Bryn Mawr Classical Review

La recepción del fondo bibliográfico personal especializado de Michel Lejeune en la biblioteca de la Universidad de Lumière-Lyon2, legado por sus herederos en el verano de 2003, fue un excelente motivo para la organización de una jornada científico-festiva que tuvo lugar en su honor el 25 de mayo de 2005. Se trataba de poner en valor el fondo bibliográfico del legado y de divulgarlo.

Los textos de las conferencias de investigadores franceses y extranjeros que se impartieron en una segunda jornada científica los días 2 y 3 de febrero de 2006 son los que se publican en este volumen. Los autores de las diferentes contribuciones, discípulos de Lejeune en muchos casos, pretenden homenajearle con aportaciones pertenecientes a las diferentes áreas de estudio en las que destacó, la lingüística griega y la lingüística comparada de las lenguas indoeuropeas,¹ la lengua etrusca y las lenguas itálicas.²

El volumen se abre con un prólogo firmado por las editoras del volumen, las profesoras de lingüística latina y griega de la Universidad Lumière-Lyon2 respectivamente, F. Biville e I. Boyer, una nota en torno al valioso legado de Michel Lejeune (Le fonds Michel Lejeune de la BIU-LSH) a cargo de la responsable de la sección de lenguas antiguas de la biblioteca de la universidad, C. Boyer, y otra breve del contenido del legado bibliográfico a cargo de M.-J. Perrat, responsable de este tipo de fondos de la misma biblioteca.

En la primera parte del libro, la dedicada a la lingüística griega y a la lingüística comparada, A. Christol recuerda y demuestra que el estudio etimológico que emprendió Lejeune se derivó de su interés en las escrituras antiguas y de la exégesis de los textos de las lenguas que estudió. Sólo a partir del análisis interno de los textos y del contexto en el que se insertaban los términos surgió la aproximación etimológica.

F. Bader aborda el estudio etimológico del nombre de los vénetos que formaría parte de un conjunto homogéneo de nombres de pueblos conquistadores con el mismo significado pero pertenecientes a otras raíces (es el caso de los nombres de Tesalia, Ftía, Dodona, los germanos). Bader reconstruye el sentido originario de la raíz del término a partir de numerosos testimonios toponímicos, antroponímicos y de otra índole, que sería: "querer algo por libre elección". Los vénetos serían entonces "los Deseosos, los que tienen deseos de algo".

C. de Lamberterie analiza el adjetivo micénico o-wo-we (¿compuesto de oiw-ōwēs "de una sola asa" o de ouo-wens "provisto de asas"?), su formación y los derivados del nombre griego de la "oreja", y llega a la conclusión de que debe interpretarse como un derivado posesivo de este nombre cuyo significado en el contexto de la famosa tablilla PY Ta 641 sería "trípode provisto de asas". De Lamberterie lleva a cabo un estudio del nombre de la "oreja" en griego y en indoeuropeo y explica la diversidad de formas en griego a partir de distintas innovaciones que tuvieron lugar en esta lengua.

L. Basset hace algunas matizaciones sobre la cronología de los grupos consonánticos *-ts que originaron la aparición de distintas silbantes en griego recordando la interpretación de Lejeune de los datos del micénico. Su aportación hace referencia a la evolución del grupo *-t(h)y- y a sus resultados divergentes en el dialecto jónico-ático en el que se origina una nueva silbante en posición inicial y en interior de palabra, pero una geminada dental -ττ- en otros casos. En un cuadro ilustrativo al final de la contribución se especifican las distintas etapas de la evolución de los distintos grupos de *-ts en griego oriental (jónico-ático y arcado-chipriota) en proto-aqueo y proto-jonio y finalmente en los dialectos arcadio, jónico y ático.

C. Dobias-Lalou retoma los diferentes tratamientos del grupo -ns- que provoca en buena parte de los dialectos griegos el llamado segundo alargamiento compensatorio tras el debilitamiento y posterior desaparición de la nasal, que se mantiene sin alteración en otros dialectos o bien en otros casos que presenta una evolución -ns- > -js-, producto de una palatalización. Partiendo de que hay que tener necesariamente en cuenta siempre los parámetros sociolingüísticos cuando se analiza cualquier transformación lingüística, y de que algunas de estas evoluciones pueden haber coexistido en un mismo dialecto,³ Dobias-Lalou se centra en los datos de los dialectos de la isla de Tera y su colonia Cirene. A la luz de los nuevos ejemplos de Tera,⁴ parece que ambos dialectos conocieron el resultado -js-, lo que demuestra que este resultado del grupo consonántico remonta a una época anterior a la fundación de la colonia. Si se confirma la coexistencia en Tera del alargamiento compensatorio originado a partir de este grupo consonántico, ésta podría explicarse a partir de factores sociolingüísticos.

A. Blanc se centra en la final -εσσι de la lengua homérica, considerada usualmente como eolismo, cuyo origen morfológico sigue siendo objeto de debate. Examina los dativos de plural de los temas sigmáticos (origen en última instancia de la terminación en cuestión), que como es sabido pueden tener tres finales de dativos: -εσσι (sufijo sigmático + desinencia de dativo -σι), -εσι (misma terminación pero con simplificación de la geminada) y -έεσσι (interpretada usualmente como forma eolia), y llega a la conclusión de que la final -έεσσι es una creación de la lengua poética, que no debería ser necesariamente entendida como de origen eolio. De hecho, esta final es desconocida en los textos de Alceo y Safo y los dos ejemplos epigráficos de Cime en Asia Menor y Tesalia en Escotusa pertenecen al s. II y III a.C. respectivamente, es decir, no son arcaicos. La final -εσσι tiene su origen a partir de los temas silbantes, es el resultado de su análisis después de las contracciones vocálicas: πρηνεῖς: πρην-+-εῖς, πρην-+-έσσι. Por tanto, su extensión a otros temas debió de tener lugar después de la época de las contracciones.

J.-L. Perpillou compara los datos micénicos y homéricos en lo que hace al empleo de la diátesis verbal. De la oposición entre la voz media y la voz activa deduce algunas consecuencias significativas, como la que puede darse en el caso del término micénico wanaka cuyo significado de "soberano" estaría asociado al empleo del verbo en voz activa, mientras que el de "devoto" lo estaría al empleo en voz media. Las decisiones del soberano serían de obligado cumplimiento en la esfera de su poder palacial, pero no lo serían en el contexto del santuario en donde podrían considerarse como intenciones piadosas, como iniciativas cuyos actores serían otros, lo que podría justificar el empleo de la voz media en estos casos.

M. Perna propone una nueva explicación que dé cuenta de los criterios que rigen la fiscalidad de los reinos micénicos analizando el grupo de tablillas micénicas de la serie Ma que fue objeto de un estudio detallado a cargo de Lejeune en 1956.

F. Bechet intenta hallar una justificación del género masculino que en griego tienen las plantas leguminosas cuando lo esperable habría sido el género femenino, como ocurre en el caso de los nombres de los árboles, por poner un ejemplo. La autora hace referencia a la mentalidad de los antiguos y a la concepción que tenían en relación a estas plantas para explicar este hecho.

J.-P. Levet elige para su contribución el espinoso tema de los orígenes del indoeuropeo y de las hipótesis del nostrático y euroasiático.

La segunda parte del libro está dedicada a las contribuciones del etrusco y las lenguas itálicas.

P.-Y. Lambert analiza, poniendo ejemplos concretos, los documentos de trabajo de Lejeune para explicar su metodología en el campo de la epigrafía antes de publicar los corpora de lenguas itálicas y celtas, así como su actitud ante el desafío de interpretar un documento epigráfico nuevo.

D. Briquel llama la atención sobre la glosa TLE 848 de Festo que, en su opinión y a pesar de su lamentable estado de conservación, podría confirmar el término etrusco nepa para denominar al escorpión.

J. Schamp aborda las principales fases de la enseñanza del latín en Constantinopla hasta el momento en el que Juan el Lidio accede a la cátedra de la universidad en torno al verano de 545.

J. Hadas-Lebel propone interpretar la palabra putlumza escrita en una enócoe etrusca de principios del s.III a.C. como un derivado en -za de *putlum, probable préstamo del latín arcaico *potlom del que procede en latín clásico pocolom / poculum. El autor incluye ilustraciones de los distintos recipientes que comenta en su estudio.

G. Van Heems aborda el estudio del sistema numeral etrusco utilizando en la primera parte de su contribución un documento inédito de Lejeune, que se publica como apéndice, en el que redactó deferentes entradas de términos de numeración etrusca para el volumen II del Thesaurus linguae Etruscae.

F. Poli ofrece una nueva lectura de la inscripción osca Vetter 132: vipineis en lugar de virineis, que sería el nombre del difunto, de origen etrusco. Poli incluye al final de su estudio las imágenes de las transcripciones de la inscripción, la suya propia de 2005 y la de L. del Tutto Palma de 1990.

E. Dupraz retoma la inscripción osca estudiada por Lejeune Ve 173 y llega a la conclusión de que es una composición poética que se encuadra dentro de otras del mismo tipo en el contexto de las lenguas itálicas. Además analiza el término aapas "aguas corrientes" que remonta a la raíz *h₂ēp-/*h₂ép-.

V. Martzloff estudia la forma sudpicena povaisis y la interpreta como forma verbal de subjuntivo cuyo significado sería "para que lleves a cabo, para que hagas". El análisis propuesto es el siguiente: pov- "quō" + aisis "āxīs" , formación de subjuntivo sigmático de *ag-sī-s.

El volumen está muy bien editado y es estéticamente atractivo como todos los libros de la misma colección.

