1

Being Termessian: local knowledge and identity politics in a Pisidian city*

Onno van Nijf

Getting to know them: the cemeteries of Termessos

Anyone approaching an ancient city would first be confronted with the

deceased members of the community. Each city buried its dead conspicuously along
the main roads leading into the city. Streets of tombs and cities of the dead often
surrounded the cities of the living, and the small city of Termessos, high up in the
mountains of Pisidia was no exception.1 In fact due to limitations of space, the dead
and the living inhabited areas in even closer proximity than was usual.2

Termessos, which is now the centre of a Turkish national park, was at the turn
of the second and third centuries C.E. a thriving, though perhaps unexceptional
provincial city. An old Pisidian settlement, it had been drawn into the Greek world
only after the conquests of Alexander, and under his successors it slowly turned into a
Greek city. It was a staunch supporter of Rome in the late Republic, and it maintained
a high degree of independence. In the imperial period it was incorporated into the
province of Lycia et Pamphylia. The site was never formally excavated, but it was
explored by travellers, and surveyed by teams from Vienna and more recently from
Istanbul which has resulted in extensive publications of its more than 1,000

* This paper is part of a wider project on the study of the epigraphy and society of Roman
Termessos. I shall discuss the honorific spaces of the city and their connection with the political culture
in a forthcoming paper: van Nijf (forthcoming). Cf. van Nijf (2000); van Nijf (2003b) I have presented
versions of the current paper in Groningen, Paris, Hamburg, Nijmegen, Istanbul and Athens. I would
like to thank my hosts at these occasions, as well as the participants in the seminars for their comments.
I have greatly benefited from comments or help by Sofia Voutsaki, Rens Tacoma, Christina Kokkinia,
and Christina Williamson.
1
For a discussion of this phenomenon see von Hesberg and Zanker (1987).
2
See the map. The cemeteries are immediately north and south of the city centre.
 2

inscriptions.3 Termessos may have been unremarkable, but to us it is unique due to

this exceptionally rich epigraphic record.

The bulk of the inscriptions date to a relatively brief period of time around the
turn of the second and third centuries C.E., which represented in many respects the
akme of the city’s built history.4 The monumental texts on honorific statues and on
funerary monuments served the epigraphic classes as a means of self-representation. I
have explored elsewhere the implications of the rich honorific record, but in this
paper I want to focus on getting to know the Termessians through the ways in which
they represented themselves in the cemeteries of their city.5

Mortuary behaviour in general, and funerary inscriptions in particular, is a

promising area to investigate the claims to status and identity in the world of the
living.6 Funerary practices can be analysed as strategies of social, political, and
cultural self-definition. In this context it is relevant to consider the social importance
of the inscribed epitaph.7 Each epitaph was a deliberate and enduring commemoration
of whatever features were seen as the dead person's most significant characteristics,
the features that defined his (or her) social identity in life as much as in dead. Of
course, there is a risk of partiality. Epitaphs could be economical with the truth, or
thrive on hyperbole; in death many people became what they never were in life. Tomb
inscriptions may, therefore, reflect desired as much as acquired status. But the
statements that funerary inscriptions made had to be plausible, at least, and the
cemeteries give us a good idea about the kind of cultural norms and values that were
generally deemed important in the city.

3
The best discussion of Termessos remains Heberdey in RE (zweite Reihe) V.A.2: 737. The
inscriptions were published by Heberdey in TAM 3.1 and in Iplikçioglu et al. (1991), Iplikçioglu et al.
(1992), Iplikçioglu et al. (1994) and Iplikçioglu et al. (2007).
4
RE (zweite Reihe) V.A.2: 739-747 (Heberdey).
5
Cf. above n. 1.
6
For a longer discusion of the methodological and theoretical background to this approach, see
van Nijf (1997) ch. 1.
7
E.g. Meyer (1990) and Meyer (1993) for discussions relevant to the Roman and the Greek
world.
 3

The Termessian cemeteries, therefore, may provide us with an insight into the
most essential qualities for which Termessians wanted to be remembered, and through
which they sought to position themselves in the world of the living. In this chapter I
shall discuss a few of the characteristic issues that can be observed based on the
funerary material.8

Funerary display in Termessos, i.e. the monumental and epigraphical self-

representation, was in the first place a function of wealth and political status in the
civic community. Expensive and ostentatious tomb monuments drew attention to the
wealth and social standing of the Termessian top families. Their high status was
underwritten by, as much as it was reflected in, conspicuous consumption in death.
Yet the cemetery was no carbon copy of the city centre, and it is important to be
aware of the possibility that the funerary self-representation complemented the
monumental language of the city centre in significant ways.

Funerary monuments, inscription and all, also seem to speak a language of

belonging. By their very nature tombs and epitaphs locate individuals within the
context of their family or extended family. The care and attention, and especially the
amount of money that the Termessians poured into the funerary monuments of their
relatives served to show their piety and proper respect for their ancestors, but also
helped them to identify themselves publicly as the heirs of family traditions. As we
shall see, the Termessian epigraphy inserted individuals with particular precision
within exceptionally detailed genealogies that could extend several generations back.
It seems most likely that we can interpret this ‘genealogical bookkeeping’ against the
background of a process of oligarchisation, whereby status and influence at the local
level came to depend on different forms of symbolic capital, including the claim to
stand in a family tradition with strong local roots.

And finally, the Termessian cemeteries were a locus where cultural identity
politics were played out. The epigraphic evidence presents the Termessians as
juggling multiple identities: they were able to present themselves as cultured Greeks,
as loyal Roman citizens, but also as the proud descendents of indigenous warriors
who had been fiercely independent for much of their history. It is through a study of

8
These issues are only a selection, of course. Other dimensions of Termessian identity include
gender and family relations, the discussion of which I shall have to leave to another occasion.
 4

their onomastic habits in particular that we shall see how these different strands of
their cultural identities co-existed, and were intertwined at an individual level as much
as at the level of the group. Their experiences urge us to formulate a nuanced position
in current debates on identity politics in the Roman empire.

The Termessian cemeteries were, therefore, a repository of local knowledge:

they served the living as a way to identify themselves by reference to the dead. But
they also serve us in getting to know the Termessians as closely as we can from the
distance, both geographical and chronological, that exists between us and them.

1. The Commemoration of Status

Social distinction was certainly high on Termessian minds: the families of

notables that ruled the city also dominated its landscape. Throughout the city centre
we find buildings that were set up by leading families, for example a stoa (L2) along
the central agora that was built by the benefacor Osbaros, or a gymnasium (H) that
was built by a husband and wife team.9 However, one of the most striking aspects of
the Termessian landscape must have been the omnipresence of honorific statutes that
commemorated the members of the city’s elite as priests, magistrates, and
benefactors; as loyal subjects of Rome, but also as cultured Greeks, and as dutiful
wives or successful athletes. I have argued elsewhere that this monumental language
put the elite literally and metaphorically on a pedestal. If you wanted to know who
really mattered locally, you only needed to walk the city centre where the monuments
provided you with a local ‘who’s who’.10

Although it is possible to make a tally of the various activities and qualities for
which the Termessian elite wanted to be commemorated, it was apparently not always
necessary to go into detail. Many honorific inscriptions do not list specific actions or
achievements. At times it was deemed sufficient to list moral qualities or hint at
personal excellence. In such cases we are often dealing with posthumous monuments
that were set up by important families who must have successfully petitioned the city
authorities to be able to erect a statue for their deceased relatives. The dividing line

9
TAM 3.1, 121, 122.
10
van Nijf (2000).
 5

between honorific and funerary monuments was apparently somewhat blurred. These
show that the top families were able to adapt public space for their own private
commemoration.

