A. Chaniotis, Unveiling Emotions (2012)

HABES
Heidelberger Althistorische Beitrage und Epigraphische Studien
Herausgegeben von Angelos Chaniotis und Christian Witschel.
Beirat: Francois Berard (Lyon), Anthony R. Birley (Vindolanda/

Friedberg), Kostas Buraselis (Athen), Lucas de Blois (Nijmegen),
Segolene Demougin (Paris), Elio Lo Cascio (Rom), Mischa Meier
(Tubingen), Elizabeth Meyer (Charlottsville), Silvio Panciera (Rom),
Michael Peachin (New York), Henk Versnel (Leiden) und Martin
Zimmermann (Miinchen).
Band 52
Unveiling Emotions
Sources and Methods for the Study of Emotions
in the Greek World
Edited by Angelos Chaniotis
Franz Steiner Verlag

Umschlagabbildung: Photography by Miguel Drake McLaughlin.
Aquila Theatre. Euripides, Herakles 2012. Michelle Vasquez as Megara. Directed
by Desiree Sanchez, translated by Peter Meineck.
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ISBN 9783515-10226 1
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Preface................................................................................................................... ..
Introduction.......................................................................................................... 1 j
Angelos Chaniotis
Part One: Sources................................................................................................ 37
Emotions and papyri: insights into the theatre of human experience

in antiquity..................................................................................................... 39
C hrysi Kotsifou
Moving stones: the study of emotions in Greek inscriptions.............................. 91

Angelos Chaniotis
Emotions and archaeologicalsources: a methodological introduction................. 131

J ane M asseglia
Beyond the usual suspects: literary sources and the historian of emotions........151
E d Sanders
Part Two: Emotions in the interaction between mortals and gods.....................175
Dream, narrative, and the construction of hope in the ‘healing miracles’

of Epidauros.................................................................................................. 177
Paraskevi Martzavou
Constructing the fear of gods: Epigraphic evidence from sanctuaries

of Greece and Asia Minor.................................................................. 205
Angelos C haniotis
Sweet revenge: emotional factors in ‘prayers for justice’ ..................................235

Irene S alvo
Isis aretalogies, initiations, and emotions: the Isis aretalogies

as a source for the study of emotions........................................................... 267
Paraskevi Martzavou
6 Contents
Part Three: Emotions in the public space.............................................................293
Emotionality in the political culture of the Graeco-Roman East:

the role of acclamations.................................................................................295
C hristina T. K uhn
A glimpse into the world of petitions: the case of Aurelia Artemis

and her orphaned children.............................................................................. 317
C hrysi K otsifou
Make or break decisions: the archaeology of allegiance in Ephesos.................... 329

Jane M asseglia
Part Four: Emotions in interprersonal communication.......................................... 357
‘He is a liar, a bounder, and a cad’: the arousal of hostile emotions

in Attic forensic oratory................................................................................... 359
E d S anders
‘Being unable to come to you and lament and weep with you’: Grief and
condolence letters on papyrus.......................................................................... 389
C hrysi K otsifou
‘Reasons to be cheerful’: conflicting emotions in the Drunken

Old Women of Munich and Rome................................................................... 413
Jane M asseglia
Envoi......................................................................................................................431
The emotion seeks to be expressed: thoughts from a linguist’s

point of view................................................................................................... 433
M aria Theodoropoulou
Abbreviations......................................................................................................... 469
Index...................................................................................................................... 473
List of Contributors, 489

WEDDING SONG FOR AN ARCHAEOLOGIST
Anna Stavrakopoulou
‘Do I exist? you ask, and then ‘you do not ’

Kostas Karyotakis, Preveza
The tombs and the ruins,

the grave offerings and the inscriptions
have plenty to offer:
they tell us of the rulers and their rulings,
of harvests and acts of god,
of soul and flesh;
lives past, different customs, petrified loves,
words of affection that the dead had never heard,
inscribed upon demand by a craftsman
who may have filled them with spelling mistakes.
And he who is moved only by some weathered stones,
who gets a shiver from a rock more than from a breath,
why does he ask you to become an epigram so that he may read the syllables?
Why are his fingers not exploring the rough surface of bodies?
Why isn’t he intoxicated from the punch of laughter,
instead of trying to hear the whispers of emptiness?
Because his marble desire
refuses to accept that a ravaged bed
is in no way poorer than an unspoiled tomb.
Translated by Angelos Chaniotis

PREFACE
Angelos Chaniotis
This volume presents the first results of the research project ‘The Social and Cul
tural Construction of Emotions: The Greek Paradigm’ at the University of Oxford.
The project is funded with an Advanced Investigator Grant of the European Re
search Council (2009-2013).1 The title of the project may create the misleading
impression that the researchers of this project follow a particular theoretical model
- a strict social constructionism. This is not the case. This title was given to the
project in 2008, during the application process, and it reflects the project’s starting
point. As will become clear from the essays in this volume, we do not claim that
emotions and feelings are a social and cultural construct but only that their repre
sentation and manifestation in the source material that has survived from Greek
Antiquity (literary sources, papyri, inscriptions, archaeological objects) is deter
mined by cultural and social parameters. Also the terms ‘Greek paradigm’ and
‘Greek world’ may be misleading. Under these terms we do not refer to ‘Greek’
texts and images but to texts and images that come from the areas where Greeks
lived, almost never alone, and where Greek texts have been found. This broad
definition is intentional. It allows us to study the impact of cultural interaction
between the Greeks, Hellenised, and other populations on the representation of
emotions. Also the chronological range is intentionally broad: from the time of the
early epics of Homer and Hesiod to the final establishment of Christianity (early
sixth century CE). Broad also is our use of the word ‘emotion’: this term entails
both the physiological aspects of emotions and the awareness of emotion (that is,
‘feeling’).
All the chapters of the volume have been written by the project’s Research
Associates and Research Assistants. Chrysi Kotsifou (January 2009-October 2011)
was responsible for the survey of papyri; Christina Kuhn (January-September
2009), Paraskevi Martzavou (October 2009-), and Irene Salvo (January 2009-
November 2011) studied the representation of emotions in the epigraphic record;
Ed Sanders (January 2009-August 2010) examined selected literary texts; and
Jane E.A. Masseglia (nee Anderson, January 2009-September 2010) worked with
representative archaeological sources.
My research assistants in Oxford, Harriet Archer, Katherine LaFrance, Emily
Lord-Kambitsch, Jonah Rosenberg, and Katharine Waterfield, and at the Institute
for Advanced Study, Michael Anthony Fowler, assisted me in the editing of the
1 Information on the project and its publications can be found in its website: http ^/emotions.
classics.ox.ac.uk.
10 Preface
volume, proofreading chapters and correcting the English of the many contribu
tors for whom English is not a native tongue.
Early drafts of some of the chapters in this volume were presented at a work
shop in Oxford (25-27 June, 2010) and were discussed with invited respondents
representing various disciplines, to whom the authors of the volume are very
grateftil for their comments: Eleanor Dickey (University of Exeter, Classics), Ute
Frevert (Max-Planck Institute for Human Development, Berlin, History), Barbara
Kowalzig (then Royal Holloway, now New York University, Classics), Klaus
Kruger (Free University, Berlin, Art History), Robert Parker (University of Ox
ford, Classics), Luisa Passerini (University of Turin, History), Jan Plamper (Max-
Planck Institute for Human Development, Berlin, History), Lene Rubinstein
(Royal Holloway, Ancient History), and Sarah Tarlow (University o f Leicester,
Archaeology). Maria Theodoropoulou (University of Thessalonike, Linguistics),
who organised a seminar on ‘Language and Emotion’ in Oxford (1 June, 2011),
provided valuable input and agreed to write an envoi for this volume. 1 should also
warmly thank Anna Stavrakopoulou (School of Drama, Aristotle University of
Thessalonike) for allowing me to include my translation of her poem ‘Wedding
Song for an Archaeologist’ (p. 7). Peter Meineck (Aquila Theatre and New York
University) generously provided the photograph for the cover o f the volume.
I would like to express my great gratitude to the European Research Council
which made this research possible with a generous grant.
Oxford, September 2012

UNVEILING EMOTIONS IN THE GREEK WORLD
INTRODUCTION
Angelos Chaniotis
1 TURNING TO EMOTIONS
In 1971, the Society for German Language selected for the first time the ‘word of
the year’: ciufmiipfig (obstreperous). Words of the year in the last decade have
included ‘9/11’, ‘old Europe’, ‘climate catastrophe’, and ‘financial crisis’. The
word of the year 2010, announced on 27 December 2010, was a newly coined
word: Wutbiirger (‘rage-citizen’) - referring to angry protests in Germany caused
by the irrationally expensive and ecologically damaging construction of a new
railway station in Stuttgart. For the first time in forty years, the Society selected a
word that directly addresses an emotional state. The members of the committee
did not suspect that a few months later the phenomenon of the angry citizen would
dominate public life all over Europe. The Indignados, who gathered in public
squares in Spain, found imitators in other European countries, especially those
more severely affected by a combination of financial crisis and political incompe
tence. A basic emotion - anger - and its variants (indignation and rage) suddenly
emerged as a major factor in politics, hence as a motor of historical change.
Recognizing the historical dimension of such an unusually strong and global
demonstration of anger, a future historian might be tempted to speak of an ‘age
(or years) of anger’, as historians have spoken in the past of ages of anxiety and
more recently of an age of fear.12Not only historians are unable to resist the
temptation to characterise a historical period as an age dominated by a particular
emotion. Psychologists have referred to our times as an age of anxiety," and pop-
song-writers announced two decades ago the beginning of a ‘generation of love’ .3
Labels such as the above attempt to frame life in a particular time-setting by
using emotional terms. We usually pay less attention to the fact that in our world
the calendar year is articulated by means of celebrations that highlight particular
emotions. In the Western world, the year starts with rituals that highlight hope;
Valentine’s Day is dedicated to love; 9/11 has established itself as a day of sorrow,
1 ‘Age of Anxiety’: Dodds 1965; Johnson 2005. ‘Age of tear': Judt 2010; cf. Steams 2008a and
2010 .
2 E.g. Scioli and Biller 2000.
3 ‘Generation of Love’ by Masterboy, released on 16 July 1095: ‘Bovs and girls jump up and
down. | Move your body round and round! | Pump the bass up in this place! | Put a smile back
in your face! | Take control, don’t waste time! | The heat is on you’re feeling fine. | Feel the
power from above! | Call it generation of love!’
12 Angelos Chaniotis
until a few years ago an important holiday in Germany was the Volkstrauertag
(the 'People's Day of Sorrow’); Thanksgiving Day is a festival o f gratitude,
Christmas one o f joy, Easter a celebration o f hope; national holidays, typically
commemorations o f victory and success, celebrate pride; and the gay community
designates its own celebration explicitly and consciously as ‘Gay Pride’. In
addition to these days o f emotion on an annual basis, single days have often been
declared as days highlighting or stimulating a specific emotion. July 24 2010 was
a day of Joy in Palestine; in 1981, in New Zealand, the day on which a rugby
game w ith racist South Africa took place was declared to a day o f shame; in 2010,
citizens’ initiatives in Russia invited the citizens to a day of wrath. Finally in the
spring of 2011, the Spanish Indignados, inspired by the popular uprisings in the
Arabic countries, introduced the days of indignation all over Europe. But beyond
such visible and public demonstrations of emotion, every historical phenomenon -
from a war to a financial crisis and an ecological catastrophe -, every text that
might fall into the hands of a historian - from a court speech to a recipe - , and
every object of material culture - from the Parthenon to a dress - is directly or
indirectly related to emotions, either being determined by emotions, aiming to
arouse emotions, or stimulating affective memories.
Emotion penetrates life, it is there as a subtext to everything we do and say. It is reflected in
physiology, expression and behaviour; it interweaves with cognition; it fills the spaces be
tween people, interpersonally and culturally. Above all, emotion is centred internally, in sub
jective feelings. Like physical pain, emotion provides us with personal information that is
integral to our well-being or, in the extreme, to our survival.
The question, therefore, is not why historians should study emotions - they have
no choice - , but why they have not done so for the greatest part o f the 20th
century. This is not the place to survey the history o f the study o f emotions in
historical studies, or even the history o f the study o f emotions in Classics and
Ancient History; and it would require an in-depth study to fully understand the
various factors that have determined the ‘emotional’ or ‘affective turn’ that started
about three decades ago;45 such factors range from epistemological developments
to the influence of pop culture. But at least some o f the factors that are responsible
for the historians’ reservations towards the study of emotions may increase our
awareness o f methodological problems and direct our attention to specific issues.
One of the reasons for banning emotions from history has been the tendency
to dissociate emotion and cognition. However, most contemporary theories o f
emotion accept a connection between emotion and cognition, although they define
their reciprocal relations in different ways.6 According to another widespread con-
4 Strongman 21)03, 3.
5 Useful discussions Kas ten, Stedman, and /immermann 2002, 0-26; Trepp 2002; Pr/yrembel
2005, Plamper 2010, Matt 2011; Mit/er 2011 (with extensive bibliography). On the ‘emo
tional' or affective turn see also Athanasiou, llant/aroula, Yannakopoulos 2008; Frevert
200V, 184 187; f revert (ed ) 2011 (esp. her introduction). On the study of emotions as part of
historical thinking see KUsen 2008; as part of cultural history; Passerini 2008.
6 See inter aha die summary of relevant theories in Strongman 2003, 75- 99, 203 209, 211 See
also Schachter 1964. Buck 1983, l.a/arus 1984 and 1991, Leventhal and Scherer 1987;
Unveiling Emotions in the Greek World: Introduction 13
ception, emotions are ‘in people’; this approach underestimates the communica
tive and social functions of emotions and emotional display, the impact of
emotions on interpersonal relations, and the existence of ‘collective feelings’. As
emotions are also ‘between people’7 and determine the relations between people,
they are part of a historian’s task to interpret social interactions and almost every
aspect of public life.8 Phenomena that are traditionally discussed by the historian
of society and religion, such as prayer and benefaction, have interpersonal, emo
tional, and cognitive dimensions. Emotions are connected with expectancies of
reward or punishment and, consequently, they may dictate relevant actions.9 For
instance the positive emotional feedback through the fulfilment of a prayer will
lead to a process of appraisal and will ultimately enhance religious faith and moti
vate the worshiper to make a thanks-giving dedication; ancient religious feeling is
based on such reciprocity.10 If elite benefaction is received with gratitude, this will
encourage further benefactions, whereas an envious response to display of wealth
through public works will intensify social tensions. A very common stereotypical
formula in ancient decrees is the so-called ‘hortatory formula’, which explicitly
associates positive emotional feedback - the visible public display of gratitude -
with the motivation of other members of the elite, that is, with judgment and
decision-making. 11 An inscription from Eretria in honour of a certain
Theopompos, who endowed the substantial sum of 40,000 drachmas for the
purchase of olive-oil for the gymnasium, is a good example:12
In order that the people is shown to be grateful in honouring the men who distinguish them
selves in virtue and glory, so that when the good and virtuous men are honoured many others
zealously pursue the same; ... he shall be crowned with a golden crown and two bronze
statues, of which one shall be set up in the sanctuary of Artemis Amarysia in the most
Oatley and Johnson-Laird 1987; Lazarus and Smith 1988; Ellsworth 1991; Damasio 1994;
Nussbaum 2001; Roseman and Smith 2001; Konstan 2009, 22f.; Hitzer 2011, 3-5. See also
below note 21 .
7 See esp. de Rivera 1977 and de Rivera and Grinkis 1986. On emotions as a social factor see
below note 25.
8 On the communicative function of emotions from the perspective of history, see Althoff 1996,
2005, and 2006; from the perspective of psychology, see e.g. Oatley and Johnson-Laird 1987.
9 Cf. Frijda 1986,263-332.
10 Reciprocity in Greek religion: Grottanelli 1991; Parker 1998.
11 On the 'hortatory formula’ and its function see Henry 1996; McLean 2002, 22If.; Luraghi
2010,249-251; Lambert 201la, 194-197 and 201 lb, 176-178.
12 /G Xll.9.236 + Suppl. 553 (c. 100 BCE): oitox; oov Kai 6 8rjpos e\>x«Pl<rtos cpouvpxai Tipiov
xouc, ap<Tfl Kai 86£r| 8ia<ptpovxa<; av 8pa<;, £r|X<oxai xt rcoXXoi xtov opoicov yivwvxai
xipcopevcov (x t) tcov teaXcbv Kai ayaQcov dv8piov ... crce<f>a[v]<jxmi autov xpvatp axtcpdvcp
ku'i tiKocnv x«XkoT^ Sucnv, a>v tpv ptv piav axpaai tv xto itpcj) ni<; ApttptSos tfj*; Apapu-
aia<; tv xqj ejiupavtoxata) tona), rpv 8t aXXpv tv xq> yupvaoitp citiypdyavxai;- «6 8ppo<; 6
Eptxpiecov Qedftopitov ApxtSnpou aperr^ tveictv teat tt>voia«; xn^ ti^ auxovw dvaypayai
8e t 68t to ypcpiapa ei<; atpXai; Xi0iva<; 8Go Kai avaOtivai napa Ted; tiKOva<;. oitca; ck-
<pavri<; uadpxn xoiq xt noXixau; natnv vat tcov £tvcov tot*; aaptm 8ripovknv p tt too dv-
8po<; ptyaXopcptia Kai KaXoKayaQiu Kai p tou Sppou eGyapiariu tic tou^ ko X ov ^ Kai
dyu0o\)<; av 8pa<; Kai noXXoi £pXcotai yivtovtai tcov opotcov. On envy, see also pp. 374t. in
this volume.
effectively visible place, and the other in the gymnasium this decree shall be inscribed on
two stelai and dedicated near the statues, in order that the magnanimity and virtue as well as
the gratitude of the people towards the good and virtuous men becomes clearly visible to all
the citizens and to the foreigners who are in the city, so that many people zealously pursue the
same things.
However, the main obstacle for historical research on emotions has been and still
is the nature of the source material. The principle medium for the study of emo
tions in history is the text - contemporary history, which can adduce recorded
sound and images, is an exception. The linguistic aspects of feeling, expressing,
and arousing emotions are of fundamental importance for the study o f emotions in
cultural and historical studies.13 To study emotions in history means, first, to over
come the difficulty in translating emotional terms from one language to another14
or from an early phase of a language to a later one. Second, language has the
capacity not only to express but also to conceal emotions, and we intentionally
exploit this capacity in order either to enhance or to supress manifestations of
feelings.'5 In direct communication, we have other media to increase the accuracy
of the expression of feelings, such as facial expressions, raising or lowering the
voice, and body-language. And of course, unintentional physical responses
(sweating, blushing, and so on) reveal emotions that we would have liked to con
ceal. Most of these additional media of understanding or expressing emotion do
not exist in the study of written sources, especially when the historian deals with
human beings who died twenty centuries ago. Admittedly, the tone o f the voice,
mimic, and body language can be described by a contemporary witness; mimic
and gestures are also represented in art. This information is, however, filtered and
sometimes subject to conventions of representation.16 It is only in rare cases that
we find linguistic means equivalent to the raising of the voice or the use o f gestu
res, such as the repetition of the same word, the use of synonyms and metaphors,
alliteration, etc.17
But when such indicators are missing, the effort of a historian to interpret
texts as an expression of emotion resembles the effort of an opera critic to judge a
performance by watching it on a TV screen with the loudspeakers turned off and
reading the subtitles. Instead of waiting for the invention of a time machine in
order to study emotions in the time of the Reformation, the Black Plague, the
Crusades, or the Persian Wars, historians, for the largest part the 20th century,
regarded emotions as a subject that should not concern them. Except for sporadic
13 On language and emotion see the chapter by Maria Theodoropoulou in this volume (pp. 433-
46 k) and below note 32.
14 Konatan 2009, 16 I or this problem in connection with Latin terms of emotions, see Raster
2005; see also pp l6Kf and 374 in this volume.
15 Buytcdjik 1950
16 See e.g. Latemer 2009, on the different functions fulfilled by the description of tears and
crying in (neck historiography.
17 For a few examples see pp. 6H and 112 (repetition), 112 (alliteration), and 113 (metaphors
and melonyrm) in this volume. On the gesture of veiling and its connection with the display
of gnef hee ( aims 2009
attempts to introduce emotions to historical research, it is since the 80s that an

increasing number of historians, especially historians interested in the history of
society and mentalities in Mediaeval Europe and in the modem Western world,
turned their attention to emotions (see note 5). The study of emotions is now
becoming a thriving field of research also in Classics and Ancient History.’8
The term ‘history of emotions’ (Emotionsgeschichte, histoire des emotions),
which is used in historical studies, might be somewhat misleading. Do emotions
as complex neurobiological processes have a history? For instance, have the phy
siological aspects of fear changed in the last thirty thousand years or so? This is a
matter of controversy and it is beyond the competence of the historian to deter
mine this with the tools of his profession. But even if emotions might not have a
history, history certainly has emotions. The historian’s task is to examine the very
diverse significance of emotions in society and culture in their broadest defini
tions (including religion, law, politics, etc.), both diachronically and synchroni-
cally. The historian’s sources always have an emotional background: they are the
product of emotions; they aim to arouse emotions; they describe feelings; or they
use emotions in order to explain individual or group decisions and actions. To
approach this emotional background is not an easy task; but the historian who
choses to ignore it, misses an important part of the sources’ context.
Not only history has emotions; also feelings, that is, the perception of emo
tions,1819 have historical dimensions. How emotion is defined and how individual
emotions and their causes are perceived differ from culture to culture.20 Beyond
their neurobiological origin, emotions entail processes of appraisal,21 which de
pend not only on individual proclivities but also on social and cultural norms. And
as emotions heavily influence social relations and the behaviour of individuals
and groups, they are socially relevant and, consequently, subject to scrutiny, judg
ment, and normative intervention (see note 24). As a social phenomenon emotions
fulfil social functions and follow social rules.22 As such they are potentially sub
ject to change and are shaped by the society in which they operate. From simple
recommendations prescribing emotions (‘boys don’t cry’,23 ‘rejoice!’) to legal
interventions (e.g., amnesty), and from training methods for restraining anger or
fear to philosophical and religious teachings concerning desire, hope, or compas
sion, emotions are continually subject not only to conscious social interventions,
18 Recent studies: Harris 2001; Braund and Most (eds.) 2003; Konstan and Rutter (eds.) 2003;
MacMullen 2003; Rubinstein 2004; Raster 2005; Sternberg (ed.) 2005; Konstan 2006; Fitz
gerald (ed.) 2007; Cairns 2008, 2009, and 2011; Suter (ed.) 2008; Sanders 2008; Fogen (ed.)
2009; Bouvier 2011; Meineek 2011; Munteanu (ed.) 2011; Viano 2011. Cf. notes 50 and 54.
19 On the differentiation between emotion and feeling see Damasio 1994, 127-163.
20 Russell 1991, Konstan 2009, esp. 6, 20, and 25; cf. Shweder 1993; Steams 2008b.
21 E.g. Frijda 1986, esp. 194f., 268f., 432—436; Lazarus and Smith 1988; Ellsworth 1991; Frijda
1993, 382; Damasio 1994, esp. 165-201,245-251; Scherer. Shorr, and Johnstone (eds.) 2001;
Clore and Ortony 2008.
22 See above note 7 and below note 25. See e.g. Averill and Nunley 1988. on grief and the ways
it creates privileges for the grieving party, imposes restrictions and obligations on it. and is
connected w ith requirements.
23 Shamir and Travis (eds.) 2002.
but also to influences of cultural change beyond the control o f social agents.24 The
perception of and responses to emotions are to a great extent socially and
culturally determined - sometimes socially and culturally constructed and as
such their evolution responds to changes in society and culture.25 For instance, the
fear of death and emotional responses to the loss o f loved ones (grief, hope for life
after death, pride in self-sacrifice, relief at the escape from the pains o f life, etc.)
depend on factors such as eschatological beliefs, philosophical ideas about life
and the human condition, ritual performances, normative restrictions on mourning
and the display of grief, concepts of self-sacrifice (‘sacred w ar’), and the quality
o f life. The religious fear of polluted and polluting things (death, menstrual blood,
types of food, etc.), disgust, and feeling of privacy are all to a great extent
constructs of social, ethnic, and cultural groups, consequently subject to subtle
differentiations and changes. And o f course, emotions are influenced by specific
historical experiences, such as the impact o f civil war on friendship, o f HIV on
(homo)sexual desire, of terrorism on tolerance, of global warming on hope for the
future o f mankind, of reality shows on the display o f emotions.
It is, therefore, beyond controversy that the socially and culturally constructed
environment, in which emotions are generated, has a history. The historians, the
historians o f literature, and the art historians cannot directly study neurobiological
processes; only in some well documented cases they may have immediate access
to psychological reactions. But they do have access to the external stimuli that
generated emotions. They also have information concerning the various factors
that determine the manifestation of emotions, their linguistic expression, their
control and display, their use in communication, and their use as a strategy o f
persuasion. These factors, ranging from social norms, religious beliefs, and
philosophical ideas to gender, age, and education, and from hierarchical relations
to the concrete context of communication, are socially and culturally determined
and, consequently, they have a history. The starting point for the study o f em o
tions in historical disciplines that only have indirect and filtered access to em o
tions - and ancient history is one of them - is the study o f those param eters that
influence the manifestations of emotions in texts and images. Knowledge o f these
parameters can establish a reliable basis for a departure to more com plex and
fascinating endeavours, such as the exploration o f how em otions and their
perception develop over time.26
24 On emotion management see e.g. Hochschild 1990; Heise and O ’Brien 1993; for a useful
overview see Strongman 2003, 168-171. On affect control (anger) see Stears and Steams
1986 and Harris 2001 See also below note 28.
25 On the social aspects in the study of emotions see Kemper 1978, 1991, and 1993; Averill
1982, Henzm 1984, Oatley and Johnson-Laird 1987; Greenwood 1992; the contributions in
the volumes edited by Harr6 (ed.) 1986 and Harri and Parrott (eds.) 1996; Oatley 1993; John-
Kin-Laird and Oatley 2000 Fischer and Manstead 2008; Stets and t urner 2008.
26 Konstan 2009, Frcvert 2009,202 207.
This is, therefore, what historians study when they say that they study emo
tions.27 They study for instance how societies and groups create emotional norms
and make their members regard the display of certain feelings (for instance pride)
as acceptable, discriminating others (for instance grief or fear);28 how groups of
different size and character - an army, a community of worshippers, a political
party, a family, a nation, a professional association, members of the same gender
or age-class and so on - may define themselves as emotional communities;"9 how
the perception of one particular emotion changes over time,30 or which specific
significance it has in one particular period;31 how language, itself a cultural con
struct, influences feeling; 2 how the manifestation of emotions in a particular
society may be connected with a repertoire of actions and expressions (‘emotional
scripts’);33 how emotions can be used in the mobilisation of larger groups;34 how
under certain conditions a particular ‘emotional climate’ or an ‘emotional style’
characterise a specific historical context;35 how social control is enhanced through
arousal of different emotions in different periods;36 how strong emotional experi
ences shape social and religious norms;37 the functions of emotional display in
27 On themes and approaches in the ‘history of emotions’ see Hitzer 2011, 11-45, with
emphasis on modem history.
28 See especially Steams and Steams 1985; cf. Reddy 2001 and his concept of ‘emotional
regime’. From the perspective of psychology, see Buck 1983 (emotional education). See also
above note 24 on the management of emotion.
29 On ‘emotional communities’ see esp. Rosenwein 2006; see also Chaniotis 2011 and pp. 76-
81 and 195f. in this volume.
30 E.g. the studies of Delumeau 1978, 1983, and 1989, on various aspects of collective fear in
mediaeval and early modem Europe; Steams 1989, on the development of jealousy in
American culture; Menninghaus 2002, on the changing perceptions of disgust; Bowman 2006
and Speitkamp 2010, on a history of honour.
31 E.g. Camporesi 1990, on the fear of Hell in early modem Europe; Steams 1994, on ‘coolness’
in US culture in the 20th century; Frevert 1995, on honour and the culture of duelling in the
19th century; Glassner 1999. on fear in modem American culture; Ambroise-Rendu, Delporte,
Dumasy, and Artiaga 2008, on indignation in political culture and social morality of the 19th
and 20th centuries; Greiner, Muler, and Walter (eds.) 2009, on fear in the period of the Cold
War; Passerini 2009, on concepts of love in European culture of the 20th century-.
32 Reddy 2001. Cf. Davitz 1969; Trepp 2002, 88f.; Strongman 2003, 290; see also pp 433—170
in this volume (with bibliography).
33 Raster 2005; cf. p. 375 in this volume.
34 E.g. Goodwin, Jasper, and Polletta (eds.) 2001 and Gould 2009, on emotions and social
movements; Klimd and Malte (eds.) 2006, on emotions jn totalitarian regimes. Cf. Aschmann
(ed.) 2005 (emotion in politics in the 19th and 20th centuries); Ciompi and Endert 2011
(collective emotions in politics in the 20th and 21st centuries); Bormann, Freiberger, and
Michel (eds.) 2010 (fear in international politics).
35 On the concept of ‘emotional climate’ see de Rivera 1992 (but w ith reference to social con
texts); see also above notes 1 and 2. On ‘emotional style' see Steams 1994 and Reddy 2008;
the concept of ‘emotional style’ is also used to characterise the relationship between space
and emotion; see the contributions in Gammerl 2012.
36 See e.g. Demos 1996, on the change from social control through shame to social control
through guilt in New England ( 17th- 19th centuries).
37 E.g. Chaniotis 2010 (on emotions and religious norms).
public and social life, in different social and cultural spaces, and on different
occasions - in the court and in the popular assembly, during a festival and the
performance of a ritual, within the family, in the context o f economic activities, in
diplomatic negotiations and so on; how emotions operate as a ‘persuasion
strategy’, for instance in the asymmetrical relations between mortals and gods,
elite and masses, masters and slaves, kings and cities; what impact diverse
external factors such as exile, invasion, political strife, colonisation, war, m ulti
cultural environments, technological development, epidemics, natural catastro
phes etc. have on emotions;38 how social change - e.g., the increased or limited
visibility o f women in public life, changes in their socialisation, and the social
goals assigned to them - and the interaction between different genders, age-
classes, and social groups shapes emotional behaviour;39 how different emotions
are attached to social roles and functions; how the projection o f human emotions
on to the gods - or, in Classical Antiquity, the personification and worship o f
emotions (indignation/Nemesis, fear/Phobos, love/Eros; cf. p. 155 in this volume)
- reveals attitudes toward and perceptions o f emotions; how em otions are
provoked or enhanced through ‘staging’ and conscious placem ent in spatial and
architectural frameworks (processional streets, courts, religious, m ilitary, and
funerary architecture) or ‘emotional styles’;40 how em otions becom e a subject o f
ethnic stereotyping and are reflected in naming practices; how one em otion is
consciously aroused in opposition to another - for instance how hope o f and
gratitude for benefactions outbalances the envy for a wealthy citizen, or how grief
for a loss may be overcome through anger; how the character o f a literary genre or
a type of document determines if, which, and how em otions will be represented.
The tasks of the ancient historians and the questions that they ask do not
essentially differ from the tasks and questions o f historians o f other periods, but
their source material has specific features as regards availability, diffusion over
time and space, and reliability. In the case o f Ancient History, the prim ary m e
dium for the study of emotions is the text. With the exception o f the early Greek
documents in the Linear B script (roughly in the fourteenth and thirteenth centu
ries BCE), written evidence continually exists from the eighth century BCE on
wards. Images and material remains are invaluable, but for the historical periods
for which we have written evidence it is principally with the help o f texts that we
can place objects of art and other material remains in cultural and social contexts
and understand the conventions that determined their production (see pp. 131 —
150). Information directly or indirectly concerning em otions, their description,
appraisal, control, display, and arousal is found in almost every genre o f Greek
literature and science, in inscriptions, and in papyri.
3K F g., on the impact of technology on fear see Kerner 1997.

39 On gender and emotion see Shamir and Travis (eds.) 2002; Strongman 2003, 227-231; Brody
and Hall 2008; Borutta and Verheyen (eds.) 2010; Dutsch and Konstan 2011; Flick and
Homurtg (eds ) 2011 .
40 On ‘emotional styles’ in this context see above note 35. On architecture and space see pp.
329 355 in this volume.
A modem text, written by a journalist, may exemplify the problems ancient

historians face and the questions they ask when they attempt to understand the
emotional background and the emotive impact of texts.
2 READING TEXTS, UNDERSTANDING THE DISPLAY OF EMOTIONS
While I was flying from London to Frankfurt on June 9, 2010, an article in the
Independent caught my eye: “ ‘No Drama, Obama” style of leadership is no match
for this crisis.’ The article, written by Rupert Cornwell, commented on President
Obama’s response to the BP spill in the Gulf of Mexico:
For America, measuring the extent of Barack Obama’s anger at BP over the Gulf crisis has
become almost as important as measuring the extent of the spill itself. But on one thing every
one is agreed: while the latter is far too high, the former remains too low. Try as he may to
ratchet up the public show of fury, a President celebrated for his cool demeanour never seems
to do enough. As the weeks since the 20 April disaster passed, the questions multiplied. Did
he truly understand how much damage was being done? Did he really care? ... Yesterday, Mr
Obama used his heaviest rhetorical artillery yet. ... ‘ 1 don't sit around just talking to experts
because this is a college seminar; we talk to these folks because they potentially have the best
answers, so I know whose ass to kick.’ The assumption that this ass in question belonged to
BP sent the company's stock tumbling another 5 per cent yesterday. Whether such bar-room
language persuades Americans his outrage has finally reached the appropriate level is another
matter. From the start, Mr. Obama has struggled to match his perceived emotions to those of
the country. ‘Just plug the damn hole,’ he is said to have fumed to aides, a month into the
spill. But that did not suffice. So last week he upped the public exasperation. ‘1 am furious at
the entire situation,’ he told the CNN host Larry King in an interview. But ‘if jumping up and
down and screaming could fix a hole in the ocean, we'd have done that five or six weeks
ago.’ But exactly what form did the presidential anger take, reporters wanted to know. How,
for instance, did Robert Gibbs know that his boss was, as the White House spokesman
claimed, ‘enraged’ by the disaster? The reply alas was less than convincing. Mr Obama had
been ‘in meetings - clenched jaw - even in the midst of these briefings, saying everything has
to be done’. The problem of course is that histrionics is not the Obama way. Bill Clinton was
the acknowledged master of empathy; indeed, the single thing that put his presidency back on
course after the November 1994 mid-term defeat was his response to the Oklahoma City
bombing five months later. Mr Clinton’s words of grief and compassion, anger and resolve,
articulated exactly how' his compatriots felt. ... Implicitly, it [this crisis] saps at his authority
every day, violating the assumption that the man in the Oval Office is omnipotent. Whatever
his loathing of BP, this President knows he is dependent on the company - and a foreign
company at that - to solve the crisis. The country is fearful, indignant and frustrated at its
impotence, in a mood to lash out at those responsible, even though mere lashing out will
change nothing. The reports of BP’s alleged negligence, its readiness to sidestep safety rules,
only add to the rage. Some of that rage will be vented next week when Mr Hayward is hauled
before a House committee in public session to answer for his sins. For Mr Obama, however, it
is harder. He tries to articulate the national exasperation. But fierce emotional words, and the
instant gratification they bring, are not his preferred way - and however hard he tries, it
shows. The Obama method is a withering fury, steeped in sarcasm. ... But for Mr Obama the
dilemma remains. The ‘No Drama, Obama’ style that worked so well on the campaign trail is
no match for this crisis. Presidents are expected to work miracles. No miracle can right the
damage already done.
A comparison between this article and the source material commonly exploited by
ancient historians, classicists, and archaeologists allows some reflections on the
study of emotions, what it means, what it can achieve, and what it cannot.
First, we observe a tension between what an individual declares that he feels -
Obama is quoted: I am furious at the entire situation’ - and how this is perceived
by others. Can declarations of what one feels be regarded as genuine expressions
of emotion? The phrase 'language persuades’ rather implies that the function of
language is not only to express one’s feelings but also to control the thoughts of
others. And even when one is telling the truth about what one feels or has felt in
the past, choosing to do so in one case and to conceal a feeling in another is part
of a strategy of communication, whose understanding requires the knowledge of
context. Two examples, one from the early Reformation Age, the second from
antiquity, illustrate this. Anna Biischler, the daughter of the Burgermeister of
Schwabisch Hall in the early sixteenth century, was involved in a decades-long
legal conflict with her father and later with her siblings due to her disinheritance -
a result of her love affairs. Most of her correspondence with her lover Erasmus of
Limburg is preserved.41 Anna writes in a letter on 14 August, 1522:42
My humble, obedient, and kindest greeting, most darlingly gracious sir. I am letting your
grace know that I went crazy [in your absence] and was unable to do virtually anything. As
your grace thinks that we are in the same situation, 1 am letting your grace know that my
father is now away and won’t return before St. Michael’s Day or later. So I leave it to your
grace to act. ...
If we know that Anna was angry at her lover’s behaviour when writing this letter,
it is only because we have Erasmus’ letter to which she was responding. Her de
claration of affection (‘1 went crazy and was unable to do virtually anything’) is a
mockery of what Erasmus wrote (‘1 went crazy [while 1 was away from you] and
was unable to do virtually anything’); by inviting him to visit her during her
father’s absence Anna was rejecting his invitation to go to his house during his
father’s absence (‘as I see from my father’s posted orders that he departs today
and won’t be back for two weeks or more, 1 am letting you know it so that you
can come to me when you wish’, was what Erasmus wrote). Placed in the context
of a complex interaction between two individuals and viewed as part o f a cor
respondence, an individual’s direct expression of affection appears as part of a
strategy of communication. Chrysi Kotsifou presents a very similar case in her
introduction to the representation of emotions in papyri (pp. 39 -41).
The second example concerns the unexpected admittance of fear by a civic
community in ancient Greece. A decree o f Ephesos composed towards the end the
war between the Romans and King Mithridates VI (c. 86 BCE) summarizes the
first phase of the war as follows:43
4 1 Study of the correspondence and the affair: ()/ment 1997.

42 O/rnent 1997,64f,
43 / fiphesos H: MidpuftatT)? Kunn«8otci[u<; (iumX.eu<; napaâ; td<; n)po<; 'Ptopavoui; avv0fi-
Kut ouvayoY<»|v t a ; Ovvopn; xTUXupnlaev tcvpux; yfvecrOxxi the; pr|0EV eaxmoi
nptj\af]K(/hm\c /<»paj( mxi repoKO.ta/.ujionfvoq tat; npotcnpivat; up£>v nolêu; arcdtlfl,
The king of Kappadokia Mithridates violated the treaties with the Romans, collected his
armed forces, attempted to occupy land that did not belong to him at all, occupied first our
neighboring cities with fraud, and also gained control of our city as well, terrifying (us) with
the magnitude of his army and the sudden attack ...
The citizens of Greek cities did not often publicly and collectively admit that they
were terrified at the sight of a foreign army. Fear is not what all the Ephesians or
even their majority felt, when Mithridates’ army approached their city - as a
matter of fact it is reported that the Ephesians (or their majority) gladly took his
side and participated in the notorious massacre on Romans and Italians. Fear is
only an excuse, an emotion displayed in this text, in order to explain why Ephesos
did not support the Romans from the very beginning of the war but only after they
started winning (see pp. 119f.).
Returning to Rupert Cornwell’s article in the Independent, we notice an
element of theatrical display in the public manifestation of emotions (‘public
show of fury’, ‘histrionics is not the Obama way’). Emotions are expressed lingui
stically, and the use of language is connected with status and social identity
(‘whether such bar-room language persuades Americans his outrage has finally
reached the appropriate level is another matter’). Emotions are also connected
with bodily responses.44 The reporters asked ‘how did Robert Gibbs know that his
boss was “enraged”’, expecting this rage to have manifested itself in a visible
manner (words, body language, facial expressions, actions). A metaphor (Obama
‘is said to have fumed’) enhances the representation of emotion (cf. pp. 112f. in
this volume).
We also notice that the display of emotions reflects different personalities.45
Obama, we are told, is ‘a President celebrated for his cool demeanour’, while
‘Clinton was the master of empathy’; ‘the Obama method is a withering fury,
steeped in sarcasm.’ Beyond an occurrent emotional state such as fear, anger, and
envy, part of the historian’s task is to study emotional attitudes of longer duration.
In the case of individuals they result from personal experiences in childhood and
personality features, in the case of groups from education and social and cultural
values. Ed Sanders (pp. 15If.) comments on a passage in Thucydides, in which
the ancient historian characterises the differences between the Spartans and the
Athenians in terms of different emotional attitudes.46
A central theme of Rupert Cornwell’s article is that emotions are subject to
conscious manipulation and control, especially when audiences are involved or a
discrepancy between individual and public emotions is felt. The journalist claims
that Obama ‘struggled to match his perceived emotions to those of the country’,
fKpaniorv xai tf>^ nurrepa^ noXea*; NraTajrA.T)^dpevo<; Iran) te nA.f)0ei uov Suvapraiv sal
ton (xrcpoa8oKT|Tun t% ertiPoAijs. Discussion: Chaniotis 2012.
44 For an elaborate study of the corporeal dimension of emotions see Gould 2004, 1-47, who
developed the notion of ‘emotional habitus’. On emotion and facial expression, see also
Ekman 1482, and 1442; Matsumoto et al. 2008. See also p. 134 in this volume.
45 See Strongman 2003, 223-226,
46 Cultural neuroscience examines the impact of cultural parameters on the brain. See
http://culturalneuroscience.wordpress.com.
Angelos Chaniotis
'upped the public exasperation’, and 'tries to articulate the national exasperation’.
In this case, one observes how the display of emotion evolves over a longer period
of time. Obama’s rage is not an emotion but truly an ‘emotional episode’.47 The
study of ‘emotional episodes' requires some background information, and in
ancient history this is only possible when a narrative of some sort exists, especial
ly in historiography, drama, oratory, and in a few documentary sources that con
tain or allow the reconstruction of narratives (e.g. decrees, petitions, dossiers of
letters). During such episodes, emotional display can be increased or decreased; it
can be measured (‘measuring the extent of anger’). An audience observes whether
the President's ‘outrage has finally reached the appropriate level’. Emotions are
subject to scrutiny, appraisal, and criticism.
Without addressing this subject directly, the article implies that the display of
emotion is connected with status and authority. When a crisis violated ‘the as
sumption that the man in the Oval Office is omnipotent’, display of rage con
nected with actions (‘kicking asses’) expressed a position of power and superiori
ty. The material studied in this volume provides examples of such links between
status and emotion. I give here one pertinent example, an inscription from Olbia
(North Shore of the Black Sea, c. 200 BCE) which describes calculated display of
wrath by a man of power:48
When king Saitaphemes came along to the other side of the river to hold court, and the
magistrates called an assembly and reported on the presence of the king and on the fact that
the city's revenues were exhausted, Protogenes came forward and gave 900 gold pieces.
When the ambassadors, Protogenes and Aristokrates, took the money and met the king, the
king took the presents but became angry (eu; opyr)v 5e KoctaaTavTos) and broke up his
quarters [... treated?] the magistrates [unworthily? and so] the people met together and [were]
terrified (7apup[o(k>,;fj...
At a first rather superficial reading this text does not tell us anything exciting. It
tells us that when kings do not get the gift that they expect, they get angry; it tells
us that when they get angry, their subjects are afraid. Do we really need a study of
inscriptions to learn this? What is surprising in this text is not that the king was
enraged, but that the author of the decree of a nominally free and autonomous city
chose to mention it. As the display of rage seen from the king’s perspective ex
pressed his perception of his superior position, from the perspective o f the Olbian
author of this text, to mention the king’s anger was an admittance o f a position of
dependency and subordination. By making this admittance, he aimed to maximize
the gratitude of the citizens for the man who saved them in that situation.
Returning to the article in The Independent, we see that emotions may lead to
actions; this is why the reporters wanted to know what form the presidential anger
took. In some cases emotional display is effective, in others it is not. Obama
observes that the manifestation of emotions does not solve a problem (‘if jumping
up and down and screaming could fix a hole in the ocean The reporter asserts
47 On the concept o f ‘emotional episode' see p. 157 in this volume.