Contenido del libro

Frédérique BIVILLE et Isabelle BOEHM (Université Lumière-Lyon 2), Avant-propos, p.9

Christine BOYER (Bibliothèque Inter-Universitaire LSH de Lyon),Arrivée de la bibliothèque personnelle de Michel Lejeune à la Bibliothèque Inter-Universitaire Lettres et Sciences Humaines de Lyon (juin 2003), p.15

Marie Josette PERRAT (Bibliothèque Inter-Universitaire LSH de Lyon), Le fonds Michel Lejeune à la Bibliothèque Inter-Universitaire Lettres et Sciences Humaines de Lyon, p.17

I .Linguistique grecque et linguistique comparée des langues indo-européennes Alain CHRISTOL (Université de Rouen), Michel Lejeune et l'étymologie, p.21

Françoise BADER (EPHE, Paris), Le nom des Vénètes et leur expansión, p.31

Charles DE LAMBERTERIE (Université Paris 4-Sorbonne – EPHE), En hommage à Michel Lejeune: mycénien o-wo-we et le nom de l' "oreille" en grec, p.79

Louis BASSET (Université Lumière-Lyon 2), À propos de la nouvelle sifflante sourde forte en grec ancien, p.117

Catherine DOBIAS-LALOU (Université de Borgogne), Retour sur les "traitements grecs de -ns-", p.127

Alain BLANC (Université de Rouen), Langue épique, parler des aèdes et datifs en -εσσι , p.137

Jean Louis PERPILLOU (Université de Paris 4-Sorbonne), Le wanax entre actif et moyen, p.153

Massimo PERNA (Università degli Studi Suor Orsola Benincasa, Naples), Michel Lejeune et la fiscalité mycénienne, p.169

Florica BECHET (Université de Bucarest), Sur le genre masculin des plantes légumineuses en grec ancien, p.179

Jean-Pierre LEVET (Université de Limoges), En amont de l'indo-européen: les enseignements eurasiatiques de J. Greenberg et de quelques vieux hydronymes, p.195

II. Les langues de l'Italie antique

Pierre-Yves LAMBERT (EPHE,CNRS, AIBL), Michel Lejeune et le défi des inscriptions nouvelles, p.217

La langue étrusque

Dominique BRIQUEL (Université Paris 4-Sorbonne – EPHE), Qu'est ce que la glose TLE 848 = Festus 162 (nepos) …. Tuscis dicitur peut nous apprendre sur la langue étrusque?, p.237

Jacques SCHAMP (Université de Fribourg, Suisse), Pour une étude des milieux latins de Constantinople, p.255

Jean HADAS-LEVEL (Université Lumière-Lyon 2), L' oenochoé putlumza: un pocolom étrusque?, p.273

Gilles VAN HEEMS (Université Lumière-Lyon 2), Lire, écrire, compter: quelques réflexions et hypothèses sur le système numéral étrusque en marge des travaux de Michel Lejeune, p.287

Les langues italiques

Fabrice POLI (Université de Bourgogne), Relecture de l'inscription osque Vetter 132, p.321

Emmanuel DUPRAZ (Université de Rouen), L'inscription frentanienne Ve 173 = Ri Fr 2, la tradition poétique italique et le nom-racine *h₂ep-."eaux courantes", p.331

Vincent MARTZLOFF (Université Lumière-Lyon 2), Questions d'exégèse picénienne, p.359

Index

Index des mots et des formes étudiés, p.381

Index des documents et corpus épigraphiques, p.395

Indes des auteurs et des passages étudiés, p.399

Liste des contributeurs (coordonnées, mai 2009), p.405

1.   Su libro Phonétique historique du mycénien et du grec ancien es el manual que se utiliza usualmente en las universidades europeas. Lejeune fue el organizador del primer Congreso de Micenología en Gif-sur-Yvette en 1956. Sus contribuciones sobre griego micénico agrupadas en la colección de Mémoires de Philologie Mycénienne siguen siendo de obligada consulta.
2.   Estudió en diversas ocasiones corpora reducidos de inscripciones de las lenguas itálicas como el osco, el etrusco, el celta de Francia e incluso el frigio.
3.   Esta consideración de los hechos se repite de forma constante en los estudios de fonética de Claude Brixhe "Les palatalisations en grec ancien", Étrennes de septentaine offertes à Michel Lejeune, Paris 1978, p. 65-73 y en su libro Phonétique et phonologie du grec ancien , Louvain 1996.
4.   Los nuevos ejemplos pertenecen a un epigrama arcaico (mediados del s. VI a.C.), SEG 48, 1067 y son dos participios femeninos, θανοίσας, ποθέσαισα.

Preview

Sammons analyzes various catalogues in Homer (women, objects, suitors, etc.), leaving aside the catalogues of warriors slain in battle. His argument is that the catalogues situate the narratives in larger narrative spaces and times, giving perspective to the Homeric poems. Viewed in this way, the catalogues reveal a Homer self-conscious (and self-confident) of his own methods and intentions.

An Introduction situates his topic within traditional Homeric issues like Analysis and Oral Theory, as well as within scholarship on catalogic passages in other literatures. Sammons' interest is especially in the catalogue as a means of bringing into the poems stories and other materials otherwise outside the scope of the poems. Sammons here points to Aristotle (Poet. 1459a30-b12), who praises Homer for narrowing his theme but using passages like the Catalogue of Ships to incorporate the larger context of a long war. Sammons defines a catalogue as an elaborated list, normally with anaphoric linkage, in which the contents are unrelated except as appropriate to the rubric of the list; this allows him also to avoid discussion of catalogic narratives such as the Shield and the Teichoscopia.

The first chapter treats the "paradigmatic catalogues" of Dione (Il. 5.382-405) and Calypso (Od. 5.118-36). The former passage, when interpreted together with the narratives of Glaucus and Diomedes himself in Book 6, reveal a "moral theory," a treatment of "crime and punishment" (p. 38), which illuminates the rest of the Iliad; the passages combined show that fighting the gods leads to retribution, but that in any case humans are subject to fate and the behavior of the gods. In the Odyssey passage, the apparently inappropriate list (all of the mortals die) makes sense when seen in Iliadic context: like Achilles, Odysseus elects fame and mortality over obscurity and a kind of death with Calypso, as implied in the myth of Tithonus (Od. 5.1-2).

Chapter 2 treats catalogues of women. Antinous' catalogue (Od. 2.115-22) suggests that Penelope might be worthy of an epic poem herself. Here, as often, Sammons sees Homer commenting on his own poetics by illustrating, via catalogue, the larger epic world and showing his own place in the tradition. Zeus's list of lovers (Il. 14.315-28), notoriously inappropriate as a seduction technique, features a Zeus who has lost control and uses his own behavior as a paradigm. In this and Hera's catalogue (Il. 14.200-205) we see the instability of the Olympic power structure until the διὸς βουλή can be restored. The catalogue of women in the Nekyia (Od. 11.235-327) is unique, with a mortal speaker and based on the words of the people met in the underworld rather than on divine knowledge. Each woman becomes an opportunity, not always taken, for narration and elaboration, and no coherent pattern appears as in the other catalogues and in Hesiod. The subsequent catalogue of heroes (11.568-626) becomes a visual show rather than a series of interviews and paradigmatically reinforces the "crime and punishment" motif of the Odyssey (p. 98). In each case discussed in Chapter 2, then, Homer alludes to other poems or traditions, showcasing his own style, manner and poetic world.

A fascinating third chapter treats natural objects in catalogues. The trees catalogued at Od. 24.336-44 are "a clear sign" (p. 103). Odysseus knows their meaning and history. In Homer inanimate objects can have epic κλέος, with histories and even genealogies, and the Ithacan trees represent home. Priam's ransom catalogue (Il. 24.228-37) dramatically contrasts his former happiness and glory with his current want and misery, ideas reinforced in the subsequent lists of his sons (24.248-62). Agamemnon's catalogic offer to Achilles in the Embassy (Il. 9.120-57) begins like a normal Homeric catalogue, but as the catalogue adds conditionality of victory and return home, the catalogue breaks down, gifts improve (finally whole cities!), time, space and values explode, and Achilles becomes the hero of a happy scenario everyone knows will never come to be. A catalogue of objects becomes a fictional narrative.

Chapter 4 turns to the Catalogue of Ships. To Sammons, the Catalogue presents a "double view" (p. 139): events at Aulis and events at Troy nine years later. Again Homer opens the larger epic world and expands space and time. The Catalogue is full of oddities such as praise of nobodies (in spite of the statement in the Invocation that this will not happen) and inadequate praise of genuine heroes. These oddities cast doubt on the historicity of the Catalogue. Furthermore, Agamemnon's power and position are emphasized, contrary to what we have seen of him previously in Book 2; the catalogue ends with Achilles' region, highlighting that hero's absence along with Protesilaos and Philoctetes. The Catalogue, then, is an integral part of the Iliad, not an insertion, and the passages often seen as patchwork are reflections of the themes important to the poem.

A brief fifth chapter treats catalogues of suitors in the Odyssey. These are intentionally different from the other catalogues, consigning the suitors to obscurity and denying them the larger cultural context normally bestowed in epic. 16.245-53 is an ironical parallel to the Catalogue of Ships. 22.265-68 is catalogic ἀνδροκτασίη, the reverse of κλέος-conferral, and 16.245-53 is a catalogue without names.

A conclusion sums up: Through allusion to other poems, real or potential, Homer is able to "define the excellence of his own work" (p. 209). To Homer, pure catalogue of true historical (or mythological) data is not possible.

The book is full of excellent analyses of passages, supplemented by contextual discussions and a generous citation of scholarship. Anyone working on a catalogic passage should consult this book to learn both about the passages and about the larger contexts of the passages. Sammons frequently suggests that Homer is referring to other poems or traditions as foils to his own poetry, and I find this argument somewhat speculative. Sammons in fact presents a Homer more self-conscious of his work and accomplishments than the Homer I personally envision. But the book is valuable and well worth study.

It is a pleasure to welcome the first volume in a series that brings to readers the Theodosian Code in a new translation. This enterprise constitutes a robust harbinger of what amounts to a veritable renaissance of fifth century studies. In fact, since 2000 the Theodosian Code has benefited from several volumes of collected studies, all in French, as well as from two French translations of the sixteenth book of the Code.¹

There is hardly a doubt that the legal code sponsored by the emperor Theodosius II (408-450) is exceptionally difficult yet indispensable. Scholars of late antiquity could, since 1952, resort to Clyde Pharr's English translation of the Code (rep. 2001). whose merits as well as faults this translation highlights. One great advantage of the planned French translation of the entire Code over its English predecessor is the placing of the original Latin and the translation side by side.