Tomb monuments

As the burial plots gradually merged into the built-up area, it is easy to see
how the cemeteries were an extension of the public sphere. The same elite that ruled
the city of the living also dominated the city of the dead by their conspicuous tombs
and monuments. Cormack’s recent discussion highlights the tombs of a few of
wealthy individuals who can all be traced to the best known families, such as
Apollonios Strabonianos (stemma G17), a proboulos and the son of a civic priest of
Zeus Solymeus, who built a tomb for his parents and his son. His wife, Tiberia
Claudia Kille (stemma H6), stemmed from another prominent family that descended
from a Tiberius Claudius Agrippinus.11 A generation later Claudia Agrippina married
into this family. She had a temple tomb built for her husband, the proboulos Ti.
Claudius Marcellus (stemma H12), in the northern cemetery.12Another tomb-builder
was Aurelia Ge, the daughter of a Hermaios Hoples, who was married to a priest and
gymnasiarch, Tiberius Claudius Plato (stemma D1); their descendants also served as
priest and proboulos.

These were spectacular tombs, built to impress. It has been noted that the
inscriptions on the largest monuments were also certainly designed to impress and
inform, as they were carefully laid out with large beautifully executed letters.13 Such
monuments obviously drew attention to the wealth and command of resources their
commissioners had that made possible and justified their leading role in society.

However, funerary monuments were not simply an extension of the

commemorative practices that we find in the city centre. We should not fall back to a

11
References of the type ‘stemma H6’ are to the stemmata of the major families of Termessos
that were drawn up by Heberdey in TAM 3. For a full discussion of each family, see Heberdey (1929).
12
The decoration on this tomb shows a marked military character (shields, weaponry), which
suggest that this theme was particularly important to Marcellus, or other (male) members of his family:
Cormack (2004) 307.
13
Cf. Cormack (2004) 308.
 6

simplistic isomorphism: we cannot not assume that all big tombs belonged to the
elite- or that all members of the elite were buried in big tombs. Members of prominent
families could have been buried in inconspicuous tombs, and there are also
indications that individuals further down the social ladder were able to set up fairly
conspicuous tombs as well, although they do not seem to have been a match for the
families at the very top. Some members of elite families were certainly buried in
simple sarcophagi. It should be remembered, moreover, that all tombs and
monuments were an indication of relative success with resources to spare: even a
small tomb served to distinguish the dead –or his family– from others who could not
afford one. Funerary practices bespeak of status, and therefore of status aspirations,
but not necessarily in the same manner as the public monuments in the city centre,
and it is worth our while to investigate the similarities and differences in a little more
detail.

It is interesting to note that political success was not usually commemorated

on the tomb inscriptions of the Termessian elite. Of course we find individuals who
commemorated the offices they had held in life: priests and priestesses, and
grammateis are on record. Yet their number is limited, and the Termessian top-elite is
noticeable for its reticence in this regard. There are very few members of elite
families who had their offices commemorated on their own tombs.14 For the real top
families the city centre was a more likely area to advertise their political status.
Epitaphs that did commemorate offices and priesthoods, therefore, often belong to a
second level within the elite: grammateis of lower boards of officials, chreophylakes,
and some priests - or magistrates and councillors who did not belong to the inner core
of the Termessian elite.15 To them the funerary area was probably more important as
an area of status display than the city centre, where they would be easily
overshadowed by the Termessian top-elite.

14
Only Marcus Aurelius Polemon V (TAM 3.1, 730) must have been of relative high status: he
was grammateus of the boule and a keryx. He cannot be connected to a ‘top’ family, however.
15
The offices are listed in TAM 3.1, 342 index V.2.
 7

In the few instances that we find references to the careers of local grandees,
these were usually put up by family members or dependents.16 It would appear that to
these men (and women) status and identity were to be found in making explicit ties
with their higher ranking family members patrons. Quite a few epitaphs were set up
by men and women who identified themselves explicitly as apeleutheros or
apeleuthera of So-and-So. 17 These men and women were apparently not full citizens
of Termessos, but they had the status of paroikoi. Freedmen of Roman citizens would
be expected to enter into a clientela relationship with their former owners, and this
seems to have been the case in Termessos as well. This could be a close relationship:
in quite a few cases the freedmen identified his former owner with considerable detail
- including the enumeration of his priesthoods or offices. At one level such texts
advertised the social control to which the freedmen were subjected, but the freedmen
could also make such texts their own by using them to stake out a claim of belonging.
It was apparently worth something to be known as the freedman or freedwoman of
Platon the priest.18

In some cases the closeness of the relationship was further underlined by the
fact that the freedman’s tomb was located in the immediate or close proximity to that
of their former masters. Slaves could do something similar: quite a few were able to
set up tombs for themselves - and interestingly enough for their natural families- but
they usually carefully stated that this was done only with the explicit permission of
their masters.19Again we see the double message of subjection and of belonging. As
freedmen and slaves are unlikely to have acted here without their (former) master’s
consent, we may feel justified in taking these monuments as the media of joint self-
representation of master and dependent alike. So, the Termessian elites may not have
needed to use the cemetery to convey knowledge about their political and civic

16
Of the inscriptions in TAM that mention priests, only 684, 685, 695 and 787 actually
commemorate a priest directly, in other cases we see that relatives or dependents identify themselves
by a reference to a more famous relative or patron: TAM 3.1, 497, 539, 647, 648, 671 and 772.
17
TAM 3.1, p. 351, Index 12.
18
E.g. TAM 3.1, 540 set up by a freedwoman of the priests Aurelius Platonianos Otanes
(stemma F14) and Aurelius Meidianos Platonianos (stemma E11) and Platon (stemma E12).
19
TAM 3.1, 269, 338, 346, 495, 636, 637, 663, 762, 764, 769, 811. The expression used is

φσει το
δεσπ του.
 8

careers, but they did use it as a medium to represent the social networks on which
their status and influence in society was based.