48 IfJSPh I1 32. for a discussion sec pp. 115-119 in this volume. On the association of anger
with superiority see pp, 71 and 117 119 in this volume.
that ‘fierce emotional words bring instant gratification’, but on the other hand he
reminds the readers that ‘Clinton’s words of grief and compassion, anger and
resolve, articulated exactly how his compatriots felt’.
The journalist’s comments also address the co-existence and connection of
emotions (‘the country is fearful, indignant and frustrated’; cf. pp. 163f. in this
volume). Under certain circumstances grief may generate anger, fear, and
shame. The display of anger does not exclude the deep feeling of fear, it may be
connected with envy, or it may be a strategy to cover embarrassment or guilt. For
this reason, when emotions are studied as phenomena of social communication in
given historical contexts, they should not be studied in isolation.
Finally, a significant observation does not concern Obama’s emotions but the
article’s author. The text was not written by an American but by a British
commentator, who selected what we get to read. Clearly, the author was equally
worried about the spill in the Gulf of Mexico as he was about the stocks of a
British company (‘The assumption that this ass in question belonged to BP sent
the company’s stock tumbling another 5 per cent yesterday’). Exactly as Obama
used his emotions in a persuasion strategy addressing his fellow citizens and
attempting to become part of the ‘emotional community’ that they represented - a
community of indignation -, in the same way the commentator used Obama’s
allegedly theatrical display of emotions, in order to criticize the president.
Ultimately, this article does not deal with how Obama really felt, but with the
question of what emotions he chose to communicate to others; how his individual
display of anger was tuned to match the collective feeling of anger.
The methodological problems that we observe in the case of the article in The
Independent are far more acute, when we deal with texts and images produced
more than fifteen centuries ago. In the case of Obama’s true or theatrical anger
and of a British journalist’s comments we know dates, contexts, and persons. In
the case of the large majority of the ancient sources we do not. Principally, what
these sources allow us to study is how emotions and feelings were observed,
described, theatrically displayed, evaluated, and exploited in persuasion strategies;
and how the manifestation, display, and representation of emotions changed de
pending on context, media of communication, and emotional communities. Con
sequently, the first task of the ancient historian who studies emotions is not to un
derstand how an individual or a group felt, but which social and cultural para
meters determined the representation, display, and manifestation of emotions in
the source material. What also became clear through the analysis of the article in
The Independent is that this text cannot be properly understood if we do not take
its emotional background under consideration. Historians have to study emotions,
because emotions have shaped all the source material that they have at their
disposal. Therefore, the ancient historian does not only - perhaps not even
primarily —study texts in order to understand emotions. It is tar more urgent tor
an ancient historian to study emotions in order to understand texts.49
49 Strongman 2003, 141.

3 EXPANDING THE SOURCE MATERIAL
The ancient historian does not have at his disposal the archival material for
instance of the early modem period, the biographical information for authors and
artists of the 19th and 20th centuries, or the recordings of the 20th and 21st
century. But this disadvantage can, paradoxically, be an advantage - up to a
certain extent. If one ‘googles’ the words ‘anger in politics’, one gets 123 million
hits (April 2012); this alone can discourage any attempt to proceed to a thorough
study and eontextualisation. An ancient historian who studies the same subject has
at his disposal a few inscriptions and papyri and a few dozens of passages in
literary sources (mainly historical narratives and orations). The ancient historian
can study contexts and parameters in detail.
Aware of the problems connected with the study of emotions in Greek and
Roman antiquity, most Classicists who study emotions direct their research almost
exclusively towards the great works of literature and philosophy.50 There are very
good reasons for this. Let us take, for instance, the emotion, which I discussed in
connection with the article in The Independent: anger. The first word in European
literature is one of the Greek words for anger: menis. The main subject of the
second epic, the Odyssey, is Poseidon’s anger that prevents Odysseus’ return
home. At the other end of antiquity, in Christian Late Antiquity, the concept of
•God’s wrath’ (orge theou) is often - but not universally - applied to explain the
small and big calamities of life, from earthquakes and plagues to barbarian
invasions, as the result of sins that have caused divine wrath.51 Between the
‘angry’ beginning (the anger of a man) and the angry end of Classical antiquity
(the anger of God), various kinds of anger (anger, wrath, rage, fury, indignation
and so on) are often described, displayed, interpreted, or evaluated in the ancient
sources. It seems quite natural that the study of emotions in Ancient History was
put on a new systematic basis with a book dedicated to anger and its control,
primarily in the light of literary sources.52
As became obvious from the comments on Obama’s anger, understanding
emotions means to understand the context of the source in which they are mani
fested. The literary sources indeed offer this possibility. Achilles’ rage in the Iliad
can be studied in the context of heroic ideals and notions of honour; it is part of a
story with a beginning and an end. Medea’s rage has a cause (Jason’s betrayal)
and a socio-cultural context (the reaction of a barbarian princess away from home).
Aristotle’s discussion of anger is part of a systematic treatment of feelings in the
context of a philosophical system, which can be placed into the philosophical
trends of fourth-century Athens.53 The ef forts of ancient orators to arouse anger
(see pp. 359 387 in this volume) can be studied in the context of speeches with a
50 A adcclion ot recent studies: Sihvola and Lngberg-Pedersen 1998; Knuuttila 2004 and 2006;
tortenhaugh 2002, Graver 2007; Kristjansson 2007; Calamc 2009; Schlesier 2009. See also
note 18
51 f g Cameron 1985,42; Kaldellis 2007.
52 Hams 2001
53 K.onnan2006,41 76
concrete subject, written by orators whose names are almost always known and
about whose personality some information survives. In all these cases we are deal
ing with literary texts composed by the great minds.
Therefore, we should not be surprised if the study of emotions in Greek
antiquity has primarily been a study of literary sources and in particular a study of
epic poetry, tragedy, the orators, and the philosophers.54 Most of these texts were
composed in a single city (Athens), in a period of 150 years (c. 480-320 BCE), by
men of the elite. The value of these sources, consequently, is as undisputable as
are their limits (cf. pp. 151-173). If we go beyond Classical Athens, the over
whelming majority of literary texts originates in or refers to a few major urban
centres such as Rome, Alexandria, Rhodes, and Pergamon. Significant progress in
research on emotions in ancient Greece requires the exploitation of a larger and
more heterogeneous corpus of evidence. One of the aims of the Oxford project
‘The Social and Cultural Construction of Emotions: The Greek Paradigm ’55 and
o f this volume is to draw attention to the large variety of available sources and
their particular value. The documentary sources (papyri and inscriptions), that is,
the sources which the research team of the Oxford project primarily studies, re
present a much larger range of texts as regards content, distribution over time and
space, and representation of social groups, age-classes, and genders. Inscriptions,
papyri, and ostraka are preserved in large and continually increasing numbers.
Greek and Latin inscriptions are found in the entire ancient world, from Britain to
Afghanistan and from the Black Sea to Ethiopia. Similarly, the chronological
distribution of the relevant epigraphic and papyrological material is extremely
broad. We have inscriptions from the eighth century BCE to the sixth century CE
and Greek and demotic papyri and ostraka for the entire period in which Egypt
was integrated into the Hellenised world and the Roman (and early Byzantine)
Empire, from the late fourth century BCE to the seventh century CE; for the late
periods we also have Coptic texts. The broad thematic range, dissemination in
space, and distribution in time make inscriptions and papyri an excellent source
for a comprehensive study of the socio-cultural aspects and role of emotions, in
particular in connection with developments triggered by new religions (e.g., Chri
stianity )56 and the contacts between different ethnic groups (Greeks, the native
populations o f Anatolia, Romans, Jews, Egyptians, Persians, etc.).
The first four chapters of this volume provide overviews of the source ma
terial, not in the form of lists of authors and works but with references to the main
categories o f papyri and inscriptions as well as to selected literary and archaeo
logical sources. The authors of these chapters sketch the questions and problems
connected with each type o f source material. The papyri, to which the overview
by Chrysi kotsifou (pp. 39 89) is devoted, have hitherto hardly been studied in
connection with the emotions. As Kotsifou explains, this material is of great value
54 See above notes 18 and 50. See also Ed Sanders’ overview in this volume (pp 151-173).
55 Eor the project’s aims see http://emotions.classics.o\.ac.uk.
56 See e.g. tiemunden 2004; Stroumsa 2004. See also the remarks of Chrysi Kotsitou in this
volume (pp. 48, 55-57, and 65),
because o f the very diverse content o f papyri (e.g., wet-nursing contracts,

marriage contracts and divorce documents, wills, letters, petitions, dream
accounts); because of the uniqueness o f some genres (e.g. petitions or texts
concerning children); and because o f the existence of private archives, which
allow a researcher to study the development o f emotions - or rather, the develop
ment and changes of the display o f emotions by the same individual, sometimes in
one and the same affair. Kotsifou also explains how the genres o f papyri and the
formulaic language which is associated with each of them (e.g., petitions, wet-
nursing contracts, or letters o f condolence) determine the different manners in
which emotions will be displayed. The abundance o f the material and its often
stereotypical character permits the study of questions directly concerning the
historical aspects of emotions: how specific emotions seem to be more predomi
nant or how they are specifically addressed in certain historical periods; how
factors such as the emergence o f a new religion (Christianity), a cultural
development (the spread or decline of literacy and education), a social institution
(the use o f professional scribes), status, and gender influence the representation o f
emotions in texts. For instance Kotsifou observes that in Late Antique, possibly
because of Christianity’s reluctance to encourage divorce, petitions for divorce
had to present plausible justifications. For this reason, they record more sensa
tional details of abuse and emotional pleas for assistance than earlier examples.
An important methodological issue is connected with the utilisation o f formularies
or standardised phrases in many papyri. Taking into consideration this practice,
one can study how the use o f formulaic language or divergence from it (cf. pp.
11 Of.), and the choice of a specific vocabulary determine the communication o f
emotion, at times concealing feelings and at times enhancing their display. As
papyri were produced in order to serve interpersonal communication, they are an
important source for the study o f how emotional communities were constructed
and expressed. With the occasional vivid descriptions o f human responses, papyri,
especially petitions, also contribute to the study of the corporeal expression o f
emotions.
Inscriptions, whose relevance for the history o f emotions is summarized by
me (pp 91 128), differ from the papyri inasmuch as their geographical and
chronological distribution is much wider; a more significant difference is the
monumentality o f most inscriptions, the fact that the texts were inscribed in public
spaces in order to be visible. For this reason, the emotional and emotive aspects o f
inscriptions require the careful study o f contexts: the space, the form o f the
monument, the images that decorate it, and the ritual context o f the reading o f an
inscription. Dedications and praises o f the goddess Isis (pp. 205 235 and 267 -291)
are good examples for this sort of context. Other methodological issues connected
with the study of inscriptions are very similar to those faced by the student of
papyri, especially the use of stereotypical formulations. Because of their function
in public communication, inscriptions particularly contribute to the study o f how
the display of emotions worked as a strategy o f persuasion and which linguistic
media were used in order to create emotional communities among the readers o f
Unveiling Emotions in the CJreek World: Introduction 27
inscribed texts. The representation of two emotions, anger and fear, in public
decrees illustrates the potential of inscriptions in the study of emotions.
Unlike papyri and inscriptions, some categories of literary sources -
philosophical treatises, epic, dramatic, and lyric poetry, oratory, and novels - have
attracted substantial attention in the context of the study of emotions in the Greek
world (see note 18). Ed Sanders’ introduction to the study of emotions in literary
sources (pp. 151-173) gives a sense of the huge range of ancient Greek literary
sources relevant to the study of emotions. The specific value of literary sources
can be seen in the fact that we have information on their authors - which we
usually lack in the case of inscriptions and papyri and in the fact that literary
texts are usually longer than inscriptions and papyri, providing a reasonably wide
narrative context. Of course, serious methodological issues arise from the fictional
character of many literary texts, but as Sanders points out, even fiction can de
monstrate for instance the influnce of place (e.g., courtroom, procession, festival,
street, agora etc.) on the social acceptability of emotional expression. Because of
the importance of oratory, historiography, and biography for historical studies,
Sanders focuses on the potential and the problems connected with the study of
these genres. He identifies as a major subject for future investigation the extent to
which Greek historians, biographers, orators, and philosophers explain decisions
and historical facts by ascribing them to emotional motivation.
The archaeological material is extremely heterogeneous, ranging from images
to organised space and a variety of material remains - human bones, or objects of
everyday use. For this reason, it confronts the student of emotions with specific
methodological and interpretative problems summarised by Jane Masseglia (pp.
125-144). As Masseglia points out, to avoid archaeological evidence because of
the multiple interpretations that the material evidence often allows is a far greater
loss than the potential harm in misinterpreting it. The methodological approach
recommended by her consists in the joint study of archaeological remains w ith
textual evidence, whenever possible, and with any other contextual information;
the collation and comparison of similar archaeological phenomena; the applica
tion of models derived from multi-ethnic and diachronic observations of human
behaviour; the identification of the emotional communities in which or for which
an archaeological object is created. Using these approaches the researcher can
study emotional responses to physicality, image, and use.
A joint problem in most of the manifestations of emotions in the sources is
that we are dealing with products o f ‘filtering’, dramatisations, and diverse modi
fications. The selected case studies explored in the remaining chapters of this
book illustrate some of the problems connected with the study of the source
material. A common theme is the study of emotions in contexts of communication:
between humans and gods; in interpersonal relations; and in public spaces.
4 STUDYING EMOTIONS. UNDERSTANDING TEXTS AND IMAGES:

EMOTIONS IN THE CONTEXT OF COMMUNICATION
As becomes clear from the selection of questions that historians ask in connection
with emotions in history, emotions can only be studied in clearly defined contexts.
In many cases the source material allows such a study, for instance in the context
of political discourse in Hellenistic Athens as it is reflected in decrees; in the
specific historical contexts of the raids of Celtic tribes in the third century BCE or
the Mithndatic Wars in the early first century BCE; in the villages and sanctuaries
of Lydia and Phrygia in the second and third centuries CE; in Oxyrhynchus in
Roman Egypt; in Aphrodisias in Late Antiquity, and so on.57 In Ancient History,
the need to study emotions in contexts of communication is dictated by the textual
material itself, which either originates in or serves as communication. This applies
to all the major sources: orations, letters, drama, historiography, decrees, dedica
tions, epitaphs, curses, prayers, letters, and petitions. The importance of emotion
in communication and interaction has often been stressed in pertinent research. As
has been pointed out, emotion communicates information about intentions and
probable behaviour.58 For this reason, the case studies selected for presentation in
this volume highlight the importance of emotional manifestation and display in
three different contexts of communication.
One section of the volume is dedicated to the part played by emotions in the
interaction between mortals and gods. The authors of this section deal with a
variety of emotions and perceptions - fear, hope, gratitude, anger - as they are
reflected in different categories of inscriptions: the healing miracles o f Epidauros,
eulogies of the Egyptian goddess Isis Caretalogies ’), cult regulations, dedications,
records of divine punishment, imprecations, and ‘prayers for justice’ in epitaphs.
Paraskevi Martzavou (pp. 177-204) explores how a collection of healing miracles
in Epidauros was carefully composed in order to channel the feelings of the
worshippers who sought cure in a particular direction: The texts established
confidence in Asklepios’ power, justified hope for a cure, and urged the worship
pers to feel and express gratitude. The authors of this collection achieved this
through narrative devices and linguistic media. Martzavou’s study shows that
inscriptions need to be studied as texts which were the result of composition and
linguistic elaboration, and at the same time monuments. My own contribution (pp.
205-234) goes along the same lines, focusing on a different genre of religious
epigraphy (dedications) and on a different emotion (fear). I explain how a variety
of inscriptions set up in sanctuaries and often connected with rituals that took
place in sanctuaries constructed a particular image of the divinities: the image of
powerful gods who see everything, reward piety, and punish transgressions. In
scriptions that combined texts and images promoted the fear of gods, especially
57 See e g pp, 107 and I 19f for the period of the Mithndatic Wars; pp. 45f., 54-57, 60--68, 72,
73 75 for Roman and Late Antique Oxyrhynchus, pp. 215-227 for the villages of Lydia and
Phrygia
SH Strongman 2003,67.
when the reading of the inscriptions and the viewing o f the images were
embedded in rituals. The anger of humans for injustice that they had suffered and
their wish for revenge is the subject of Irene Salvo’s chapter (pp, 235-266). Com
munication is the main theme of her study. The texts on which she focuses,
imprecations set up in cemeteries and sanctuaries, informed the human commu
nity of an act of injustice, challenged the gods to demonstrate their punishing
power, and assured the deceased victims that they were to expect retaliation. By
writing and publicly displaying these texts, their authors on the one hand
communicated their feelings and on the other brought closure in a situation of
conflict. This section of the book closes with Paraskevi Martzavou’s analysis o f a
particular group of texts, the praises (aretalogies) o f Isis (pp. 267-291). These
compositions show how emotional arousal - gratitude and hope - contributed to
shaping the profile of the goddess and strengthened the faith of the worshippers.
The close analysis of the formulations used in the aretalogies suggests that these
texts, which were probably intended for public performance during initiation
rituals, emotionally prepared the initiate to anticipate a change o f his fate through
divine grace.
Three essays in the next section examine emotions at work in the public space.
Christina Kuhn introduces the political acclamations into the discussion o f emo
tional arousal and emotional display in the Greek cities (pp. 295-316). Although
acclamations have a long tradition in political culture and religious rituals, their
recording is primarily attested in the Imperial period. Acclamations insinuated
unanimity, urged people to join others in ad hoc emotional communities - for
instance communities of hope or pride and exercised strong psychological
pressure on assembled crowds. Their prominence in the specific historical context
o f the Imperial period invites Kuhn to associate them with the political culture in
the urban centres o f the Roman East and an increased emotionalisation in the
Imperial period. As she argues, acclamations were an important tool in the
political communication between civic elites and the people, and in the complex
process by which competitive elites secured the support o f majorities. In the next
chapter Chrysi Kotsifou studies a petition by a widow in late-third-century Egypt
(pp. 317-327). Know ledge o f the social position and life o f the petitioner, Aurelia
Artemis, permits Kotsifou to study her persuasion strategies for the arousal o f pity
in close connection with her gender and her status. Jane Masseglia addresses a
very complex and difficult subject: can we recognize and reconstruct the emotive
and emotional background o f material evidence? As a case study she selected the
city o f Ephesos, which provides representative source material and allows longue
duree studies. Focusing on the dedication o f statues and construction in public
space (pp. 329-355), she suggests that the association o f images and buildings
with specific individuals determined the emotional connotations that they ac
quired.
Finally, three essays in the volume’s last section are concerned with the role
o f emotions in interpersonal communication. Ed Sanders examines a particularly
well-documented phenomenon: the arousal o f hostile emotions in Attic forensic
oratory (pp. 359-387). What emerges from his study o f typical emotive strategies
30 Angelos Ohaniotis
in courtroom speeches is that the arousal o f emotions exploits a certain value

system - that of the Athenian demos. Chrysi Kotsifou turns our attention toward a
group of papyri that are directly connected with the expression and control of
emotions: letters of condolence (pp. 389-4II). These letters follow certain
traditional conventions but at the same time give their authors the possibility,
through the choice of words, to articulate individual feelings. Because o f the
influence of cultural developments and different philosophical and religious ideas
on the composition of condolence letters, the study of these texts is o f paradigma
tic value for how the manifestation of emotions can be culturally determined. Jane
Masseglia studies one of the best known sculptures of the Hellenistic period: the
Old Drunk Woman (pp. 413-430). Critically reviewing various attempts to
interpret the emotional background of this image - what emotions it is supposed
to represent, what emotions potential viewers might understand, and what
emotions the statue might have aroused in them - Masseglia presents a very
instructive example of the difficulties in interpreting emotions in ancient
iconography.
The volume closes with a study by the linguist Maria Theodoropoulou (pp.
433-468), who presents an insightful approach to the relationship between lan
guage and emotional experience, adducing the results of the current interdiscipli
nary dialogue on emotions. Taking the constitutive connection between emotion
and the body as her starting point, Theodoropoulou argues that metaphor, meto
nymy. and their interaction are the linguistic areas par excellence, where the sub
ject strives to break through the barriers of generalisation and abstraction imposed
by literality and to express the immediacy of his/her experience. As Theodoro
poulou argues, the metaphor within metonymy is also the linguistic space wherein
pre-linguistic experiences unconsciously emerge; this view supports a perception
of language as an interweaving of the social and the subjective. Referring to
phenomena discussed in this volume, such as the significance of detailed nar
ratives or the use of acoustic and visual signs, she highlights the interlacement and
the tension between the subjective and the cultural, thus pointing to the importan
ce of a dialogue between cognitive linguistics and ancient studies in the study of
emotion.
The remarks in this introduction and in the following chapters hopefully
demonstrate the complex methodological problems faced by historians when
trying to approach emotions in antiquity. We can hardly stress enough how com
plex the subject is and how much information of great relevance has been lost. For
instance, we only have indirect access to oral narratives; we hardly ever have
comments on images and only limited information on emotional responses to
them;* reports on emotional arousal through sound are of anecdotal character;5960
and the study of how emotions develop in the lifespan of an individual is not
possible The image on the cover of this volume, showing Michelle Vasquez as
59 Prwux 2011
60 See, eg anecdote* about Alexander the (ireat’s responses to music: Plutarch. M oral in 335a;
I>k) Chrysostom I I 2 See Chaniohs 2009, 78
Megara in the 2012 production of Euripides’ Herakles!’’ can be understood as an

allegory of these difficulties. Despite its fixed expression, the theatrical mask
possessed the ability to communicate different emotions, as Peter Meineck has
shown by exploiting the findings of recent research in the neurosciences for the
study of how masks work in ancient and modern productions of drama.6 1626
3When
combined with gestures, body language, and text, even such a seemingly im
movable medium of representation can permit the communication of different
emotional states to an audience and enhance the audience’s empathy. Similarly,
another abstract medium of communication, language, entails endless possibilities
o f emotional expression and arousal and challenges us to detect them in ancient
texts. This image, by alluding to the combination of text, mask, body language,
and gesture, reminds us of the need for a holistic approach to emotions in ancient
studies - holistic as regards the exploitation of source material, the methods, the
approaches, and the exchange with other disciplines. I have selected a poem by
Anna Stavrakopoulou (p. 7) as the volume’s epigraph to remind us of the need to
combine scholarship with passion and experience.
A few years ago HSBC launched a smart advertisement of its services. The ad
shows images, which may arouse different responses because they are embedded
in different experiences .6 The image of the newlyweds is accompanied by words
starting with the same letter: Fate, Fear, Fairy tale (one could think of several
other F-words, such as frustration, future, family, fulfilment, fertility, and so on).
The image o f a carpet is defined as decoration, souvenir, and place of prayer.
Pointing to the heterogeneity o f experiences and approaches, the bank’s motto is:
what we learn from one customer helps us better serve another. This is what histo
rians do, in general; this is what they also do when they study emotions. What we
learn about emotions in one culture and one historical period helps us understand
another and sharpens our critical mind.
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P A R T ONE
Sources
EMOTIONS AND PAPYRI
Insights into the Theatre o f Human Experience in Antiquity
Chrysi Kotsifou
1 INTRODUCTION*
Paniskos, to my wife Ploutogenia, mother of my daughter, very many greetings. First I pray
daily for your good health in the presence of all the gods. I would have you know then, sister,
that we have been staying in Koptos near your sister and her children, so that you may not be
grieved about coming to Koptos; for your kinsfolk are here. And just as you desire above all
to greet her with many greetings, so she prays daily to the gods desiring to greet you along
with your mother. So when you have received this letter of mine make your preparations in
order that you may come at once whenever 1 send for you. And when you come, bring ten
shearing of wool, six jars of olives, four jars of honeyed wine, and my shield, the new one
only, and my helmet. Bring also my lances. Bring also the fittings of the tent. If you find an
opportunity, come here with good men. Let Nonnos come with you. Bring all our clothes
when you come. When you come, bring your gold ornaments, but do not wear them on the
boat. Salute my lady daughter Heliodora. Hernias salutes you both. Deliver to my wife and
my daughter, from Paniskos, her father.
Paniskos to his wife and his daughter, many greetings. Before all else 1 pray before the lord
god that I may receive you and my daughter in good health. Already 1 have written you a
second letter that you might come to me, and you have not come. If, then, you do not wish to
come, write me a reply. Bring my shield, the new one, and my helmet and five lances and the
fittings of the tent. And you wrote to me: ‘1 sent to Heraiskos (?)...’ and 1 gave [a talent] to
Antoninos, in order that he may pay it to you: so do not neglect. ... So if you have the
materials for clothing bring and cut them here. I send many salutations to my daughter and to
your mother and those who love us, by name. I pray for your welfare. Pauni 22.
(Postscript:) And you wrote to me that you took twenty[-three?] shields; but Tammon, none
of them. Temnas has stayed below. 1 salute you.
Deliver to my wife, from Paniskos in the house of Par[- -].
Paniskos to Ploutogenia, his wife, greetings. I exhorted you when 1 left that you should not go
off to your home, and yet you went. If you wish anything, you do it, without taking account
o f me. But 1 know that my mother does these things. See, 1have sent you three letters and you
have not written me even one. If you do not wish to come up to me, no one forces you. These
1 The author is very grateful to Prof. James Keenan for his insightful comments regarding this
chapter.
2 P.Mich. Ill 214.
3 P. Mich. Ill 216.
Chrysi Kotsifou 40
letters I have written to you because your sister compels me here to write. But since you find
it impossible to write about this matter, then write other things about yourself. I have heard
other things which are not connected with you. Send me my helmet and my shield and five
lances and my breastplate and my belt. I salute your mother Heliodora. The letter carrier said
to me when he came to me: ‘When I was on the point of departing I said to your wife and her
mother. “Give me a letter to take to Paniskos,” and they did not give it.’ I have sent you one
talent by Antomnos from Psinestes. I pray for your welfare. To Ploutogenia, my [w ife---- ].4
Between 297 ad 298 CE, over the course of about six months, a certain Paniskos,
resident in Koptos in the Thebaid (Egypt), corresponded with his wife, Plouto
genia, who was in Philadelphia in the Fayum. In the three letters quoted above, he
repeatedly asks her to join him. In the first letter Paniskos asks Ploutogenia to join
him in Koptos. In order to make her feel as comfortable as possible, he notes that
he has been staying close to her sister and children. In his letter he claims both
that he is longing for his wife and expresses Ploutogenia’s sister affectionate de
sire to see her as soon as possible. Both of them pray to the gods every day on her
behalf. Paniskos also notes his great concern for her safety during her trip. We
observe another small display of Paniskos’ affection in the opening of the letter,
when he addresses Ploutogenia not only as his wife but also as the ‘mother of my
daughter’. Notably, Paniskos wishes that Ploutogenia bring with her some of their
household goods, including parts of his military gear. This letter does not reveal
any uncertainty on Paniskos’ part that his wife might not act according to his in
structions. He writes, for example, ‘Once you have received this letter of mine, do
whatever is necessary so that, whenever I send for you, you may come imme
diately. ’
Eventually, Paniskos sent a third letter to his wife - the second one has not
survived - urging her to join him and to bring their daughter. He repeats his wish
that Ploutogenia bring him his military gear. This communication still displays
Paniskos’ eagerness to have his family close to him, but now his surprise and ir
ritation can also be detected in the wording of the letter: Paniskos seems at a loss
that his wife has not only not moved to Koptos, but also has not even written a
single letter to him despite his repeated invitations. He notes, ‘Already I have
written you a second letter that you might come to me, and you have not come. If,
in fact, you do not want to come, write back to me.’ The fact that Paniskos still
appears hopeful at this stage is illuminated by his comment that she should bring
him his military gear.
In hts fourth letter, Paniskos is completely resigned that Ploutogenia will not
join him. Thus, while the first two letters are surprisingly moderate in emotional
content, this letter resonates dissatisfaction. Firstly, this is the only letter in which
Paniskos does not mention at the very beginning his prayers to the gods for his
4 /'.Mich. Ill 217 All abbreviations of papyri are according to the Checklist o f Editions of
Greek. Latin. Demotic and Coptic Papyri, Ostraca and Tablets at http://scriptorium.lib. duke,
edu/papyrus/tcxts/clist papyri html. I he translations of the previously cited papyri are
adapted from Rowlandson IW 8, nos III, 112, and 113 respectively.
Emotions and Papyri: Insights into the Theatre of Human Experience in Antiquity 41
wife’s good health. Secondly, he accuses her of going to her own house despite
his explicit wish against it. Then he adds that she has not written to him, even
though he has already sent her three letters regarding her coming, and he con
cludes, ‘if you do not want to come up to me, no one is forcing you’. More im
portantly, he saves face by claiming that he keeps sending her letters only because
her sister is forcing him to.5 His resignation to Ploutogenia’s disregard of his
wishes is highlighted by one of his closing comments, when he asks her to ‘send’
him his military gear, not to ‘bring it’, as he had requested in his earlier letters.
Finally, the extent of his distress about his wife’s behaviour is also revealed by the
irregular structure of this letter. After having expressed his views, Paniskos starts
to conclude his letter with the customary salutations (‘l salute your mother Helio-
dora’). But then he abruptly interrupts this salutation to return to his complaints
and harshly tells her of the messenger’s word for word account of her refusing to
send him a letter.
As was just demonstrated, documents on papyrus often express, display, and
use emotions. This chapter will offer an overview of the available papyrological
data that relate to the study of the social and cultural factors that determine the
representation of emotions in Hellenistic and Roman Egypt. The material spans
the Hellenistic period to Late Antiquity and its provenance is all of Egypt, both
urban and rural areas.6 The chapter will examine the various types of papyri; the
kind of information one can expect to find in each of them; and the questions that
are relevant to this specific corpus of material. Letters, petitions,7 wills, contracts,
legal proceedings, magical papyri, oracle questions - to name but a few - origi
nate in emotionally loaded situations and may describe the ways people dealt with
them. Undoubtedly, papyri come ‘straight from the theatre of human experience’8
and offer a direct contact with the ancient world and its people, at the level of eve
ryday life and business.9 In addition, papyri highlight aspects of the daily life of
the masses10 and often preserve the voices of women. Furthermore, besides the
narration in these documents and the information it contains about emotions, the
5 An amusing parallel can be found in P.Oxy. L1X 3994 (Oxyrhynchus, early third century CE):
A suspicious husband, Kalokairos, writes to Euphrosyne asking her to find out what his wife
is doing, since she would not write to him and is in possession of all the property which he
owned. He makes his aggravation, displeasure, and disinterest blatantly obvious by remarking
in his letter, 'Not that I care about her, but all that I possess is under her control.’
6 In order to fully demonstrate this point, the provenance and date of each papyrus sited w ill be
provided, when possible.
7 For the latest scholarship on letters on papyrus, see Evans 1997; Bagnall and Cribiore 2006;
Hutchinson 2007; Papathomas 2007; Vandorpe 2008; Clarysse 2009. For petitions: Feissel
and Gascou 2004; Bryen 2008; Keenan 2008; Palme 2009; Stavnanopoulou 2012. Plame
2009, 377, notes that petitions to officials are the commonest type of record except tax
receipts. More than a thousand such documents survive.
8 Palme 2007; Worp 2009, 171. Verhoogt 2009 also notes the ways private letters provide a
‘human’ entry into the world of antiquity.
9 Waddell 1932, 2; Trapp 2003, 8.
10 Keenan 2008, 178f., with particular interest in petitions.
Chrysi Kotsifou 42
study of the actual creation of these documents as a social practice can yield illu
minating insights into their cultural background and the emotional communities11
involved in their conception. Scholars have often stressed this aspect in the past,
particularly in relation to letters and petitions.12
In what is to follow, I will focus on the features of papyri that are most perti
nent to the study of emotions and on the several ways that papyri can distinctively
clarify the representation of them. I will also examine the possible problems that
this type o f material can pose regarding the interpretation and understanding of
emotions.
A question that should be posed from the very beginning is whether papyri are
representative only of Egypt, and consequently, whether the insight they offer into
emotions concerns only the communities of Greek and Roman Egypt.13 Scholars
in the past have been rather sceptical about the applicability of the data from
Egyptian papyri to the rest of Mediterranean society. Nonetheless, these concerns
have been convincingly grappled with and assuaged. Roger Bagnali, for example,
notes: 14
We now have papyri in Greek, Latin, Hebrew, Aramaic, Syriac, and other languages from
various parts of the Near East, including Negev (Nessana), or the Dead Sea Region, the
Middle Euphrates valley, and Arabia. ... Ostraca have been found in Libya and the Dead Sea
... Even if the existence of extensive written documentation outside of Egypt is admitted,
however, one may ask how normal either the documentary practices or the institutions and
society revealed by papyri are. These questions are much harder, but recent work has tended
to suggest the differences in documentary practices were relatively small, with a wide zone of
commonality visible at least within the Greek-writing part of the Mediterranean.
Despite the extremely fragmentary condition of the said papyri, we can still get
some glimpses of attitudes towards emotions by people outside the Egyptian land.
Two letters and a petition are revealing: a letter from Masada (Palestina) is written
by a man called Abaskantos, a name that clearly indicates the fear people had of
the evil eye (baskanos).15 In the seventh century CE a man from Nessana des
cribes in a letter that he is organising a group to descend in a body in Gaza and
complain about heavy taxation and request relief. The writer notes that the taxa
tion so far had caused many people serious distress.16 Finally, the documents of
Babatha and her orphaned son from Maosa (Arabia) are revealing o f this phe
nomenon. Babatha’s petitions to the governor are concerned mainly about the
11 I use here the term ‘emotional community’ as it has been developed by Rosenwein 2002 and
200b
12 For letters: Barton and Hall 1999, I; Trapp 2003, 5; Verhoogt 2009. For petitions: Bryen
2008 Also see Frankfurter 2006, 56 58, who stresses the social setting of magical papyri and
bow they offer us an insight o f ‘a culture of competition, envy, and recrimination’.
13 Keenan 2007, 227, further alerts us to the possibility of papyrological data not being equally
representative of all of Egypt.
14 Bagnall 1995,101 , Hickey 2009, 500.
15 /' Masada 741 SB XXIV 15988 (73 or 74 < F)
16 I* Ness 75 (late seventh century ( I )
guardian of her son and his misconduct.17 They expose that the worries this
mother had for the future of her child were exactly the same as the ones women in
Egypt shared and were even expressed in a similar manner.
2 DIVERSE GENRES, DIVERSE EMOTIONAL REPRESENTATIONS
Understandably, the nature of a source influences the presence and representation

of a specific emotion or whether an emotion is expressed at all. Not all papyri
mention or relate to emotions in the same degree. For example, because of their
small size, ostraca (fragments of clay pots used for writing) can only accommo
date very short texts. Consequently, they can only contain limited information
about the sentiments of any given individual. Additionally, the more formulaic the
documents are, the less they contribute to this discussion. Thus, sale and rent
documents are completely void of any reference or allusion to emotions - al
though they may well originate in emotions (fear of violation of a contract, for
example). The layout of invitations to public and private functions is formulaic as
well.18 Nonetheless, other types of papyri such as wet-nursing contracts, marriage
contracts, and even work contracts can often indirectly refer to emotions or make
unexpected allusions to them: in an unusual marriage contract, among her other
duties, a woman agrees not to poison her husband when she prepares his food and
drinks.19 This contract obviously addresses the husband’s fears more than it ex
presses the wife’s care and love for him. In another marriage document, drawn
after the consummation of marriage and after the bride was found to be a virgin,
the man makes uncommon reference to emotions, such as the phrase ‘Lately in
accordance with friendly and peaceful disposition, I joined myself to your Propri
ety by a giving in legal marriage ,..’20
In a document concerning a loan, we learn of the story of a man who had
pawned his younger daughter due to his abject poverty. Then, once his daughter
Prokla reached fifteen years of age, her sister Martha pawned her to a new more
favourable master, until she could pay off the rest of her debt. This contract attests
to the bonds between the two sisters, with the elder one trying anything in her
power to improve the life of her younger sister in the absence of their father. She
17 For example, P.YaJin 13 (124 CE). In general, for Babatha and her dossier o f documents,
w ith some new editions of texts, see Cotton IW 3; Chiusi 2005: Hanson 2005a.
18 For a publication o f some such standard texts, see P.Oxy. LXV1 4539-4543. The introduction
o f P. Yale I 85 contains useful general remarks on invitations and their layout. See also Palme
2009,363.
19 PS/ I 64 (Oxyrhynchus, first century BCE). Cf. Row landson 1998, no. 255. For marriage
contracts in general, see Rupprecht 1998 and Yitlach-Firanko 2003.
20 P.Cair.Masp. Ill 67310 + P.Lond. V 1711 (Antmoopolis. 566-573 CE). Cf. Rowlandson
1998,no. 155.
Chrysi Kotsifou 44
explicitly states with vivid language that the reason for changing the master of her
sister was because she wished to redeem Prokla who ‘was being overworked’.212
Interestingly, wet-nursing contracts^ are a set o f documents that can indicate
either affection or disinterest towards another human being. These documents
concern the care of freeborn, slave, and exposed children.23 For example, in a con
tract regarding a freeborn child24 the parents quite exceptionally explain that they
need the services of a wet-nurse because the mother fell ill and her milk was no
longer of good quality. This unique clause might indicate the affection and care
that was felt by this family towards both the mother and the child; or it might hint
at some guilt on behalf of the mother for not being able to fulfil her duties. In
three contracts from Alexandria (30-13 BCE),25 the name o f all three slave-
children who are to be breast-fed is Agalmation ( ‘the statuette’).26 On the one
hand, the choice of such a particular name could be a sign o f affection for the
child; on the other hand the fact that it seems to be a common name for slave girls
in Alexandria in that period may diminish its emotional undertones. The lack of
emotional attachment to these slave girls is further illustrated by another clause in
one of these contracts,27 which stipulates that if the child dies while in the care of
the wet-nurse, the latter is responsible to find another child and hand her over to
her employer.
2.1 Wills
Despite their standardised layout, wills, marriage contracts, oracles, and dream
accounts can still present noteworthy insights into the role o f emotions particu
larly in a familial milieu. In will documents on papyrus,28 em otions rarely feature.
Katherine G. Evans notes that although people rem em bered their friends in their
devotions to the gods, they did not remember them in their wills. People were
more likely to bequeath friends responsibilities than material goods.29 On a gen
eral note, the testator might relate his wish that his or her body be taken care of by
his family members. Gaius Longinus Kastor, for exam ple, stipulates that ‘1 wish
21 P.CollYoutie 11 92 (Antinoopolis, 596 CE): (kivkopevTi dvakuTpwoaoQou xr|v eghv Karano-

voupivnv dde/uphv.
22 Masaardiand Montevecchi 1982 and 1984 (= C.Pap.Gr. I).
23 Masciardi and Montevecchi 1984, 10-12.
24 C Pap Gr 110 - BGUIV 1109 (Alexandria, 5 BCE).
25 C PapGr 3,4, and 11, BGUIV 1153, 1058, and 1110, respectively.
26 Notably, Agalmation is only attested in these three papyri, and it is also extremely rare in the
epigraphic material.
27 C Pap Gr I 4. On the possible emotional attachment of women to slave girls, see Chaniotis
2009,58 60.
28 Montevecchi 1935; (hamplm 1991.
29 Evans 1997,192f In PBoJl I 47 (Hemnopolis?, c. 535 CE), a woman becomes a heiress only
if she maintains a hospital. The author of this document feels so strongly and worries about
this point so much that he/she repeals this clause in the will again and again. It is actually the
main body and concern of this will.
my body to be carried out and wrapped by the care and piety of my heirs’.30 In the
same period, inscriptions also place an emotional importance on the personal in
volvement of friends and relatives in the funerary ceremonies of their loved
ones.31 At the most minimal level, an individual addressed his family members in
his will in affectionate terms. This is what Aurelius Hermogenes does, when he
refers to his children and heirs as ‘my five sweetest children.’32 Furthermore, in
wills preserved in papyri, we observe that a testator refers to emotion mainly
when he needs to justify his choice of people he left goods with or excluded from
his document.33 In certain cases the testator explains that he bequeaths parts of his
property to an individual due to the latter’s affections and good treatment of the
testator.34 In a second-century CE will, the testator starts his stipulations by
conferring freedom upon five of his slaves ‘in consequence of their goodwill and
affection’.35 He also notes that he leaves various possessions to his wife because
she was ‘well-disposed and showing entire faithfulness’ towards him. Additional
ly, a certain Ammonia uses the form of the donatio mortis causa to leave equal
shares of her fullery to her two sons. She justifies her action by referring to her
sons’ good treatment of her.36
Since you, Dionysios, have for a long time since the death of your father remained with me,
your mother, and have worked at the fulling trade and have not abandoned me but have
treated me kindly, I acknowledge ...
Notably, in several cases the composer of the will specifies that he was extremely
content with the support and attention he received during his old age and/or time
of illness. In a Latin will, a woman inherits from her husband because of her toils
when she nursed him in his final illness. He specifies that3738
1 give and delegate to Lucretia Octavia, my wife, who has laboured much during the course o f
my illness, 5V2 iugera of land in w heat...
In another document a man bequeaths his property to his wife because he wants to
thank her greatly for her acts of kindness (euergesia) and her care during his old
age (gerokomia)}%
30 B G U 1 326 (Karanis. 189-194 CE). Cf. Rowlandson 1998, no. 139.

