figures (‘con figure di trionfi’). After a troubled history that brought recovered fragments of the Ara to Florence, to the future Villa Medici at Trinità dei Monti, to the Villa Aldobrandini on the Quirinale in Rome, and even to Paris (Louvre), only in the year 1879 Fr. von Duhn recognized the ensemble of the recovered fragments from that area as component elements of the Ara Pacis. There followed in the period of 1894–1903 the archaeological diggings under the Palace Ottoboni-Peretti-Fiano-Almagià, directed by Eugen Petersen and Angelo Pasqui, stopped by technical reasons. In 1913 Pasqui had tried again in a letter to convince the Italian government to financially and legally support the excavations. Only in 1937–38 the archaeological team led by Giuseppe Moretti and (for the restoration) by Guglielmo

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Dr. Weinstock in an article published in the famous Journal of Roman Studies (JRS) questioned and even denied this identification, mainly on the ground of iconographical evidence. His objections were met and countered with equally serious iconographical, architectonical, and logical arguments by another important researcher in this field, Toynbee, in another article published in the same Journal of Roman Studies the following year.57 Without entering in the details of their discussions and arguments (revolving mainly on the identity of the deity worshipped in the Ara), one should mention here that for Stefan Weinstock this Ara could not be securely identified (but for him it was surely not the Ara Pacis Augustae), perhaps being the Ara Gentis Iuliae (the Altar of the Gens Iulia, the Julian clan) that nevertheless, at least under Vespasian, was located on the Capitol and not in the Field of Mars (Campus Martius), where there were other monuments: Monumentum Iuliorum (the Monument of the Iulii), Ustrinum Domus Augustae (the funeral pyre of the family of Augustus), and the Mausoleum Augusti or the Mausoleum of Augustus.58 The counter arguments brought in by Toynbee against the thesis of Weinstock were summed up in his memorable conclusion: “Dr. Weinstock has most forcibly reminded us that we have no ineluctable, explicit proof that the Campus Martius Augustan altar is the Ara Pacis Augustae. But he has not, to my mind, succeeded in proving us æ that it is certainly not the Ara Pacis Augustae.”59 The most important fact is that we do not possess until now any dedicatory inscription of this most important monument of Roman Augustan Art and therefore we cannot attribute it for sure to the goddess Pax (Peace) or Tellus (Earth) etc. One cannot epigraphically relate directly the altar to the Res Gestae Divi Augusti 12.2 in absence of a monument’s own inscription that defines its function and meaning. However, its location, much of its iconography and symbols hint at the cult of Pax and of the goddesses related with agricultural plenty and richness, with wealth, happiness, and fruitful love (fertility of the plants, sexual reproduction of cattle, and by implication, fecundity of women and men; the reform of the marital and sexual mores of the Roman citizens, the stability of marriage, family, and the conception, birth, and upbringing of legitimate free Roman children was one of the concerns involving the inner policy of Augustus, a fact that is known by all scholars specialized in the field Gatti, using innovative techniques, had achieved the excavations and restoration of the whole monument vide Rossini, Ara . . ., 14–17. 57  Weinstock, “Pax . . ., 44–58 contra J.M.C. Toynbee, “The Ara Pacis Augustae,” JRS 51 (1961) 153–56. 58  Weinstock, “Pax . . ., 58. 59  Toynbee, “The Ara . . ., 156 contra Weinstock, “Pax . . ., 58.

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of Ancient Roman History). It is also related with Roman religion (rituals, ceremonial processions or gatherings for sacrifices), with the mythology of the Primordia Romae (the beginnings of Rome) and with the Origines (the mythical and myth-historical or legendary origins) of the people from Latium (nowadays Lazio in Central Italy). One cannot help of not thinking at the Ara Pacis Augustae mentioned by the Res Gestae Divi Augusti 12. Accepting the theory that the monument exposed now in the Museo Del’ Ara Pacis (the Museum of the Ara Pacis near the River Tiber/Tevere in Rome) is the true Ara Pacis Augustae, we can think the final conclusions of the true meaning rendered by the friezes of the monument. We can see the meaning (especially that of the outer upper friezes) as an embodiment in stone of the Augustan idea of the Parta Victoriis Pax, the Roman Augustan Peace (Pax Romana Augusta) born out of military victories, the victory being a real one or an imagined one (like Augustus’ diplomatic triumph in the negotiations with the Parthians, in the year 20 BC, over the legionary eagles and standards lost by the Roman legionaries commanded by Crassus in the battle of Carrhae in 53 BC and captured by the Parthians). In essence, one can see the Ara Pacis Augustae as the embodiment in carved Luna/Carrara marble of an idea: it is an epic poem that renders in sculptural form the mythology of the origins of Rome, Latium, and Italy and that binds inextricably the divine origin of the Gens Iulia (and therefore of both Caesar the Divus Iulius and Augustus the Divus to be), descending from the goddess Venus (via Aeneas and his son Iullus Ascanius), with the origins of the Roman people, descending from Mars; the Romans, being under the protection of Jupiter the King of the gods, like once Romulus the son of Mars and founder of Rome, they are destined to rule over the peoples of the earth and to impose peace (Verg. Aen. 6.851–853: ‘Tu regere imperio populos, Romane memento: Hae tibi erunt artes, pacisque imponere mores, parcere subiectis et debellare superbos/You will rule the peoples with power, o Roman, remember: these will be your crafts, to enforce the ways of peace, to spare the vanquished, and to destroy the proud through war’). The panels with the nourishing goddess and with the triumphant Dea Roma (the eastern upper friezes of the external precinct of the Ara) hint at another idea, dear to both Augustus and Virgil: ‘Sit Romana Potens Itala Virtute Propago/May the Roman Offspring be strong by means of Italic Valour (virtus)’ (Verg. Aen. 12.827).60 60  J. Pollini, “ ‘Frieden-durch-Sieg’-Ideologie und die Ara Pacis Augustae,” in Krieg und Sieg Narrative Wanderdarstellungen von Altägypten bis ins Mittelalter (eds. M. Bietak, M. Schwarz, Wien: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 2002) 137–157. Vide et L. Polacco, “Ara Pacis Augustae Una Forma, Un’ Idea,” Atti Classe di Scienze

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To sum up, one should not forget the original orientation of the facades of the Ara Pacis Augustae: if the hypothesis of Schütz (2011) 86 is correct and the viewer that stood in the front of the eastern façade of the Ara Pacis Augustae at the Parilia (Twenty First of April, the Birthday of Rome) could have seen, in Augustus’ lifetime, the rays of the sun entering the eastern entrance of the altar, then the message transmitted by Augustus and by the anonymous sculpture master entrusted with the iconographical and architectural design of the whole monument to posterity is subtler than E.Buchner, in all his undeniable wisdom and experience, had ever imagined: instead of the shadow of the obelisk entering the western entrance on Augustus’ birthday (Twenty Third of September), as if the Heaven itself testified that Augustus was “natus ad pacem/born to bring peace”, we stumble upon the assertion of Rome as bringer of peace and prosperity: the armed Dea Roma (the warlike goddess Rome) and the weaponless but beautiful Pax (Peace) are the two faces of the same coin.61 Morali, Lettere ed Arti (Venezia: Istituto Veneto di Scienze, Lettere ed Arti, 1992) 101 (1991–92) 9–31. 61  Because of the archaeological evidence discussed so far, as well as because of the mathematical experience and professionalism of Schütz, I am personally inclined to adopt his theory of the solar meridian, although I do not agree with him in embracing Weinstock’s denial of the identity of this altar as being the true Ara Pacis Augustae. We also must be aware of the fact that the controversy on the total height of the gnomon-obelisk (because of its two, three, or five steps basis, according to the controversial Stuart-Bandini-De Marchis archaeological report of 1748–1750) means that different computations are still possible. The overall height of the original obelisk and its precise original location can change all the trigonometric calculations. Moreover, I personally think that Schütz’s theory confirm what I have personally written in a previous study about Alexander the Great and Augustus. I hereby reproduce my own hypothesis. I see the symbolic of the Ara Pacis reliefs as follows: The west is the realm of origins, of mu’qo”/mythos/μυ˜θος (the Roman and Latin founding myth), the land of the heroes of old and the space of the gods founders of Rome: Jupiter, Mars, and (indirectly) Venus (through her son Aeneas). Aeneas and the legendary twins Romulus and Remus are also hewn in stone here. It is a cardinal point used with the same symbolic in other mythic traditions: in Greek myth Heracles went west to find the golden apples of the Hesperidae (the goddesses of the West), symbols of eternal youth and immortality. In the Roman foundation myth, Aeneas and his son Iullus Ascanius and the surviving Trojans (preceded by the Arcadians of king Evander that had settled on the Tiber, in the future territory of Rome), after the fall of Ilium went also west via Africa, Sicily, arriving eventually on the western coast of central Italy, in order to merge with the Aborigines (the native inhabitants of Central Italy) of king Latinus. After mythical and epic heroic events narrated by Vergil and Livy, Aeneas married princess Lavinia, the daughter of king Latinus of Lanuvium. Thus was founded the Latin people and so appeared the birth of the Latium land and of the ­cities of

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Concluding Remarks

It is an inherent probability that the new theory (or rather hypothesis) regarding this Ara to be the right one.62 In favor of this idea that sees the original eastern façade and entrance to the monument as the one marked by the rays of the sun on the Twenty First of April (the Roman Feast of the Parilia) speaks the superior mathematical and astronomical expertise of the German physicist Michael Schütz; however even he makes that claim to be still a hypothesis and not a proven fact. What remains for sure is that during the autumn equinox (Twenty First-Twenty Third of September), therefore during Augustus’ birthday feast (the Twenty Third of September/Dies Natalis Augusti or the Birthday of Augustus) the shadow of the gnomon-obelisk did not fall on the precise axis of symmetry of the western entrance to the Ara, but it fell rather slantwise, Lavinium and Alba Longa, Latin settlements or towns predecessors of Rome. In the Greek Romance of Alexander (Pseudo-Callisthenes), Alexander the Great, like a new Gilgamesh seeking the Immortality grass/herbs, search for the Immortality fount in the west. In Irish (Celtic Gaelic) mythical epics, stories, and poems, the heroes travel west in search of the blessed islands of the Immortals, in the mythical Tir na’nOg (the land of the eternal youth). Finally, in the old Egyptian tales, the sun god Amun-Ra travels the lands of the west every night with his boat, in order to be reborn the next day in the east; vide J. Markale, L’Épopée celtique d’Irlande (Paris: Payot, 1971), J. Markale, Le Roi Arthur et la société celtique (Paris: Payot, 1977), AA.VV., Dictionary of the Celts (New Lanark Scotland: Geddes&Grosset, 1997, 1999) and P. Bachmann, Der mit den zwei hörnern. Alexander der Groβe in werken der Arabischen literatur (Mainz am Rhein: P.von Zabern, 2005). The east is the realm of Eternal Peace seen as Eternal Present, the realm of the gods protectors of Augustus: the swans and the acanthus flower decorations carved in stone are all symbols of Apollo, Augustus’ personal protector god. Dea Roma and Tellus/Venus/ Pax are also present. The north is home to the children of the Imperial family, to the offspring of Rome, and there are also sculpted a part of the state officials and priesthood of Rome (the augures, who told the future divining the flight of the birds and the septemviri epulonum, the organizers of the public feasts are represented here). It is the space of the future of the Eternal City. The south, oriented forever towards the Urbs, it is the processional space of Augustus himself, of Agrippa his best and truest friend and collaborator, and of the most sacred priests of Rome, the priestly associations of the flamines priesthood (collegia flaminum). It is the space of the civic and sacral (or political and religious) eternal present of Rome. This is of course a personal interpretation and it should be taken as such. Vide Ionescu, “Alexander’s Monarchy . . ., 62–4 and Ionescu, “The Ara . . ., 150–2, n.113–115. This whole article is a completion and a reelaboration of a previous study of mine (vide Ionescu, “The Ara . . ., 99–174). 62  Schütz, “The Horologium . . ., 86.

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in an oblique direction to the axis of symmetry (this axis of symmetry is the perpendicular line to the entrance and therefore to the geometrical middle/centre of the western façade). Even so, although the shadow did not fall perpendicular into the Ara through the western gate, it nevertheless fell obliquely towards the western façade of the Ara. In the eventuality that Schütz’s hypothesis is correct the design created by the anonymous master or masters that brought the Ara into existence reflects in a wonderful way the Augustan ideas about the majesty of Rome: the sun lit the eastern entrance of the Ara on Rome’s Founding Day, during the Feast of the Parilia (that was a Roman religious festival of the herdsmen in its origins; the companions of Romulus and Remus were all young warriors, hunters, and herdsmen from all of Latium, but many of them were fugitives and exiles from their native cities, criminals and runaway slaves that sought salvation in the consecrated place of refuge or asylum founded by Romulus, as Livy writes in the first book of his Roman history that starts with the founding of the Latin people and of Rome, Ab Urbe Condita). The Eternal City founded by the warlike son of Mars, Romulus, was now, during Augustus’ benevolent Principate (Principatus, the rule of the First Senator or Princeps Senatus that happened to be also the first Roman Emperor, Imperator Caesar Augustus) under the sway of the Pax Augusta (the Augustan Peace, see the symbolism of the eastern façade of this monument). During Augustus’ birthday, the shadow of the gnomon-obelisk falls obliquely towards the Ara, pointing in an indirect way to the Primordia Romae (the myth-­historical beginnings of Rome) and to the Origo Gentis Iuliae (the origin of the gens Iulia, the Roman clan that eventually had eventually produced Julius Caesar, the adoptive father of Augustus). The light comes from the East, wherefrom Aeneas’ Trojans and before them Heracles/Hercules and King Evander’s Greeks once came and settled in Latium (first in Lanuvium/nowadays Lanuvio and then founding in the process the new towns of Lavinium and Alba Longa) and on the Seven Hills of Rome; the West is on the Twenty Third of September under the shadow of the gnomon-obelisk, conserving the memory of Aeneas (or that of Numa Pompilius) and of the heroic Twins founders of Rome, the sons of Mars and Rhea Silvia, Romulus and Remus. In the person of Augustus, the original fratricide that stood at the very foundation of Rome is thus at least symbolically mitigated. It becomes not a simple brother killing brother in the struggle for power, but a non-represented human sacrifice, as necessary to the founding of the Urbs (the Eternal City of Rome) and to the future of the ancient known world as it was the coming of Aeneas and his Trojans to Italy’s sea shore or the divine lovemaking between the Italic war god Mars and the Vestal Virgin Rhea Silvia. In the seduced Vestal’s veins flew the blood of Aeneas son of Anchises and thus of Venus-Aphrodite, Aeneas’ mother and the goddess

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D. Musti, “Simbologia della vittoria dall’ellenismo a Constantino,” in Nike Ideologia, Iconografia e Feste della Vittoria in Età Antica (ed. D. Musti, Roma: “L’Erma di Bretschneider,” 2005). M.L. Nava, T. Budetta, G. Imparato (eds.), Il Giardino realtà e immaginario nell’arte antica/The Garden Reality and Imaginary in the Ancient Art (Castellammare di Stabia Soprintendenza per i Beni Archeologici di Napoli e Caserta: Nicola Longobardi Editore, 2006). H.-P. L’Orange, “Ara Pacis Augustae La zona floreale,” AAAH (Vol.1 eds. H.-P. L’Orange, H. Torp) (Roma: Institutum Romanum Norvegiae Universiteitsforlaget, 1962) 7–16. ———, “Ara Pacis Augustae La zona floreale,” in Likeness and Icon: Collected Studies in Classical and Early Mediaeval Art (Odense: Odense Univ. Press, 1973) 263–277. ———, “Bloomsterfrisen på Ara Pacis Augustae Augustus’fredsaltar,” Kunst og Kultur (Oslo: Årg.45/1962) 73–94 and republished in Sentrum og periferi: ni utvalgte essays (Oslo: Dreyers Forlag, 1973). R. Paribeni, Ara Pacis Augustae (Roma Bergamo: Istituto Nazionale L.U.C.E., 1932). E.A.H. Petersen (mit Zeichnungen von G. Niemann), Ara Pacis Augustae Bände 1–2 (Wien: Alfred Hölder Sonderschriften des Österreichischen Archäologischen Institutes in Wien, 1902). E. Polacco, “Ara Pacis Augustae Una Forma, Un’ Idea,” Atti Tom. 101 Classe di Scienze Morali, Lettere ed Arti (Venezia: Istituto Veneto di Scienze, Lettere ed Arti, 1991/1992) 9–31. J. Pollini, Studies in Augustan ‘Historical’ Reliefs (Berkeley: University of California Press, PhD thesis, 1978). ———, “ ‘Frieden-durch-Sieg’-Ideologie und die Ara Pacis Augustae: Bildrhetorik und die Schöpfung einer dynastischen Erzählweise,” in Krieg und Sieg Narrative Wanddarstellungen von Altägypten bis ins Mittelalter (eds. M. Bietak, M. Schwarz, Wien: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, Denkschriften der Gesamtakademie Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften 24, 2002) 137–157. ———, “The Ideology of “Peace through Victory” and the Ara Pacis Augustae: Visual Rhetoric and the Creation of a Dynastic Narrative,” in From republic to empire: rhetoric, religion, and power in the visual culture of ancient Rome (ed. J. Pollini, Norman: University of Oklahoma Press Oklahoma Series in Classical Culture vol. 48, 2012). E. Ponti, Ara Pacis Augustae Origine-Storia-Significato (Roma: Vittorio Ferri-Editore, 1938). K.A. Raaflaub, M. Toher (eds.), Between Republic and Empire. Interpretations of Augustus and His Principate (with contributions by G.W. Bowersock et alii, Berkeley, Los Angeles, Oxford: University of California Press, 1990). Fr. Rakob, “Die Urbanisierung des nördlichen Marsfeldes. Neue Forschungen im Areal des Horologium Augusti,” in L’Urbs. Espace urbain et histoire. Ier siècle av. J. C. Actes du

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colloque international. Rome 8–12 Mai 1985 (Rome: École française de Rome, 1987) 687–712. E.S. Ramage, ‘The Nature and Purpose of Augustus’ Res Gestae’, Historia. Einzelschriften 54 (Stuttgart: F. Steiner, 1987). E. Rawson, “Caesar’s Heritage: Hellenistic Kings and their Roman Equals,” JRS 65 (1975) 148–159. J.T. Ramsey, A.L. Licht (foreword by B.G. Marsden), The Comet of 44 B.C. and Caesar’s Funeral Games (Atlanta Georgia: Scholars Press The American Philological Association, 1997). P. Rehak, “The ‘Fourth Flamen’ of the Ara Pacis Augustae,” JRA 14.1 (2001) 284–288. ———, “Aeneas or Numa? Rethinking the Meaning of the Ara Pacis Augustae,” A Bull 83.2 (2001) 190–208. ———, Imperium and Cosmos Augustus and the Northern Campus Martius (Madison Wisconsin: University of Wisconsin Press, 2006). O. Reverdin (ed.) A.B. Bosworth, F. Schachermeyr, R.D. Milns, E. Badian (prep.), D. van Berchem (pres.), Entretiens sur l’Antiquité Classique. Alexandre le Grand. Image et Realité (=Entretiens Hardt sur l’Antiquité Classique 22, Vandœuvres-Genève 1976). O.N. Roovers, Ara Pacis Augustae (Amsterdam: 1951); extracted from De Geuzenpenning 4 (1951). O. Rossini, Ara Pacis (Roma, Milano Verona: Mondadori Electa, 2006). G. De Sanctis, “Contro una proposta di ricostruzione dell’Ara Pacis Augustae,” in Scritti Minori vol. 3 (Roma: Edizioni di Storia e Letteratura, 1972) 567–568. C. Sauron, “Architecture et âge d’or : le front de scène augustéen,” in Fronts de scène et lieux de culte dans le théâtre antique (ed. J.-C. Moretti Lyon: Maison de l’Orient et de la Méditerranée, 2009) 79–88. ———,  “Le message symbolique des rinceaux de l’Ara Pacis Augustae,” CRAI (Paris: De Boccard, Janvier–Mars, 1982) 81–100. ———,   “La promotion apollinienne de l’acanthe et la définition d’une esthétique classique à l’époque d’Auguste,” L’acanthe dans la sculpture monumentale de l’Antiquité à la Renaissance. Actes du Colloque International tenu à Sorbonne (Paris: Publications de la Sorbonne, 1993) 75–97. ———, “Légende noire et mythe de l’âge d’or. Les pôles complémentaires de la mystification augustéenne,” in Le mythe grec dans l’Italie antique: Fonction et image. Actes du colloque international (Rome 14–16 Novembre 1996: École française de Rome, 1999) 593–625. ———,  “Esthétique et pouvoir. L’architecture et l’ornement à Rome à la fin de la République et au début du Principat,” in Ars et Ratio. Sciences, arts et métiers dans la philosophie hellenistique et romaine. Actes du colloque international organisé à Créteil, Fontenay et Paris du 16 au 18 Octobre 1997 (eds. C. Lévy, B. Besnier, A. Gigaudet, Bruxelles: Latomus, 2003) 194–206.

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———, L’Histoire Végétalisé Ornement et politique à Rome (Paris: Édition A. et J. Picard, 2000). ———, “Juppiter Ammon dans la Villa de la Farnésine,” in Visions de l’Occident Romain: hommages à Yann Le Bohec (eds. B. Cabouret et al., Paris: De Boccard; Lyon: CEROR, 2012) 839–852. G. Schick, Trimalchio und der Divus Augustus: überlegungen zu einer sepulkralen sekundärlesung des augusteischen horologium in campo (Innsbruck: Institut für klassische und provinzialrömische Archäologie Serie Vis Imaginum, 2005) 421–429. M. Schütz, “Zur Sonnenuhr des Augustus auf dem Marsfeld Eine Auseinandersetzung mit E. Buchners Rekonstruktion und seiner Deutung der Ausgrabungsergebnisse, aus der Sicht eines Physikers,” Gymnasium 97 (1990) 432–457. ———, “Der Capricorn als Sternzeichen des Augustus,” A&A 37 (1991) 55–67. ———, “The Horologium on the Campus Martius reconsidered,” JRA 24.1 (2011) 78–86. S. Settis, L’Altare della Pace, Sonderdruck aus/Estratto dall’ Mensile di Franco Maria Ricci (1983) 85–110. ———, “Die Ara Pacis,” in Kaiser Augustus und die Verlorene Republik-eine Ausstellung in Martin-Gropius-Bau, Berlin 7. Juni–14.August 1988 (Mainz am Rhein: Verlag Philip Von Zabern, 1988) 400–26. M. Siebler, Studien zum Augusteischen Mars Ultor (München: Editio Maris, 1988). J. Sieveking, “Zur Ara Pacis Augustae,” Sonderabdruck aus der JÖAI, Band 10 (1907) 175–190. E. Simon, Ara Pacis Augustae (Greenwich Connecticut: New York Graphic Society LTD, Verlag Ernst Wasmuth Tübingen, 1967). ———, Augustus. Kunst und Leben in Rom um die Zeitenwende (München: Hirmer Verlag, 1986). C.J. Simpson, “Unexpected references in the Horologium Augusti at Ovid,” Ars Amatoria 1.68 and 3.388,’ Athenaeum 80 (1992) 478–484. S. Sorek, The Emperor’s Needles Egyptian Obelisks and Rome (Exeter: Bristol Phoenix Press, Exeter Press, 2010). W. Speyer, “Das Verhältnis des Augustus zur Religion,” in ANRW Principat 16. Band 3. Teilband Religion (ed. W. Haase, Berlin New York: Walter de Gruyter, 1986). P. Stampini (ed.), Ara Pacis Augustae (Roma: Rotary Club Dibatti Rotariani, 1970). E. Strong, La legislazione sociale di Augusto ed i fregi del recinto dell’Ara Pacis (Roma: Istituto di Studi Romani, 1939; Quaderni di studi romani 2/1939). M. Torelli, “Un Templum augurale di età repubblicana a Bantia,” RAL 8.21 (1966). ———, Typology and Structure of Roman Historical Reliefs (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1992). ———, “Topografia e iconologia. Arco di Portogallo. Ara Pacis. Ara Providentiae. Templum Solis,” in Ostraka. Rivista di antichità 1 (1992) 105–131.