Another aspect of the way that funerary commemoration could be connected

with status is the use of funerary fines. Apparently many people lived with the fear
that their tombs, their eternal resting–place, would be disturbed after their death.
Obviously it would be the duty of a family to protect and care for the graves of the
deceased members, but everyone knew that families did not last for ever. One way
was to invoke the supernatural: hundreds of tombs throughout Roman Asia Minor
were protected by means of a curse.20 But another perhaps more secure way was to
enlist the help of people from beyond the immediate family by mobilising social
groups such as professional associations or other civic bodies, or even the whole
community in the maintenance and protection of the mnema.21 Funerary fines were
one way to enforce this. As in many other cities, the Termessian tombs often included
a clause stipulating that in case of tymborychia a fine should be paid. Temples and
semi-public institutions appear as the recipients of these fines, with the temple of
Zeus Solymeus being the most frequently named, followed by the imperial fiscus and
the demos. Other recipients include other deities, the boule, the gerousia, and a
neighbourhood association.22 It stands to reason that such fines could only be set with
the approval of the intended recipients, as they would acquire an obligation to act if
necessary. These inscriptions are therefore testimony to the power of certain
individuals to ensure the post-mortem continuity of their commemoration by
mobilising larger groups and public bodies as guardians.

We cannot locate all the individuals who took the step to secure their
commemoration in this way with precision, but it is clear that a high proportion
belonged to elite families. This correlation is even stronger if we take into account the
price of the fines. The listed cases in TAM suggest that the families at the very top of
Termessian society, often buried in expensive heroa, could more easily mobilise a

20
Conveniently collected by Strubbe (1997), cf. TAM 3.1, Index 14.4 , sv. e.g. σβεια,
νεχω, νοχος, or πεθυνος.
21
For a study of reflexive funerary foundations, that achieved a similar goal by different means,
see: Andreau (1977) and van Nijf (1997) 55-68.
22
TAM 3.1. 354-355 index 14.4, sv. Multae violati sepulcrae.
 9

wide range of socially respectable groups; consequently they appear to have felt
justified in frequently setting a relatively steep fine. As so often, social status was
given a monetary expression.23

The practice of securing external care for the grave may have stemmed from a
concern for the dead, but a surely not unintentional side-effect would be to include
larger segments of the population in the process of commemoration. Getting as many
members of the community as possible involved, be they clients, dependent
professional associations, or public bodies, could only serve to raise the status of the
living. Elaborate commemoration rituals and strategies for the protection of the tomb
both turned private matter into a public event. Funerals were a continuation of politics
by other means: in this sense the graveyard was an extension of the city centre, and a
vehicle for the self-representation of a few families. In the next section I shall discuss
some more ways in which these families represented themselves.

2. Genealogical bookkeeping

Termessians were rarely buried alone. The epigraphic record shows that most
tombs were collective: they were set up by the builder for himself and members of his
(or her) immediate family. Even the simpler tombs tended to be designed for parents
and children. The tombs of the Termessian elite fitted this pattern, as even the
wealthiest tombs were normally designed for one or two generations.24

The Termessian funerary habits were not solely aimed at securing

commemoration at an individual level, but they also emphasised family connections
and descent. This was further underlined by an extraordinary aspect of Termessian
epigraphic practice, an obsession with what I like to call 'genealogical bookkeeping'.
Inscriptions - epitaphs, and honorific texts - take utmost care precisely to locate each
individual within family lines and family trees. This usually takes the form of
supplying each person with a long list of direct ancestors.25 What was the function of

23
TAM 3.1, 355 index 14.4, s.v. Summae denariorum sive drachmarum hae solvendae sunt.
24
The funerary monuments of Termessos are discussed in Heberdey and Wilberg (1900), and
Cormack (2004), 306-323.
25
The names are listed in TAM 3.1.313-339 Index 1.
 10

this enumeration of ancestors in Termessian society? Why was it important that this
type genealogical information was locally known? If we want to appreciate this, we
need to place Termessian practice against the background of what we know about
genealogical habits in the wider Greek world.26

Genealogical thinking

Genealogical thinking was popular in ancient Greece from Homer and Hesiod
onwards. Aristocratic families had been interested in linking up to mythical ancestors,
but it is striking that Greek aristocratic genealogies were not overtly concerned with
listing their immediate ancestors. Although -or more likely because- aristocratic status
was boosted by genealogical means, the opportunities for the public display of
aristocratic ancestry were limited in the classical polis.27 Greek aristocrats did not
engage in the kind of staged funerals we find in Rome, where ancestor portraits and
funerary speeches worked at every level to make family history common knowledge.
Greek aristocrats may have wanted to do the same, but many isonomic Greek cities
had sumptuary laws in place to prevent this happening.28

Family memories were kept of course, but direct memories may usually not
have gone back for more than a few generations; the names of the more remote
ancestors must have been transmitted orally, if at all. Although Athenian citizens were
supposed to look after the tombs of their ancestors, Athenian tomb memorials rarely
included several generations. In so far as Greek aristocrats were allowed to display
their genealogical interest in public (e.g. in the context of epinikia) most of the
attention seems to have been focused on mythical ancestors of the heroic age.29

It is interesting to note, however, that in late Hellenistic and Roman times the
tendency to make longer ancestor lists seems to have increased. This may have started
with Hellenistic Kings who legitimised their rule with the monumental display of
impressive Ahnenreihen, as on Nemrud Dag, but the phenomenon seems to have
26
Discussed more fully by Jones, this volume.
27
An exception seems to be the genealogical inscription for Herophytos of Chios: SGDI 5656.
Cf. Thomas (1989) 156-9.
28
Garland (1989), and Frisone (2000) for a collection of the main texts.
29
Thomas (1989) 155-173.
 11

appealed to the urban elites as well. There is evidence that in various parts of the
Hellenistic and Roman world the listing of ancestors became more popular, exactly at
a time that increasing oligarchisation made dynastic thinking politically correct
again.30

It is striking that the new genealogists of the late Hellenistic polis did not just
spend time and effort on reconstructing mythical kin, but also on the intermediate
generations who were more fully mapped than before. In various cities we find long
inscriptions that refer to distant generations, and the reconstruction of long -civic-
genealogies has become much easier.31 Proven lineage to historical figures may have
been particularly highly prised - certainly by the Romans as we know of a number of
high-ranking Athenians who raised their own contemporary status in this way.
Herodes Atticus was famously able to trace his family back to Miltiades and Cimon,
but many other Greek aristocrats of his age did the same.32 But even for those with a
less illustrious ancestry it paid off to be able to cite a number of recent family
members who had done a service to the city.

The tendency to list ancestors was therefore generally on the increase, but it
seems to have been especially common in southwest Asia Minor. Perhaps the most
famous – and most extreme- example of genealogical bookkeeping is to be found in
the small Lycian city of Oinoanda, or Little Termessos as it was also known. Here we
find one of the longest and most peculiar inscriptions of the ancient world: the
genealogical inscription that a certain Licinnia Flavilla had engraved on her tomb.
This is an inscription of hundreds of lines listing more than thirty generations of
ancestors.33

30
Thomas (1989) 159. Cf. SGDI 4859 for Clearchus of Cyrene; Robert REG 73 (1960) 184
mentions a late Hellenistic epigram by Agathon of Dodona who claimed that his family had been
proxenoi for 30 generations since the Trojan War. The veracity of these claims is not the point of
course. It is interesting that the claims were made at all.
31
See the examples from Sparta and Epidaurus in Spawforth (1985).
32
Herodes Atticus: Philostr. 546f.; Plutarch refers to a Brasidas who, under Augustus, was able
to adduce documentary evidence of his descent from the homonymous Spartan general of the fifth
century (Reg. et imp. apophth. 207f)..
33
IGR 3.500 + SEG 46.1709 with the analysis by Hall et al. (1996).
 12

This monument has been explained away as the innocent pastime of an elderly
lady, but it would be naïve to deny its potent political symbolism.34 The tomb carries
a subtle message, aligning ancestors in various different configurations. Through her
genealogy Licinnia manages to establish herself firmly within a wide and complex
family network, extending from the mythical past as far away as Rome; this was the
basis of her high standing in the community.

