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The Art of Biography in Antiquity. By Tomas Hägg. Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press, 2012. Pp. xv + 496. Hardcover, £70.00/$110.00. ISBN 978-1-107-01669-9.

Reviewed by Joseph Geiger, Hebrew University of Jerusalem

This book is neither an enquiry into the evolution of the genre of ancient biography (if such it was) nor a step-by-step analysis of the remnants of lost works that may throw some light on surviving ones. Hägg does not intend to emulate the works of Leo or Momigliano, but is offering instead a very different book: it consists of detailed discussions of all extant works[[1]] (or well chosen examples of them in cases of lengthy series) that have as their subject the life of a person, and only occasional examinations of works known only from fragments; the emphasis is on literary analysis and criticism. “The primary purpose of the present study is to interpret the surviving texts” (68–9). Art, for some reason appearing in a smaller font on the dust-jacket, is written large in this book.

Hägg casts his net very wide: he discusses the art of biographical writing rather than the very loosely defined genre of biography, in other words, instead of worrying much about the definition of biography, it is the practice of biographical writing and the development of the literary art dealing with the life of a person that are the focus of this book; according to Hägg, “[b]iography is more subject matter than form” (3). It is not so much influences we are after, but the accretion of the elements that eventually make for full-fledged biographies, prefiguring their modern descendants, of whom the author indeed never loses sight. In his wide sweep we proceed from Ion of Chios and Xenophon’s three works, Memorabilia, Evagoras and Cyropaedia through the fragments of Hellenistic biography, the “open biographies” of Aesop and Alexander and the Lives of Homer, to the Gospels, the Roman biographers Nepos and Suetonius, Nicolaus of Damascus, Plutarch, Lucian, Philostratus and the Late Antique Lives of philosophers, with much more on the way. Once we accept the author’s terms, this is an excellent book. The analyses of the works, accompanied by sizeable extracts (Greek is kept to the footnotes), are lucid, the discussions well informed and to the point, and the book abounds in valuable insights.

Obviously in a book of this scope every reader will find points to differ (as, e.g., Hägg’s occasional disagreement with the present reviewer). However, it will be more productive to limit the discussion to the author’s method. His justly praised The Novel in Antiquity (Oxford: Basil Blackwell; Berkeley: University of California Press, 1983) had a somewhat easier task: though also discussing extensively a variety of works on the fringes, the core of the “canonical” (our canon) Greek and Roman novels has never been doubted. In the present book the definition of biography, or even of biographical writing, is so loose as to admit, e.g., a long discussion (117–34) of the Alexander Romance, a work that has already been covered, at only somewhat lesser length, in the (much shorter) book on the novel.

Our gain from this book is clear, and should not be underestimated: not only a great number of sensible, and often excellent, descriptions and analyses of many works of Greek and Latin literature, but also an admirable overview of one aspect of classical literature spanning almost its entire length. It is also an asset that, as in the book on the novel, it was possible to treat Greek and Latin literature under the same cover, while not losing sight of the differences between Greek and Roman. This is arguably the best modern analysis of ancient biography, or biographical writing, as a modern reader may understand it. On the other hand since Hägg almost totally eschews theoretical questions and definitions, we are left as unenlightened as we were before as to whether the ancients, or any ancients, had a clear notion of biography or biographical writing. Did bios or vita in the title raise definite expectations in the prospective reader, expectations that were not present in the absence of these terms? Our understanding of ancient biographical writing and of many important works has been much advanced, our concept of the ancients’ notion of biography much less so.

This book will prove useful both to the uninitiated, who will benefit also from the most handy section of “Further Reading,” and to specialist classical scholars, few of whom will have the range Hägg displays in the book and in the bibliography. The death of the author shortly after the delivery of the manuscript to the publisher is a real loss to scholarship. We must be grateful to Stephen Harrison, who saw this flawlessly produced book through the press.

NOTE

[[1]] Surprisingly the fourteen short Lives of women, discussed in D. Gera, Warrior Women: The Anonymous Tractatus De Mulieribus (Leiden–New York–Cologne: E. J. Brill, 1997), are never mentioned, thus missing virtually the only opportunity to treat such biographies.