The text used is that of Mommsen, whose 1904 edition has yet to be superseded. This is both exceptionally useful but also problematic. The material that the fifth-century compilers of the Code assembled was subjected subsequently to several stages of revision, each with its own distinct goals and audiences. It is therefore both useful and instructive that the editors of the present French translation volume decided to include not only Mommsen's text (now available online) and apparatus but also Krueger's edition and transcription of the relevant folios of the T mss.

The value of this decision is demonstrated by the sixth title of the fifth book, de bonis militum (titles 4 and 5 are missing). This title includes two other laws that, in their present state, appear to have little to do with either CTh 5.6.1 or with the section's title. Mommsen appended a preliminary phrase to his reading of the law (Iussimus dudum, ut quos captivos reperietur miles recepta [b]arbarorum praeda et ereptis manubiis noster provinc[iali]s promeruisse). The French translators omitted this sentence in their translation but included it in the facing Latin text. They added an explanatory note that rejects Mommsen's addition, a rejection resulting in a somewhat abrupt translation: "que notre provincial…avoir obtenu en butin et en dépouilles arrachées aux barbares…" Pharr's translation is a complicated compromise: "(We decree that) when one of our provincials has acquired any booty that has been obtained from the plunder of the barbarians and from the spoils which they have seized…" Both translations, by ignoring or truncating Mommsen's restoration, skip over the only phrase that forges a clear connection between contents of this law, its title, the army and the resources of individual soldiers.²

The question of translation, therefore, seems especially critical in view of a text that was tampered with already in antiquity. Should the translation smooth over textual difficulties and convoluted style or faithfully transmit the original flavor, even at the expense of easy comprehension? Is there a golden mean in such cases?

One may also ask which language, English or French, can more readily render idiomatic legal Latin? French often has an advantage over English because of the availability of transliterations. Thus, the potestas familiae of CTh 5.1.6 remains "la puissance familiale" while in English it becomes "household" (the law deals with the legal rights of children with respect to their grandmother's property). In this case, the French translation provides a better sense of the original Latin than does the English translation. On the other hand, transliterations can sometimes become problematic. Take for example a relatively straightforward term like curia of CTh 5.2.1. This was a law dealing with the property of a decurio who died childless and intestate. The French translators elected to transliterate curia as "'curie'", an old fashioned word that evokes church curates, rather than a "'conseil municipal"' or municipal council (as Pharr did). Still, the French translation is consistent and beautifully conveys the chain of subordinate clauses that refer, nearly poetically, to the curia as ordo as well as a corpus (bona eius curiae suae…id est ordinis utilitati proficiant, cuius corpori fatali necessitate exemptus est). By insisting on a single, long sentence, the French translation also reflects the Latin syntax. Pharr preferred to insert a period to facilitate comprehension.³

For a final note on translation we might compare another French translation, by Rougé and Delmaire, of one of these laws (CTh 5.3.1).⁴ Both used Mommsen's text and both read well. The translation under review retains somewhat more closely the syntax of the original but omits words like forte in an admittedly clumsy original clause that lists (incidental?) exceptions to the rule allowing a church or a monastery to inherit the property of a deceased member (exceptis his facultatibus quas forte censibus adscipti); "feront exception les ressources. . .qui seraient inscrits sur les registres du cens" (Pétrequin et al.) versus "qui seraient par hasard adscrits aux cens" (Rougé/Delmaire). Similarly a bit later in CTh 5.3.1 nec enim iustum est bona seu peculia. . .ad curias pro tenore dudum latae constitutionis sub certa forma pertinere noscuntur, where dudum implies a constitution that had been issued formerly rather than recently, was translated by Pétrequin et al. as "ceux dont on sait qu'ils reviennent formellement aux curies selon la teneur d'une constitution promulguée naguère" but by Rougé Delmaire as "qui sont connus d'une manière sûre relever de curies en vertu de la tenuer de la constitution jadis promulguée" . The gist remains clear in both.

The French translation is prefaced by a lengthy introduction, written by Pierre Jaillette. As it stands, the nearly 200-page introduction is somewhat unwieldy, thus unwittingly reflecting the Code itself. It provides an up-to-date discussion of matters relating to the procedures that created the ancient and the modern versions of the laws, as well as to the subjects that the laws discuss. Scholars seeking illumination regarding a specific constitution will find that they have to resort to the index, the introduction, and to the text itself with its footnotes in order to comprehend its intricacies and history.⁵

Jaillette's introduction surveys common themes of the fifth book of the Code, providing its own reorganization/categorization of the laws. For example, in the section entitled 'status des personnes', Jaillette groups two laws found in the sixth, seventh, eighth, and ninth titles respectively; one in the tenth, eighteenth and nineteenth titles respectively; and three in the seventeenth title (the latter relating to fugitive coloni).⁶ This editorial grouping combines laws dealing with victims of barbarians raids (5.6.2) as well as those dealing with the alienation of fields tilled by coloni (5.19.1), though it is questionable whether such categories belong to a single heading. Likewise, the introductory section, entitled "les successions ab intestat" includes nine laws (which comprise the first title, de legitimis hereditatibus), as well as an assortment of laws from the second, third and sixth titles, one from each title. The first group focuses on close kin and seems homogeneous enough; the other three laws deal with the succession of non-familial parties to the assets of their individual members.

This latter example, which may reflect an effort on the part of the Theodosian editors to come to grips with the huge volume of material collected for their inspection, well illustrates the depth of the introduction. Jaillette provides an overview of the system of civil law and its evolution from the Twelve Tables to the second century CE and of the legal issues concerning succession in late antiquity, with references to other laws in the Code that likewise deal with this rather common theme. He dwells briefly on the seemingly interminable debate regarding the presence or absence of Christian influence over imperial legislation on matters relating to the family. He also highlights legal continuities in matters relating to the selection of an institutional heir, such as a collegium, a church, or a monastery.

Grouping laws of a single book according to common themes also runs the risk of ignoring laws that the Theodosian editors had separated. One such is a law on maternal succession, CTh 5.1.8, issued in Ravenna in the names of Theodosius II and Valentinian III. Of the 12 pieces of the oratio, of 426 CE, five were incorporated into the Justinian Code and seven were distributed between the first, fourth, fifth and eighth books (with four in the last) of the Theodosian Code. The original oratio grouped together strikingly different themes ranging from priorities of juristic citations (the so-called Law of Citations) to matters of familial inheritance. So far as I can see, Jaillette does not discuss the rationale that dictated the dismemberment of the original oratio or the regrouping of its disjointed members under various titles and in various books of the Code.

All in all, the presentation of the fifth book of the Theodosianus, beautifully printed and nicely organized, is no mean task. It fully deserves our thanks as well as heartiest congratulations. Its merits are many: translation faces the text,⁷ the addition of Mommsen's essential apparatus, the inclusion of Krueger's text, a substantial introduction, prosopographical information about addressees, notes accompanying each law, chronological tables, bibliography and index. All of these render this enterprise as indispensable for French readers as Pharr's translation has become for English readers. Moreover, this new translation provides a crucial complement and correction to Pharr's much cited translation.

1.   There is a full list in the website of the Project Volterra.
2.   See also CTh 5.7.2. ne quando enim damni consideratio in tali necessitate positis negari faciat empetionem, translated somewhat strangely as "en effect, de peur que la considération du préjudice n'entraine un jour le refus de l'achat pour ceux placés dans une telle situation". Rougé/Delmaire, using the same corrupt text, proposed more logically "ainsi la considération d'un dommage ne pourra empecher le rachat d'hommes placés dans de tel liens" (note the more logical reading of Sirm. Cons. 16 ne ingentis damni).
3.   Terms describing imperial virtues like liberalitas when transliterated as "liberality" or "libéralité" retain fairly accurately a sense of the original rhetoric. I am less certain of an attribute like indulgentiae (CTh 5.12.3, exceptional imperial generosity) when it is rendered either as "indulgences" or "dégrèvements."
4.   Sources Chrétiennes 531 (2009), 90-93.
5.   Anyone interested in, for example, the much discussed topic of the exposure and sale of children in late antiquity—the subject of two constitutions, CTh 5.9.1-2 (de expositis)— will find in the index (which is not nearly as comprehensive as Pharr's) under 'enfants' a reference first to 'famille" then to 'exposés', and lastly to the laws themselves, but not to the introduction, where the subject of exposed children is briefly discussed under the title 'le status des personnes.'
6.   All of the laws are usefully tabulated (pp. 120-1).
7.   Although, alas, not always as precisely as one would desire, as in the case of CTh 5.3.1 where, as a result of lengthy notes, the French translation was printed facing the bibliography and not the Latin text.

This book originated as a dissertation submitted in 2006. Contrary to what the title might suggest, it is concerned mainly with scholarly views on popular participation in Roman politics, not so much with collegia themselves. Collegia are seen as organizations of the plebs urbana, the political relevance of which has been commented upon by generations of scholars. Dissen's aim is to demonstrate the existence of three successive paradigms of Roman historical studies in Germany. The time span of Roman history covered technically extends from 186 BCE until the time of Augustus (p. 13); however, most scholarly treatments are presented only in respect to their discussions of the role and status of collegia under Clodius and Caesar.

In the introduction (pp. 11-28), the author describes her project as a "Strukturgeschichte des historischen Denkens" (p. 19). This terminus serves to define her own approach against earlier histories of scholarship on collegia, especially that of Perry.¹ Instead of focussing on ways of argumentation or drawing heavily on biographical information about the respective authors, she wants to analyze German works on associations with regard to their conception of Roman politics in general. Collegia are thus used as a window through which larger scholarly paradigms can be observed. Her underlying questions concern the function of historiography in society (it mirrors "lebensweltliche Orientierungsbedürfnisse", p. 27), as well as the problem of advancement in historical studies. She organizes her material chronologically, but the division into three stages of development is based on content. The first phase of scholarly works starts with Mommsen and relates collegia solely to constitutional law, which is identified as the essence of "the state". The second phase substitutes "state" for "society" and draws on sociological models; collegia are treated as embedded in the societal structures and institutions. The third phase, starting in the 1980s, incorporates insights from the cultural sciences and defines politics as communication; collegia are viewed as actively participating in the process of political communication and reproducing social order.