3 1 Chaniotis 2006, 220-222 for several examples and analysis.
32 P Oxy VI 907 (276 CE): y X w in a x a UKva pou. Cf. Evans Grubbs 2002, 249.
33 Montevecchi 1935, 105.
34 For example, P.O xy . 111 490 and 492 (124 and 130 CE).
35 P.Oxy. Ill 494 (156 CE). For the various ways slaves feature in wills, see Montevecchi 1935,
96 f.
36 P.Coll.Youtie II 83 (Oxyrhynchus, 353 CE). Cf. Rowlandson 1998, no. 217. Similar senti
ments are also expressed in P.Oxy. XXVII 2472 (third century CE), and in P.Munch. I 8 (Sye-
ne, c. 540 CE). In the latter text a woman notes her contentment w ith her son and heir who
took care o f her, never upsetting her either by deeds or words tOaknoucnis x ai empcAoupe-
vr|<; poo Kai ev ouSevi nconote Aonriodcniv; pe epyip x ai Adyip).
37 P.Diog. 10 (Ptolemais Euergetis, 2 1 1 CE). Cf. Rowlandson 1998.no.270.
38 SPP I S. 6 -7 (Antinoe, 480 CE).
Chrysi Kotsifou 46
At the same time disappointment, resentment, and open hate can also feature
in wills.39 As Edward Champlin notes, ‘children could always find ways o f upset
ting parents, from getting divorced to taking bribes, and even the innocent could
fall to the wiles of a wicked stepmother.’40 Strong emotions usually led to
disinheritance and strong-minded clauses in one’s will.41 Eustorgis unambigu
ously states in her w ill that she has suffered in the hands o f her daughter-in-law.
Thus, she leaves instructions that her daughter-in-law is not to get anything o f her
property. She is not even to have access to her house using the false pretext of
caring for her deceased husband’s body.42 Paham, a monk at the mountain of
Jeme, expresses in his Coptic will his distinct displeasure and disappointment in
his eldest son Papnute. The latter had married against his father’s wishes and bet
ter judgement. So eventually the monk showed no pity to his son when Papnute
found out that his bride was not a virgin. Paham repeatedly mentions in his will
his grief, sadness, quarrels, and deceit.43 Neglect o f someone during an illness also
constitutes a reason for discontent in wills.44 However, no text expresses a father’s
discontent, hatred, and vengeance as strongly as a disinheritance document from
sixth-century CE Antinoopolis 45 Parts of it read:46
39 Montevecchi 1935, 105.

40 Champlin 1991,107.
41 In P.Oxy. XXII 2342 (102 CE), Pasion petitions the authorities because his dead partner’s
wife is deceiving him in a business affair. Pasion’s document is filled with harsh words re
garding Berenike’s actions. His frustration and anger also show w hen he bad-mouths his de
ceased partner’s children for negligence of their duty. He makes a point of noting that due to
their appalling behaviour, their father had disinherited them. Cf. Rowlandson 1998, no. 210.
42 P Lips 29 (Hermopolis, 295 CE). Cf. Rowlandson 1998, no. 145 Similar emotions are also
expressed in inscriptions, as in I.Beroia 445 (fourth to fifth centuries CE): a woman is so
angry that her daughters did not contribute at all at the expenses of building a tomb, so she
leaves strict instructions that none of them is to be buried there; otherwise they will have to
pay a hefty fine to the church of Beroia. 1 am thankful to Angelos Chaniotis for this reference.
43 KRU (fl (eighth century CE). Cf. Rowlandson 1998, no. 158.
44 PStrasb II 122 (Arsinoite nome, 161-169 CE).
45 P.Cmr Masp III 67353 v (Antinoopolis, 569 CE). Translation and discussion o f the legal
aspects of this document in Urbanik 2008. Similar feelings of vengeance and disappointment
can also be found in P.Ups. 8 (Panopolis, sixth century CE), a prayer for justice by a father
against hts daughter, see Bjorck 1938.
46 ... icai xodxo Stunepnopm xoi$ naxpoXooT<; poo uioT<; eaiq ovopaxoq icai povou, <pr)g! Sri
Aiovvaia »cui Juxiwfl xai naiAivfl icai Av5pea xoI$ anopoXipaion; ... oiopevoq edpciv
dpd; $or\Hod^ ev artum icui yripoKopovi; icai {moxoucxucovx; kou d7tTpc6oo<;‘ etc xe xcov evav-
xuuv ev t^Xuc'uf yeyevnoBe dvxinuXot poi tb$ ica'i peyaipoi ox; etc ne(pa<; eaxov xf|v aonXay-
-/vov dpdrv jiaxpoKxaoiav icu'i u0ext]XiKT|v yvwpriv, e<p’ oxt voaoPapf|<; eyevdpnv nap’ dptdv
... Jtoidxpxi M/i noooxnxi uno nokoxctadi; pejcpi dooapvou evot; teal ivoq 6(ioA,ov>, ri pn to
u.ko vopoiv xonoiBr v pdvov ipaA-KiSiov r^xoi 8o)6eicdxr|v poipav too dpdiv dxXfipou • icui odx
tyjv h i dpiv tod CoinoO ovopdaai pc <i)$ itaxepa, oaov icai tym dpon; dnexaâpriv xai
iftkLxtfyxiiijv WU) tod vdv kui eni xov del arcuvxa 7tavxcA.rj xpdvov tl>^ d7to|ioA.ipaf
ou; koi vdGotx; Kot OuWur/npovui; ... KopaKo[ip(noiav yeveoBai xai dppax(op\>£iav
xodxoy tod tpdxou dpuc, nopo/apdxxoj pr(8ev Xf|pi|m0 0 a i pijxe pr|v 8odvat ditep epod
ntpidvxcx; xe t) k«'i BvijoKovTot,, 6id xd epoi op06x; icai 6ncauo<; 8e86x0ai ...
... And this I transmit to my parricidal children, though children in name only, Uionysia and
loannes and Pauline and Andreas, the outcast ones ... thinking to find you helpful in all
things, a comfort to my old age, submissive and obedient, and on the contrary you in your
prime have set yourselves against me like ravenous things, as I learnt through experience of
your heartless parricidal conduct and lawless disposition, seeing that I fell grievously ill
through you ... in every quantity, from costly things down to one as and one obol, excepting
only the Falcidia prescribed by law or the twelfth part of your intestate inheritance, and it is
no longer lawful for you in future to call me father, inasmuch as I reject and abhor you from
now to the utter end of all succeeding time as outcasts and bastards and lower than slaves ...
for ravens to devour the flesh and peck out the eyes, in this manner I debar you from receiv
ing or giving anything on my behalf, whether I be alive or dead, because I have rightly and
justly thus resolved ...
Understandably, Jacob Urbanik stresses that when reading this document one
should keep in mind the rhetoric employed by the highly educated scribe, Diosko-
ros o f Aphrodito, and that it is unlikely that the children actually tried to kill their
father. Quite likely, the ‘lawless disposition’ and ‘falling ill’ allude to the
categories summed in two of Justinian’s laws.47
Finally, we should note that, on the one hand, hints o f a testators’ interest ei
ther in their community or in a smaller group is extremely rare in Hellenistic and
Roman papyri.48 On the other hand, inscriptional and literary data indicate that if a
person bequeathed part of his property to a city or a group o f persons, he was im
pelled by a desire for remembrance. Memory was a fundamental part o f funerary
cult, more important than any belief in a personal afterlife.49 In Late Antiquity,
though, people regularly bequeathed much o f their property to the Church and
monasteries out of fear and hope for the afterlife and the salvation o f the soul. In
his testament5051Theodoros, a childless man, splits his properties among the White
Monastery, the monastery of Apa Mousaios, and his grandmother Erain. The
White Monastery receives the lion’s share. In this bequest, Theodoros includes all
his real property (land and houses) in the Hermopolite, Antinoite, and Panopolite
nomes, including all the annual income that this property produces. Jairus Banaji
observes that ‘among all the documents of the Byzantine period, Theodore's will
is perhaps the most striking expression of the mentality of the new upper classes
and, by implication, of the ruling groups among them,’ namely rich laymen leav
ing their property to monasteries and churches in order to help the institutions’
charity work, and hoping for the absolution of their sins.M
47 The laws are Novels 115.3.4 and 12. See Urbanik 2008, 126f. For more on the context of this
papyrus, see MacCoull 1488. 34-41.
48 Champlin 1441. 155f. A possible exception is P.Lips 1 30 (Oxyrhynchus. third century CE)
where we find a stipulation for the construction of a pyramid and the sponsorship of a feast in
honour of the testator’s god. Cf Montevecchi 1435, 106.
44 Champlm 144), 163.
50 P.Cairo.Masp. Ill 67312 (Antinoopolis. 567 CE).
51 Banaji 2001, 125.
Chrysi Kotsifou 48
2.2 Divorce Documents
Divorce documents52 or petitions that request a divorce are uniquely preserved in

papyri. Such documents seem to be much more fruitful in the study of emotions
than marriage contracts. Especially in divorce petitions women often recount with
vivid language their trials and tribulations in their marriage and how they wish to
escape the suffering that is being inflicted on them. The wording of these docu
ments expresses frustration, hopelessness, and worry. The standard complaints put
forw ard by women include mistreatment by their husband, who during their joint
life wasted their dowry, maltreated and offended them, and often physically abu
sed them as well.53 Two cases from the fourth to the fifth centuries CE are most
informative. In an affidavit, a woman complains about her violent and abusive
husband.54 The other members of her household have also suffered greatly in his
hands. He was extremely abusive with his slaves and his children. He is also
accused of being a deceitful person as he takes false oaths. The closing of the
document shows a substantial amount of hopelessness: ‘God knows this is true.’55
In a petition concerning a turbulent marriage,56 a woman claims that she was
forced into marriage and to have a child. Her husband continued to mistreat her
and lie to her. Eventually, he abandoned her to live with another woman. She
further elaborates on her repeated sufferings. The petitioner also claims that her
husband showed her contempt due to her ‘orphan state’.5758
It should be stated that Late Antique divorce petitions tend to offer a lot more
sensational details of abuse and emotional pleas for assistance than earlier exam
ples. ** This fact could reflect two aspects of early Late Antique society. On the
one hand, the law openly discriminated between genders; consequently, it was not
as easy for women to get a favourable divorce as it was for men.59 The aforemen
tioned emotional divorce petitions were submitted by women. On the other hand,
Christianity’s reluctance to encourage divorce could have been the incentive for
the parties involved to plead their case in more emotional terms in order to justify
their claim 60
Nonetheless, while these Late Antique documents present an immediate, vivid
and emotional picture of charges and complaints brought forward by various
wives, ultimately though they are not much more than general arguments along-
52 Bagnall 1987; Rupprecht 1998, 69f., Yiftach-Firanko 2001.

53 BGU IV 1105 (Alexandria, 10 BCE), cl. Rowlandson 1998, no. 257; P.Oxy. 11 281 (20-50
CL); cf Evans Grubbs 2002, 212. Also see Rupprecht 1998, 70, who notes that complaints
turn husbands against their wives are less frequent; Yiftach-Firanko 2001, 13321.
54 P.Oxy VI 903
55 Cf Rowlandson 1998, no 153.
56 f'Oxy, E 3581.
57 Cf Rowlandson 1908, no 154.
58 Kovelman 1991, 14211
59 Arjava 1996, 183 189
(A) On the emotional differences between historical periods see below pp. 51-57.
side demands for material support.61 Notably, every now and then there is the
occasional complaint from a man regarding the inappropriate behaviour of a
woman in her marriage. Jn a lengthy petition to a praepositus pagus, Sakaon ex
plains in a very passionate style that resonates with irritation and disappointment
how one of his daughters-in-law was abducted while his son was on his death-bed.
His son’s property was also seized by the perpetrator. Sakaon desires redress. Sa
kaon also assigns blame to his daughter-in-law as he notes that she did not act in
her marriage with the goodwill and natural affection (euvoiav tcai aTopyiiv ...
7tpo<; tt| v aopPitooiv pou) that was expected from her.62
2.3 Oracle and Dream Accounts
Oracle and dream accounts illustrate the need of people to establish a contact with
divinities. Mortals approached the gods, including the Christian God, in similar
ways and with the same hope for an answer to their predicaments. Fortunately,
besides the actual accounts, we also have private letters on papyrus that attest to
the importance, faith and expectation supplicants placed on divine answers. De
spite the fact that they never state it in full, oracles are particularly informative
about the several anxieties that troubled an individual, whether one should under
take a business venture, a journey, or go into a marriage .63 Questions to oracles
were brief and stylised, consisting of three elements: the opening address to the
god; the petitioner’s question; and the inquiry about an answer to the question.64
Two examples, from the Imperial period and Late Antiquity respectively, illus
trate this phenomenon :65
My Lord Sarapis Helios, benefactor. (Say) whether it is better for my son Phanias and his
wife not to agree now with his father, but to oppose him and not make a contract. Tell me
truly. Good-bye.
O God o f our patron. Saint Philoxenos, do you command us to take Anoup to your hospital?
Show your power and let this request be granted.
A letter from a husband to his wife clearly demonstrates the faith people placed on
the oracular answers they received from their priests. Among other issues, Lysi-
machos informs Taanniusis that
61 Rupprecht 1998, 71.

62 P.Saknon 48 (Theadelphia, 343 CE).
6.3 Panini 1941); Palme 2009, 372. Similar sentiments are expressed in oracular enquiries from
the sanctuary at Dodone. Some of these texts have been edited by Lhote 2006. nos. 18-13.3;
see also Etdinow 2007, 72 138 and SEC LVII 536. This material spans the period o. 550 to
167 BCE. See pp. 99f. in this volume.
64 White 1986,99.
65 The first text is P.Oxv VI11 1148; cf. White 1986. 100. The second text is in White I486,
101 l or more examples of Roman oracle questions, see Rowlandson 1448, nos. 246 and 249.
I or an analysis of the Christian oracle questions, see Papaconstantinou 1494.
Chrysi ttotsifou 50
it has been determined for me that I should not come down until the twenty-fifth, and as Sok-
nebtunis the Lord God wills it I will come down freely.
Oracle questions that relate to the fate of unborn children hold special interest.
David Frankfurter views such oracles as a distinct sign that a neonate of ambiva
lent identity and prospects was transformed into the status of a named or antici
pated family member.6667 Worried parents expressed their fear by asking the gods
things such as ‘Shall my wife miscarry?’ or ‘Will I rear the child?’ The answers
they received included statements, such as ‘Your wife will not miscarry, do not
worry’ or ‘Don’t rear the child, 1 advise you.’68
Various dream accounts also survive on papyrus. Recent scholarship has
stressed the credit Ptolemaic individuals - both rulers and the rest of the popula
tion - laid upon dreams.69 Dreams exposed aspects of their personal psyche and at
the same time guided their actions and future plans. As far as papyri are con
cerned, we have actual dream accounts, a petition, and private letters that can
contribute to this discussion. Ptolemy, a recluse in the Serapeum in Memphis,
recorded several of his dreams and those of others.70 In two of them, emotions of
fondness, joy, and possibly lust are directly and indirectly represented. William
Harris explains that whatever Ptolemy’s motives were, his dream descriptions are
not distorted by any intention of propagandising for Sarapis; in some cases they
exhibit real dream-like qualities.71 Both Ptolemy and his brothers had great faith
in predictive dreams. Nonetheless, this faith, besides offering instruction and
relief, could also instigate fear or complete disillusionment. In two of the letters
that Apollonios sent to his brother Ptolemy in 152 BCE, these feelings are evi
dent. In one communication, Apollonios discusses business affairs but with some
urgency and angst; for as he notes, he had ‘a bad dream’.72 In a second letter, his
disenchantment with gods, the dreams that they instigate, and Ptolemy’s interpre
tive abilities is more than palpable. Owing to the letter’s highly emotional content,
it is worth quoting most of it here.73
66 P Tebl II 284 (70 BCL). Cf. White 1986, 99.

67 Frankfurter 2006. 47.
68 These texts are pan of the oracular texts in the Sortes Astrampsychi (fifth to sixth centuries
f t ) contained in P.Oxy LX VII 4581. Cf. Frankfurter 2006, 47.
69 The most recent publication on dreams in Antiquity with updated bibliography is Harris 2009.
(Ht dreams in Ptolemaic Fgypt, cf. Harris 2009, 164 173. On papyrological evidence and
dreams, see also Weber 2000, 62 64.
70 U P / { 77 (Memphis, 158 BCL), translated by Rowlandson 1998, no. 80. Cf. Harris 2009,
105
71 Harris 2009, 102
72 U P / I 68 (Memphis) Cf. White 1986, 731.
73 UP/. I 70 (Memphis) AnoXXdrvux; IJxoA.f g««t»t xcp rtuxpi x(*ipnv. 6gv\>u> xov Ldpixniv, t i
1*0gncpdv xi fvxpfn o g o t, ouk «v gr el6c<; xo rtpooomW goo no'moxi, oxi y to S n t ndvxo su i
oi nopr/ or fttoi ogoieK,, 6xi t vjir (3Ar|ic«v fig«$ ft? 6Xnv grydA-qv xui oil dxivdgcBot dnoBu-
v o v kmi to y i6t|C oxi gftA ogf v ocuBfivoi, xoxc jiunxiôgtBu. ... ovnc foxi dvuionyui gt
itam m : ev tjj fpucogiui v*6 tr|<; u.io/uvqc,, i:i kui uiitotx; 6r5a>Kugev tea\ dnont’rtxunaxgf v
Apollonios to his father, Ptolemy, greeting. I swear by Sarapis, if it were not that I still have a
little reverence (for you), you would never see my face again; because you deceive com
pletely and likewise your gods, for they have thrown us into a great slough in which we may
die, and when you see (i.e. have a vision) that we are about to be saved, then we are immersed
... I will never be able to hold up my head in Trikomia because of the shame, that we have
given ourselves away and have been deluded, being led astray by the gods and trusting
dreams. May you fare well. (Outside address): To those who speak the truth. To Ptolemy,
greeting.
The least we can say is that Apollonios wishes to present himself as angry, dis
heartened, and disgraced. These feelings are also summarised in his sarcastic clos
ing address to his brother as ‘to those who speak the truth.’
Finally for this discussion, a petition of Zoilos to Apollonios, the dioiketes
(the head of the fiscal administration under Ptolemy II Philadelphos),74 is relevant.
Zoilos has been continually instructed in his dreams by the god Sarapis himself to
erect a temple for this god in the Greek quarter near the harbour of Alexandria.
But he did not comply with the god’s wishes. Unfortunately, he was no longer in a
position to ignore Sarapis. Zoilos carefully displays his emotions of fear and guilt
associated with his actions and unfulfilled promises to the god as part of his per
suasion strategy. He is definitely guilty because he has not started the construction
of the temple yet, and afraid that if he does not do it now, Sarapis will not be as
benevolent as he was the last two times. Understandably, it is the prohibitive cost
of building a temple that held Zoilos back from fulfilling the god’s demand; and
that is also the reason he is requesting Apollonios’ assistance in carrying out the
construction. He directly tells him so at the closing lines of the petition, as Zoilos
notes that Apollonios should not be afraid of the cost of the building given all the
prosperity that Sarapis will grant him in return. Furthermore, Zoilos describes in
his petition the emotions of Sarapis, namely those of exasperation, disappoint
ment, and vengefulness, because Zoilos did not pay attention to the god’s requests
and signs that Sarapis was repeatedly manifesting to him. Thus, the first thing that
Sarapis does is to inflict a sickness on Zoilos. This reciprocity between mortals
and gods, the manifestation of a god or saint in the dreams of a believer making
requests, and the misfortunes that the believer suffers unless he follows these
requests, are themes that also continue well into Late Antiquity, particularly in
accounts of miracles that occur in pilgrimage centres.75
nkavuipevoi urto rtov 0e<ov xai mcmi>ovre<; t a rvuirvia. ebtujcei. Cf. White 19%, 75f.;
discussion in Harris 2009, 169.
74 P.Cair.Zen. I 59034 (Alexandria, 257 BCE). C f Austin 2006, no. 301; discussion in Haims
2009, 164f.
75 Some noteworthy examples can be found in the miracle account o f Saint Menas or S$. John
and Kyros. Cf. Drescher 1946 and Marcos 1975, respectively.
Chrysi Kotsifou 52
2.4 Private Letters and Petitions
Everyone in writing a letter more or less composes an image of his own soul. One can indeed
see the writer’s character in any kind of writing too, but in none so clearly as in the letter.
Letters and petitions are certainly the papyri that contain the most detailed, diver
se. and abundant information about emotions. They describe emotions; they show
how they were used; they reveal the situations in which emotions are mentioned,
and the people involved. Hardly any other ancient sources allow the reader to see
a development in the display of feelings and changing responses in a variety of
situations as letters do.7677 As Raffaella Cribiore notes,78
Greek private letters on papyrus give one the distinctive pleasure of hearing one of two sides
of a spontaneous dialogue from antiquity ... In spite of their brevity and practical concerns,
letters can be an invaluable source of information about the life of the average man and
woman of the time.
Private letters, of course, also survive in literary accounts but these ones tend to be
highly stylised and primarily reflect the lifestyle o f the rich and famous. Cicero,
for example, clearly explains that he had no interest in letters that are concerned
with every day trials and tribulations.79
Similarly, petitions are the most significant documents on papyrus that eluci
date the importance of emotions in rhetoric and persuasion strategies. Petitioners
usually commence their petition by stating that they know the prefect is a just
judge and a protector of all. They then describe the dispute, usually in great detail,
assuming that the more details they provide the more credibility they lend to their
case. They often contrast the virtues of the poor with the vices o f the rich and po
werful. Furthermore, in order to provoke the pity o f the authorities, they employ
strong language such as the verb ‘to despise’ or make repeated references to their
unfortunate children, their weak feminine nature (if the petitioner is a woman), or
modest lifestyle (if the petitioner is a man). At the end o f the document, some
petitioners mention their continued gratitude to the prefect should he help them
attain justice.
Letters and petitions often feature together in archives. Another exceptional
feature of the papyrological corpus is the survival o f archives and dossiers from
the Hellenistic period to Late Antiquity.80 As Kateiijn Vandorpe has noted, the
action itself of keeping one’s business and private records in an archive or dossier
denotes the sentimental value these documents held for their owner, especially in
the case of family letters and papers.81 Such collections can elucidate the develop-
76 Danetrios, De etocutione 227. In Trapp 2003, 180f.

77 The most recent overview of all types of documentary papyri with updated bibliography is
Palme 2009.
78 Cnbiore 2002, 149.
79 Cicero, Ad fum ittares 2.4 C'f. Cnbiore 2002, 149.
80 for the latest overview of this material with an extensive bibliography, see Vandorpe 2009.
81 Vandorpe 2009,230 240.
ment of an individual and the changes in the display of his or her emotions. Tell
ing examples are the letters of Paniskos that were analysed at the beginning of this
introduction (pp. 39-41). In the case of the correspondence among a network of
friends or co-workers, they can record the shared emotions and the emotional pro
gress of the whole community .82 Therefore, due to the firm association between
these documents and the expression of emotions, the sections that follow relate
more to petitions and private letters than to other types of documents on papyrus.
3 SELECTED QUESTIONS
3.1 Can We Discern ‘Emotional Periods’ in Papyri?
With material that spans a period of a thousand years, one has to ask if emotional
periods can be identified .83 Were there eras in which certain emotions were more
often or more strongly displayed? What were the differences and similarities? We
will tackle this issue on two levels: we will examine what changes happened to
the actual format of the various documents and how these changes might affect
the emotional content of documents, and simultaneously we will look at specific
emotional expressions and beliefs over the eras.
Differences
Scholars have repeatedly noted that papyrological documents from Late Antiq
uity, whether letters, petitions, legal proceedings,84 or contracts, employ a much
more emotional language than their counterparts in previous periods. A decisive
factor for this phenomenon may be the fact that the prescribed layout for the dif
ferent types o f documents transformed over time. In their study of women’s letters
from 300 BCE to 800 CE, Roger Bagnall and Raffaella Cribiore describe various
stylistic changes that occurred to the composition of private letters. In the Ptole
maic period, Greek letters are characterised by a formality that is found as much
in business as in private letters. Composers of letters knew that a specific style
was appropriate for a letter and that this style needed to be modified according to
82 For example, the archive of Athenodoros, dioiketes, from the middle years of Augustus’ rule,
esp. BGU XVI 2606, 2613, 2621,2622, 2625, 2660, 2663, and 2665. These letters illuminate
a community of co-workers whose communications are characterised by anxiety, worry, fru
stration, and fear about their business affairs.
83 On this subject see pp. 11 and 17 in this volume.
84 For legal proceedings, in general, cf. Palme 2009, 376f.; for their vivid language from the late
third century CE onwards, cf. Cole 1966. 22f. P.Mich XHI 660 (Aphrodito, early sixth centu
ry CE) is an excellent case of legal proceedings that are recorded in a highly emotional lan
guage. Hellenistic and Roman invitations to public and private celebrations were also very
short, asking people to attend the event customarily the follow ing day. P Apoll 72 from 703-
715 CE, though, is a very lengthy wedding invitation, containing emotional vocabulary. The
text runs for nine lines and the inv itation is for the next month.
Chrysi Kotsifou 54
the identity and status of the recipient.85 Furthermore it should be noted that in the
Ptolemaic period we have more documents that concern official, administrative,
and business affairs, and consequently we hear the voices of men rather than those
of women.86 A colloquial style is identified in letters of the Imperial period. By
now, women seem to be more involved in letter-writing and willing to use it in
order to break their isolation by establishing contacts with their loved ones and to
improve the quality of their own lives. The style employed is characterised by
brevity and efficiency, and writing a letter becomes equivalent to talking.87 Thus,
letters throw more light on personal relationships by disclosing the longing that
distance created and alluding to the remembrance that the writer kept of the ad
dressee.88 In Late Antiquity, there is a reversion to the formal style o f letter writ
ing. Letters contained artificial formulaic expressions, complex sentences in a
style well beyond everyday speech, and occasional series o f biblical allusions. All
these traits made the employment of a professional scribe indispensable. There
fore. finding signs of the author’s personal expressions and vocabulary is much
harder than before.89 Understandably, the less stylised the composition o f a letter
is, the more allowances there are for emotional expressions by the writers. Thus,
the papyri and ostraca from the Imperial period are more fruitful in this respect.
As far as petitions are concerned, a similar trend can be established. Ptolemaic
petitions are primarily addressed to the king. There were precise directions that
they should be short and to the point, only concerning the gravest of matters.90
Therefore, petitions from the Ptolemaic and early Imperial period (c. first century
CE) state the essence of the business, and, straightforwardly, each conflict was a
specific case. By the second to fourth centuries, there are recognisable types in the
conflict: the petitioner is always a ‘moderate’, honest, and poor man, while the
offender is always a ‘powerful’ man.91 As a result, these petitions also have a very
standardised way of appealing for justice and pity. In the later periods of Late
Antiquity, the prose of petitions is filled with horrid, detailed, and lengthy de
scriptions of individual and collective abuse,92 descriptions, a scholar has noted,
which can ‘make the blood curdle’.93 They express frustration, anger, fear, tor-
85 Bagnall and Cribiore 2006,16.

86 Bagnall and Cribiore 2006, 15.
87 Bagnall and Cribiore 2006, 16f.
88 Some examples of letter composed by both men and women are: P.Giss. 17 (Hermopolite
nome, second century CE); P.Berenike II 129 (Berenike, first century CE); P.Mich. Ill 203
(Pselkis, Nubia, 114-116 CE); P.Oxy. LXVII 4627 (Oxyrhynchus, late third century CE).
89 Bagnall and Cribiore 2006, 17; Kovelman 1991, 144f.
90 BGU HI 1011 (second century BCE), Cf. Palme 2009, 378.
91 Kovelman 1991, 136. Some typical examples of this case are: P.Cair./sid 68 (Karanis,
309/310CE), P.Mert. II 91 (Karanis, 316 CE); P.Oxy. XII 1469 (Oxyrhynchus, 298 CE).
92 P ( air Masp I 67002 (Antinoopolis, 567 CE), is an informative case of collective outrage by
a group of villagers, who directly petition the emperor in Constantinople due to the various
and repeated miseries that were inflicted upon them by the corrupt pagarch Menas and his
associates Cf. Keenan 2008, and 1985, 257- 259.
93 Kovelman 1991, 136.
ment, neglect, and pity. In a nutshell, while the petitioner of the Imperial period
identifies himself with a social type and bases his case on a stable situation, a
Byzantine sees in himself an allegory of a character from an epic, drama, or Greek
novel.94 Biblical allusions and parallels are also frequent, and influence the emo
tionality o f the narration. Accounts of saints’ Lives and martyrdoms provide help
ful equivalents for the suffering that petitioners endured, as well.
This latter point brings the discussion to the role of Christianity, its followers
and their beliefs, all of which constitute one of the major differences between Late
Antiquity and the previous eras. We just referred to the impact of the Bible on the
vocabulary of Late Antique petitions, but Christian literature and attitudes dis
tinctively influenced the language of all types of papyri, and the expression of
specific emotions in them.95 Private letters are particularly revealing on this issue,
especially the ones from a familial milieu. As far as their structure is concerned, it
has been remarked that while the opening and closing formulas of Christian letters
are the same as the ones of their pagan counterparts, the main body of the Chri
stian letters is a lot longer. Their length seems to be directly related to their
function as letters o f instruction 96 Furthermore, scholars have commented on
various emotional aspects of Christian letters. Friedrich Joxe studied early Chri
stian family letters trying to discern whether the sentiments of familial love and
care expressed in them are unique or stronger than the ones found in pagan
letters.97 After several comparisons he concludes, quite convincingly, that no
change in the feelings, their expression or degree can be established. Mothers do
not express more affection for their children; children do not care more or less for
their parents; and the same expressions of interest and worry are found in the cor
respondence among siblings. In Christian letters, the sentiments do not change,
only the vocabulary and the formulas.98 In relation to a fourth-century CE letter
among family members with a very affectionate opening formula with lots of
greetings that communicate love and admiration, Roger Bagnall notes that we find
more expressions o f family affection in private letters in Christian circles than
otherwise, but he similarly attributes them to rhetoric.99 This particular rhetoric is
encountered even more in letters from the ecclesiastical and monastic milieu.100
In these we find a language of supplication, full of requests for intervention either in this
world or with God, and in this rhetoric the writer’s dependency, wretchedness, and poverty
94 Kovelman 1991, 148; and 141 f.

95 New Dues. IV 61 offers a commentary of the use of the verb 0M|3ogm (to be oppressed,
tormented) in papyri and how its meaning is influenced by its equivalent use in the Old and
New Testament; while New Docs. I 38 examines the occurrence of the noun 0Xiyis (distress)
in epigraphical material and how this affected its usage in the New Testament corpus.
96 White 1986, 19.
97 Joxe 1956,413.
98 Joxe 1956,416-419.
99 P.Ant. II 93; cf. Bagnall 1987, 61 note 66.
100 Bagnall and Cribiore 2006, 72f.; cf. Joxe 1956, 416, who also emphasises the servility
towards a superior (whether a monastic or not) in Christian letters.
Chrysi Kotsifou 56
are strongly emphasized. ... The terms of equality on which the bulk of the letters from the
Roman period are written are thus replaced by a language of inequality, and we cannot expect
quite the frank discussion of family affairs that we get earlier.
Another thought-provoking trend is found in divorce documents from Late Antiq
uity. In several divorce documents of mutual consent, the couple claim that they
wish to separate, not because of ill feelings among them, but due to the influence
of a demon (daimon)m In one such document, for example, a man states:101102
Earlier, 1 was joined to you in marriage and for a life in common based on worthy expecta
tions and begetting children, expecting to complete with you a peaceful, honourable union;
but from enemies of unknown origin, from some jealous base demon, a most stubborn un-
kmdness arose between us both and compelled us to be separated from one another. ...
Friedrich Joxe finds that this use of a demon on whom to blame the divorce is just
rhetorical, with no deeper meaning or feeling, while James Keenan more recently
noted that this could potentially be an interesting, albeit rare, instance highlighting
the mentality of Byzantine villagers.103 Ultimately, despite the possible doubts
that have been put forward in the past as to the extent that Christian morals influ
enced divorce practices,104 I still feel that because of the strong stance of the
Church against divorce,105 some people might have chosen to blame an evil spirit
for their course of action, It cannot be with no reason that we only find this clause
in divorce petitions in Late Antiquity and not before.
An even more unexpected occurrence is the fact that in several instances,
Christian institutions and their members are presented as the cause of aggravation
in Late Antique Egypt. These papyri are surprising, since Church Fathers and
hagiographical writings always propagate the charitable feelings, love and under
standing, which characterised their religion.106 However, what we find is that
when in Late Antiquity different people rose to prominence, their influence was
not always viewed as beneficial and their actions often provoked exasperation
rather than the appeasement of the sentiments of people. Two petitions and two
letters will illustrate this point: besides all the charity and assistance that Shenou-
te’s monasteries offered to the downtrodden, at the same time we encounter the
White Monastery being referred to in a petition as one o f the institutions that is
101 Evan Grubbs 2002, 2131'.; Yftach-Firanko 2001, 1336; Rupprecht 1998, 69; Bagnall 1987,
55f.
102 P Cair Masp II 67153 (Antinoopolis, 568 CE). Cf. Kovelman 1991, I45f.
103 Joxe 1956,419 and Keenan 2007, 239, respectively.
104 bagnall 1987.
105 Arjava 2001,I83f.; and bagnall 1987,46f.
106 Keenan (2007, 2381.) refers to the writings of Shenoute from Sohag, the leader of the White
and Red Monastery, and all his work and preaching in favour of the oppressed classes of
villagers. At the same time, of course, Shenoute is also very famous for his violent and dis
ruptive fight against pagan practices and Christian magic. Cf. P.Ammon 3 (Alexandria, 348
CE), a private letter from a pagan family, A son writes to his mother who is discouraged due
to die troubles the family is in The editors feel that some of these troubles could be due to
anti-pagan sentiments in that period
responsible for the miseries inflicted on the villagers of Antinoopolis.107 In

another petition from the same village, a man appeals to the local authorities
owing to his dire financial straits and the illegal taxes that are demanded from
him.'08 Fascinatingly, he pinpoints the beginning of his sufferings on the day his
father joined a monastery and abandoned him to be raised by one of his uncles. In
a fourth-century letter of recommendation among high-ranking ecclesiastics in
Oxyrhynchus, the writer encourages the addressee to show love and care for the
people who bring him the letter. He specifies that these people are not catechu
mens but already baptised Christians, instead.109 This comment is telling about the
life of catechumens in Oxyrhynchus during these years and the situations they
were included in or excluded from. Finally, there is a letter from Alexandria:110 a
woman writes to her husband, a banker, to let him know primarily of the problems
she had been having with a bishop. The latter had approved of a building con
struction, but after the writer commenced it, the bishop stopped it and destroyed
what was built. She notes her concern about these actions and describes the
bishop’s words and deeds as being filled with hostility and contempt.
To sum up, expression and use of emotion in documents differs through the
ages primarily because of the changes in the prescribed formulas of letters and
petitions. Furthermore, Christianity was a decisive factor. Christianity influenced
the function of emotion in divorce procedures; and the fact that its institutions and
members were also causes of aggravation is an interesting - and perhaps surpris
ing —realisation.
Sim ilarities
One topic that seems to remain constant throughout all periods, is that various
persons complain that they are despised due to their ethnicity or express anger
because ‘outrages’ happened to them despite their ethnicity.111 Whether Greek,
Egyptian, Jewish, or Roman, petitioners in Egypt call upon their ethnic origins in
order to protest against the way they have been treated. This is a constant pheno
menon in Hellenistic petitions. A striking case is quoted here in full; we will refer
to it again in the discussion about issues of gender.112
To King Ptolemy greeting from Herakleides, originating from Alexandres’ Isle, now residing
in Krokodilopolis in the Arsmoite nome. 1 am wronged by Psenobastis, who lives in Psya, in
the aforesaid nome. On Phamenoth 21 o f year 5 in the fiscal calendar, 1 w ent to Pysa in the
said nome on a personal matter. As 1 was passing by [her house] an Egyptian woman, whose
name is said to be Psenobastis, leaned out [of a window] and emptied a chamber pot o f urine
over my clothes, so that 1 was completely drenched. When I angrily reproached her, she
hurled abuse at me. When I responded in kind, Psenobastis in her own right hand pulled the
107 P.Cair.Masp I 67002 (Antinoopolis, 567 CE), and Keenan 2008, 174.
108 P.LonJ. V 1676 (Antinoopolis, 566-573 CE). Cf. Kovelman 1901, 144f.
109 Cf. Harrop 1962. The letter is quoted in full in the following section on pp. 6lf.
110 SB XVI11 13762 (sixth or seventh century CE).
111 On the topic o f ethnicity particularly in women’s letters, see Bagnall and Cribiore 2006,9.
1 12 P.Enteux. 79 (Magdola, 218 BCE). Cf. Lewis 1986, 61.
Chrysi Kotsifou 58
fold of my cloak in which I was wrapped, tore it and ripped it off me, so that my chest was
laid quite bare. She also spat in my face, in the presence of several people whom I called to
witness. The acts that 1charge her with committing are: resorting to violence against me and
being the one to start [the fracas] by laying her hands on me unlawfully. When some of the
bystanders reproached her for what she had done, she simply left me and went back into the
house from which she had poured the urine down on me. I therefore beg you, O king, if it
please you. not to ignore my being thus, for no reason, manhandled by an Egyptian woman,
whereas I am a Greek and a visitor, but to order Diophanes the strategos ... to write to
Sogenes the police chief to send Psenobastis to him to be questioned on my complaint and to
suffer, if what 1say here is true, the punishment that the strategos decrees. Farewell.
Herakleides, a Greek and a visitor in Krokodilopolis, petitions the king because he

was physically and verbally abused by an Egyptian woman. In the first part of the
petition, which deals with the abuse, Herakleides expresses his astonishment and
outrage at the physical abuse he had suffered. In order to express his exasperation,
Herakleides uses verbs such as ‘to be wronged’ (d b iK o b p a t), ‘angrily reproach’
(dyavaicTfioavTo; 8e goi> xat enmpajvTOi;), and ‘hurl abuse’ (A,ot5opeto). He
further employs in his narration emotional words such as ‘unjust’ (dbiKw v) and
‘beyond reason’ (ataycx;). It is also safe to assume that he was not only outraged
with the abuse but also with the fact that he was mistreated by a woman. In the
second part of the petition, Herakleides places more emphasis on his feelings of
insult. It is not so much, though, that he is insulted because he was maltreated by a
woman, but rather that it was a Greek who was abused by an Egyptian. He
mentions with pride the fact that he is a Greek, and he interprets Psenobastis’
abuse as an assault not only against his manhood but also against his race. Maryli-
ne G. Parca also notes that the closing of the petition
reveals Heracleides’ keen awareness of the role which ethnicity plays in this matter: he takes
the superiority of the Greek over the native for granted and expects that the bureaucratic ap
paratus which will process his complaint will hold similar views. " 3
Another petition, this time by an Egyptian woman, relates how the Egyptian men
whom she wanted to have as her witnesses in court were too intimidated to attend,
as the Greek man against whom Tetosiris was petitioning terrorised them with his
gang.11314 Anti-Greek sentiments are also found in the dossier of Ptolemy, the re
cluse in the Serapeum in Memphis that we referred to in an earlier section (p. 50).
Ptolemy often notes that he is being abused by the Greeks in the sanctuary.115
A letter reveals the trials and tribulations to which Jews were also subjected in
the Hellenistic period:116
113 Parca 2002,287f.

114 PEnteux 86 (221 BCE). Cf. Lewis 1986,60f.
115 UPZ 7, 8, 15 (163, 161, and 156 BCE, respectively.) Cf. Parca 2002, 288. Another example
of a petitioner who claims to have been despised due to his Egyptian nationality is P. Yale I 46
(246 221 BCE). One of the most quoted documents is P.Col. IV 66 (Philadelphia, 256 -255
BCE) It is a letter addressed to Zenon by one of his Arab employees who complains of
mistreatment by his co-worker due to the fact that he cannot speak Greek. Cf. Bagnall and
Derow 2004, no 231; Austin 2006, no. 245.
116 SB VI 9564 (early first century BCE). Cf. Bagnall and Derow 2004, no. 175.
Emotions and Papyri. Insights into the Theatre o f Human Experience in Antiquity 59
Herakles to Ptolemaios, the dioiketes, hearty greetings and good health. I asked lap in
Memphis on behalf of the priest in Tebtynis to write to him a letter so that I may know what
his situation is. I ask you, so that he is not detained, lead him by the hand in the things that he
needs, doing the same thing that you do for Artemidoros and do me the favour of furnishing
the priest with the same lodging - for you know that they are nauseated by Jews.
This short communication is the earliest testimony of anti-Semitism in the coun
tryside of Hellenistic Egypt. Herakles appeals to Ptolemaios clioiketes for his help
regarding a Jewish priest from Tebtynis. The dioiketes is asked to protect the
priest from any mishaps and guide him. This papyrus offers the justification why
the Jewish priest was in need of such aid from Herakles and Ptolemaios, namely
because in the countryside of Fayum and Mepphis the inhabitants were ‘nausea
ted’ by Jews; they felt disgust for the Jews. Herakles uses a very strong and des
criptive verb, pbeA/upeuopai, in order to portray the feelings of the inhabitants.
He probably also uses such a verb in order to convey fully his concern about the
fate of the priest. It is also noteworthy that Herakles does not feel he has to justify
or further explain these anti-Semitic feelings to Ptolemaios, he just mentions them
as a matter of fact. His note ‘for you know...’ points that either these emotions we
re well-known to everyone from that area or that Herakles had discussed these
situations with Ptolemaios before. Further, it should be noted that in this docu
ment, the Egyptian chora is seen to act as a distinct emotional community, which
regarded the Jews as an element harmful to them; therefore, the expression of
disgust towards the Jews was, if not encouraged, certainly tolerated in its midst.
At last, a complaint over disputed land to the epistrategos in 163 CE serves to
show a Roman army officer’s frustration towards an Egyptian.117 Caius Julius Ni
ger, a veteran of the cavalry and a Roman citizen, petitions the authorities because
he has ‘in a violent way suffered an unjustifiable insult by an Egyptian man’. The
editor notes that this is exactly the same attitude that Greeks took towards the
native Egyptians.11819Niger concludes his request by repeating his outrage:
And so, his criminal actions against me being evident, 1, a Roman, having suffered such
things at the hands of an Egyptian, ask you, if it seems good to you, to order a letter to be
written.
Nonetheless, exceptions are always found to these ‘rules’. In her study o f expres
sions of friendship in papyri and inscriptions, Evans has shown that despite the
diversity of ethnic groups in Egypt, there is some evidence that points to the inter
relations of the various groups and the friendships that existed among them, espe
cially among men.11'*
117 P.Mich. inv. 2848 + 3000 (Karanis); cf. Sijpesteijn 19%.