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Nemea Valley Archaeological Project Volume I: The Early Bronze Age Village of Tsoungiza Hill. By Daniel J. Pullen. Princeton: The American School of Classical Studies at Athens, 2011. Pp. xxxix + 1047. Hardcover, $150.00. ISBN 978-0-87661-922-3.

Reviewed by Erika Weiberg, Uppsala University

This volume succeeds in the full integration of all material from the Early Bronze Age (EBA) periods on the Tsoungiza hill, located in the district of Corinthia in the north-eastern Peloponnese. It is the final publication of the excavations by James Penrose Harland in 1926–1927 and the re-excavation and extension of his work by the Nemea Valley Archaeological Project (NVAP) in 1984–1986, as well as of the work done by Pullen (in collaboration with Robert Bridges) under the scepter of University of California at Berkeley (UBC). The result is a highly detailed and comprehensive publication (the first of a scheduled pair, the second concerning the Middle and Late Bronze Age occupation at Tsoungiza, being in preparation).

The archaeological and environmental frameworks are outlined in Chapter 1 (Introduction) and are followed by a presentation of the scanty remains from the Neolithic period (primarily Final Neolithic, FN; Chapter 2). Also the EH I period (Chapter 3) was most likely a “small-scale affair” (51), with no preserved architecture and the analysis based instead on the material from a number of pits and a cistern. Being mostly representative of late EH I habitation, however, the results work well with the results from the following EH II Initial period (Chapter 4) in giving valuable evidence of the so far little known EH I/II transition. Most interesting is the short discussion on the potential transitional character of EH I Pit 32 defined by the “odd combinations of EH I fabrics with EH II surface treatments” (55f., 89f.). The bulk of the material from the EH II Initial period derives from the so called “1982 House A” (to distinguish it from the chronologically later House A excavated by Harland). The structure stood isolated and the rich material, consisting of a large amount of pottery, especially small bowls, numerous fire dogs and terracotta whorls indicate a non-domestic use and on-site consumption of meat.

As noted by Pullen, “the differences between the EH II Initial period and the succeeding EH II Developed period are not great at first” (200). This transitional phase, preceding the full introduction of the classic EH II sauceboat, is evident both in the 1982 House A, and in Pit 56 assigned to the EH II Developed phase 1 (254f.) with its remarkable deposit of an assemblage for eating and/or drinking, long since on display in the Archaeological Museum of Nemea. The term EH II Developed (Chapter 5) is in part used to indicate the lack of a Late phase at Tsoungiza, but also to emphasize the completed introduction of classic EH II traits. Of considerable interest is the detailed account of the context relating to the monumental House A on the crown of the hill due to both its chronological and geographical relevance for the development of the so called corridor house architecture of later EH II. The discussion is the latest, but most likely not the last, in the debate on this specific type of architecture. This reviewer finds especially thought-provoking the suggestion that the early presence of an open court, which could in some sense have guided the somewhat awkward location of House A over a sharp rise in the ground, giving this open area potential precedence over any nearby structures (268, 281; with reference to similar histories at nearby Lerna).

The analysis of the EH III period (Chapter 6) relies to a very large extent on the documentation of Harland, as little remained to be re-examined by NVAP. EH III at Tsoungiza consisted of a densely built community of primarily domestic nature spanning most of the EH III period. The lack of good stratigraphic sequences, however, means that the chronological designations are heavily dependent on the pottery sequences established by Jeremy Rutter for Lerna IV. Based on the fact that that the Lerna material was extensively weeded at and after the time of excavation, while all was retained at Tsoungiza, some interesting comments on similarities and differences could still be made (such as the much lower frequency for drinking vessels at Tsoungiza than at Lerna, and the very high frequency of pattern-painted pottery at Lerna).

Among the figures and ornaments (Chapter 7) the human figurines and yoked oxen stand out, the latter already often discussed in relation to agriculture and societal complexity. Chapter 8 on textiles includes a detailed discussion of mat- and textile impressions and the interesting new suggestion of the enigmatic terracotta anchor-shaped objects being used as suspended distaffs for holding the unspun fibers while spinning in specific locations. Spindle whorls are especially numerous, and in all, textile production is credibly presented as having been a common activity at Tsoungiza. In comparison, the miscellaneous finds in metal, stone and bone (Chapter 9) are meager (the already well-known lead seal the extraordinary exception), and the chapter comes out as a somewhat awkward, but perhaps necessary, interlude between the two preceding and the three following chapters.