The genealogical bookkeepers in Termessos were in step, therefore, with

contemporary practices. Their genealogy was less spectacular than that of Licinnia
Flavilla, but their status and identity also depended on the ability to cite an extensive
list of ancestors. By using genealogical markers the individuals concerned would
strongly identify themselves as belonging to a particular family.

The emphasis on genealogy is understandable in view of the demographic

regime: not only was the life expectancy at birth extremely low - compared by our
standards - but death could also strike suddenly at all ages, showing how fragile the
fate of individual families could be. A recent study by Rens Tacoma argues in fact
that most elite families in Roman Egypt did not enjoy bouleutic status for much more
than three generations.35 The local top elite - the inner oligarchy - was formed by
exactly those very few families who were able to survive with their possessions intact
for several generations. The ideal of eugeneia turned this stroke of demographic luck
in to pure ideology.36 It is not surprising then that Termessian elite families put so
much stress on descent and family tradition: it was their symbolic capital, so to speak,
as good as money in the bank.

The fascination that these genealogical bookkeepers had with ancestry and
descent therefore had a clear political dimension. Termessian elite families seem to
have used their genealogical bookkeeping strategically to create a suitable ancient
background which may have supported their claims to status and power.

34
Hall et al. (1996) 143: ‘The examples of Flavilla and Platonis suggest that Asian ladies of
means, perhaps especially those of mature years, spent considerable energy comparing pedigrees and
ranking one another by reference to them’.
35
Tacoma (2006).
36
Zuiderhoek (forthcoming).
 13

However these commemorative patterns also acquired a particular local twist. Many
of these genealogies included local non-Greek members. Most of the genealogies that
were reconstructed by Heberdey were headed by an ancestor whose name clearly
identified him as a non-Greek, local Solymian.37 Now, most inscriptions that were
used to record these names can be dated to the early centuries C.E., a period that is
normally associated with a strong fascination for Greek history and Greek ancestry.
Elite families everywhere were displaying their Greek credentials in their bid to status
and power. Why then, was there this interest in putting non-Greek ancestry so clearly
on display? And what does this tell us about the importance of Greek identity in
Roman Termessos?

3. Cultural identity in Roman Termessos

The rich epigraphic material from Termessos also allows us to explore the
issue of cultural identity. This is of course a central topic nowadays, both inside
academe and beyond. There has been an upsurge of interest in identity politics in the
Roman empire, and the Greek provinces of the Roman empire are at the very centre
of current debates. Recent discussions on identity have focused on the relationship
between Greeks and Romans, and on the possible tensions between Greek and Roman
identities. The focus has been, of course, on the role of the Greek literature of the so-
called Second Sophistic in the expression of cultural identity.38 It has been argued,
however, that the picture gets further complicated when we consider material culture
as well.39 Local elites everywhere throughout the Greek-speaking provinces of the
Roman empire faced the daunting task of ‘becoming Roman - while staying Greek’.

Being Greek in Termessos

A first question to ask, therefore, is how Greek the Termessians really were.
By the turn of the second and third century C.E., Termessos could boast all the
accoutrements of a proper Greek city: with proper public buildings, a theatre, several

37
TAM 3.1.296-311, appendix V. Cf. Heberdey (1929) 58-126.
38
E.g. Goldhill ed. (2001).
39
Woolf (1994).
 14

gymnasia and an agora it met all the criteria set by Pausanias, when he judged the
wretched polis of Panopeus and found its claim to polis status wanting.40 Yet
Termessos’ status as a Greek polis was relatively recent. Southern Asia Minor had
maintained links with Greek world from the 6th century onwards, but proper
Hellenisation only began in the Hellenistic period. In Termessos this was a gradual
process that did not peak until the Roman period. Greek inscriptions appear from the
second century B.C.E., and it would seem that at that time the city acquired the
political institutions that came along with Greek status.41 When Hellenistic scholars
were finally able to identify the Termessians with the Solymoi, a fierce tribe who
played a walk-on part in the story of Bellerophon in the Iliad, they could be written
into Greek history properly. 42 The local deity was transformed into Solymian Zeus,
and other Greek or Hellenised deities gradually began to populate their pantheon.
Around 200 C.E. this process appears to have been completed when Termessos
acquired, like any old Greek city, its own Greek mythical founder, as an inscription
recording the first priest of the eponymous heros Termessos seems to suggest.
Termessos may not have been the cultural capital of the Roman Asia Minor, but from
now on it counted as a proper Greek city.43

The public sphere, then, was thoroughly Hellenised, but did this imply that
Termessians also identified themselves primarily as Greeks? One index for this would
seem to be the degree of linguistic Hellenisation. Epigraphic evidence suggests that
by the 2nd century B.C.E. Greek had become the standard language to express formal
political arrangements, but personal commemoration in Greek still seems to have
been limited. The earlier tomb-monuments do not appear to have been inscribed,
although it is hard to set up a precise chronology. From the early Roman period Greek
epigraphic habits seem to have caught on among the population at large, and Greek

40
Pausanias 10.4. The best survey of the history of Termessos is still that by Heberdey in RE
(zweite Reihe) V.A.2: 732-778.
41
Cf. TAM 3.1.2.
42
RE (zweite Reihe) V.A.2: 737; cf. Str. 13.4.16-17.
43
TAM 3.101. The reconstruction is not certain: το
] πρτου π α!"νος [$(ερως) Τερµησ(?)]σο
,
Cf. Heberdey’s remarks at RE (zweite Reihe) V.A.2: 732, and Heberdey (1929) 33-36. Heberdey wants
to identify a male figure wearing a chiton who is represented on a coin in the British Museum as the
hero.
 15

became the standard language of epigraphic self-expression at a personal level. It has

been noted that the Termessians were sufficiently proficient, as even slaves and
freedmen by and large seem to have mastered passable Greek.44

We also find indications that there was a certain enthusiasm for Greek high
culture: the theatre (O1) and ōdeion (O2) offered places to a fair proportion of the
male population. There were two gymnasia (H, I) where young Termessians could
pick up the essentials of Greek paideia, and where apart from the usual athletic
disciplines, contests in Paean dancing were organised.45 There are even signs of some
(sub)literary activity. In their recent corpus Merkelbach and Stauber have included 28
epigrams from Termessos. Nine of these were found on public monuments and may
have been worded by professionals. But the remaining 18 were on private
monuments, mainly tomb inscriptions, which suggests that their authors were keen to
advertise their personal familiarity with, or enthusiasm for, this Greek literary form.46
That some of these texts indeed represented an explicit claim to Greek cultural
identity is illustrated, I think, by one funerary epigram, the author of which styles
himself –metrically correct- as ‘not the most inconsequential of Greeks.’47