118 Sijpesteijn 1996, 186.
119 Evans 1997, 197f. For the use and meaning of the phrase “beloved brother’ (ayainita; a 8eX-
<po<;) in the greetings of letters, see New Docs. IV 124. It is established that the term is used
primarily but not exclusively among Christians. Even when the addressee is not a Christian,
the writer could still refer to him as ‘beloved brother’.
Chrysi Kotsifou 60
To conclude, a small but often repeated belief and sentiment in papyri is the
fear of the evil eye. The wish that someone is not touched by the evil eye is espe
cially conveyed in relation to children.120 Even a nun writes to a monk on such a
topic.121 Among all problems she has with her abbess, she worries about and fears
the evil eye of bad people. She begs for the monk’s prayers so that she can be pro
tected from the evil eye.
The eyes of evil people do not allow me to look up. Therefore, I beg you: pray for me, so that
God may now become reconciled and I can escape the snares of evil people.
It is noteworthy that this nun w illingly admits to such a panic when all Christians,
and especially monastics, were strongly encouraged by the Church Fathers not to
believe in pagan superstitions, practice magic, or even carry am ulets.122
Ultimately, the overriding similarity in the display o f emotions from the Hel
lenistic to the Late Antique period is the association o f contempt with ethnicity.
Contempt was not evoked exclusively by one ethnicity, but was instead used in
arguments by Greeks, Romans, and Egyptians.
3,2 The Relationship Between Education and the Use o f Emotion in Papyri
In the previously mentioned petition of the Greek who was abused by an Egyptian
woman (pp. 57f.), it is stated that halfway through the quarrel, the two parties
started to abuse each other verbally. Nevertheless, M aryline G. Parca makes a
thought-provoking observation:123 the way Herakleides spells Psenobastis’ name
in his petition does not correspond to any known feminine name from that period.
Therefore,
this leads to the disturbing realization that both parties either argued in their respective native
languages (thus engaging in a dangerous dialogue de sourds) or threw about insults tenta
tively phrased in the language of the other, thus producing the unavoidable sound approxima
tions which foster double entendres and misinterpretations, and invite ridicule.
This incident shows one aspect of how the literacy o f a person could influence
events, the way they were construed, and the emotions they provoked. The other,
not so straightforward, side of the coin emerges when we investigate the different
ways in which a person’s education can influence how they articulate their feel
ings in writing.
The employment of a scribe, his education, and the education o f the owner of
the papyrus, together with the use of formulas and o f ancient epistolary theories
are crucial factors that influence how emotions are presented in papyrological
documents. Is it possible to understand the emotional com m unities in which these
120 for some examples, sec: C f'apJud. II 436 (Hermopolis, 115 CE); P.Giss. 77 (Hermopolis,
reign of Trajan); H Oxy. XI.VI 3312 (Oxyrhynchus, second century CE).
121 F Koln 11 111 (f ifth or sixth century CE). Cf. Bagnall and Cribiore 2006, 230.
122 Cf. frankfurter MM.
123 Parca 2002,287.
texts originate, looking beyond the stereotypical formulas? On the one hand in
regard to private letters, Bernhard Palme observes that ‘because of the widespread
cliches only a few really emotional comments appear’.124 He finds only two ecep-
tions. The first text is a man’s letter to his sister/wife: he urges her not to worry
about his stay in Alexandria, and entreats her to take care of their child. He
concludes that if a third woman in their household bears a child, and that child is
male, she should keep it; if it is a girl she should expose it.125 In the second docu
ment a boy writes to his father to tell him how upset and angry he is because he
did not take him with him to the city. He threatens never to speak to his father
again.126 On the other hand formulas and epistolary theories should not be seen as
an obstacle to the study of emotions, but as part of the study of how the manifes
tation of emotions is culturally determined. Especially in relation to petitions, the
influence of a given scribe on the content of the document and its appeal to emo
tion is a very significant factor, as has already been stressed by scholars regarding
the Hellenistic,127 Imperial,128 and Late Antique periods. For Late Antiquity, Di-
okoros of Aphrodito is the example par excellence (sixth century CE). He was
highly educated and this is fully reflected in the way he composed petitions, in the
intricate literary allusions that he used, and in the manner these allusions were
meant to express the fear and frustration of the petitioner and arouse pity in the
reader.129 Private letters can also illuminate issues of literacy and how people em
ployed it in order to express pleasure, happiness, and to stress their friendship to
the addressee. A Christian letter of commendation is a prime example:130
To my lord brother Serapion Paul (wishes) well-doing. A man who has acquired a mirror, or
holds in his hand something else of that sort, in which faces are seen represented, has no need
of one to tell him, or testify about the character that lies upon him, and his complexion, and
his appearance, how it is. For he himself has become a witness by himself, and can speak
about his own likeness. And when someone speaks to him, or explains about the beauty and
comeliness about him, he does not then believe. For he is not like the rest who are in igno
rance, and standing far from the mirror that displays the likeness of all. And it is the same
with my good friend. For as through a mirror you have seen my implanted affection and love
for you ever fresh. Now, concerning the acquaintances of ours who are bringing down the
letter to you, there is no need for me to write (knowing as I do) your friendship and affection
to all, especially towards our brethren. Receive them therefore in love, as friends, for they are
124 Palme 2009, 362. On these questions see also Evans 2010, 5If.
125 P.Oxy. IV 744.
126 P.Oxy. 1119.
127 Jane Row landson (1998, 98-105, esp. no. 79) notes, for example, how different the various
copies of the petition of the Serapeum twins against their mother are, due to fact that different
scribes composed them each time.
128 For Roman petitions and how scribes are responsible for creating their narrative and emotio
nal appeal to the reader, see Bryen 2008, 182. For letters, see Verhoogt 2009.
129 Cf. Keenan 2008, I78f. and Kovelman 1991, 146t.
130 P.Oxy. XXXI 2603 (Oxyrhynchus, third or fourth century CE); cf. Harrop 1962. 132-140.
C hrysi K o tsifo u 62
not catechumens but belong to the company of Ision and Nikolaos, and if you do anything for
them, you have done it for me.131
J. H. Harrop observes132 that

the literary style of the letter, so much in contrast with the majority of Christian letters in pa
pyri, makes it likely that Paul was a man of considerable learning, and that the recipient also
was a man likely to appreciate his efforts,
while Evans finds that the rhetorical devices in this letter are sim ilar to the ones
used in epistolary manuals; the use of the latter is probably indicative o f a high
level of education since epistolary style seems to have been taught towards the
end o f secondary' education.133 In an earlier letter between tw o friends, the writer
devotes the first eighteen lines of his communication to praise o f friendship and to
describing how a letter should be structured,134 whereas when a son wishes to
offer consolation to his mother because of some serious family problem s, he sends
her a letter filled with literary allusions.135 Finally, one o f the m ost exemplary
cases is a letter sent from a son to his father.136 The papyrus is too long to be
quoted here in full, but it has been recently analyzed in detail by Gregory Hutch
inson.137 The writer is studying in Alexandria. He is probably in his late teens and
has reached the stage of studying rhetoric. He recounts to his father the various
mishaps he has been facing while living in the metropolis. Firstly, he reassures his
father not to worry about an accident they had in the theatre; secondly, he
expresses in vivid language his discontent in not being able to find good tutors;
and thirdly, he displays anger at a run-away slave and his indignant behaviour.
This letter demonstrates in various ways - through the carefully chosen vocabu
lary and juxtaposition o f phrases - the w riter’s high education and skill in em
ploying his rhetorical training to compose a lengthy com m unication; one which
was meant to persuade his father that on the one hand he was very serious about
his education in Alexandria, and on the other placate him about all the problems
he has been facing while away.138 Keeping these papyri in m ind we would, there
fore, be justified in stipulating that literary allusions were not mere efforts to imi
131 Translated by Evans 1997, 187.

132 Harrop 1962,137.
133 Evans 1997, 187; cf. Malherbe 1988, 61'., on the high stage of education at which these
manuals would be taught,
134 f'.David 14 (second or third century CE). The beginning of the letter reads: Aio<; EuroxiSrp
ton ttpuirtdtoji yvipzw. ettio'caotti oti o\> 8id X,oyo)v ai <piAiai Seikvwuxi aXka 8t’ epyaw
Ki/i puXiaxo. f\ npoc; uXKt\Ko\)c; <ptAia tpavepa eotiv dpipoiv kui tiAHotok; dv0pamoi<; h 8t’
Ep7 <uv. xu! aiAn yt dîoAoyoi; eoxi tcai 0co«piAh<; tcai drcaoiv dv0pd>7rot<; enatvetf|, cm 8h
mire m>vf|0ei<; « utt) dnoKutecmiaev cootc <piA,Eia0at ore’ dAAf)Aa>v o\>8ev yap pfiôv
temv ovoi rpuopiov oubt hhU-pethuxov odSr dnoAavoxoTepov eaxiv n h totcxotri tpiAia
i v xm dvOponuvon (lum. iy« pev 8f| 6id (Jpaxewv Aoycov eptoaoi td pcxP1 v^v •••
135 l* Ammon 3 (Alexandria, 348 CEj.
136 f' Oxy. XVIII 2190 (Oxyrhynchus, c. 100 CE). Cf. Lewis 1999, 63f.
137 Hutchinson 2007, 19 28.
138 Hutchinson 2007,23 28,
Emotions and Papyri: Insights into the Theatre o f Human Experience in Antiquity 63
tate the style of high education but were actually indicative o f the literary
achievements of the authors of these letters.
As noted above, closely related to the level of education of the person who
composed or dictated a document is their knowledge and use of the various an
cient epistolary theories. When it came to the composition of letters, there were
several manuals that offered instruction about what was appropriate to be included
in a written communication or how and when it should be expressed.139 Making a
letter as pleasing as possible for the addressee and appropriate for each occasion
was one of the main concerns of the theorists. In the fourth century CE, Julius
Victor explains regarding private letters:140142
a letter written to a superior should not be droll; to an equal, not cold; to an inferior, not
haughty. Let not a letter to a learned person be carelessly written, nor indifferently composed
when going to a less learned person; let it not be negligently written if to a close friend, nor
less cordial to a non-friend. Be profuse in congratulating someone on his success so as to
heighten his joy, but console someone who is grieving with a few words, for a wound bleeds
when touched by a heavy hand. When you are light hearted in your friendly letters, reckon
with the possibility that they may be reread in sadder times. Never quarrel, especially in a
letter! The openings and conclusions of letters should conform with the degree of friendship
(you share with the recipient) or with his rank, and should be written according to customary
practice.
Accordingly, various papyri specifically mention the attempts of the writers to

abide by these rules or the disapproval of some people if the letters they have re
ceived are carelessly composed. On the one hand, in a letter about payment of
taxes, the writer notes that he keeps his communication short so it would be
pleasing to the addressee. On the other, in the beginning o f a different communi
cation concerning an abduction of a woman, the writer hints at disapproval o f his
correspondent’s epistolary methods. He notes with annoyance ‘Nobody wishing to
make any charge or complaint writes at the beginning o f his letter, lest he who
reads should be annoyed and they should not read the letter ...,141 Quite under
standably, Michael B. Trapp notes that
the balance of functional and aesthetic considerations - getting the message across and se
curing the required response to it, as against getting it across in a manner that will itself give
pleasure and excite admiration - differs from letter to letter.
Pleasure was not only brought to the recipient by having a well-composed letter
but also by receiving a letter written in the sender’s own handwriting143 or by just
getting a letter, as letters were thought to bring people who shared some affection
139 A useful edition of Roman and Late Antique theorists, both Greek and Roman, can be found
in Malherbe 19X8. Also discussed in Koskenniemi 1956, 54-63.
140 Julius Victor, 4 rs rhetorica 27 (De epistolis). Cf. Malherbe 1988, 64t.; Evans 1997, 184.
141 P.Oxy. XVI 1837 and 1841 respectively. Both from Oxyrhynchus, sixth century CE.
142 Trapp 2003, 3.
143 BGU II 423 (Misenum?, second century CE). It is a letter front a soldier to his family where
he notes how happy he was to receive a letter written by his father himselt. Ct. White 1987,
159; Cribiore 2002, 154.
Ohrysi Kotsifou 64
much closer together.144 Furthermore, the importance o f sending greetings to a

person is stressed, and the lack of them caused worry and sadness. In a letter be
tween two women, the sender concludes by pointing out ‘When my little Herai-
dous wrote to her father, she did not send a greeting to me, and 1 do not know
why.’145 This comment indicates that people did not consider greetings as a stan
dard feature in a letter but as an element that the sender had to keep in mind and
make sure to include in his or her correspondence. In addition to illuminating the
importance of greetings, this remark is also a strong indication o f the significant
role of children within certain households.146
Finally, we should briefly mention that education, besides enabling people to
express their emotions in more vivid colours, was also a cause o f anxiety on a
more practical level for both parents and children. The previously mentioned pa
pyrus of the student in Alexandria is a prime example o f the worries faced by
children during their studies.147 Students express their concern about having the
adequate fees, good tutors, and keeping their parents happy in their endeavours,
while parents were anxious that their children kept up with their studies and did
not waste their money.148
3.3 Formulas
As we mentioned above, the composition of papyri was often done by profes

sional scribes; the structure of documents, even private letters, was soon stan
dardised; and there were even written prescriptions available explaining how to
structure both official and private documents. Formulas existed for the beginning,
middle, and end part of a letter or petition.149 In what is to follow we will consider
whether these formulas in papyri restrict or embellish emotional phraseology and
expression. Are the references to emotions found in these formulaic openings and
closings a reflection of mere rhetoric, or can they also illuminate aspects o f real
ity?150
144 For example, P.Oxy. XXXIV 2728 (Oxyrhynchus, third to fourth century CE) and P.Oxy.
XLfl 3067 (Oxyrhynchus, third century CE). The writer notes ‘We shall have the impression,
through our letters, of seeing each other face to face.’ Cf. Trapp 2003, 39.
145 P Giss.1% (Hermopolite nome, 113-120 CE). Cf. Rowlandson 1998, no. 95.
146 Cf. Verhoogt 2009 for the importance of naming children in the greetings of private letters.
The scholar notes that women tend to identify children who offer greetings by name in their
letters, while men mention ‘children’ without a name.
147 P.Oxy. XVIII 2190 (Oxyrhynchus, c. 100 CE).
148 A selection of papyri on this topic can be found in Winter 1933, 64-67; Lewis 1999 631'.;
Bagnal) and Cribiore 2006, 77; Joyal, McDougall, and Yardley 2009, 180-183. I would also
add two Coptic letters from parents to their children from fourth century CE Kellis: P.Kell.
Copt 19 and 35.
149 White 1986,189 213.
150 Several of the issues tackled in this section have also been addressed in Dickey 1996. Two
points should be kept in mind, though: firstly, Dickey is only concerned with forms of
address, while we will examine the formulas in the opening, body, and closing of documents.
One of the most crucial problems when dealing with private letters from all
periods in Egypt concerns the titles used in the opening addresses (i.e. ‘patron’)
and the extent to which these reflect true relationships and express respect, affec
tion, or other feelings. There is a tendency in the papyri to use familial terms for
correspondents who were not blood relations.151 Especially the address between
men and women as ‘brother’ and ‘sister’ is difficult to interpret. In the Hellenistic
period siblings often married each other, and this complicates the interpretation of
these forms of address as literal or metaphorical references to a relation. In Late
Antiquity a further problem occurs, as with the establishment of Christianity, mo-
nasticism, and other ascetic practices titles such as ‘brother’ and ‘sister’ can indi
cate both family relationships and monastic ones.152 In a letter from fourth-century
CE Oxyrhynchus, for example, the writer greets fourteen ‘brothers’, five ‘sisters’,
two ‘mothers’, and one ‘father’.153 According to Evans154 many of these titles in
papyri could be explained if we considered that
it is possible that the practice of men and women referring to each other affectionately as
brother and sister generally took the place of the use of the word friend and so tends to mask
the evidence for male-female friendship.
Yet again, archives or dossiers of documents that belonged to specific people can
help one better define family relations, in particular those of brother and sister,
and mother and father, as there are more documents available to help the resear
cher establish genealogies.
A very common formula which appears to be expressing emotion is that of the
proskynema (‘obeisance’). It also exemplifies the ambiguities that can be caused
by formulaic language. This formula often appears at the beginning of letters of
the Imperial period and refers to an act of obeisance by the writer before a god or
gods.155 Its usage in letters of the Imperial period seems to be related to pilgrim
age to temples by visitors who left short inscriptions with their names and those of
relatives and friends in order to obtain the god’s blessing.156 The majority' of these
Secondly, caution should always be exercised when using literary parallels for analyzing
papyri. It has been shown, for example, that while the term <piA.tato<; in Greek literature has
an unmistakable emotional connotation, in papyri it does not indicate any family or other
d o se relationship but rather occurs in business and or official correspondence; see Gonis
1997, 148. For the purposes of this study, the works of Exler 2003 and Koskenniemi 1956 are
more relevant.
151 Evans 1997, 185 and Koskenniemi 1956, 104-110.
152 Bagnall and Cribiore 2006, 193-197.
153 P.Oxy. LV1 3859. This is one of the most common issues in papyri. Some of the most recent
addresses to it can be found in the editions of P.Oxy. XLV1I1 3405, 3420; LVT 3858; LIX
3988.
154 Evans 1997, 198.
156 For a thorough study of both the papyrologtcal and inscriptional ev idence, see Geraci 1971
and Bernand 1994.
Chrysi Kotsifou 66
texts refer to a proskynema made before the god Sarapis,157 but this does not ne
cessarily mean that the pilgrimage took place in Alexandria as previously
thought.158 Furthermore, the proskynema formulas may mention obeisance per
formed not only in front of one god but also in front of many, at some time by the
same individual.159 Finally, this formula should not be used as an indication of
affection and concern only among the pagans in Egypt, as it can also be found in
Christian letters. The proskynema opening formula remains the same but this time
it refers to the Christian God.160 It has been noted by scholars that despite the
formulaic usage of the proskynema, it can still be maintained that since it was
included in one’s letter, it indicates the writer’s remembrance, care, and concern
for his parents and friends.161 It is notable, albeit understandable, that although
there are numerous references in letters to obeisance performed for the well-being
of friends,162 there are none found in letters from masters to their servants.163 It
should also be noted that deviations from a standard form may originate in the
attempt to express affection strongly. For instance, in his letter to his friend He-
liodoros, Nearchos informs him of a possibly imagined proskynema in Syene, not
by using the usual formula but instead with a detailed account of it. Nearchos re
counts how he imagined sailing to Syene from where the river Nile flows and to
Libya where Ammon gives oracles to people. It is there that he made a prosky
nema and he inscribed his friends’ names on the temples to be remembered for
ever.164
Despite the stereotypical use of various formulas, there were still ways to
stress one’s feelings in the wording of a text, and in particular in letters. People
either diverted from the common and expected formula altogether or modified and
enhanced it in order to display their emotions better.165 For example, in two letters
from the second and sixth century CE, respectively, we find that the senders indi
cated their affection and respect by deviating from the usual terms of endear
ment.166 In a letter between a woman and her ‘brother,’ the writer starts with a
remarkable metaphor of affection: ‘Didyme to Apollonius her brother and sun,
greetings. You must know that I do not view the sun, because you are out of my
157 For the popularity of the cult of Sarapis, see the lengthy discussion in P.Zaki Aly 7.
158 Koskenniemi 1956, 139-145; Farid 1979.
159 In the letters between Paniskos and Ploutogenia (cf. Rowlandson 1998, 148) we find that one
scribe uses the formula ‘to the gods’ while a different one uses the singular ‘to god’. See also
Joxe1959,414.
160 A possible case is POxy. LIX 3997 (Oxyrhynchus, third to fourth century CE).
161 P.Zaki Aly 7 and Geraci 1971, !63f.
162 Evans 1997, 1901
163 Clarysse 2009,
164 PSarap 101 190 133 CE). ... t/6) 7Uxpejtoir)aapr|v teat apapevoq avajcXouv napaycvont-
voq ei<; u Etrfjvac, k« i o0ev ruy'/avei NeiA.o<; pEtov icai eiq Aipvmv onov "Apptov naaiv av-
bpd/xou; /prr]npmSf \ ... vtopa iotopnoa icai twv ipiAxov epwv xa ovopata evcxap«E,u ton;
upoit; aupvMTOK,, to rtpooicovripa ...
165 f or a similar phenomenon in inscriptions, see pp. 109-111 in this volume.
166 Koskenmemi 1956,95 104.
view; for I have no sun but you.’167 In a communication from a woman o f lower
status to a higher ranking recipient (probably her mistress), she addresses her as
‘the lady of my eyes’.168 Other techniques that could enhance the illustration of
feelings included the detailed description of an incident (common in petitions in
order to strengthen one’s argument and consequently one’s persuasion strate
gies);169 using words of exclamation;170 and offering word by word quotation of
someone’s speech. Paniskos does that in his final letter to his wife (quoting the
messenger) in order to demonstrate the extent of his frustration at not having re
ceived a letter from her (pp. 39f.). The use of irony was another tool to illustrate
one’s contempt and dismay.171172
The way a letter is dictated or written and whether its structure is smooth or
not can also be an indication of an individual’s emotional state during the compo
sition of the letter, whether they were angry, frustrated, or worried.17- We already
mentioned at the beginning of this chapter that the jumbled narration o f events in
the third letter from Paniskos to Ploutogenia (pp. 39f.) is a sign o f his frustration.
Another such case is a letter written by a woman to Apollonios the strategos about
a theft.173 The letter reads:
... to her brother Apollonios, many greetings. I salute you. From the day 1 departed from you
and was in the Hermopolite, 1 have been busy with the strategos ... the thieves wanted me to
(confirm) the content of the box, swearing about its value. But l did not want to swear before
167 P.Oxy. XLll 3059 (Oxyrhynchus, second century CE).

168 P.Grenf. I 61 (Arsinoite nome, sixth century CE). Cf. Bagnall and Cribiore 2006, 229.
169 On the emotive function of such vivid descriptions in epigrams and honorary inscriptions, see
pp. 107f. in this volume. Cf. the remarks of Maria Theodoropoulou (p. 463 in this volume).
170 For some references to the usage of exclamation words in literary sources, see Dickey 1996,
199-206.
171 For example, P.Sakaon 55 (Theadelphia, early third/early fourth century CE); P.Naqlun l 12
(Naqlun, Fayum, mid-sixth century CE); and P.Brem. 69 (Hermopolite nome, c. 100-150
CE). Cf. Cribiore 2002, 158f. For irony in a letter of Antoninus Pius, see p. 113 in this
volume.
172 Cribiore 2002, 150 and 154f.
173 P.Brem. 61 (Hermopolite nome, first h3lf of second century CE): XiroXX(avion ton d 8eX<pun
rcoXXa xatpeiv. danaôpai ae. dip’ f\<; qpepa<; e^qXBov and oou Kai cyevopqv ev ton
EpponoXeiltqi, Kate]Xa|)6pqv tov otpatqyov. ev [- - o|i kX(0Jic$ nBeXqodv pc [eiti<T<ppa-
yJiaaoBai fipe|] td evovta tqi xjiotrp) ogvuooari itepi ti)^ tip q lv eytb 8el on rcpdtepov
e|iouXopr|V 6p6oa(i q Xqp(?)]pati£eo9ai td apyupia ci5uTa loti x^pUs diteiXq^ otpatr)-
yuens ou8ev |- -oJGoi aX’ auto povov pavioKorco|- -]a<;. ita>s 8 ’ exets: eya) 8e ayomlw
Ka]6 ' qpepav, pq jtdXiv vu)9lp]6U (!£• fJuat]eiXov 8e poi irepi rq<; oa)tq[pias oou.l itpo
rtavtoq yap tqv owtqlpjialv oou] Jjtpotepavj) qyoGpai q itdvta a eiu^qtdn. o?8a yap itc*;
pe teipdi; Kai paptupw TtoXXaKu; naoi a iteitoiqKoo; poi. doitaoai AXivqv d 8eXl<p)iK(ix;
Kai Eu8aipovt 8a tqv pqtepa lx]ai td ap ao x av ta oou itaiSia. (hand 2) eppuioOai oc
euxopai. d>appoG9i iq. (hand 1) ouk dyvoei^, refix; itdXiv d pcopd; SievoxXei poi xdpiv tq,;
pqtpos autou pa>paivu)v vai o u k ex<ov oc
to v evtivaijovta autou tqv puipiav. peXqodtoi
ooi 8c, it<bq edv rcepiyio ooi td rcaiSia llauodv Kai kottcpuua itepi eveivov tou npdypa-
toq vouBctnons Kai eni ittpav; d^Tlv Cf- Bagnall and Cribiore 2006, 142f. For metaphors in
the epigraphic sources, see p. 112 in this volume.
Chrvsi Kotsifou 68
(collecting) the money, knowing that without a threat from the strategos they do not ... any
thing but... But how are you? 1am distressed that you are ill again. Send me news about your
well-being. Before all I regard your safety rather than all the things 1 seek after. 1 know how
you value me and 1often testily to all about what you have done for me. Greet Aline in a sis
terly wav (or who is a sister to me) and mother Eudaimonis and your children free from harm.
[Written by a second hand:] 1 pray for your health. Pharmouthi 16. [Postscript, written by the
first hand:] You are not unaware that the fool is bothering me again and is such a fool because
of his mother and because you are not here to shake out his foolishness. Take care, when 1
send you the children. Pausas and Kotteros, to advise them regarding that matter and to bring
it to an end.
As Raftaella Cribiore174 has noted, this letter is an indication o f the writer’s inde
pendent personality. She starts by immediately launching into her story and ca
lamities with the thieves. She then
remembers the precarious health of Apollonios with a colloquial 'How are you?’ Feeling a
little guilty for her lack of thoughtfulness the woman connects the problem of the theft with
Apollonios’ health saying that, in spite of her worries for the former, she worries much more
for him. The letter ends with the customary salutation to relatives and the woman’s own sub
scription ... But the letter is not finished. The writer suddenly remembers something else and
adds a postscript. The man she mentions as pestering her was probably her own estranged
husband. In speaking of him, the woman is beside herself in indignation and spits out her
words, saying that stupid man (moros), kept on bothering her foolishly (morainein), in his
stupidity (moria)\
This papyrus relates to the last point of this section: one o f the strongest means of
articulating frustration, anger, or fear is the repetition o f a word in a single docu
ment. In a Hellenistic petition, the petitioner wishing to instil pity and get the
authorities involved in his case keeps repeating at short intervals ‘O King, O
King, 0 King,’175 and in a communication from a mother to her son, the woman
repeats the adjective metedros (‘unsettled, in suspense’) four times in the begin
ning of the letter, so she would convince him of the intricacy o f a business affair
she is dealing with and the uncertainties and anxiety it is causing her.176 But the
case par excellence comes in a letter from a master to his subordinate.177 The let
ter is about agricultural matters and is filled with exasperation and amazement.
The composer notes that he has told the recipient to cut down the vines ‘a thou
sand times’ (pupum$). Now, he is asked again what is to happen to the vines:
To which I reply: cut them down, cut them down, cut them down, cut them down, cut them
down: there you are, I say it again and again!
174 Cribiore 2002,157f.

175 IJ Enteux 12 (244 243 BCE) Cf. Bagnall and Derow 2004, no. 121.
176 HGIJII 417 (second to third century CE). Cf. Cribiore 2002, 154.
177 E.Oxy.X LI1 3063 (Oxyrhynchus, second century CE): npd^ i)v avtiypoMpu) eicicoyov eicicoyov
?mcoyov fxKoyov ctcxoyov tSov, n/u tOTO.Kt^ Keyw.
Emotions and Papyri: insights into the Theatre of Human Experience in Antiquity 69
3.3 Is There a Relation Between Display of Emotion and Status?
More than other ancient sources, papyri are relevant to the study of status as they
preserve accounts of events from all social classes. Despite the fact that most pa-
pyrological documents are composed by people from the upper classes, the rest of
the material still suffices to throw light on issues of status and emotion. Status and
specific emotional phraseology are constantly interwoven in private letters and
petitions. In recent years, scholars have examined how the status of the writer of a
letter, or of the addressee, affects the vocabulary and the tone of the correspon
dence.178
Willy Clarysse, in particular, remarks that in letters among upper class people
and their subordinates, the former is usually addressed with a polite ‘please’ for
mula, while the latter receives an order with the typical third person imperative.
Further, these letters tend to be short and to the point. The shortness of the letters
is partly due to the absence of the usual introductory and concluding philophro-
netic formulas. There is, for example, no interest expressed in the health of the
addressee, no proskynemata, no thanks, no allusions to the ideology of friendship,
and rarely greetings to third persons. A recurrent theme is that of urgency, and
superiors have the right to rebuke inferiors. Sometimes criticism is strengthened
by a threat of punishment.179
One letter will be enough to illustrate most of these points. Marres is a topo-
grammateus (a local scribe in charge of record-keeping for a district) and a supe
rior to Menches who was a village scribe, a komogrammateus. Marres writes to
Menches because the latter failed to help a relative of his. Thus, Marres sends a
letter filled with exasperation and contempt to Menches:180
Marres to Menches, greeting. My kinsman Melas has appealed to me concerning an alleged
injury from you obliging him to complain to Demetrios son of Niboitas. I am excessively
vexed that he should have gained no special consideration from you on my account and
should therefore have asked assistance from Demetrios; and I consider that you have acted
badly in not having been careful that he should be independent of others owing to my supe
rior rank. I shall therefore be glad if you will even now endeavour more earnestly to correct
your behaviour towards him, abandoning your previous state of ignorance. If you have any
178 For letters sent particularly from people of high status to those of lower classes, see Clarysse
2009. For both upper and lower class writers, see Papathomas 2007.
179 I am grateful to Willy Clarysse for allowing me to have and quote a pre-publication version
of his paper.
180 P.Tebt. I 23 (Arsinoite nome, e. 119-111 BCE): Mappfj^ xaipeiv. MeXavoq ton
oixeiou rjgcov peta 8i:8a>x6to<; qpTv ntpi tov arcetpaivev nSixqaBui vmb ooO teat Aiipntpian
tail too Nt{3oitou iivayxdcBai 8ia(3aAe?v, xaB’ uitep(k>A.fiv |3e|3apuppevoi eiti tip |ac( pn
8C rpiai; exicrripacna^ aiitov teteuxtvai irpoaSeSerjaBat 8e xai Anpntpl°u ovuc opBdiq
xpivopev rcercpaxtai aoi pp ex n)<; npaiv npoe8pia<; netppovtixevai ctJtpoa8er|tov etepuiv
yfveaBou. 8io xai eti xai vuv KaXSk, itoujatu; tpiXoripottpov xpoBuppBfis Yva tot jtpoq
otutov [----- 1 8iopBtoar|i petuKaAiaac, ex ttov Jtpotiyvonpmov. ti St' tiva itpoq
aoxbv Xoyov auv ai>t(ik ouvtuxr rjpiv. eppaioo. xa>(po)yp(appattT) Meyxfji. Cf. Bagnall
and Derow 2004, no. 85.
C'lirysi Kotsifou 70
grievance against him apply together with him to me. Good-bye. (Addressed on the verso) To
Menches, village scribe.
However, in petitions, the relationship of emotion and status is not as straightfor
ward. Ari Bryen's article on public violence, petitions, and requests for justice
brings together all recent arguments and all relevant sources on this topic.181 He
concludes that, ultimately, individuals at all levels o f the hierarchy could be dam
aged by public wounds, therefore an emphasis on rank and status is completely
absent in such petitions.182 He specifies that anyone who was publicly attacked
and bore easily seen wounds was likely to petition for redress. This possibility
turns into a certainty if we consider that visible wounds183
sen e as a lasting reminder of personal defeat and humiliation, available to the eyes of others,
provoking comment and begetting stigma. When bruises and scars are on public display, the
viewing public can wonder what the victim is going to do to save face and preserve his or her
integrity; the victim, as part of a face-saving ritual, turns to law and authority, and asks for
redress.
Notably, in one of his studies on ‘confession inscriptions’ and ‘prayers for jus
tice’, Angelos Chaniotis stresses almost identical principles. In these inscriptions,
the issue is not violence inflicted on the supplicant but the theft o f goods. None
theless, people appealed to the gods for justice mostly because o f loss o f face
rather than the material damage they had suffered. Some o f the examples that are
cited include a man who had been cheated and reviled; a woman who had been
treated disdainfully; and another person who was afraid that he/she and the god
dess whom he/she had invoked would become the laughing-stock o f others should
a thief remain unpunished. Similarly to Bryen, Chaniotis also notes that ‘The fear
of humiliation was rooted in the publicity given to all these affairs.’184
Freeborn versus Slave

Additionally, it is worth raising the possibility that in petitions about violence the
problems are not so much between upper and lower class people but rather be
tween freeborn citizens and slaves. This distinction is emphasised both in com
plaints and by local officials, when they adjudicate concerning violence or discuss
the penalties that can be imposed on individuals.185 A Hellenistic petition can also
illuminate this point. Philista petitioned Ptolemy II Euergetes (although it was
ultimately Diophanes the strategos who would have judged her case) to have an
181 Bryen 2008, especially 183f., for references to previous scholarship on this topic.
182 Bryen 2008 only deals with petitions that regard public violence. Petitions for other reasons
can paint a different picture. See for example, P.Amh. II 142 (Herakleopolis ?, after 341 CE):
A long petition by a man to the prefect regarding an aggression which had been made by a
number of persons on his land. The petitioner clearly states that the perpetrators despised him
due to their high status and power and because of his moderate lifestyle (apragmatosyne).
183 Bryen 2008, 183 187.
184 Chaniotis 2004a, 20f.
185 Bryen 2008, I 88f.
Egyptian bath attendant punished because he had scalded her. It is quite under
standable to expect Philista to be filled with anger, contempt, and vengefulness
after she was scalded by a man who was a slave and an Egyptian. Nonetheless,
she puts emphasis on her emotions of suffering and anguish. Notably, Diophanes
the strategos was also greatly outraged by the behaviour of the bath attendant,
since this is the only time that he does not defer the case to someone else and in
stead orders that the accused be brought immediately to him.186 Furthermore, we
have the petition for divorce by a woman who strongly complains that her hus
band is mistreating her as badly as if she was his ‘bought slave’.187 Contempt,
anger, and legal status are also invoked in a private letter by a woman who is re
futing some unjust accusations that were made against her. After a considerable
amount of venting against her complainant, she concludes ‘... And if we had to be
specific about family, this again we show first, who is of better birth, since we
utterly deny that we were bom from a slave...’188
As already mentioned, petitions that concern disputes over issues other than
physical abuse may also show the significance of status and emotion in this type
of document. The relation of status and the manifestation of anger in petitions is a
fruitful topic, one that certainly deserves a detailed study in the future. An impor
tant issue is whether the expression of anger in petitions is related to the high
status of the petitioner or depends more on the petitioner’s secure feeling of the
outcome of the case, as in cases of extreme violence.189 Here, two petitions suffice
to bring this topic to the fore. First, a man writes to the village elders about a theft
and petitions for redress:190
To Aelius Numisianus, strategos o f the Arsinoite nome, the division o f (Themistes) and Po-
lemon from Sotas, son o f Heron. On the 20th of the present month, Thoth, Pt-, the son o f Pse-
nobastis and grandson o f Abetos, being an elder of the village o f Phylakitite Nesos, in my ab
186 P.Enteux. 82 (Magdola, 221 BCE). Cf. Lewis 1986, 59; Rowlandson 1998, no. 130; Bagnall
and Derow 2004, no. 140.
187 BGU IV 1105 (Alexandria, 10 BCE). Cf. Rowlandson 1998, no. 257. It has also been noted
that the expression to) ibiip (‘to my own’) in the opening of the letters from the Gemellus
archive could be a sign of affection or a sign of master-slave relationship; on this subject see
Clarysse 2009.
188 W.Chr. 131 (fourth century CE): cav f|v be ovopaêiv rtepi yevou<; teat tau to rtdA.w <p0avo-
pev artobcTâv, tic; euyeveaTepoq ecm. f\geTi; yap ouk eyevopeOa arto 8ouA.ris YevvqBevre,;.
Cf. Bagnall and Cribiore 2006, 397f.
189 For references to passages in ancient Greek literature which show that anger was the
prerogative only of gods and princes and that it helped maintain social hierarchy, see Harris
2001, 139f. For the epigraphic sources, aee pp. 115-118 in this volume. See also note 192
190 BGU XIII 2240 (Phylakitike Nesos, Arsinoite, 138-142 CE): AiXuo Noupiauxvtp crtpatT|Y<j>
Apaivoitou Bepicrrou K«i noAipiovot; pepibtuv rtapd Icbtou toG 'Hpiovo^- n) k: too
eveemotoq prjvo.; BwO Ht... mbi; Tevopdtmo.; ASi) ton pea..ti exo^ u>v rtpeopurepoc tabptv;
d>\>A.atanK% Nqaoo auBbbux; rtap(?)an>x®v(?) v at’ epqv d r t o v K r i a v ertnA.Be ... ejkt<rra£e
yittbva ... tcai ncxpayevapevoi; taxi vataXaptov bpyi^bpevo^ rij rtepi aurov uGBabeia
encoTqaa xov tfj<; tabpr|<; bpyeipobov tov erteyovta taxi peypt vuv tbv SeTva ... sap' eauttp
bBev, tatpie, ov> bovbpevos taiBncntydêiv, dîto, edv aoi bd^D- dythjvai aurdv ffti oe.
Chrysi Kotsifou 72
sence boldly set foot on my property. ... and carried off a garment ... Returning and catching
him. and (outraged) by his boldness, I summoned the village police who have been guarding
(the accused) until now. Since I am, my Lord, not at all (able) to remain calm, I request that
he be brought before you (if you think fit)...
The petitioner, who apprehended the thief red-handed, is filled with anger and
makes that explicit in his petition. He also notes that he submits this petition be
cause he cannot control his emotions and remain calm (m G riauxa^to). Secondly,
in a petition to the strategos: the petitioner complains that he and his wife have
been abused and that his pregnant wife had been brutally mishandled by a herds
man.191 He appeals not to pity, but rather to justice. The wording o f the petition
reveals anger. The petitioner notes that
... not wishing to pay me but to cheat me, acted insultingly to me and to my wife ... and be
sides this he also mercilessly inflicted on my wife Tanouris many blows ...
In both cases, the petitioners are from the middle to upper classes and seem to
believe that their case and rightful redress could not be disputed.192 Their use of
expressions such as ‘outraged,’ ‘boldness,’ ‘not able to remain calm ,’ ‘insult
ingly,’ and ‘mercilessly inflicted’ justifies that these petitions display anger rather
than sadness or worry. Notably, both petitioners also close their document by
‘asking’ the authorities for redress and not ‘begging’ or ‘requesting’ for it.
3.4 Emotion and Gender
Before considering what papyri can convey about women in Egypt, their lifestyle,
and the emotionally loaded situations in which they were involved,193 the issue of
whether women composed their own documents, especially letters, should be ad
dressed; if they did not, how likely is it for these letters to record the actual words
of their supposed authors?194 Although it is still a matter o f dispute w hether levels
of literacy were low in the ancient world,195 it is very probable that am ong women
191 P Mich. V 228 (Tebtynis, 47 CE): ... Tiepi otv cxpeiXei poi ovgcovlcov xai pexpTipdtcov ouxoi;
ovv pq poWvbgEvoi; u 7io5ouvat aXka tcai 8iajtA,avfjaai uppiv pot Enetekeaev teal -rfi yu-
vatKi pov Tavovpei ’Hpiovaxo<; ev xf| 8r|A.o\)gEvfl ’Apcax; K<bpr|<;. ext 8e k« 1 eScotcev xf) yo-
vana Tavovpet d(pei6eoxepa nA,qydc; nA.fipen; ei<; xa napaxuxovxa pepn xov awpaxcx;
Eytcuui avail oxm nap’ uvxti etcxexputxai avxfiv xo ppetpoq veicpov coerce avxiyv tcaxatcAivTi
dvat m i Kiv8uvruetv xov ^qv. 816 aîco ypongai xotq xrj<; Il£,vpvvxo>v npeapvxepou; ek-
xepyai xov evm/.ovpevov eni ae npbq xqv eaopevriv eneô 8ov. ebxf>xfc'i ... Cf. Rowlandson
1998, no. 229 and Lewis 1999, 79. Also see P.Oxy. XXXIII 2672 (Oxyrhynchus, 21 8 CE).
192 It should be noted that anger in Antiquity was associated with upper class persons. It was
expected and tolerated if it was expressed by individuals of superior status; anger was thought
to maintain social hierarchy. Konstan 2006, 73f.; Harris 2001, 140f. See also note 190.
193 For a history of the scholarship of women’s studies and papyrology, see Parca 2005.
194 Magnall and Cribiore 2006, 6 . l or the chronological distribution of women’s letters from the
Hellenistic period to Late Antiquity, see Magna!I and Cribiore 2006, 19-22.
195 In general, a low level of literacy in the ancient world is supported by Flarris 1989, but these
theories have been recently challenged by Pebarthe 2006.
in Egypt reading and writing were rare and valued qualities.196 Roger Bagnall and
Raffaella Cribiore197 add that
some women, it turns out, were able to write with ease, but they are also those most likely to
have been able to afford to own or hire an amanuensis. It is, ironically, those most capable of
writing who are least likely to do so.
For instance, the letters of women in the archive of the strategos Apollonios (early
second century CE) provide evidence for the employment of various scribes.198
Bagnall and Cribiore are confident, though, that despite the fact that a palae-
ographical study of letters cannot disclose which ones were composed or dictated
word for word by women, a study of the language of letters can prove to be much
more informative on this topic. Furthermore, we should keep in mind that many
papyri involving women derive not from archives compiled by women them
selves, but from archives collected by their men-folk, for men appear to have been
the more ready to intersperse personal letters among their business papers.199
Nonetheless, in the case of those archives which were certainly compiled by
women, it is evident that whether these women were literate or not, they were
more likely than men to separate out private letters from their business papers, and
to store the personal letters they wished to keep in different and perhaps more
private places.200 This phenomenon could be due to emotional reasons, such as the
feelings these women had for the family members and friends who sent them
these letters.
Ultimately these documents - letters,201 contracts, accounts, and petitions -
serve to illustrate women as agents in Egyptian society and stress their visibility in
many communal activities, whether in business ventures, religious pursuits, or the
bringing-up of their children.202 One of the most stimulating subjects is that of
‘feminine weakness’, the way in which it is invoked by women in their docu
ments, and how it reflects the perceptions of men about them and of women about
196 On literacy in the papyrological material see Rowlandson 2004, 158 and 160. Hanson 2005b
notes that illiterate women probably depended on non-verbal signals, such as the arrangement
of the sheets and the particular format of a specific document, in order to distinguish one
document from another in their archives. See also Barton and Hall 2000, 3.
198 Cribiore 2002.
199 Hanson 2005b.
200 Hanson 2005b.
201 Regarding specifically private letters composed by women, Cribiore 2002, 161, claims that
they can often demonstrate ’the existence of a group of women tied by strong bonds ot love,
friendship, loyalty and social relationships. ... In spite ot notable differences in social and
economic status and education, all these women were literate to a degree: their letters show
that their world was penetrated through and through by the written word.'
202 For cases in which women are involved in physical, verbal, economical, and psychological
violence, see Parca 2002, 284 -287. See also Eitrem and Amundsen 1954 for an edition of SB
VI 9421 (Oxyrhynchus, third century CE), which is one such case.
Chrysi Kotsifou
74
themselves,203 A lucid example is Didyme’s petition to the prefect against her

uncles, whom she accuses of stealing part o f her property. She explains:204
It is a difficult matter to be wronged by strangers, but to be w ronged by kin is worst o f all.
M y mother’s father Dioskoros had three children in all - Th e o n , D io sk o ro s, and Ploutarche,
m y mother - who inherited from him when he died. A fte r som e tim e, m y m other also died,
w hile 1 was underage and already an orphan. M y lord prefect, y o u know w ell that the race o f
women is easy to despise, because o f the w eakness o f our nature. F o r a ll things from the in
heritance devolving upon us (for it was a single household and one fa m ily ) were in the house
there in which they were living - that is, the slaves, the im m o vab le s, the fu rn ish in g s, and
movable goods were all there undivided. ... N o w , at any rate, I have re covered , due to your
ever-alert spirit, and 1 am beginning to realise that I sho uld approach no o ne but y o u, the
benefactor and guardian o f me and everyone else. T h u s 1 hurry to a sk y o u , sin ce yo u have
seen me bereft, to command, whenever it seems good to y o u , that m y u n c le s, brothers o f m y
mother, be compelled to return to me what belongs to m e, as heiress o f m y m other, together
with the increments from that time until now from the sla v es and rents and eve rythin g else. 1
shall eternally confess my gratitude to your spirit, once I take b a c k m y in heritan ce from m y
mother through your trustiness and your nobility.
The verb 'to despise’ (Kmatppoveco) plays an integral part in the persuasion stra
tegies of the female composers o f these documents. Through exaggeration they try
to manipulate the emotions o f the addressee. As Ari Bryen205 notes,
petitioners had to compose within the bounds o f a certain legal genre and present le g a lly ac
tionable issues if magistrates were to take their c o m p la in ts se rio u sly . A t the sam e tim e, their
narratives had to be rhetorically effective, co n v e y in g su fficie n t pathos to substantiate peti
tioners’ claim s that they did, in fact, need im m ediate legal attention.
Women petitioners often combined references to their ‘w om anly w eakness’ with

the claim that they are orphaned or that they are responsible for orphaned
20 3 See pp. 3 1 7 - 3 2 7 in this volume.