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———, Il rango, il rito, e l’immagine Alle origini della rappresentazione storica romana (Milano: Electa, 1997). J.M.C. Toynbee, The Ara Pacis Reconsidered and Historical Art in Roman Italy (London: Italian Lecture British Academy From the Proceedings of the British Academy Vol. 39, Geoffrey Cumberledge Amen House, 1953). ———, “The Ara Pacis Augustae,” JRS 51 (1961) 153–156. P. Treves, Il Mito di Alessandro e la Roma di Augusto (Milano Napoli: Riccardo Ricciardi Editore, 1953). A.W. Van Buren, “The Ara Pacis Augustae and a sarcophagus lid in the Terme Museum,” JRS 3 (1913) 134–144 (4 pls.). F. Vistoli (ed.), La riscoperta della Via Flaminia più vicina a Roma: Storia, luoghi, personaggi: Atti dell’Incontro di Studio Roma Auditorium dell’Ara Pacis 22 Giugno 2009; contributi di F. Laddaga, M.P. Partisani, F. Vistoli (Roma: Nuova Cultura, 2010). H. Wagenvoort, Ara Pacis Augustae (Gravenhage: Algemeene Landsdrukkerij, in Mededeelingen van het Nederlandsch Historisch Instituut te Rome, 1921) 73–100. A. Wallace Hadrill, “Mutatas Formas: The Augustan Transformation of Roman Knowledge,” in Galinsky (2005) 55–84. P. Walter, Merlin şi cunoaşterea lumii [Merlin and the Knowledge of the World/Merlin et le savoir du monde] (Bucharest: Artemis, 2004). ———, Arthur. Ursul şi regele [Arthur. The Bear and the King/Arthur. L’ours et le roi] (Bucharest: Artemis, 2006). S. Weinstock, “Pax and the Ara Pacis,” JRS 50 (1960) 44–58. R. Winkes (ed.), The Age of Augustus Interdisciplinary Conference held at Brown University April 30–May 2, 1982 (Providence, R.I.: Center for Old World Archaeology and Art, Brown University; Louvain-la-Neuve: Institut supérieur d’archéologie et d’histoire de l’art, Collège Erasmus, 1985) 51–72. W. Will (ed.), Zu Alexander der Grosse Festschrift G. Wirth zum 60. Geburtstag am 9.12.1986 (unter Mitarbeit von J. Heinrichs), vols. 1–2 (Amsterdam: Verlag Adolf M. Khekhert, 1987). I. Worthington (ed.), Ventures into Greek History (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1994). ———, Alexander the Great. A Reader (London, New York: Routledge, 2003). H. Wrede, Consecratio in Formam Deorum Vergöttlichte Privatpersonen in der römischen Kaiserzeit (Mainz am Rhein: Verlag Philip Von Zabern, 1981). P. Zanker, Augustus und die Macht der Bilder (München: C.H. Beck Verlag, 1987). ———, The Power of Images in the Age of Augustus (tr. by A. Shapiro, Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press, 1988). ———, Un Arte per l’impero Funzione e intenzione delle immagini nel mondo romano (Milano: Mondadori Electa, 2002). ———, Arte Romana (Roma-Bari: Gius. Laterza & Figli Spa, 2008).

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These images first appeared in D.T. Ionescu, “The Ara Pacis Augustae. Symbolic Iconography and Mythology of the Friezes”, Ephemeris Dacoromana Serie Nuova XV (2013), Editura Academiei Romane (Bucharest), Accademia Di Romania in Roma, ISSN 1582–1854, pp. 99–174.

The Religious Legitimation of War in the Reign of Antoninus Pius* André Heller Introduction Antoninus Pius (138–161) reigned twenty-three years, which makes him the longest ruling emperor between Augustus and Constantine the Great. Nowadays, he is almost entirely perceived as a lacklustre figure compared to his predecessors and successors, though generally credited as faithful administrator of the Empire, which rejoiced in an unprecedented period of peace and prosperity under his reign. While modern scholarship recognises stagnation or regression in Antoninus’ government, the ancient sources extol his foreign policy via diplomacy which guaranteed the compliance of Rome’s enemies. However, territorial gains in Britain and Germany contradict the opinion of an inactive emperor; even more puzzling are the many war-related themes on Antoninus’ coins. A close examination of the written sources, the reverses of the coins and the distance slabs of the Antonine Wall unveils a complex, though unparalleled system how the emperor combined his need for military glory with the emphasis on the concept of just war and the invocation of the protective function of the gods for Rome’s prosperity and security.

Historical Setting

When Trajan died in 117, the Roman Empire had reached its largest territorial extent after the conquest of Dacia (101–6), Armenia (114), Northern Mesopotamia (115), and the annexation of the Nabatean Kingdom (106). However, his expansionist policy overstressed the Empire’s resources due to the huge casualties in the Dacian and Parthian wars. Trajan’s successor Hadrian immediately concluded peace with the Parthians, relinquishing the Eastern conquests, as he faced the outbreak of revolts in several regions.1 Hadrian’s non-expansionist attitude, manifest through the building of walls in Britain, Germany, and Africa proconsularis, did not find favour with the senators’ * I wish to thank Krzysztof Ulanowski for inviting me to the conference. 1  S HA Hadr. 5.1–4.

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majority, vividly displayed by Hadrian’s negative stance in the historiography which was influenced by his difficult relationship to the senate. Except for the troubled early years and the undoubtedly severe Bar Kokhba revolt (132–5), his reign was peaceful. On 25 February 138, Hadrian adopted the patrician T. Aurelius Antoninus, who succeeded him a few months later on 10 July. Antoninus’ cursus honorum only comprised civic functions—the proconsulship over Asia being the only post he had held outside Italy—and conformed to the typical career of a man of noble descent. It is likely that Hadrian chose him as he seemed a compliant continuator of his own defensive policies. Despite Antoninus’ long reign, there are only a handful of monographs on him, and accounts on the Roman imperial era dedicate just a few pages to him.2 This is certainly due to a remarkable lack of written testimonies3 which conveys the impression of an uneventful reign. As Cassius Dio’s Roman history is entirely lost for this period,4 the terse but reliable biography in the Historia Augusta is the main source.5 In his Roman Oration, delivered at Rome in 143,6 Aelius Aristides drew the most impressive picture of Antoninus’ reign and the peaceful state of the world, although the orator had to admit that wars did not entirely disappear, ‘as is only natural in the immensity of a great empire’.7 Likewise, the Historia Augusta or the emperor’s contemporaries Pausanias, author of a Description of Greece, and Polyaenus in his Stratagems, attest conflicts in remote regions of 2  Still valuable is the magisterial work of W. Hüttl, Antoninus Pius. 2 vols. (Prague: Calve, 1933–6); more recently, B. Rémy, Antonin le Pieux 138–161. Le siècle d’or de Rome (Paris: Fayard, 2005). 3  A.M. Kemezis, “Lucian, Fronto, and the Absence of Contemporary Historiography under the Antonines,” AJPh 131 (2010) 285–325. 4  K. Juntunen, “The Lost Books of Cassius Dio,” Chiron 43 (2013) 460–1; M.G. Schmidt, “Cassius Dio, Buch LXX. Bemerkungen zur Technik des Epitomators Ioannes Xiphilinos,” Chiron 19 (1989) 57–9. 5  Beside the Historia Augusta, there are the correspondence of Cornelius Fronto, Marcus Aurelius’ tutor, and the late-antique abbreviators Eutropius, Aurelius Victor, Festus, and the anonymous author of the Liber de Caesaribus. For a survey of the available sources, cf. S. Walentowski, Kommentar zur Vita Antoninus Pius der Historia Augusta (=Antiquitas IV/3,3; Bonn: Habelt, 1998) 61–88, and Rémy, Antonin le Pieux . . ., 393–416. 6  R. Klein, “Zur Datierung der Romrede des Aelius Aristides,” Historia 30 (1981) 337–50, following J.H. Oliver, “The Ruling Power. A Study of the Roman Empire in the Second Century after Christ through the Roman Oration of Aelius Aristides,” TAPhS 43 (1953) 887, argued for 143 while C.A. Behr, Aelius Aristides and the Sacred Tales (Amsterdam: Hakkert, 1968) 88–90, and id. (trans.), Aelius Aristides. The Complete Works. Vol. II: Orations XVII–LIII (Leiden: Brill, 1981) 376–7 n. 77, pledged for 155. 7  Aristid. Or. 26.70 (trans. Oliver, “The Ruling Power . . .).

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the Empire.8 The Historia Augusta even praised Antoninus’ vigorous foreign policy9 and emphasised his high esteem among the foreign kings, making war unnecessary.10 In the first volume of his famous work Decline and fall of the Roman Empire, originally published in 1776, the English savant Edward Gibbon lauded the Antonine Age a golden era.11 Albeit Hüttl, in the wake of Gibbon, styled him ‘Friedensfürst’,12 the researchers’ majority accuses him of serious failures, thereby causing the wars which immediately broke out after his death.13 Especially, building the Antonine Wall and moving the limes in BadenWuerttemberg further east are regarded as measures of little value. Apparently, this is confirmed by the abandonment of the Antonine Wall around 158 or early in Marcus Aurelius’ reign; moreover, the 80 km long, near straight line of the Upper Germanic Limes offered no strategic advantage. In contrast, Antoninus finds approval as an able and commendable, though conservative, administrator. An unbiased view, however, shows that claims of military failures and his inability are exaggerated,14 especially because one has to consider 8  SHA Ant. Pius 5.4–5; Paus. 8.43.3–4; Polyaenus, Strat. prol. 6. 9  SHA Ant. Pius 9.6–10. K.F. Stroheker, “Die Außenpolitik des Antoninus Pius nach der Historia Augusta” in Bonner Historia-Augusta-Colloquium 1964/1965 (=Antiquitas IV/3, ed. A. Alföldi, Bonn: Habelt, 1966) 241–56; G. Kerler, Die Außenpolitik in der Historia Augusta (=Habelts Diss.drucke/Reihe Alte Geschichte 19; Bonn: Habelt, 1970) 38–48. 10   Sestertii of the provincial series from 139 (RIC 3.586) depict a personification of Parthia, holding crown, bow and quiver with arrows. Thereby, the beholder received the impression of Parthia being a Roman client state. Two incidents early in Antoninus’ reign conveyed exactly this: Firstly, Antoninus prevented simply with letters a Parthian invasion in Armenia and, secondly, refused to return the throne to the Parthians once captured by Trajan (SHA Ant. Pius 9.6–7). 11  E. Gibbon, The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. Vol. 1: Volume The First (1776) and Volume The Second (1781) (ed. D. Womersley, London: Allen Lane, 1994) 36–38; 101–3, esp. 103: ‘the condition of human race was happy and prosperous’. 12  Hüttl, Antoninus Pius . . ., 1.352. 13  The negative view is confined to the German literature, e.g., E. Kornemann, Römische Geschichte. Vol. 2: Die Kaiserzeit (7th edn. Stuttgart: Kröner, 1977, originally published in 1939) 277. 14  Modern scholarship regards the Praetorian prefect M. Gavius Maximus as mastermind of Antoninus’ foreign policy, cf. A.R. Birley, “Hadrian to the Antonines,” in CAH 11 (2nd edn. 2000) 151; Rémy, Antonin le Pieux . . ., 227. For Britain, Q. Pompeius Falco, the governor when work on Hadrian’s Wall began, might have played a crucial role, as Antoninus visited him in October 141 (Fronto, Ep. 2.9 van den Hout), although A.R. Birley, The Roman Government of Britain (Oxford, New York: Oxford Univ. Press, 2005) 99, considers Falco’s influence on building the Antonine Wall ‘pure speculation’. As already Cn. Iulius Agricola had occupied this line, the choice appears more than logical.

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that ­historians of the second and third centuries vividly discussed the justification of constructing walls to defend the frontiers15 and the eschewal of further territorial gains.16 Although the sources praise Antoninus’ love for peace and his efforts ‘rather to defend the provinces than to enlarge them’,17 one should not call him pacifist. The conquest of the Lowlands with the building of the Antonine Wall18 and the extension of Germania superior to the east prove that he followed his own ambitions. In addition, he successfully concentrated on deterrence by diplomatic means.19

War and Religion in the Roman World

More than other people of the Ancient World, the Romans espoused the idea of bellum iustum (‘just war’), whose principles Cicero exposed.20 They saw themselves superior to all other nations regarding piety and religion and firmly believed that everything was governed by the gods.21 In Republican times, responsibility for diplomatic relations rested with the fetiales.22 Livy and Dionysius of Halicarnassus, who cited the historian Cn. Gellius, described in detail the acts they performed in case of infringement of peace or treaties.23 According to Livy,24 the pater patratus, head of their collegium, declared war (indictio belli) by throwing a spear into the opponent’s territory. However, except for Livy’s passage, there is not a single testimony for the performance 15  Aristid. Or. 26.80–84; Hdn. 2.11.5. 16  App. prol. 7; Flor. 1.47.4–6. 17  Eutr. 8.8.2 (trans. J.S. Watson). 18  For a balanced view on Antoninus’ decision to campaign in Britain, cf. G. Adams, “An Analysis of Antoninus Pius’ Frontier Policy in Northern Britain and Its Representation of His Principate,” JAC 23 (2008) 119–37. 19  Cf. SHA Ant. Pius 9.6–10. 20  Cic. Off. 1.11.33–13.41; Rep. 3.23.34–5; cf. S. Albert, Bellum iustum. Die Theorie des gerechten Krieges und ihre praktische Bedeutung für die auswärtigen Auseinandersetzungen Roms in republikanischer Zeit (=Frankfurter althistorische Studien 10; Kallmünz: Lassleben, 1980). 21  Cic. Har. resp. 19; cf. Polyb. 6.56.6–8. 22  Cf. T. Wiedemann, “The Fetiales: A Reconsideration,” CQ 36 (1986) 478–90; J. Rüpke, Domi militiae. Die religiöse Konstruktion des Krieges in Rom (Stuttgart: Steiner, 1990) 97–124; A. Watson, International Law in Archaic Rome. War and Religion (=Ancient Society and History; Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins Univ. Press, 1993). 23  Livy 1.24. 32; Dion. Hal. Ant. Rom. 2.72. The authors differ on the king who introduced the fetiales: Numa Pompilius (Dion. Hal.; Plut. Num. 12.3–5), Ancus Marcius (Livy) or Tullus Hostilius (Cic. Rep. 2.17.31). 24  Livy 1.32.12–14.

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of this act in Republican times. Although Dionysius, who wrote his Roman Antiquities early under Augustus, attached great importance to this institution because it was wholly unknown to his Greek audience, he is silent on this specific point. Even in Livy, the fetiales’ role is limited to give an opinion on the justification of a war or to conclude peace. This is also reflected by the Greek renderings of fetialis which emphasise the peaceful aspect.25 Be that as it may, there are only two examples for this ritual, both from Cassius Dio. In 32 BC, Octavianus declared war as fetialis26 on Antonius and Cleopatra performing ‘all the rites preliminary to war in the customary fashion’,27 and in AD 178, when Marcus Aurelius opened his expedition against the Iazyges by ‘hurling the bloody spear, that was kept in the temple of Bellona, into what was supposed to be the enemy’s territory’,28 for which Dio even invoked eyewitnesses. This illustrates that the performance was highly unusual and thus worthy of being recorded for posterity. A testimony of Origenes proves that Marcus Aurelius construed this campaign as just war.29 Many scholars refute Livy’s testimony of the fetialis hurling the spear as anachronism and, instead, consider Octavianus the creator to give the war against Egypt an old-fashioned and patriotic veneer.30 There is even a faint piece of evidence that Augustus availed the fetial rite a second time when he declared war upon the Germanic tribe of the Hermunduri.31 25  They are designated as εἰρηνοδίκαι (arbiters of peace), εἰρηνοφύλαξ (guardian of peace) or εἰρηνοποιός (peace-maker). Cassius Dio uses the Latin word in the Greek rendering φετιάλιος (cf. Dion. Hal. Ant. Rom. 10.23.1; RG 7.7). 26  Cf. F. Fontana, “Fetialis fui. Note sull’indictio belli di Ottaviano contro Cleopatra (32 a. C.),” AIIS 11 (1989–90) 69–82, who argues for the revival of the ancient ritual by Octavianus. 27  Cass. Dio 50.4.4 (trans. E. Cary, Loeb ed.). 28   Ibidem, 72.33.3. The Roman tradition (Serv. ad Aen. 9.52) that a soldier of king Pyrrhus had been forced to buy a piece of land on campus Martius during the war with Tarentum (282–275 BC), which was then declared hostile soil, is an erudite but pure fictional explanation, cf. Wiedemann, “The fetiales . . ., 481 n. 13. 29  Origen, C. Cels. 8.68.1; M. Mantovani, Bellum iustum. Die Idee des gerechten Krieges in der römischen Kaiserzeit (=Geist und Werk der Zeiten 77; Berne, Frankfurt: Lang, 1990) 40–1. 30  C. Saulnier, “Le rôle des prêtres fetiaux et l’application du ius fetiale à Rome,” RD 4. sér. 58 (1980) 171–99; Rüpke, Domi militiae . . ., 107–8. 31  Aulus Gellius (NA 16.4.1), citing the third book of Cincius’ de re militari, mentions the formula from a declaration of war upon the—hitherto unknown—Hermunduli. Some scholars see this as corruption of Hermunduri (cf. Wiedemann, “The fetiales . . ., 479 n. 5), while Rüpke, Domi militiae . . ., 105, interprets it as word play mocking the Egyptians as ‘worshippers/servants of Hermes’, thus relating to the scenery of 32 BC. Anyway, Cincius must be identical with the late-republican antiquarian and not with the historian L. Cincius Alimentus, who lived during the Second Punic War. W.H. Keulen,

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The collegium of fetiales only constituted a minor priesthood and existed until the High Empire, although it had no real importance anymore. Members can occasionally be identified when the priesthood is mentioned in senatorial inscriptions. Most of the known fetiales were of plebeian descent or even homines novi,32 which meant that their careers included more military posts than was typical for patricians. Apart from Augustus, there is no other emperor known to have been fetialis with certainty. Since it is not expectable that the sources noticed the emperor’s fellowship, one cannot preclude that more emperors were fetiales, though.33

War and Religion under Antoninus Pius. The War in Britain

Antoninus’ start as emperor was difficult due to the senators’ hatred towards Hadrian which found its expression in the demand to impose the damnatio memoriae on him; this Antoninus could prevent with an emotional speech, which earned him the surname Pius. He soon won over the senate by threatening to resign,34 but acceptance from the army—crucial for an emperor—was more difficult to gain, especially due to his lack of a military background. Apart from giving the soldiers the usual donativum, a successful military campaign could prove himself a worthy imperator and provide himself with the semblance of victoriousness. A brief look into Roman history prior to 138 reveals that almost every ruler had gained military experience or glory either before or shortly after becoming emperor. For several reasons, Antoninus’ choice to pick Britain as his field of glory seems reasonable. Firstly, shifting the frontier more northerly offered the Romans a better strategic position due to the Gellius the Satirist. Roman Cultural Authority in ‘Attic Nights’ (=Mnemos. Suppl. 297; Leiden, Boston, MA: Brill, 2009) 67, sees Gellius’ citation of Cincius instigated by Marcus Aurelius’ archaic way of declaring war. Maybe it is more than mere coincidence that the Hermunduri under Marcus Aurelius were again in conflict with Rome. 32  Their lower status attests Tacitus (Ann. 3.64.3–4); for prosopography of the known fetiales, J. Rüpke, Fasti Sacerdotum. A Prosopography of Pagan, Jewish, and Christian Religious Officials in the City of Rome, 300 BC to AD 499 (Oxford, New York: Oxford Univ. Press, 2008) 973c–4a. 33  Suetonius (Claud. 25.5) possibly attests that Claudius concluded treaties with foreign kings as pater patratus. 34  It is the merit of P.V. Hill, The Dating and Arrangement of the Undated Coins of Rome. A.D. 98–148 (London: Spink, 1970) 78–84, to have shown from the varieties of Antoninus’ name and titles on his early coinage the course of the struggle between emperor and senate; for the beginning of the reign, cf. Rémy, Antonin le Pieux . . ., 115–25.

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shorter distance of the Forth-Clyde-isthmus in comparison to Hadrian’s Wall. Secondly, as unrest in Britain at the beginning of his reign had demonstrated, Hadrian’s Wall failed to ascertain security for the province. Thirdly, the area north of Hadrian’s Wall was well known to the Romans since Flavian times, the conquest of the fertile Lowlands seemed an accessible goal. The majority of the sources conceal the reasons for the war. As Roman ideology of just war needed an enemy’s provocation, even the expansionist Trajan had to plead a pretext before he set out against Armenia and the Parthians, although Cassius Dio figured out that ‘his real reason was a desire to win renown’.35 In his praise of Antoninus, Pausanias stated that the emperor ‘never willingly involved the Romans in war’, however, the Brigantes ‘had begun an unprovoked war on the province of Genunia, a Roman dependency’.36 The name Genunia, though, is a vexed problem as such a toponym is unknown in Britain.37 Although some scholars relate Pausanias’ statement to a war in a later period of Antoninus’ reign,38 it is more conclusive that it refers to the conquest of the Lowlands. Both the Historia Augusta and inscriptions from Britain attest Q. Lollius Urbicus then governor. He was native of the Numidian town Tiddis and enjoyed the typical career of a homo novus. He was decorated during the Bar Kokhba revolt (132–5) and immediately after that appointed consul suffectus before he became governor of Lower Germany and then Britain, probably already late in 138.39 Pausanias’ testimony perfectly fits the concept of just war, which enabled Antoninus to win military glory by answering an attack by enemies. Certainly, one might assume that the Romans provoked the aggression, however, the Brigantes were those kind of barbarians ‘unable to enjoy the blessings they have’.40 Scrutinising the sources illuminates how the war was declared upon the insurgents. Although promotion from Lower Germany to Britain was not unusual, choosing Urbicus may have had a deeper sense, since he had, when appointed consul suffectus, become fetialis,41 so that he could have declared war there in that specific function. There is yet another possible scenario: At 35  Cass. Dio 68.17.1 (trans. E. Cary, Loeb ed.). 36  Paus. 8.43.3–4 (trans. W.H.S. Jones, H.A. Ormerod, Loeb ed.). 37  J.G.F. Hind, “The ‘Genounian’ Part of Britain,” Britannia 8 (1977) 229–34. 38  F. Haverfield, “On Julius Verus, a Governor of Roman Britain,” PSAS 38 (1904) 454–9; W.S. Hanson, G.S. Maxwell, Rome’s North-west Frontier. The Antonine Wall (Edinburgh: Edinburgh Univ. Press, 1983) 146–7. 39  Birley, The Roman Government . . ., 136–40. 40  Aristid. Or. 26.70. 41  M.W.C. Hassall, “Footnotes to the Fasti” in A Roman Miscellany. Essays in Honour of A.R. Birley on His Seventieth Birthday (=Monograph Series Akanthina 3, eds. H.M. Schellenberg,

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the beginning of 139, Antoninus appointed Marcus Aurelius Caesar whereby he was co-opted in all priesthoods. Despite Dio’s silence whether Marcus Aurelius hurled the spear in 178 as fetialis, we can firmly assume this as the emperor had a reputation for painstakingly observing the rites. One might conjecture that in 139 the then Caesar, on behalf of his father, hurled the spear into that soil near the temple of Bellona, which was considered hostile territory, to formally declare war upon the Brigantes; Urbicus, then, opened the campaign by throwing the spear into the enemy’s land. If Marcus Aurelius had acted as fetialis in 139, it becomes fully intelligible why in 178 he declared war this way.42 Already Fronto and the authors of the fourth century compared Antoninus with Numa Pompilius,43 whom a tradition credits with the invention of the fetiales. In this respect, Antoninus was different from the venerable ancient king as he had to exert the fetial rite. By July 142 at the latest,44 coinciding with the emperor’s quinquennalia, Lollius Urbicus had achieved victory over the Britons. The visible result of the campaign was a shift of the frontier to the north and the building of the Antonine Wall, made of timber and turf,45 which led to abandonment of Hadrian’s Wall. When the news had reached Rome, Antoninus accepted his second imperial acclamation but did not celebrate a triumph or add the name

V.E. Hirschmann, A. Krieckhaus, Gdańsk: Foundation for the Development of Gdańsk University, 2008) 35. 42  Cf. A.R. Birley, Marcus Aurelius. A Biography (rev. edn. London, New York: Routledge, 2000) 206. 43  Fronto, Principia historiae 2.10.2 (van den Hout); Eutr. 8.8.1; SHA Ant. Pius 2.2. 13.4; cf. H. Brandt, “König Numa in der Spätantike. Zur Bedeutung eines frührömischen exemplum in der spätrömischen Literatur,” MH 45 (1988) 98–110. 44  On 13 August 142, Fronto (Ep. 2.4.1 van den Hout) mentioned the victory in his actio gratiarum for the consulship, as is known from the panegyric of 297 for Constantius Chlorus (Pan. Lat. 8.14.2). A military diploma (AE 1995.1824) from 1 August styled the emperor imperator II; an inscription from Salerno (CIL 10.515 = ILS 340), dated by trib(unicia) pot(estate) V to 142, has imp(erator) II. The emendation of V to VI in ILS 340 by Hill, The dating . . ., 8, must be refuted due to the arguments of W. Eck, “M. Cornelius Fronto, Lehrer Marc Aurels, consul suffectus im J. 142,” RhM 141 (1998) 193–6, who definitely placed Fronto’s consulship to 142. Hence, the coinage celebrating the victory in Britain must have started in the second half of 142 (contra Hill, The dating . . ., 98–­100). 45   S HA Ant. Pius 5.4. For the wall and its planning, D.J. Breeze, The Antonine Wall (Edinburgh: Donald, 2006); A. Strang, The distance slabs of the Antonine Wall. The deduction of their most likely disposition (Nottingham: A. Strang, 2007), and J. Poulter, Roman Roads and Walls in Northern Britain (Stroud: Amberley, 2010) 133–54.