Chapters 10–12 present the chemical and lead isotope analyses (by Maria Kayafa, Zofia Stos-Gale, and Noel Gale), the chipped stone industry (by Anna Karabatsoli) and the ground stone tools (a preliminary report, by Kathleen Krattenmaker). All three chapters include findings that are interpreted as indications of Tsoungiza as a geographically isolated settlement: no copper from the Cycladic islands, only already partially reduced obsidian cores recovered, and a low number of andesite objects. These results stand somewhat at odds with the early introduction of other features, such as the seal and incipient monumental architecture and this seems an interesting avenue for further research.

The two final specialist chapters, 13–14, deal with the faunal remains (by Paul Halstead) and the palaeoethnobotany (by Julie M. Hansen and Susan E. Allen). Although both materials are of moderate size, in combination the two chapters present most informative and detailed analyses of subsistence practices at Tsoungiza. Both faunal and botanical remains indicate an economy based on small-scale mixed farming. Evidence suggests on-site butchering, food preparation and consumption by both small-sized and large scale social gatherings, and a diet that beyond meat consisted primarily of barley and lentils, with addition of high percentage of figs and of acorns. There are further interesting observations made regarding tool marks on bones and a most usable appendix on species of plants remains from FN-EH III Tsoungiza.

Pullen’s research on social organization and socio-economic complexity is evident in interpretative passages and longer discussions throughout the book, and makes for an interesting read. The Tsoungiza material proves to be a valuable and much needed source of information on chronological grey-zones and a tool for visualizing the workings of cultural transformations. Although a more synthesized discussion on chronology would have been helpful, the specific clarifications by Pullen makes clear (Chapter 15: Conclusion, and elsewhere) that the Tsoungiza material, unfortunately, cannot help to clarify issues of the FN/EH transition, nor that of the EH II/III transition. It is rightly emphasized instead that the two chronological transitions that have been helped are those of the EH I/II transition and the earlier phases of EH II.

The publication of the EBA village on Tsoungiza hill holds a richness of information (prolifically illustrated and above all tabulated, including appendices and concordances) that is likely to inspire in turn many further works on the nature of the EBA societies for decades to come, for many types of specialist and interpretative scholars alike. With the information presented in this publication there is at present not so much to suggest that early EH II Lerna and Tiryns, despite being located on the coast, were significantly better placed or supplied than Tsoungiza, or necessarily hierarchically superior.

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Ancient Forgiveness: Classical, Judaic, and Christian. Edited by Charles L. Griswold and David Konstan. New York and Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012. Pp. xv + 260. Hardcover, $90.00/£47.50. ISBN 978-0-521-11948-1.

Before Forgiveness: The Origins of a Moral Idea. By David Konstan. New York and Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010. Pp. xiii + 192. Hardcover, $89.00/£61.00. ISBN 978-0-521-19940-7. Paper, $28.99/£18.99 ISBN 978-1-107-68020-3.

Reviewed by Margaret Graver, Dartmouth College

An exceptional combination of philosophical depth and cultural interest marks these two new volumes on the history of forgiveness, both published by Cambridge University Press. Though different in important ways, the two works have in common an aim to add a historical dimension to the academic discussion that has recently developed around the act of forgiveness and the process of reconciliation. Both books consider in detail some important differences among a range of ancient and modern assumptions about how reconciliation is effected between human agents after one has seriously harmed or offended the other, with most depth of coverage in Greco-Roman literature and history, ancient Judaism, and early Christianity. In so doing, each work exposes some of the tensions within certain prevalent modern notions of forgiveness, especially unilateral and unconditional forgiveness, as a universal means of conflict resolution and personal growth.

Griswold and Konstan first engaged in serious discussion of the issues these works address in academic year 2004–5, when Griswold was engaged in writing Forgiveness: A Philosophical Exploration (Cambridge, 2007) and Konstan was working on The Emotions of the Ancient Greeks: Studies in Aristotle and Classical Literature (Toronto, 2006). Recognizing the interdisciplinary interest of the topic, Griswold subsequently organized a 2007 conference, “Liberty, Responsibility, and Forgiveness,” the papers from which now appear in expanded form in Ancient Forgiveness. Although appearing later, Ancient Forgiveness is thus in a way prior to Konstan’s monograph, and his familiarity with the twelve papers collected there is part of what enables him to offer his own more unified historical narrative.