Moreover, there are more texts that show signs of versification, or betray a
modest literary ambition,48 but the results were not good enough to be included in
SGO. This shows exactly the kind of pitfalls that a poetically inclined would-be Greek
could encounter. Epigrams that represented a claim to Greek identity were exposed to

44
Heberdey at RE (zweite Reihe) V.A.2: 737: ‘selbst Sklaven und Freigelassene sprechen
Griechisch im ganzen leidlich korrekt’.
45
I have argued at several occasions that the pursuit of Greek athletic activities represented in
itself a claim to Greek cultural identity: e.g. van Nijf (2001), and van Nijf (2003a). Paian dancing is on
record in TAM 3.1, 142, 154, 163. The Termessian agōnes are discussed in Heberdey (1923) and
Heberdey (1929) ch. 4.
46
SGO 82-104, nos. 18/01/01-18/01/28. We cannot be sure of course, that the dedicators were
also the authors of the texts. But the quality of the Greek does not suggest that they hired a
professional.
47
SGO 18/01/26 = TAM 3.536: Κ,νδιδος, -λλ/νων οχ 0 παρεργ τατος. It should be noted that the
names of husband and wife (Candidus and Severa) suggest that Greekness was not the only aspect of
their identity that they were concerned to commemorate.
48
Cf. TAM 3.1, Index 18: Carminum Exordia. Sermo Poeticus.
 16

the critical gaze of connoisseurs, grammarians and sophists, who had set themselves
up as the arbiters of Greek taste, and who might judge the efforts - and therefore any
claim to true Greek identity- wanting. It should perhaps be remembered that the term
'solecism' was first coined to describe the bad Greek of the inhabitants of Soloi, in
neighbouring Cilicia.49 This raises the question of how deep the Greek language and
Greek paideia were actually rooted in this mountainous city.

Other languages were spoken and written in Roman Asia Minor besides Greek
and Latin. In Phrygia some 100 inscriptions show that the Phrygian language was
going through something of a revival in the first three centuries of our era.50 The
language may have continued as a spoken language well into the fifth century C.E.
But not all languages have left material traces. The public epigraphy of Iconium is
purely in Greek, but when people spoke to their gods local Lycaonian appears to have
been the language of choice, as is demonstrated by a well-known passage from the
New Testament, where the apostles Paul and Barnabas are mistaken for Zeus and
Hermes, and are addressed in Lycaonian.51 We do not know, of course, how
widespread the use of this local language was, but we can be fairly sure this episode
was only the tip of an iceberg. The continuation of local languages must have
influenced local self identification to a considerable degree, and outside the Greek
homeland itself it would be unwise to assume that the Roman Empire consisted
exclusively of a ‘huge reservoir of monoglot local élites’ as was suggested by Greg
Woolf.52

The construction of cultural identity often took place in a complex situation.

Greek identity may have been straightforward in the Greek home land, or in the old
cities of Asia Minor, but the Greek credentials of the various peoples further East -
and further inland - were more problematic. The ‘Graeco-Roman Empire’, as Paul
Veyne called it, was ethnically and linguistically diverse.53 Greek and Latin were not
the only languages spoken in the Roman empire, and the complexity of many local

49
Salmeri (2004).
50
Brixhe (2002), Drew-Bear (2007).
51
Acts 14.8-18.
52
Woolf (1994) 131.
53
Veyne (2005).
 17

cultural affiliations and modes of identification seems to increase wherever we zoom

in.54 This was emphasised already in the 1960s in two seminal articles by Fergus
Millar and Ramsay MacMullen.55 The latter takes a global overview, discussing the
evidence for Aramaic, Egyptian (Coptic) and Gallic languages, whereas Millar
focused his attention on the situation in Roman North Africa, where epigraphic
evidence exists for the use of Punic and Berber alongside Latin. Recently this
diversity has been studied mainly from the perspective of diglossia or bilingualism.
People would have been used to employing different languages – and language
contact was an acknowledged fact.56

This linguistic diversity should not surprise us. Historically bilingualism – or

in many cases even multilingualism - was probably the normal situation before the
advent of the nation-state .57 What we should like to know, therefore, is what the
linguistic situation was in Termessos, and in particular, how strong the local Pisidian
traditions still were at the turn of the second and third centuries C.E.?

What’s in a name? Onomastic habits in Termessos

Although the epigraphic classes were fully versed in Greek, this does not
necessarily imply that Hellenism was their only or even main source of cultural
affiliation at a personal level. The use of Greek in public inscriptions was of course
politically and culturally correct, but it may have reflected not much more than a
desire to present a Hellenising public persona. If we want to find out how
Termessians really identified themselves ethnically we may have to dig deeper.

One way of assessing how the Termessians identified would be to investigate their
onomastic habits. Names are an obvious vehicle for self-identification. Recently Anna
Mopurgo-Davis has argued that the intentionality of naming makes a study of
personal names particularly revealing of the cultural identity of a community, as it

54
Parca (2001).
55
Millar (1968), MacMullen (1966).
56
Adams et al. eds (2002), Adams (2003).
57
So Janse (2002).
 18

‘tells us something not only about the natural preservation or otherwise of onomastic
characters, but also about a set of deliberate choices in name-giving and name-
preserving that, in their turn reflect specific attitudes to language but also to
community, life, kinship, continuity, etc. in a cultural context characterised by
linguistic variety’.58

Modern anthropological and linguistic studies have also found that the study
of names is particularly fruitful in multi-cultural contexts.59 Names are a flexible
means of self-definition in the sense that they allow for various strategies on the part
of the carriers. They will of course often reflect dominant political and cultural power
hierarchies, but nomenclature may also serve as a complementary mode of
identification. The retention – or re-introduction- of local (or ethnic) names may
reflect a desire of a person - or of his or her parents - to mark out a specific identity or
identities. If we want to say something about identity, politics and the cultural
affiliations of the Termessian population, a study of their onomastic strategies may
prove fruitful.

Even a preliminary analysis of the onomastic material of Termessos will help

us to understand how the inhabitants of this small city projected their particular
identities onto themselves and their children. The rich epigraphic material of
Termessos provide us with more than 3,000 names, which is a good sample as ancient
history goes.60 Even a brief glance at this material suggests that the Termessians
chose their names from a diverse pool, including Greek, Roman, and epichoric
(ethnic) onomastic traditions.

Greek names

We need not be surprised that Greek onomastic habits were widely spread.
The great majority of the personal names that we find in the indices of TAM and the
supplementary volumes are identifiable as Greek. Ιt is not always easy to distinguish
clearly between (e.g.) Greek and Roman names, or between Greek and ‘local’ names.