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Britannicus to his imperial nomenclature.46 Thereby, he followed Hadrian’s example who refused to take Trajan’s triumphal names and only late in his reign acquired his second imperial acclamation after the suppression of the Jewish revolt.

War and Religion under Antoninus Pius. Antoninus’ Coinage47

Victory in Britain was announced empire-wide by a series of coins48 which were, in the second part of the series, inscribed IMPERATOR II on reverse, depicting a variety of gods, with Victory clearly in the majority,49 or a seated Britannia. The iconographic programme emphasised the rightfulness of the campaign in a very special way. The series started off with aurei and sestertii,50 which depict a naked Jupiter, standing front holding sceptre and thunderbolt, with the legend IOVI STATORI ‘to Jupiter the Stayer’, featuring on coins for the first time. In a legendary version, Romulus had devoted a temple to Jupiter, who stays the fleeing soldiers, when he fought the Sabines; later, in 294 BC, M. Atilius Regulus made the same vow during a battle against the Samnites and later dedicated the temple.51 Probably the remembrance of Romulus, who prominently appeared on Antoninus’ coinage,52 inspired the emperor to introduce Iuppiter Stator as protective god. Be that as it may, the message was clear: With Jupiter’s help, the enemies of the Empire will be halted and driven back. Beside Iuppiter Stator, the Dioscuri Castor and Pollux, who had only appeared 46  An inscription from Carthage (CIL 8.12513 = ILS 345), erected after 157, attaches the titles Britannicus, Germanicus, and Dacicus. Another inscription from Mauretania (CIL 8.20424) also dubs him Germanicus and Dacicus. However, those titles were never official and should be explained as adulatory, cf. P. Kneißl, Die Siegestitulatur der römischen Kaiser. Untersuchungen zu den Siegerbeinamen des ersten und zweiten Jahrhunderts (=Hypomnemata 23; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1969) 96–7. 47  For the types displayed on the reverses of the imperial coins, cf. the volumes of TAR which collect and classify all female, geographical and male representations. Cf. P.L. Strack, Untersuchungen zur römischen Reichsprägung des zweiten Jahrhunderts. Vol. 3: Die Reichsprägung zur Zeit des Antoninus Pius (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1937) esp. 50–66; for the chronology of the undated coins, the important work of Hill, The dating . . ., 78–­107; 176–­99. 48  Hill, The dating . . ., 190–2. 49  Cf. for the different types of Victoriae in the imperial coinage TAR 1.121–33. 50   R IC 3.72; 607 = TAR 2.136 (no. I.3.01.). 51  Livy 10.36.11. 37.15–6. 52   R IC 3.90; 624; 645; 665; 698 = TAR 2.179–80 (no. I.02.).

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in Republican coinage, feature on a medallion.53 In this specific context, sestertii praising the DISCIPLINA AVG(VSTI), a motif which was only used under Hadrian,54 and asses, dupondii, and sestertii with CONCORDIA EXERCITVVM minted from the outset of Antoninus’ reign,55 would underline the emperor’s closeness to the army. The series continued, again with aurei and sestertii, showing Mars standing right, holding inverted spear in right hand and resting left on grounded shield, inscribed as MART(I) VLTORI ‘to Mars the Revenger’.56 The god’s connotation as Ultor had been Octavianus’ creation in remembrance of his victory at Philippi in 42 BC over the murderers of his adoptive father Julius Caesar; his temple was finally dedicated as part of the Forum Augustum in 2 BC. Apart from early Vespasianic coins from Tarraco,57 Mars Ultor appears for the first-time since Augustus.58 On those coins just mentioned, Antoninus did not bear the designation imperator II, thereby indicating that fighting was still ongoing, although several coins reading VICTORIA AVG(VSTI), represented by Victory driving in a chariot or flying with wreath and palm,59 already announced the outcome. When he later assumed the acclamation, the coins depicting Britannia show her sitting on a rock or, in one instance, on a globe swimming on waves, holding in her right hand a legionary standard and in the left hand a lance while her elbow rests on a Britannic shield.60 Therefore, the coins celebrate the protection of the province, not her subjugation. Victoriae in different poses on all coin-types spread the emperor’s newly won glory throughout the Empire.61 Consequently, the title imperator II now appeared on all coins minted in 143.62 To the second part of the series commemorating the victory belong asses with two ancilia on reverse,63 a motif which had not been displayed on coins

53  Strack, Untersuchungen . . ., no. 555. 54   R IC 3.604; Strack, Untersuchungen . . ., no. 828 = TAR 2.330 (no. M.VI.2.03). For Hadrian, RIC 2.232; 746–7 = TAR 2.330 (nos. M.VI.2.01. and 02.). 55   R IC 3.600. 657. 678 = TAR 1.35–6 (type f1 A/13). 56   R IC 3.113a; 609 = TAR 2.160 (no. II.2.01.). Mars was commonly displayed on coins during the imperial period (cf. TAR 2.146–68). However, Mars in this pose probably resembles the cult-statue in the temple of Mars Ultor. 57   R IC 2.1297–9; 1358 = TAR 2.153 (no. II.2.06.). 58   R IC 1.68–74 = TAR 2.150–1 (nos. II.1.02. and 03.). 59  Hill, The dating . . ., 190. 60   R IC 3.742–5 = TAR 2.76 (nos. V.2.04. and 05.). 61   R IC 3.87–8 (quinarii); 101 (aureus); 653–5 (sestertii); 731–2 (asses). 62  Hill, The dating . . ., 191. 63   R IC 3.736.

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since denarii of Augustus.64 According to Roman tradition, those archaic shields, kept in Numa’s palace (Regia) with the spear of Mars, fell from heaven and were one of the seven pledges of empire (pignora imperii),65 as a divine voice declared Rome mistress of the world whilst the shields were preserved. Although many coins focus on Rome’s legendary history, which is interpreted as anticipation of Rome’s 900th anniversary in 147, these pieces most probably refer to Antoninus’ own times. The ancilia were on display during the procession of the Salii, the priests of Mars, in March and October, which marked opening and end of the season of warfare.66 Here the message of the coins should be taken at face-value, alluding to the end of hostilities in Britain. Asses with Iuppiter Victor underline divine help,67 which is also symbolised by Hercules68 and a medallion showing Vulcan forging weapons, which he hands over to Minerva.69 One is reminded of Aristides’ saying that wars ‘are interpreted more as myths by the many who hear them’.70 Janus’ appearance on coins rather belongs to the series celebrating Rome’s imminent anniversary than to the victory coinage71 as there are no testimonies for the closing or opening of the temple’s doors. Simultaneously, Antoninus’ diplomatic successes were celebrated by coins displaying the installation of kings to the Quadi and Armenians.72 Remarkably, this spectacular ostentation of the military and diplomatic vigour of the emperor, who acted under special divine protection, is confined to the year 143; later events,73 like the bellum Mauricum (144–150) or hostilities in Dacia and Britain (158), are only occasionally reflected in later issues, with, among others, a short recurrence of Iuppiter Stator.74 This illustrates how much the emperor needed to show off his military successes to the public and army at the outset of his reign. Appropriate to his unmilitary 64   R IC 1.343. 65  Ov. Fast. 3.365–92; Plut. Num. 13.2–3. 66  Dion. Hal. Ant. Rom. 2.71.1; Plut. Num. 13.7. 67  Strack, Untersuchungen . . ., no. 930. 68   R IC 3.726 = TAR 2.118 (no. I.01.). This portrayal is unique and probably depicts an archaic cult-statue of Hercules. 69  Strack, Untersuchungen . . ., no. 544. 70  Aristid. Or. 26.70. 71  Hill, The dating . . ., 91; 184. RIC 3.644; 693 = TAR 2.128 (no. I.01.). Cf. Strack, Untersuchungen . . ., 77. 72   R IC 3.619–20; 1059 = TAR 2.36 (nos. III.1.07. and 08.); 2.266 (nos. D.VII.1.01. and VII.2.01.); R. Göbl, “REX . . . DATUS. Ein Kapitel zur Interpretation numismatischer Zeugnisse und ihrer Grundlagen,” RhM 104 (1961) 70–80. 73  Cf. Rémy, Antonin le Pieux . . ., 231–56. 74   R IC 3.773; 927.

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nature and the fact that he never left Italy during his reign, he established a concept which emphasised the eminent role of the gods for Rome’s salvage with the emperor as guarantor that all rites were duly conducted. The success of divine help visualise several issues of the minor coins, minted for the decennalia (146–7) with Peace (Pax) holding cornucopiae and setting fire to a heap of arms.75

War and Religion under Antoninus Pius. The Distance Slabs

A remarkable feature of the Antonine Wall are the originally thirty-three distance slabs,76 made of local sandstone, of which about twenty are still extant. Dedicated to the emperor, they record the length of construction work by the detachments of the three legions. Nine of the extant slabs include ornate scenes, unique throughout the Empire, which were probably coloured in antiquity, thus making them an impressive testimony of Antoninus’ victorious campaign. The one from Bridgeness on the eastern end of Antonine Wall,77 set up by legio II Augusta, marked the beginning of construction work. It is a most telling depiction showing a sacrifice on the right and a fighting scene on the left. In a gabled archway stand four men in tunics and military cloaks while a toga-clad figure, probably also capite velato (‘with veiled head’), holds a patera offering a libation. Above the group is a standard (vexillum), inscribed legio II Augusta, symbolising the presence of the army. The Second Legion probably fought in full strength while the two other legions only sent detachments.78 To the right of the altar is a flute player (tibicen), with the double-pipes to his lips, below him stand three animals, a boar (sus), a ram (ovis), and a bull (taurus), advancing towards the altar. The sacrificial servant (victimarius), half-kneeling, half-sitting, appears to beckon to them. The depiction shows the suovetaurilia whereby the army was purified (lustratio) before the start of the campaign.79 Suovetaurilia are well documented in Roman literary sources80 and art, e.g., 75   R IC 3.777; 804; 822 = TAR 1.82–3 (type f1 A/08). 76  Strang, The Distance Slabs . . ., 42–3. 77   C SIR-GB 1.4.68 = RIB 2139. 78  D.J. Breeze, “The Second Augustan Legion in North Britain” in Birthday of the Eagle. The Second Augustan Legion and the Roman Military Machine (ed. R.J. Brewer, Cardiff: National Museums and Galleries of Wales, 2002) 72b. 79  Cf. Tac. Ann. 6.37.2. 80  Cato, Agr. 141.

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on Trajan’s and Marcus Aurelius’ column.81 While on them the emperor sacrifices, the Bridgeness distance slab differs, since Antoninus stayed at Rome. Two identifications for the toga-clad person seem possible: Either the depicted is Q. Lollius Urbicus, governor of Britain and commander-in-chief, or A. Claudius Charax, legate of legio II Augusta. As Roman officers also performed the sacrifices in the camp, Charax seems more likely, as Birley suggested.82 Charax was a native of Pergamum and could have met the future emperor while Antoninus served as proconsul Asiae in 135–6.83 Connections to the imperial family might be inferred from Marcus Aurelius mentioning him in the Meditations as philosopher.84 This philosophical background and his previous career did not predestine him to take up a command of a legion, which was to partake in fighting.85 However, he is known to have authored a World History in forty volumes,86 so Antoninus might have expected him to exalt his exploits in Britain; unfortunately, none of the extant fragments helps to strengthen this conjecture. After his legionary command, Charax was promoted to the governorship of Cilicia and in 147 became consul suffectus. Situated under a low archway, a cavalryman from the legio II Augusta, with leather cuirass, crested helmet, and a billowing cloak, seems to gallop over four naked warriors. His spear is poised to strike and in his left hand he holds an oval shield while a sword suspends from a baldric. The detailed portrayal of his horse, rearing up, lends liveliness to the scene. One of the natives has dropped his sword and tries to protect himself with his shield, while the second falls forward, obviously protruded by a spear-shaft. The third, decapitated warrior sits backwards, with his severed head lying to the right while to the left there are a 81  I.S. Ryberg, Rites of the State Religion in Roman Art (=MAAR 22; Rome: American Acad., 1955) 104–19. 82  A.R. Birley, “Officers of the Second Augustan Legion in Britain” in Birthday of the Eagle. The Second Augustan Legion and the Roman Military Machine (ed. R.J. Brewer, Cardiff: National Museums and Galleries of Wales, 2002) 109b–10a. 83  Cf. H. Halfmann, Die Senatoren aus dem östlichen Teil des Imperium Romanum bis zum Ende des 2. Jh. n. Chr. (=Hypomnemata 58; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1979) 161–2 no. 73; D.J. Breeze, “Q Lollius Urbicus and A Claudius Charax, Antonine Commanders in Britain,” PSAS 121 (1991) 227–30; Birley, The Roman Government . . ., 253–4. 84  M. Aur. Med. 8.25.2. 85  To a certain degree of probability, C. Curtius Iustus (Birley, The Roman Government . . ., 254–5) and P. Mummius Sisenna Rutilianus (ibid. 251–2) were then commanders of legio XX Valeria victrix and VI victrix respectively. While the former enjoyed a normal career, the latter was son of the Hadrianic governor of Britain P. Mummius Sisenna. 86   FGrH 103; O. Andrei, A. Claudius Charax di Pergamo. Interessi antiquari e antichità cittadine nell’età degli Antonini (=Opuscula Philologica 5; Bologna: Pàtron, 1984).

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shield and a dagger. The fourth native sits and cups down the chin in his hand, obviously in resignation. The whole picture might be designed as an ongoing storyline, comparable to modern comic strips. A captive is on display at the distance slab from Hag Knowe, from which only the left bottom has survived,87 and a standard-bearer on the fragmented one from the north gate of Balmuildy fort88 while two other depict dancing Cupids which Strang interprets as indicating the season’s end.89 The slab of the Second Legion from Summerston Farm90 shows on the left Victory crowning a fully equipped cavalryman who rides down two naked, bearded barbarians with their hands bound and their weapons on the ground. On the right, an eagle looking left seems to perch on a swimming capricorn, the legion’s symbol; below, another naked and bound barbarian is shown with his shield lying close to him. The distance slab of the Twentieth Legion from Hutcheson Hill91 shows two figures in a central arch, probably a triumphal archway. To the right stands a tall female, her hair neatly piled up and with a cloak falling over her left shoulder and looped over her left arm. In her left hand she holds a patera, in her right a small laurel wreath which she places in the beak of the eagle atop the standard presented by its bearer. She probably represents Britannia, resembling the hair-style of deified Faustina the Elder.92 The bowed figure of the bearer occupies the left side of the archway; he is bareheaded, clean-shaven, and faces towards the right, his eyes lowered. He grasps with both hands the pole of the standard which rests against his left shoulder. He is clad in a tunic and short cloak, his shins protected by greaves, wearing military sandals. At his right side he wears a short dagger. From that it becomes clear that victory over the Britons is won which affirms the next slab from Braidfield93 of the Sixth Legion. It contains no more fighting scenes but instead two winged Victories hold up an inscribed panel, flanked by Mars and Valour (Virtus). The Victories, hair piled up and their draperies billowing, each rest on a globe. Mars is equipped with a triple-plumed helmet, moulded cuirass, and cloak falling from his right shoulder. He rests his left hand on a shield and holds a spear in his right. Valour, with a plumed helmet and wearing a short tunic, which 87   C SIR-GB 1.4.84. 88   C SIR-GB 1.4.135 = RIB 2192. 89  Strang, The Distance Slabs . . ., 36–8. 90   C SIR-GB 1.4.137 = RIB 2193. 91   C SIR-GB 1.4.149 = RIB 3507. 92  K.E. Steer, E.A. Cormack, “A New Roman Distance-slab from the Antonine Wall,” PSAS 101 (1968–9) 123. 93   C SIR-GB 1.4.150 = RIB 2200.

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leaves her breast bare in Amazon fashion, holds in her right hand a vexillum inscribed Virtus Augusti (‘Virtue of the Emperor’) and in her left a sheathed sword reversed, the scabbard rests in the crook of her arm. On the western end of the wall, at Ferrydyke near Old Kilpatrick, the distance slab of the Twentieth Legion,94 represented as temple-façade, celebrates the final victory with a reclining Victoria. Her hair is piled up, her left elbow rests on a globe holding in her left hand a palm branch and in her right hand a laurel wreath, inscribed with the legion’s name. It is a matter of debate whether the fighting scenes and captives on the slabs allude to ongoing warfare during the two-and-a-half season which took the construction of the wall95 or represent the achievements of the legions during the campaign, which seems more plausible to me although it is remarkable that Antoninus is never styled imperator II. Conclusion Antoninus orchestrated the war in Britain as bellum iustum par excellence. He created a coherent religious concept by ingeniously combining the fetial rite of declaring of war, probably performed at Rome by the Caesar Marcus Aurelius as fetialis, with the invocation of Iuppiter Stator, which points to severe fighting, and Mars Ultor as supporters of the rightful Roman cause. On a more prosaic level, the emperor also exposed the loyalty and discipline of the soldiers and his own virtue. The detailed, though artisanally rather mediocre depictions96 on the distance slabs of the Antonine Wall exhibit the process of fighting, starting with the lustratio and culminating in a depiction of Victoria, holding palm branch and laurel wreath. Hence, the picture cycle of the distance slabs serves as a kind of triumphal monument ‘commemorating the extension of the Empire’,97 similar to Trajan’s column, though, in a much diminutive way. Even if immediately after his death the Empire came under heavy pressure from the Parthians and Germanic tribes, resulting in seventeen years of continuing warfare, this was not Antoninus’ fault.98 His rule brought the Roman 94   C SIR-GB 1.4.156 = RIB 2208. 95  Strang, The Distance Slabs . . ., 47–8. 96  M. Henig, The Art of Roman Britain (London: Batsfield, 1995) 50b. 97  Breeze, “The Second Augustan . . ., 71a. 98  Cf. the relocation of troops ob bellum Parthicum (CIL 9.2457 = ILS 1076) just before his death, as P. Weiss, “Militärdiplome und Reichsgeschichte. Der Konsulat des L. Neratius Proculus und die Vorgeschichte des Partherkriegs unter Marc Aurel und Lucius Verus” in Herrschen und Verwalten. Der Alltag der römischen Administration in der Hohen Kaiserzeit

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World an age of unprecedented peace, which was established by the gods whose guidance protected the Empire from enemies’ attacks. The emphasis of the gods and legends of Rome at first sight confirms the emperor’s unmilitary attitude but this firmly matched Roman beliefs. Therefore, modern appraisals of Antoninus Pius are negatively governed by hindsight-bias and the lack of sources, ignoring contemporary views, and neglect that he bequeathed a powerful Empire which successfully resisted the heavy pressure. Bibliography G. Adams, “An Analysis of Antoninus Pius’ Frontier Policy in Northern Britain and Its Representation of His Principate,” JAC 23 (2008) 119–37. S. Albert, Bellum iustum. Die Theorie des gerechten Krieges und ihre praktische Bedeutung für die auswärtigen Auseinandersetzungen Roms in republikanischer Zeit (=Frankfurter althistorische Studien 10; Kallmünz: Lassleben, 1980). O. Andrei, A. Claudius Charax di Pergamo. Interessi antiquari e antichità cittadine nell’età degli Antonini (=Opuscula Philologica 5; Bologna: Pàtron, 1984). C.A. Behr, Aelius Aristides and the Sacred Tales (Amsterdam: Hakkert, 1968). C.A. Behr (transl.), Aelius Aristides. The Complete Works. Vol. 2: Orations XVII–LIII (Leiden: Brill, 1981). A.R. Birley, Marcus Aurelius. A Biography (rev. edn. London, New York: Routledge, 2000). A.R. Birley, “Hadrian to the Antonines,” in CAH 11 (2nd edn. 2000) 132–94. ———, “Officers of the Second Augustan Legion in Britain” in Birthday of the Eagle. The Second Augustan Legion and the Roman Military Machine (ed. R.J. Brewer, Cardiff: National Museums and Galleries of Wales, 2002) 103–24. ———, The Roman Government of Britain (Oxford, New York: Oxford Univ. Press, 2005). H. Brandt, “König Numa in der Spätantike. Zur Bedeutung eines frührömischen exemplum in der spätrömischen Literatur,” MH 45 (1988) 98–­110. D.J. Breeze, “Q Lollius Urbicus and A Claudius Charax, Antonine Commanders in Britain,” PSAS 121 (1991) 227–30.

(=Kölner hist. Abh. 46, eds. R. Haensch, J. Heinrichs, Cologne, Vienna: Böhlau, 2007) 160–72, convincingly proved against the older assumption (cf. Rémy, Antonin le Pieux . . ., 248–9) which dated the inscription to 139. Moreover, on his death-bed, Antoninus was obviously angered by certain foreign kings (SHA Ant. Pius 12.7), foreseeing the imminent danger from the Parthians.

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———, “The Second Augustan Legion in North Britain” in Birthday of the Eagle. The Second Augustan Legion and the Roman Military Machine (ed. R.J. Brewer, Cardiff: National Museums and Galleries of Wales, 2002) 67–82. ———, The Antonine Wall (Edinburgh: Donald, 2006). W. Eck, “M. Cornelius Fronto, Lehrer Marc Aurels, consul suffectus im J. 142,” RhM 141 (1998) 193–6. F. Fontana, “Fetialis fui. Note sull’indictio belli di Ottaviano contro Cleopatra (32 a. C.),” AIIS 11 (1989–90) 69–82. E. Gibbon, The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. Vol. 1: Volume The First (1776) and Volume The Second (1781) (ed. D. Womersley, London: Allen Lane, 1994). R. Göbl, “REX . . . DATUS. Ein Kapitel zur Interpretation numismatischer Zeugnisse und ihrer Grundlagen,” RhM 104 (1961) 70–80. H. Halfmann, Die Senatoren aus dem östlichen Teil des Imperium Romanum bis zum Ende des 2. Jh. n. Chr. (=Hypomnemata 58; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1979). W.S. Hanson, G.S. Maxwell, Rome’s North-west Frontier. The Antonine Wall (Edinburgh: Edinburgh Univ. Press, 1983). M.W.C. Hassall, “Footnotes to the Fasti” in A Roman Miscellany. Essays in Honour of A.R. Birley on His Seventieth Birthday (=Monograph Series Akanthina 3, eds. H.M. Schellenberg, V.E. Hirschmann, A. Krieckhaus, Gdańsk: Foundation for the Development of Gdańsk University, 2008) 31–41. F. Haverfield, “On Julius Verus, a Governor of Roman Britain,” PSAS 38 (1904) 454–9. M. Henig, The Art of Roman Britain (London: Batsfield, 1995). P.V. Hill, The Dating and Arrangement of the Undated Coins of Rome. A.D. 98–148 (London: Spink, 1970). J.G.F. Hind, “The ‘Genounian’ Part of Britain,” Britannia 8 (1977) 229–34. W. Hüttl, Antoninus Pius. 2 vols. (Prague: Calve, 1933–6). K. Juntunen, “The Lost Books of Cassius Dio,” Chiron 43 (2013) 459–86. A.M. Kemezis, “Lucian, Fronto, and the Absence of Contemporary Historiography under the Antonines,” AJPh 131 (2010) 285–325. G. Kerler, Die Außenpolitik in der Historia Augusta (=Habelts Diss.drucke/Reihe Alte Geschichte 19; Bonn: Habelt, 1970). W.H. Keulen, Gellius the Satirist. Roman Cultural Authority in ‘Attic Nights’ (=Mnemos. Suppl. 297; Leiden, Boston, MA: Brill, 2009). R. Klein, “Zur Datierung der Romrede des Aelius Aristides,” Historia 30 (1981) 337–50. P. Kneißl, Die Siegestitulatur der römischen Kaiser. Untersuchungen zu den Sieger­ beinamen des ersten und zweiten Jahrhunderts (=Hypomnemata 23; Göttingen: ­Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1969).