Discussion of the first phase (pp. 29-95) begins with Mommsen's dissertation on collegia (1843), and incorporates discussion of the works of Liebenam, Waltzing, Ed. Meyer and M. Weber. The author observes that Mommsen's approach is solely juridical; his history of collegia is a history of legal regulations issued by the state concerning collegia (p. 35). This state-centered perspective sees collegia from 64 BCE onwards as congregations of criminals; they served as a para-political instrument for Clodius that Caesar was right to abolish. This contrasts with Mommsen's view on pre-civil war collegia as a legitimate expression of civic liberty. Dissen is able to show that Mommsen's own participation in the highly politicized clubs and societies in Germany informed his treatment of Roman collegia (and especially the idea that they were originally legitimate) to some degree, but did not influence his judgments as strongly as is sometimes thought (pp. 37-40). Liebenam's work is less focussed on constitutional law and describes collegia in relation to the individuals forming their membership; the author is certainly correct to point to the CIL as the main innovation which led to this new perspective. Her point (against Perry) that influence on scholarly opinions cannot be sought solely in external (political or cultural) developments but also in internal scholarly achievements (pp. 65-66) is evidently correct in this special case, but is hardly applicable in such a concrete manner elsewhere. Waltzing's work had to be incorporated because of its importance although it is not German; his emphatic commitment to liberalism is referred by Dissen to Belgian politics at the turn of the century, which saw debates about the right to build voluntary associations (pp. 71-72). She sees Waltzing's general position and method as closer to the "Annales"-school and later scholarship inspired by cultural sciences than to the state-as-politics paradigm of the 19th and early 20th century. Her treatment of Ed. Meyer (who, like Mommsen, saw collegia as groups of bandits and instruments of the real politicians) also focuses on contemporary discussions and explains his perspective on collegia as resulting from his anti-democratic political stance (pp. 82-83). Dissen concludes that the first phase of scholarly discussion of collegia was shaped by the identification of state and politics, which stood against a social history as partly prefigured by Liebenam and Waltzing.

The second phase (roughly extending from the end of World War I to the 1980s) receives the longest treatment (pp. 97-238). The author presents scholarship which takes "society" as its reference point; the studies incorporated include histories of Roman politics, social histories, and, rarely, specific works on collegia. "Plebs urbana" is used more often than "collegia", following the terminology of the literature. The extensive treatment of Gelzer's perspective (pp. 97-114) is justified by his importance for later developments. Although the state remains the focus of his studies on nobility, the emphasis on "real life" manifestations of hierarchies and politics leads away from Mommsen's juridical perspective and paves the way for the later view that politics are communication. Christian Meier receives an extensive (and unusually critical) treatment (pp. 127-141); Dissen regards his reception of Gelzer as a further step into a new direction of scholarship, but laments the fact that Meier still sees the collegia as "Knüppelgarden" which are mere instruments for politicians. Géza Alföldy's social pyramid is discussed and rejected through the approving citation of his critics (pp. 141-148). Histories of Roman constitutional law (Heuß, Kunkel, Bleicken; pp. 148-170) are followed by histories of ancient economy (pp. 170-200). Among the latter, the historiography of the Democratic Republic of Germany and its ideological presuppositions receive special attention; collegia were blamed for not having arrived at a specific "Klassenbewusstsein". Many scholars are finally subsumed under a paragraph on the concept of masses (pp. 200-233). The author's struggle to bring order into the massive amount of literature discussed is especially evident in this section. G. Laser's recourse to mass psychology and his claim that the masses actively recognize leaders and convey authority to them is taken as a bridge to the scholarship of the last phase (p. 228-233).

The third phase is discussed relatively briefly (pp. 239-279), owing to the short time span covered. It contains discussions of the works of Döbler, Bendlin, Jehne and Flaig and emphasizes the trend to incorporate the symbolic dimension of politics and theoretical approaches (Weber, Foucault, Bourdieu). Dissen is rightly sceptical about Bendlin's call for network analysis, which is difficult to accomplish given the nature of sources on the collegia (p. 255). Her very positive depiction of Flaig's work, however, fails to ask the same question and uncritically labels his method as "objectivistic" and "positivistic" (p. 273). Just how it is possible to deduce praxeis from texts and put them into a series without giving up a critical distance to the sources is, however, the main problem posed by Flaig's program. With the work of Flaig, the cultural turn in Roman historiography has reached its climax. Although both Jehne and Flaig have almost nothing to say on collegia, Dissen takes these works as the solution to the desiderata made out before. The state-centered perspective on Roman politics has been abandoned in favour of a perspective that sees the plebs urbana as an active participant in the political culture of Rome, not a mere instrument, with the main objective of conserving the consensus that stabilized the republic.

In general, this is a solid book about scholarship on Roman political culture. The author mainly produces summaries adapted to the general question, sometimes supplied with longer quotations. In some cases, she analyzes not only the content, but also the style of a work, the metaphors used or the presentation of the text (with or without footnotes). She incorporates contemporary reviews and other studies on the history of scholarship, as long as they have the same structural focus as her own. Thus there are very few opportunities for her to interact with Perry, but she often cites Nippel's works on Weber and several German historians, almost always approvingly. While some authors are merely summarized, she engages critically with others, especially when there already is a debate to which she can attach herself. The attempt to view scholarly works against the background of contemporary needs for orientation is difficult to accomplish for an ancient historian. Dissen often incorporates texts from other disciplines in order to illuminate the intellectual background against which a specific author has to be analyzed. Thus, the treatment of Mommsen's view on collegia is supplemented by a contrast with Otto von Giercke's "Deutsches Genossenschaftsrecht" (pp. 40-43), scholarship using the designation "masses" is related to Ortega y Gasset (pp. 207-208), and Max Weber's categories and conclusions are shown to be influential for several (and quite different) approaches. At other times, however, the incorporation of theoretical works yields no results.²

As for the general project, the focus on collegia is less fruitful than Dissen claims. In the majority of studies discussed, they are of marginal interest. She thus fills page after page without saying anything about collegia. It is telling that Ausbüttel's monograph on collegia receives less extensive treatment (pp. 213-216) than Meier, who hardly mentions them. The treatment of G. Alföldy (pp. 141-148) dedicates one page (from the middle of 143 to the middle of 144) to Alföldy's very few and elementary remarks on collegia and focuses instead on his model of Roman social structure and its consequent replacement by network analysis. In the cause of this treatment, A. Bendlin's view is summarized again (p. 147, as on p. 19), although he also receives special treatment later (pp. 249-256) and yet another summary on pp. 274-275. It is clear that Bendlin's proposal for a new theoretical background of the study of ancient voluntary associations is much more useful for the author's purpose than those works that focus on the collegia themselves. The problems treated by scholars actually working on collegia are not identical to those of Meier, Bleicken, Flaig, or Dissen. I hold that large parts of the book could have been written without mentioning the authors' respective positions on collegia. As a consequence, many passages are somewhat redundant. It is frustrating to some degree when the tenth scholar's general concept of Roman politics has been carefully described and its historical and scholarly context analyzed, only to yield the result that his or her position on collegia is basically the same as that of the earlier ones. And it is not entirely persuasive that the same statement (collegia were simply instruments of politicians) is explained by recourse to so many different personal and contextual backgrounds.

The scholarly area where most work is done on collegia at the moment is probably religious history. This direction of study seeks to understand ancient "voluntary associations" as essentially one Graeco-Roman, or even Mediterranean, phenomenon; it emphasizes the aspects that Greek thiasoi and Roman collegia have in common, with a strong focus on the role of cult, and often with an interest in explaining the origins of Christianity. Dissen's approach is fundamentally different. She does not even mention Greek thiasoi, is not interested in the religious aspects of life in collegia, and focuses solely on the city of Rome. In my view, however, this does not render her treatment untimely at all. Given this recent trend in scholarship, it is important to be aware of the fact that generations of scholars did not see these connections as in any way evident or, perhaps, plausible. Dissen's total omission of the standard works on Greek associations is thus justifiable; it would have been interesting, however, to see her interact with the monographs written by theologians who heavily interact with the literature she discusses.³

The editing is good; there are very few typographical errors (apart from English quotations, where "its" regularly turns into German "ist" due to auto-correction). But style and grammar could have used further proof-reading.⁴

1.   J. S. Perry, The Roman Collegia. The Modern Evolution of an Ancient Concept (Leiden/Boston, 2006).
2.   The treatment of Döbler's study on Politische Agitation und Öffentlichkeit in der späten Republik contains a confused page on Habermas (245), citing some banal remarks from the introductory pages of his famous 1961-book Strukturwandel der Öffentlichkeit (knowledge of which is attributed to a schoolbook [!] by H.-J. Große Kracht, apparently due to a mistake in the footnotes).
3.   Given her restriction to German works, one should point primarily to Th. Schmeller: Hierarchie und Egalität. Eine sozialgeschichtliche Untersuchung paulinischer Gemeinden und griechisch-römischer Vereine (Stuttgart, 1995) (the first half concentrates solely on thiasoi and collegia); E. Ebel: Die Attraktivität früher christlicher Gemeinden. Die Gemeinde von Korinth im Spiegel griechisch-römischer Vereine (Tübingen, 2004) (two thirds of this book are dedicated to the cultores Dianae and Antinoi [Lanuvium] and the Iobakchoi [Athens]).
4.   Observations about the general way of writing put aside, there remains a troubling number of grammatical errors. Duplication or omission of articles and other small words are quite common. The author often builds long and complex sentences, which are at times obscure, at other times turn into anacolutha.

