Maud Gleason

As an imperial Greek author of both cultural and stylistic interest, Aretaeus deserves to be more widely read. His most riveting disease descriptions bring before our eyes the spectacle of the human body in extreme states of suffering and dehumanization. These descriptions achieve a degree of visual immediacy and emotional impact unparalleled among ancient medical writers. This essay considers them as examples of ekphrastic rhetoric, designed to create enargeia. To intensify immediacy and impact, Aretaeus deploys a set of techniques that invite the reader’s active engagement with the spectacle he describes. This engagement has the potential to generate a corporeal response that destabilizes the boundary between the body of the reader and the body in the text. The modern concept of “empathy” is perhaps too anodyne to convey the complexity of the response involved.

In diverse fictions from the second century Roman Empire, two parties with competing claims to truth hold a formal contest in a public place where, after a series of abrupt reversals, the issue is finally decided by the evidence of a dead, mutilated, or resurrected body. We can ask these corpses to tell us about the ways Roman society constructed truth. Furthermore, can we learn from the abrupt reversals in these narratives anything about the way Romans experienced shifts in truth-paradigms in “real life”? (This is, of course, a question of paramount importance for appreciating the religious change propelled by Christianity).

The careers of two popular second-century rhetorical virtuosos offer Maud Gleason fascinating insights into the ways ancient Romans constructed masculinity during a time marked by anxiety over manly deportment. Declamation was an exhilarating art form for the Greeks and bilingual Romans of the Second Sophistic movement, and its best practitioners would travel the empire performing in front of enraptured audiences. The mastery of rhetoric marked the transition to manhood for all aristocratic citizens and remained crucial to a man's social standing. In treating rhetoric as a process of self-presentation in a face-to-face society, Gleason analyzes the deportment and writings of the two Sophists--Favorinus, a eunuch, and Polemo, a man who met conventional gender expectations--to suggest the ways character and gender were perceived. Physiognomical texts of the era show how intently men scrutinized one another for minute signs of gender deviance in such features as gait, gesture, facial expression, and voice. Rhetoricians trained to develop these traits in a "masculine" fashion. Examining the successful career of Favorinus, whose high-pitched voice and florid presentation contrasted sharply with the traditionalist style of Polemo, Gleason shows, however, that ideal masculine behavior was not a monolithic abstraction. In a highly accessible study treating the semiotics of deportment and the medical, cultural, and moral issues surrounding rhetorical activity, she explores the possibilities of self-presentation in the search for recognition as a speaker and a man.

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:American Journal of Philology 121.3 (2000) 497-499 [Access article in PDF] Thomas Schmitz. Bildung und Macht: zur sozialen und politischen Funktion der zweiten Sophistik in der griechischen Welt der Kaiserzeit. Munich: Beck, 1997. 270 pp. Paper, DM 98. (Zetemata, 97) This book, which originated as a Habilitationsschrift, offers an intelligent and energetic analysis of the Second Sophistic from a sociological perspective informed by the work of Pierre Bourdieu. This is not Bourdieu the Algerian sociologist of the 1960s, nor even Bourdieu the polemical critic of social anthropology of the 1970s, but the Bourdieu of the 1970s and 1980s who applied his theories of practice and symbolic capital to the analysis of language and education in such works as Homo Academicus (Paris 1984) and Ce que parler veut dire: l'économie des échanges linguistiques (Paris 1982).Schmitz is interested in the way the elites of Greek cities used education to legitimate their ruling position (chapter 2.2, "Bildung als Legitimation zur Herrschaft"). The social domination of an elite, where not based on brute force, may be presented by that elite, both to those they dominate and to themselves, as the "natural" result of certain forms of superiority. The hallmark of elite superiority in the Greek cities of the Empire was paideia. This situation may explain the general prevalence of rhetorical training among elite families, but not why some people from these families would become sophists. Schmitz demonstrates [End Page 497] correctly that performing as a sophist did not in itself procure social advancement (chapter 2.3). Instead he sees the ruling class as delegating the legitimation of its collective power to certain of its members, so that the sophists in effect performed publicly as pars pro toto (64-66). How exactly the invisible hand of class delegation made itself felt in individual life choices would require some psychological speculation, which Schmitz does not attempt here. Possibly sophists evolved from child prodigies whose early success in outperforming their peers instilled a lifelong appetite for victorious competition.Mastery of the arbitrary complexities of atticizing paideia set one apart from the underclass (chapter 3) but could also be used to set oneself apart from one's peers. Schmitz sees striving for distinction as a constant in imperial society (chapter 4) and makes good use of the posthumous vaunts of funerary inscriptions to show that for these aristocrats paideia was the medium of competition par excellence (chapter 5.1). He stresses the parallel between paideia and euergetism (65-66, 95-96, 100ff., 219-20), a form of competitive political communication that validated the ascendancy not only of the individual liturgist but also the class to which he belonged. He describes the cornucopia of opportunities for public competition that characterized imperial society (from children's encomium contests at the Pythian Games to learned symposia) but concludes that because it structured competitive impulses and enhanced participants' sense of belonging, paideia, like euergetistic competition, operated in imperial society as a centripetal as well as centrifugal force (chapter 4.5).Schmitz sees the opsimathes as a sort of bogeyman whose pedantry, laboriously acquired and gauchely displayed, educated aristocrats imagined to contrast with their own paideia, the product of an inborn superiority. Indeed in chapter 5 he uses Bourdieu to pinpoint one of the reasons that participants and educated observers put such stress on extemporaneous performance: "il leur suffit d'être ce qu'ils sont pour être ce qu'il faut être, c'est-à-dire naturellement distingués de ceux qui ne peuvent pas faire l'économie de la recherche de la distinction" (158). As Schmitz himself puts it, in an extemporaneous performance, an aristocratic sophist "zeigte er nicht, was er erlernt hatte und was er wusste, sondern was er war." Improvisation functioned as synecdoche for aristocratic supremacy.What sophists have to say about the size of the crowds they enthralled should be taken with a grain of salt. In chapter 6 Schmitz is perhaps a bit too credulous in this regard, but he rightly stresses the artful way in which...