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E. Kornemann, Römische Geschichte. Vol. 2: Die Kaiserzeit (7th edn. Stuttgart: Kröner, 1977). M. Mantovani, Bellum iustum. Die Idee des gerechten Krieges in der römischen Kaiserzeit (=Geist und Werk der Zeiten 77; Berne, Frankfurt: Lang, 1990). J.H. Oliver, “The Ruling Power. A Study of the Roman Empire in the Second Century after Christ through the Roman Oration of Aelius Aristides,” TAPhS 43 (1953) 871–1003. J. Poulter, Roman Roads and Walls in Northern Britain (Stroud: Amberley, 2010). B. Rémy, Antonin le Pieux 138–161. Le siècle d’or de Rome (Paris: Fayard, 2005). J. Rüpke, Domi militiae. Die religiöse Konstruktion des Krieges in Rom (Stuttgart: Steiner, 1990). ———, Fasti Sacerdotum. A Prosopography of Pagan, Jewish, and Christian Religious Officials in the City of Rome, 300 BC to AD 499 (Oxford, New York: Oxford Univ. Press, 2008). I.S. Ryberg, Rites of the State Religion in Roman Art (=MAAR 22; Rome: American Acad., 1955). C. Saulnier, “Le rôle des prêtres fetiaux et l’application du ius fetiale à Rome,” RD 4. sér. 58 (1980) 171–99. M.G. Schmidt, “Cassius Dio, Buch LXX. Bemerkungen zur Technik des Epitomators Ioannes Xiphilinos,” Chiron 19 (1989) 55–9. K.E. Steer, E.A. Cormack, “A New Roman Distance-slab from the Antonine Wall,” PSAS 101 (1968–9) 121–6. P.L. Strack, Untersuchungen zur römischen Reichsprägung des zweiten Jahrhunderts. Vol. 3: Die Reichsprägung zur Zeit des Antoninus Pius (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1937). A. Strang, The Distance Slabs of the Antonine Wall. The Deduction of Their Most Likely Disposition (Nottingham: A. Strang, 2007). K.F. Stroheker, “Die Außenpolitik des Antoninus Pius nach der Historia Augusta” in Bonner Historia-Augusta-Colloquium 1964/1965 (=Antiquitas IV/3, ed. A. Alföldi; Bonn: Habelt, 1966) 241–56. S. Walentowski, Kommentar zur Vita Antoninus Pius der Historia Augusta (=Antiquitas IV/3,3; Bonn: Habelt, 1998). A. Watson, International Law in Archaic Rome. War and Religion (=Ancient Society and History; Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins Univ. Press, 1993). P. Weiss, “Militärdiplome und Reichsgeschichte. Der Konsulat des L. Neratius Proculus und die Vorgeschichte des Partherkriegs unter Marc Aurel und Lucius Verus” in Herrschen und Verwalten. Der Alltag der römischen Administration in der Hohen Kaiserzeit (=Kölner hist. Abh. 46, eds. R. Haensch, J. Heinrichs; Cologne, Vienna: Böhlau, 2007) 160–72. T. Wiedemann, “The Fetiales: A Reconsideration,” CQ 36 (1986) 478–90.

Roman Soldiers in Official Cult Ceremonies: Performance, Participation and Religious Experience Tomasz Dziurdzik The religious ceremonies of the Roman Imperial army present a very complex issue, the consideration of which is of the highest importance for reconstructing both the official military religion and its impact upon the soldiers. The rites and holidays are believed to be major factors in the Romanization and promotion of loyalty to the state and ruler. The aim of the present paper is to reconstruct the soldiers’ position and experience in official cult ceremonies. It is of crucial importance to determine two things: who attended the ceremonies, and what role was played by those present at the rites. Further factors, such as piety or indifference, and also readiness to accept what was encouraged or enforced by military authorities, made the scope of any influence strongly variable between individuals. For masses of soldiers, however, it is mostly the extent of presence and performance that amounted to the “basic”, average experience of participants. This, in turn, should provide better understanding of the overall importance of official ceremonies in shaping the identity and attitudes of the military. The literary sources concerning the official religion of the Roman Imperial army are surprisingly limited, making the evidence of inscriptions, papyri and archaeological sources especially valuable. The single most important source of our knowledge about the cult ceremonies held by the Roman army is feriale Duranum, a religious calendar preserved on a papyri found in Dura Europos.1 Internal evidence allows us to date it to the reign of Severus Alexander, most likely between AD 225 and 227.2 It was probably used by cohors XX Palmyrenorum miliaria equitata, but is nonetheless assumed to be a standard calendar used in all Roman units,3 as none of the festivals mentioned 1  R.O. Fink, A.S. Hoey, W.F. Snyder, “The Feriale Duranum,” YClS 7 (1940) 1–222; C.B. Welles, R.O. Fink, J.F. Gilliam, The Excavations at Dura-Europos, Final Report V, Part I: the Parchments and Papyri (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1959) no. 54; R.O. Fink, Roman Military Records on Papyrus (Cleveland: Case Western Reserve University, 1971) no. 117. 2  H.W. Benario, “The Date of the ‘Feriale Duranum,’ ” Historia 11/2 (1962) 192–6. 3  A.D. Nock, “The Roman Army and the Roman Religious Year,” HThR 40/4 (1952) 202; J. Helgeland, Roman Army Religion in Aufstieg und Niedergang der römischen Welt II, 16, 2

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in the feriale Duranum could be specific only to a unit of Palmyrenians or to Dura Europos.4 Although only entries pertaining to three quarters of the year are preserved, several observations can be made as to the nature of festivals and anniversaries celebrated. To this one can add several official ceremonies that were not celebrated on a regular basis, but only when specific conditions applied.5 Together with information drawn from inscriptions on altars and statue bases dedicated by units and officers as part of their obligations, a list of deities worshipped by the Roman military has been reconstructed.6 Among the official army cults the Capitoline Triad, Mars and several gods and lesser deities connected with the military sphere received the greatest veneration, with a high number of ceremonies mentioned in the feriale Duranum being also devoted to the memory of deified emperors and empresses of the past. One of the most important issues in the study of Roman military religion is reconstructing the attitude of soldiers towards official rites. Some scholars view them as imposed by the authorities,7 with an admitted purpose of maintaining the pax deorum, proper relations with the gods, and an implicit purpose of promoting loyalty and Romanizing the soldiers.8 Such understanding suggests also that a certain dichotomy existed between official cults and private activities.9 The first had social importance, while the second provided for the spiritual needs that could not be satisfied by the uninspired observance of ceremonies imposed by the military hierarchy. This division between state and private religion has been suggested in the “polis religion” theory.10 However, regardless of whether the idea proposed in relation to the Greek polis could

(eds. H. Temporini, W. Haase, Berlin-New York: de Gruyter 1978) 1481; D. Kossmann, “Römische Soldaten als Teilnehmer von Festen” in Festrituale in der römischen Kaiserzeit (ed. J. Rüpke, Tübingen: Siebeck, 2008) 134–5. 4  Nock, “The Roman . . ., 192–202. 5  Kossmann, “Römische . . ., 141–2. 6  E. Birley, “The Religion of the Roman Army: 1895–1977” in Aufstieg und Niedergang der römischen Welt II, 16, 2 (eds. H. Temporini, W. Haase, Berlin, New York: de Gruyter, 1978) 1506–41; building upon the classical A. von Domaszewski, Die Religion des römischen Heeres (Trier: Arno Press, 1975). 7  Birley, ‘The Religion . . ., 1515. 8  Nock, ‘The Roman . . ., 203–29. 9  D. Fishwick, “Dated Inscriptions and the “Feriale Duranum”,” Syria 65 Fasc. 3/4 (1988) 351. 10  C. Sourvinou-Inwood, “Further Aspects of Polis Religion,” AION(archeol) 10 (1988) 259–74; C. Sourvinou-Inwood, “What is Polis Religion?” in The Greek City from Homer to Alexander (eds. O. Murray, S. Price, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1990) 295–322.

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be a useful tool in the study of Roman religion,11 such interpretations seem to be an oversimplification of a far more complex matter. Firstly, private dedications were made by soldiers of all ranks to an extremely wide range of divinities, including the gods prevalent in the official pantheon. The cults of Mithras12 and Iuppiter Dolichenus,13 which expressed values of the highest importance for the army, were in fact so popular among soldiers that they can be viewed as a semi-official religion of the army. The division between official and private cults seems therefore to be quite unclear. Secondly, the view that the alleged ideological manipulation was the main motivation behind Roman army religion also presupposes the existence of an authority able to impose close control over the military. Most often, only a vague group of “emperor’s advisors” is mentioned in this capacity.14 Of course, some ideological influence can be easily detected in the sacral calendar of the army. But bearing in mind the conservatism typical of armed forces and an apparently high level of development of social structures within the Roman army, the success of any strong outside religious or ideological influence seems to be rather improbable.15 Moreover, such understanding of the attitude of soldiers towards army religion ignores their own involvement and participation in the rites. Therefore, one should emphasize the role of religious rites as an expression of group identity16 also in the case of the official cults in the army,17 over and above their alleged topdown imposition. A closer analysis of the various roles of soldiers in the official cult ceremonies and their religious experience is therefore crucial to solving the focal issue within the study of military cult ceremonies. Beginning with the problem of the performance of rites in the official army religion, it has to be noted that the most important part, the sacrifice, was 11  J. Rüpke, “Kult jenseits der Polisreligion. Polemiken und Perspektiven,” JAC 47 (2004) 5–15. 12  M.P. Speidel, Mithras-Orion: Greek Hero and Roman Army God (Leiden: Brill, 1980); A. Hensen, Mithras: der Mysterienkult an Limes, Rhein und Donau (Stuttgart: Theiss, 2013). 13  M.P. Speidel, The Religion of Iuppiter Dolichenus in the Roman Army (Leiden: Brill, 1978); A. Collar, “Military Networks and the Cult of Jupiter Dolichenus” in Von Kummuḫ nach Telouch. Historische und archäologische Untersuchungen in Kommagene (ed. E. Winter Bonn: Habelt, 2011) 217–45. 14  Fink, Hooey, Snyder, “The Feriale . . ., 37–8. 15  I.P. Haynes, “The Romanisation of Religion in the ‘Auxilia’ of the Roman Imperial Army from Augustus to Septimus Severus,” Britannia 24 (1993) 157. 16  C. Geertz, “Religion as a Cultural System” in Anthropological Approaches to the Study of Religion (ed. M. Banton, London: Tavistock Publications, 1966) 1–46. 17  J. Rüpke, Domi militiae: die religiöse Konstruktion des Krieges in Rom (Stuttgart: Steiner, 1990) 178–96.

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always carried out by the most senior officer. It was him who made the libatio, an offering of liquid, and then supervised the killing of the sacrificial animals; this is illustrated by the scenes from Trajan’s column, where the Emperor acts in this capacity, and the Bridgeness slab,18 which depicts a sacrifice performed by the commander of a legionary detachment (vexillatio). This double role of an officer as not only a commander, but also a priest was very accurately described as a “gentleman’s duty”.19 This reminds us of a situation typical for many Roman religious ceremonies performed on behalf of a social group by the head of the group in question. In this capacity one can even compare the officer to a householder.20 It is important to note, however, that there is evidence for priestly grades among the rank-and-file soldiers at least from the early 3rd century.21 The importance of the existence of such professional priests in the military is limited by the fact that the performance of the most significant acts of cult probably still remained within the responsibilities of the commanders, as evidenced by a wall painting from Dura Europos. In this scene, both the tribune of an auxiliary unit, Iulius Terentius, and the priest Themes, son of Mokimos are depicted, with their roles also identified in papyri documents.22 It is the commander who sacrifices incense upon the altar, while the priest only makes a cult gesture towards the unit’s standard. Some of the less important aspects of the cult activities were without any doubt executed by lower ranking soldiers. We have evidence for several types of cult functionaries, including those who assisted the sacrifices, temple wardens and soothsayers.23 Their roles, although vital for the proper maintenance 18  R.G. Collingwood, R.P. Wright, The Roman Inscriptions of Britain (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1965) no. 2139; D.J. Breeze, “The Flag of Legion II Augusta on the Bridgeness Distance Slab,” Proceedings of the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland 119 (1989) 133–42. 19  O. Stoll, “ ‘Offizier und Gentleman’. Der römische Offizier als Kultfunktionär,” Klio 80/1 (1998) 134–62. 20  Nock, “The Roman Army . . ., 192. 21  von Domaszewski, Die Religion . . ., 111; R. Haensch, “Pagane Priester des römischen Heeres im 3. Jahrhundert nach Christus” in The Impact of Imperial Rome on Religions, Ritual and Religious Life in the Roman Empire (eds. L. de Blois, P. Funke, J. Hahn, Leiden: Brill, 2006) 216–8. 22  Nock, “The Roman . . ., 242–52; O. Stoll, “Die Fahnenwache in der römischen Armee,” ZPE 108 (1995) 112–13; Haensch, “Pagane . . ., 212–13; E.L. Wheeler, “Pullarii, Marsi, Haruspices, and Sacerdotes in the Roman Imperial Army” in A Roman Miscellany. Essays in Honour of Anthony R. Birley on his Seventieth Birthday (eds. V.E. Hirschmann, A. Krieckhaus, H.M. Schellenberg, Gdańsk: Foundation for the Development of Gdańsk University, 2008) 194–7. 23  Haensch, “Pagane . . ., 209.

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of the ceremony venues, as well as the smooth execution of the sacrifices and their proper results, earned them little honour in comparison to the religious role of the officers. This is reflected by the military grades of some of those cult functionaries; they were ranked relatively low, among principales, that is soldiers receiving one-and-a-half or two times the standard pay.24 Such positions were standard for all soldiers performing special duties (immunes) who, in turn, were exempt from manual labour. The low status and pay could be the reason why only few inscriptions mentioning the cult personnel have been found, but on the other hand, it is more probable that the scarcity of inscriptions reflects the fact that the posts were non-standard. As noticed by Wheeler,25 an exceptionally high number of inscriptions pertaining to some categories of military priests comes from Lambaesis, which suggests that at least some of them were members of the governor’s entourage, and quite possibly, civilians. The grades could also have been officially introduced only in some units, remaining as temporary-held posts elsewhere, thus resulting in the relatively low amount of evidence and its geographic and temporal concentration. We have already discussed the performance of the sacrifices and the roles of those directly involved in the cult: commanding officers, and the select group of NCOs acting as cult functionaries. It is the question of what amounted to the experience of the bulk of rank-and-file soldiers during the official ceremonies that has been so far unconvincingly answered. In this case, the problem of performance is intertwined with that of the participation in the cult activities of the Roman army. Therefore, we arrive at the question of whether the participation of the rank-and-file soldiers was active or passive in nature; that is, whether it had the elements that could increase the importance of the official religion for the common soldier. The sacrifices, as already discussed, probably involved little (if any) active participation on the part of the audience, as suggested not only by the mere logic of the course of the Roman rites, but also by the few representations available. On the other hand, the sacramentum, the sacred oath taken by all soldiers and renewed at the beginning of each year during a special ceremony (nuncupatio votorum, in feriale Duranum on 3rd January), was an activity which involved all the members of a unit. We know little about the form of the popular official ceremony, suplicatio, a public prayer. The course of such ceremonies and a possible parallel with the prayer which, according to Eusebius, was introduced by Constantine,26 suggest that it 24  A. von Domaszewski, Die Rangordnung des römischen Heeres (Köln, Wien: Böhlau, 1981) 6–20. 25  Wheeler, “Pullarii . . ., 190–1. 26  Eus. VC 4.18–20.

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is very likely that the soldiers recited formulas, sang hymns, or responded to a prayer led by a priest. In terms of performance, the rank-and-file soldiers were therefore personally involved in at least some of the rites. The soldiers’ experience is strongly related to the issue of the spatial and architectural context of the ceremonies. When a unit was not on campaign, its official ceremonies were performed in two places: on the parade-ground and, probably much more often, in the principia, the headquarters of the unit. The first of the settings did not limit the participation of the troops, nor would it have any noticeable effect on their experience, as it was mostly a flat area surrounded by a rampart, sometimes also with a tribunal.27 The headquarters, on the other hand, present a very complex architectural setting for religious ceremonies. The similarities of plans, combined with the fact that the scale of the building closely matched the size of the unit, allow for some generalisation. The headquarters in Novae, a legionary base near modern Svishtov in Bulgaria,28 are used here as a case study. Although the exact numbers would differ if other such installations were considered, the final conclusions of the following calculations should remain similar. The principia in this camp (Figure 1) measured 60 by over 100 meters, and consisted of a monumental gate (groma), a large courtyard surrounded by porticoes (forum militare), a hall (basilica) and the single most important place in the whole camp—the chapel of the standards (aedes), surrounded on both sides by offices. The grandness and splendour of the complex was magnified by the fact that the basilica and the chapel of the standards were immense structures in their own right. The visual effect of the ceremonies, taking into account also the various statues, altars, parade equipment and adornments, must have been striking, on par with or even exceeding those in civilian sanctuaries. The first issue to consider is that of the possible limitations of space. The total surface of the principia at Novae exceeded 6,000 square meters. If we assume that only parts of the basilica and the open courtyard were used, and moreover deducting about one fifth of the area that is left to account 27  R.W. Davies, “The Training Grounds of the Roman Cavalry,” AJ 125 (1968) 73–100. 28  T. Sarnowski, L. Kovalevskaja, A. Tomas, “Novae—castra legionis, 2006–2009. Preliminary Report on the Excavations of the University of Warsaw Archaeological Expedition,” Archeologia 59 (2008) 153–72; T. Sarnowski, L. Kovalevskaja, A. Tomas, “Novae 2011. Principia et munitiones Castrorum. Headquarters Building and Legionary Defences,” Światowit 9 (50) A (2011) 189–94; T. Sarnowski, Novae: an Archaeological Guide to a Roman Legionary Fortress and Early Byzantine Town on the Lower Danube (Bulgaria). With Contributions by Andrzej Bolesław Biernacki, Martin Lemke, Agnieszka Tomas, Pavlina Vladkova (Warszawa: Institute of Archaeology, University of Warsaw, 2012) 50–59.

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A reconstructed plan of the 2nd/3rd century headquarters building (principia) in the legionary camp Novae, near modern Svishtov in northern Bulgaria, showing the architectural divisions of the complex and the location of various small monuments found during the archeological research. Based on the plan of archaeological remains by T. Sarnowski, L. Kovalevskaya and P. Zakrzewski; drawn by T. Dziurdzik and M. Karolak.

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for ­various small monuments, such as statues and altars, we are still left with 2,000 square meters. The accommodation of more or less 5,000 legionaries on 2,000 square meters results in a crowd density of 2.5 men per square meter. While not necessarily comfortable, it is entirely plausible. For example, the upper guidance for standing density for audiences at modern events is close to 5 people per square meter. Moreover, the ratio of 2.5 men per square meter is the highest possible number. In reality, it would have been much lower, as more space was certainly available, especially in the porticoes. Besides, no ceremony would ever involve a gathering of the whole manpower of a unit, since the ill, wounded or those on leave would be absent,29 not to mention the numerous guards in and around the camp.30 Therefore, the capacity of the principia was more than enough to accommodate the whole legion. At such crowd densities the legionaries would also have no problems marching in step, for example to exit the complex in a parade. Using only the main passageway of the monumental gate, about 3.5 meters wide, a legion would need more than 20 minutes to parade in formation out of the complex.31 By using all five exits, the minimum time needed for the whole legion to enter or leave the complex is just over 4 minutes. These calculations clearly show that the layout of the Roman military headquarters was designed with some consideration for its role as a setting for mass cult ceremonies. However, the extent of the experience of soldiers present at the ceremonies must have been reduced by limited visibility. The view was obstructed by ranks of soldiers, but also by numerous altars and statues.32 As a countermeasure, the floor of the basilica, where the most important activities probably took place, was raised slightly higher than the level of the courtyard, and the chapel of the standards was elevated even more. Still, taking into account the distances and the pillars of the basilica, not to mention the effects of deployment in ranks, many soldiers must have had limited visibility; this, however, was probably not deemed essential. The socially and ideologically most important aspect of religious ceremonies in the Roman army seems to be the possibility of mass participation in 29  Kossmann, “Römische . . ., 147. 30  J.F. Gilliam, ‘The Roman Military Feriale,’ HThR 47/3 (1954) 187–8. 31  According to crowd management guidances, 1.0 m of door width allows a maximum of 80 people to exit in 1 minute. Using those numbers as reference, 20 minutes is an absolute minimum for the more or less 5,000 legionaries to exit through the main entrance. Movement in formation must have required considerably more time. 32   On their positioning compare T. Sarnowski, “Zur Statuenausstattung römischer Stabsgebäude,” BJ 189 (1989) 97–120; O. Stoll, Die Skulpturenausstattung römischer Militäranlagen an Rhein und Donau. Der Obergermanisch-Rätische Limes (St. Katharinen: Scripta Mercaturae Verlag, 1992).

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common rites, regardless of the region or of the composition of a unit. This had strong implications, helping to develop unification, fraternization and other elements of esprit de corps. In this capacity, the rites greatly contributed to the social experience of soldiers, helping join individuals into an integrated, coherent body. Thanks to the uniform sacral calendar and rites,33 this was true both on the level of an individual unit and for the Roman Imperial army as a whole. Indeed, the cult activities were an expression of a group identity34 among the military. One must also remember that such ceremonies served to break the routine of military life, as most soldiers were exempt from labour. The preserved part of the calendar contained within the feriale Duranum has a very reasonable average of one holiday per 7 days, though it must be noted that the intervals are not regular. The fact that this aspect was common to all Roman soldiers further underlines the social importance of the shared rites. To sum up, the participation of rank-and-file soldiers in the official cult activities probably involved mostly limited activity, such as making standard responses and parade-marching when ordered. Key to the role of religious ceremonies in the Roman army and to soldiers’ experience was the possibility of universal presence and passive participation. The final conclusion is that regardless of the whole plethora of various possible attitudes displayed by individual soldiers towards the official cult and the equally wide-ranging extent of their religious belief, it was the commonness of religious ceremonies that was vital for the social life, esprit de corps and coherence of the army. Thus, the religious rites were one of the defining elements of Roman military identity and a true expression of the army as a social group. Bibliography H.W. Benario, “The Date of the ‘Feriale Duranum’,” Historia 11/2 (1962) 192–6. E. Birley, “The Religion of the Roman Army: 1895–1977” in Aufstieg und Niedergang der römischen Welt II, 16, 2 (eds. H. Temporini, W. Haase, Berlin, New York: de Gruyter, 1978) 1506–41. D.J. Breeze, “The Flag of Legion II Augusta on the Bridgeness Distance Slab,” Proceedings of the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland 119 (1989) 133–42.

33  J. Helgeland, “Roman Army Religion” in Aufstieg und Niedergang der römischen Welt II, 16, 2 (eds. H. Temporini, W. Haase Berlin, New York: de Gruyter, 1978) 1487. 34   Geertz, “Religion. . . .

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A. Collar, “Military Networks and the Cult of Jupiter Dolichenus” in Von Kummuḫ nach Telouch. Historische und archäologische Untersuchungen in Kommagene (ed. E. Winter, Bonn: Habelt, 2011) 217–45. R.G. Collingwood, R.P. Wright, The Roman Inscriptions of Britain (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1965). R.W. Davies, “The Training Grounds of the Roman Cavalry,” AJ 125 (1968) 73–100. A. von Domaszewski, Die Religion des römischen Heeres (Trier: Arno Press, 1975). ———, Die Rangordnung des römischen Heeres (Köln, Wien: Böhlau, 1981). R.O. Fink, A.S. Hoey, W.F. Snyder, “The Feriale Duranum,” YClS 7 (1940) 1–222. R.O. Fink, Roman Military Records on Papyrus (Cleveland: Case Western Reserve University, 1971). D. Fishwick, “Dated Inscriptions and the “Feriale Duranum”,” Syria 65 Fasc. 3/4 (1988) 349–61. C. Geertz, “Religion as a Cultural System” in Anthropological Approaches to the Study of Religion (ed. M. Banton, London: Tavistock Publications, 1966) 1–46. J.F. Gilliam, “The Roman Military Feriale,” HThR 47/3 (1954) 183–96. R. Haensch, “Pagane Priester des römischen Heeres im 3. Jahrhundert nach Christus” in The Impact of Imperial Rome on Religions, Ritual and Religious Life in the Roman Empire (eds. L. de Blois, P. Funke, J. Hahn, Leiden: Brill, 2006) 208–18. I.P. Haynes, “The Romanisation of Religion in the ‘Auxilia’ of the Roman Imperial Army from Augustus to Septimus Severus,” Britannia 24 (1993) 141–57. J. Helgeland, “Roman Army Religion” in Aufstieg und Niedergang der römischen Welt II, 16, 2 (eds. H. Temporini, W. Haase, Berlin, New York: de Gruyter, 1978) 1470–505. A. Hensen, Mithras: der Mysterienkult an Limes, Rhein und Donau (Stuttgart: Theiss, 2013). D. Kossmann, “Römische Soldaten als Teilnehmer von Festen” in Festrituale in der römischen Kaiserzeit (ed. J. Rüpke, Tübingen: Siebeck, 2008) 133–152. A.D. Nock, “The Roman Army and the Roman Religious Year,” HThR 40/4 (1952) 187–252. J. Rüpke, Domi militiae: die religiöse Konstruktion des Krieges in Rom (Stuttgart: Steiner, 1990). ———, “Kult jenseits der Polisreligion. Polemiken und Perspektiven,” JAC 47 (2004) 5–15. T. Sarnowski, “Zur Statuenausstattung römischer Stabsgebäude,” BJ 189 (1989) 97–120. ———, Novae: an Archaeological Guide to a Roman Legionary Fortress and Early Byzantine Town on the Lower Danube (Bulgaria). With Contributions by Andrzej Bolesław Biernacki, Martin Lemke, Agnieszka Tomas, Pavlina Vladkova (Warszawa: Institute of Archaeology, University of Warsaw, 2012).