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

Since its inauguration in 2003, the Pappas Patristic Institute has embarked on a weighty project of annual patristics conferences and publications exploring specific topics in the field of patristic studies. The present volume is the second book in the series of the Holy Cross Studies in Patristic Theology and History, edited by Robert J. Daly. It is comprised of fourteen individual papers each dedicated to early Christian authors, theological themes, and iconographies of early Christian perceptions of the Apocalypse.

The first article is by Theodore Stylianopoulos. The key theological concept is erga (the works) as found in Revelation and interpreted by, and compared to, the grace theology of Paul. Stylianopoulos contends that Paul moved in the direction of distinguishing moral and ritual commandments, and gave a priority to the former. The concept of erga in John's Revelation should not be perceived as a formal principle of salvation. Revelation presents grace and judgment as two sides of the same reality, whereas for Paul righteousness or justice (dikaiosynē) has not only a judicial aspect, but also God's saving activity that furnishes the new creation in Christ.

The second and longest article is by John Herrmann and Annewies van den Hoek. It discusses how literary texts of Revelation, Ezekiel, and the "synoptic apocalypse" influenced early Christian art. We find here a detailed description of literary sources and artworks, their backgrounds and pre-Christian prototypes, as well as several trends that can be traced from the evidence of the early Christian apocalyptic iconography (the A and Ω, the lamb on Mount Zion, Christ coming through the clouds and the traditio legis, the heavenly Jerusalem and Bethlehem, palm trees and Ezekiel, the Son of Man in heaven and the four living creatures, saints offering their crowns to Christ, the twenty-four elders of the Apocalypse, the seven candelabra, the Virgin Mary in an "apocalyptic" ascension et al. ). Helpful are illustrations for each image and theme (although there are slight oversights in the inscriptions for the Fig. 2.21b. New Bethlehem instead of New Jerusalem; in Fig. 2.44. Second coming, it is a part of the wooden doors in St. Sabina, Rome).

Bernard McGinn begins his exploration with anecdotes on apocalyptic topics of Alfred N. Whitehead and George Bernard Shaw and turns to the origins of eschatological controversies of the first Christian centuries. He traces the story of the inclusion of John's Apocalypse in the NT canon and discusses patristic authors like Justin, Melito of Sardis, Hippolytus, Irenaeus, Clement of Alexandria, Origen, Jerome, Eusebius, Methodius, and Bishop Victorinus of Poetovio, who read it and extracted theological concepts from it. Some took Revelation's messages literally in chiliastic theories, Gnostics rejected them altogether, yet the Alexandrians and their followers allegorized them and secured the baseline for the mainstream reading of the Apocalypse in ensuing centuries.

Brian Daley considers how the theology of parousia in Revelation and other New Testament texts which have an eschatological cast, influenced the formation of early Christian dogma. As the original Jewish and Judeo-Christian expectation of the end of time was relaxed in the second and third centuries, eschatological themes were reinterpreted in the wider context of an emerging orthodox consensus transferring eschatological dynamism to Christian dogmatic concepts. Irenaeus conceives what Daley calls an apocalyptic cosmology, which presents Irenaeus' large-scale vision of history, where the biblical story ends with "a real establishment [plantatio]" of God's reign (AH 5.36.1) (p. 117). Irenaeus develops his apocalyptic cosmology also on the level of christology, and this tradition was picked up later by Hippolytus and Origen, for whom apocalyptic language became "a central part of the Bible's way of revealing Christ in symbols that call for figural interpretation" (p. 121). Eventually, christological concepts found their application in the apocalyptic ecclesiology espoused by Origen, Victorinus, Andrew of Caesarea, and Maximus the Confessor.

Dragoş-Andrei Giulea delves into modern debates over the origins of the text of In Sanctum Pascha and contends with the latest scholarship that it belongs to an unknown Asian author, who synthesized ancient paschal celebrations, apocalyptic language, and mystery language. The heavenly temple of In Sanctum Pascha becomes a locus of the cosmic liturgy, which celebrates Pascha with Christ's luminous body at the center of a beatific vision. The eschatological topic is fueled by mystery language in ps.-Hippolytus. However, this was not an exclusive case in early Christian literature, an emphasis that seems to have been overdone by Giulea.

A study of Jewish apocalyptic themes in early Christian christology and pneumatology is found in the article by Bogdan Bucur. He demonstrates that the pneumatological link between angels, prophets, and apostles is a theme adopted from an older Jewish tradition. Together with important Judeo-Christian concepts like "face," "name," "wisdom," or "glory," the spiritual hierarchy was supersede by a more precise vocabulary of the third and fourth centuries. Bucur's main witnesses, who represent diverse milieus but echo earlier Jewish apocalyptic language, are Clement of Alexandria, Aphrahat, and the seven spirits of the book of Revelation.

J.A.Cerrato in his somewhat oversimplified article turns to the apocalyptic thought of Hippolytus and compares it to the baptismal homilies of Cyril of Jerusalem. He traces the origins of Hippolytus's concept of Antichrist and the social fears linked to it in Asia Minor's political and social circumstances. The teaching about Antichrist was most expected and used as part of catechetical material and could have belonged to disciplina arcani as part of the curriculum for those who were preparing to enter, or had just joined, the Christian community. Hence, Hippolytus' On Antichrist must be seen as baptismal catechetical instruction. Cerrato finds proof for this in Cyril's catechetical homilies, which also dealt with fears and learning and provided positive hope for the life in Christ.

In the eighth article, Ute Possekel looks at what role apocalyptic traditions played for the earliest Syriac-speaking Christians. She analyses Syriac sources from before the middle of the third century, such as the works of Bardaisan, the Odes of Solomon, and the Acts of Thomas and finds that they barely contain a developed apocalyptic imagery. This may derive, as Possekel rightly concludes, from the specific political situation of Syriac Christianity in Edessa, which found itself between two empires, neither of which was perceived as good or evil, or due to a more rationalized inclination of early Syriac authors towards Revelation through the prism of wisdom literature.

Alexander Golitzin discusses how apocalyptic metaphors influenced the development of the articulation of mystical experience in the early period of the monastic practice. He analyzes texts of Aphrahat and Macarius as interacting with the contemporaneous Jewish mystical tradition of merkavah. Both authors are eager to embark on a spiritual ascending journey to God. However, this ascent was indeed not only a way up, but also a step ad intra, which was a direct imitation of the apocalyptic solution of the Second Temple Judaism amplified by the eschatological enthusiasm stirred by the Christ-event.

John McGuckin clarifies patristic eschatological terminology and inscribes it in the category of oikonomia (God's interaction with creation), rather than of theologia (reflection on God's life). For the Cappadocians, however, eschatology also apophatically reveals the nature of God. Gregory of Nazianzus and Gregory of Nyssa followed Origen's two doctrines of the afterlife (all creation must be saved and only the saints will be with God in the end). For the bishop of Nazianzus "soteriology is eschatological throughout" (p. 204), and for the other Gregory "the incarnation is not merely an individual assumption of flesh, considered as a historical moment but is rather an eschatological process, a timeless moment of a soteriological "re-principling" (anakephalaiōsis) of the race" (p. 206).

An illuminating journey to the underworld is presented by Georgia Frank, who begins with the striking observation that, according to the vast body of Eastern Mediterranean literature, the paths to the underworld had become well trodden in antiquity before Christ descended there. Thus, the story of Christ's preaching "to the spirits in prison" (1 Pet 3:19), which resonated in early Christian poetry as his descent to Hades (in Odes of Solomon, Gospel of Nicodemus, and the kontakia of Romanos the Melodist) was, according to Frank, the discovery of early Christians of how they could sing about hell with Jesus as their guide.

Lorenzo DiTommaso surveys the chief issues in the study of the Daniel apocalyptica, which only recently received serious attention from modern scholars. DiTommaso redefines an "apocalypse" as a genre and adds to it apocalyptic oracles and testaments. Written in the post-Nicene and Byzantine period, these texts assure audiences that history is under God's control. Some compositions do depend on the Greek Apocalypse of Daniel, but most of them, against the standard view, absorbed contemporaneous phobias and beliefs of a later period independently, reflecting political tensions and fears of Islamic invasion.

Resonating with Golitzin's reading of Aphrahat and Macarius, Elijah Mueller approaches apocalyptic motives in John Damascene, for whom "mysticism" is "vertical" apocalypticism. John's defense of icons by incarnation theology requires the mystical vision of Christ in the liturgical experience. The angelic iconography of the angelomorphic Word of God allows its physical and spiritual vision as God's Image. Such eyesight transforms into gradual ascent on the ladder of moral perfection to the hypostatic unity with God.

In her concluding article, Nancy Patterson Ševčenko deals with the iconography of the Last Judgment, which has only appeared in Byzantium since the ninth century. With helpful illustrations and a detailed analysis of complex compositions, Ševčenko shows how the scenes of punishment appear as a dire warning to the greater public, especially to the political elite. Ševčenko seems to be perhaps less interested in theological meanings as in artistic compositions of the Last Judgment iconography, which reflects the highly-structured Byzantine world, thus she concludes that it does not imply that the entry to paradise is an option to be waited for until the end of time, but an invitation for the present.

The volume is not an attempt to present a comprehensive study of the apocalyptic thought of early Christianity. Rather, individual contributions draw bits and pieces of the large picture of the early Christian eschatological sensitivity. Overall, the papers are uneven not so much in quality and length, although this does vary somewhat, but in terms of approach and goals, distinctions which might have benefited from further explanation in the introduction. As a group, the essays clearly demonstrate that the apocalyptic literature typically associated with parousia is a complex reality of the present and future, in which early Christians lived intensely.

Table of Contents

Whitehouse, with co-authors Whitcomb and Wilkinson, publish here the results of their inquiries into the medieval Islamic city of Siraf, "one of the largest archaeological sites of any period on the Iranian coast of the Persian Gulf" (p. 113), conducted from 1966-1973. The findings on the history, topography and environment were readied for publication during the first half of 2008. Although Siraf (pp. 1-8) played its leading role in the maritime trade network between c. 800-1050 A.D., the site should be of interest to those examining international trade in the Sasanian and Islamic periods.