58
Davies (2000), esp. 24-25.
59
Aceto (2002).
60
Listed in TAM 3.1, 313-339, Index 1.
 19

Many ‘local’ names were adapted to Greek flexion, whereas other names may sound
unfamiliar, but can in fact be linked to a local or regional preference in the use of
Greek. In his important study Les 'oms Indigènes Louis Robert has applied his
critical acumen to many names that his predecessors had down as ‘native’ to show
that these were in fact (local) Greek.61

Most of the Greek names, however, were ‘run of the mill’ Greek names that
were common throughout Asia Minor, such as Apollonios, Diogenes, and Hermaios,
whereas other names were less common, or even particular to Termessos.62 Such
names may reflect the fact that at a basic level Hellenisation was (socially)
widespread, but at the same times this leaves open a gamut of different attitudes to
Hellenisation in this community.

Greek ‘designer names’

It is, therefore, more interesting to note that there was somewhat of a fashion
for Greek ‘designer names’ that made very explicit references to the classical Greek
literary and cultural heritage. Among the more striking examples we find names as
Apelles, Atalante, Achilleus, Europe, Homeros, Iason, Kadmos, Kallipateira, Kleon,
Perikles, Pangkrateia, Phililogos, Platon, Solon and Sokrates to name only a few
striking examples.

Standard Greek names may have been used by the Termessians to simply
indicate a broad Greek identity, but with such highly classicising names it is more
likely that they were positioning themselves with some emphasis within a Greek
cultural tradition. This is if anything explicit in a name like Philologos (appearing
three times in Termessos), which was often used to convey high cultural aspirations
of the bearers, or rather of their parents.63 But other ‘high-brow’ names will have had
a similar effect. It is particularly interesting to note that some of these names were
found in a much higher concentration in Termessos than elsewhere in the Greek

61
Robert (1963), Index 7, s.v. Termessos en Pisidie.
62
Louis Robert again has warned us not to draw this conclusion too quickly, as the epigraphic
record of Termessos exceeds that of many other neighbouring cities Robert (1963) 205.
63
Robert (1989) 23. n. 10.
 20

world. In fact, names such as Kadmos, Perikles, and Platon are found relatively
frequently in Termessos, but they do not seem to have been very common among
native Greek populations in the Greek home-land.64 It may be suggested, therefore,
that these names were selected with the deliberate purpose to flag familiarity with the
high-brow traditions of Greek paideia, but also to give a local spin to this choice.

Such names would have been particularly important to members of the

Termessian elite, who used their mastery and internalisation of Greek paideia as a
support for their social dominance.65 It is not surprising then that Greek names appear
with some frequency in the stemmata of the Termessian top-families.66 But the social
spread of Greek culture does not seem to have been limited to the elite: not all the
individuals who show their allegiance to Greek literary high culture can be traced to
elite families. This goes to show that Greek cultural identity was indeed relevant to a
relatively large section of the population.

Onomastic Romanisation

However, ‘being Greek’ was not the only thing that mattered to the
Termessians. Termessians were Roman too, and we should like to know how this
affected their identity. There are no Latin inscriptions in Termessos, and it is not
likely that Latin was commonly spoken, although we may assume that individuals
with a Roman (military) career would have had knowledge of the language.67 Leading
Termessians often appear to have been Roman citizens, but Roman citizenship was
also spread among the rest of the population as well. As in other parts of the empire,
civitas romana also implied the adoption of Roman onomastic habits. Termessians
with Roman citizenship were of course entitled to sport the tria nomina. This would
be more or less expected – if not obligatory - on public monuments.68 It has been

64
We find these names hardly represented in the web-indices of the LGP'.
65
E.g. Schmitz (1997), various articles in Borg ed. (2004).
66
Platon (20) and Perikles (10) are particularly common among the elite familes, whose
stemmata Heberdey has constructed: TAM 3.1, Appendix 5.
67
E.g. TAM 3.1.52.
68
Holtheide (1983).
 21

suggested that the use of Roman names on funerary inscriptions was used to stipulate
tomb ownership or other arrangements that were protected by Roman law, and this
served likewise as a deliberate marker of Roman status.69 If this is so, these tomb-
owners flagged their Roman identity in two ways.

The use of Roman names in the Eastern provinces has received some
treatment. A recent study by Solin briefly lists a number Latin cognomina that were
used in Athens, Central Greece and Lydia and compared these with similar lists
drawn up by Kajanto for Rome, but as this study represents an early stage of a
research project, no major conclusions can be drawn.70 The onomastic material from
Greece has been collected by A. Rizakis and his team at the Centre for Greek and
Roman Antiquity at the Greek 'ational Research Foundation, but this rich material is
only now beginning to be explored.71 The subject has been broached for western Asia
Minor by Holtheide from the perspective of the expansion of Roman citizenship.72 He
emphasises that in the first three centuries Roman citizenship was increasingly
important for the provin cial, and with a slight delay, for the local elites as well.
Before the Constitiutio Antoniniana, the spread among the lower classes would have
been much slower, and was limited mainly to soldiers and successful athletes, both of
whom can be seen as agents of Romanisation.73 Only towards the end of the second
century can we see numbers of citizens rising steeply, until of course the Constitutio
Antoniniana established the same legal situation for all the free male inhabitants of
the Roman Empire. As most of our inscriptions date from the end of the second and
the beginning of third centuries C.E. the issue of legal privilege would be less
important.

In this chapter I am less interested, however, in the legal implications of

Roman names, and more in the way that they were used to convey Roman identity.
How did the non-native Latin speaking inhabitants of Termessos use Roman names to

69
Cf. Meyer (1990).
70
Solin (2001).
71
E.g. Rizakis (1996), Rizakis and Zoumbaki (2001), Rizakis et al. (2004).
72
Holtheide (1983).
73
Holtheide (1983) 132. For a discussion of athletes and performers as the agents of a
globalising Roman imperial culture, see van Nijf (2006).
 22

flag cultural adoption of Romanitas? Among the Roman names in Termessos, Aurelii
abound of course, but a number of Tiberii Claudii, certainly among the elite families,
indicates that Roman onomastic habits were adopted as early as the first century
C.E.74 However, onomastic Romanisation did not necessarily imply that Roman
citizens had to give up their own cultural traditions or even their own name. Greek
names (or other local names) were routinely integrated into the tria nomina. Most
Termessians with Roman citizenship had in fact a Greek cognomen, but Roman
cognomina are not trailing far behind, and we also find cognomina with a more local
character. All Roman names may be seen as an aspect of the personal identification of
a subject (or of his or her parents) with the Roman empire, but some onomastic
practices must have been intended as a more deliberate marker of personal
‘Romanisation’ than others, for instance when the referent was particularly closely
identified with the Roman centre. In this category we may place names as Agrippa,
Victoria, Italicus, Caetolinus, Corbulo, Quietus, Varus, Seneca and Faustina. In many
cases we find names of Roman origin that had been adapted to the Greek onomastic
system. 75 This suggests that Roman onomastic practices went beyond the simple
adoption of Roman names to comply with Roman legal requirements. Being Roman
was for many simply a part of life, but in many cases we may even seem to be dealing
with a strong desire to flag Roman identity.