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:Hellenism and Empire: Language, Classicism, and Power in the Greek World, a.d. 50–250Maud W. GleasonSimon Swain. Hellenism and Empire: Language, Classicism, and Power in the Greek World, a.d. 50–250. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1996. xii 1 499 pp. Cloth, $90.How do people who by birth, wealth, and education consider themselves entitled to leadership in their local communities conceive of their relationship to the imperial power that both authorizes and limits their local autonomy? In the case of the Greek-speaking city-states under the Roman empire, language was clearly a crucial component of local and personal identity. This language, educated Greek, and the paideia that it presupposed, also served to distinguish the leading citizens of the various “Greek” cities from the shopkeepers of their streets and the peasants of their hinterlands.One thing that makes the picture confusing is the fact that “the Romans,” against whom “the Greeks” might be expected to define themselves, were likewise propertied aristocrats who professed admiration for Greek culture and in many cases put some serious effort into acquiring it themselves. So one of the things we would like to know is to what extent “Hellenism” was conceived by the ancients to be a matter of ethnicity or education. The answer is not straightforward.To be a Hellene one had to be able to display oneself as elaborately acculturated. For this particular aristocracy, the medium of elaboration was language. The artificiality of this acculturation process was concealed, as it generally is, by nearly invisible scrims designed to make the cultural look natural. Notable among these was the historical fiction that claimed for a Greek-speaking city an origin from a hero of Greek history or myth. Thus Greek aristocrats propagated themselves culturally through arduous acquisition of an elite dialect, but euphemized this process through the myth of genetic contact with the glory days. To be a Hellene was to participate in a strange charade of talking as if the Roman Empire and the Latin language did not exist. Once Roman dominance over the Mediterranean was secure, Greeks (at least in the formal literary productions that survived them) avoided talking about Rome. To say the least, this reluctance makes the Greeks’ attitude towards Rome difficult to assess. Yet this is what Swain has bravely and thoroughly set out to do.Swain’s book is in two parts. The first focuses on the role of language in [End Page 307] forming the identity of elite Greeks in the Second Sophistic (a period of literary renaissance lasting approximately from the mid-first to the mid-third century a.d.); the second examines what the chief Greek writers of that period had to say about Rome. Chapter 1 discusses the language consciousness of the Greek elite, who on formal occasions eschewed the dialect in common use (koine) to speak and write a belletristic Attic modeled on the great stylists of the past. Ironically, the “Asian”/“Attic” antithesis, with its conservative moral and political overtones, originally developed as part of Roman stylistic debate (24). We see it in Cicero, and in Dionysius of Halicarnassus, who functioned in effect as an apologist for Roman rule because Roman rule ensured that the right sort of people retained control of local government in the Greek cities. Dionysius in his historical writing went to elaborate lengths to show that Rome was really a Greek city on the Isocratean (nondemocratic) model (26). It is interesting to speculate why subsequent authors did not follow this approach. Perhaps, once their dominance in their cities was firmly secured by Rome’s hegemony, Greek aristocrats preferred to avert their gaze from the system that propped them up, and to elaborate instead the fiction that it was their Greekness that entitled them to effortless success.To explain the “repristinization” of linguistic features in the Atticizing movement Swain offers an interesting survey of the role of katharevousa in modern Greece (35–40). (There is also of course the phenomenon of “Oxford English,” which Fellows of All Souls are perhaps disinclined to pursue.) Chapter 2 discusses how purism worked out in practice (Favorinus, Lucian, Athenaeus, and some lexicographers). A test case: Galen practiced “purism...

The contemporary books of Cassius Dio's Roman History are known for their anecdotal quality and lack of interpretive sophistication. This paper aims to recuperate another layer of meaning for Dio's anecdotes by examining episodes in his contemporary books that feature masquerades and impersonation. It suggests that these themes owe their prominence to political conditions in Dio's lifetime, particularly the revival, after a hundred-year lapse, of usurpation and damnatio memoriae, practices that rendered personal identity problematic. The central claim is that narratives in Dio's last books use masquerades and impersonation to explore paradoxes of personal identity and signification, issues made salient by abrupt changes of social status at the highest levels of imperial society.