In accordance with a methodology thoughtfully worked out by the organizers, Ancient Forgiveness treats its subject not as a single clearly defined notion but rather as a “forgiveness terrain” encompassing a whole range of interrelated and overlapping terms: from the side of the perpetrator remorse, excuse, atonement, and self-exoneration, and for the offended party pardon, mercy, clemency, and other forms of restoration. This bottom-up approach provides room for individual authors to work with the concepts and issues that are most salient in the periods and texts they study without presupposing any necessary relation (whether of sameness, difference, or historical connection) between ancient and modern concepts. Following an introductory essay by Adam Morton, sketching the methodological and philosophical issues, the volume comprises three segments: “Forgiveness Among the Greeks,” including papers by Konstan on a variety of ancient texts, Page duBois on Homer and Sophocles, and Kathryn Gutzwiller on Greek New Comedy; “Forgiveness Among the Romans,” including papers by Susanna Braund on Seneca, Kristina Milnor on the role of women, and Zsuzsanna Várhelyi on divine clemency; and the longest section, “Judaic and Christian Forgiveness,” comprising papers by Michael Morgan on ancient Judaism, Peter Hawkins on the Prodigal Son in Luke, Jennifer Knust on early Christianity, Ilaria Ramelli on patristic texts, and Jonathan Jacobs on Maimonides and Aquinas.

Among the points argued by this impressive assemblage of contributors, a few stand out as pivotal for their collective intellectual venture. In her paper on Greek literature, Page duBois states with particular force a problem of translation that is alluded to in many of the papers: if we are too quick to render an ancient term, in this case the Greek sungnōmē, as “forgiveness” or some related term in our language, we merely create an anachronism, falsely imposing a modern emotional landscape upon an ancient culture and thus merely colonizing the past. The risks of such a procedure are made evident in the segment of the volume devoted to the Romans, where all three papers are quick to point out that clementia, the voluntary mitigation of penalties by a superior, is emphatically not forgiveness of one individual by another but rather a public demonstration of social and political power. As such, Kristina Milnor observes, it is also a prerogative of the male gender. Nonetheless, women of the early Roman Empire are sometimes seen participating in clementia—the paradigm is Livia mediating Augustus’ clemency toward the conspirator Cinna in 16 bce—and their participation is key to the emperors’ reformulation of their acts of clemency from a gesture by a victorious general (think Caesar) into an act of healing by a father figure in his domestic sphere. More often, though, it is the participation of the divinity that sets ancient conceptions of forgiveness apart from their modern counterparts. The earliest versions of this are explored by Michael Morgan, who brings to light in the Mishnah and the Talmud a way of thinking in which the primary context for interpersonal reconciliation is the relation of human agents to God. In ancient Judaism, God is always the chief victim of the wrong, the one with whom relationship has been breached, and it is because of God’s abiding interest in maintaining his covenantal relationship with the people of Israel that repentance is mandatory for the transgressor. Meanwhile the human victim acts as a kind of mediator: conditional upon the penitent’s request, forgiveness is obligatory for him as an expression of the divine love and forgiveness.

A more disturbing conception of divine forgiveness emerges from Jennifer Knust’s penetrating historical study of Luke-Acts (“Jesus’ Conditional Forgiveness”). It is a startling fact that the words spoken from the cross, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do,” appear in only a few of the most ancient manuscripts of the New Testament. Whether or not the sentence was originally included by the evangelist, the discrepancy in the manuscript tradition suggests that the unconditional forgiveness it expresses was seen as problematic in Christian communities of the second and third centuries, as patristic sources indeed indicate that it was. Lurking behind Jesus’ partially elided appeal for forgiveness is a wish for divinely ordained destruction of the non-Messianic Jews as well as an eagerness to claim for the persecuted Christian community the elite status implied in bestowing mercy and forgiveness. From here it is not far to the Nazi’s “final solution”—and to the difficulties with the notion of “radical forgiveness” that is promoted by some of our contemporary theologians.