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T. Sarnowski, L. Kovalevskaja, A. Tomas, “Novae—castra legionis, 2006–2009. Preliminary Report on the Excavations of the University of Warsaw Archaeological Expedition,” Archeologia 59 (2008) 153–72. ———, “Novae 2011. Principia et munitiones Castrorum. Headquarters Building and Legionary Defences,” Światowit 9 (50) A (2011) 189–94. C. Sourvinou-Inwood, “Further Aspects of Polis Religion,” AION(archeol) 10 (1988) 259–74. ———, “What is Polis Religion?” in The Greek City from Homer to Alexander (eds. O. Murray, S. Price, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1990) 295–322. M.P. Speidel, The Religion of Iuppiter Dolichenus in the Roman Army (Leiden: Brill, 1978). ———, Mithras-Orion: Greek Hero and Roman Army God (Leiden: Brill, 1980). O. Stoll, Die Skulpturenausstattung römischer Militäranlagen an Rhein und Donau. Der Obergermanisch-Rätische Limes (St. Katharinen: Scripta Mercaturae Verlag, 1992). ———, “Die Fahnenwache in der römischen Armee,” ZPE 108 (1995) 107–18. ———, “ ‘Offizier und Gentleman’. Der römische Offizier als Kultfunktionär,” Klio 80/1 (1998) 134–62. C.B. Welles, R.O. Fink, J.F. Gilliam, The Excavations at Dura-Europos, Final Report V, Part I: the Parchments and Papyri (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1959). E.L. Wheeler, “Pullarii, Marsi, Haruspices, and Sacerdotes in the Roman Imperial Army” in A Roman Miscellany. Essays in Honour of Anthony R. Birley on his Seventieth Birthday (eds. V.E. Hirschmann, A. Krieckhaus, H.M. Schellenberg, Gdańsk: Foundation for the Development of Gdańsk University, 2008) 185–201.

Religious Aspects of the Bar Kokhba Revolt: The Founding of Aelia Capitolina on the Ruins of Jerusalem Boaz Zissu and Hanan Eshel The Jewish War of 66–73 CE ended with the destruction of the Temple and the city of Jerusalem, but the Jewish rural areas of Judea survived the disaster. From 132 to 136 CE the Jews of Judea revolted against the Roman rule under the leadership of Shimon Ben Kosiba, whom his supporters dubbed Shimon Bar Kokhba—‘The Son of a Star’. The suppression of the revolt was a difficult task for the Roman army. The revolt did end in defeat for the Jews and large scale devastation of the Judean countryside. Hundreds of thousands of Jews were killed or enslaved. The survivors were prohibited from living in Jerusalem and the surrounding region. Bans were issued on some basic Jewish religious practices. Finally, to obliterate the connection of the Jewish people to their land, Hadrian changed the name of the province from Judaea to Syria Palaestina.1 While the Jewish War was described in great detail by an eyewitness, Flavius Josephus, the Bar Kokhba revolt lacks a contemporary, detailed chronicle. The scholars of this period are compelled to rely on the epitome of Cassius Dio in Xiphillinus (Historia Romana 69, 11–15; trans. E. Cary), and few legends transmitted by the Church Fathers and the rabbinic literature. In other words, any scholarly attempt to reconstruct a history of the war has to trust biased descriptions written well after the conclusion of the events. As a result, much of the contemporaneous information about the period available to scholars comes from archaeological, numismatic, epigraphic and papyrological material.2 In this paper, we will review the available data in order to reexamine the Hadrianic decree to rebuild Jerusalem as Aelia Capitolina, a Roman colonia. Its 1  P. Schäfer, Der Bar Kokhba-Aufstand: Studien zum zweiten jüdischen Krieg gegen Rom (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1981); W. Eck, Rom und Judaea: Fünf Vorträge zur römischen Herrschaft in Palaestina, Jenaer Vorlesungen zu Judentum, Antike und Christentum 2 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007) 69–71. 2  H. Eshel, “The Bar Kochba Revolt, 132–135” in The Cambridge History of Judaism, vol. 4, The Late Roman Period (ed. S.T. Katz, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006) 105–127; W. Eck, “The Bar Kokhba Revolt: The Roman Point of View,” Journal of Roman Studies 89 (1999) 76–89.

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name was changed to COLONIA AELIA CAPITOLINA, based on Hadrian’s own nomen gentilicium, Aelius (Hadrian’s tria nomina being Publius Aelius Hadrianus), and the Capitoline Triad of Jupiter, Juno, and Minerva.3 There could be no greater insult to Jewish feelings than to transform the Holy City into a pagan shrine. This review, based on archaeological findings, will demonstrate that this religious issue was, in fact, the proximate cause of the revolt.

The Founding Date of Aelia Capitolina

Because of a contradiction between the ancient sources, some scholars have maintained that the founding of Aelia Capitolina was one of the causes of the Bar Kokhba revolt while others have argued that it was a punishment imposed by Hadrian on the Jews after the revolt.4 In 129/130 CE, Hadrian visited Judaea and Arabia on his way to Egypt.5 According to Cassius Dio, Hadrian founded Aelia Capitolina during the course of that journey (Historia Romana 69: 12; trans. E. Cary), an event consistent with Hadrian’s policy of founding (or refounding) Hellenistic cities during his extensive tours of the provinces.6 Eusebius, on the other hand, stated that the city was founded only after the revolt, ca. 136 (Ecclesiastical History 4:6). This latter position receives implicit 3  B.H. Isaac, “Roman Colonies in Judaea: The Foundation of Aelia Capitolina,” Talanta 12/13 (1980/81) 31–54; B.H. Isaac, “Jerusalem—An Introduction” in Corpus Inscriptionum Iudaeae/ Palestinae: Jerusalem, vol. 1: A Multi-lingual Corpus of the Inscriptions from Alexander to Muhammad (eds. H.M. Cotton, L. di Segni, W. Eck, B. Isaac, A. Kushnir-Stein, H. Misgav, J. Price, I. Roll, A. Yardeni, Berlin: de Gruyter, 2010) 1–37. 4  H. Eshel, “ ‘Bethar was Captured and the City was Plowed’: Jerusalem, Aelia Capitolina and the Bar Kokhba Revolt,” Eretz Israel 28 (2007) 21–8 (Hebrew) 10* (English summary); M.D. Herr, “Persecutions and Martyrdom in Hadrian’s Days,” Scripta Hierosolymitana 23 (1972) 93–4. The remark made by Appian of Alexandria, the second century CE historian, that Jerusalem was destroyed by Hadrian “in our time” (Syriacus Liber 50:252) supported the view that the city had fallen in the hands of the rebels. See original text, translation and discussion by M. Stern, Greek and Latin Authors on Jews and Judaism, Vol. II (Jerusalem: Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities, 1980) 179–180. It seems reasonable to assume that this reference was not made to the city itself, but to the overall destruction of Judea in the aftermath of the Bar Kokhba revolt. 5  On this occasion, the mint in Rome issued coins with the legend ADVENTVI AVG(usti) IVDAEAE on their reverse, accompanied by the personification of Judaea holding cup and patera and greeting Hadrian from behind an altar; two small boys stand at her feet, each holding a palm branch. See discussion by E.M. Smallwood, The Jews Under Roman Rule: From Pompey to Diocletian (Leiden: Brill, 1976) 463–4. 6  A.R. Birley, Hadrian, The Restless Emperor (London: Routledge, 1997).

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support from the Mishna (Taʿanit 4:6), which states that on the Ninth of Ab, inter alia, ‘Betar was captured and the city was plowed up.’ Because the other events in this passage are listed in chronological sequence, we can infer that first Betar was destroyed (by Hadrian in 135/6 CE) and only afterwards was the founding ceremony of the Roman colony of Aelia Capitolina held. This event involved the ceremonial ploughing of the sulcus primigenius, the primary furrow, by an ox and a cow to mark the pomerium (sacred boundary) of the new city. Note, however, that according to both schools of thought, the founding of Aelia Capitolina is related to the Bar Kokhba Revolt. The question, of course, is which event caused the other—a question we aim to answer on the basis of archeological evidence.

Numismatic Discoveries in the Judean Desert

One of the most compelling pieces of evidence supporting an earlier founding of Aelia Capitolina comes from coins minted by the city before or during the revolt and found in hoards and numismatic assemblages concealed in refuge caves7 in the Judean Desert before the end of the revolt. One of the most important of these numismatic assemblages was discovered in the el-Jai cave, a large karstic refuge cave located in the cliffs of Wadi el-Jai, one of the deep ravines of the northern Judean Desert. The cave was first surveyed by the team from the Survey of Western Palestine in June 1881.8 It was surveyed again by

7  The refuge caves are found mainly in the Judean Desert, in the steep cliffs overlooking the Dead Sea and the Jordan Valley. These caves are basically large natural caves (with few manmade alterations) located in almost-inaccessible vertical cliffs, remote from any settlements. The best known refuge caves are the Cave of the Letters in Nahal Hever and the caves in Wadi Murabba’at, which produced a wealth of written documents from the time of the revolt. Artifacts found in the refuge caves include documents written in Greek and Aramaic on papyrus, fragments of Biblical scrolls, bronze and silver coins, some of which were overstruck by the Bar Kokhba administration, assemblages of weapons and other metal artifacts, pottery, glass, stone objects, textiles and other organic finds, food remains, as well as wood and bone objects. This wealth of finds make it evident that they served as places of refuge for people from the Judean mountains and the Jordan Valley when they fled for their lives at the end of the Bar Kokhba revolt. See H. Eshel, D. Amit (eds.), Refuge Caves of the Bar Kokhba Revolt (Tel Aviv: Israel Exploration Society, 1998). (Hebrew); H. Eshel, R. Porat, Refuge Caves of the Bar Kokhba Revolt, vol. 2 (Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 2009). (Hebrew). 8  C.R. Conder, H.H. Kitchener, The Survey of Western Palestine: Memoirs, vol. 3, Judaea (London: Committee of the Palestine Exploration Fund, 1883) 138–40.

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Uri Dinur in the mid 1980s, but he did not find any Roman-period artifacts.9 In February 1997, however, pottery and fragments of glass vessels from the period of the Bar Kokhba revolt were found as a result of intensive looting.10 In January 1998, the authors surveyed the cave with a metal detector, and found sixteen coins which, presumably, had been brought there at the end of the Bar Kokhba revolt.11 Three coins (Nos. 2, 4, 12) were found at a junction of two burrows in the inner part of the cave.12 In the innermost hall of the cave, which showed many signs of looting, were the rim of a jug, the rim of a storage jar, and thirteen additional coins that appear to have been brought to the cave at the end of the Bar Kokhba Revolt.13 Coin No. 1 is a Nabatean coin of Aretas IV, dated to 18–25 CE. Coin No. 2 was issued by the procurator Felix in the fourteenth year of 9  U. Dinur, N. Feig, “Eastern Part of the Map of Jerusalem” in Archaeological Survey of the Hill Country of Benjamin (eds. I. Finkelstein, Y. Magen, Jerusalem: Israel Antiquities Authority, 1993) 418. 10  H. Eshel, “Aelia Capitolina, Jerusalem no More,” Biblical Archaeology Review [=BAR] 22, no. 6 (1997) 46–8, 73; H. Eshel, “The Date of the Founding of Aelia Capitolina” in The Dead Sea Scrolls, Fifty Years after their Discovery (ed. L.H. Schiffman, E. Tov, J.C. VanderKam, Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 2000) 637–43. 11  H. Eshel, B. Zissu, “Coins from the el-Jai Cave in Nahal Mikhmash (Wadi Suweinit)” in “Studies in Memory of Leo Mildenberg,” Israel Numismatic Journal [=INJ] 14 (ed. D. Barag, 2002) 168–75. 12  Coin No. 4 and 12 were found together on a boulder while No. 2 was found not far, in the earth covering the floor of the tunnel. This spot as well as the innermost hall (No. 8 on the plan) is accessible after a long crawling, we therefore do not believe that this area was visited in normal conditions. 13  Although Carradice, “Coinage in Judaea in the Flavian Period, A.D. 70–96,” INJ 6–7 (1982–3) 14–21 showed that the small “prutah” which was widespread before the first revolt was no longer produced, the archaeological finds show that coins from the Second Temple period remained in circulation until the Bar Kokhba revolt. For example, in the hoard found at Herodium, a Nabataean coin, a prutah of Pontius Pilatus and a prutah from year two of the First Revolt against the Romans were found together with 822 coins from the Bar Kokhba revolt, see A. Spijkerman, Herodion III, Catalogo delle Monete (Jerusalem: Franciscan Printing Press, 1972) 97. Regarding such coins found in a Bar Kokhba context at Khallet Qeis and Nahal Yatir sites, see Y. Goren, P. Fabian, “Coinage in the Period of the Bar Kochba Revolt in View of Findings in the Tunnel Sites in the Yatir Area,” Nikrot Zurim 7 (1983) 62 (Hebrew); on the coins found in the Cave of Letters, see A. Kindler, “Coins from the Cave of Letters (1999–2000 Seasons)” in New Studies on the Bar Kokhba Revolt (eds. H. Eshel, B. Zissu, Ramat-Gan: Bar-Ilan University Department of Land of Israel Studies, 2001) 12–13(Hebrew). On the floor of ‘Building M’ at H. ʿEthri, excavated by Zissu, A. Ganor, two prutot were found from year two of the First Revolt against the Romans; in a sealed fill, under the same floor, a coin issued at Ascalon in the days of Trajan was found.

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Claudius’ reign, i.e., 54 CE. Coin No. 3 is a denarius of Titus, dated to 79–80 CE. Coin No. 4 was struck in Sebaste during the reign of Domitian; it bears the date 109 of the era of Sebaste, which began in 27 BC;14 hence this coin is dated to 82/83 CE. Coin No. 5 is a denarius issued in 96 CE during Nerva’s reign. Coin No. 6 is a denarius from Trajan’s fifth consulship; it is dated to 103–111 CE. Coin No. 7 is a denarius minted during Trajan’s sixth consulship (112–117 CE). Coin No. 8, minted in Alexandria, bears the date of the sixth year of Hadrian’s reign, i.e., 122/123 CE. The denarius of Hadrian, No. 9, is undated, but Hill’s research indicates that it should be dated to sometime between late 126 CE and early 128 CE.15 Coin No. 10, from the mint in Gaza, has a double date: the fifth year since the visit (EPIDHMIA)16 and year 194 of the era of Gaza, i.e., 133/4 CE.17 The Aelia Capitolina coins (Nos. 11and 12) are undated types. No. 11 is the foundation type bearing the portrait of Hadrian. The obverse reads: IMP(eratori) CAES(ari) TRAI(ano) HADRIANO AVG(usto) P(atri) P(atriae). The reverse shows the emperor plowing the pomerium of the new colonia with a plow attached to a cow and an ox, with the inscription: COL(olonia) AEL(ia) KAPIT(olina) COND(itori): (i.e., ‘the colonia Aelia Capitolina to its founder’).18 Coin No. 12 has the portrait of Hadrian on the obverse and the 14  D. Barag, “King Herod’s Royal Castle at Samaria-Sebaste,” Palestine Exploration Quarterly 125 (1993) 16 n. 6. 15  P.V. Hill, The Dating and the Arrangement of the Undated Coins of Rome, A.D. 98–148 (London: Spink and Son, 1970) 57–8. 16  Hadrian came to Palestine in 129/130 C.E. via the port of Gaza, thereby boosting the city’s prestige. Consequently, the count from Hadrian’s visit was added to Gaza’s coins (this practice continued until Hadrian’s death in 138). See W. Eck, “Suffektkonsuln der Jahre 132–134 und Hadrians Rückkehr nach Rom im Jahr 132,” ZPE 143 (2003) 236–9; W. Eck, P. Holder, A. Pangerl, “A Diploma for the Army of Britain in 132 and Hadrian’s Return to Rome from the East,” ZPE 174 (2010) 193–4, 198; R. Baker, “Epiphanius, ‘On Weights and Measures’ §14: Hadrian’s Journey to the East and the Rebuilding of Jerusalem,” ZPE 182 (2012) 160–1. 17  There is a discrepancy of seven or eight months between the beginnings of the two Gaza eras, see A. Kindler “Numismatic Documentation of Hadrian’s Visit to Gaza,” Museum Haaretz Yearbook 17–18 (1975) 61–7. (Hebrew). 18  Arie Kindler has shown that Hadrian’s portrait on Aelia’s founder type and the coin depicting Aelia’s Capitolium have a very close similarity to his portrait and especially his hairstyle on the Roman issues dated to the first half of his reign, see A. Kindler, “Was Aelia Capitolina Founded before or after the Outbreak of the Bar Kokhba War? A Numismatic Evidence” in “Studies in Memory of Leo Mildenberg,” INJ 14 (ed. D. Barag, 2002). For Aelia coin types, see L. Kadman, The Coins of Aelia Capitolina (Jerusalem: Israel Numismatic Society, 1956); Y. Meshorer, The Coinage of Aelia Capitolina (Jerusalem: Israel Museum, 1989).

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portrait of Sabina on the reverse. Three Bar Kokhba coins (Nos. 13–15) are from the second year of the revolt, i.e., 133/134 CE; the fourth (No. 16) is from the undated series minted in the third and fourth years of the revolt. Until the discovery of these four coins, only two Bar Kokhba coins were known to have been found north of Jerusalem: one at Araq en-Na’asaneh in Wadi ed-Daliyeh and the other in the Mackuck cave.19 The fact that this hoard contains both Bar Kokhba and Aelia Capitolina coins enables us to reconsider the issue of the founding date of Aelia Capitolina and the dating of its coins. Meshorer concluded, on the basis of the fact that a hoard of Bar Kokhba coins uncovered in uncontrolled excavations in the Hebron Hills included one Aelia Capitolina coin, that Cassius Dio’s statement that the city was founded in 130 should be accepted.20 However, because the hoard described by Meshorer was not discovered in a controlled excavation, some scholars have cast doubt on his assumption that coins were minted in Aelia Capitolina before the end of the Bar Kokhba Revolt. Herr noted that the discovery reported by Meshorer does not necessarily mean that Aelia Capitolina was founded in 130; after all, the hoard was hidden in ca. 135 and so Aelia Capitolina coins may have been first minted during the revolt, which only began in 132.21 Meshorer, on the other hand, is inclined to accept Cassius Dio’s testimony regarding the foundation date of Aelia Capitolina in 130 because the archeological record confirms most of the details he reported.22 While the numismatic finds in the el-Jai cave do not definitively corroborate Cassius Dio’s account, they do probably indicate that the Aelia Capitolina mint began operating before 135. As mentioned above, the Gaza coin (No. 10) was minted in 133/134. In most of the hoards from the Bar Kokhba Revolt, the latest coins were issued in 132. It is therefore commonly assumed that the Judaean economy was cut off from the rest of the Roman Empire upon the outbreak of the Bar Kokhba revolt.23 The discovery of two Aelia Capitolina coins together with four Bar Kokhba coins reinforces Herr’s hypothesis that the minting of 19  On Araq en-Na’asaneh, see D. Barag, “A Note on the Geographical Distribution of Bar Kokhba Coins,” INJ 4 (1980) 30–3; B. Zissu, H. Eshel, “The Geographical Distribution of Coins of the Bar Kokhba War” in “Studies in Memory of Leo Mildenberg,” INJ 14 (ed. D. Barag, 2002), 157–67. On Wadi el-Mackuk, see H. Eshel, “A Coin of Bar Kokhba from a Cave in Wadi el-Mackuk,” INJ 9 (1986–7) 51–52, Pl. 16:3. 20  Y. Meshorer, Jewish Coins of the Second Temple Period (Tel Aviv: Am Hassefer, 1967) 92–3. 21  M.D. Herr, “The Causes of the Bar-Kokhba War,” Zion 43 (1978) 8–10, nn. 42, 44 (Hebrew). 22  Meshorer, Coinage . . ., 19–20. 23  B. Zissu, H. Eshel, “Coins and Hoards from the Time of the Bar Kokhba Revolt” in Hoards and Genizot as Chapters in History, Hecht Museum Catalogue no. 33 (Haifa: Hecht Museum, 2013) 31*–39*.

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coins in Aelia Capitolina began during the revolt. Presumably, one of the refugees who fled to the el-Jai cave obtained his hand on Roman coins minted during the revolt, either through trade with people who worked outside the area controlled by Bar Kokhba or by taking them as booty taken a Roman soldier. Admittedly, no Bar Kokhba coins overstruck on identifiable Aelia Capitolina coins have been discovered to date; nor have Aelia Capitolina coins been found in the destruction layers of the Bar Kokhba Revolt. This fact led Aharon Oppenheimer and Benjamin Isaac to argue that though we must assume that the city was founded before the outbreak of the revolt, there is no evidence that coins commemorating the foundation of the city were minted before 135 CE.24 Of course, a find of coins from year one of the Bar Kokhba revolt struck over coins of Aelia Capitolina would provide clear evidence that Aelia Capitolina started to mint coins before the revolt, i.e., in the years 130–132 CE. The likelihood of such a find, however, is extremely slim. First, the coins issued in Aelia in Hadrian’s time were made only of bronze, and most of the original bronze coins over which the Bar Kokhba coins were struck are now unidentifiable (as opposed to original silver coins, which can be identified). Second, the fact that Aelia and Bar Kokhba coins are so rarely found together suggests a clear economic separation between the areas under rebel control and the pagan city of Aelia Capitolina. Nonetheless, we believe the el-Jai findings show that coins were minted in Aelia Capitolina before 135. We can assume that Hadrian established the colony in 130, as per Cassius Dio, but that the mint started to function only during the war, because took time to complete the building operations and the organization of the city’s institutions and mint. As a result of the economic separation between the rebels and the Romans, the chances of finding a Bar Kokhba coin minted on a brand new Aelia coin are very small, indeed. We might also suggest that the change in formulae on the rebels’ coins from ‘Year One of the Freedom of Israel’ and ‘Year Two of the Redemption of Israel’ to the slogan ‘For the Freedom of Jerusalem’ was reaction to the pagan coins that were started to be minted in Aelia Capitolina.25 24  B. Isaac, A. Oppenheimer, “Research History of the Bar Kokhba War” in The Hiding Complexes in the Judaean Shephelah (eds. A. Kloner, Y. Tepper, Tel-Aviv: HaKibbutz HaMeuchad, 1987) 416 and n. 65. (Hebrew). In this article, the authors revised their opinion, expressed in B. Isaac, A. Oppenheimer, “The Revolt of Bar Kokhba: Ideology and Modern Scholarship,” JJS 36, no. 1 (1985) 47 and n. 65. 25  As there are bronze coins that bear both “year two” and the slogan “for the freedom of Jerusalem” inscriptions, we might assume that this happened at the end of year two of the revolt.

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Two Recent Archaeological Discoveries and their Significance

Two recent archeological discoveries shed light on the founding of Aelia Capitolina and lend additional support to the view that the city was founded before the Bar Kokhba Revolt. Excavations of the Eastern Cardo of Jerusalem Recent excavations of the fills that accumulated under the Eastern Cardo of Jerusalem and that predate its construction uncovered a sizable collection of small artifacts, including coins and fragments of pottery, oil-lamps, and glass. The latest objects uncovered underneath the pavement of the street were dated to between the late first century and early second century CE. The latest coin was minted in Antioch during the reign of Hadrian (117–138 CE), supplying a terminus post quem for the pavement of the Cardo. The Hadrianic date of the street is further supported by a well-dated assemblage of oil-lamps and pottery, which are typical of the period 70–130 CE. The fill contained various finds associated with the Roman legionary presence in Jerusalem: three military bread stamps, dozens of roof tiles, and faunal remains. Interestingly, pig bones constitute the most common component (over 60% of the faunal remains), while they are notably absent from assemblages from Second Temple–period Jerusalem (pre-70 CE destruction).26 These finds suggest that urban reconstruction of Jerusalem began in the first quarter of the second century and certainly not after 130 CE. Therefore, it seems that Hadrian started rebuilding Jerusalem as a Roman, pagan city soon after he was appointed emperor in 117 CE. However, the ‘official’ founding of the Roman colony of Aelia Capitolina should be dated to the imperial visit to Judaea in 129/130.27

26  S. Weksler-Bdolah, “The Foundation of Aelia Capitolina in Light of New Excavations along the Eastern Cardo,” IEJ 64 (2014) 38–62; S. Weksler-Bdolah, A. Onn, B. Ouahnouna, S. Kisilevitz, “Jerusalem, the Western Wall Plaza Excavations, 2005–2009, Preliminary Report, 23/09/2009,” Hadashot Arkheologiyot—Excavations and Surveys in Israel 121 (2009) available at http://www.hadashot-esi.org.il/report_detail_eng.aspx?id=1219; S. Weksler-Bdolah, A. Onn, S. Kisilevitz, B. Ouahnouna, “Layers of Ancient Jerusalem,” BAR 38, no. 1 (2012) 37–47, 69–70. 27  Schäfer, Der Bar Kokhba-Aufstand . . ., 16–17; W. Eck, P. Holder, A. Pangerl, “A Diploma for the Army of Britain in 132 and Hadrian’s Return to Rome from the East,” ZPE 174 (2010) 193–4, 198; Birley, Hadrian . . ., 237; Baker, “Epiphanius . . ., 162–3 and extensive literature cited there.