204 P Oxy X X X I V 2 7 1 3 (O xyrh yn chus, 2 9 7 C E ) : to vnb ^ evwv a b n d o G a i x a fê rco v, aXXa to
into] Kcd ^vyyevuiv xa^-Eftanatov. y e y o v a a iv tip it a v f t ji [7tarut]q) tip K a t a [p r|]te p a A io -
cjKopip iiai8e<; t p i;, 0eiov K a i Aiocncopoc; K a i n X o u ta p x r i < f |> eph p f|t[n p , e ]cp’ 01; KX,r|po-
v o p o i; tov piov p £tf|A .X a £ fv aXXa xpovou p e to ^ u y e v o p iv o u t[o xpe]u>v a jio 5 e 5 a )K e v p
tp h p rim p . epov Kata8eou<; tf|v f |^ o d a v K a i ev op<p[avia] Ka0£Otco<JT|;' a p e tv o v 8 e e j u -
o tu a e . tjyepw v d ea n o x a , ott to y u v a iK E io v y I e v o ; ] e u K ata!; aaOevei;- n d [ v t a j y a p t a K a t a X e up0£ v t a e a u to u ; a n o rrjq Jtp o a itE o o d a ri;
K/.T|povopi[u;] e vd ; ovto<; o ik o v K a i p i a ; ok;, e j i’ a d t h ; m ; o i K i a ; t)v ev t|
(tK e iJ a a i a v v S ie to i f|o a v - Aiyco 8h av8poJi68cov K a i oiKone8a>v K a i e v8 o p |e v(a < ;j K a i
K fivovpivtuv d d n a ip e tto v o v tu iv ... vuv y o vv a v a o ( p f |X a a a , t p ; o h ; £7iayp {m [vo 'u| t u / r i ;
o u v a p a p iv t);. dpxo[p£VT| te j e p a v tt|v yvcopiîv o u 8 e v i i n a v e [X.0eiv] r) c m tip eptp K a i
savTiuv leuep yetjii K ai KtiSepovi eoTteuaa 8eri0f|vote a o u o j i [ io; v o Jf|c ra ; pe a te p o u p e v iiv
Kf/îLi[oT|j^ [djrtdtt a v oot 8 | okt |J e n a v a y K a o 0 r |v a [ i t o d ;] n p o ; p p t p o ; p ou 0 e to u ; t a
enifi(//JjOvxb. poi p ip ln d |n o 8 u /.8 o x h ; t h ; p r |b p d ;J f t ; epe K a t a v t f | o a o a a n o K a t d a triO E
pin pexa K a i t | oj| v i x tote p£XPFl vdv 8|icxipojpcov ttdv d v 8 p a n o 8 a )v K a i e v o ik io w K a i tcov
Aoifjuttjv ndvtojv K a i e ^ t) ; n |io t ijc o ; K a i K a X o K a ia y a 0 E ia ; t a p ritp tp a d rc o X a P o d o a 8 ia
x ja jv t o ; tt| tt//T| a o u y jd p it u ;) 6poX,oyf|oo). R o w lan d so n 19 9 K , no. 7 5 . C f . G ru b b s 2 0 0 2 ,
5 3 1., Kotsifou 2009, 358f.
20 5 Bryen 2008, 1821
children. Orphanhood seems to be used primarily by women in order to provoke

pity. They usually commence their petition by stating that they know that the pre
fect is a just judge and a protector of all. Then they describe the dispute, usually in
great detail, assuming that the more details they provide the more credibility they
lend to their case. Furthermore, in order to provoke the pity of the prefect, they
employ strong language such as the verb ‘to despise’ (Kaxatppoveto) or make re
peated references to their unfortunate children and their weak feminine nature.
Despite what is stated in these petitions, ultimately these women came from well-
to-do families and may not have been as vulnerable as they claim. Most interest
ingly, statements in Roman Law about feminine nature are openly used to these
women petitioners’ advantage in their legal actions.206 Finally, by presenting
themselves as unprotected they also oblige the prefect to become their protector.
Additionally, a small dossier of documents (a will, an account, and a peti
tion)207 that refer to Berenike, a business woman, are extremely informative for
the divergent ways men viewed and treated women, and the emotions they asso
ciated with them. This petition (see p. 46 note 41) refers to the disinherited
children of her husband and how they were deceiving their mother because of
their evil ways. If we only had this petition, we would certainly have thought that
Berenike was, indeed, a poor woman who could not run her property properly due
to her sons’ bad influence. Fortunately we also have the will and the account. The
will is that of Berenike and her husband. It is clearly stated in this document that
the children are not disinherited but that Berenike’s husband simply preferred his
wife to take over the family business after his death. Furthermore, the account
proves that Berenike was a successful business-woman, well capable o f handling
large amounts of money. Thus, it seems that Apion, the petitioner against
Berenike, is misrepresenting or misinterpreting the facts. He assumes that a
‘weak’ woman would not have been able to resist his demands unless she was
manipulated by male relatives, such as her sons.208 It is safe to say that his con
tempt for Berenike, although not stated in the petition, is demonstrated by the pe
titioner’s actions. This is yet another example of how the nature of papyrological
data, i.e. archives and dossiers, can uniquely highlight aspects of social and emo
tional interactions.
206 For more examples of petitions by women who refer to their weak womanly nature and an
analysis of these texts, see Kotsifou 2009, 258-262. In her analysis of P.Oxy. 11 237 (Oxy-
rhynehus, 186 CE), Parca 2002, 296, points out that the law \.. not only unequivocally
acknowledges but also legally validates a woman’s right to emotional happiness.’ The
document is a petition from a daughter against her father who was trying to forcefully take
her out of her happy marriage.
207 P.Oxy 111 493, VI 985, and XXII 2342, respectively. The dossier is discussed in van Minnen
1998.
208 Van Minnen 1998,70.
Chrysi Kotsifou 76
5.3 Papyri and the Elucidation of Familial Emotional Communities
Private letters from Egypt offer the reader a detailed insight into ‘emotional com
munities*, notably that of a family, extended or not. Letters from parents to their
children, from children to their parents, and among siblings themselves reveal
what they presented as valuable or harmful to their family and the type o f emo
tional expression they expected, encouraged, or tolerated under varied circum
stances. With the three letters of Paniskos to his wife quoted at the beginning of
this chapter (pp. 39-41), we already caught a glimpse o f marital relations and
strifes.209 This section will now discuss certain issues that are evident in papyri
and relate to the emotional attachment o f parents to their children, and the recip
rocal relationships between parents and their grown-up offspring. Private letters
among family members offer numerous occurrences o f parental and familial af
fection towards children.210 Tenderness, elation, and consequently worry about
one’s well-being is expressed with both small and grander articulations. Some of
the examples are widely known while others have never been discussed in the
context of the study of emotions.
In a letter from a daughter to her mother, the writer notes that she is sending
the addressee various articles and specifies that she is also sending ‘...a little cup
for little Theonas and another for the daughter o f your sister’.211 In a different
communication, between a soldier and his wife, the sender worries about family
and debts and among other things he tells his wife: ‘As for the child, keep an eye
on him as you would on an oil lamp, since I am worried about you.’212 The use o f
a simile (Tike an oil lamp’) in this and in similar texts enhances the expression o f
affection. The longing for a child is also visible in the letter o f a woman to her
daughter. Ptollis’ mother sends her a letter to congratulate her on her newborn
daughter. The mother expresses her happiness in being informed that her daughter
delivered her child in safety. She asserts that she prayed to the gods on a daily
basis for that. This demonstrates the mother’s great concern and fear for her
daughter’s life. Given that childbirth often resulted in the death o f the mother or
the child or both, this feeling seems quite justified and not exaggerated. The
relationship of the grandmother to her new granddaughter is also indicated by the
209 Some more examples are: P Petr. Ill 42 H (8f) (Arsinoite nome, 262-259 BCE); UPZ I 59
(Memphis, 168 BCE); P.Dubl. J6 (second or third century CE); PSI VIII 895 (Oxyrhynchus,
late third to early fourth century CE).
210 In the earlier section on formulas and papyri, we discuss the role and importance of referring
to children in the opening and closing of a letter; and in the section of variables between the
eras, we mentioned the frequency with which children are associated with the saying ‘may the
evil eye not touch them* in letters. For an updated bibliography on the Roman and Late
Antique family and emotional attachments among its members, see Kotsifou 2009, 340- 344.
211 P Pay 127 (Bakchias, Arsinoite nome, second or third century CE).
212 New Don. I 13 (reign of Trajan): to nrxiS'iv r.nfc'tpbA.ryuv ox; Xi>xvov, frctStxv ayamah Kept
Gubv.
fact that the grandmother suggested a name for the child and urged her daughter
not to delay the naming.213
The voice of children can also be heard in these letters, albeit not as fre
quently, and it can express how much children depended on their family’s fond
ness. A boy, for example, writes to his father to tell him how upset and angry he is
because the father did not take him with him to the city. He threatens never to
speak to him again. At least, he had better send him some gifts.214 In a letter that
demonstrates the harsher side of children’s lives in antiquity, a mother complains
to Zenon about the mistreatment of her son during his apprenticeship. She de
scribes the great extent to which her son was physically abused to the point that
she had to take him back to their house, and how she has not been paid for a
whole year for the child’s labours. She starts her account quite forcibly by ex
pressing her feelings of alarm as she had heard that her boy was being mis
treated.215
By contrast, in some communications we may observe emotional detachment,
disinterest, and even abuse. A famous case is a letter from Oxyrhynchus (1
BCE),216 with which a husband instructs his wife not to worry about his well-be
ing. He then expresses his concern and caring about their child. He concludes by
telling her that when she gives birth, to keep the child if it is male and to expose it
if it is female.217
As we mentioned previously, giving one’s child a specific name can be a sign
of hope or fear, but simultaneously, it was very common to name a child after a
213 P.Munch. Ill 57 (second century BCE). Cf. Bagnall and Cribiore 2006, 109; Rowlandson
1998, no. 225. Noteworthy is also P.Flor. I 93 (Antinoe, 569 CE), a divorce contract that
leaves property also to an unborn child; see Frankfurter 2006, 49. BGU 11 665 (Arsinoite
nome, first century CE) also displays in detail the anxiety felt by two men as the wife of one
of them was about to have a child and he could not be with her. Cf. Lew is 1999, 80.
214 P.Oxy, I 119 (Oxyrhynchus, second/third century CE). The phraseology of the letter is so
childish that quite probably it reflects the feelings of the boy. On the topic of difficult
children, we should also mention P.Mich. Ill 219 (Koptos, 296 CE). It is a letter by the same
Paniskos that we have referred to before (pp. 39-41) but this time instead of his wife it
concerns his daughter. He requests his brother to care and provide for his daughter. Inter
estingly enough, Paniskos stresses to his brother to impose his commands on her “gently even
if she contradicts you’. We know from Paniskos’ other letters to his wife that he was used to
being contradicted and to dealing with difficult women (both his wife and mother), so he
obviously expected his daughter to act similarly.
215 P.Col. Ill 6 (Philadelphia, 257 BCE). Cf. Bagnall and Cribiore 2006, 100. For an epigraphic
parallel see Jordan 2000 (SEG L 276); cf. Harvey 2007; Chaniotis 2012, 303. It is a letter
from a boy who complains to this family about the abuse he suffers in his workplace and
requests to be removed as soon as possible. See p. 98 n. 39 in this volume.
216 P.Oxv IV 744. Cf. Rowlandson 1998, no. 230.
2 17 For the tine nuances of the wording of this letter and the complications in understanding
exactly what this letter refers to, see West 1998. To contrast these two documents, see VPZ I
2 (Memphis, 163 BCE), which is a petition to the king regarding an uncaring mother who
cheated her young daughter out of her circumcision and marriage money and left her at the
care of the personnel of the Serapeion in Memphis.
Chrysi Kotsifou 78
grandparent, a parent or another family member. So, for example, a father writes
to his mother that if his child had been a boy, he would have been named after his
brother, but since ‘it was a little girl, she was called after your name’.218
A third-century CE letter reveals a conflict between what could be expected
from mothers and grandmothers regarding the appropriate way to take care of a
child, and the specific expectations associated with the high status of a woman. A
woman writes to her son-in-law about her daughter and in a firm tone specifies to
him: ‘I hear that you are compelling her to nurse. If she wants, let the infant have
a nurse, for I do not permit my daughter to nurse.’219 This letter can either demon
strate a conflict between affection for a child and status expectations or indicate
that the grandmother was emotionally detached from her grandchild and more
concerned about her daughter’s well-being. It also relates to the reasons and the
time a mother could feel ‘compelled’ to breast-feed her child. Although we cannot
answer this question with certainty, this text still sheds light on the context of wet-
nursing contracts.
An under-studied topic is that of the reciprocal rapport between parents and
their grown-up children. Quite often children express great gratitude even for
small items received or for a small assistance. Even the gift of a chair could be the
grounds for a very emotional thank-you letter.220 Furthermore, the concept of
gerotrophia, the child nourishing an old parent in return for all the care he or she
received during infancy, was very strong in the Greek world.221 The archive of
letters of Satomila and her sons is representative of this tradition.222 The letters are
mainly sent from Sempronios to his brothers and mother. Sempronios repeatedly
insists to his brothers that it is their duty to take care of their mother and not dis
tress her in any way. The second letter best represents these feelings:223
218 P Mil. II 84 (fourth century CE). Cf. Rowlandson 1998, no. 226; Rowlandson 2004, 156.
Another example is BGU II (Arsinoite nome, second century CE), a letter from a soldier to
his family where we read that both his son and nephew are named after him.
219 P.Lond III 951 V: [ijicovoal oxi 0r|Ad£etv avxqv dvayKaên;. ei 8eXei, to (3pe<po<; exexw
xpotpov, cy© yap ovk enixpeito) xt) Svyaxpt poo 0r)A.d£eiv; cf. Bagnall and Cribiore 2006,
213. Also see, Masciardi and Montevecchi 1984, 153 and C.Pap.G r.3 1.
220 POxy. VI 963 (Oxyrhynchus, second/third CE); cf. Bagnall and Cribiore 2006, 333. Under
standably, daughters depended on their parents for a lot more than the acquisition of furniture.
P Tebt II 334 (Tebtynis, 200/201 CE) is a petition from a woman who notes that her husband
started seriously harassing her after her parents died and she was left alone to fend for herself.
Cf. Yiftach-f iranko 2001,1333.
221 Rowlandson 1998. 144 no. 2. In P.OxyM III 1121 (Oxyrhynchus, 295 CE) a daughter states it
clearly about her mother: rj npoiceigevr) gov pr)xr|p Tejcciknc; vooo> Kaxu(3A.r|0eTcm icaxa xriv
fcgavrric; p t ' X p i 6x T ) x u . ) evoooicognoa icut v n u p e x T i a a icai ovic e7iavadpr)v xd npercov-
t o v tt v
xa yrtvf a0«i vno xcirvwv yovevoi dvanA.ripovoa.

222 For a discussion of the archive and translation of some of the letters, see Rowlandson 1998,
143 147.
223 Sel.Pap. I 121 (Alexandria, ca. 100 150 CE): Lignpomoq xq> ddtAcpo) nXetoxa
xatpt.iv. xpo xm o/ ajv ippotaHui of ev/upui. gtxeA,a(}ov, oxi (kcpeux; 8ovA,evexe xr)v icupt-
av ripwv giyrcpa. fpurtrfitiq, db»A«p* yAvtcuxaie. tv pqdevt avxt)v A,v>7cct. ei 8e xiq xwv
dd</vtpo>v dvxtXeyti avtft, ov wpri/Uu; a.vxov<; KoAaqriêtv. t)8ti yap naxrip dtpetXet KaXet-
Sempronios to Maximos his brother, many greetings. Before all I pray for your health. I
learned that you are treating our revered mother harshly. Please, dearest brother, do not dis
tress her in anything. If anyone of the brothers talks back to her, you ought to box their ears.
For now you ought to be called father. I know that without my letter you are able to please
her. But do not take amiss the advice of my letter. For we ought to reverence her who bore us
as a god, especially when she is so good. This I have written to you, brother, since I know the
sweetness of dear parents. Please write to me about your health. Farewell, brother.
A letter from the Hellenistic period echoes these sentiments. Philonides is worried
about his father Kleon and encourages him to retire from his post so he can take
care of him. Philonides clearly displays his emotions of caring and affection
towards his father by mentioning the verb ‘to care/protect’ (Tcpooxaxeco) twice in
his letter and by stressing that the act of caring for his father would be something
worthy of both Kleon (and consequently worthy of Kleon’s deeds and good up
bringing of his children) and of Philonides himself.224 The repetitions continue as
Philonides describes in detail all the ways he would like to take care of his father,
during his liftetime and after his death; he twice states that he would show all due
honours to Kleon after his death, and also uses KaX,oq twice in these sentences. All
of these wordings are employed by Philonides in order to underline the sincerity
and depth of his feelings.
Helplessness in old age is undeniably the issue that disheartened parents em
phasise in their petitions when they request redress from their children who are
not offering them their dues. A certain Ktesikles opens his petition to the king by
claiming225
[I] am wronged by Dionysios and Nike, my daughter. For though 1 raised her, my own
daughter, and educated her and brought her to maturity, when I was stricken with bodily ill-
health and was losing my eyesight, she was not disposed to furnish me with any of the neces
sities of life.
His daughter was refusing to take care of him. According to Greek and Egyptian
law, Nike was obliged to do that. Ktesikles starts by saying that he had fulfilled all
his duties as a father. He not only had brought up his daughter but had also edu
cated her. Then his tone and feelings are those of neglect, and of disappointment
as he explains that when he found himself old and sick, his daughter did not carry
aOai. eniatapai. on t®v ypapgcacov pou Suvaro; ei, aotri apeaai. aXXa gr)
Papeux; exf poo ta ypaggata vonOt moved ae. 6<pdA.ogcv yap ae(ka0ai rf|v itKouoav tlx;
0tov. paXiota Toiadtnv ouoav ay« 0f|v. ta u ta aoi eypaya, a 8eA.<pe, exiordpevo«; rqv yku-
tcacnav uov KUpirov yoveiov. vaXcd; junqcei<; ypaycts poi xepi rfo atonipias uguiv. eppuxjo
poi. ot8eA.<pt\ Translation and commentary: Winter 1933, 48f.
224 P.Petr. Ill 42 H (5) (Arsinoite nome?, 252 BCE). Cf. Lewis 1986,44f.
225 P.Enwux. 26 (Magdola, 221 BCE). Cf. Bagnall and Derow 2004, no. 152. For similar
complaints towards an ungrateful nephew see an inscription from Axiotta (SEG Llll 1344;
Chaniotis 2012 and p. 222 in this volume). Part of it reads: 'For the son ot my brother
Demainetos made me his captive. For 1 had neglected my own atYairs and helped you. as it
you were my ow n son. But you locked me in and kept me a captive, as it 1 were a criminal
and not your paternal uncle.’
Chrysi Kotsifou 80
out her duties and take care of him. We notice here an association between age
and emotion. The father also describes his daughter’s emotion towards him as that
of loathing; he finds that it is his old age and ill health that provoke this emotion
in her.
The letter of Haychis to Zenon is also relevant. Haychis was anxious because
her daughter had been helping her run her brewery; now that she is gone, Haychis
is suffering loss. In order to instil pity in Zenon and get him to help her, Haychis
continues with a number of quite probable exaggerations and portrayals o f feel
ings o f suffering, neglect, and worry. Ultimately, despite the emotions o f insecu
rity that Haychis expresses in her letter, given the all-commanding and even bitter
tone and in particular her closing request that the girl be returned to her regardless
of the daughter’s wish, scholars have been led quite rightly to view Haychis as not
so helpless, and even to go as far as to suggest that the m other was treating the
daughter as her own property.22627
It may be significant for the socio-cultural attitudes towards women that in
both papyri the daughters are portrayed by a mother and a father respectively as
naive and impressionable, thus easily persuaded to run away with inappropriate
111
suitors at a moment’s notice without considering the irritation they could cause.
Since we do not have as many documents complaining about men, this type of
letters and petitions may indicate that it was self-evident that men provided for
their old parents.
Maryline G. Parca22829uses documents like the ones just quoted to note that
there is more to violence than assault and battery, but the emotional distress which undoubt
edly lay behind and oftentimes motivated complaints and petitions leaves but few traces in
the papyrological documentation ... Compensation for profound anxiety and its sequels was
wholly unheard of in ancient Egypt.
Such a statement holds much truth, but we must consider that psychological abuse
was a two-way ‘prerogative’. Parents could definitely also exercise it on their
children, and a letter sent by Terentianos to his father is a superb illustration of
this m With this letter Terentianos seeks to win his father’s consent to a plan for
bringing a woman into his household. Anticipating strong opposition, however, he
redoubles his affirmation of filial obedience. He starts his letter by demonstrating
his affection for his father as he mentions to him that he offers prayers to the gods
226 PUjnd VII 1976 (Philadelphia, 253 BCE). C’f. Rowlandson 1998, no. 209; Bagnall and
Cnbiore 2006,102.
227 On the discontent of mothers, also see WChr. 131 (fourth century CE), where a woman
describes with disgust and frustration the behaviour of two girls she was probably taking care
of: If you want to draw conclusions about the fornications of your daughters, do not
question me but the Elders of the church, how the two of them leapt up saying, “We want
men" and how Loukra was (bund beside her lover, making herself a courtesan. Therefore,
they are full of grudge because we handed them to Soucharos ...’ Translation in Bagnall and
Cribiore 2006, 397. See also Winter 1933,157-159, with commentary.
228 Parca 2002,2931
229 P Mich VHI476 (Karams, early second century CE).
for his father’s good health on a daily basis. He also notes that his bride will take
better care of his father than of him. With such an exaggeration of his emotions of
concern and affection, he attempted to secure his father’s approval. This exag
geration and the repeated assurances that he will make sure his bride will be an
appropriate one are also signs of his eagerness to marry. Terentianos promises his
father that the woman he will bring as his bride will certainly offer satisfaction to
her father-in-law. Finally, in order to fully drive his point home and to make sure
that his father understands that he will never go against his wishes, Terentianos
remarks that if his father wishes so, he will never marry!
In the previous section, we saw that the verb ‘to despise’ (tcarcuppovecD) is
crucial in the persuasion strategies of petitioners. In the case of familial private
letters, the verb to consider is ‘to be distressed or worried’ (aya>vid<o). Yet again,
this verb is often used in the context of exaggeration and expresses a will to ma
nipulate the emotions of the addressee.230 In such letters, anxiety is primarily re
lated to distance between family members, health issues and dire financial straits.
These types of letters are numerous and a fifth-century CE Christian letter will
suffice at this point.231 A husband sends his wife (addressed as ‘my lady’) a letter
filled with anxiety. He has serious and urgent debts to settle so he asks her to
pledge their little slave as soon as possible. The writer clearly states his anxiety
and grief but also his hope that God will care for them. Apparently in this letter
there is no relation between gender and emotions. Both men and women may
equally express the same emotions of distress, frustration, fear, and caring when it
comes to issues of their household. They equally use and abuse their feelings in
their attempts to achieve a desired goal.
3.5 Papyri and the Physical Manifestation of Emotions
In petitions and letters, more often than not we have vivid descriptions of a physi
cal manifestation of emotions. Besides the obvious acts of sheer violence,232 these
manifestations mainly include dramatic hand gestures or the use of someone’s
nose (via snorting and heavy breathing) in order to indicate anger and contempt.
These descriptions are usually found in petitions. In private letters we have the
equally remarkable reference to someone’s neglect of his personal hygiene in or
der to express grief.
Starting with the petitions, it is noteworthy that the nose of a person could be
the locus of anger and contempt.233 The first petition concerns a violent encounter
230 For the use of some words as ‘acoustic signals' for emotional arousal see pp. 114 and 229 in
this volume.
231 P.Amh II 144.
232 For several cases of tearing someone’s clothes, for example, in accounts of physical violence,
see Parca 2002, 286 note 11.
233 Bryen 2008, 193f. For the ancient Greek literary sources that refer to the nose as an index of
mood, specifically of contempt, anger, distress and terror, see Gow 1951.
C h ry s i K o ts ifo u
82
in which a woman was involved due to a dispute over some property (5 May 381
CE).234 She specifies that her opponent
spoke to my face through his nose, wishing to end my life. And if 1 had not obtained help
from Pamoun my fellow villager, he would long since have reached (the end) of my life.
Similarly, in a document that was probably part of a dossier o f divorce proceed
ings. a woman describes - along with many more graphic details - that during one
of the aggressive disputes she had with her husband, he angrily attacked her ‘...
speaking many terms of abuse into my face and through his nose’.235 In his
discussion of this papyrus, John Winter notes that all the detailed descriptions of
abuse, besides lending ‘a vivid reality to ancient life,’ also indicate that ‘only the
indignant memory of an angry and tortured soul could have added the supreme
touch about talking through the nose’.236 Finally, a fifth-century petition also re
fers to the nose of a person as the organ he used to express his contempt. The pe
titioner claims237238
and in fact yesterday. 1 had (so-and-so) flung before the k e p h a la io te s “ for collecting a cer
tain sum of money. When I attempted to collect from this man, he snorted his contempt for
me and wanted to attack me.
Furthermore, petitions present accounts of people expressing their anger with ex
treme physical movements - that is, with hand gestures - and actions. Physically
attacking someone, and especially stripping that person of his clothes, was meant
to humiliate the person attacked. Additionally, if the assault happened in public in
the presence of various witnesses, then the shame and insult were even greater.239
Interestingly, we even have some cases where gestures, especially the ones asso-
234 P M ich XVIII 793: Aiyiov ei<; rcpoocmrov gov 5ia xfj<; eauxou pivot; poiAopevot; pe xou
ana)JM C,a.i, icat ei pt) {k>n0eia<; xexuxnKEiv v n o IlapoOv opoicopfixoo poo rcataxi av eiq
poo E<p0cxK£v. For a commentary, see Bryen 2008, I93f.
235 P .O xy VI 903 (Oxyrhynchus, fourth century CE): xoAAa acreXyripaxa Aiywv eit; npoaamov
poo *cai 6i« xf|t; pivot; aoxoo. Cf. Rowlandson 1998, no. 153; Winter 1933, 126f.; see also
above p. 48 n. 54.
230 Winter 1933, 127. Cf. Bryen 2008, 194.
237 P C ol VI!I 242 (Arsinoite nome): kcu yap ev xr) ex0e<; pup0ei<; poi r\... rcapa xto iceipaXai-
artfl xpoc pc0od(«v <pavepoo iceppaxot; xooxov £r|xfiaot<; pe0o8eoaai nrpieppoyxuaev poi
k u i £.jJoo).r|0r| pxji e7tfA.0eiv. Rea 1994, 271, notes that the rare verb used in this papyrus
seems to be related to pf yicot; or peyxot;, a noise made in the nose or the throat, in this case a
sneer of some sort.
238 An official involved in the process of requisitioning supplies; exacting money; and in charge
of transporting gram from a granary to a port. See Rea 1994, 270.
239 Bryen 2008, 1951 See above p. 57, on P .E nteux. 79 that refers to an Egyptian woman who
physically and verbally assaulted a Creek, including stripping him of his cloak. See also the
comments of Chamotis 2004b, 250, on a petition of a Jew, who was insulted by a Greek in the
presence of non-Jews (llerakleopolites, 135 BCE; Cowey und Maresch 2001,35-39 no. I).
Emotions and Papyri. Insights into the Theatre of Human Experience in Antiquity 83
dated with magical spells, are connected with the physical manifestation of
malice and envy. A second-century CE petition illustrates this point:240
To Hierax also called Nemesion, strategos of the division of Herakleides of the Arsinoite
nome, from Gemellos also called Horion, son of Gaios Apolinarios, Antinoite. I appealed, my
lord, by petition to the most illustrious prefect, Aemilius Satuminus, informing him of the
attack made upon me by a certain Sotas, who held me in contempt because of my weak vision
and wished himself to get possession of my property with violence and arrogance, and 1 re
ceived his sacred subscription authorizing me to appeal to his excellency the epistrategos.
Then Sotas died and his brother lulios, also acting with the violence characteristic of them,
entered the fields that I had sown and carried away a substantial quantity of hay; not only
that, but he also cut dried olive shoots and heath plants from my olive grove near the village
of Kerkesoucha. When I came there at the time of the harvest, 1 learned that he had commit
ted these transgressions. In addition, not content, he again trespassed with his wife and a cer
tain Zenas, having with them an infant (brephos), intending to hem in my cultivator with
malice/envy {phthonos) so that he should abandon his labour after having harvested in part
from another allotment of mine, and they themselves gathered in the crops. When this hap
pened, I went to lulius in the company of officials, in order that these matters might be wit
nessed. Again, in the same manner, they threw the same infant (brephos) toward me, intend
ing to hem me in also with malice/envy {phthonos), in the presence of Petesouchos and Ptol-
las, elders of the village of Karanis who are exercising also the functions of the village secre
tary, and of Sokras the assistant, and while the officials were there, lulius, after he had gath
ered in the remaining crops from the fields, took the infant {brephos) away to his house.
These acts I made matters of public record through the same officials and the collectors of
grain taxes of the same village. Wherefore of necessity 1 submit this petition and request that
240 P.Mich. VI 423 (Karanis, 197 CE): Iepaxi xw teat Nepemom axpa(xqyci>l Apci(voixot))
'HpaxlXeiSoo) gepi8o<; napa TepeXXou too xai Opicovoq Tarot) AnoXivapiou Avtivoeax;.
everoxov, xbpte, 8ia PiPXi8iot> xa> Xagnpoxdxa) qyepovi AigiXicp Laxoupveiwip 5qX(bv
xqv yevopevqv poi eneXetioiv biro lurroo xivoq xaxaypovqaavxoi; xq<; nepi xqv oytv poo
doGtveiaq pooXogevoo abxob xa bnapxovxa poo xaxaaxew pia xai ab0a8ia xpo>ft£vo<;
icai eaxov irpdv bnoypayqv evxt>x?Tv xto xpaxiaxu) eniaTpaxqyq)- rob 5e Icoxoo xeXeoxq-
aavxoq, 6 xobxoo aSeXyoq ’lobXio<; teal abxbi; xqv nepi abxoo pia xpftodpcvo<; enqX0ev
ton; eortappevoiq bn’ egob eSayeaei xai epdaxacre obx bXiyov xopxov ob povov aXXa xai
eêxoye ano xob bndpxovxb<; pot) e[X)ai(ovoq ovto<; nr pi xibpqv Kepxeaobxa eXaetva
y tn a dne^qpaggeva xai epixiva, anep napayevagevoi; ev0a8e npb<; xov xaipov xq*; cruv-
xogi5q<; epaOov xabxa bno abxob nenpayBai, ey’ ou; gq apxeaBei.; naXeiv enqXOev pexa
xq^ yuvaixd; abxob xai Zqva xivo<;«; exovtfs Ppfyoq PouXopevoi xov yctopyov poo y0<bv; xov lobXiov
pexd I8|qpociitov dnco«; abxa xabxa evpdpxupov yevqxat. naXtv x<p abttb xponat npoo-
o|e]piyav poi |xol abxb ppeyoi; PooXbpevoi xai pe yBbvqt nepucXToai na[pd|vxcuv riexe-
ciobyou Ktti fltoXXot npeapoxcpiov xibgqq KapaviSo*; 8ia5exolp]evu)v xai xd tcatd rqv
xoppwypappaxeiav xai Iroxpa bnqpexot), xai xa>v Sqgoairov napovxiov xb Ppeyo^ b
’lobXio^ oovxopiodpevos xd neptyevopeva ex xtbv eSaytbv yevq anqveyxato eb; xqv oixiav
abtob, cintp yavepa enoiqoa 8ia te xatv abxtbv Sqgooiatv xai npaxxbpcov oitikuiv xq^
abrq<; xtbpqq. 8tb xaxa to avayxaiov eni8i5u)gi xai d£,id) ta8e ta ptpXidia ev xataxco-
piopp) yeveoBo npb<; xb pevetv poi xov Xbyov npb<; abtoth; eni xob xpatioxov eniatpa-
tqyoo nepi tibv bn’ abrebv texoXpqpeviov xai tu>v bnep tibv ebayibv 5qpooiu>v ixyopiiov
xa) xopuxKp) Xoyip 5ia xb abxobi; ob 6t6vuo«; cnivxexopixevat. Cf. Rowlandson 1*W8, no.
107; Lewis 1999.79.
Chrysi Kotsifou 84
it he kept on file so that 1 may retain the right to plead against them before his excellency the
epistrategos concerning the outrages perpetrated by them and the public rents o f the fields
due to the imperial treasury because they wrongfully did the harvesting.
Gemellus reports being harassed by two brothers who wanted to get hold o f his
property. According to the petition, the accused party publicly displays its con
tempt and envy by performing magic and by repeatedly using a brephos that was
probably a still-born baby. Notably, the gesture o f throw ing the brephos again and
again shamelessly demonstrates the perpetrators’ envy, while sim ultaneously this
same gesture instils such fear in Gemellos and the public authorities he has
brought along to help him that they are rendered completely incapable o f moving
or acting in any way, and thus allow the accused to walk away unobstructed with
the stolen goods.241
Finally, we will refer to four private letters, w hich m ention the neglect of
one’s hygiene as a demonstration o f someone’s grief. G rief and neglect are mainly
expressed among family members and regard actions that have caused pain or
worry to each other. A son writes to his mother:242
1 wish you to know that I did not expect that you would come up to the metropolis. On this
account I did not go to the city. Furthermore, I was ashamed to come to ICaranis as 1 am going
about in rags. I w'rite to you that 1 am naked. I beseech you, mother, be reconciled to me. For
the rest, 1 know what 1 have brought upon myself. 1 have been punished in every way. 1 have
sinned.
In the long letter of a son to his father regarding his trials and tribulations during
his studies, the son, wishing to express regret, fear, and g rief because o f some
misconducts on his part, notes that ‘it is depression about this situation that forces
us to neglect our bodies’.24324In addition, when Eudaim onis w rites to her son about
some family business, wishing to note her extrem e w orry and fear about some
troubles her son is facing, she claims that
I have already done my part, and have neither bathed nor worshipped the gods through fear
about your unfinished business, if indeed it is still unfinished.
241 Aubert 1989,437f; Frankfurter 2006,41.

242 BGU HI 846 (Arsinoite nome, second century CE): yiyvaKTiceiv oe BeXco, cm ox>x t)A.tu£ov on
dvajik/ivetq elq xr|v prytponoAiv, xapiv xouxou ooS’ ey6) eiahXBa eiq xhv noXiv ... 8e eX0nv
eiq Kc/pcxviba. o n aanpwq nepuiuxai. eypaya aoi, oxi yupvoq eipi. jtotpfXKaXco oe, primp.
&w'/M'fT\xi goi. /voutdv oiScx xl epauxoi napeaxnpcxi, nenaiS eupai tca0’ ov 8f| xpc'mov, oi8u
on T)gd.pXT|KX/.. Translation in Winter 1933, 106.
243 F Oxy XVIII 2)90 (Oxyrhynchus, c. 100 CE): f| 8 ’ etu xouxoiq aBupitx eox'tv tj oAiyoipeiv
Tui> owpaxoq t)Pbx. dvwyicfxôuoa. Cfi Hutchinson 2007, 25, and the previous reference to
this letter (p. 62).
244 FFlor III 332 IHermopolis, early second century CE): nSfi pev xo epov enoinocx, kui ouxe
<Xm>odpr|v ovxr jrpoocicvvtjocx Beouq <popoopevr| ooo xo pexeoipov, einep eox'i pexeoipov,
pp xoivuv p vtrrhoi prxeopov. C f Rowlandson 1998, no. 96; Bagnall and Cribiore 2006,
1471 For more comments on the context of Eudaimonis’ letter and her attitude towards the
gods, see Cnbiorc 2002, 154.
Ultimately, similar sentiments and similar manifestations of them are recorded in

a letter, which is a plea of a husband eager to take back the wife who has left him.
Among other things Serenos explains to Isidora:
I want you to know that ever since you left me I have been in mourning weeping at night and
mourning during the day. Since 1 bathed with you on 12 Phaophi I have not bathed or
anointed myself up till 12 Hathyr, and you sent me letters that could move a stone, that is how
much your words have moved me.245
4 CONCLUSIONS
Throughout this chapter we have discussed the various ways in which evidence
from papyrological data illuminates the representation o f emotions; and how these
emotional expressions in turn inform us about the people who composed these
documents, and the social and cultural factors which influenced them during the
composition of their texts. We also referred to the particularities of this corpus of
material and the ambiguities it can cause in both the presentation of emotions and
the way we understand these sources. We started by examining the emotional
content o f the different types o f papyri, concluding that private letters and peti
tions are the ones that can prove most fruitful in this study. Furthermore, we iden
tified how the education of a writer of a papyrus and the formulas he or she uses
can hinder or embellish emotional expression. In 2006, Roger Bagnall and Raf-
faella Cribiore246 claimed that
the habit of analyzing society in terms of affinity groups is characteristic of modem Western
thought; class, ethnicity, and gender have been the most salient of such group classifications.
It is doubtful that people in antiquity thought of such group identifications.
This view needs to be reconsidered. The study of the social and cultural parame
ters that influence the manifestation of emotions in papyri may illuminate aspects
of a world that was much more multi-faceted than often conceived in studies of
ancient history. As it was demonstrated there is a direct relation between gender,
status, age, and ethnicity, on the one hand, and emotion, on the other. Private
letters and petitions from the familial milieu are most representative of this asso
ciation.
However, two issues should always be kept in mind. First, many groups are
clearly underrepresented in the papyri - inter alia Egyptians, women, children.
245 P Oxv 111 528 (Oxyrhynchus, second century CE): y w u x j k c i v <j e 9iXu> cup' esqXOei; a s ’
egou ju v 0 o<; riYovgqv vuxroq x'Xaioiv ngcpas; 8e xev0cbv. i(i 4>«axpi cup* ore eX ouadgnv
g i t ’ eo o u oux eX ovaagqv oinc qX eiggai gtxP 1 Adup, kou e s t g y d s goi a n o to X a .;
buvagcvou; XiQov o aX eu o a i, outtoq oi Xoyoi oou xeidvqicdv ge. Cf. T rapp 2003, 7 2 -7 5 ;
W inter 1933, I30f.
Chrysi Kotsifou 86
and servants; wealthy property owners are the primary subject of this corpus.247
Secondly, although this chapter analysed a series of papyri that often described
highly amusing, fearful, anxiety-filled or violent events, ultimately as Alan Bow
man has noted ‘the inexorable litany of birth, marriage and death was, if relatively
brief in span and straitened in circumstance, usually more tranquil’.248 The vast
majority of papyri is usually bereft of straight-forward references to emotions and
to stories of great drama or hilarity.
Nonetheless, in the light of the material studied in this chapter, I feel inclined
to agree with Maryline G. Parca and Mark Golden when they discuss emotionally
loaded events in papyri and our ability to identify the emotions of the ancients,
respectively. The former notes that
the texts just outlined will have recalled the harsh complexity of social intercourse in Helle
nistic and Roman Egypt. They will also, 1 hope, recall men and women struggling to define
their identities and articulate their perceived rights in the face o f an ethnically and culturally
diverse and rapidly evolving environment - not in many respects, unlike our own.
The latter stresses:

My own view owes as much to convenience as to conviction, inasmuch as speculation about
interpersonal relations must inevitably be sterile if we cannot assume some similarity or at
least comprehensibility in the feelings of those long since beyond direct appeals for clarifica
tion. ... 1 proceed on the premise that the ways different societies (and different individuals
and groups within them) demonstrate and express their emotions vary more widely than the
emotions themselves.
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MOVING STONES
The Study of Emotions in Greek Inscriptions
Angelos Chaniotis
Me SuoKokia Siafid^co ornv rcexpa xt\v apyaia.