We turn finally to the second title under review. Konstan’s Before Forgiveness: The Origins of a Moral Idea crosses the broad wake of Ancient Forgiveness with quite a different methodological imperative. As the title suggests, Konstan takes as given the specific model of forgiveness in the modern era which was delineated by Griswold’s earlier analysis: for an injured party (“A”) to forgive the perpetrator (“B”) is for A to adopt a new way of seeing B as a changed person, one who is and remains culpable for a deliberate offence but who now repents and would not again commit any comparable action, such forgiveness being granted by A freely, potentially even without a request from B. This notion seems at first excessively stringent—do we not apply the word also to less well-defined cases?—but Konstan renders it increasingly familiar by comparison with a series of ancient paradigms or “scripts” which, he argues, are not forgiveness in this particular modern sense but are rather instances of exculpation, propitiation, mitigation of penalties, or other forms of reconciliation. His survey moves with characteristic ease through an imposing range of sources, taking up in turn explicit philosophical positions, especially those of Aristotle and the Stoics; Greek and Roman narrative material; the Hebrew and Christian Bibles; and the Church Fathers. While touching on many of the texts and examples treated in Ancient Forgiveness, Konstan has much additional material to contribute, from Greco-Roman rhetorical theory and the anonymous Life of Aesop through the Epicurean scholar Philodemus to the Confession Inscriptions of second- and third-century Lydia and Phrygia and many others. Like several in Ancient Forgiveness, Konstan objects to Hannah Arendt’s claim that the idea of forgiveness as a human capacity began with Jesus. He then offers his own linguistic analysis of the Lord’s Prayer (“as we forgive those who trespass against us”) and a series of other New Testament texts that allude prominently to forgiveness of sin, arguing that “even here a fully-developed conception of forgiveness as an interpersonal, human process is not yet present” (124). Nor does he find it, at least in any systematic way, in John Chrysostom, Gregory of Nyssa, or other Christian writers through Peter Abelard. With considerable subtlety, he teases out one historical conception after another in support of his main contention: that pre-modern strategies for reconciliation were noticeably different from the model of forgiveness with which we are familiar, and yet were entirely serviceable in their own times.

Konstan’s account is most likely to meet with resistance in his brief concluding chapter, which turns again to the modern conception of forgiveness with some thoughts about its origins and its difficulties. After some brief reflections on Molière, Shakespeare, Butler, Kant, and Hegel, Konstan zeroes in on several versions of a supposed paradox that some contemporary philosophers find in our notion of forgiveness. In brief, forgiveness requires us to see our offender as still culpable for the offense and yet simultaneously as a new person who deserves to be forgiven. As an interpreter one is thus confronted with the old problem of continuity of persons through change—but in no more acute form, surely, than meets us in many other contexts; in the love of a parent for an adult child, for instance, whom she remembers nurturing even while rejoicing in his new independence. Our past selves, and the past selves of others, live on in our memories; they are no longer agents, and yet we remain responsible for them even as we make decisions for a changing present.

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Exploring Greek Myth. By Matthew Clark. Chichester and Malden, Mass.: Wiley-Blackwell, 2012. Pp. xiii + 196. Paper, £19.99/$34.95. ISBN 978-1-4051-9455-6

Reviewed by Martha J. Payne, Indiana University-Purdue University; Ball State University

Noting the popularity of university-level Classical myth courses, and the variety of books for the general audience, Matthew Clark presents material beyond that found in introductory textbooks including “some of the research that has accumulated over the past decade in a way that is accessible for those who are not yet scholars in the field” (ix). The book is packed with useful references and discussions, which are both its strength and weakness.

This is a slim volume of thirteen short chapters, each with an interesting title: 1. “The Knife Did it”: myth definitions and characteristics; 2. “Six Hundred Gods”: myth and religion; 3. “Homer’s Beauty Pageant”: myth traditions; 4. “Pelops’ Shoulder”: myth sources; 5. “Ikaros’ Wings, Aktaion’s Dogs”: myth and meaning; 6. “The Bones of Orestes”: hero and society relationships; 7. “Born from the Earth:” city and family foundation myths; 8. “The Judgment of Paris”: Greek and non-Greek myth; 9. “Boys in Dresses, Brides with Beards”: gender; 10. “Agamemnon’s Mask”: history and myth; 11.”Orestes on Trial”: myth and thought; 12. “Plato and the Poets”: philosophy; 13. Conclusion. Each chapter has three to seven sections including boxed material such as: overviews of specific myths; use of a myth in Western tradition; and further explorations (exercises for essays). In the general myth classroom, many of these topics are touched on only briefly, so their discussion is welcome.