Although written sources (pp. 9-16) remain silent about the city before the ninth century A.D., Whitehouse and his colleagues found Sasanian-era material in widely dispersed areas. Beneath the medieval Congregational Mosque were the remains of a Sasanian fort (figs. 4-7 for plan and reconstruction). It is likely that Siraf, terminus for caravan routes and one of the preferred anchorages on the eastern shore of the Persian Gulf, served both military and economic needs for the Sasanians. By the late 700s Chinese bronze and ceramics were reaching the port and its environs. A detailed account of Sirafi merchants during ninth to eleventh centuries AD is provided by Islamic-era sources, especially Ibn Haugal (p. 13) and Buzurg ibn[?] Shahriyar (p. 111).¹

Chapters 3, 4, and 5 cover the excavation and survey results as one moves outward from the urban core to the surrounding regions. Chapter 3 (pp. 17-53) focuses on Siraf's urban topography (ca. 800-1050) and offers exemplary maps and photos. The accompanying CD (363 MB) is duplicable and was able to be viewed using Adobe Photoshop 6 under Windows Server 2003 (Window 7's built-in picture viewer was not strong enough). The major features of western Siraf receive the most attention. Sites J and L, located in the southwest corner of the city (figs. 12, 13), preserve fortifications and parts of the city wall: one should note the juxtaposition of a bathhouse and a warehouse immediately between the Gulf shore and the city wall. As befits an international port, Siraf, in addition to the large Congregational Mosque located in the middle of the city's southern coast (Site B, fig. 16; fig. 25 for the adjoining shops), possessed at least 10 additional mosques, some located in the surrounding suburbs. Many of them had adjoining cemeteries, calling to my mind the disposition of earlier Zoroastrian funerary structures (cemeteries: figs. 45-48, note astodans in fig. 47). Other areas excavated included a bazaar, a palace-like structure, and residential quarters. Site D's "potters' quarter" at the western edge of Siraf possessed workshops the size of a city block. The state of preservation might encourage comparisons with Mediterranean sites plus investigation into the persistence of technology.

Wilkinson (Chapter 4, pp. 54-76) reports on Siraf's hinterland. Those interested in Achaemenid studies might note the continued presence of qanats (fig. 59 and p. 67). But of particular value are Wilkinson's comparison between modern and ancient land usage and the distribution of cultivated land (see pp. 70-71 for maps). Land appears to have been best used during the early Islamic period.

Chapter 5 (pp. 77-97), Whitcomb's contribution, outlines the survey of the high valleys (1973 survey, p. 78, fig. 68). He presents a gazetteer of sites, with preliminary plans of noted structures (table 3a and 3b for site list and chronology). North of modern Bid-i Khar in the Jam Valley (p.83) is the "Mound of Glass", a post-9th century AD glass factory near to which were found scraps of Ming porcelains (ceramics and glass "profiles" are found in figs. 74, 75, 76). The overall settlement pattern parallels Siraf's: traces of the Sasanian occupation remain "nebulous" (p. 94).

Of great interest to ancient historians will be Whitehouse's placing of Siraf into a wider context (300-600, 800-1050 A.D., pp. 98-113). The merchants of Siraf, beginning in the Sasanian period, seem to have reached into Sri Lanka and beyond (pp. 98-101), evidenced by the Chinese ware illustrated in photos (figs. 79, 81-84, pp. 104-107). Apparently Muslim traders commissioned some pieces while in China: their names were inscribed before the firing. Those who have studied early contact with the coast of East Africa will find a summation of evidence from the later, Muslim-era "Siraf period" (pp. 109-110).

What, then, will be the effect of the published report? According to the Editor's preface (p. vii, September 2009 date): "The importance of Siraf is emphasized by the fact that the Iranian Center for Archaeological Research recommenced excavations at the site in 2007." At the present time (July 2010) I have not detected any published results of those inquiries. The report will prove of greatest value to those investigating Siraf as a port and its role in international trade. The recently published proceedings of a February 2004 conference on the Maritime Silk Road (preface, p. 2, October 2009 date) suggests, for example, that future work on the relations between Iran and China (see especially the essay by Ye Yiliang, pp. 3-6) will be enhanced by the Whitehouse publication.² Whitehouse's reference to the importance of Nestorian Church records for the Sasanian period (pp.100-101, fig. 78) is now complemented by Klaus Koschorke's examination of that church as a continental network.³ When new Sasanian-era (or earlier) data are revealed they will fill out the existing picture.

1.   Both are available in European translations. Ibn Hauqal Configuration de la terre (Kitab Surat al-ard). tr. J. H. Kramers and G. Wiet. Paris, 1964. Buzurg ibn Shahriyar. Captain Burzurg ibn Shahriyar of Ramhormuz, The Book of the Wonders of India: Mainland, Sea and Islands. ed. And tr, G. S. P. Freeman-Grenville. London and the Hague, 1981.
2.   Ralf Kauz, ed. Aspects of the Maritime Silk Road: From the Persian Gulf to the East China Sea. East Asian Maritime History, 10. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 2010.
3.   Klaus Korschorke "Die ostsyrische-nestorianische 'Kirche des Ostens' als kontinentales Netzwerk im Asien der Vormoderne," Jahrbuch für Europäische Überseegeschichte 9 (2009) 9-35. I recommend future examination of this journal for progress reports and reviews of the topics mentioned above.

Preview

In Über Vorsehung: Herausgegeben, übersetzt und kommentiert, Andreas Schwab offers us a new German translation and commentary of Gregory Nazianzen's poem, Peri Pronoias, a work which primarily focused on responding to astrological claims about the order of the universe. In doing so, Schwab offers us a study which will be of interest both to students of Gregory's poetry and to those interested in late antique Christianity's relationship to astrology.¹ As Schwab notes, the poem previously has been translated into Latin, French, English, Polish, and Italian. Schwab's contribution is to provide a German translation of the text, based on the critical edition of Claudio Moreschini,² as well as to provide a thorough commentary. The book consists of a preface, introduction, a discussion of the manuscript tradition and the text of the poem, the German translation, and the commentary -- which is itself divided into seven shorter chapters – a conclusion, an index, and a bibliography.

In the introduction, Schwab begins with a short history of Gregory's life and works, giving an overall context of Gregory's corpus in order to help situate the cultural significance of the Peri Pronoias. Schwab notes approvingly Peter Gilbert's assessment of Nazianzus as something of a culture warrior, who, in the wake of the reign of Julian the Apostate, appropriated classical literary forms, in particular that of the Greek poetic tradition from Homer on, in order to establish Christianity as a religion worthy of the educated elite of the late Roman empire. Schwab moves on to consider the Peri Pronoias's manuscript tradition and its role in the collection of poems that have come to known as the Poemata Arcana.

The poem itself begins with a discussion of God as a divine mind before moving on to its main subject, a critique of astrology. Here, Schwab breaks down each of the points of Gregory's argument, giving a meticulous discussion of its structure. In doing so, he offers a number of useful parallels to other Christian authors treating of themes which overlap with those Gregory considered. In discussing how the star of Bethlehem served as a topos for Christian rebuttals of astrology, for instance, Schwab notes the relevant discussions in other authors such as Ignatius, Chrysostom, Origen, Basil, and Eusebius (pg 116-120). Those wishing to explore the relationship between late antique Christianity and astrology further will no doubt find this work a useful tool for identifying many of the central texts.

Schwab also does a fine job observing the various rhetorical digs Gregory makes against his "fiktiv Gegenüber," the astrologer. The alliteration we find in line 18, for instance, Schwab notes as a literary device meant to underscore the argument that explaining what happens in the material world by means of the movement of the stars leads to an infinite regress, in which other heavens must be posited to explain celestial events (88). Schwab also makes note of Gregory's use of the possessive in line 30 to describe the astrologer's relationship to the stars; by describing the astrologer as owning the stars, Gregory places his human interlocutor above the entities he worships (97). The concluding discussion of human freedom is also nicely done (123-128), though given that this topic is discussed by Origen in the material preserved by the Cappadocians in their Philocalia, there is certainly room here for comparison between the two.

Given that Schwab has in his introduction raised the issue of Gregory's significance for understanding Christian reception of the classical tradition, and returns again to this theme in his conclusion, this angle might have been brought out to greater effect in a number of places in the commentary, in particular with respect to Gregory's relationship to the providential debates of the Hellenistic and post-Hellenistic periods. For instance, a more detailed discussion of Plato's Timaeus, the locus classicus for the providential debates in the Hellenistic and post-Hellenistic period, seems warranted. This is particularly felt in his discussion of Gregory's play on the logos of Christianity and the muthos of astrology (lines 44 and 26, respectively). Schwab also notes at some length the ambiguity of the term logos, a term which refers not only to reason and to speech, but also to the Second Person of the Trinity. The play between the logos and muthos must surely also, however, be an allusion to the Timaeus's self-description as a "likely story" (29d2), a point which opens up a number of questions for how Gregory understood his relationship to his classical heritage. Is the denigration of the muthos of the astrologers intended also as a subtle jab at pagan philosophy? Or is Plato understood as in on the joke against the astrologer? Given that this is a relatively short commentary, rather than a comprehensive study of Gregory's thought, it is perhaps understandable that Schwab would not settle such an issue here. Yet discussion of this point might have helped Schwab develop in greater detail a sense of Gregory's simultaneous reception and critique of the classical tradition.