«Kt)[pi]e 'Ipaou Xpiaxe». "Eva «^v[x]hv» Siaicpiv©.
«’Ev x© gr|[vi] A0up» «'0 Ae\)Kio[<;] e[KOip]r|&T\».
Ixii jxveia xfj<; f)X.iK(a<; «’Epi[©o]ev ex©v»,
xo Kaitna Zrjxa 8e(xvei nov vecx; eKoipr|8t|.
Me<; axa q>9appiva pXenw «Aux6[v]... AAef;av8pea».
Mexa e'xei xpeiq ypappei; rcoLu <xicp©xT|piaapeve<;-
pa <axi A.et;ei<; Pya^© — oav «8[a]icp'oa f\p©v», «o8wnv»,
Kaxoixiv jtaXv «8aicpva», tcai «[f)p]iv xoI<; [<p]xA,oiq rcev9o<;».
Me <pavvexai not) 6 Aeoxioq peya\©<; 9’ dya7iT|9T|.
’Ev xcp pr|vl A9up 6 Aeutcio^ eKoipfiBp.
C. P. Cavafy, In the Month o f A thyr(\9\l).
1 BIG DIFF? WHAT CAN INSCRIPTIONS OFFER TO THE STUDY

OF EMOTIONS?
A mother in Aphrodisias mourns the death of her son: ‘How did you die? In
which places? Whom were you following?’1 A generous benefactor in Oinoanda
addresses the envy of his countrymen: ‘Now give up your carping criticism, all of
you who are in thrall to dread envy, and gaze at my statue with eyes of imitation.’2
A woman in Knidos curses those whose gossip had caused strife between her and
her husband: ‘I dedicate to Demeter and Kore the one who accused me of using
potions/poisons against my husband.’3 A cuckold in Cumae beseeches demons to
make him hate his treacherous wife and forget his desire for her:4
1 Petrovic 2010 (late second century CE): nSx; e'0ave<;; jtoioicn xoitot*;; xivo<; f|s aicoXovSov
Cf. Chaniotis 2012a, 360-362 no. 15.
2 SEG XL1V 1182 B (c. 238 CE): xoiyap p©pov avevxet; ooot q>8ovov aivov cxowj[ivJ I
peipnûTi; ooaon; eictSex’ eiicov’ epr|v. For a discussion see below p. 119f.
3 I.Knidos 150 (c. 100 BCE): [AvajxiOrigi Aapaxpt irai Koupai xov icax’ epo{0 e}ux{a]vxa,
oxi ey© x©i eg©i av 8[pij ipapgaica not©. Cf. pp. 253f. in this volume.
4 SEG LIU 1075 (third century CE): ... 8iaicoitx[e xnJv atopyf|v. Tpv quAiav- 5rj<; autr|v [el;
Tdp|xapa- xot<; 8e ev <p©xi 86>; a[uxnv pjeioeiv- ei$ xôv 8ewv, ei*; <j>6pov, ei<r[elA9ex© [n
OtiaAepia Ko8pdxiAAa, rjv exetcjev B[aAepia Euvoia], tyv e[a)?teipe BaAepio^ Muoxucoq-
peicre(ixw| auxrjv, Xr|8r|v otxjxfj^ Aapex© Bexpoupto<; 4>i)Ai^, ov eteicev Bexpoupia Maî-
piA-lka, ojv eoneilpe Bexpoulpio*; EueA/tiaxos ... 8oxe |ei£ pletjaa;| Bexpoupi<l>r|A.iia,ov
e'lxeK'lt Bexpoopia Ma£i'giA.A.a, ov eaueipe B|ex)poi>pu>s EueAiuaxov eu; geictos eABeiv
... stop the affection and the love; bind her in the Tartaros; and make that those who are in the
light hate her; let Valeria Quadratilla, whom Valeria Eunoia bore and Valerius Mystikos
begot, enter the anger of the gods and the fear; let Vitruvius Felix, whom Vitruvia Maximilla
bore and Vitruvius Euelpistos begot, hate her and forget her; ... make it happen that Vitruvius
Felix, whom Vitruvia Maximilla bore and Vitruvius Euelpistos begot, gets to hate Valeria
Quadritilla, whom Valeria Eunoia bore and Valerius Mystikos begot, and forgets the desire
for her; — for she betrayed her husband Vitruvius Felix first —.
An orator in the assembly in Olbia describes the panic caused by barbarian threat:
the people met in an assembly in deep despair, as they saw before them the danger
that lay ahead.5 The assembly in Xanthos (Lycia, Asia Minor) expresses its pity
for the calamities that have befallen the city of Kytenion, in central Greece:6 ‘all
the Xanthians felt the same grief with you for the misfortunes which have befallen
your city.’ King Attalos II admits to the priest of Kybele in Pessinous that he was
afraid of the envy of the Romans at his success or of their S c h a d e n fr e u d e at his
failure:7
To launch an undertaking without their participation began to seem fraught with great danger;
if we were successful the attempt promised to bring us envy and detraction and baneful
suspicion - that which they felt also toward my brother - while if we failed we should meet
certain destruction. For they would not, it seemed to us, regard our disaster with sympathy but
would rather be delighted to see it, because we had undertaken such projects without them.
A man in Dodona asks Zeus whether he is being poisoned: ‘Did he use a potion
against my offspring or against my wife or against me? - from Lyson.’8 A decree
in Alipheira forbids the citizens to feel anger in remembering past disputes (pva-
ciZOAew):9
After Kleonymos removed the garrison, drove the pirates away, and gave the city its freedom,
let no one feel anger because of memories and let no one start lawsuits for bloodshed that
occurred before the time Kleonymos drove away the garrison of Aristolaos and the pirates.
mi >.f|0r)v Aapeiv tmv no0o)v OvoAepiaq Ko8p[ajxiAAr|<;, rjv earceipe BafAipiog Muaxji-
icfofc. hv £T«e BaArpia [Euvoia c. 7]xo- ... oxi npcbxri f)0exr|cre [Bexpou|3iov d>]f|A.iKa xov
wvtfr, av5pa....
5 IOSPE l2 32 (c. 200 BCE). The text is discussed below (pp. 115-120).
6 SEG XXXVI1J 1476 (205 BCE): xou; rcepi xpv tcoAiv yeyevr|pevoi<; aicA.r|pf|paaiv navxei;
Edv0tot awny0f:o0Tiouv. C'f. Chaniotis 2013a.
7 Welles 1934, no. 61 = I.Pessinous 7 (c. 158-156 BCE; inscribed in the late 1st cent.
BCE/early 1st cent. CE): ... xo nponeadv aveo ’tceivwv peyav eSoxei idvfruvov e'xeiv- m i
yap enitu/oumv <p0ovov mi oupaiproiv m i {upmjnav poyOripav, f|v taxi rtepi xou d8eA<pov
eoyoaav, mi aitoruyoumv apoiv npoSpAov. ou yap eniaxpa<pfiaea0’ exeivout;, aXk'
T)Of:uK oyr.aOui. dxi awv eauxwv xr)A.imux’ mvoopeOa. On the possible date of the
publication (c. 23 ( E) see Mileta 2010, III.
8 Coble 2006, no. 125 bis (fourth century BCE): ’E7tf)vetxe (pdppaxov en\ xdy yevedv xdv
fj ini vi f y^ y w d m i |tj ejn’ t:pe jtapd Auatovoi;; Eidinow 2007, I 16 and 118 no. 8.
9 IPArk 24 (273 BCEp [f:nt:ij KXed>vupo<; e^rxyuye xdv rtpwpdv xui xo<; n etp araq eê|(iaA.|e
m i i b u&pav tdv noAtv ujteftowa:, pr|6fva pr)8evi pva|o]ixoX fjoai xdiv npoxepov yeyo-
[vojxuiv ditifOjJrfW/ hoc pr)8f 6ticdaaa0ui pr)5eva pr|5ev xi p ia a p a yeyove
npdxtpov t) K/,i.(DVopiK. xa.v jipoipo.v r^tyrxyt xdv ApuuoAdm m i xouq Jieipaxou; e£,e|3uAe.
Moving Stones: The Study of Emotions in Greek Inscriptions 93
A soldier in Cyprus writes on a sling bullet to be hurled against an enemy: ‘(get

this and) get pregnant!’10 A Roman magistrate orders the population in Messene
to show joy during the celebration of an annual festival for Caius Caesar:11
When he [Scipio] was informed that Caius, the son of Augustus, who is fighting against the
barbarians for the rescue of all mankind, is in good health, has escaped the dangers, and has
taken revenge on the enemies, full of joy for the excellent news, he issued the order that all
shall wear crowns and offer sacrifices, free of business and calm. ... He also commanded us to
spend this day every year with sacrifices and wearing crowns, as cheerful and [—] as
possible.
Full o f fear of divine punishment, a sacred slave at Silandos confesses that he had
sex with a flutist in the sanctuary.12 The assembled crowd in Aphrodisias cries
out: ‘envy will not prevail over fortune!’ (Figure l).13
Figure 1. Acclamation in honour of the benefactor Albinus, Aphrodisias (c. 480 CE): ‘envy will
not prevail over fortune!'
10 Pritchett 1091,46: kue. Cf. Chaniotis 2005, 102.

II SEG XXII1 206 (Messene): eruyvoui; 6k Koti rdtiov tov uiov rou Ic(iaaxou tov uittp ta^
av 0pu)7t(ov iravTiov ocotnpiaq toi^ [iappapoi^ paxopevov uyiaivnv te vai kivSuvod^ ewpv-
yovTix avTitenpcopetaOai tou <; mAepioix;, urerpyappc tov eni rau; apicnais avyeXiatv
crreipavaipopt'Tv tf Kavxaq Sietaê icai Oveiv. anpaypova^ ovra^ xui arapayou^. ...
Sietdâto 6k apiv icat ktx0 ’ eKacuov eviauTOv tav ppepav taurav pern Ovktuxv icai
cmxtpavoupopiat; 8uxyeiv ocoii; 8\>vap£0a iXaptorata m i (- -lôra. Chaniotis 2011,263.
12 Petzl 1994, no. 5; Chaniotis 2009a, 131 133, I37f., 141 (with further bibliography); see also
pp. 2l9f. in this volume.
13 Roueche 1989, 128f. no. 83 xiv; IAph2007 4.21.1 xiv (c. 480 CE): 6 ipflovos ruynv ou v im .
These references to emotions in epigraphic documents have some things in

common: they have never been discussed in connection with the history of
emotions in antiquity ; none of these inscriptions was found in Athens; none of
them belongs to the Classical period. The literary sources and especially the
works of philosophers - not the inscriptions - have traditionally formed the basis
for the study of emotions in antiquity,14 and this is hardly surprising. The authors
of literary texts depict emotions in a context, they show them at work, they reflect
on them (cf. pp. 24f. and 170 in this volume). By contrast, the precise date o f most
inscriptions cannot be determined and their context is hard to reconstruct.
Admittedly, the picture that literary sources present is at times distorted, but
in this respect there is no big difference between literary, epigraphical, and papy-
rological texts. The epigraphical texts have, exactly like the literary texts, authors,
and audiences. The use of non-perishable material and the erection o f inscriptions
in public places - markets, sanctuaries, cemeteries, gymnasia - aimed to reach
these audiences in large numbers and permanently. O f course, many public in
scriptions (decrees, laws, honorary inscriptions) present themselves as the result
of collective agency (of ‘the people’, the council, other bodies) and so indirectly
they postulate a higher degree of authority and objectivity than that o f the indi
vidual author of a literary text - unless the latter claims that the words had been
dictated to him by the Muses. But the fact is that the epigraphic texts are the
product of selection and composition; the manner o f presentation serves specific
intentions.15 In this respect, the methodological approaches applied to the study of
literary' texts are useful also in the study of epigraphic texts.
The big difference is that the literary texts originate in or refer to a few major
urban centres and were composed by an educated minority o f men (and very few
women) who represent the higher strata of society. By contrast, inscriptions are
more diverse in their geographical distribution and more heterogeneous in their
social profile. It is primarily for this reason that inscriptions are a valuable source
of information for the study of emotions. Naturally, they should not be studied
instead of the literary sources but in addition to and in comparison to literary
sources. And of course their study should be combined with that o f papyri and
archaeological sources.
Emotions are socially relevant and, consequently, subject to scrutiny,
judgment, and normative intervention. Emotions fulfil social functions and follow
social rules, and as such their display and their perception are potentially subject
to change. Also they manner in which emotions are represented in the source
material is influenced by cultural change, sometimes beyond the control o f social
agents. Although the ancient historian cannot study what people really felt, he or
she can study the external stimuli that generated emotions as well as the cultural
and y>cial parameters that determined when and how emotions were represented
14 See especially <aim* 19V3, 2003, arid 2011; Harris 2001, Konstan 2001 and 2006; Munteanu
(eel) 201J hot tuthcr bibliography sec p 15 note IX, pp. 241. notes 50 and 54, and pp. 151
173
15 Chamotis 2013b, d 1.urgahi 2010 (on Athenian decrees).
in texts and images (ct. pp. 15-19 in this volume). These stimuli and parameters
are social and cultural constructs and as such they have a history. In order to write
this history, ancient historians need to read inscriptions.
Figure 2. The dedication of the gladiator Sarpedon in Aphrodisias (third century CE): Sarpedon
(dedicated this) to the goddess who listens in fulfilment of a vow.’ The two ears that flank a
branch represent the willingness of the goddess Nemesis, patron o f gladiatorial combats,
to listen to his prayers. The branch in the middle and the wreath on the right allude
to his victory (pride, joy). Later, another gladiator added his dedication: 'Hermos (dedicated this)
in fulfilment of av o w .’ Even later, a Christian engraved a small cross (top left).16
2 ALL INSCRIPTIONS ARE EMOTIONAL

BUT SOME INSCRIPTIONS ARE MORE EMOTIONAL THAN OTHERS
Despite the importance of inscriptions for the study of emotions, systematic

studies of the representation and perception of emotions in the epigraphic material
are lacking, with the exception of grave epigrams and, to some extent, curses.1.
And yet, there is hardly an inscription that does not directly or indirectly originate
in emotions or reveal emotions. Even as simple a text as a dedication with the
formula ei>xnv or Kax' eu^hv (‘in fulfilment of a vow’; figure 2) is an expression167
16 StX j LVI 1191: Lupitii6o>v Oaiot eniiKOtp ex>xr|v "E pm s euxhv Discussion: Chaniotis 2010a,
2 4 01,246 no. 18.
17 Epigrams: e.g. Laltimore 1942, 172—265 (lamentation and consolation); Griessmau 1966;
Robert 1974a, 240-242 and 1974b, 3891., Tsagalis 2008. Curses: Yersnel 1999 and 2003;
Eidinow 2007, 226- 223.
% Angelos Chaniotis
o f gratitude, a proud announcement that a dedidicant has succeeded in his

communication with a god;18 it is at the same time also an expression o f fear that
if the thanks-giving dedication is not offered, this may provoke the god’s anger.
This fear is clearly expressed in the healing miracles from Epidauros (see pp.
177-204 in this volume) and in ‘confession inscriptions’ in Asia M inor.19
Even a mason’s mark indicating in what sequence stones should be placed in
a building originates in the fear that something may go wrong.20 Even an ap
parently unemotional text such as a law regulating inheritance21 is based on some
negative experience; it therefore originates in the fear that this negative experience
may be repeated. Every single grave stone, even if only laconically stating the
name of the deceased person, originates in an emotion, even though in many cases
we cannot identify it; is it affection? Is it fear that neglect o f this obligation will
invite the anger of the deceased individual or the criticism o f the community? Is it
the fear that too great a monument may cause envy?
Figures 3-4. Ostraka used in ostracisms in Athens in the fifth century (c. 471 BCE), against
KaJlias (figure 3, left) and Megakles (figure 4, right). The drawing o f a Persian archer (figure 3)
alludes to the sympathies of Kallias ‘the Mede’ and the fear of treason. Linder the name of
Megakles, son of Hippokrates (figure 4), the drawing of a man lying dead (?), perhaps wishful
thinking.
There is more to see in the hundreds of Athenian ostraka, the rem nants o f fifth-
century ostracisms, than just the names o f Athenian aristocrats.23 These ostraka
are the result of the collective action o f hundreds o f emotional men who wished to
inflict pain on an influential man because o f fear, envy, anger, indignation, or
Ik Chaniotis2005, )43f
19 E g. Peud 1994, nos. 45, 65, and 101.
20 Such mason's marks usually consist of individual letters (numerals, abbreviated names), but
there are also cases in which the instructions are more clearly phrased: e.g. Paton 1991,299-
306 (ShO XU 76l>
21 K g the law code’ of Oortyn (c. 450 BC E): I Cret IV 72 col. IV 23-col. VI 2; Koerner 1993,
495 506 no. 169, van l.llentcrre and Ku/i 1995, no. 49.
22 Discussion Brenrie 2002, 141 no. 11/156 (Kallias) and 143f. no. T l/1 59 (Megakles).
23 Ostrafca from Athens: Brenrie 2002 (with the earlier bibliography).
contempt. The emotionality of ostracism is clearly revealed by textual and

pictorial graffiti found on potsherds used for this type of vote.24 Some of them are
unambiguous expressions of hatred, indignation, and contempt: ‘get this!;1 ‘the
traitor;’ ‘Kimon, son of Miltiades; let him take (his sister) Elpinike and go;’
‘Menon of Gargettos, the king of the idiots;’ ‘this ostrakon says that of all the
accursed prytaneis, Xanthippos, son of Arrhiphron, does most wrong.’25 Others
are more difficult to interpret (figures 3 and 4), although they certainly are emo
tional and emotive.
All inscriptions are emotional, but some inscriptions are more emotional
(describing and expressing emotion) and emotive (arousing emotion) than others.
Naturally, epitaphs and grave epigrams take the lead. They are a form of ‘social
sharing,’ which often derives from the experience of a strong emotional event.26
But the way a feeling is shared with others is to a great extent determined by
social, cultural, and literary conventions. Epigrams and epitaphs do not only deal
with pain and sorrow (see below pp. 103-114) but cover the whole range of emo
tions: pride for extraordinary achievements,27 envy,28 love, friendship, and af
fection,29 anger for a violent or undeserving death (see pp. 235-266 in this
volume), hope for a good afterlife; they offer consolation; they advise the reader
to feel joy in life; they restrain the expression of grief: ‘I ask you to shed as many
tears as is right (or customary), for such fortunes are common to all mortals.’30
But decrees also increasingly use emotional language and display emotion
from the late fourth century BCE onwards. The earliest decree that uses a word of
emotion (<po(3oq),31 is a posthumous honorific decree for the orator Lykourgos of
Athens (308/7 BCE); after that, the use of emotional language becomes quite
common in decrees of the Hellenistic period (see below pp. 113f. and 115-120).
This shows that the public manifestation of emotion is subject to change. A
variety of cultural and social factors triggered the stronger emotionality that one
24 Ostraka with textual and pictorial graffiti: Brenne 2002, 80-166.

25 Brenne 2002, 87 no. Tl/45: heye; 91 no. Tl/65: [ho npo]56te-;; 92 no. 1/67: Kipcov M Ana-
8o, 'EA.JUVIKT1V A.apwv itco; 124 no. Tl/121: Mevov [r]apyeTio<;, oupeXov PaatXu.;; 134-139
no. Tl/153: Xaav0[uuiov toSe] tpeaiv aXfitepov jip[m]aveiov toatpatdov Appi}<ppovo>;
jiaTSa p d fO ia t’ aSncev.
26 See Rime et al. 1992 and 1998.
27 E.g. Merkelbach and Stauber 1 18 no. 01/02/01 (Tymnos, c. 250 BCE; the pride of a warrior);
l 68 no. 01/15/04 (Mylasa, Imperial period; the pride of an athlete).
28 E.g. death as result of the envy of Hades is a common-place: Lattimore 1942, 147-149; cf.
Verilhac 1982, 191-201.
29 E.g. Merkelbach and Stauber 1 60 no. 01/12/20 (Halikamassos, Hellenistic period); for the
text see below note 96.
30 /( / II2 2035+add. (Athens, first century BCE): napaKaXw SaKpuctv oaov Btpiq. icotvai yap
dvBpum oiatv to ta l ruxat.
31 ICl II2 457 fr. bl lines 9-12: teat <f>6|3tov tct[ai kivSuvcov peydA,u)v rots;) 'EA.Xnva^ iteptorav-
Ttov AA.cl[£av5pioi ©n(3a>v Eitucpatr|CTa]vri taxi naaav rhv Aoiav id[ai ta aAAa rij.joiKou-
gEvr)i;? plepn KaiacFTpEvtfapcvun (“when great fears and dangers surrounded the Greeks, after
Alexander had defeated Thebes and had subdued all of Asia and other parts of the inhabited
earth’).
can observe in Hellenistic decrees: rhetorical training, the use o f decrees as a

medium for the construction of memory, and a general interest o f the Hellenistic
period in display.32 It has been observed that the use o f words o f em otion rein
forces the emotive impact of a text,33 and for this reason it is reasonable to assume
that decrees that drew on an emotional vocabulary not only reflect emotional
overtones in the assemblies that ratified them but in their turn also contributed to
emotionality in public life.
Naturally, there are groups o f decrees in which em otional expression is more
likely to be found than in others; they include consolatory decrees (\|/f|(piapa rca-
papuOririKov) and decrees concerning public funerals,34 long biographical decrees
that express a community's gratitude for an individual’s achievem ents and servi
ces, which sometimes contained dramatic descriptions;35 and decrees concerning
the relations between two Greek cities, a city and a king, or G reek communities
and Roman authorities; the latter decrees concerning diplom atic contacts often
highlight emotions such as the relationship o f affection based on kinship ( g \>yy£-
v a a , oiK£ioTr|<;), gratitude (xotpig), benevolence (eu voia), courage, and hope.36
Emotion was occasionally the subject o f legal texts, especially o f cult regulations
that aimed to restrain emotion in rituals (funerals, processions)37 and o f decrees
and agreements concerning amnesty and reconciliation.38
Private letters, testaments, and petitions are far less num erous than in the
papyrological record,39 but the epigraphic sources include three groups o f inscrip-
32 For emotional expression and emotional language in Hellenistic decrees see Chaniotis 2012c,
2013a, and 2013c. An Ephesian decree of the Imperial period: Chaniotis 2011,272-276.
33 Strongman 2003,47.
34 Consolatory decrees: Buresch 1894; Strubbe 1998. Decrees concerning funerals: e.g. Jones
1999a; Chaniotis 2006, 223-226.
35 E.g. the honorary decrees for Diophantos in Chersonesos in Tauris (IOSPE 1 352; Chaniotis
1987); Protogenes (IOSPE I2 32; see below pp. 115-120) and Nikeratos in Olbia (IOSPE l2
34); Polemaios und Menippos in Kolophon (Robert und Robert 1989; SEG XXXIX 1243 and
1244); Pyrrhakos in Alabanda (Holleaux (1898), Moschion in Priene (I.Priene 108); Ortha-
goras of Araxa (SEG XVIII 570); Apollonios of Metropolis (l.Metropolis 1; Chaniotis
2013b).
36 Kinship. Curty 1995, 1999, and 2005; Jones 1999b. Gratitude towards a king: e.g. SEG XLI
1003 II, Chaniotis 2007. Benevolence in the relations between Greek communities and Rome:
e.g. SEG III 710; Sherk 1969, nos. 18, 35. Courage: Sherk 1969, nos. 17-18; Reynolds 1982,
nos. 2 and 7 UAph2007 8.3 and 8.26); CIG 2222; SEG LIU 659 A. Hope: G IB M 894; Sherk
1969, no 65; l.Assos 26; Agora XV 460. See below pp. 121 f.
37 Chaniotis 2010b.
38 Chan»otis20l3d.
39 For an example, the letter of a boy to his mother (Athens, early fourth century BCE) see SEG
L 276; Jordan 2000, Harvey 2007: Atick; (11} eitumAAEi Hevotc/Uu kou tt\ i prjtp'i pnbupwc;
m pndiv I ovxov imoXopevov f’v xon yoAtceion, uXXo. rep6c, xoc, Seonoxaq uvxd eXOev I icui
evtvproOu.1 xi {Jr/.Tiov uvxon- avOpomun yap n«puSe8ogou tkxvu rtovnpoh- I paoxiyoprvoi;
ano/.A.upoi 6t Or put • nponTpumôpai- po.AA.ov gujAJov (‘Lesis is sending (this letter) to
Xeriokles and to his mother by rio means to overlook that he is perishing in the foundry but to
come to his masters and find something better for him. For I have been handed over to a man
thoroughly wicked, I am perishing from being whipped; I am tied up; I am treated like d ir t-
tions with great value tor the study of emotions: acclamations,40 painted and
engraved inscriptions on vases (dipinti and graffiti),41 and graffiti in public places.
Dipinti and graffiti express a variety of emotions, such as affection (‘Sosippe, my
golden lady’), admiration and desire (‘Leagros is beautiful, yes, indeed’), pride
(‘Euthymides painted this, the son of Pollios, as Euphronios has never painted’),
and hatred (‘the boy is hateful’).42 Sometimes they prescribe emotions to the
reader, as a graffito in the public toilets of Ephesos:43
If we do not catch the runaway life with drinking, luxury, and bathing, we always cause
ourselves pain, as we see others undeservingly being happier than we.
Since the context of most graffiti is elusive, they must always be studied in large
44
groups.
Emotionality is often and directly expressed in texts of religious significance.
1 have already mentioned the dedications (pp. 95f.). In addition, oracular enquiries
are expressions of an individual’s worries and hopes.45 In the largest group of
such texts, found in the oracle of Zeus in Dodona, we encounter, for instance, the
fear o f poisoning (see p. 92 with note 8), the fear o f angry gods, the hopes and
anxieties o f slaves, the desire o f men to have legitimate children, the fear that they
may be abandoned in old age:46
and more and more’). For the verb nepiopao), common in texts of high emotionality, see
below note 102. For repetitions see below note 92. Private letters in inscriptions: Cordano
2005; Dana 2007. For petitions see Herrmann 1990 and Hauken 1998; for testaments (usually
associated with foundations) see: Laum 1914; Herrmann and Polatkan 1969. For private
letters, petitions, and testaments in papyri see pp. 39-86 in this volume.
40 See the study by C. Kuhn in this volume (pp. 295-316), with further bibliography.
41 Large collections of dipinti and graffiti: lmmerwahr 1990; Wachter 2001.
42 IG XII.6.1213 (graffit, Korassia, third century' BCE): ItomTiTtq Secmoiva cpq, xpvcrq.
Immerwahr 1990, 11 no. 21 (dipinto on Athenian pelike, late sixth century BCE): Aeaypoq
raA.6<;, vaixi. Jmmerwahr 1990, 65 no. 369 (painted inscription on Athenian amphora, late
sixth century BCE): EuBupiSet; e(Y)pa<t>oev ho no\(A)io, hoq ouSettoxe Eixppovioq. lmmer
wahr 1990, 11 no. 21 (dipinto on Athenian cup, c. 675-650 BCE): pioetoi; ho rtafu;] or
giaexog ho na[TqJ (‘the boy is lewd’).
43 I.Ephesos 456.2 (Ephesos, Late Antiquity): av pq y ’ eXuipev xov (3iov xov 5poutexqv I
juviovxeq q xpuiptovxei; q AeA-oogevoi, I oSuvqv eauxoTi; Jipoêvoupev navxoxe I ava^touq
optdvxeq euxvxeaxepoYx;.
44 On the study of graffiti see Langner 2001; Baird and Taylor 2010; Chaniotis 2010c; Taylor
20 1 0 .
45 For a discussion of oracular enquiries in connection with anxieties and uncertainties in the
daily life of the Greeks see Eidinow 2007.
46 On the anxiety for care in old age, in light of the papyrological material, see pp. in this
volume. The texts from Dodona are the following: l) Lhdte 2006, 64f. no. 14 (fourth century
BCE): erteponami Ambuivaioi xov Aia xai xav Audvav q S i‘ dv0p<dnov xivdq dxaBapxiav
6 0ed<; xd(v) yripiova napext't- 2) Eidinow 2007, 102 no. 5; SEG LVll 536.14 (e. 375-350
BCE): l - - |v citcpioxq xdv 0c6v xi ica noilleuiv| itepi t'A-coOepia^ eott abxun I [ixapapolvd
nap xov Seojtoxa. 3) Lhdte 2006, 119 122 no. 4 9 ; Eidinow 2007, 120 (fifth century BCE);
tpcoxfi Auaaviaq Aia Natov xa'i Aqwv«<v> q oux ccrxi e4 uutou xd xouddpiov d AwuXa
taiei. 4) Lhdte 2006, 129-131 no. 52; Eidinow 2007, 82 and 84 no. 6 (Hellenistic period):
1) The citizens of Dodona ask Zeus and Dione if it is because o f the impurity of a man that
the god brings the bad weather.
2) [- -] asks the god. by doing what in respect to his manumission will he have the right to
stay with his master?
3) Lysanias asks Zeus Naios and Dione if the child with whom Annyla is pregnant is not his
(Idiomatically 1 would say 'his' here, but 1 can see that 'from him’ follows the Greek).
4) He asks if it will be good and advantageous if he gets married and if he will have children
that will take care of him in old age, and if he should stay in Athens being one o f those who
exercise their citizenship in Athens.
Other categories of inscriptions o f religious significance with an em otional

background include confessions and records o f divine punishm ent (see pp. 2 1 5 -
223 in this volume); prayers and hymns;47 and healing m iracles (see pp. 177-204
in this volume). But it is in curses that we find the clearest expression o f em otion
(cf. pp. 9 If. with notes 3-4 and pp. 235-266 in this volum e): fear o f an opponent,
indignation at injustice, envy, sense o f honour and pride.48 O ne o f the best exam
ples o f an emotional and emotive curse tablet is the p rayer o f an anonym ous man
to Demeter found in Amorgos (c. 100 BCE):49
Mistress Demeter, queen, as a suppliant 1 throw myself before you, I, your slave. He received
my own slaves; he taught them evil; he counselled them; he gave them advice; he corrupted
them; he felt joy; he encouraged them to go to the agora; he incited them to run away - a
certain Ephaphroditos (did all this). He charmed my slave girl, so that he might have her as
his wife against my will. It is for this reason that she has run away, together with the others.
Lady Demeter, I who have suffered all this, being abandoned/having no other support, I flee
[Eporrlai d k((o}iov yuvatica Aapfldvovxi [ k ]ou ape(i)vov Kai JtaT8eq eoovxai [yrt]poxpo<poi
'Ioo8f|pon K]“ >A0f|vrt<Jt emSrtpouvxi [xcbjv rcokitenopevaiv A0f|vr)cn-
47 Hymns; Furley and Bremer 2001, Kolde 2003. Prayers: Pulleyn 1997.
4k Emotions and emotional language in curses: Versnel 1999 and 2003; Chaniotis 2009b, 63-68;
see also pp. 240-255 in this volume. Curses and their connection to anxiety: Eidinow 2007,
139-231. Love magic: Faraone 1999.
49 JG XJI.7 p. I,A . Kupiu Attpfixrtp, pcxotkioaa, iKexitq ooo rcpoajunxoj 8e 6 SodAoq a o v
Eponq 8ov»ko<v)q une8eâto, tod(q) KaKo8i8aaicdkr|a£, eyvoipoSornae, cruvepou-
>-cua£, i/irevoOevoe, icaxExapE, dventepoiaE dyo p d aai, EyvtopoSoxrtae qvuyTv xtq 'Eipouppo-
SjtiM oq), avvEJtE0eXy£ to naiSiaiatv am oq, iva, epoo pi) Oekovtoq, eyeiv adxov yuvaiKa
avtfjv. 8L ekeivtiv xitv aixiav 8e avriiv xeipevyevai odv x a l xoiq aAAon;. K upia Aripf|xr|p,
eytu or to m u xu0«v EpTjpoq ewv eiti a t Kaxatpeuyai co d edytkaxon xo ^ eiv k u 'i n o to ai pe
ton 8ucaiov xv/ttv- noifiouu; xov xoiabxd pc 8ia0Ie]pEVov pit a x d a tv pit p d a iv , p^8<a-
p/ou EpitApoffrivat pf) cwpaxoq pfixe |0 } von, pf| 8odA.«v pit 7tax5iOKWv prj 8ouA,ev>0oixo,
pit duo pvjKpJwv pit died peydXou, pry eJuPaXdpevoq xi EKxeX,e{ ae |o a ix o , kox « 8e (e }apd(<^
avtod xttv ottctuv /.dpoixo, ex| o ) i , pq rcaidiv ickadoexo, pi) xpaneâv ikapcxv 0 dto, pn
iruoiv Ex/xoftijouixo, pit u / i tamp kokkucuixo , oneipuq pi) Oepiouixo, Kaxuvxiaaq icap-
nrjix; pi) m (o x a|ix o ETEPAN, pit yf| pit 0dX uoou Kaprcov ev ev ku ix o , pit xupuv p|aK]u-
pu/v aiiV)C,xt Mx|tc)dx; dnoAotxo, ica'i xd Ttup’ udxod xdvxu. B. Knpux Arpirixitp.
Aixuvpwu at ntihdiv u 8ik u , ejuxkoooov, 0e« , k u i Kptvai xo S ik u io v , iv a xodq xoiadxct
EvfFuponptvon^ kui Kuxux<xipovtE(q) ku\ Xdnaq Em0t(i)v<** icapoi ica\ xjj epr) yovuuci ’Eiti-
KTttm Kcxt pioodotv itp<x^ xoirtou.i um oiq xd 8ivoxaxa ku\ xuX tntm axa 8 iv a. B ao ik io au ,
im 'm n o o v i|piv xubodoi, koAo c o i xodq Ttp<x<; xmodxouq rj8eux; pkeTtovtaq. This text has
been diftcussed by Versnel 1999, as an example of ‘prayers for justice’; see also Eidinow
2007, 4191 (but with wrong attribution to Sicily and some inaccuracies in her translation).
to you for refuge, asking you to be merciful and make me obtain justice. May you make the
one who did all this to me able neither to stand nor to walk; to find no fulfilment either in the
body or in the mind; to be served neither by a male nor by a female slave, neither by young
nor by old; if he has a plan in mind, let him not be able to accomplish it; may a curse seize
and take hold of his household; let him never listen to the cry of a baby; let him never prepare
a table of joy; neither shall a dog bark nor a cock crow for him; when he sows, let him not
harvest; when he arrives (?), let him see no fruit learnings?); neither the earth nor the sea shall
bring him fruit; let him have no blessed joy; let him perish in a bad way together with
everything he owns. Lady Demeter, I implore you, because I have suffered injustice; listen to
my prayer, goddess, and pass a judgment of what is just, so that you give the most terrible and
harsh sufferings to those who think of this (affair) with joy, those who have given me and my
wife, Epiktesis, sorrow, those who hate us; listen to us, for we have suffered, and punish those
who take pleasure in seeing us in this misery.
The anonymous man claims that his opponent, a certain Ephaphroditos, a slave,
had seduced a slave girl and had persuaded her to run away together with other
slaves. From the fact that the owner of the slaves could do nothing about it, I infer
that the runaway slaves had sought asylum, probably in a shrine or altar in the
agora - if avenxeptooe ay o p aaat is to be understood as ‘he encouraged them to
go to the agora’ requesting to be sold to another owner. This is procedure is
well attested in Greek law.50 As his runaway slaves had supplicated the gods, he
in his turn supplicated Demeter. One may suspect that the slave girl was the object
not only o f Epaphroditos’ but also of the anonymous man’s sexual desires. Whe
ther he was motivated by jealousy or not, we cannot tell, but loss of face clearly
was a major concern.5152The anonymous man clearly spelled out his frustration at
becoming the laughing stock of his community; what he requested was not the
return o f the slaves but the suffering of both Epaphroditos and those who felt
Schadenfreude at his humiliation and loss.
It should be noted that most inscriptions were usually read aloud, and this
performative aspect adds to their significance as reflections of emotionality."
Depending on the character of the epigraphic text (grave epigram, decree, magical
invocation, acclamation, and so on), different means were applied in order to
express, display, and arouse emotion, and some of these means will be discussed
exempli gratia in the light of decrees and epitaphs in the next section.
50 Chaniotis 1096, 70-83; Thiir 2003, 31-34.