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A Monumental Inscription from Jerusalem A large fragment of a monumental Latin inscription commemorating Hadrian’s visit in 129/130 CE has been recently uncovered in an IAA salvage excavation just north of the Damascus Gate in Jerusalem.28 During excavations undertaken in the summer of 2014 by Rina Avner and Roie Greenvald, a Byzantine-era compound—apparently a monastery— was uncovered. The buildings incorporated construction materials from the Roman period, including the fragmentary inscription, which was reused as a cover of a water cistern. Interestingly, this fragment is only the right part of the monumental inscription; the left part was discovered in the same area in the late nineteenth century and was published by the French archaeologist Charles Clermont-Ganneau.29 The inscription, consisting of the remains of six lines of Latin text engraved on hard, yellowish limestone (measurements: h. 1.09 m, w. 1.45 m, d. 0.3 m, letters: upper rows 12.5–13 cm, lower row 9–9.5 cm), was studied by Avner Ecker and Hannah M. Cotton of the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. The reconstructed inscription reads: (1st hand) To the Imperator Caesar Traianus Hadrianus Augustus, son of the deified Traianus Parthicus, grandson of the deified Nerva, high priest, invested with tribunician power for the 14th time, consul for the third time, father of the country (dedicated by) the 10th legion Fretensis (2nd hand) Antoniniana. The inscription was apparently dedicated by the Legio X Fretensis to the emperor Hadrian in the year 129/130 CE. Beside the name and titles of the emperor, it specifically mentions the date, which can be deduced from the emperor’s titles. This date is consistent with the date of Hadrian’s visit to the city as mentioned in other sources. 28  R. Avner, R. Greenwald, A. Ecker, H.M. Cotton, “Special Announcement: A New-Old Monumental Inscription from Jerusalem Honoring Hadrian” in New Studies in the Archaeology of Jerusalem and its Region, Collected Papers, vol. 8 (eds. G.D. Stiebel, O. PelegBarkat, D. Ben-Ami, Y. Gadot, Jerusalem: Israel Antiquities Authority and the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 2014) 96–101. 29  C. Clermont Ganneau, “Inscriptions de Palestine,” Comptes rendus de séances—Académie des inscriptions et belles-lettres 47, no. 6 (1903) item no. 10, 487–95; H.M. Cotton, L. Di Segni, W. Eck, B. Isaac, A. Kushnir-Stein, H. Misgav, J. Price, A. Yardeni, Ada (eds.), Corpus Inscriptionum Iudaeae/Palaestinae, Vol. 1. Jerusalem, Part 2 705–1120 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2012), inscription no. 714, 13–15. That stone is currently on display in the courtyard of Studium Biblicum Franciscanum Museum in Jerusalem.

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Joining the two parts of the text (accounting for a missing central part ca. 0.3 m long) reveals an especially large inscription, ca. 3–3.5 m long, in Werner Eck’s estimation. This monumental inscription might have been placed in the upper part of a triumphal arch on the city’s northern boundary or in another Roman monument in the area.30 The monument would have been erected by the Tenth Legion, which was stationed in Jerusalem and administered the region following the destruction of 70 CE, in advance of the emperor’s visit of 129/130 CE. Hadrian granted the status of a ‘colonia’ to the new city. However, the inscription does not include the word ‘colonia’, which may indicate that until the emperor’s visit, the city had not yet received this status. This discovery contributes to the discussion of the causes of the Bar Kokhba revolt. The fact that this inscription was part of such a large structure attests to public construction on a monumental scale in Jerusalem prior to the emperor’s visit of 129/130 CE—two years before the outbreak of the revolt. The rebellion would therefore have erupted in reaction to the result of these construction activities—a pagan Roman city on the ruins of Jerusalem.

Tsafrir’s Approach—A Rejoinder

Yoram Tsafrir was not entirely convinced by the el-Jai evidence mentioned above, as, in his opinion ‘there is no reason to assume that all the coins found in the cave were left there by one person or one group of people. . . . One can imagine many different circumstances in which individuals might have stayed for a short time in the cave a few years after 135’.31 Tsafrir has suggested (ibid.) that Hadrian planned to rebuild Jerusalem and the Temple as a Jewish city, but, in the wake of the Bar Kokhba Revolt, he changed his mind and instead built a pagan city he named Aelia Capitolina. The implication is that by rebelling against Hadrian, the Jews brought upon themselves the construction of the pagan city on the ruins of Jerusalem.32 30  W. Eck, “Ehret den Kaiser: Bögen und Tore als Ehrenmonumente in der Provinz Iudaea” in “The Words of a Wise Man’s Mouth are Gracious” (Qoh 10:12): Festschrift for G. Stemberger on the Occasion of his 65th Birthday [Series “Studia Judaica”] (ed. M. Perani, Berlin: De Gruyter, 2005) 157–9; Eck, Rom . . ., 69–71. 31  Y. Tsafrir, “Numismatics and the Foundation of Aelia Capitolina: A Critical Review” in The Bar Kokhba War Reconsidered, New Perspectives on the Second Jewish Revolt against Rome (ed. P. Schäfer, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003) 36. 32   Ibidem.

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However, he did not explain what provoked the Jews to rebel against Hadrian in the first place—especially if the emperor really did intend to rebuild the Temple. In a newer article, Tsafrir addressed this point and explained that Hadrian had no intention of acting against the Jews when restoring the famous city from its ashes. As a neo-classicist builder, Hadrian may even have believed that this enterprise would appease the Jews and earn their praise. It is also difficult to believe that he intended to abandon the historic name Hierosolyma, or Jerusalem. The Jews, however, rejected Hadrian’s program. They realized that restoration of Jerusalem as a new HellenizedRoman polis would bring an end to their aspirations to rebuild Jerusalem as a Jewish capital with a new Temple as its crown. The coins minted during the war by the Jewish administration reflect the intention of Bar Kokhba and his people to encourage fighting for Jerusalem. . . . Coins, a tool of propaganda in the Roman world, were employed by the rebels to represent their struggle as a battle for the liberation of Jerusalem and building of a new Temple.33 Tsafrir’s approach is somewhat similar to the theory advanced by some nineteenth-century Jewish scholars, who also linked the Bar Kokhba revolt to Jewish aspirations of rebuilding the Temple.34 These scholars based their argument on two historical sources. The first is a midrash (Genesis Rabbah 64:29, Soncino trans.) that begins, ‘In the days of Rabbi Joshua ben Hanania, the [Roman] state decreed that the Temple be rebuilt’. The midrash continues that the Samaritans suggested to Hadrian that he alter the Temple’s location or dimensions, which led to a dispute between the emperor and the Jews. It is clearly difficult to treat this midrash as historically reliable. The second source, which appears to indicate that Hadrian indeed intended to rebuild the Temple in Jerusalem—or that that, at least, was what Jews and Christians believed—is the Epistle of Barnabas, a Christian work

33  Y. Tsafrir, 70–638: The Temple-less Mountain in Where Heaven and Earth Meet: Jerusalem’s Sacred Esplanade (eds. O. Grabar, B.Z. Kedar, Jerusalem: Izhak Ben-Zvi Institute, 2009) 76. 34  T. Graetz, History of the Jews, vol 2 (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1895) 233–5; J. Derenbourg, Maśa Erets Yiśraʼel: divre yeme ha-arets mi-yeme Koresh ṿe-ʻad Adriʼanus (St. Petersburg: Behrman Rabinowitz, 1896) (Hebrew) 215–19.

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contemporary with the Bar Kokhba revolt.35 According to the text (16:3–4, Lightfoot trans.): Furthermore He saith again; ‘Behold they that pulled down this temple themselves shall build it.’ So it cometh to pass; for because they went to war it was pulled down by their enemies. Now also the very servants of their enemies shall build it up.36 Several scholars interpreted this passage as a sign that the Jews intended to collaborate with the Romans to rebuild the Temple, although it can also be explained in other ways. According to those who believed these sources to be historically accurate, the Jews launched their revolt when they realized that Hadrian had no intention of rebuilding the Temple; in other words, the Jews believed (correctly or not) that the emperor had reneged on an earlier promise. However, these earlier scholars, unlike Tsafrir, believed that Hadrian never really intended to rebuild the Jewish Temple. In any case, modern scholarship no longer accepts this explanation for the Bar Kokhba revolt.37 Contemporary scholars have advanced other possible connections between the founding of Aelia Capitolina and the Bar Kokhba revolt. Michael Erlich, drawing on the Church Father Epiphanius of Salamis, proposed a distinction between the founding of the new city, which he believed occurred before the Bar Kokhba revolt, and the construction of the pagan temple on the Temple Mount, which he dated after it.38 Epiphanius (Weights and Measures 14) wrote:

35  J.C. Paget, The Epistle of Barnabas, Outlook and Background, Wissenschaftliche Unter­ suchungen zum Neuen Testament, 2 ser. 64 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1994) 9–30. 36  Another interesting issue regarding the causes of the revolt, is the question of the alleged provocative role played by Hadrian’s ban on circumcision. Daniel Schwartz’s re-­ examination of the annulment of the Temple and of circumcision in “divinely controlled” historical events described in the Epistle of Barnabas, points to a pre-revolt date for the decree on circumcision. See D.R. Schwartz, “On Barnabas and Bar-Kokhba” in Studies in the Jewish Background of Christianity (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1992) 147–53. 37  Isaac, Oppenheimer, “The Revolt . . ., 45–6; Isaac, Oppenheimer, “Research History . . ., 414–15 (Hebrew); P. Schäfer, “Hadrian’s Policy in Judaea and the Bar Kokhba Revolt: A Reassessment” in A Tribute to Geza Vermes: Essays on Jewish and Christian Literature and History (eds. P.R. Davies, R.T. White, Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1990) 281–303. 38  M. Erlich, “On the Distinction between the Establishment of Aelia Capitolina and the Construction of a Roman Shrine on the Temple Mount According to Epiphanius of Salamis” in New Studies on Jerusalem, vol. 8 (eds. E. Baruch, A. Faust, Ramat Gan: Ingeborg Rennert Center for Jerusalem Studies, 2002) 111–16.

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[Hadrian] arrived in Palestine, which is also called Judaea, 47 years after the devastation of Jerusalem . . . And he went up to Jerusalem, the celebrated and famous city, which Titus son of Vespasian destroyed in the second year of his reign. And he saw the entire city leveled to the ground, and the Temple of God ruined, except for a few houses and for the small church of God . . . At all events, Hadrian intended to build the city, and not the temple.39 Erlich believed that, before the revolt, Hadrian planned to build a Roman city— without a temple—on the ruins of Jerusalem, but after the revolt he punished the Jews by building a pagan temple on the Temple Mount.40 It appears, however, that Epiphanius was not referring to a pagan temple, as Erlich assumed, but was instead trying to emphasize that Hadrian had no intention of rebuilding the Jewish Temple. David Golan suggested that Hadrian’s decision to found the pagan city of Aelia Capitolina on the ruins of Jerusalem was directed not only against the Jews but also against the Christians (the Judeo-Christians) due to his disappointment with his attempts at reconciliation between these groups and the Roman establishment. Because the Christians viewed the destruction of Jerusalem as proof that Jesus was a true prophet (see Matthew 23:37–38), Hadrian decided, as part of his campaign against Christianity, to build a new city on the city’s ruins.41 However, Golan did not believe that Hadrian intended to rebuild the Jewish Temple; on the contrary, rebuilding Jerusalem as a pagan city was meant to prove that Jesus’ promise that the new Jerusalem would be built in the near future (Revelation 3:12) had no chance of being fulfilled. According to Golan, these ‘anti-Christian’ considerations spurred Hadrian’s decision to establish an overtly Roman, pagan city on the site of Jewish Jerusalem. This thesis is consistent with early Christian sources, according to which Hadrian built a temple to Venus on the Hill of Golgotha, where Jesus was crucified, and had statues of himself placed on the Temple Mount (Itinerarium Burdigalense 593.4; Euseb. Vit. Const. 3:26–27).

39  Translation from Baker, “Epiphanius . . ., 158. 40  Erlich, “On the Distinction . . .; see also Y.Z. Eliav, “The Urban Layout of Aelia Capitolina: A New View from the Perspective of the Temple Mount” in The Bar Kokhba War Reconsidered: New Perspectives on the Second Jewish Revolt (ed. P. Schäfer, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003) 241–77. 41  D. Golan, “Hadrian’s Decision to Supplant ‘Jerusalem’ by ‘Aelia Capitolina,’ ” Historia 35, no. 2 (1986) 226–39.

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In a recent study, Giovanni B. Bazzana suggests a somewhat different explanation: Hadrian was acting according to a benevolent policy consistent with his broader attitude to his polytheistic Empire. In Hadrian’s eyes, the foundation of the Roman colonia and the rebuilding of the Temple were acts of euergetism intended to integrate the Jews into the Empire.42 Indeed, Aelia Capitolina was erected as a Roman city. It is evident from the religious nature of the founding ceremony, the city coins, and the urban layout as revealed by the archaeology (see below) and as described in a list of urban features and buildings constructed during Hadrian’s reign. This list was preserved in a relatively late work, the Chronicon Paschale, which was completed in the early seventh century CE but describes Jerusalem before the rise of Christianity.43 According to the Chronicon, Hadrian built the following structures in Aelia Capitolina: Two public bathhouses (demosia), a theater, the Trikameron (apparently, a temple with three vaulted [or apsidal] chambers dedicated to the Capitoline Triad of Jupiter, Juno, and Minerva), the Tetranymphon (a nympheon, or sanctuary to the nymphs with large fountains, with four recesses or perhaps colonnades), the Dodekapylon (a building with twelve gates) formerly known as the Anabathmoi (‘Steps’) and the Kodra (square plaza). Hadrian divided the city into seven quarters; he appointed a head for each and gave these heads a quarter. He named the city after himself and called it Aelia, for he was called Aelius Hadrianus.44 We emphasize that we do not have a reliable source to back up the theory that Hadrian intended to rebuild the Jewish Temple; if that was, indeed, his intention, it is hard to understand why the Jews revolted. It therefore appears 42  G.B. Bazzana, “The Bar Kokhba Revolt and Hadrian’s Religious Policy” in Hadrian and the Christians Millennium-Studien = Millennium studies Bd. 30 (ed. M. Rizzi, Berlin: De Gruyter, 2010) 85–110. 43  Y. Tsafrir, “The Topography and Archaeology of Aelia Capitolina” in The History of Jerusalem: The Roman and Byzantine Periods (70–638 CE) (Y. Tsafrir, S. Safrai, Jerusalem: Izhak Ben-Zvi Institute, 1999) 115 (Hebrew); J. Magness, “Aelia Capitolina: A Review of Some Current Debates about Hadrianic Jerusalem” in Unearthing Jerusalem: 150 Years of Archaeological Research in the Holy City (eds. K. Galor, G. Avni, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2011) 313–24. 44   L.A. Dindorf (ed.), Chronicon Paschale (Corpus Scriptorum Historiae Byzantinae), vol. 1 (Bonn: Weber 1832) 474; trans. based on J.M. Lundquist, The Temple of Jerusalem (Westport, CT: Praeger, 2008), 155. For the scope and function of these buildings, see Tsafrir, The Topography . . ., 147, 157.

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that the main reason for the revolt was that many of the Jews retained the historic belief that they are guaranteed divine assistance when they fight against foreign rulers who seek to place idols on the Temple Mount. This was the case during the reign of Antiochus IV Epiphanes: In 167 BC he placed a statue of Zeus in the Temple, but within three years, in 164 BC, the sanctuary was purified by Judah Maccabee. Later, the Seleucids lost control of Judea and the Hasmonean state was established.45 A similar chain of events took place during the reign of Caligula who, some time around 39–40 CE, decided to have a statue of himself erected in Jerusalem. The Jews of Judea and Alexandria fought against this decree. Caligula was murdered on January 21, 41 CE, before his plan could be carried out.46 These events seem to have reinforced the Jews’ belief that God would not allow Hadrian to carry out his plan to place idols on the Temple Mount. They decided to revolt, in the hope that just as God had helped the Jews during the times of Matthias the Hasmonean and Agrippa I, they would also receive Divine assistance in their opposition to Hadrian’s plan to place idols on the site of the Temple. Bibliography R. Avner, R. Greenwald, A. Ecker, H.M. Cotton, ‘Special Announcement: A New-Old Monumental Inscription from Jerusalem Honoring Hadrian’ in New Studies in the Archaeology of Jerusalem and its Region, Collected Papers. Vol. 8 (G.D. Stiebel,

45  V. Tcherikover, Hellenistic Civilization and the Jews (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society 1959) 196; P. Schäfer, The History of the Jews in the Greco Roman World (London: Routledge, 2003) 35–44; V. Tcherikover, “The Religious Edicts of Antiochus and their Problems,” Eshkolot 1 (1954) 86–109. (Hebrew); U. Rappaport, “Some Notes on the Edicts of Antiochus from the Perspective of the Book of Daniel” in The Seleucid Period in the Land of Israel (ed. B. Bar-Kochva, Tel Aviv: HaKibbutz HaMeuhad, 1980) 65–83. (Hebrew); I.L. Levine, “The Background to the Religious Edicts and the Hasmonean Revolt” in The Hasmonean Period (eds. D. Amit, H. Eshel, Jerusalem: Izhak Ben-Zvi Institute, 1995) 9–20. (Hebrew). 46  The literature dealing with Caligula’s attempt to erect his statue in the Temple is extensive; see E. Schürer, The History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ, vol. 1, rev. ed. (Edinburgh: Clark, 1973) 390–7; D.R. Schwartz, Agrippa I: The Last King of Judaea, Texte und Studien zum Antiken Judentum 23 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1990) 77–89. On the importance of this episode in the eyes of the Rabbis, see V. Noam, Megillat Taʿanit: Versions, Interpretation, History (Jerusalem: Izhak Ben-Zvi Institute, 2003). (Hebrew) 283–90.

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O. Peleg-Barkat, D. Ben-Ami, Y. Gadot, Jerusalem: Israel Antiquities Authority and the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 2014) 96–101. D. Barag (ed.), Studies in Memory of Leo Mildenberg (=Israel Numismatic Journal [=INJ] 14 Jerusalem 2002). ———, ‘King Herod’s Royal Castle at Samaria-Sebaste,’ Palestine Exploration Quarterly 125 (1993) 3–18. ———, ‘A Note on the Geographical Distribution of Bar Kokhba Coins,’ INJ 4 (1980) 30–3. R. Baker, ‘Epiphanius, “On Weights and Measures” §14: Hadrian’s Journey to the East and the Rebuilding of Jerusalem,’ ZPE 182 (2012) 157–67. G.B. Bazzana, ‘The Bar Kokhba Revolt and Hadrian’s Religious Policy’ in Hadrian and the Christians Millennium-Studien = Millennium studies Bd. 30 (ed. M. Rizzi, Berlin: De Gruyter, 2010) 85–110. A.R. Birley, Hadrian, The Restless Emperor (London: Routledge, 1997). I. Carradice, ‘Coinage in Judaea in the Flavian Period, A.D. 70–96,’ INJ 6–7 (1982–3) 14–21. C. Clermont Ganneau, ‘Inscriptions de Palestine,’ Comptes rendus de séances— Académie des inscriptions et belles-lettres 47(6) (1903) 479–95. C.R. Conder, H.H. Kitchener: The Survey of Western Palestine: Memoirs. Vol. 3, Judaea (London: Committee of the Palestine Exploration Fund, 1883). H.M. Cotton, L. Di Segni, W. Eck, B. Isaac, A. Kushnir-Stein, H. Misgav, J. Price, A. Yardeni, Ada (eds.), Corpus Inscriptionum Iudaeae/Palaestinae, Vol. 1. Jerusalem, Part 2 705–1120 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2012). J. Derenbourg Maśa Erets Yiśraʼel: divre yeme ha-arets mi-yeme Koresh ṿe-ʻad Adriʼanus (St. Peterburg: Behrman Rabinowitz, 1896). (Hebrew). L.A. Dindorf (ed.), Chronicon Paschale (Corpus Scriptorum Historiae Byzantinae). Vol. 1 (Bonn: Weber, 1832). U. Dinur, N. Feig, ‘Eastern Part of the Map of Jerusalem’ in I. Finkelstein, Y. Magen, Archaeological Survey of the Hill Country of Benjamin (Jerusalem: Israel Antiquities Authority, 1993) 339–422. W. Eck, Rom und Judaea: Fünf Vorträge zur römischen Herrschaft in Palaestina (=Jenaer Vorlesungen zu Judentum, Antike und Christentum 2, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007) 69–71. ———, ‘Ehret den Kaiser: Bögen und Tore als Ehrenmonumente in der Provinz Iudaea’ in ‘The Words of a Wise Man’s Mouth are Gracious’ (Qoh 10:12): Festschrift for G. Stemberger on the Occasion of his 65th Birthday [Series “Studia Judaica”] (ed. M. Perani, Berlin: De Gruyter, 2005) 153–65. ———, ‘Suffektkonsuln der Jahre 132–134 und Hadrians Rückkehr nach Rom im Jahr 132,’ ZPE 143 (2003) 234–42.

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———, ‘The Bar Kokhba Revolt: The Roman Point of View,’ Journal of Roman Studies 89 (1999) 76–89. ———, P. Holder, A. Pangerl, ‘A Diploma for the Army of Britain in 132 and Hadrian’s Return to Rome from the East,’ ZPE 174 (2010) 189–200. Y.Z. Eliav, ‘The Urban Layout of Aelia Capitolina: A New View from the Perspective of the Temple Mount’ in The Bar Kokhba War Reconsidered: New Perspectives on the Second Jewish Revolt, (ed. P. Schäfer, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003) 241–277. M. Erlich, ‘On the Distinction between the Establishment of Aelia Capitolina and the Construction of a Roman Shrine on the Temple Mount According to Epiphanius of Salamis’ in New Studies on Jerusalem, vol. 8 (eds. E. Baruch, A. Faust, Ramat Gan: Ingeborg Rennert Center for Jerusalem Studies, 2002) 111–16. H. Eshel, “ ‘Bethar was Captured and the City was Plowed”: Jerusalem, Aelia Capitolina and the Bar Kokhba Revolt,’ Eretz Israel 28 (2007) 21–8 (Hebrew), 10* (English summary). ———, ‘The Bar Kochba Revolt, 132–135’ in The Cambridge History of Judaism. Vol. 4, The Late Roman Period (ed. S.T. Katz, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006) 105–27. H. Eshel, B. Zissu, ‘Coins from the el-Jai Cave in Nahal Mikhmash (Wadi Suweinit)’ in D. Barag (2002) 168–75. H. Eshel, ‘The Date of the Founding of Aelia Capitolina’ in The Dead Sea Scrolls, Fifty Years after their Discovery (eds. L.H. Schiffman, E. Tov, J.C. VanderKam, Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 2000) 637–43. ———, ‘Aelia Capitolina, Jerusalem no More,’ Biblical Archaeology Review (=BAR) 22, no. 6 (1997) 46–8, 73. ———, ‘A Coin of Bar Kokhba from a Cave in Wadi el-Mackuk’ INJ 9 (1986–7) 51–52. H. Eshel, D. Amit (eds.), Refuge Caves of the Bar Kokhba revolt (Tel Aviv: Israel Exploration Society, 1998). (Hebrew). H. Eshel, R. Porat, Refuge Caves of the Bar Kokhba Revolt. Vol. 2 (Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 2009). (Hebrew). D. Golan, ‘Hadrian’s Decision to Supplant “Jerusalem” by “Aelia Capitolina,” ’ Historia 35, no. 2 (1986) 226–39. Y. Goren, P. Fabian, ‘Coinage in the Period of the Bar Kochba Revolt in View of Findings in the Tunnel Sites in the Yatir Area,’ Nikrot Zurim 7 (1983) 62. (Hebrew). T. Graetz, History of the Jews. Vol. 2 (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1895). M.D. Herr, ‘The Causes of the Bar-Kokhba War,’ Zion 43 (1978) 1–11 (Hebrew). ———, ‘Persecutions and Martyrdom in Hadrian’s Days,’ Scripta Hierosolymitana 23 (1972) 85–125. P.V. Hill, The Dating and the Arrangement of the Undated Coins of Rome, A.D. 98–148 (London: Spink and Son, 1970).