We find similar brevity of discussion on Gregory's identification of God with the divine nous in line 2. Schwab notes how the identification of God as mind is found in Anaxagoras, and points out how this discussion is developed in Aristotle's Metaphysics Lambda (73). Yet given that Metaphysics Lambda becomes the locus classicus for later discussions of the divine mind, this later reception, in particular that represented by Plotinus and those who followed him, perhaps ought to also have been considered. To be sure, Schwab does note the fact that understanding the first principle as apeiros (or, in the epic form employed by Gregory, apeirôs) in the sense of unlimited is something Gregory shares with Plotinus. But like Aristotle, and unlike the later Platonists, Gregory does not consider the possibility of a first principle that transcends the divine mind. Does this raise questions for how we ought to understand Gregory's relationship to the later Platonic tradition? Is this a conscious rejection, or, as John Rist has suggested in the case of Basil, might we read this as evidence that the Cappadocians did not have access to a great deal of later Platonic thought?³ Indeed, Rist's influential study, which ought to have been considered in a work on this subject, is absent from the bibliography. Here again, it would be inappropriate to expect Schwab to have settled this very large question, but discussion of difference between Gregory and the Platonists of his era on this particular issue seems warranted.

Such observations on his commentary, however, are perhaps more than anything a reflection of the richness of the work's material, and the need for further studies into Gregory's poetry. Scholars of late antiquity no doubt owe the author a debt of thanks for further his dissemination and careful analysis of the work.⁴

1.   For a recent study in English on astrology, see Tim Hegedus, Early Christianity and ancient astrology. New York: Peter Lang, 2007.
2.   C. Moreschini, D.A. Sykes, St. Gregory of Nazianzus. Poemata Arcana. Oxford Theological Monographs. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1997. See Ian G. Tompkin's review, BMCR 1999.06.19.
3.   See John Rist, "Basil's Neoplatonism: Its Background and Nature" in Basil of Caesarea: Christian, Humanist, Ascetic: A Sixteen-Hundredth Anniversary Symposium. Ed. Paul Jonathan Fedwick. Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Medieval Studies, 1981.
4.   All the more reason to look forward to Andrew Faulkner's forthcoming work on the relationship between the Homeric Hymns and the Poemata Arcana in Philologus, "St. Gregory of Nazianzus and the Classical Tradition: The Poemata Arcana qua Hymns." The reviewer thanks Professor Faulkner for allowing her to read his work in advance of publication.

The first published and chronologically central of a projected three volumes, this is a large and generously illustrated bid for "definitive" status in the field of Roman military equipment studies. This bid seems unlikely to succeed, given the greater ease-of-use and archaeologically-grounded sobriety of M.C. Bishop and J.C.N. Coulston's Roman Military Equipment (second edition: Oxbow, 2006). This book is, however, in many ways an impressive achievement, a testament to an enormous scholarly effort—and it is a significant contribution to the understanding of the Roman army. Yet the effort is almost more antiquarian than scholarly. D'Amato (responsible for the main text and many photographs; the introduction and the new paintings and drawings are by Sumner) brings to bear his considerable expertise in the physical and representational evidence for Roman arms and armor, and he has most assuredly done his homework, travelling to many far-flung monuments and museums in order to photograph less-well-known artifacts. But the book is more successful as a compendium than as a balanced advancing-of-our-knowledge- work.

The prolific illustration is both a major strength and a weakness of the book, but the text does not always do much to support the author's assertion of a "radically different" interpretation of his subject, namely that the representational evidence on surviving monuments is realistic and accurate, and thus a better route to re-imagining the army than keeping largely to the archaeological remains. In the introduction, Sumner asserts that "the purpose of this work is to throw new light on the examination of the equipment, armour, and clothing of the Roman soldier." In this D'Amato and Sumner are largely successful, but the light is indeed thrown about, rather than focused. D'Amato repeatedly declares his belief that the representational monuments are highly accurate, but he seems aware that this is a subjective commitment, and he repeatedly hedges his bets: monuments and gravestones were merely "linked" to "the rigid necessity of realism" (xiii); relief sculptures "could be considered" as "something like" sketches from life or "modern photographic reportage." They could; but it is hard to fault those who prefer to base their understanding of Roman arms and armor on the surviving artifacts, however incomplete that picture remains. This new Arms and Armour is exhaustive in its coverage of armor and weapon types, and D'Amato adduces good literary evidence to supplement the physical. He does indeed have new evidence to present even on object-types that have drawn much attention in recent decades from both archaeologists and serious re-enactors. But the quirks of this book hamper both its effectiveness as a scholarly treatise and its usefulness as a reference work. Divided into only two chronological sections (around the year 30 BCE) and then subdivided by arm of service, the actual discussion of the categories of objects is fragmented—it is a poor compromise between diachronic explanation and item-by-item comprehensiveness. The three bits at the beginning of each of the two major sections—a paragraph-shaped list of sources, an "events timeline," and a few columns on military organization—are far too condensed to be of much use. The page-by-page layout is also rather odd: running descriptions of objects are interspersed with monument-by-monument photographs that do not all that often correspond to the accompanying text. There is an enormous amount of material here, but it takes patience (and five or six cross-referencing fingers jammed into various parts of the book, including the endnotes), to bring all the evidence to bear. This is particularly true if one is interested in, for example, a sword type that might have seen use by both infantry and cavalry across several centuries.

Despite occasional awkwardness in the prose, the descriptive passages are generally clear, but the short introductory passages to the new object categories can be somewhat obscure. There are some curious assertions of personal preference, such as referring to "the Consular age" rather than "the Republic," but a more problematic choice is that several interpretive stances are boldly asserted, but not closely argued. One example of this is the discussion of representational accuracy on pages 66-7, where D'Amato argues that the presence of Apollodorus of Damascus on Trajan's Dacian campaigns means that the scenes on Trajan's column were taken from life, and thus depict Roman equipment in a realistic manner. Yet he acknowledges that the consistent portrayal of legionaries and auxiliaries in different armor types was probably a matter of artistic preference, obscuring a less uniform reality. The careful uncertainty of other scholars of the column seems to be the better position.

When it comes to details, D'Amato's arguments are generally either convincing or beyond this reviewer's ability to assess—but on the big questions he is generally not persuasive. That "the concept of parade armour or helmets [sic] did not exist in the ancient world" (xiv) is, at best, debatable; but the idea that the usual description of certain decorated and masked helmets as parade or sporting equipment that was not used in actual combat "should definitely be rejected" (187) is untenable. The weakness of D'Amato's argument at this point is glaring. There is an unsupported simple assertion ("it is absolutely contrary to the ideology of the ancient warrior"), a bit of circumstantial evidence (some so-called "sports helmets" have been found in graves together with battle equipment), and an appeal to the psychological impact of impressive looking weapons. This impact was certainly important (and has been much discussed in the last two decades), but it is very strange indeed that the quotation offered as evidence of this effect (from Josephus, Bellum Judaicum, V, 350ff) describes soldiers taking their impressive armor and equipment out of cases during a days-long lull in the fighting, and putting it on for the express purpose of a parade.

Both the quality and quantity of the illustration are worth a few words more. The kitchen sink approach to illustration can be overwhelming, but it will present even a dedicated aficionado of Roman arms and armor with new images. The paintings too are surprisingly effective. Rather than the loosely imagined scenes that are now common in books on the Roman military, these are useful restoration studies. Sumner has in effect painted "cover" versions of extant funerary monuments, in which the restoration of color and detail enhances the interest of the original carving. These paintings are tied directly to descriptive commentary on the facing page, usually accompanied by a photograph of the monument, that details literary and archaeological support for the painting. These facing pages, too, have footnotes (rather than endnotes), so that that source, the argument of reconstruction, and the image can be taken in without turning the page.

In contrast to the paintings, many pages are overcrowded with many small photographs of in situ reliefs. Given that conditions obviously limited the quality of many images, these pages can be very hard to read. Other photographs are unreasonably small: it's hard to know what to do with three 2-by-2 3/4-inch photos of the same heavily-weathered, greave-bearing legs, or with the seventeen adjacent photographs of "metopae reliefs from Munatius Plancus' mausoleum" (23). In an age when most of us are nearly as accustomed to reading on the internet as in a book, one has the odd sensation of wanting to "click" on printed "thumbnails" in the hopes of significantly enlarging them. But to no avail—the weather-blurred legs, shields, and scabbard fittings are all we get.

Other photographs, however, are more valuable, providing clear evidence that Roman army books have been complacently drawing on the same pool of images for too long. One pleasant surprise is the Arch of Carpentras (which seems to have attracted little scholarly attention in the last century, although it is discussed in C. Antonucci's L'esercito di Cesare and, naturally, can be found on Wikipedia). One face of the arch depicts two figures posed beside an oddly-rendered trophy, exotic weapons at their feet. The use of this monument is a good example of the too-intense focus on detail which is common to this sub-field and perhaps a particular fault of this book. D'Amato carefully considers the evidence for the late Republican scabbard shape, and the facing page includes twelve tiny photos of the three scabbards shown on the relief. Since the relief is being presented as realistic representational evidence for Roman arms, it should be worth noting that the figures appear to be non-Roman captives, and that it might not immediately be clear why Roman-seeming swords should be hanging on the trophy between them. Can even a reader disinclined to appeal to the expertise of art historians treat these images as evidence without some consideration of context or techniques of representation?

D'Amato acknowledges his debt to M.C. Bishop, in particular, and engages him in a good deal of recondite debate about the details of certain objects (particularly the segmented armor of the imperial legionary). It is generally rather difficult for a non-specialist, even one knowledgeable about the army in general, to distinguish between minor quibbles, essential agreements, and truly vexed questions, but anyone concerned with the possible omission of lobate hinges from some specimens of Stillfried-type lorica segmentata will need to consult both books.

There are some improvements, too, on Bishop and Coulston: the representational evidence is much more complete (Bishop and Coulston make little use of it after an initial short chapter on the subject), and there is more detailed discussion of certain objects, in particular organic materials (leather and linen worn either as armor or underneath it). D'Amato collects a great deal of rare evidence on this little-discussed subject, but it is still a sketchy collection, and nearly every paragraph of the argument that such materials are more important than metal-based reconstructions acknowledge must lapse into the subjunctive. There is irony in the fact that his most extensive use of archaeological evidence involves metal weapons, to supplement the photographs of monuments from which the metal detailing that once represented spear points and other weapons have long since been removed.