5 1 On loss of face as the emotional background of ‘prayers for justice’, see Chaniotis 2004a,
242-246 and 240; in the context of petitions: see p. 82 in this volume.
52 Day 2000, Chaniotis 2012b, 300-302.
3 STRATEGIES OF EMOTIONAL AROUSAL AND EXPRESSION:

THE CASE OF EPITAPHS AND DECREES
3.1 Inscriptions matter
The inscribing of a text was a costly business. According to the Delphic accounts
o f the late fourth century BCE, a stonemason received an honorarium o f one
drachma for 100 letters,53 that is the equivalent o f the daily honorarium o f a m er
cenary soldier in the same period. To this cost we may add the cost for the
material and, sometimes, the sculpted decoration o f the stele or monument. In
scriptions were set up in valuable public space, and this was subject to the appro
val by civic authorities. Inscriptions mattered; they had value; they were scruti
nised, read, corrected, and destroyed.54 Let us take as an example an Athenian
honorary decree for Neapolis, a colony o f Thasos. As faithful allies o f the Athe
nians in the Peloponnesian War the Neapolitans fought against their own mother-
city. The original decree explains (410/9 BCE):55
We shall praise the Neapolitans near Thasos, first because although they were colonists of
Thasos, when they were besieged by the Thasians and the Peloponnesians, they did not wish
to defect from the Athenians, and they proved to be virtuous men as regards the campaign,
the Athenians, and the allies.... For this benefaction let the Athenians be grateful to them now
and also in the future, because they are virtuous men.
Two years later (407/6 BCE), a new decree was passed to honour these faithful
allies:56
We shall praise the Neapolitans who are in Thrace because they are virtuous men as regards
the campaign and the city of the Athenians, and because they campaigned against Thasos in
order to besiege it together with the Athenians, and because they were victorious in a sea-
battle that they fought together with the Athenians, and because they were always their allies
on land, and because they aid the Athenians; for these good things let them receive the
gratitude of the Athenians, as has been voted by the people.
Interestingly, the new decree amends the earlier one:
53 c m II 74 col. II Z. 8, 98 B 7f.
54 Examples lor the destruction/erasing of inscriptions in Flower 2006, 26-34.
55 Kj L 101 lin e s 6 - 1 1 and 3 5 -3 7 : [ tn ja tv e o a i x o tq N e o n [ o A , lx a i < ;j <xoTq> napa 0doov
[ n p o x o v p j e v f | o n a n o ti c o v o v x e q Q a a i o v | tccxi n o X t o ] p i c 6 |i E v o i B u n a v x o v j l ] i c a t n e X o | n o v -
v j r i m o v o u tc p h U 'v . r i o u v a n o | a x h v u | i a n A b n v a i jo v , a v 8 [p e < ; 5 j d y a G o t e y e v o lv x o eq xe
t h v o x p r / l t l i a v x a i x o v o f i l p u v x |6 v A G n v a i o v i c a f t x o | u q * '1 KOtl a v x t x rjq
H » E p 7 t; ( a i a q xa\>vr\c x o v u v c t v j a i i c a ’i e v x o i A u t n o t x p o v o | t J n a p A 0 t) v u | u )V x a p i x a q e t v a t
u v x j o i q o q a v O p d m v o u m v d y u B o l i j q •••
56 I(j I 101 lines 48 52: ... tnutvrcui xotq NeonoXlxatq xotq dno |0pduceq hoq oatv dvSpt'x-
mv ayaBotqj tc xr. xev atptm dv icai tip n6A.iv xev ABevalov teat hox|t eq ©aoov eoxpateo-
ovxo yovpno/.topjicf oovxi q ptxa ABevalov icai hoxi x<ruwa'upax6vx[eq cvftcov) teat |icaxd
yt’v /oiivtpa/ov xov n ajv ta ypovov Kui xa a Xka hoxi to notoatv AGevaio|tq, icai avxt
xjoutov Ixov dyaGov ydpitaq napd A jGevaiov tiv a t aoxotq icaGdnep eipaetptaxat x|ot
O^pojt.
and let the secretary of the council make a correction in the earlier decree and replace the
reference to the colony of the Thasians with a reference to the fact that they fought the war
together with the Athenians.57
There is not doubt that the original decree was read - otherwise there would be no
reason to change its content. Although some scholars have expressed doubts on
whether inscriptions (especially funerary epigrams) were read, there is substantial
evidence that supports the assumption that inscription were read, and indeed read
aloud.58 This reading was sometimes part of a ritual. In Philadelpheia (Lydia) the
members of a cult association were obliged to touch the stone on which the
association’s purity regulation was inscribed, thus confirming that they were
pure;59 this presupposes that the content of the inscription was read by them or to
them. There is no doubt that during the rituals of the funerary cult, performed on a
regular basis, the inscriptions of the funerary monument were read.
Inscriptions are texts - a more appropriate term would be ‘epigraphically
transmitted texts’ - and as such they are the product of composition. Admittedly,
texts inscribed on stone are shorter than literary texts, although there are a few
exceptions (mainly epigrams, hymns, and narratives of miracles). The limited
space sets some boundaries to the possibilities of expression. Nonetheless, in
scriptions were an important medium of communication in ancient Greek com
munities and as such they were an important medium for the expression and
arousal of emotion. In the following pages I present a few of the strategies applied
by the authors of epigraphic texts, in order to achieve this aim. But it should be
remembered that inscriptions are more than texts: they are monuments whose
impact on audiences is connected with their exact setting (sanctuary, cemetery,
etc.), their decoration (e.g. reliefs and painted decoration), and the part they
played in rituals (see pp. 223-227 in this volume).
3.2 Emotion as a strategy of persuasion
In epigraphic texts - as in literary texts - emotions appear in different forms:

they are mentioned, alluded to, described, or prescribed; they can be the object of
criticism and control; and the use of language may aim to arouse specific emo
tions. When the authors of epigraphic texts describe emotions, either their own
and those of others, they often do so as a strategy of persuasion. The mention of
fear in Hellenistic public inscriptions is a case in point. The authors of decrees
mention fear in order to contrast the behaviour of the courageous man who is to
be honoured with the panic of others; or in order to bring to memory the emo
tional state from which a generous benefactor has freed his countrymen; or in
order to present excuses for a wrong political decision (see below pp. 118f.).
57 Hi lJ 101 lines 58-60: e<; 6e to <pcF<piapa to jtpo[tFpov rjitavopBckrai toy te<;

poAe<; ie[at eq aoto pFtaYp«)<paai avxi tec; anouda|<; 0«cn]ov hoti avvSiejtoXFpeaav
top JtoXepov p|eta A0fvouov|.
58 Day 2000; Chaniotis 20l2e (with further references).
59 TAM V.3.1539 (c. 100 BCE). See also pp. 2 13f. and 224 in this volume.
Another instructive example is provided by grave inscriptions in which the

deceased indiv idual is presented as speaking from the grave. The voice o f the
dead is manipulated to fulfill different tasks. Sometimes the deceased describes
the grief and mourning o f his or her relatives, friends, or the entire city. The
deceased's authoritative voice thus gives testimony to their pain - and at the same
time confirms that they had fulfilled their duties and indirectly serves as a medium
o f social control.60 Sometimes the deceased describes a blissful life after death,
thus directly or indirectly offering consolation and hope to the living.6162
My name was Philostorgos. Nike raised me to be an anchor for her old age. I was twenty
years old. After viewing something, of which one is not allowed to speak, I became the object
of abduction by sudden fate, fulfilling the threads of divine fate. Mother, do not shed tears for
me. What is the use of such kindness? Instead, treat me with reverence. For I became a divine
star, shining at nightfall.
Philostorgos, whose very name ( ‘the affectionate’) expressed his m other’s ex
pectation, deceived her hopes, dying suddenly, perhaps after a vision. Now speak
ing from his grave, Philostorgos offers consolation and closure, im plicitly inviting
his mother to turn her gaze to the sky w henever the evening approaches, to see
him among the stars. Sometimes the voice from the grave im plores the passer-by
to stop, read the inscription, and shed tears (see below pp. 105f.). In this way, the
relatives make sure that the commemoration o f a beloved person will continue
despite their own mortality, embracing a continually and eternally enlarging em o
tional community o f mourners. But sometimes the deceased describes in detail the
conditions o f his or her life and death with bitterness, as in the epigram o f a man
who had been cuckolded by his wife and murdered by her lover, and in the grave
inscription o f a woman who unknowingly married a eunuch and was deprived o f
motherhood, dying alone in a foreign country:
Passer-by, Aphrodeisios is my name, and I am a citizen of Alexandreia, leader of the chorus. I
die a most wretched death because of my wife, the dirty adulteress, whom Zeus will destroy.
Her secret lover, a member of my own family, Lychon, slaughtered me and threw me from
the heights like a discus, still a young man. In my twentieth year, full of beauty, the Destinies,
who have spun (my fate) sent me as a delight to Hades.
60 E.g. JO II2 3756 (Athens, early third century CE): up<pi 8 ’ eprjc; poipr|<; nou; c 8dtcpuae Aedx;
(‘the entire people shed tears for my fate’); 7447 (Athens, late second century CE): dpcp't 6’
cpco Ku’t Stjpoc; anat, eSuKpvoev ABt| vti<; (‘the entire people of Athens shed tears for me’);
SEO XL 653 (Macedonia, ): oiicxpd 8 ’ eSdicptioev Nucootporto i; on pc xoiceTei; I td v ckkui-
S t/m v 8ojtcov 6pcuvexi8u ("Nikostratos, to whom my parents gave me as a wife, seventeen
years old, shed tears, full of misery’). On the manipulation of the voice o f the deceased
idivjdual see Catey 2004; d Vestrheim 2010 (on the use o f the first and second person). On
references to grief and mourning in Archaic epigrams see e.g. Bowie 2010,336.
61 JO Xlf.7 123 (Arkesine, first/second century CE): ovvopd poi OiX-daxopyoq r r w N m i)
p ‘ cBprycv I dvicupav ynpox;- eiicoot 8 ’ coxov ext). I apprytov 5c Beu p ’ c.0 t 8d»v,
dpxw jp’ fy*vf)(fr)v I oiyviolov poipr^, tcA(»ap</.xa Brio. xcA-tov. I pijxnp pr\ pc S a x p u c xl<; p
//ipi^. Hu m . or (Jdôo - 1 doxrjp yr/.p yfvoppv Bc'to<; aKptonepio^.
62 / Alexandrela/lrous 90; Merkelbach and Stauber 1908, 632f. no. 07/05/04 (Alexandreia in
Troa», third century ( I ): Ifotjrv xovvopr/ poi A<ppo6 etm o(, d> nupufteixa ■I |e |ip l 8 ’ AXe-
Moving Stones: The Study of Emotions in ( ireek Inscription* 105
Thessalonike was my fatherland and Uyle was my name. A isos, the son of Batalins,
conquered me with love potions, although he was a eunuch. And so my wedding bed was
ineffectual. And now I lie here, so far away from my fatherland.
In texts such as the above, the deceased does not only appeal to the pity of the
reader but also to his indignation. By using the voice of a dead individual the
authors of these text give their words the aura of a higher authority and, at least
for a moment, they deceive us by creating the illusion of a communication with
the departed.64
As an integral part of communication in ancient urban and rural communities,
inscriptions reveal the same rhetorical and linguistic strategies of emotional arou
sal as the ones we find in literary texts. A few examples shall illustrate this.
3.3 Expressing and arousing emotion
Creating an emotional bond with the reader

Closely related to the manipulation of the voice of the dead (see p. 104) is the
manipulation of the emotions of the reader of an inscription by directly or indi
rectly urging him to join an emotional community. In the case of grave inscrip
tions, this urge to participate in the grief is at times explicit.
Man, whoever you are who walks on this road, even if you have other things in your mind,
stand still and have pity seeing Thrason's memorial.
Stand by me, as you pass by! Stand, stranger! Do not pass without noticing me, but find out
about me and feel compassion with my parents, who are painted here.
âvSpeuq, 8e x°fK®v) 6 g£Co<;-1 (0v]f|OKci) 8’ oiicxpoxdxo) Savatcu 8ta

tw v aXoxov gou,
x t jv
[ic]A.£»jnYugov giepav, qv bepi Zei>s oXeaei • I xax>xq<i;> yap XaOpioq yagexqq icagov yevoq,
At>x«JV, o<pd4[cj g£ tcd<p’ vjyou«; 8icnco|}6Xqo£v veov- I S S
io yap exo$ icaxExovxd ge,
e k o t o v
KaXkoc, exovta tcXwoaoai go?pa i itegiyav ayaXg’ Ai8q. I read Auxwv as the name of the
murderer (the earlier editors leave the letters AYXDN unexplained). Another victim of
murder, who speaks from his grave: Merkelbach and Stauber 1998, 209 no. 02/03/01
(Amyzon, second century BCE).
63 IG XIV 2566 (Bonna, Germania Inferior, second/third century CE): OeooaXoveiicq g[o)i
rtaTpiq X e b , ouv[og’ "YJAr| got - icag' ’Aaio^ B[axa|Xoi’ uo*; ipiXxpotoi 8dg(aooe], ev-
e t o
vouxo<; itep etov, (icai djxupov qv Xaxo(<; agov] ■m g a i 8’ £v0a8e [vuv xoojaov aveu0e
ndxp|q<;j. 1 assume that Adyo,; was engraved instead of Xexo<;. If we keep the reading Xaxo^
we should translate: ‘my lot was void.’
64 Day 2000, 39.
65 IG I3 1204; CEO I 28 (Athens, late sixth century BCE): avBporec hdaxetxe|i|s xu0’ 68ov I
(ppaotv aXa gevoivov, axe0i tcai oncxipov.
66 SEG XXXI 1283 (Antiocheia in Pisidia, Imperial period): [gelvov got xapaywvj, I gnvov,
êve, g(h pe] I ixapeX0qv dXXa [ga|0w|v] I xiv’ e%<o ypaitxoi<; <nigx(aa]lx£ yoveuot. Cf.
Merkelbach and Stauber 2001b, 206 no. 16/23/06 (Aizanoi, 247 CE): geivdv goi it[ajpd-
yto|v|, g|ci (vov, Êve. gq ge rtupeX0q<;; SEG XLI 1166 (Galatia, third century CE): oSoucdpe,
gq ge nu|p|eX0qs. I dXXa aid s i8e gou xov xapievxa xoitov (’wanderer, do not pass without
noticing me, but stand and look at the charming place ). Cf. TAM II 356 (Xanthos, Imperial
period).
Having completed eighteen years of life I came to the nightly realm of cruel oblivion. For this
reason, strange traveller, shed wailing tears for me, and for this service may a god grant you
every happiness.
The reader is sometimes addressed as a ‘friend’ ((piA.e)6768 and not as a ‘passer-by’

(7iap)o5Tta) or ‘stranger’ (êve), and this address urges him to feel like a member
of an emotional community o f affection. Also rhetorical questions oblige the
reader to join others in grief: ‘who did not shed tears for the unfulfilled homes of
my parents when looking at me?’69701
Unanimity is often insinuated by epigraphically recorded acclamations (see
pp. 2 95-316 in this volume). This is also implicitly done in the case o f decrees
through references to the fact that ‘all the people’ (7tavTe<â7iavT£<;, 7tav8ripe{,
6go0uga56v) had the same emotional response to an event. The honorary decree
for the benefactor Emameinondas o f Akraiphia reports that after the performance
o f the rites of a festival,
when he was returning from the sanctuary to the city, all the citizens in one body (mv8i)pe()
came to his reception, demonstrating every love of honour and gratitude. And living up to his
own generosity, he sacrificed a bull to the Greatest Zeus, the one who protects the city, and
immediately gave a dinner for those who had come to thank him.
The unanimous display of gratitude motivated the benefactor to make a sponta

neous additional benefaction, which was offered without delay (m p ax p fjg a).
Sometimes the prescription of mood is not implicit; some decrees directly pre
scribe the expression of specific emotions, for instance during the funeral o f a
noble woman in Kyzikos, and during a festival in Messene that commemorated a
victory of Caius Caesar:
All the inhabitants of the city in one body (jiav8r|pei), men and women, shall lament her
(Apollonis).
67 Merkelbach and Stauber 1998, 73 no. 01/18/05 (Teichioussa, Imperial period): oiaajKouSeica
8e £<ut)$ fJioxou Mxcripcxvtai; I fKxeAiaai; OTuyepriq wci> vuictepov T)X.u0a Af)0r|<;. I Touveiax
pm yoepov (Jd/ce 8dicpvov, a> i;ev' 68eTxa- dvxi 8e aoi xouxoiv 0eo<; oApia 8oiev arcavxa.
68 This address to anonymous readers (and not to family members) is primarily attested in
epitaphs of the Imperial period: e g. IG II2 10116 (Athens); 1G V.2.359 (Stymphalos); IG
IX.21276 (Pythion); 1G Xll.2.644 (Troad); GV 432 (Miletos), 1013 (Ephesos?); I.Ephesos
1628 (Ephesos); / Kyziktjs 507 1.Smyrna 529 (Smyrna); Kaibel 1878, no. 226 (Teos or
Ephesos). It is rarely attested in honorary epigrams: SEG XXXIV 1 136 (Ephesos, Imperial
period).
69 IG VII 1883 (Thespiai, c. 150 CE): xt<; fAiu8e<; ov>|k e8cxKpuofv| I xa<; axeA,T<; yoveuiv, eiq
rpr &pK<>|j£(vo£;j.
70 IG VII 2712 lines 82- 87 (Akraiphia, mid-first century CE): Kax(x(}uivovxo<; I cxuxou ('mi6 xou
itpov m xrjv itoXtv tu/vOTipIfjt [d|rtf)VXTiauv oi |rco|A.eTxui I nfxoav ipiAoxeipiav icocl
puuuxv rv5»:i|ic]vHu:vot 6 8f pi) (f KjXxxBolpfvoq xf)<; i'OtTov pryuAo<ppoa\>VT)i; xm>po0u-
xf)nu; An x<p Mryioup rut 1 xt)^ JtdXtux; napc/xphpix flox| ia |m v xoix; auv|eX,|06vxui; eni
tt|V rv/(xJpioxi«v On this test see ( haniotis 2008, Stavrianopoulou 2009, 161 165.
71 SEG XXVIII 953 lines 391 (Ky/ikos, first century ( E): iuv0f)oai ptv Jtav8i)pei itdvxai; I
jtouq MxtoiKouvtu<; xt)vj tuM.iv </v6p</.<, xr K«i yuvixiMo;.
He also commanded us to spend this day every year with sacrifices and wearing crowns, as
cheerful and [—] as possible (see p. 93).
The ‘unanimous’ feeling - or rather the unanimous manifestation of an emotion -
such as courage in war, gratitude towards a saviour, grief for the death of an illus
trious citizen or a benefactor, hope upon the accession of a new emperor, joy in a
celebration, indignation at an act of injustice, and so on, implicitly urges the
reader to develop the same feeling and to join these ‘emotional communities’. 1
give a few examples of how the authors of decrees pertaining to the relations be
tween Greek communities and Roman power emphasised the unanimity of feel
ings in their cities:
They (the envoys) shall also inform him that our whole People (naq 6 8fjpo<;) together with
our wives and children and all our property is ready to risk all for Quintus and the Roman
cause; and that without the rule of the Romans we do not choose even to live (decree of
Aphrodisias during the War of Mithridates).7273
Our people decided to declare war against Mithridates in favor of the leadership of the
Romans and common freedom, and all the citizens with one spirit (6po6t>pa86v navnov xd>v
noXitmv) dedicated themselves to the struggle for these causes (Ephesos during the War of
Mithridates, see below p. 119).
The supremacy of Gaius Caesar Germanicus Augustus, for which all men (bokhv avCpunroiq)
have hoped and prayed, has been proclaimed and the world has known no bounds to its
delight, and every city and every nation (jtaoa 8e JtoXu; icai Jtav t?0vo<;) is eager to behold
the face of the god as the greatest delight which the present age can offer to mankind (decree
of Assos for Caligula).
Vividness (enargeia)
Enargeia is an important element of Greek oratory and literature, from the fourth
century BCE onwards. This term refers to the efforts of orators, poets, or narrators
to paint a mental picture of a scene and make the reader or listener have the
impression that he is an eye-witness to the event that is being narrated.74 The
emotional impact was thereby increased. We may observe enargeia in the detailed
description of an individual’s death in grave inscriptions. A good example is
offered by the epigram for a child who drowned in a well:75
72 Reynolds 1982, 11-16 no. 2b lines 11-14: evtpavioumv Se auajj on izaq 6 Sfjpoi; npcov cruv
yovaiî I vat tevvois vat tw rtavri pi to erupo^ xapapaXA.eo6ai unep I Koi'vtou vat ttov
'Ptopaitov Jtpaypattov vat tm xa>PW ^ • Ptopaitov pyepoviat; ou8e ^fjv Kpoaipoupfda.
73 /.Assos 26 lines 5-9 (Assos, 37 CE): ... n v a t’ eiiynv Jtaaiv avOpdmon; eXmcQetaa Taiou 1
kamapog IHepgtmvou I f poteston nyepovia varnvyeXtat, I oiiSev 8c petpov yapds etSpnvc
6 voapoi;, Jtaoa 8e noXu; I vat rtav e0vo^ fJti rhv ton 0eoo oyiv eoneuvev, <oq av ton 1
r)8iatou dvBptoitoi^ aicovo^ v\iv evcartoroi;. Cf. below pp. 1211".
74 On fnargt'ia in literature see Zangara 2007, 55-89, 233-307; Otto 2009; Webb 2009, esp.
87-105; in poetry: Zanker 1981; in inscriptions: Chaniotis 2013a.
75 Merkelbach and 8 tan her 1998, 365 f. no. 03/05/04 (Notion. Imperial period): nviva 8' r)eXvcs
piv r8u Jtpds Stopata (vuvus.l I 8ctnvf|oa.;. ijXOov pcra too pijtpu) Xo(foao)l0ai. veuBvv;
pc Moipai itpovaBiâvov ei^ <p|pc)lap autou ey8uvov yap fytb|v| vai dirifye pf I Moipa
vavioTi). F'Scv 8aiptov pe I vatui. nape Stove X{dp)tovtr au rap 6 I pntpuv; pou yo<pov
f)vo\>oev ippfalttcvpot), ktu0v»»; p ’ y’ dp ’ - eytb 8c ouv fXljtiS' dv etxov ^ wi'k n'K v a t’
When the sun was setting tow ards the chambers of the night, after I had taken my supper, I
came together with my maternal uncle to bathe. And, right away, the Fates made me sit on
(the edge of) a well, there. As I was undressing, the worst Fate took me away. As soon as the
demon saw me at the bottom of the well, he delivered me to Charon. But my uncle heard the
noise of me falling into the well and started looking for me right away. However, there was
no hope for me to live among the mortals. My maternal aunt came running; she tore off her
tunic. My mother came running; she stood there beating her chest. Immediately my aunt fell
to Alexander’s feet, begging him. Seeing this, he no longer hesitated but jumped into the well
right away. When he found me drowned in the bottom, he brought me out in a basket. Right
away my aunt grabbed me, as I was wet, in a hurry, wondering whether there was any life left
in me. Thus a bad Fate covered me, the wretched one, before I could see a palaestra, barely
three years old.
By providing these details, the poet appeals to several o f our senses; he ‘paints’ a
scene in the twilight, with the three-year old boy running to the well, with the
hectic movements after the relatives realise the accident. He gives us impressions
of sounds: the sound of the body falling into the water, the desperate cries o f the
mother, the begging of the aunt. We even get a sense o f touching, with the
reference to the mother beating her chest and the aunt touching the boy’s wet
body. The redundant use of the word coGilk; ( ‘right aw ay’, four times) and of
words of similar meaning (oneubo); ‘to hurry’, twice; expe%e: ‘she ran/was
running?’, twice; Gaooov: ‘in a hurry’) gives the narrative a rapid movement. If
we are still moved by this narrative it is precisely because we are made eye
witnesses of the child’s death.
Such vividness is more common in epitaphs than in other types of
inscriptions, but enargeia can also be displayed in other categories o f epigraphic
texts with strong emotionality, especially in narratives o f m iracles and some o f the
longer honorary decrees.76 For instance a long decree from Araxa, w hich honours
general Orthagoras for his achievements in a series o f wars in Lycia (c. 180 BCE),
twice states that he went to war on horseback,77 - a detail that m ight seem super
fluous. By giving this detail the orator who proposed the decree presented an
image to his audience. When he referred to O rthagoras’s bravery, the orator used
the verb avxifftino) (‘to look someone straight to the face’), thus describing his
hero’s body language with a vivid image.7*
Apart from the detailed description o f an event, another technique that
enhances emotional arousal in epitaphs o f the Hellenistic and Imperial periods is
tgxxvtov ev r/vOpwIrcoim piyfivat. expcxfv h vavvri icui a x ti£ ei I xov y t xixt*>vcx- expexe
pmnp Ktti taxaixo h?*' tvwjxov. Kci>0o<; AXtâv6po) npoc, I yoovaxa Tcpocrceae vavvrt,
WA»Kti’ cpr/J/u'V iSwv, evjtf|Sa 8’ et$ (ppecxp ei»0u<;. I ax; eopev pc tcatai |ie|io0iopevov
e^tSwevt(»c|i;v i<v> Kfxpivqr ice\>06<; 6h vavvrt pe 8i«fipolxov 0fxa<a>ov,
OKKjtxopfvr) £wlf)!; xiv’ e'xw prpiSa- d) 8 ’ tpe xov I [8ua|xr|Vov xov ook f«pt86vxa
ju//.maljTpoJv, r».>. no<1 tp iw i |- -| Motpu |ic«X]-ovye icuicri I read a>8’ (‘thus’) instead of d*
8’ (‘woe, me’)
76 For miracles see pp. 177 204 in this volume; for long decrees see Chaniotis 2013b.
77 Sh(t X VIII 570, lines 311. fcpinn' o»v Sitxt'Xti nponaycovioxoiv; line 47: eiputnoi; tov
OtiVMJTpOXf IXJtV.
78 Ibul lines 25 27 kuHokov xe xo'n; xopovvon; (’/.vTi|iXf THuv ooSevix Kixipov rcixpixêXoiru v.
Moving Stones: The Study of Emotions in Greek Inscriptions HW
the reference to the physical contact between the deceased individual and the be
reaved:79
Atthis, you lived for me and you exhaled your spirit in me; you used to be a cause of joy, now
of tears; pure, much lamented. Why do you sleep a woeful sleep, you who never removed
your head from your husband’s chest, desolating Theios, who is no more? Our hopes of life
accompanied you to Hades.
This epigram stresses the physical contact twice: with a kiss, Atthis left her hus
band her last breath; only the sleep of death made her take her head away from
Theos’ chest. In this and similar texts,80 physical contact expressed the affection
between husband and wife, showed immeasurable grief, and aroused the pity of
the reader. We should, finally, mention epitaphs that are formulated as a dialogue
and interplay between the deceased individual and a relative or a passer-by, there
by insinuating communication between the living and the dead.81
Individuality and stereotypisation

Inscriptions that were produced in large numbers, especially honorary inscriptions
and epitaphs, oscillate between the trend of using stereotypical formulations and
the need to express the individuality of emotion - gratitude, pride, pain, and so on.
While gnomic phrases, very common in epitaphs,82 ease the pain of death by
transforming the individual loss into an unavoidable universal experience, grave
stones set up in the same cemetery may also compete with one another in expres
sing the uniqueness of the loss and the magnitude of the pain. As we have already
seen, this expression of emotion was accomplished with the use of vivid images
(see pp. 107f.). A medium that served the individual characterisation of the de
ceased was the description of his or her favourite activities; this, too, enhanced the
expression of pain. An epigram from Aphrodisias illustrates this method of emo
tional arousal. It was erected for a young man, whose family probably originated
in Rhodes. This explains why this text uses the Doric dialect, giving the deceased
man an individual characterisation. The text alludes to the life he left behind:
The stone speaks of Epikrates, the son of Epikrates, still a young man, who lies under this
mound. The dust is left behind, and the barbita [a string instrument] no longer strummed, as
well as the Homeric (books?) and the spears and the willow circle (i.e., the shield) with the
79 I.KniJos 303 (Knidos, first century BCE): At0i^, epot £r)oacra teat e»s epe itvevpa XtitoGoa.
I (i)i, ttapo«; fvxppoauvTv; vGv SoocpGaiv itpoipam, I ayvd. JtouXoyoriTf, ti Jtev0ipov ujtvov
iaxitu,, | avSpo^ « ho crtfpvaiv ounote 0eioa xapa, I 0eiov epnpuxjaaa tov oGtcett; aoi yap
ei; ”A8« v I nX0ov opovi £(«>«<; eXnibeq, aperepa^.
80 t Didvma 532c (Miletos. c. 100 BCE): toO Se itcoo[G<rav] avSpo.; ev ayicoivat; urv<S eitau-
ae piou (‘sleep ended her life, as she fell in her husband’s arms’). Cf. Gl 1738; tov poGvov
i'v CTTCpvouTiv ehfyppv (the husband, 'whom alone I had taken to my bosom'). For references
to physical contact during funerals see Chaniotis 200b, 219- 226.
81 Tsagalis 2008, 252-261; Baumbach, Petrovic. and Petrovic 2010, 11-13; Schmitz 2010;
Tueller 2010; Vestrheim 2010.
82 Gnomic phrases: Tsagalis 2008, 9 6 1, for typical expressions see ibid 135-213.
beautiful handle, the halters of the young horses, covered with cobwebs, the bows, and the
javelins. Being distinguished in all this, the glorious young man went to Hades.
Although the poet uses several formulaic expressions known from other epigrams,
he shows his originality by using the verb teurto (‘to leave behind’) not to refer to
the people whom the deceased has left behind but rather to things. Instead of
mentioning or describing Epikrates’ favourite activities, he alludes to them by
listing the objects which are connected with them: the dust, the barbita, the books
of Homeric poetry, the spears, the shield, the halters, the bows, the javelins. This
emphasis on inanimate objects indirectly increases the sense of loss. The poem
consists of images of objects, which have become meaningless now that Epikrates
is gone: the barbita is no longer strummed, the halters are covered with cobwebs.
In this way, the anonymous poet succeeds in offering an individual characterisa
tion of Epikrates. Through the use of the Doric dialect he alludes to his origins;
with references to his activities he characterises his social position; with the list of
the objects that are no longer used he creates a sense of abandonment and loss
without using any trivial word of lament or grief.
Individual characterisation can also be observed in honorary inscriptions,
whose aim was not only to honour and express gratitude but also to motivate other
men and women to follow the honorand’s example. At first sight, honorary in
scriptions seem very stereotypical, drawing from a ‘pool’ of standard attributes of
praise - epithets and their corresponding adverbs and nouns: ayaOoc;, Kakoq
(‘good’), (pi/vomipu; (‘lover of the fatherland’), eovotx; ( ‘benevolent), acocpptov
(‘prudent’), <piAo5o£o<; (‘eager to achieve good reputation’), (piAxSxipoi; (‘loving
honour’), Sixaioi; (‘just’), ayvoq (‘pure’), piao7tovT|po<; (‘an enemy of evil’),
Koopioc (‘decent’), edoefirn; (‘pious, respectful’), £7tieiicr|<; (‘moderate’), aepvot;
(‘stately, arousing respect’), npcxoq (‘gentle, mild’), and so on. But when we study
the use of such attributes in a closed context, for instance in a city such as Aphro-
disias from which hundreds of honorary inscriptions survive from a period of c.
300 years, we observe that such attributes are used in unique combinations,
portraying, as it were, the individual who is honoured. They aroused gratitude
precisely through this individual characterisation.84 To give a few examples, the
honorary inscription for Attinas son of Theodoros uses words that characterise
him as a good and virtuous citizen, a patriot, and a generous benefactor;85 that for
his son Attinas words that emphasise his piety, love of honour, gravity, affection
towards the people, nobility, and prudence;86 that for Teimokles emphasise his*
*3 (JhanKitis 2009c (Aphrodisias, c. 100 BCE): ’Eimcpuxnv utcovtu x<di8 ’ im' eipiou, I ex’ o v ta
Kui>pov a kovic Sr l/.jiu u ta i I icai |i«p|itx’ ukA6vt)xu, xal 0 ’ 'O pnpixui I ica\ £voxd icev-
nopiuxxtf; ixfuo, iomc/Ux;, I xoi jho/Ukoi x’ dyicxnpcf; npfxxvojpevot, I i d xoâ 0 ’ oY x ’ dicovxtv
oioiv tpxpj jhjjv I i c Ai8r/v o Koopo<; rfk/.
84 Chstfiiotii 2004b, 383.
85 IAph2007 12.203 <first century ( I.) uptxfj icui kiA okut/ u Bh^ 8ioupepovxu ... <piA.o86ôuq ...
drvw/OTttTnv 8i«0»oiv ... n/Mvoiox; twt ipiAoxt ipox;... «pexr\$.
86 IA/jh2007 12,206 Oirst/second century CK): rum pr) didB toiv ... <piA,oxdp<o<; ... fuoejih
Hpttnmcriov .. m [pvo|v .... «pt:xfj irui KukoKuyvSitf |5m <p|fpovtu k« i evvouv
x<p8rjp<(j ... «pn; tr)V mxpt&x. tvvoiuv ... t vyt vt ta ... |oi p|vdxnxi ictxi aoxppoauvfl.
Moving Stones: t he Study of Emotions in Creek Inscriptions
wisdom, virtue generosity, and magnanimity;87 that of Theodotos his love of

learning, virtue, prudence, and patriotism;88 that for Apollonios his moderate and
gentle nature and his love for his fatherland;89 and that for Marcus Aurelius Zenas
his gravity and modesty.90 Despite the repetition of certain generic words, each
honorary inscription - accompanied, of course, by an honorific portrait statue
commemorated an individual. To study emotional arousal through such texts
means to study them in large numbers and in their respective contexts.
Linguistic strategies
The authors of the more elaborate epigraphical texts (epigrams, decrees, healing
miracles, prayers, hymns, etc.) were usually educated people, with some training
in oratory. They were familiar with the current stylistic techniques, which they
used for the purpose of emotional display and emotional arousal. For instance,
alliteration and assonance were common strategies in epigrammatic poetry,91 and
naturally they are also found in funerary epigrams in inscriptions. For instance, in
the epigram for a seven-year old child in Athens, repetition (yaia ... yaTa)92 and
alliteration (lip/lup, ana-) enhanced the sense of pain felt by his parents:93
Earth (y aia) raised you to light, Sibyrtios, earth (y ala) hides your body; ether has reclaimed
your breath, the very one who gave it to you. You have departed, snatched away (ava-
prcaaBeiq) by fate (dvd-vicr|<;), leaving grief (kirt-div k\>n-a<;) to your father and mother,
having completed seven years.
When the name of the deceased individual had a meaning that raised an
unfulfilled expectation, the author of a grave inscription would exploit this in
order to underline how hopes were deceived. A very moving grave epigram from
Thessaly, for instance, conveys the sense of despair by stating at the very begin
ning that life (zoe) has died. Life (Zoe) was in fact the name of the young woman
for whom the grave was erected; after the death of their only child, her parents did
not live their life (bioton), they only endured it. And since Zoe died during the
delivery of a still-born baby, she took with her to death also the hope for the
87 IAph2007 1.512 (first/second century CE): ooipov, Kokov Kai dya8ov ... g£yakoi|/uxa>s Kai
ipikofioô*; ... geyakogepax; k ag rtp o tata Kai rcokutekecrraTa.
88 Unpublished inscription (first century BCE): av5pa [Kokov Kail ayaOov Kai ipikdrtarpiv ...
£ f|a a v ia Kakax; |x a i ococppolyax; Kai ev ipikogaGia [Kai nai5 ei]ai Ka't ap etm k<xot)i -
89 lAph2007 12.417 (late second century CE): av8pa ttpaov Kai eiteiKi) icai ev sa a iv
ipikoreigov nepi tiiv nutpiS a.
90 L4ph2007 1.179 (early third century CE): n0et oegvtp SievevKovta £r\oavta xoagiax; Kai
aiStipovtos npoi; unobtiyga d p e ttv ;... geyakoyoxa*;.
91 Tsagalis 2008, 50.
92 I’or other examples from funerary inscriptions, see notes 66 (the repetition ot geivov) and 75
(the repetition o f eu0v>^). For repetition in the papyrological evidence see p. 68 m this
volume. Repetition is very common in magical texts (e.g. IGLS 1 2220: n5n n8t| ta y u ray u
d p ti d p ti d p n ; Audollent 1904. no. 239 lines 48—51: nSp n5n Ini 8n, xaj(\> Tuxeox;.
KurdSriaov xaraSriaov KatdSrioov autoo^) and in acclamations (see pp. 298f.).
93 K i i f 12599 (Athens, third century BCE); Verilhac 1978, 276 no. 95: y a ia gev ei* tpaa; ppe.
Ii(i{)pTU’, y a ia 6e K£v$ei I aibgu, nvopv 5c aiOilp ekupev rtdkiv. oonep e5u>Kev. I iturpi 5c
a m Kai gntp i kiru'ov kuna*; v>n' uvuvkiv; I (Siyou uvupimciBci*; tJn u t t n yleylovui^j.
continuation o f the family. The only other person nam ed in her epigram is her
father. Having the same name as the greatest river o f Thessaly, Peneios, his name
was also suitable for a word-play: the tears he was shedding could be assimilated
with the flow o f the river:94
The stele which you look at, friend, is full of grief. For Zoe ( ‘Life’) has died, the one who was
called by this name, 18 years old, leaving behind tears for her parents and the same for her
grandparents from the moment she left the sorrows o f earth. She was bound with the yoke of
marriage, and she was pregnant with a child, who died before his time; as soon as it was born,
without a sound she left the light of the sun. And Peneios, her father, pouring tears, set up this
construction together with his dear wife, for they had this only child and no other. For they
did not get from her (or again?) a child, but childless they endured their life.
It is also natural that we find metaphors and m etonym s in poetic texts, for instance
references to the ‘womb o f earth’95 or com parisons o f a m aiden w ith a flow er.96
Similar techniques, again under the influence o f oratory, are also found in prosaic,
public documents. For instance, when Munatius H illarianus w as honoured by his
association with the erection o f four statues and four painted im ages o f him self
and his deceased son, he requested a more m oderate honour. U sing a m etonym he
acknowledged the gratitude o f the fellow-m em bers o f the club:97
94 SEG XLV 641 (Euhydrion, second/third century CE): "Hv eaopaq crxf|A.r|v p e c th v caopas;,
«pi>*e, irevOoui;. I KaxOve yap Z(W] oiSvopa KX,n<™°pevT| I 6icxa)icai8eKexT|<;, Aeiit/aaa yoveuai
8aicpva I icai nanno\<; xa opoia, ovnep yam s kiriE jcev0 t|. I THv 8 e yapti) £eux0e<T>a a
ia>T)ac te <z>e<vov ampov, I ou xex0evxo<; acpcovoq Xirtev <pao<; rieXioio. I ffrivEioi; 8e rcaxfip
XEuuiv 8atcp Of|Ke rod' epyov I ovv xe <piXj) aXoxw, oi<; tjv xekvov ev xe kook aXXo. I
OvSe yap e§ auxT)<; eo%ov xeicvov <pa)(s) Xirtouar)? I aXX' axEKvoi Aincri icapxEpeov JMoxov.
We also note here repetitions and alliteration (eoopag ... eoopat;, A.£iigaaa ... Xih e ... Xinev ...
/.UlOV<TT)<;... Xvjttj).
95 IG VII 117 (Megara, 4th/5th CE): Nttcoicpaxovx; XctyovEocnv vnb xB oviaioi KEKponxE atopa.
CNikokrates’s body is hidden in the womb of earth’). On metaphor in Greek literature see the
collection of essays in Boys-Stones (ed.) 2003, 1-147, and Harrison, Paschalis, and Frangou-
hdis (eds.) 2005; on metaphor and emotion in the novel see Bowie 2005, 70-74 (metaphor
and desire).
96 JG IX.2.649 (Larisa, second/third century CE); G V 988; Lattimore 1942, 97-101: toe, veov
«v0o; gipi)i; jiovxoOuaoix; npo)xo[<p]«vf|<<;> koXukoiv ( ‘like a young flower in the all-bloom-
ing season, showing my first petals’). Cf. IG V .1.960 (Boiai in Lakonia): the deceased girl is
compared with the disk o f the sun and a garland o f roses (ox; cfeXok; fieX-liJou, dx; po8eo<;
oxE^f/vol^j). Other examples: Merkelbach and Stauber 1998, 60 no. 01/12/20 (Halikamassos,
Hellenistic period): oixxpuv 8e Buyaxpa KaxEarevaxhoe Ix p a x c ia I o m tk; eivaXia
8axp uaiv fj/.KXtovi^ (‘Srateia groaned for her pitiable daughter, shedding tears like some
alkyon of the sea’); 141 no. 01/20/23 (Miletos, late second century BCE): xeicvod veoBtiXeu
fi/jim tfv ( ‘the fresh-budding branch of a child’); !G XII.3.53 (Arkesine, 242 CE): oxrncp
Or:v8pov EigEpov exMaXex, vno |n|vrop|axo)<; eicp£t£o0ev eni x% yr\c, enfoev, ooxok; ( k|(xi 6
'Oxxlaplioq poipiftto*; tn ta vv (‘as a cultivated blooming tree falls on the ground, uprooted
by wind, so did Oktavios fell following his destiny’). See also the expression p ’ e0pei|ffv I
OvicvpMv ynpox; (she raised me to he an anchor for her old age’) in the text in note 63.
97 INupnli 1 44 (Neapolis, 194 ( I ) col II lines 14 18: icui x(ov riicovaiv xcov XEoarciptov xai xwv
av8pu/vtwv xwv XEonapoiv (pot g(v iKUvn ( i | jita ypcupT) i i | icrx't g ak ico i^ av5pta<; eit;,
uw.t 6t xt igai xa.t tun pr0*ox?)KOXi xr/.c_ yap noXXaq fiicovtxt; kui xoijq itokkoix; av8piav-
xai;rv t u i ^ vgrtEpau; VV///.I, f/o p rv Ko,0i8pvg(vov><;.
And instead of four painted images and four portrait statues, one painting is enough for me
and one single bronze statue - and the same honours for the deceased. For many paintings
and many statues stand erected for us in your souls.
The selection of particular words, occasional redundancies, and sarcasm were used
in public documents to convey indignation. When Ptolemais provoked strife
among the cities of Kyrenaika by sending a delegation to the festival of the
Capitolia in Rome for the first time, the emperor, Antoninus Pius, showed his
indignation by insinuating surprise (9[augd£]a> oti):989
I am amazed that, although you have never sent a delegation and participated in the joint
sacrifice at the contest of the Capitolia in the past, you have now sent a delegation for the first
time; for you know very well that such innovations cause strife among the cities.
A letter of Eumenes II to the inhabitants of Tyriaion, who had claimed for their
settlement the status of a polis without his approval, is a text clearly written by an
angry man, oscillating between the first person plural, when he is courteous and
conciliatory, and the first person singular, when he addresses the hot legal
issues." A decree of the small community of Olymos in Karia is instructive for
the selection of the vocabulary. Although participation in worship in a sanctuary
of Apollo and Artemis was reserved to the members of three subdivisions of the
citizen-body, some honorary members of the subdivisions claimed for themselves
the right to participate in the gatherings of the citizens. For this reason, the com
munity decided to have the names of the legitimate participants inscribed. The
decree is fragmentary, but the phrases that are certainly preserved clearly express
both the indignation of the man who proposed it and the indignation he wanted to
foment.100
Some individuals, who have received the right to be members of the syngeneiai as a favour/
concession ( koto ouvxtdpTipa), claimed for themselves also the right to attend the meetings
... and had the audacity (tetoXpfiKaaiv) to attempt an attack against the funds administered
by the people of the Olymeis, some of them by attending the sacrifices, others by occupying
the offices of the hierourgos, the priest, and the prophet. The rights of the people and the care
of the gods were violated in an impious way through this shameless appropriation (avaiSoOs
ap<pi^|3r|TTlcTea><;) of rights which they did not deserve. In order that in the future this whole
evil pretence (poxGripa rcapeupem^) is stopped, as best as this is possible, etc.
98 SEG XXV1I1 1566 lines 81-83 (Ptolemais, 154 CE): Glaupd^](o on pr|8eitote ev tip ep-
npoaGev xpovoi 8iartEpyav[te^ vai] I avvOuaavteq eiq tov ta>[v KaitetaijXitov aytova vuv
npcorov oateateiXaTe ou yap dyvoet(te on] I to ta toiauta kaivotopleiv aitijav itapexet
tali; tcoXccti ipiXovtiKia«;. See Laronde 2004. For irony in papyri see p. 67.
99 SEG XI.VII 1745 (shortly after 188 BCE). First person plural, lines 4f., 8. 13, 29-31. First
person singular, lines 14-20, 26, 35f. Chaniotis 2012e, 318.
100 l.Mvliisa 861 lines 10-13 (Olymos, second century BCE): ... nve>; Xa|5ovte>; ward crvvxu>-
pnpa tpv penmen av ev auvyev[eiai«; nuv ieptov, aîoCvtev; autoiq petouciav vcai ev tav;
nov ~ | o>k6 t(i>v aovoSon; imdpxeiv, tetoXpnkuoiv eni ta dioikoupeva into tod OXupetov
ftppou, oi pev autcov eni taR Guma*; povov ievai, oi 8e icai in\ ta<; npa.; rij^ te iepoujp-
yia<; kai iep(o<n>vr|t; Kai itpoippteia.;, icai ck tfj^ ttov pr|9ev itpoariKovnav dvaiSovv dpipi-
^Pnrfjaeox; (itoXXot aoelltjpata auvepp kata tcov dikauov ttdv KoXitjSv kai kata tf^
npoaxaoiai; ta»v Gecov kutaokeuaêcrGai iva ouv eic Suvaptv ttdoa poyOqpd napevpeai*
tr|epi todtwv dvaipptai to Xomdv ...|.
Three w ords o f moral condemnation were carefully chosen to excite indignation:

tolman (very common in connection with violations o f legal or moral norms)
anaides, and mochtheros. Anaides and mochtheros, never attested in public
documents earlier than the Hellenistic period, were only used in Hellenistic public
documents in the context o f indignation.101 Such words belong to a political
vocabulary w ith an emotive function; they served as acoustic signals attracting the
audience's attention and triggering emotional responses. The verb 7tepiopotto ( ‘to
remain indifferent’) has a similar function, used in public inscriptions o f the
Hellenistic period in connection with appeals to pity or w ith expressions of
gratitude for courageous, responsible, or honorable behaviour.102 Political dis
courses often operate with such words, whose significance goes beyond their
literal meaning - consider, for instance, Auslander in Germ an or liberal in US
English. Studies o f the emotional background o f public inscriptions will certainly
improve our understanding o f how such linguistic and rhetorical strategies
worked.
4 SOCIAL AND CULTURAL CO N TEX TS