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B.H. Isaac, ‘Jerusalem—An Introduction’ in Corpus Inscriptionum Iudaeae/Palestinae: Jerusalem. Vol. 1: A Multi-lingual Corpus of the Inscriptions from Alexander to Muhammad (eds. H.M. Cotton, L. di Segni, W. Eck, B. Isaac, A. Kushnir-Stein, H. Misgav, J. Price, I. Roll, A. Yardeni, Berlin: de Gruyter, 2010) 1–37. ———, ‘Roman Colonies in Judaea: the Foundation of Aelia Capitolina,’ Talanta 12/13 (1980/81) 31–54. B. Isaac, A. Oppenheimer, ‘Research History of the Bar Kokhba War’ in The Hiding Complexes in the Judaean Shephelah (eds. A. Kloner, Y. Tepper, Tel-Aviv: HaKibbutz HaMeuchad, 1987) 405–28. (Hebrew). ———, ‘The Revolt of Bar Kokhba: Ideology and Modern Scholarship,’ Journal of Jewish Studies 36, no. 1 (1985) 33–60. L. Kadman, The Coins of Aelia Capitolina (Jerusalem: Israel Numismatic Society, 1956). A. Kindler, ‘Was Aelia Capitolina Founded before or after the Outbreak of the Bar Kokhba War? A Numismatic Evidence’ in D. Barag (2002) 176–9. ———, ‘Coins from the Cave of Letters (1999–2000 Seasons)’ in New Studies on the Bar Kokhba Revolt (eds. H. Eshel, B. Zissu, Ramat-Gan: Bar-Ilan University Department of Land of Israel Studies, 2001) 11–15. (Hebrew). ———, ‘Numismatic Documentation of Hadrian’s Visit to Gaza,’ Museum Haaretz Yearbook 17–18 (1975) 61–7. (Hebrew). I.L. Levine, ‘The Background to the Religious Edicts and the Hasmonean Revolt’ in The Hasmonean Period (D. Amit, H. Eshel, Jerusalem: Izhak Ben-Zvi Institute, 1995) 9–20. (Hebrew). J.M. Lundquist, The Temple of Jerusalem (Westport, CT: Praeger, 2008). J. Magness, ‘Aelia Capitolina: A Review of Some Current Debates about Hadrianic Jerusalem’ in Unearthing Jerusalem: 150 Years of Archaeological Research in the Holy City (K. Galor, G. Avni, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2011) 313–24. Y. Meshorer The Coinage of Aelia Capitolina (Jerusalem: Israel Museum, 1989). ———, Jewish Coins of the Second Temple Period (Tel Aviv: Am Hassefer, 1967). V. Noam, Megillat Ta’anit: Versions, Interpretation, History (Jerusalem: Izhak Ben-Zvi Institute, 2003). (Hebrew). J.C. Paget, The Epistle of Barnabas, Outlook and Background (=Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament, 2 ser. 64. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1994). U. Rappaport, ‘Some Notes on the Edicts of Antiochus from the Perspective of the Book of Daniel’ in The Seleucid Period in the Land of Israel (ed. B. Bar-Kokhba, Tel Aviv: HaKibbutz HaMeuhad, 1980) 65–83. (Hebrew). P. Schäfer, The History of the Jews in the Greco Roman World (London: Routledge, 2003). ———, ‘Hadrian’s Policy in Judaea and the Bar Kokhba Revolt: A Reassessment’ A Tribute to Geza Vermes: Essays on Jewish and Christian Literature and History (eds. P.R. Davies, R.T. White, Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1990) 281–303.

Religious Aspects Of The Bar Kokhba Revolt

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———, Der Bar Kokhba-Aufstand: Studien zum zweiten jüdischen Krieg gegen Rom (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1981). E. Schürer, The History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ. Vol. 1. Rev. ed. (Edinburgh: Clark, 1973) 390–7. D.R. Schwartz, ‘On Barnabas and Bar-Kokhba’ in Studies in the Jewish Background of Christianity (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck,1992) 147–53. ———, Agrippa I: The Last King of Judaea (=Texte und Studien zum Antiken Judentum 23, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1990). E.M. Smallwood, The Jews Under Roman Rule: From Pompey to Diocletian (Leiden: Brill, 1976). A. Spijkerman, Herodion III, Catalogo delle Monete (Jerusalem: Franciscan Printing Press, 1972). M. Stern, Greek and Latin Authors on Jews and Judaism, Vol. II (Jerusalem: Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities, 1980) 179–180. V. Tcherikover, Hellenistic Civilization and the Jews (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1959). ———, ‘The Religious Edicts of Antiochus and their Problems’ Eshkolot 1 (1954) 86–109. (Hebrew). Y. Tsafrir, 70–638: The Temple-less Mountain in Where Heaven and Earth Meet: Jerusalem’s Sacred Esplanade (eds. O. Grabar, B.Z. Kedar, Jerusalem: Izhak Ben-Zvi Institute, 2009) 73–99. ———, ‘Numismatics and the Foundation of Aelia Capitolina: A Critical Review’ in The Bar Kokhba War Reconsidered, New Perspectives on the Second Jewish Revolt against Rome (ed. P. Schäfer,Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003) 31–6. ———, ‘The Topography and Archaeology of Aelia Capitolina’ in The History of Jerusalem: The Roman and Byzantine Periods (70–638 CE) (eds. Y. Tsafrir, Sh. Safrai, Jerusalem: Izhak Ben-Zvi Institute, 1999) 115–66. (Hebrew). S. Weksler-Bdolah, ‘The Foundation of Aelia Capitolina in Light of New Excavations along the Eastern Cardo,’ IEJ 64 (2014) 38–62. S. Weksler-Bdolah, A. Onn, S. Kisilevitz, B. Ouahnouna, ‘Layers of Ancient Jerusalem’ BAR 38, no. 1 (2012) 37–47, 69–70. ———, ‘Jerusalem, the Western Wall Plaza Excavations, 2005–2009, Preliminary Report, 23/09/2009’ Hadashot Arkheologiyot—Excavations and Surveys in Israel 121 (2009) available at http://www.hadashot-esi.org.il/report_detail_eng.aspx?id=1219. B. Zissu, H. Eshel, ‘Coins and Hoards from the Time of the Bar Kokhba Revolt,’ in Hoards and Genizot as Chapters in History (=Hecht Museum Catalogue no. 33 Haifa: Hecht Museum, 2013) 31*–39*. ———, ‘The Geographical Distribution of Coins of the Bar Kokhba War’ in D. Barag (2002) 157–67.

Index of Authors Abdel-Razig M. 261, 262, 263, 264, 268 Abusch T. 7, 10, 20, 22 Adams G. 361, 373 Adeleye G. 222, 230 Adkins A.W.H. 147, 157 Adriani A. 279, 285 Ahrensdorf P.J. 145, 157 Albert S. 361, 373 Alfano C. 341 Alföldi A. 360, 375 Alföldy G. 325, 334, 335, 341 Allan D.J. 213, 230 Allan W. 142, 157 Almeida Rodriguez E. 324, 341 Alonso Troncoso V. 247, 251 Altenmüller H. 272, 285 Alvar J. 235, 252 Amit D. 389, 401, 403 Anderson A.R. 248, 251 Andreae B. 341 Andreau J. 23, 46 Andrei O. 370, 373 Andrews A. 192, 214, 220, 227, 228, 229, 231 Annus A. 70, 98 Antela-Bernárdez B. 235, 237, 238, 239, 245, 247, 249, 251, 252, 255 Antonaccio C. 134, 157 Arendt H. 154, 157 Armstrong J. 68, 98 Arnaud D. 72, 94 Arnold D. 260, 268 Assmann J. 275, 285 Atkinson J.E. 247, 252 Attinger P. 7, 12, 20, 22 Aubert J.-J. 294, 301 Austin P. 206, 225, 232 Avalos H. 5, 20 Avery H.C. 220, 230 Avner R. 395, 401 Avni G. 400, 404 Bachmann P. 342 Badian E. 175, 176, 178, 185, 192, 235, 248, 252, 255

Baglioni I. 19, 22 Bahrani Z. 24, 29, 38, 43, 45, 69, 70, 71, 74, 75, 76, 77, 94 Bailey D.M. 267, 271, 272, 276, 277, 279, 285 Baines J. 275, 285 Baker R. 391, 394, 399, 402 Bal M. 189, 192 Balcer J.M. 166, 176 Balsdon J.-P.V.D. 235, 252, 342 Banek K. 79, 94 Banton M. 378, 385 Bar-Kochva B. 401 Barag D. 390, 391, 392, 402, 403, 405 Barguet P. 265, 268 Barjamovic G. 32, 37, 45 Barker E. 320, 342 Barnett R.D. 76, 77, 94 Bartman E. 309, 310, 342 Barton T.S. 342 Baruch E. 398, 403 Barzegar A. 24, 48 Bauer J. 12, 20, 53, 63 Baynham E.J. 176, 177, 247, 253 Bazzana G.B. 400, 402 Beck H. 260, 271 Becker H. 294, 300 Behr C.A. 359, 373 Beister H. 185, 192 Bekker I. 214, 230 Bell L. 263, 268 Bellen H. 171, 176 Ben-Ami D. 395, 402 Benario H.W. 376, 384 Berczelly L. 342 Bergk T. 206, 230 Berlev O.D. 256, 257, 268 Bernard W. 142, 157 Besques S. 279, 285 Bichler R. 68, 97, 169, 177, 178 Biga M.G. 9, 22 Billows R. 327, 342 Bingen J. 209, 230 Birley A.R. 360, 364, 370, 373, 388, 402 Birley E. 377, 384

408 Birte P. 343 Blanchand M.H. 250 Blasius A. 275, 285 Blazquez J.M. 235, 252 Bleckmann B. 168, 176, 177 Bleibtreu E. 77, 94 Blöbaum A.I. 257, 259, 260, 264, 265, 268 Bloedow E.F. 166, 175, 176, 177, 184, 192 Boardman J. 134, 162 Boas H. 342 Boeckh A. 213, 230 Boehmer R.M. 66, 94 Bol P.C. 260, 271 Bolshakov A.O. 256, 268 Bonacasa N. 279, 286 Bonatz D. 42, 48 Bonechi M. 7, 20 Bonheme M.-A. 257, 269 Bonnechere P. 87, 92, 94 Bonnefoy Y. 146, 157 Borger R. 45 Bosch-Puche F. 258, 259, 260, 261, 262, 264, 265, 268 Boschung D. 342 Bosworth A.B. 166, 172, 176, 177, 242, 243, 244, 247, 248, 249, 250, 252, 253, 266, 269, 349 Botta P.E. 77, 94 Bottéro J. 6, 8, 10, 16, 20, 21, 66, 69, 94 Bounoure G. 247, 252 Bousquet J. 137, 161 Boutantin C. 277, 285 Bowden H. 200, 205 Bowersock G.W. 226, 247, 254, 327, 342, 345, 348 Braccesi L. 342 Bradford C. 246, 253 Bramble J. 197, 205 Brandt H. 365, 373 Braun-Holzinger E.A. 66, 94 Breccia E. 278, 279, 285 Breeze D.J. 365, 369, 370, 372, 373, 374, 379, 384 Brélaz C. 140, 165 Bremmer J.N. 82, 84, 85, 87, 89, 91, 95, 134, 136, 157, 160, 165, 191, 192 Brewer R.J. 369, 370, 374 Briant P. 173, 177, 262, 269

Index Of Authors Bricault L. 278, 287 Brient P. 23, 46 Brock R. 247, 253 Brosius M. 238, 253 Brouwers J. 147, 157 Brown T.S. 250, 253 Bruit Zaidman L. 134, 140, 165 Brun P. 134 Bruno D. 343 Brunt P.A. 175, 177 Bruzzone R. 180 Büchling M. 260, 271 Buchner E. 324, 325, 342 Buckler J. 185, 192, 323 Budde L. 343 Budetta T. 348 Budge E.A.W. 76, 95 Bugh G.R. 138, 164, 224, 225, 230 Buitron-Oliver D. 151, 157 Bummelen G.V. 325, 343 Burford A. 223, 230 Burgess J. 154, 157 Burkert W. 81, 82, 88, 90, 91, 92, 95, 134, 141, 147, 150, 151, 157, 158, 218, 226, 230, 298, 300 Burliga B. 135, 161 Burn A.R. 91, 95 Burstein S. 258, 267, 269, 274, 285 Büsing H. 343 Buxton R. 124, 134, 140, 158 Cafiero M.L. 343 Cagiano de Azevedo M. 343 Campbell B. 133, 164 Camporeale G. 291, 300 Caneva G. 343 Canfora L. 343 Canizaro M.E. 343 Capriotti Vitozzi G. 258, 269 Carandini A. 343 Carlier P. 247, 253 Carlsen J. 248, 254, 255, 343, 346 Carney E. 236, 247, 251, 253, 255 Carpenter T.H. 146, 158 Carradice I. 390, 402 Carter J.B. 247, 253 Cartledge P. 91, 95, 140, 150, 158, 173, 177 Cary E. 362, 364

409

Index Of Authors Cassimatis H. 138, 158 Cassin E. 7, 21 Castriota D. 313, 343 Castritius H. 343 Cavanagh W.G. 220, 233 Cawkwell G.L. 174, 177, 235, 253, 343 Ceauşescu Gh. 343 Ceauşescu P. 343 Centanni M. 344 Cerfaux L. 344 Chaniotis A. 158, 344 Charpin D. 15, 21, 72, 95 Charvát P. 11, 21 Chateigner C. 295, 300 Chauveau M. 261, 269 Chilton B.D. 143, 158 Chilver G.E.F. 344 Chinnock E.J. 166, 172 Christesen P. 236, 253 Chrysostomos P. 218, 230, 231 Ciampini E.A. 344 Cifola B. 31, 32, 45 Claridge A. 344 Clark M. 151, 158 Clarysse W. 274, 276 Classen A.J. 182, 190, 192, 248, 253 Clermont Ganneau C. 395, 402 Coarelli F. 344 Cogan M. 40, 47 Cohen A. 76, 95, 247, 252, 253 Cohen R. 36, 46, 47 Colbow G. 27, 45 Collar A. 378, 385 Collingwood R.G. 379, 385 Collins J.J. 7, 20 Collins P. 76, 95 Collon D. 76, 95 Colonna G. 294, 300 Conder C.R. 389, 402 Conlin D.A. 344 Connor W.R. 181, 192 Constantakopoulou C. 130, 131 Cook J.M. 152, 158 Coomaraswamy A.K. 16, 17, 18, 21, 22 Cooper J.S. 11, 18, 21 Cormack E.A. 371, 375 Cornell T.J. 298, 300 Cortés Copete J.M. 237, 252

Cosmopoulos M.B. 142, 162 Cotton H.M. 388, 395, 401, 402, 404 Courier P-L. 196, 205 Crane G. 184, 192 Crawford V.E. 25, 45 Crielaard J.P. 136, 158 Cristofani M. 293, 301 Cuyler Young, Jr. T. 168, 177 Czichon R.M. 42, 48 D’Agostino A. 341 Dalley S. 79, 95 Dandamaev M.A. 6, 20, 168, 169, 177 Dardenay A. 313, 344 Daressy G. 262, 269 Darmezin L. 222, 231 Daumas F. 263, 269 Davies J.K. 219, 221, 224, 231 Davies P.J.E. 344 Davies P.R. 398, 404 Davies R.W. 381, 385 Davis N. 251, 253 Davison C.C. 146, 158 Dawson D. 134, 142, 158 De Backer F. 70, 95 De Baisi L. 307, 346 De Blois L. 379, 385 De Grummond N.T. 137, 159, 164, 297, 298, 301 De Jong Ellis M. 19, 21 De Meulenaere H. 258, 270 De Sanctis G. 349 Deacy S. 142, 146, 158, 163, 301 Debnar P. 184, 192 Decour J-C. 218, 231 Deger-Jalkotzy S. 134, 157 Delebecque É. 194, 196, 197, 205, 227, 231 Dell H. 235, 252, 253 Demargne P.H. 138, 158 Dercksen J.G. 41, 49 Derenbourg J. 397, 402 Des Bouvrie S. 250, 253 Descat R. 23, 46 Detienne M. 136, 149, 158, 163 Deubner L. 210, 214, 217, 231 Develin R. 217, 231 Dewald C. 143, 158 Di Segni L. 388, 395, 402, 404

410 Di Vita A. 341 Diehl E. 226, 231 Diels H. 152, 158, 223, 231
 Digby J. 244, 253 Dignas B. 72, 81, 95, 98, 138, 158 Dillery J. 65, 79, 80, 82, 83, 85, 86, 87, 88, 89, 200, 205 Dindorf L.A. 400, 402 Dinur U. 389, 402 Dobie M.R. 282, 286 Dodds E.R. 144, 158 Dover K.J. 145, 159, 191, 192, 214, 220, 227, 228, 229, 231 Dreyer B. 275, 285 Ducrey P. 140, 143, 159, 165 Due B. 343 Due O.St. 343 Dumezil G. 299, 301 Dunand F. 276, 279, 285, 286 Durand J.-P. 146, 157 Easterling P.E. 136, 159 Eck W. 344, 365, 374, 387, 388, 391, 394, 395, 396, 402, 403, 404 Ecker A. 390, 395, 401 Edelstein L. 191, 192 Eder W. 344 Edlund-Berry I. 293, 302 Edmunds L. 184, 188, 189, 192, 235, 253 Edson Ch.F. 237, 253 Ehrenberg V. 221, 231 Eidinow E. 145, 162, 188, 192 Eliav Y.Z. 399, 403 Elsner J.(J.) 344 Englund R.K. 12, 20, 53, 63 Eph’al I. 70, 72, 95 Erlich M. 398, 399, 403 Erskine A. 136, 139, 160, 163, 344 Eshel H. 387, 388, 389, 390, 392, 401, 403, 404, 405 Espak P. 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 46, 54, 58, 63 Estienne S. 344 Euben J.P. 140, 162 Evans-Pritchard E. 124, 131 Evelyn-White H.G. 147 Fabian P. 390, 403 Fales F.M. 23, 36, 37, 45, 46, 48, 77, 96

Index Of Authors Falkner M. 76, 94 Farber W. 29, 45, 69, 96 Farnell L.R. 249, 253 Faust A. 398, 403 Feig N. 389, 402 Feliu L. 75, 96 Ferguson W.S. 206, 210, 231 Fernandez Nieto F.J. 123, 131 Ferrero A.M. 307, 346 Fibiger Bang P. 32, 45 Fink R.O. 376, 378, 385, 386 Finkelberg M. 142, 163 Finkelstein I. 390, 402 Finkelstein J.J. 31, 46 Firpo G. 168, 177 Fischer J. 279, 286 Fischer-Bovet C. 272, 273, 274, 275, 276, 285 Fishbane M.A. 7, 20 Fisher N. 140, 146, 164, 165 Fishwick D. 377, 385 Flandin E. 77, 94 Flower M.A. 65, 72, 78, 79, 82, 84, 85, 87, 88, 90, 91, 92, 93, 96, 124, 127, 128, 131, 175, 176, 177, 191, 192, 249, 253 Foley J.M. 149 Fontana F. 362, 374 Fontenrose J. 125, 131 Foster B.R. 35, 36, 46, 66, 96 Foster E. 186, 187, 192 Foucart P. 214, 231 Fowler R.L. 144, 160 Frahm E. 37, 46 Frame G. 33, 47 Fränkel H. 142, 159 Frankfort H. 17, 21 Frankfurter D. 284, 286 Fraschetti A. 345 Frazer J.G. 209, 231 Fredricksmeyer E. 235, 242, 248, 250, 253, 266, 269 Freeman K. 151 Frood E. 256, 270 Frye R.N. 168, 177 Fullerton M.D. 138, 159 Funke P. 168, 177, 379, 385 Furley W.D. 150, 159, 226, 231

411

Index Of Authors Gabelko O. 259, 270 Gadot Y. 395, 402 Gagé J. 250, 253 Galinsky K. 344, 345, 351 Gallis K. 218, 231 Gallou C. 220, 233 Galor K. 400, 404 Galter H.D. 32, 46 Ganor A. 390 Gardiner A.H. 260, 269 Gardthausen V.E. 345 Garelli P. 32, 37, 46, 47 Garlan Y. 141, 159 Garland R. 133, 159, 208, 210, 212, 231 Gat A. 143, 159 Gatti G. 336, 345 Gauthier H. 258 Geertz C. 378, 385 Gehler M. 42, 49 Gehrke H.-J. 171, 177 Gelb I.J. 31, 46 Gelzer Th. 345 Georges P. 169, 173, 177 Georgiadis M. 220, 233 Gerardi P. 19, 21 Ghalioungui P. 279, 286 Ghirshman R. 168, 177 Gibbon E. 360, 374 Gilliam J.F. 376, 383, 385, 386 Gillies D. 124, 131 Gladigow B. 37, 49 Glinister F. 301 Głombiowska Z. 154, 159 Göbl R. 368, 374 Gočeva Z. 206, 231 Godley A.D. 240, 254 Golan D. 399, 403 Gomme A.W. 152, 159, 192, 207, 214, 220, 227, 228, 229, 231 Goodman M.D. 134, 160 Gordillo R. 237, 252 Goren Y. 390, 403 Gorman V.B. 193 Gorre G. 261, 269 Goukowski P. 249, 250, 254 Gould J. 136, 150, 159 Gowing A.M. 345 Gómez Espelosín F.J. 235, 254

Grabar O. 397, 405 Graetz T. 397, 403 Graf F. 78, 96 Graham J. 212, 213, 231 Granitz N. 194 Gray V. 200, 205 Graziosi B. 146, 147, 148, 159 Greco G. 293, 302 Green A. 17, 21 Green P.M. 197, 205 Greene G.C. 209, 226, 323 Greenwald R. 395, 401 Gregory A. 191, 192 Gregory J. 155, 161 Grenier J.-Cl. 257, 269 Grieb V. 40, 50, 262, 268 Griffin J. 134, 154, 159, 162 Griffith G.T. 250 Griffith M. 218, 231 Gripentrog S. 275, 287 Groneberg B. 170, 177, 178 Grote G. 227, 232 Gruen E.S. 138, 159, 345 Gundlach R. 258, 270 Gutas D. 157, 164 Guthrie W.K.Ch. 137, 152, 159 Haase W. 377, 384, 385 Habelt R. 175, 179 Haensch R. 373, 375, 379, 385 Hägg R. 82, 95 Hahn J. 379, 385 Hainsworth J.B. 154, 159 Haldon J. 137, 159 Hale J. 67, 96 Halfmann H. 370, 374 Hall J.M. 141, 159 Hall J.R. 291 Hamberg P.G. 345 Hamblin W.J. 24, 46 Hamilton D.H. 247, 254 Hamilton J.R. 246, 247, 248, 250, 254 Hammond M. 345 Hammond N.G.L. 250 Hannah R. 325, 331, 332, 333, 345 Hannestad N. 345 Hanson V.D. 78, 96, 134, 135, 160 Hanson W.S. 364, 374

412 Hardie P. 197, 205, 345 Harrak A. 33, 46 Harris E.M. 93, 96, 250, 252 Harrison E.L. 188, 192 Harrison J.E. 146, 159 Hartmann A.V. 142, 164 Haselberger L. 325, 329, 330, 331, 333, 334, 335, 345 Hassall M.W.C. 364, 374 Haubold J. 67, 96, 147, 159 Hauptmann H. 32, 46 Hausmann U. 279, 286 Haverfield F. 364, 374 Haynes I.P. 378, 385 Heckel W. 238, 246, 247, 250, 254, 255 Hecker K. 5, 22 Hedrick Jr. Ch.W. 134, 150, 159, 160 Heimpel W. 15, 21, 70, 71, 72, 74, 93, 96 Heinhold-Krahmer S. 33, 47 Heinrichs J. 351, 373, 375 Helbig W. 341 Helck W. 260, 268, 271 Helgeland J. 376, 385 Helly B. 216, 218, 232 Henig M. 372, 374 Henkelman W.F.M. 42, 50, 167, 169, 171, 178, 179, 238, 253 Hensen A. 378, 385 Herman G. 221, 232 Herr M.D. 388, 392, 403 Herring E. 295, 301 Hesberg H.V. 345 Heslin P.J. 325, 345 Heubeck A. 154, 159 Heuser B. 142, 164 Hickson F.V. 345 Higbie C. 173, 177 Hignett C. 220, 227, 232 Hill J.A. 72, 95 Hill P.V. 364, 365, 366, 367, 374, 390, 403 Hind J.G.F. 374 Hirsch H. 7, 21 Hirschmann V.E. 365, 374, 379, 386 Hodjash S. 277, 286 Hodkinson S. 247, 253 Hoey A.S. 376, 378 Hölbl G. 258, 270, 273, 286 Holder P. 391, 394, 403