In many respects the two publications are complementary, with D'Amato and Sumner relying more on the representational evidence and Bishop and Coulston on archaeology—but the reasons for preferring Bishop and Coulston are clear. First, it is not quite time for a pseudo-revisionist return to the sculpture-inspired, antiquarian way of envisioning the Roman army. Even if some of the monuments here had slipped from the radar of modern scholarship, and even if the increasingly dominant images of meticulously tricked-out re-enactors are derived from the physical remains of armor and weapons, the images from a few famous monuments still retain their fundamental influence on modern imaginings of the Roman soldier. Second, this is not really a simple choice between equally valid methods. The representational evidence will never be completely free of the question of "accurate" depiction by the ancient artists, while the archaeological survivals offer, in most cases, significantly more secure starting places for re-creation. Finally, Bishop and Coulston provide a balanced analysis of the artifacts that is more in keeping with the tenor of recent scholarship, and their book is better indexed and easier to use. At the very least, that one volume, available in paperback and a more secure choice as a reference (both in terms of representing the consensus of Roman military archaeologists and in not including full-color, full-page illustrations of severed-head-bearing cavalrymen) will remain a more realistic choice of Roman historians than this large volume and its two projected successors.

D'Amato is to be congratulated on the effort and expertise that went into this book, and he will earn the thanks of many dedicated students of the Roman army for bringing so much rare material to their attention. It seems likely that this reinfusion of certain monuments—and perhaps also of his faith in their representational reality—into the debate will stimulate further discussion, and if it does so, his book should be counted a scholarly success as well as an antiquarian achievement.

Robert Garland has produced a concise, useful, and highly readable book that provides an excellent introduction to a difficult subject. The stated mission of the 'Ancients in Action' series is to introduce "major figures of the ancient world to the modern general reader, including the essentials of each subject's life, works, and significance for later western civilisation" (back cover), although Garland further attempts "as much as possible to examine and evaluate Hannibal's success and failure from his own perspective, in the belief that it is the business of a historian not only to present facts but also to imagine possibilities" (11). This is a daunting task, since (as Garland readily acknowledges [17, 30]) we have very little information about Hannibal's character and personality, and what we do have mainly comes from later, pro-Roman sources. Nevertheless, Garland assembles the surviving information into a thoughtful and engaging narrative of Hannibal's career that raises questions and provides insights into the life of Rome's most famous enemy.

Garland divides his study into twelve chapters that are well chosen to illustrate major episodes in Hannibal's career. Of these, the first three chapters together provide the foundation for examining this enigmatic figure. Chapter One provides a biographical overview of Hannibal's life to unlock hints about his character, although the lack of reliable evidence makes these conclusions somewhat speculative. Chapter Two discusses the historical sources and the difficulties they pose because of their pro-Roman bias, while Chapter Three lays out a description of the Carthaginian state including its government, resources, and a brief history of its rise, fall, and later reestablishment as a Roman colony. These chapters provide the necessary background that helps the reader to understand Hannibal and his world, but they also make clear the problems and pitfalls involved in the study of ancient Carthage and its general.

The next six chapters deal with the most important and best documented period in Hannibal's career: his role as Carthage's commander-in-chief in Spain and Italy. Chapter Four briefly presents Carthaginian expansion into Spain, although most of the chapter focuses upon the two best documented events of this period: the Ebro Treaty and the siege of Saguntum. Chapter Five describes Hannibal's march to Italy and his famous crossing of the Alps, Chapter Six covers the first year of his invasion of Italy, including the battles of Ticinus, Trebia, and Lake Trasimene, and his first encounter with Fabius Maximus, while Chapter Seven is dedicated to the critical Battle of Cannae. These four chapters encompass Hannibal's greatest and most famous successes, which tend to dominate any discussion of the man and his career, but Garland does not allow these events to take over his narrative. Instead of indulging in lengthy analyses of the crossing of the Alps and the famous and much-discussed battles, Garland provides short summaries of Hannibal's victories, and then goes on to describe his subsequent actions and Rome's reaction to its losses. Garland pauses to consider why Hannibal did not march on Rome following his victories at Trasimene and Cannae, and suggests that his goals may not have included the total conquest of Rome. In Chapter Eight, Garland discusses the remaining thirteen years (215-202 BC) of the Second Punic War, jumping between Italy, Sicily, Macedon, Spain, and eventually Africa. Although he emphasizes Hannibal's activities in Italy when possible, there is often little to say, since Hannibal increasingly became a sideshow in the war as the Romans managed to neutralize his military effectiveness and contain his army in southern Italy. Garland considers the important question of what plan (if any) Hannibal had during those years, and suggests that he may have simply lacked an 'exit strategy' (108). Chapter Nine covers the remainder of Hannibal's life, including his defeat at the Battle of Zama and his role in Carthage's surrender to Rome, his subsequent political career as a suffes (a Carthaginian civilian official), and his final years as an exile from Carthage when he traveled through the East. The sources on this period of Hannibal's life are especially poor, but Garland does a fine job of weaving together the evidence and presenting a coherent image of Hannibal's life after 202 BC.

The final three chapters present different analyses of Hannibal's career and his impact on the western world. In Chapter Ten, Garland considers the immediate influence of Hannibal on Rome and Europe, pointing out that he not only forced the Romans to adapt their military thinking and left them as the sole great power in the Mediterranean, but also brought them more firmly into the cultural world of the Greeks. In Chapter Eleven, Garland presents an original and detailed discussion of Hannibal's 'afterlife' in the arts, literature, and history by examining how he was remembered or imagined in later periods, and how he has remained a potent figure to this day. Garland surveys western culture for references to Hannibal, beginning with ancient times but quickly moving on to the Renaissance and Modern periods and incorporating a huge body of material into this consideration, including literature, drama, painting, military theorists, psychologists, cinema, and modern fiction. Even the professional ancient historian will find much that is interesting and surprising in this chapter. In his closing chapter (Chapter Twelve), Garland gives a verdict on Hannibal's career that emphasizes his errors and his failings. While praising his undeniable tactical abilities, his daring, and his ability to survive, Garland observes that "the rest was indeed failure, albeit failure on a magnificent scale" (158). A section on further reading and an index close the book.

Garland's book is an excellent introduction to the study of Hannibal because it successfully compresses a great deal of information without losing track of its main subject. This is necessary because Hannibal was only one player in a massive war, and a judicious hand is needed to highlight Hannibal's role and importance without removing him entirely from the war itself. Garland skillfully treats the entire Second Punic War in such a way that Hannibal's activities receive the lion's share of attention, but they are not taken out of their context or divorced entirely from the war. For this reason, the general reader will have no trouble understanding Hannibal's successes as well as his failures; his critical leadership and influence on the progress of the war are discussed clearly, but the general summary of the war explains why Carthage ultimately lost, and what role Hannibal played in that loss. Naturally, this compression means that much information on the Second Punic War is omitted, but that is Garland's intent, and he directs interested readers to many good discussions of the war in his section on 'Further Reading'. In addition, the text is immensely readable and well written. Garland writes in clear and flowing prose, he pauses to explain foreign terms, he draws the reader's attention to problems in the sources and important questions about Hannibal's actions, and he provides many maps and images to inform the reader. Readability is also increased by the absence of footnotes, although primary references are frequently inserted into the main text.

Since the goal of the book is to present an introduction to the general reader, the text tends to be more narrative than analytical, which makes it difficult to address some of the important problems about Hannibal's career. Thus Garland often brings up intriguing questions about things Hannibal did or did not do, but the confines of his narrative do not permit him to answer those questions in detail. For example, why did Hannibal face such deadly opposition crossing the Alps in 218 BC when his brother Hasdrubal crossed apparently without opposition in 207 BC? The apparent ease of Hasdrubal's trip makes his brother's earlier crossing seem decidedly less heroic and less tactically brilliant than it is commonly believed to be. Likewise, Garland mentions (75) that Hannibal hoped to win desperately needed Italian support by releasing his non-Roman prisoners in 218 BC, but does not explain (78) why Hannibal reversed his own policy the next year by ordering the killing of all Italians, a counter-productive move that would have driven the Italians deeper into Rome's arms. A reader may also wish to know more about the reasons why Hannibal was so ineffective after the Battle of Cannae; although Garland gives Chapter Eight to these years, he rarely has the space to analyze the problem beyond noting (probably correctly) that Hannibal's overall grasp of strategy may have been weak (105). Nevertheless, going into depth on points like these is beyond the scope of Garland's stated purpose, and he provides excellent descriptions of recent scholarly research (in his 'Further Reading' section) for those interested in pursuing specific questions.

The only quibble that I would raise with Garland's account is his presentation of the relationship between Hannibal and the Carthaginian senate. Garland usually follows the assertion of ancient writers (e.g. Livy 30.20.3-4) that Hannibal had to struggle against a generally uncooperative and even hostile home government (28, 48, 53, 60, 107-8), but this view has been challenged by Dexter Hoyos, who has studied the complexities of the Carthaginian senate and argued that the Barcid family and its allies managed to retain fairly strong support in that body down to the end of the war (D. Hoyos, Hannibal's Dynasty, [London and New York 2003] 107, 142-3, 130-1, 164-7, 178, 183-4). Since ancient authors tended to present Hannibal in a sympathetic light, they may well have sought to salvage his reputation by blaming his home government for his inability to do better against the Romans. Garland does indeed note (57) that ancient authors can provide contradictory evidence regarding the support Hannibal received from the Carthaginian senate, and he is certainly correct (109) that, even as late as 203 BC, Hannibal "was still the man" in Carthage (emphasis original). Still, while he had his share of rivals and opponents at home, Hannibal must have enjoyed considerable political support to have retained his command so long in spite of his inability to repeat his early victories in the war.

On the whole, Garland has done a superb job of working with the sources to present a clear and nuanced image of an almost legendary figure. Although the first chapter begins with the blunt statement that "we know so little about the man" (17), Garland takes what evidence we do have and weaves it into an engaging, comprehensible, and surprisingly detailed account of Hannibal's life. The book is as enjoyable as it is informative, and it is an excellent introduction for anyone wishing to learn about this deservedly famous general.