‘Ethnic’ names

The final category that we want to investigate is that of the local names.
Termessos had a long Pisidian history, and their local language, Solymian which was
a Pisidian dialect, had a long and strong tradition. It should not come as a surprise that
there is a great number of local – epichoric – names to be found in the Termessian
material, even though some names were adjusted to Greek flexion.76 Among them we
find Armasta and Armaos (cf. Hermaios), Bekkobais, Gamodis, Kakasbos, Kendeas.
Kinnonis, Mamotasis, Masas, Moles (cf. Molianos), Morsis, Motosourgis, Nannelis,

74
Stemmata D, H, and M were headed by Tiberii Claudii. TAM 3.1, Appendix 5.
75
TAM 3.1.339 Index 2.
76
The classic survey of local onomastic traditions in Asia Minor is Zgusta (1964). A brief
survey in Neumann (1992).
 23

Oa (cf. daughter of Platon), Oples (cf, gen. Oplounos), Otanis (cf. Otanianos),
Piaterabis, and Trokondas.

The normal expectation of the process whereby subject nations of the Roman
empire accommodated their naming patterns to imperial onomastic habits, is that
vernacular speakers would first have adopted Roman names alongside their native
names, and then gradually dropped their old names. As John Adams has remarked: ‘it
may be assumed that changing names went hand in hand with changing languages.’77
Another, at first sight reasonable assumption would be that class was a determinant of
the pace of this onomastic/linguistic change. The higher classes – the order of local
councillors – would on this model be the first to be Romanised, and also the first to
shed their local names. The other classes would only gradually follow suit, and be the
last to adopt ‘foreign’ names.78

The Termessian data suggest, however, that the picture may be more complex
than this. Due to the chronological concentration of the epigraphic material it is
difficult to get a sense of the development over time, but it is obvious that by the turn
of the 2nd and 3rd centuries ethnic names had by no measure died out. So, despite a
pretty complete political Romanisation of the community (by 212 all male in
habitants would have been Roman citizens) and a gradual - but by all accounts strong
– cultural Hellenisation, its local onomastic traditions still retained currency even at
this late stage.

The class approach does not apply either, since the bearers of these names
were not limited to the lower classes. As we saw above, elite families were equally
keen to advertise their local roots as well. Moreover, we have no idea at what rate
Termessian names actually declined, or whether there had been any fluctuations or
fashions over time.

Supernomina

This picture is even further complicated by the fact that the different
onomastic traditions were mixed to a high degree. One striking manifestation of this

77
Adams (2003) 290.
78
Holtheide (1983).
 24

is the frequent use of supernomina.79 The Termessian record shows indeed a wide
variety, including a reference to a non-Termessian origin, as in the case of an
Alexandreus, or to a past as a slave (Etoimos). Heberdey lists 97 supernomina, of
which more than half (50) are clearly Greek, 15 are Roman, and 29 local.80 A small
selection suffices to show the varied choice available to the Termessians and the
effects that were achieved.

• Τιβ(ερ2α) Κλ(αυδ2α) Κ2λλη 3 κα5 Καπετωλε6να (268)

• Μ;ρ(κος) Αρ(/λιος) =ρτµων 0 κα5 Ερ(µα6ος) (60)

• -ρ(µα6ος) @ρστου 0 κα5 Aλβιος (139)

• Μ;(ρκος) Α(ρ/λιος) Οπλεσιαν ς 0 κα5 =ρχιγνης (171)

• Τροκονδας εG Αττεους 0 κα5 =ριστ νεικος (188)

• Αρ(/λιος) -ρµα6ος Αρ(τειµου) 0 κα5 Τιλλ ροβος (441)

• Αρ(/λιος) Κορκαινας Αρ(τειµου) Λουκρ2ωνος 0 κα5 Γρε6πος (561 - 662)

• ΠNιγNερλωνιςN 0 κα5 Κ,στωρ =πελλ[ο]

N (722)

• Αρηλ2α ΝεικηφοριανPN ΜNορσανδα 3 κα5 ΠNλατων5ς (623)

• Οα Μο(λεους) βG το
κα5 Γα2ου (670)

Supernomina are usually explained as the result of the incompatibility of

Roman and Greek naming systems, allowing Romanised individuals to keep using
non-Roman names, that were added to the Tria Nomina by the use of expressions
such as qui et, or in Greek variations of 0 κα5. Alternative expression include

πιλεγ µενος (called besides), whereas προχρηµατ2ζων may indicate a previous name.

79
TAM 3.1.341, Index 3.
80
TAM 3.1.341 Index 3.
 25

But the supernomen could also be employed accommodate other additions to the
traditional naming pattern such as ethnics, nicknames or signa.81 It is fair to say that
interest in these naming patterns has been dominated by a cognitive and philological
approach to this linguistic phenomenom: what is the meaning of a particular name?
And what does its occurrence tell us about linguistic developments?82

But if we shift our perspective to ‘a context in which meaning is socially

constructed by the use of language(s) within a specific culture, multiple names for
individuals make a difference.’83 Michael Aceto, whom I quote here, has studied the
phenomenon of multiple names within the context of the English-language creoles in
Hispanophone areas of the Caribbean. As in Termessos, these creoles employ
multiple names for individuals. In addition to their official Spanish name often sports
an ‘ethnic name’ that is used locally for reference and address, and that ‘defines who
members of this community are in terms of culture and ancestry’. The ethnic name
represents, therefore, an active cultural choice - not a necessity, and certainly not a
left-over from previous fashions. Leaving aside obvious differences between these
societies, the concept of ‘ethnic name’ may be useful in Termessos too.

By using these ethnic names for themselves and for their children alongside
Greek and Roman names, the Termessians behaved like onomastic code-switchers,
who could use different names for the same person in response to different social and
cultural contexts. Individuals had the choice to emphasise distinct elements of their
identity in different circumstances. Someone who may be known simply as
Trokondas in one situation, was known elsewhere as Aurelius Klaros Trokondas, 84
and an Aurelia Artemis was also known as Mauenna, the daughter of Dioteimos
Maximus.85

This element of choice is brought to the fore even more if we consider the
effect of these naming patterns on the representation of families. There is a

81
Kajanto (1967).
82
E.g. Lassère (1988), but see Colvin (2004) who presents a fascinating study of the Lycian
material.
83
Aceto (2002).
84
TAM 3.1.903.
85
TAM 3.1.309.
 26

surprisingly high degree of intra-family variation. Local names and Greek names
could alternate: even families that presented themselves as strong Philhellenes
resorted from time to time to local names. A Plato could name his daughter Oa,86 a
Socrates his son Oplon, but his grandson was called Platon;87 Corbulo could be the
son of a Tryphon, he was married to Pytheas.88A Homeros called his son Hermaos,
which is a name with Luwian roots , and the family stuck with this name for some
generations.89 Sapron’s son was called Aurelius Zotikos and his wife Kalèmera alias
Primigenia; they called their daughter Aurelia Agoraste. Sapron’s first wife, also in
the same tomb, was called Anna but was also known as Orestiane, and there was also
a foster child called Doris – the Dorian girl. 90 A man called Hermaios, the son of
Trokondas, alias Kousion, was the freedman of a Thoantianos, the son of Hermaios
and grandson of Arteimos. His wife was called Nannelis, but she was also known as
Aspasia. They shared a tomb with a woman Gailla, who was the daughter of Marcus
Aurelios Euporos.91 Such examples could easily be multiplied.