Index Of Authors Holladay A.J. 134, 160 Holliday P.J. 317, 319, 320, 326, 328, 346 Holloway S.W. 31, 32, 47, 66, 96 Hornblower S. 130, 131, 142, 145, 150, 152, 160, 162, 168, 177, 181, 185, 187, 189, 192 Huart P. 182, 192 Hubert H. 282, 286 Humphreys S.C. 151, 160 Hunger H. 7, 21 Hutchinson G. 204, 205 Hutter M. 69, 96 Hüttl W. 359, 360, 374 Iaia C. 292, 301 Imparato G. 348 Ionescu D.-T. 303, 325, 339, 346, 347, 357 Isaac B. 388, 393, 395, 398, 402, 404 Isaac B.H. 388, 404 Isager J. 346 Israelit-Groll S. 272, 287 Jackson A.H. 134, 160, 175, 177 Jacobsen Th. 8, 14, 19, 21 Jacquemin A. 123, 126, 127, 129, 131 Jaillard D. 344 Jameson M.H. 78, 90, 96, 135, 160, 220, 232 Janko R. 145, 160 Jannot J.-R. 293, 297, 298, 301 Jansen-Winkeln K. 261, 262, 263, 264, 270 Jerryson M. 141, 158 Jeyes U. 71, 72, 76 Jędraszek S. 272, 276, 277, 282, 286 Jim T.S.F. 126, 131 Joannes F. 262, 269 Johnston S.I. 65, 82, 95, 96 Jones C.E. 42, 50, 167, 178, 179 Jones H.L. 244, 254 Jones J. 112, 118 Jones N.F. 207, 224, 232 Jones P. 72, 95 Jones W.H.S. 364 Juergensmeyer M. 141, 158 Juntunen K. 359, 374 Kadman L. 391, 404 Kagan D. 67, 96

Index Of Authors Kahl J. 258, 264, 270 Kähler H. 138, 160 Kämmerer T.R. 32, 49 Kang S.-M. 23, 47, 72, 96 Kangas S.E. 76, 95 Kapełuś M. 66, 97 Kassel R. 206, 225, 232 Katz S.T. 387, 403 Kaznelson I.S. 256, 268 Kearns E. 142, 144, 151, 160 Kedar B.Z. 397, 405 Keiser H.W. 346 Keiss-Dolańska D. 133 Kemezis A.M. 359, 374 Kenfield J. 293, 302 Kenner H. 346 Kerler G. 360, 374 Kessler H. 28, 50 Keulen W.H. 362, 374 Kiilerich B. 248, 254 Kikawada I.M. 6, 21 Kindler A. 390, 404 King K.C. 248, 254 Kinzl K.H. 151, 160, 248, 252, 268 Kisilevitz S. 394, 405 Kistler E. 282, 286 Kitchener H.H. 389, 402 Kitts M. 141, 155, 158, 160 Klauber E.G. 74 Klein J. 7, 21, 43, 44, 47 Klein R. 359, 374 Kleiner D.E.E. 346 Klincksieck C. 182, 192, 194, 205 Klöckner A. 136, 160 Kloner A. 393, 404 Kneißl P. 366, 374 Knudtzon J. A. 74 Koch J.A. 164 Koch U.S. 75, 96 Kockel V. 346 Koeppel G.M. 326, 346 Kołodziejczyk D. 32 Konstan D. 152, 162 Kornemann E. 346, 360, 375 Kossmann D. 377, 383, 385 Kovalevskaja L. 381, 386 Kozuh M. 42, 50, 167, 177, 178, 179 Kraay C.M. 251, 253

413 Krämer G. 346 Kranz W. 151, 152, 158, 223, 231 Kraus Th. 346 Krebernik M. 12, 20, 53, 63 Krentz P. 96, 130, 131, 136, 139, 160, 173, 178, 216 Kreppner F.J. 42, 48 Krieckhaus A. 365, 374, 379, 386 Kuhrt A. 169, 170, 171, 177, 178, 238, 253 Kullmann W. 148, 160 Kushnir-Stein A. 388, 395, 402, 404 Kuttner A.L. 346 L’Orange H.-P. 348 La Rocca E. 303, 306, 311, 312, 315, 316, 327, 335 Ladynin I. 169, 170, 171, 177, 178, 238, 253, 256, 258, 259, 270 Lambert W.G. 5, 6, 21, 31, 33, 47, 74, 75, 96 Lana I. 307, 346 Landsberger B. 77, 98 Lane Fox R. 127, 132, 236, 254 Lanfranchi G.B. 27, 45, 47, 48 Lange C.H. 334, 347 Lantier R. 282, 286 Larsen M.T. 32, 38, 47 Larson J. 134, 160 Lasswell H.D. 31, 46 Lateiner D. 153, 155, 160 Latte K. 219, 232 Laubscher H.P. 279, 282, 286 Lauinger J. 40, 47 Launderville D. 69, 97 Le Bohec-Bouhet S. 273, 286 Lee G. 238, 252 Lefkowitz M. 137, 140, 144, 160 Leichty E. 19, 21, 40, 47 Lemos I.S. 134, 157 Lendon J.E. 68, 97, 183, 192 Leprohon R. 256, 270 Lerner D. 31, 46 Lethem M.F. 133 Levick B. 347 Levine I.L. 401, 404 Lewis D.M. 126, 131 Licht A.L. 349 Linder M. 143, 165 Lintott A. 347

414 Liverani M. 9, 22, 27, 38, 47, 52, 64 Livingstone A. 76, 97 Llewellyn-Jones L. 139, 163 Llinas Ch. 137, 161 Llop J. 32, 47 Lloyd A.B. 147, 150, 157, 164, 268, 270, 272, 284, 286 Lloyd G.E.R. 347 Lloyd-Jones H. 135, 140, 142, 144, 148, 153, 161 Loewy E. 347 Lonis R. 97, 123, 131, 135, 144, 161 Louden B. 148, 160 Lovén L.L. 250, 253 Lubtchansky N. 344 Lugowski M. 155 Luiselli M.M. 275, 286, 287 Lukonin V.G. 168, 169, 177 Lundquist J.M. 400, 404 Luther A. 173, 178, 179 Luttwak E.N. 347 Luukko M. 40, 47, 78, 97 Lyasse E. 347 Łagodzka A. 154, 157 Machinist P.B. 34, 48 Macleod C. 142, 161 Maeda T. 47 Maetzke G. 295, 301 Magen Y. 390, 402 Magness J. 400, 404 Makhlayuk A. 259, 270 Malaise M. 272, 287 Malkin I. 130, 131 Mander P. 5, 9, 10, 16, 17, 19, 22 Manetti G. 69, 97 Mann M. 291, 292, 301 Mansuelli G. 347 Mantovani M. 362, 375 Marcus J. 295, 301 Mari M. 236, 254 Mark I.S. 174, 178 Markale J. 339, 347 Markle M.M. 239, 254 Martin A. 225, 229, 232 Martin D.B. 191, 193 Martin M. 191, 192

Index Of Authors Martin R. 24, 48 Marx J. 282, 286 Masson O. 70, 97 Mastronarde W. 155, 161 Matthews E. 222, 231 Matthiae P. 10, 22 Mattila R. 78, 97 Mauss M. 282, 286 Maxwell G.S. 364, 374 Mayer W. 9, 22, 23, 37, 40, 45, 48, 97 Mazzarino S. 347 McBride A. 276, 287 McCann D. 148, 162 McCloskey N. 174, 175 McDonnell M. 294, 301 Mehl A. 259, 270 Meier M. 173, 178, 179 Meiggs R. 126, 131 Meineck P. 152, 162 Mellor R. 347 Menu B. 258, 270 Merlan P. 239, 254, 286 Meshorer Y. 392, 404 Meyers G.E. 294, 301 Micale M. 77, 97 Michałowski P. 10, 22 Mikalson J.D. 125, 131, 135, 161, 180, 193 Millar F. 347 Millard A.R. 6, 21 Millett P.C. 67, 97 Mineur W.H. 282, 287 Misgav H. 388, 395, 402, 404 Mittag P.F. 275, 285 Mohn J. 275, 287 Mojsik T. 135, 161 Mommsen A. 208, 210, 232 Montanari E. 347 Montepaone C. 208, 232 Monza F. 347 Moors K. 212, 232 Morales A.J. 72, 95 Moreno A. 229, 232 Moreno P. 248, 254 Moretti E. 347 Moretti G. 315, 347 MØrkholm O. 249, 254 Morris S.P. 247, 252 Morris I. 147, 157

415

Index Of Authors Morrison G. 166, 178 Moustaka A. 217, 232 Muir J.V. 136, 159 Muñiz E. 237, 252 Munn M. 168, 178, 193 Murdoch A. 305, 347 Murray A.T. 133, 145 Murray G. 145, 161 Murray O. 134, 163, 377, 386 Murray S.C. 236, 253 Musti D. 348 Muth S. 138, 161 Nadali D. 66, 77, 97 Naerebout F. 278, 287 Nagy G. 249, 254 Nails D. 213, 232 Nava M.L. 348 Nawotka K. 40, 50, 262, 268 Neusner J. 143, 158 New D.S. 24, 48 Nielsen A.M. 248, 254 Nilsson M.P. 139, 161, 206, 232 Nissinen M. 72, 97 Noam V. 401, 404 Nock A.D. 135, 142, 161, 376, 377, 379, 385 Nolin G. 238, 239, 254 Norwood G. 222, 232 Novotny J. 37, 48 Nussbaum M.C. 154, 161 O’Brien J.M. 250, 254 Ober J. 130, 132, 140, 162 Oded B. 37, 42, 48 Ogden D. 87, 150, 160, 236, 251, 255, 273, 286 Olaguer Feliu F. 248 Oldfather C.H. 167, 176 Oliver J.H. 359, 375 Olmstead A.T. 168, 178 Onn A. 394, 405 Oppenheimer A. 393, 398 Ormerod H.A. 364 Orthmann W. 29, 48 Osborne R. 136, 137, 142, 161, 162 Ostwald M. 220, 222, 226, 232, 233 Oświęcimski S. 81, 97

Otto E. 260, 268, 271 Otto W.F. 146, 162 Ouahnouna B. 394, 405 Page T.E. 304 Paget J.C. 398, 404 Palagia O. 191, 192 Pallottino M. 291, 302 Panagopoulou K. 130, 131 Pangerl A. 391, 394, 403 Papaioannou K. 137, 161 Paribeni R. 315, 348 Parke H.W. 207, 210, 212, 214, 233, 244, 254 Parker R. 19, 78, 83, 87, 97, 107, 117, 122, 123, 124, 125, 127, 132, 133, 134, 135, 144, 145, 155, 162, 201, 205, 207, 211, 212, 214, 217, 233 Parker V. 141, 144 Parpola S. 31, 48, 76, 77, 97, 98 Pearson A. 218, 233 Pearson L. 246, 254 Pečírka J. 207, 233 Pédech P. 247, 254 Peleg-Barkat O. 395, 402 Pelling Ch. 155, 162 Perani M. 396, 402 Perdrizet P. 277, 279, 287 Perepyolkin Y.Y. 257, 271 Perlman S. 239, 254 Pestman P.W 261, 271 Petersen E.A.H. 348 Petrocelli C. 194, 205 Pfeiffer S. 262, 265, 271 Pfiffig A. 293, 302 Philippson P. 217, 233 Picard G.H. 343 Pierce K.F. 142, 163 Piganiol A. 251, 254 Planeaux C. 208, 210, 233 Plantzos D. 137, 163 Platt V.J. 126, 132 Polacco E. 348 Põldsam A. 24, 48 Pollini J. 327, 337, 348 Pomeroy S.B. 222, 232 Pomponio F. 13 Ponti E. 305, 348

416 Pontynen A. 140, 162 Popov D. 206, 233 Popp H. 78, 97 Porat R. 389, 403 Porter B.N. 31, 48 Porter J. 174, 175 Poulter J. 365, 375 Pouzadoux Cl. 344 Powell A. 142, 160 Powell B. 147, 157 Prandi L. 247, 250, 254 Prêtre C. 134, 160 Price A. 134, 163 Price J. 181, 193, 388, 395, 402, 404 Price S. 377, 386 Pritchett W.K. 68, 78, 79, 80, 81, 84, 86, 87, 91, 92, 97, 123, 125, 126, 133, 136, 162, 188, 193 Pulleyn S. 153, 162 Putnam M. 226 Raaflaub K.A. 68, 97, 140, 142, 145, 148, 152, 162, 163, 164, 327, 348 Radet G. 248, 254 Radner K. 42, 48, 78, 97 Raedler C. 258, 270 Rakob Fr. 348 Ramage E.S. 349 Ramsey J.T. 349 Rappaport U. 401, 404 Raubitschek A.E. 174, 178 Rawlings H.H.R. 175, 178, 181, 193 Rawlings L. 147, 162, 296, 302 Rawson E.  349 Reade J. 43, 48 Redfield J. 146, 163 Redfield J.M. 143, 162 Rehak P. 313, 318, 321, 322, 323, 324, 328, 349 Reinach A.J. 278, 287 Reiner E. 70, 97 Rémy B. 359, 360, 363, 368, 373, 375 Rengakos A. 150, 159 Reverdin O. 349 Rhodes P.J. 227, 233 Richardson S.F.C. 70, 98 Richardson N. 145, 163 Ridgway B.S. 137, 159, 164

Index Of Authors Rigsby K.J. 189, 192 Riva C. 292, 293, 302 Rizzi M. 400, 402 Robert L. 218, 233 Robert C. 139, 163 Roberts J.J.M. 72, 98 Robertson N.D. 175, 178 Robinson E.W. 193 Robson J.E. 142, 163 Rochberg F. 69, 98 Rodriguez P. 273, 287 Rogers B.B. 214, 233 Roisman J. 236, 253 Röllig W. 37, 42, 49 Rollinger R. 42, 45, 48, 49, 67, 68, 97, 98, 169, 171, 177, 178 Romano J.F. 272, 287 Roovers O.N. 349 Rossini O. 349, 313 Roth M. 15, 22 Roth-Murray C. 295, 302 Rung E. 166 Rüpke J. 361, 362, 363, 375, 377, 378, 385 Russo S. 258, 269 Rutherford R. 144, 147, 163 Rutherford R.B. 149, 153, 163 Ryberg I.S. 370, 375 Ryholt K. 41, 49 Sabin P. 142, 160, 279, 287 Safrai Sh. 400, 405 Sales J.D.C. 258, 271 Sallaberger W. 7, 22, 50, 58, 64 Sancisi-Weerdenburg H. 169, 178, 238, 250, 253, 255 Sarnowski T. 381, 383, 385, 386 Sasson J.M. 17, 21, 69, 79, 96 Saulnier C. 362, 375 Saur K.G. 294, 301 Sauron G. 315, 349, 350 Sawyer R.D. 23, 50 Sazonov V. 23, 32, 34, 35, 49 Schäfer D. 262, 265, 271 Schäfer P. 387, 396, 398, 399, 403, 404, 405 Schein S.L. 154, 163 Schellenberg H.M. 379, 386 Schenck H. 139 Schick G. 350

Index Of Authors Schiffman L.H. 390, 403 Schmidt M.G. 359, 375 Schmitt Pantel P. 67, 98, 140, 155, 165 Schroeder R. 292, 302 Schultz P. 138, 163 Schulz P. 137, 161 Schurer E. 401, 405 Schürer E. 401, 405 Schuster M. 43, 49 Schütz M. 329, 330, 331, 339, 325, 350 Schwartz D.R. 398, 401, 405 Schwarzenberg E. 248, 255 Scodel R. 155, 163 Scott M. 130, 132, 294, 302 Scruton R. 141, 163 Seager R. 174, 175, 178 Sealey R. 175, 178 Segal E. 347 Seibert J. 175, 178, 262, 271 Sekunda N. 143, 206, 212, 220, 233, 276, 279, 282, 287 Selengut C. 24, 49 Selz G.J. 24, 49, 53, 55, 64 Settis S. 305, 311, 314, 327, 350 Seux M.-J. 33, 49 Seybold I. 77, 94 Shafer B.E. 263, 268, 275, 285 Shapiro A. 315, 351 Shapiro H.A. 96, 137, 163 Sapirom H.A. 96, 137, 163 Shaw I. 273, 286 Sherwin-White S. 169, 171, 178 Shipley G. 138, 163 Shorey P. 210, 233 Siddall L.R. 66, 98 Siebler M. 317, 350 Sierra C. 244, 255 Sieveking J. 350 Siewert P. 173, 179, 225, 233 Silk M.S. 248, 249, 255 Simms R.R. 224, 233 Simon E. 206, 233, 297, 302, 317, 318, 319, 350 Simpson C.J. 350 Simpson M.S. 28, 50 Singor H. 140, 163 Sinos R.H. 293, 302 Sissa G. 136, 163

417 Sitlington Sterret J.R. 209, 233 Sjöberg Å. 13, 22 Slatkin L.M. 142, 163 Small A. 235, 252 Smallwood E.M. 388, 405 Smith R.R. 247, 255 Smith R. 138, 158 Smith T.J. 137, 163 Snape S.R. 267, 271 Snell B. 151, 163 Snell D.C. 44, 47 Snyder W.F. 376, 378 Sokolowski F. 208, 233 Sollberger E. 22 Sommerfeld W. 5, 22 Sommerstein A.H. 180, 192, 193 Sorek S. 350 Sourvinou-Inwood C. 134, 163, 377, 386 Spalinger A. 49, 68, 98 Spawforth A. 145, 162 Speidel M.P. 378, 386 Speier H. 31, 46 Spence I.G. 224, 225, 233, 234 Speyer W. 350 Spieckermann H. 170, 177, 178 Spijkerman A. 390, 405 Spivey N. 146, 163 Squillace G. 236, 255 Squire M. 146, 163 Stahl H.-P. 181, 187, 193 Stählin F. 216, 234 Stampini P. 350 Stary P.F. 292, 302 Steer K.E. 371, 375 Steible H. 22 Steinkeller P. 13, 22, 25, 40, 49, 50 Stenzel J. 221, 234 Stern M. 388, 405 Steup J. 182, 190, 192 Stewart A. 135, 137, 140, 144, 160, 161, 249, 255 Stiebel G.D. 395, 401 Stock H. 260, 271 Stöckl J. 71 Stoll O. 379, 383, 386 Strack P.L. 366, 367, 368, 375 Strang A. 365, 369, 371, 372, 375 Strassler R.B. 91, 95

418 Strauss B.S. 147, 148, 162, 164, 214, 234 Strauss Clay J. 151, 158 Strickland M. 141, 164 Stroheker K.F. 360, 375 Strömberg A. 250, 253 Strong E. 350 Stroumsa G.G. 275, 285 Struck P.T. 65, 83, 95 Svärd S. 78, 97 Szarzyńska K. 66, 96 Szegedy-Maszak A. 189, 193 Szymanski T. 135, 164 Tadmor H. 77, 98 Taplin O. 153, 164 Tarán L. 157, 164 Tausend S. 143, 165 Tcherikover V. 401, 405 Temkin C.L. 191, 192 Temporini H. 377, 384, 385 Tepper Y. 393, 404 Themelis P.G. 211, 234 Theune-Großsskopf B. 142, 157 Thiers C. 261, 269 Thommen L. 173, 179 Thompson W.E. 226, 234 Toher M. 327, 348 Tomas A. 381, 386 Tompkins D.P. 133, 164 Tondriau J. 251, 255 Torelli M. 297, 302, 327, 350, 351 Török L. 272, 279, 287 Tov E. 390, 403 Toynbee J.M.C. 326, 336, 351 Tozzi P. 168, 179 Trampedach K. 72, 81, 93, 96, 98 Tran Tam Tinh V. 279, 287 Treves P. 351 Tritle L.A. 67, 97, 145, 164, 238, 255 Trundle M. 68, 98 Truschnegg B. 68, 97, 169, 177, 178 Tsafrir Y. 396, 397, 405 Tsamakis A. 150, 159 Tsukimoto A. 72, 98 Tuck A. 293, 302 Tully R.E. 143, 158 Tuplin C.J. 175, 178, 197, 200, 205

Index Of Authors Turfa J.M. 299, 302 Turkeltaub D. 140, 164 Turner G. 77 Turner N. 114, 115, 118 Tziafalias A. 222, 223, 231 Tzu S. 23, 50 Ulanowski K. 40, 50, 65, 133, 188, 385 Valdés M. 251, 252 Valeton I.M.J. 227, 234 Van Buren A.W. 351 Van Buylaere G. 40, 47 Van der Spek R.J. 42, 50, 167, 168, 179 Van Dijk J. 19, 22 Van Eck C. 136, 162 Van Gastel J. 136, 162 Van Kessel E. 136, 162 Van Wees H. 78, 97, 127, 132, 133, 135, 140, 142, 143, 146, 147, 154, 158, 160, 162, 163, 164, 165, 173, 179, 201, 205, 279, 287, 296, 301 VanderKam J.C. 390, 403 Vanstiphout H. 66, 98 Varhelyi Z.Z. 294, 301 Verderame L. 7, 20 Verity A. 148 Vernant J.-P. 133, 149, 151, 158, 164 Versluys M.J. 278, 287 Veyne P. 136, 164 Vickers M. 220, 221, 226, 234 Vidal J. 66, 97, 245, 252, 255 Vidal-Naquet P. 189, 193 Viggiano G.F. 67, 96 Villing A.C. 146, 164, 296, 302 Vistoli F. 351 Vlčková M. 11, 21 Vleeming S. 263, 271 Vogt J. 280 Von Beckerath J. 256, 257, 258, 259, 260, 261, 268 Von den Hoff R. 137, 161 Von Domaszewski A. 377, 379, 380, 385 Von Wilamowitz-Möllendorf U. 136, 165, 216, 219, 234 Wade-Gery H.T. 222, 223, 234 Waetzoldt H. 32, 46

419

Index Of Authors Wäfler M. 7, 12, 20, 22 Wagenvoort H. 351 Wagner G. 279, 286 Walbank M.B. 221, 234, 274 Walentowski S. 359, 375 Wallace A. 113, 119 Wallace Hadrill A. 351 Wallace R.W. 182, 193, 250, 252 Wallach J.R. 140, 162 Walter P. 351 Wasserman F.M. 184, 193 Waszak D. 282, 286 Watanabe K. 40, 50, 76, 95 Watson A. 361, 375 Watson J.S. 361 Watzinger C. 206, 234 Weber W. 279, 287 Weil S. 65, 98, 165 Weinstock S. 306, 317, 336, 351 Weiss P. 372, 375 Weksler-Bdolah S. 394, 405 Welles C.B. 246, 253, 376, 386 Wendrich W. 256, 270 West M.L. 72, 98, 140, 165, 206, 234 West S. 154, 159 Westbrook R. 36, 46 Westendorf W. 260, 268 Westenholz A. 7, 22, 50 Westenholz J.G. 68, 80, 81, 98 Westlake H.D. 217, 234 Wheeler E.L. 67, 98, 216, 379, 380, 386 Whitby M. 142, 160, 197, 205, 279, 287 White R.T. 398, 404 Whiting R.M. 76, 97 Whitley J. 292, 302

Wiedemann T. 361, 362, 375 Wiesehofer J. 169, 171, 177 Wiggermann F.A.M. 18, 19, 22 Wilding L. 33, 47 Wilkins J.B. 292, 295 Will W. 175, 178, 179, 351 Willcock M.M. 145, 165 Winkes R. 351 Winnicki J.K. 272, 287 Winter E. 260, 266, 271, 378, 385 Winter I.J. 26, 28, 50 Winter N. 295, 302 Wiseman D.J. 40, 50 Wojciechowska A. 40, 50, 262, 268 Womersley D. 360, 374 Woodford S. 165 Woodhouse W.J. 190, 193 Woods C. 168, 178, 179 Woods Chr. 42, 50 Woodward A.M. 226, 234 Worthington I. 197, 205, 235, 236, 238, 253, 255, 256, 351 Wrede H. 351 Wright R.P. 379, 385 Yamada S. 38, 50 Yardeni A. 388, 395, 402, 404 Yuhong W. 20, 22 Zaidman L.B. 67, 98 Zanker P. 306, 308, 310, 315, 351 Zeitlin F.I. 151, 164 Ziegler C. 256, 268 Zimmern H. 69, 74, 98 Zissu B. 387, 390, 392, 403, 404, 405