The use of authors not usually used as myth-book sources (Pausanias, Palaephatus, Diodorus Siculus, Hyginus), and works from standard sources (Homer, Hesiod, the tragedians, Apollodorus, and Ovid) makes the book unusual. The former authors appear when Clark goes beyond the standard stories, showing how myths that are less well known play a role in ancient Greek life. For example, Clark differentiates Panhellenic (e.g. the myth of Persephone, 6–10) from local myth (e.g. Bouphonia at Athens, 11–13).

Clark discusses myth theory from scholars such as Burkert, Detienne, Vidal-Naquet, et al. (the works of Joseph Campbell are largely ignored). Discussions presented after a particular story facilitate understanding of ancient Greek culture. For example, after the story of Myrrha and Adonis (box, p. 120) Clark unpacks Detienne’s structuralist understanding of the myth and the Adonia festival, and contrasts it with the Athenian Thesmophoria as festivals of sterility and fertility.

For all the book’s usefulness, several problems caution caveat lector. First, there are a plethora of references to places in Greece, some well known (e.g. Athens, Delphi), others not (e.g. Arcadia, Megara, etc.), but there are no maps to assist a reader unfamiliar with Greek topography.

Second, there are many references to images, and the book has ten figures, mostly from vase painting. Otherwise, the reader is referred to LIMC (pp. 63, 64), or to other sources, e.g. the figures referred to in T. H. Carpenter, Art and Myth in Ancient Greece: A Handbook (London: Thames and Hudson, 1991) for the Judgment of Paris (box, p. 99). The ten figures, however, are problematic, due to inconsistent contrast quality. For example, Fig. 12.1 (p. 162) has excellent contrast, while Fig. 1 (p. 8) is somewhat muddy, making details hard to see. While most images exemplifying ancient myths portrayed in vase painting are only mentioned in passing, the François Vase (Fig. 3.1, p. 40), is discussed in detail, band by band as an example of a “visual catalogue of Greek myth” (39). However, the image provided is so small that it is difficult to see what Clark is referring to.

Another problem lies in Clark’s accuracy. Several Pausanias references are incorrect by a section or two: the citation for the stallion Areion, progeny of Demeter and Poseidon (p. 9), given as Guide 8.25.5, should be 8.25.7; 1.15.6 as the citation for a statue of Athena next to a shrine of Hephaestus in Athens (p. 87) should be 1.14.6. The problem is not limited to Pausanias. Plato, Gorgias 485d, given as a reference to Euripides’ Antiope (p. 5), should be 484e. There is also an occasional problem with presentation accuracy. In discussing girls’ ritual (pp. 115–9) Clark notes stories of young women, Kyrene, Kallisto, and Daphne, raped by gods. These are examples of initiation patterns, which “… would turn … [girls] temporarily into boys or men, … either in behavior or in appearance.… All of these mythic women reject marriage and become hunters.” (p. 117). Yet, while Daphne was pursued by Apollo and became a laurel tree, there is nothing in her story that indicates that she was a huntress.

In addition, one wonders why Clark did not use certain sources. In discussing Indo-European myth and linguistics linked to Greek myth, Clark presents Ovid’s flood (Metamorphoses 1.163–421) and its connection to those in the Bible and Gilgamesh (pp. 101–3) yet does not mention the Hindu version found in the Mahabharata. This omission seems curious because in discussing the Ages of Mankind on p. 104, Clark cites the Mahabharata for the sacrifice of Purusha.

In overview, many of Clark’s secondary sources, such as the multi-volume LIMC and others, are only likely to be found in a university library, and not accessible to the ordinary, educated reader. These sources and the exercises given as essays for “Further Exploration” lead one to wonder for whom the book is intended. While the apparent audiences are students who have studied mythology and the general reader (p. ix), would a general reader wish to write an essay—a task more suited to a school exercise? Clark’s website at the Department of Humanities at York University states that this book is in fact “an upper-level textbook.” Thus, the book is an intriguing addition to the study of myth, but best appreciated by those in an upper-level myth course, or by a serious student of myth who wishes an in-depth survey.