It is quite obvious that Termessian families had a wide choice, which they
seem to have exploited to the full. Naming was clearly not a passive reflection of a
pre-existing linguistic and cultural identity, but rather an active factor in the
construction - and representation - of personal and family identity in Roman
Termessos. Termessians were able to dip into a diverse onomastic pool allowing them
to emphasise their familiarity with Greek paideia, their loyalty to Rome, or their
strong local roots, just as the situation demanded. ‘Ethnic names’ were deliberately
used in addition to Greek and Roman names, to gloss any preconceived ideas about
their cultural identity by referring to an alternative cultural affiliation, but it is not
possible to state that these names were actually preferred by their users.

Whatever their linguistic identity, onomastically the Termessians behave like

code-switchers. Individuals and families were apparently able to accommodate

86
TAM 3.1,778.
87
TAM 3.1.184.
88
TAM 3.1.557.
89
TAM 3.1.446.
90
TAM 3.1.509.
91
TAM 3.1.467.
 27

different cultural traditions easily in their onomastic system. Onomastic patterns in

Termessos had their own dynamics, which shaped as much as they followed the
cultural transformation in this mountain site

Becoming Roman – staying Termessian

Cultural identity in Roman Termessos appears to have been a complex issue.

The onomastic evidence for Termessos suggests that nobody needed to be pinned
down to one single cultural tradition. This clearly shows, I think, that in Termessos
identities were multiple and in a constant state of flux. Every Termessian could
present himself as a composite of cultural affiliations and attachments, and although
there may have been a certain hierarchy among the elements that made up individual
identities, that hierarchy was not immutable, and it could change with time and
context. Their cultural identity was manifold and could not really be
compartmentalised.

My final question is how we should rate the significance of the cultural

phenomenon that we have just observed. Termessians were Greek, as well as Roman,
and Pisidian to boot, and this defies any easy attempt at categorising them. It is
tempting to explain away this blend of attributes as a local peculiarity of a remote and
backward mountain town. It is important, therefore to emphasise that multiple
identities, and indeed a strong fascination with their own past may not have been
unique to the Termessians. Throughout the Roman empire we find in the course of the
first three centuries C.E. evidence for an increasing interest in the local past. Although
anti-Roman feelings may occasionally have played a part, it is striking that throughout
the Mediterranean ‘global’ and local themes were more often mixed to produce a new
blend of a provincial Roman society.92

92
The most dramatic example of tension between Roman and local identities is of course the
Jewish revolt. It should no be forgotten, however, that in the diaspora Jews were often more or less
fully integrated in local society. On the relationship between Jews and Romans, one should now
consult the masterly analysis in Goodman (2007). In Termessos one Jewish woman is known, she was
called Artemeis, which was a name that referred both to the Greek and Pisidian cultural spheres. Her
father was called M. Aurelios Keês, son of Hermaos II. Again a mixture of Greek, Roman, and local
traditions (TAM 3.1.448).
 28

Cemeteries were among the prime locations where such negotiations between
the local and the imperial were acted out. David Mattingly has recently shown in a
study on family tombs in North African Ghirza how Roman iconography and style
were appropriated to serve an indigenous agenda.93 Egyptian mummy portraits
represent members of the local elites as Roman citizens, or Greek athletes, while
adhering to a marked Egyptian style. And tomb types and other funerary practices in
Roman Lycia maintained the funerary styles of the Lycians of the 4th century
B.C.E.94 It is an irony of ancient globalisation under the aegis of Rome that an
obvious orientation towards the imperial centre also appears to have fostered a
growing interest in the local.95 It may be suggested that the most striking example of
this empire-wide cultural trend was the Second Sophistic, which seems to have turned
Greeks - and would-be Greeks - into nostalgic classicists. It has been common to
explain this fashion solely as the result of the interaction of strong Greek cultural
tradition with the then realities of Roman domination, but perhaps this was but the
most vociferous example of a trend that we can observe throughout the empire of
provincials returning to really ‘local’ cultural roots in order to create for themselves a
place in the imperial present. At any rate, the situation in Termessos may have been
less exotic than it seemed: on the contrary Termessians were sharing in what we
might call an empire-wide ‘age of nostalgia.’

Conclusion

I have looked at the cemeteries of Termessos as a source of local knowledge

and I have tried to explore some of the ways that identity politics were played out in

93
Mattingly (2003).
94
My observations here are based more on a personal impression of the material, and a cursory
look at some studies, than on systematic research. To address this issue in any depth would require the
context of an interdisciplinary research project. Until then, see for a discussion of the Lycian material
Hülden (2006), esp. 216-217, and for the Egyptian material, Riggs (2002).
95
For a different and inspirational discussion of Roman ways of reclaiming the past for the
present, see the work of Susan Alcock, and esp. Alcock (2002). Globalisation tends to be used in the
economic sphere, but it can also be applied to the cultural field. This has been convincingly argued by
Chris Bayly in his study of what he calls ‘archaic globalisation’, Bayly (2002). I have adopted this
concept (as ‘ancient globalisation’) in van Nijf (2006).
 29

this remote city, high up in the Pisidian mountains. I have identified a few key-issues
around which the Termessians constructed their identities. Status or distinction was a
common theme, and I have argued that the funerary display helped to underwrite the
social hierarchy of the community, but I have also argued that the emphasis was
different than in the city centre. Wealth and social networks were much more in
evidence than the individual’s place within formal political hierarchies. Termessian
identity was closely bound up with family identity, certainly for the members of elite
families whose status depended i.a. on their success in conveying an image of
themselves as standing in a long family tradition. A peculiar feature of the Termessian
epigraphy, an obsession for what I have called genealogical bookkeeping, visible both
on the epitaphs and on honorific inscriptions of the city centre, can also be explained
against the background of political oligarchisation and social hierarchisation which
was a feature of civic life throughout the Roman empire. Finally, I have argued that
the Termessians were able to identify themselves in various and complex ways as
belonging to different cultural traditions. We cannot ask them, but I suspect that they
would not have been able to answer unequivocally what their overarching identity
was: Roman, Greek or Anatolian? But they might not have cared: as they were
Termessians, they were all of these things at the same time, and many other things
besides.96

96
It is relevant to quote in this context Amin Malouf, a French writer of Christian Lebanese
extraction: «Depuis que j'ai quitté le Liban pour m'installer en France, que de fois m'a-t-on demandé,
avec les meilleures intentions du monde, si je me sentais ‘plutôt français’ ou ‘plutôt libanais’. Je
réponds invariablement : ‘L'un et l'autre !’ Non par quelque souci d'équilibre ou d'équité, mais parce
qu'en répondant différemment, je mentirais. Ce qui fait que je suis moi-même et pas un autre, c'est que
je suis ainsi à la lisière de deux pays, de deux ou trois langues, de plusieurs traditions culturelles. C'est
cela mon identité...». Malouf (1998).