ANGER AND FEAR IN THE HONORARY D ECREE FO R PROTOGENES
Manifestations of emotions in inscriptions are filtered by processes o f appraisal,

cultural norms, and social conventions. The very existence o f an inscription is the
result o f conscious action, selection, and com position. B ecause o f their very
nature as ‘monuments’, inscriptions are part o f a process o f communication.
Which emotions will be communicated, to whom, and through w hich media of
linguistic expression very much depends on com plex and continually changing
social and cultural parameters, which are reflected in inscriptions.
101 Chaniotis 2012c. Anaides: I.Priene 17 lines 1 If.; mochtheros: Welles 1934, no. 61 (see note
7); Gonmi II 91J G XII.3 1286; I Mylasa 132.
102 l Ephesos 2001 line 13 (Ephesos, c. 300-297 BCE): ph rtepu8eTv aM.oxpiw0ev to tppovpiov
(n o t to look with indifference at the loss of the fort’); IOSPE I2 32 B lines 25f. (Olbia, c. 200
BCh> pr) wepu8eiv ttjv etc noXkiiiv Texrtprrmevr|n naxpifia bnoxetpiov Yevope.vr\v ton;
wo/viptoiq (‘not to watch with indifference how their native city, after it had been preserved
for many years, is subjected by the enemy’); SEG XXXVIII 1476 (Xanthos, 205 BCE): ...
ac;ta£opf; oov ope pvuoOevxuq xaq ov»YYeveuxq xa<; ojuxpxoocaq apTv wo0’ ope prj nepi-
vftfiv ta p peyiaxav xuv ev xui MttTpo7i6A.li noJAiv, Kuxeviov, e.âXeKpOeloav (‘we ask you
to bring to your memory the kinship between us and not to remain indifferent to the
elimination of Kyiemon, the largest among the cities o f the Metropolis’); I.Oropos 307 lines
191. (Oropov t 150 BCE): pf) wcpu5f|lvj n6X.iv 'EA.A.t)vi8(x t^(xv8p(xno8ia0tua<xv (‘not to
remain indifferent toward the enslavement of a Greek city’); IvOlympia 53 line 10 (Elis, late
first century BCE): pr| wr p u lktv'tv K|t:ilpi vrjv in ' EOoupouq (‘not to look with indifference at
her <the city'') lying on the ground’). C f IG XII Suppl. 364 (Thasos, first century CE); SEG
XIX 1613 line 16 (Skythopolis, early second century BCE); IG II2 1092 B line 23; 1224 e line
7 (Atftcns. second century ( I .) I or the use of the verb in the emotional context o f a private
letter see above note 39 fo r the analogous emotive function o f Kutuippoveui and otYumbuu in
papyri see pp 741 and HI in this volume
As a case study I have selected one of the longest Hellenistic honorary

decrees, the decree for Protogenes, a local benefactor in Olbia in the late third
century BCE.103 The inscribed decree contains the proposal of the magistrates that
had been presented in and approved by the assembly. The aim of the man who
drafted the proposal was to show why Protogenes deserved the honours that he
urged the citizens to award to him. In order to arouse the feeling of gratitude, the
anonymous orator had to stress the dangers from which Protogenes had saved his
city. He achieved this by referring to two emotions: the anger of a barbaric king
against the city and the fear of the citizens.
When king Saitaphem es came along to the other side o f the river to hold court (em
Oepaiteiav), and the magistrates called an assembly and reported on the presence o f the king
and on the fact that the city’s revenues were exhausted. Protogenes came forward and gave
900 gold pieces. When the ambassadors, Protogenes and Aristokrates, took the money and
met the king, the king took the presents but became angry (eiq opynv 8e KaxacrTavtcx;) and
broke up his quarters [... treated?] the magistrates [unworthily? and soj the people met
together and [were] terrified (jiEp{<p[o|k><;]) [and sent?] ambassadors to - -,1
This is not the place to conduct a thorough study of the Greek terminology of
anger, but for the understanding of this text in its socio-cultural context it is im
portant to point out that literary and epigraphic texts, generally, differentiate be
tween anger (opyf| and Gopo^), wrath that cannot be settled and can be expressed
with violent actions (xotax;), indignation (vepeoaco, vepecrriTOs), and annoyance
caused by a violation of rights or status (ayavaKTriaiq).105 For instance in a legal
document, the verdict of a Rhodian court of arbitration that considered the dispute
between Priene and Samos over a territory, the verb dYavaKteto is used in the
meaning ‘to be vexed because of a violated right’. As the Rhodian judges write in
their verdict, when a fort and plots of land in the disputed territory were occupied
by the Prienians, ‘the Samians were neither annoyed ( o u k dyavaK tijoai) nor sent
them an embassy to bring charges for the arrangements that had been made.’106 In
103 IOSPE I2 32. Discussion in connection with Hellenistic oratory and with Hellenistic interest
in enargeia and dramatic changes in Chaniotis 2013a.
104 A lines 82 -96: too re fktoiXeuK, lairotpepvou napayevopivou eis to itepav eiri depaneiav.
ribv 8e dpxovtiov auvayayovTiov etcXnoiav kou thv te napouoiov epipavioavraiv too jiam-
keux, icoti 8idti ev r«T^ itpoaoSoiv; eativ ooSev, jtapeXOiov npuitoyevTii; eSonce xpoooris eva~
mjctioiv ru)|v| 8e itptct [ku raw Xapovucv ta xpnpata taxi axavntodvruiv fkimXei nptoto-
yevooc, taxi lAlpiotoitpdtous, too 8e (iaaiXeu*; ta pev 5top[a pepylapevou. ef; opyryv 5e
Katuardvro^ icaft rnvj dvdsfi»siv Koii)oapev[ov---- u>v evexev ci\>v]eA0u)v 6 Srjpov xepi-
iplopos eyeveto mxi npea)|tei>Tas en\ t[ — |.
105 for the terminology and perception of anger, see Harris 2001, 50-70; konstan 2006, 4 l-? 6
(especially in Aristotle). For vepeaquK ui a Hellenistic inscription of Olbia see IOSPE L 34
line 17 (first century BCE). For vegeodu) in connection with divine indignation see TA \f
V.l l 59 and SEG XXXV 1267 (Lydia. Imperial period).
106 /.Priene 37 lines 1281'. (Priene, c. 196 191 or 189 182 BCE): ovk cryavavtiioai tod,;
Lap too,, oii8’ dnoamA.ui not auroui; (t[p)ea|k'iuv eyvaA-odvru;, eni toi>; SiuUKttpevoiv;
l he same \ orb is also used in a fragmentary passage in lute 143. On this arbitration see
Magnetto 2008; on the date: ibid. 75 77, For the use of the same verb in a judiciary context
the case o f the Olbian decree the foreign king showed wrath (opyf|) that was not
necessarily justified. It is represented as an affective reaction, which potentially is
beyond control. Anger is associated with the unruly power o f natural elements, as
in an epigram from Kyzikos that attributes the death o f a sailor to Fate, ‘who
turned against me the anger of the open sea’107 and in an am ulet that wishes for
protection from the ‘wrath o f the typhoons’.108 Anger can lead to violence,109 and
this is why its visible display causes anxiety and fear (cf. rcepup[ofk>c;]). One o f the
aims o f curse tablets is to contain the anger o f an opponent; an Attic curse, for
instance, wishes that a certain Attalos is deprived o f the ability to hear, to speak,
to think, and to feel anger.110
So. w ith the explicit mention o f the king’s anger the author could explain the
measure o f the Olbians’ fear. That the anger was felt by a m an w ho stood outside
Greek culture and was in a position o f superiority enhanced this impact. Let us
consider first the hierarchical relations. Anger appears in the epigraphic evidence
as an almost exclusive privilege o f the gods (and later o f the C hristian G od).111
For instance, the anger of a demon is held responsible for the death o f a woman in
an epigram in Thessaly, and an epidemic in the second century CE in Hierapolis
was attributed by Apollo to the wrath (xoA-oq) o f the gods:
It was either the thread of the Fates, as they say, or the anger o f a demon, which was enraged
with me and violently drove me, Parmonis, away from the bed o f my sweet husband Epityn-
chanos, against my will.
see also Mitford 1950, 166 no. 22 line 5 (Cyprus, unknown provenance, fifth/sixth century
CE): [Yva gTi npo; tov peAXovta y]povov ayavaiancetoi; 7C£p[iA,eup0T) npocpaoiq].
107 J Kyzikos 506 (Kyzikos, third century CE): eiq epe xt)v opyf|v to v iteâyoxx; e0exo.
108 Kotansky 1994, 52f. (Sidi Kaddou, second/third century CE): arcoaxpevj/axe ... opyriM
UKptovcjv dvepwv.
109 Augustus explains in a rescript concerning an accidental killing in Astypalaia (6 BCE; 1G
XII.3.174; Sherk 1969, 341-345 no. 67 lines 21-23: ‘they ordered one o f the slaves not to kill
them [the intruders], a deed to which one might be driven by justified anger, but to restrain
them by throwing on them their excrement’ (rcpoaxexaxyoxou; evt tu>v oiicextov o o k cotoicxei-
vai. (i)|cj tao>c dv xi; vn' opyry; ov| k| abitcoo Ttpofi^hl i f c/XX ol d veipâi KaxaoKeba-
oavxa to iconpia auxtov).
110 SEG XXXV 216 (Athens, third century BCE?): eaxo) icaxpoc,, ixXdkoq, avoxx;, pb opytô-
pevojql. Similar expressions in SEG XXXV 214, 215, 218-223 (Athens); Audollent 1904,
nos 22. 24. 26-31, 33- 35, 37 (Kourion, third century CE). Cf. an amulet that was supposed
to protect its owner from ‘the wrath either of gods or o f humans or o f demons or of the Fates’
(Arci iri Italy, second/third century; SEG Ell 948 lines 24 27: yntax; Btcov Txf dv0pa')7io)v txe.
btpbvaiv. Txf xojv Mupaiv).
111 Opyn ftttA: e g f(j IX 2 106 (Thessaly); MAMA V1.325 (Akinonia); IGLS l.l line 210
(Niemrud dag). yo>-o; 0fg>v. SEG l.lll 1075 (Kyme, third century CE). In a Christian context:
e g J(j V I 821 (Sparta). ( f the ‘anger of the Cross’ in a Christian curse (A lexandria in
I tons, fifth century (>.)• / Alexandrem Tmas 188. For the connection between status and dis
play of anger see also Harris 2001, 1391., 229 263; Konstan 2006, 55f., 6 1 ,7 3 . See also p, 71
in this volume
112 /C 1X 2 640 (l.an sa, Im perial period): f) pixoq ox; ipuouv M oipoiv ij b u ip o v o c; opyf|, 1 ijxu;
t:pm 5 n v d > ; r / h t A x u n o m / i pt \Uounq I i t, n ’jv f|< ; tco0 f o o o <xv e p rj< ; dvbpcx; yA.\»KFpoio 1
flu p p o v iv i f y b m f y l.im iw /i/v o ii ovk iM 'K o va u .
Moving Stones: The Study of Emotions in Greek Inscriptions I 17
You are not the only ones who are being harmed by the accursed misery ol the deadly
disease. Many cities and peoples grieve under the hatred of the gods. I command you to keep
aloof from then painful wrath with libations, banquets, and sacrifices of one hundred full-
grown victims.
Funerary imprecations stereotypically threaten those who violate a grave with the
relentless wrath (xoXoc,) of the gods, not with the anger of fellow humans. A curse
contained in the testament of a certain Epikrates is a characteristic example:
And if something happens contrary to what I have written or ordered, the individual who has
acted against this may be liable to prosecution for tomb-robbery, and nonetheless may the
gods, those who are in heaven and those who are on earth and those who are in the sea and
those who are under the earth, and the heroes, be angry with him and not be propitiated."4
In 58 out o f 60 attestations of this curse formula and its variants the wrath o f the
gods and the gods alone is invoked. In only two cases the wrath o f hum ans is
added to that of the gods: in the grave of an individual whose name was not in
scribed"5 and in the grave of a eunuch. While the first individual did not have
recognisable family connections, the second man was deprived of the possibility
o f ever having descendants. The entrance to his grave is decorated with images of
the Furies, shown with their instruments of punishment (a snake, a stick or torch,
and a whip) and with their frightening names inscribed under the images ( ‘the
avenger o f blood’, ‘the implacable’, ‘the grudging one’). Condemned by his fate
to inability to procreate, as the text redundantly and explicitly states (ayovov e\>v-
ouxov), the eunuch was also deprived of the possibility o f having his descendants
take care of his grave. For this reason, it was entrusted to the protection o f the
Furies, all the gods, and all the hum ans."6
The Erinyes: Teisiphone, Allekto, Megaira. We protect a childless eunuch. Do not open the
grave, for it is not right. If someone throws my bones out of here or displaces the burial or1345*
113 Merkelbach and Srauber 1998, 259-261 no. 02/12/01 lines 2-6 (Hierapolis. mid-second
century CE or later): ov povvoi Xotgolo 8voaX0eoq ouXogevpaiv I icripaiveaOe SupnaGiaiq,
jcoXXai 8e itoXrieq I axvvvtai Xaoi te Becbv 68v<rrmoovvT(aiv. I tbv aitaXeuacrGai tceXopai
XoXov aXytvoevta I XotjiaTq EiXaicivaiq tc TEXpEcaaiq 0’ EKatogpaiq. For death attributed
to the wrath of the gods see also SEG XXXIV 1271; Merkelbach and Stauber 2001a, 293 no.
10/02/12 (Kaisareia/Hadrianopolis, second century CE)
114 Strubbe 1997, no. 40 lines 94-99 (Nakrasos; first/second century CE): Eav 8e oiq yeypampa
p SiarexaKxa vrtevavtiov u yEvqtai |xv| aXXtoq te ti yEvqTai r\ a*; SiatEtaiclxal, 6 uji-
evavttov tovtoiq ti itoiqoaq ujt68u<oq coxto Tuppajpulxflqc vai ouSev pcroov 0eoi>q axoitj
ercoupavtouq te k«\ EitiyEiouq vai evaXiovq xa'i tcataxOoviovq teal nproaq KEyoXurgivouq
Kal ave^fiXaatouq. This curse formula is attested in different variants, for which see Strubbe
1997, 290- 298.
115 Strubbe 1997, no. 126 (Keretapa-Diokaisareia, Imperial period): e\ uq to o to to gvrjgio[v]
«8 iki) oi , 0 eu>v ical av0p(onu)v kexoX(o(.ievo)v tvxoito ('if one acts injustly with regard to this
memorial, let him face the wrath of gods and humans’).
I 16 Slrubbe 1997, no. 393 (Anazarbos, first century CE): ’EpEivoEq- Teiaupovp, AXArpcttb,
Meympu. ’Ayovov cuvouxov (puXaaaogev. Mi\ avotye! 0 6 yap 0egiq. fE av 8e n q extra
E-gov] EvtEV0Ev EyjiaXp i) taipqv pEtaKnvn<TT) (t) ta yeypaggEva aito^h^D H ratppv ovv]-
Xfvop vat KaTapXayp, 0eibv titovpavt|wv vat xGovuov KexoXiogEvtov rvxot x a i| jtavriov
<a)v0(p)iortaiv avtoq te vui Eyyovoji avtovl ...
cuts away what has been written or plunders the burial and damages it, may he find the gods
of the heaven and of the underworld and all humans enraged, he himself and his descendants.
In the light o f this evidence, it seems that the reference to the king’s display of
anger implicitly reminded the Olbians o f their subordinate position. Finally, the
king’s ethnicity added to the dangers issuing from his anger. It should be men
tioned here that some of the aforementioned funerary imprecations explicitly in
voke the wrath of foreign gods, presumably because they would be more arduous
and relentless. Curses in East Karia for instance invoke the wrath o f the Pisidian
gods, that is the gods of the neighbouring region,117 and a curse from Kollyda in
Lydia wishes anyone who disrespects the wishes o f the occupant o f a grave ‘to
face the wrath of all the gods and goddesses of the Roman people’. 11819
An unusual feature of the Olbian text is also the admittance o f fear, which is
repeated in another section which describes the citizens’ response to reports con
cerning an imminent attack of barbaric tribes in moment in w hich large part o f the
city was not fortified:
Because of this many had lost courage (exovttov aGugroq) and prepared to abandon the city.
... Because of this, the people met in an assembly in deep despair (SinytoviaKcbq), as they saw
before them the danger that lay ahead and the terrors in store, and called on all who were
able-bodied to help and not to watch with indifference (gh nepiiSeiv) their native city being
subjected by the enemy, after it had been preserved for many years.
The author o f the text used several terms denoting fear, in order to intensify
linguistically the impression o f the fright that prevailed in the city in these two
occasions: rcepitpopo^, aOupox;, biriyamaKax;. The emotional situation is en
hanced with the verb rcEpiopao) which, as we have already seen, is often used in
the context of despair and plea for help (see p. 114 n. 102). W hile a city, whose
very name (Olbia, ‘the blessed one’) raised the expectation o f prosperity and
bliss,120 was confronted with extinction, its citizens displayed fear. This is highly
unusual and requires an explanation. Communities which expect an attack do not
collectively display fear but rather courage - genuine or not. W hen Aphrodisias
expected an attack by Mithridates VI in 88 BCE, the authorities declared to their
allies, the Romans,
that our whole People together with our wives and children and all our property is ready to
risk all for Quintus and the Roman cause; and that without the rule of the Romans we do not
choose even to live (see note 72).
117 Strubbe 1997, 2%f.

118 Strubbe 1997, no. 50 (first century CE): exetcd rou<; bTjgou Pcogoumv Gellooq KEXoXItopevooi;
jEovtot; kr/.i jtoooc. We need not assume that the occupant o f this grave was of Roman origin.
119 IOSf*k \l 32 B lines 12 14 and 21-27: tcai Sia touto noXXatv exovttov aBogwq tad nocpa-
rtKEUo.opivGjv i'i'tjtuoiv TT|p noA.iv ... o’)v evekcv oovEXBd)v 6 8rjgo(; biriywvuxKwc, teal toy
tavbuvov tog gf/.).ovto trot to 6eiva npo d<p6«Xpo)v noiougevoq napncaXei navtai; tout;
io/oovto; (h>nBhoo.t ko.i gr\ jiEpubetv thv Etc jioXXwv ttxriprjgEvrig n atpiS a imoxfiptov
yEvogtvnv to'n; noXxploi!;
120 Cf. an Archaic oracle (?) from Olbia UUDOP 93, c. 550 -525 BCE): etpnvn ’OXjMri rtoXr
gotrt/piQ/j t tcfi't.
Moving Stones: The Study of Emotions in Greek Inscriptions I 19
At the same time the author of a metrical inscription in Delos displayed the
courage of the (Greek?) soldiers who were to follow Sulla in this war:12
One should wish to die away from hateful fate, delighting in the hope of children to take care
of one in the old age; or (one should wish) not to abandon children in orphanhood; or if one
dies, then (to die) having the fortune to have Sulla as a proconsul.
We do not need to take any of this at face value. This is theatrical display of
courage, but it still shows the constraints that communities had in expressing fear
in their public documents. If fear is mentioned in decrees, it is only a part of a
persuasion strategy.121122 In the aforementioned decree in honour of Lykourgos in
Athens (see above note 31), the proposer, the orator Stratokles, contrasted the fear
of the other Greeks, terrified by Alexander the Great’s power, with the courage
shown by Lykourgos and the Athenians. An Ephesian decree mentions the con
fusion inflicted by Mithridates’ sudden attack only as an excuse for the fact that
the Ephesians did not fight against Mithridates VI from the beginning of the
Mithridatic War (‘he gained control of our city as well, terrifying (us) with the
magnitude of his army and the sudden attack’).123 More often fear is mentioned in
honorary decrees for generals and benefactors, in order to emphasise their courage
and their contribution.124 This explains why the orator in Olbia chose to frame his
narrative with the emotion of fear. In this way he showed the greatness o f Proto
genes’ benefaction and by arousing gratitude he made the honours acceptable.
When wealthy men make benefactions, gratitude may be the emotion that the
recipients admit and display, but envy most probably is the emotion that many
(most?) of them feel. Some benefactors were aware of this. Let us have a look at
the epigram composed by Euarestos, rhetoric teacher and sponsor of an agonistic
festival at Oinoanda, to be inscribed on the base of his statue:
121 Durrbach 1921, 239 no. 149; 0[vf|oice]iv xiq a[n]ex9eoq av8\xa poipas. I tepno-
lievoq xetcvcov eA.7u5i yripoKopoi I p npoXineiv gh naTSlaJc, tv opâvipoiv ephgo(ix;], I h
luXAou 0v[fi]cnca>v av0unaxoio t[v»xeilv- *n my view, the text does not refer to the interest
of Sulla for war orphans but expresses the determination of soldiers to follow him even to
their own death.
122 Chaniotis 2012c.
123 I.Ephesos 8 lines 7f. (c. 86 BCE): ex-pdxriaev icai xfj<; pgetepa^ itoXrox; KatanXp^dpevoc,
ran] Tt nlx\Qn ttov Suvagetov xai tan anpoa6oiorixa)i xt\<; enipoXiy;. Cf. above note 7, for
Attalos’ letter, in which he justifies his decision not to attack the Gauls by explaining his tear
of the negative consequences of such an action.
124 I.Erythrai 24 (honorary decree for generals who helped defend the city against the Galatians,
c. 275 BCE) lines 10f.: no(XXcbv 8c «po]|io)v xai tav8uv<ov neptoxdvxiov (“when many terrors
and dangers were surrounding us’); l.Histriae 15 (honorary' decree for Agathokles, c. 200
BCE) lines 8f.: xf)^ xc [reoAecoq] oucrris ev xalplaxm (‘when the city was in confusion );
LSestos I (honorary decree for Menas, c. 100 BCE) lines 16t.: rq-; noXeioL c]v CKixivSbvon
Kutptoi yevogevriq 8id xe xov an6 xcov yeixvubvxiov 0paKibv cpd|ioy (“when the city was in
danger because of the fear caused by the neighbouring Thracians’); F .D elphes 111.4.69 (hono
rary decree of Daulis for Hermias of Stratonikeia, e. 86 BCE); nepiaxldvxwv t) a v lx«>P«v
apobv (po|i|cov xa<\> tavSbviov gcyaXcov (“when our land was met with great tears and
dangers').
For you, sweet fatherland, I, Euarestos, have gladly offered this firth contest myself; and 1 set
up again, for the fifth time, these bronze images, symbols of virtue and prudence. For many
have established beautiful contests in their cities after their death, but no one has done it
during his lifetime. I am the only one who has ventured this, and my heart rejoices with
pleasure at the bronze statues. Now. give up your carping criticism, you all who are in thrall
to dread envy, and gaze at my statue with eyes of imitation.125
Euarestos, proud, self-confident, but also wise, was sure that people would stand
in front of his statue and show pcopot; (reproach). There were various ways to deal
with envy. Some people named their children Abaskantos and Aphthonetos.
Herodes Atticus wrote terrible curses on the statues he had dedicated, suspecting
that they would be the object of envious attacks.126 And the assembled crowd in
Aphrodisias exorcised the fear of envy by shouting ‘fortune will prevail over
envy’ (p. 93 with figure 1). Euarestos had an unusual recipe: emulation. Instead of
envying him, people should follow his example. Although the decree of Olbia
does not mention envy, Protogenes’ tremendous wealth was undoubtedly viewed
by other citizens with envy. The author of the decree in his honour sought to
outbalance envy with gratitude.
5 PERSPECTIVES
This overview has hopefully shown the diversity, relevance, and potential of
epigraphic texts for the study of emotions. But it must also reveal the difficulties.
The interpretation of inscriptions that describe, display, prescribe, or allude to
emotions means placing them in their social and cultural contexts: establishing the
date and background of the composition; considering the intended audiences;
studying the relation between text and monument; examining the place in which
the inscription was set up. Here lie the greatest obstacles in the evaluation of in
scriptions for the study of emotions. The contexts cannot always be reconstructed;
it is difficult to establish the exact date of inscriptions; the authors of epigraphic
texts and their intentions are not always known to us; the use of stereotypical or
gnomic phrases makes it difficult to distinguish between genuine expression of
feeling and conventions. Only through the analysis of a large corpus of texts can
we understand the parameters that determined the composition of epigraphic texts.
This must be the first step in the exploitation of the epigraphic - and more
generally the documentary - sources for the study of emotions in the Greek world.
The inscriptions on which this chapter placed particular emphasis, the decrees
and the more elaborate epitaphs (especially the grave epigrams), were composed
125 SEO XUV 1182 H (c. 238 CE): tt)v8f ocn, o) nottpr) vA-incepti, Ji£|i7mw 0fpw a(v>|To(<;J I
fttvu#;! Euapemo^ ryo) Y»l0opevo<; xeêaa I ku'i ntpnxax, xaabe'x Ti0epai nuA.iv ei ic6vot| q]
uvtofrj 1/u/.«u/;, dpt-Ths uvpfioAxx kuI ocwpirv; • I JtAeTotoi pfv yap t;0r|tcav df0Aia tcaA,u
w>u<re‘ry'\ I xtbvf /ne^, £gkx; 8’ outi^ dpqpxptGjv I poovoc, 8 ’ airtoq eycov etA,tiv toSe, taxi
P fpov rjTolpj | yr|Bfi tf:pno^pt>vov /</A.ktAutoi<; tpavoiq- 1tor/dp ptopov dvevteq ocfoi
<p06vov aivov f/uwj(iv| I pxtpnAx/tq ooouu; eimStt’ dtcov’ cpfjv. See also Dickie 2003.
126 Tobin 19 9 7 ,1 16 130.
by educated individuals, familiar with rhetorical and poetic techniques of persua

sion and emotional stimulation. This applies also to inscriptions discussed in other
chapters of this volume, healing miracles, aretalogies, and records of divine
justice in particular.127 Education, literacy, the internalisation of civic values, and
familiarity with philosophical ideas count among the parameters that determine if
and how emotions will be expressed in epigraphic texts.
Which other parameters were at play can be best understood through the study
of the most abundant, seemingly most trivial, but socially and culturally most
complex category of inscriptions: the epitaphs. How emotional responses to death
are manifested, concealed, aroused, described, theatrically displayed, re-enacted
(through the loud reading of an inscription),128 controlled through laws,129 or re
strained through consolation strategies depends on civic values, gender, education,
religious and eschatological beliefs, social status, age, the conditions of death
(heroic death in battle, premature death in an accident, murder, illness, etc.), life
expectancy, trendsetters (standard formulas and other conventions), the existence
of affective family relations, concepts of inheritance and adoption, social expecta
tions, norms limiting the extent and duration of public mourning, perceptions of
the condition humaine, and so on. Precisely because of the abundance of grave in
scriptions we can also best study the use of stereotypes and the divergence from
standard formulas in order to express individual feelings (cf. p. 109-111).
Several types of epigraphic material discussed in this chapter show that mani
festations of emotions were subject to change in various respects: with regard to
whether emotional language was used; with regard to what emotions were com
monly mentioned; with regard to the manner emotions were communicated or
provoked. As already mentioned, emotional language only becomes common in
decrees after the late fourth century BCE (pp. 113f. and 115-120); references to
the physical contact between husband and wife in epitaphs are not attested before
the Hellenistic period (p. 109). As regards the connection of an emotion with a
particular historical period, hope presents an instructive case study. Although
hope appears in inscriptions of a private nature as early as the Archaic period -
usually in epigrams that mention that the hopes of parents were deceived by the
premature death of a child it is not mentioned in public inscriptions until the
principate of Augustus. In the Imperial period it is mentioned quite often and
always in connection with the negotiations between partners of asymmetrical
power, the emperor and the cities of the provinces or the popular assembly and a
local benefactor.130 A decree of the Greek cities of Asia referring to Augustus is a
good example:
127 See pp. 177-204 (healing miracles), 267-291 (aretalogies). For the impact of literacy on the
representation of emotions in papyri, see pp. 60-64.
128 Cf. Day 2000 (in connection with dedicatory epigrams).
129 Chaniotis 2010b and 2013d.
130 SEO LV1 1233 lines 42-47 (decree of the Greeks of Asia for Augustus, 4 BCE, copy from
Metropolis): 6 KaTcrap I xa<, eXn\6a^ ta>v jtlpo]Xa|36v«ov ev rate cvcpycaiai; \nreplednxev
oil govov t{o(\)i; itpd a(u)to\> yeyovoxa^ naai toi^ ayoldoi^ onepjJaXXogevo-;. aXX aoi>
e(v) toT<; eaogevon; eXm5|a] I tt^ cmvicpiaeu*; a(ji)oXeimi>v (‘Caesar exceeded in bene-
the eternal and immortal Nature of All Things, by reason o f unsurpassed benefaction, has
donated to humans the greatest good, bringing Caesar Augustus to our fortunate life, the
father of his own fatherland, the divine Rome, and Ancestral Zeus and Saviour of the entire
human race, whose providence has not only fulfilled the hopes but also surpassed them. For
earth and sea are pacified and the cities blossom with order, concord, and prosperity; there is
vigour and bounty of everything good, as men are full o f good hopes for the future and good
spirit in the present, (expressing?) w ith contests, sacrifices and hymns their --
By expressing hopes, subordinate communities urged their ruler to behave

according to their expectations. This is why one finds references to this emotion in
a historical period in which the monarchical power o f the emperor is established
and communities were dominated by wealthy elites. O f course, hope cannot be
separated from fear. These are the two emotions that dominate in asymmetrical
relationships, such as the one between mortals and gods (see pp. 205-208 in this
volume). Interestingly, the popularity o f personal names composed with elpis
increases in exactly this period, culminating in the third century CE, when hope is
a natural response to phenomena o f crisis. To make such observations one needs a
critical mass o f attestations o f relevant names; only one city can provide them:
Athens. In Athens, a city from which we have a reliable critical mass o f names
from the late sixth century BCE to the fifth century CE that allows us to observe
trends, 129 of the names composed with elpis out o f a total o f 171 attestations are
found in inscriptions dated from the first to the third centuries CE (75%); seven
out o f 17 names composed with elpis, appear for the first time in the Imperial
period. In this case one is almost tempted to speak o f an ‘em otional culture’ of
hope, which of course does not exclude anxiety and fear.
factions the hopes of those who anticipated (benefactions), not only surpassing those before
him in all good things, but not even leaving any hope o f comparison to those who are to come
in the future’). I Assos 26 lines 5-7 (decree o f Assos in honour o f Caligula, 37 C E ):... ercei f)
icaT et>xhv Jiaonv dvOpantou; ckitiaSelaa Taiou I K aiaapoi; TeppaviKOu Ie(3aoTOu tiyepo-
via icanivyeXTat, I oi>6ev 5e pixpov xa P<i<; euprpce 6 Koapoq (‘since the leadership o f Gaius
Caesar Germanicus Augustus, for which all men have hoped and prayed, has been pro
claimed, and the world could not find any measure of jo y ’). Agora XV 460 (decree of the
Athenian council for the award of the title Augustus to Geta, 209 CE): erteiSri fj lEpandxri
x a i TtfketwfTfiTT] jmajtbv {f)]|xcpcbv icai \>nb navxiov ekniaO etaa 8ux tt(v aOavaxov opovoil-
av Torv dauov (Jamkcaiv ... into xa>v peyaXxolfv PamXeaiv koivoii KTilp[uyp]aTi itamv
avfOjpd/jiots 6(&r\hoxui (‘since through joint declaration o f the great kings the most sacred
and most perfect of ail days has been announced to all men, the day that all had hoped for in
view of the everlasting concord of the holy kings ...’). See also the text in the next note.
131 (J/BM 894 lines 2-13 (Haiikamassos, c. 1 BCE): [---- elitei ri uidmoq kcxi dOdvrxxot; xou
xjjvkk <pvoi$ to Ipeiyjurcov dy«06v npo<; ujiepPaAXouaaq euepyeaiou; dv0p[co|l7tot<; Eyapi-
aaxo, K uiaapa xov £t:(5uoxov evEv|ic]ap£vr| [jtpj6[<;j I tip iccxB’ npaq ev)8atpovt pitoi, naxe-
po p*v the fiavjxuij jc<xIt| p Ju>o<; 0eu<; ’Pioppi;, Aiu 8e rtaxpakiv taxi arumjpa ton ko|«Iv| ov
toxv av0pbtnotv yrvovx;, ui> rj npovoux tok; ndvxwv [eA.nil5]u<; ovnc enktjpojoe povov a\K a
Km uitEprjpf.v €ipr|vtuo[ulo]i piv yap yf) xat Bakaxxa, ndkeiq 8e dvBoucitv euvopia(i) I
dpovoixxt xr m i n ’jfTT)puxi, dxpfj xt icat <popd luxvxoq eoti(v I «lyu0ou, ekiuSiov pev
Xpnoxciiv upoq to pf/„/.(>v, n>0upia(i; I 8| e eiq t)6] napov xwv dvBpamwv evnertkiiopfvtov,
dy<ol|nj»v ica.(va0fijpamv Gumaiq xt xa.i upvoiq xt(v euutojv.
The display of emotions is also connected with the identity of the partners in
communication. As I shall show in a forthcoming study, in their contacts with the
Romans, Greek communities preferred to refer to a stable disposition (jipooupe-
aiq, SidGemq, euvota) and not to an occurrent emotional state (fear, anger, etc.).
A decree of Elaia during the war against Aristonikos (c. 129 BCE) is a good
example:132
Our people kept from the beginning the benevolence (euvoia) and friendship (ipiXia) toward
the Romans and in addition to giving many other proofs of its attitude (jtpoatpecn;) in the
most critical situations, also during the war against Aristonikos showed the greatest zeal
(ortouSn), enduring great dangers on land and in the sea; from all that, the Roman people
acknowledged the attitude (npoaipeou;) of our people and accepting their benevolence
(euvoia) they included our people among their friends (<piXia) and allies.
The diversity of the epigraphic material allows us to approach a variery of
questions concerning, inter alia, the dynamic relationship between individual
emotions and group norms; the influence of norms on emotions and, conversely,
the shaping of social norms under the influence of emotional experiences; the
functions of emotional display in public and social life (court, popular assembly,
festival, ritual, family, economic activity); the recognition of ‘emotional com
munities’ and the study of changes in emotional behaviour in different environ
ments; the part played by emotions as a ‘persuasion strategy’, in particular in
asymmetrical relations (communication between mortals and gods, elite and
masses, masters and slaves, kings and cities); the influence of external factors
(e.g., exile, invasion, political strife, colonisation, war, multicultural environ
ments, linguistic influences, technological development) on emotions; the impact
of social changes such as changes in the rights and visibility of women in social
and public life (cf. pp. 74f. and 317-327 for the evidence of papyri); the impact of
interaction betw een different genders, age-classes, and social groups on emotions
(e.g., the adoption of typically ‘female’ emotional responses by men in certain
situations and vice versa); the relationship between emotions and status, gender,
and age; the attachment of different emotions to social roles and functions; the
projection of human emotions on to the gods; the media by which communities
influence the emotions of their members (e.g., limitation of mourning in funerals,
etc.); emotions and naming practices; the emotions of individuals who represent
authority as a medium which shapes the perception of emotions; the linguistic ex
pression of emotions in official documents (e.g., decrees); emotional responses to
emotions (e.g., sorrow of one individual because of the anger of another; anger
provoked by emotional excesses); the dynamic interplay between emotions; the
132 8)7/.1(W4 lines I i -22: (enet 6 5n]po<; ntuov [<puXdaa]wv an' dp[xfU rqv I npo*; 'Pjtopaious
ei)v[oiav *a]i cpiXiav n[oXXa«; I icai ajXXa.; ev toi-; lavaYKa]ioltd)toi^ x[aipoT^ 1ritvl *po~
aiprocu)^ IdnoSfJiJjEi*; nenolnrai, I 6p]otio<; Se teal rv t[o>i noXe(pun tun n[pd; 1Ap)iordvt-
Kov Tillv ndaajv eia«|>ep6[pt'vo^ 1 a|rcoi;Sr|v peyaXofu^ unejorn kw8 v [vou<; I v]ai kot« yhv
sat K-[aid OjdXaaaav, [e^ d>v I e]ntyvoi)<; 6 5npo^ |o Ptop]aiu)v rip’ n[poatpelo}iv tou f|M£-
rt'pou |8r|pou] sai dnoSt'slapevo^] I mv euvotav npoo[8e8*'K]Tut tov 8n(pov] I npciv np6>;
te thv <p(iX(av icjai <n)pp«lx«uvj. On this text see Robert 198?. 477 484.
relation between literary representation and documentary evidence; the adoption

by broad social strata of attitudes of the elite; the prevalence of specific emotions
in clearly defined historical contexts (e.g., ‘ages of anxiety’, ‘ages of hope’).
Theorists of emotional history do not take Classical Antiquity into
consideration. It is usually thought that emotions cannot be adequately studied in
pre-modem periods because of the lack of sources concerning the ‘common folk’,
or that emotional control is a modem invention. Such views, based on cliches
cnceming Classical Antiquity, do not take into account the diversity, contrasts,
and contradictions of the Classical world, and ignore source material which is not
contained in surveys of ‘canonical authors’. As regards emotional control,
William Harris’ study on restraining anger has demonstrated the erroneousness of
such views.133 A more comprehensive study of the epigraphic sources can modify
prevailing views concerning the social and cultural determination of emotions in
antiquity. But ancient historians should not only study texts in order to understand
emotions; they should study emotions in order to understand texts, and through
them ancient society, political life, and culture as well.
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PICTURE CREDITS
Figure 1: Acclamation in honour of the benefactor Albinus, column of the west portico of the
South Agora, Aphrodisias (c. 480 CE). Photo: Author.
Figure 2: Marble plaque with dedications of two gladiators to Nemesis, Aphrodisias (third
century CE). Photo: Author.
Figure 3: Ostrakon against Kallias, from Kerameikos, Athens (c. 471 BCE). Kerameikos
Museum 0 849. Brenne 2002,141 no. Tl/156. Photo: Brenne 2002, 523 Fig. 1.
Figure 4: Ostrakon against Megakles, from Kerameikos, Athens (c. 471 BCE). Kerameikos
Museum 01215. Brenne 2002, 143f. no. Tl/159. Photo: Brenne 2002,525 Fig. 4.
I
!
EMOTIONS AND ARCHAEOLOGICAL SOURCES
A Methodological Introduction
Jane Masseglia
Art, architecture, ornamentation, utensils, environmental objects, open spaces, and even - or
perhaps especially - body parts can also accrue metaphorical significance. It is therefore im
portant ... to understand how metaphor operates in material culture to help shape the emotio
nal lives of a people. Archeologists are in a unique position, both methodologically and sub
stantively, to point the way to such understanding. That is one important contribution they
can make to theories of emotion.1
1 THE MATERIAL
The study of emotions in archaeology presents challenges of both methodology

and definition. In this study, all objects and physical phenomena which have been
in some way formed by human hand or use can be considered archaeological. An
archaeologist differs from the palaeontologist and geologist in dealing primarily
with human interaction, from the biologist, in dealing with socio-cultural pheno
mena, and from the anthropologist in dealing with the physical remains of the
past. Furthermore, the excavation of material from a trench is not, in isolation,
archaeology. Only when finds, whether skeletal or ‘artefactuaf, are considered in
relation to trends in social and cultural interaction, do they truly become archaeo
logical evidence.
The desire for physical manifestation of internal and metaphysical ideas ap
pears to be universal to mankind,23and yet the results are so varied because o f the
differing social and cultural contexts which governed their means of expression. If
we are to identify and engage with the metaphysical world of emotions in anti
quity, we must engage equally with their externalised expressions in the form of
text and material culture,5 and with the social and cultural medium through which
this transformation occurred.4
1 Averill 2000, 730.

2 Leach 1976, 37 (with reference to religion). Cf. Dio Chrysostomus, Oratio 12.53, that men
make statues because ‘all men have a strong yearning to honour and worship the deity from
close at hand, and to approach and lay hold of him’. Freedberg 1989, |90,
3 Ciouk and Hills 2005, 26.
4 Dietler and Herbich 1998, 233; Gouk and Hills 2005, 21.
132 Jane Masseglia
The kinds of archaeological evidence which most clearly reveal the hand of
social and cultural construction may be broadly thought o f as either crafted ob
jects (i.e. artefacts) or spaces.5 In antiquity, the former includes: statuary and figu
rines, reliefs, intaglios (engraved gems), pots and pot paintings, jewellery, decora
tive embellishments, vessels, armour, tools, and architectural constructions. The
latter, more abstract kind of ‘spatial’ archaeological evidence are those areas
given significance by their very delineation, so not the walls o f a sanctuary itself
(which are ‘artefactual’), but the sanctuary space created by those walls. These
spaces need not even be formed by artefactual boundaries; natural borders (e.g.
mountains, rivers, etc.) and even simply patterns o f human usage (e.g. a proces
sional way, tribal territory, etc.)6 can both determine the limits o f an archaeologi
cal phenomenon that serves as valuable evidence of a culture.7
2 THE STATE OF THE ART
2.1 Archaeology
Emotions and archaeological evidence is not a new combination. If we consider

the reception of emotions in the present day, we find that the place o f Archaeo
logy in the British consciousness is firmly founded on emotional responses to the
past. The Grand Tour and its modem touristic counterparts, and the very pheno
menon of Museums are all based on the emotional lure o f the exotic and the fris
son of strangeness.8 We are socially and culturally educated to venerate the anti
que,9 and to experience a range of emotions centred on the admiration of their
value. Our own emotional response to archaeological objects easily leads to a ten
dency to project these emotions onto the past, to have them value what we value
and dismiss what we dismiss.
But in the last fifteen years, there has been an increased willingness to view
these subjective processes more critically, to ask necessary questions about the
ways in which we deal with ambiguous ancient evidence in general, and with
emotions in antiquity. Lynn Meskell’s consideration o f burial customs at Deir el
Medina,10 was in part a response to Phillipe A ries’ com m unity-focussed assess
5 Hodder 1987,135, as opposed to the spatial science of Geography.

(> On the formalisation of roads: Simmel 1997, 171; Tonkiss 2005, 171. On the use of spatial
determinants to describe ‘cultures’, Dietler and Herbich 1998, 232.
7 Jameson 1990, 171: ‘How space is conceived of and how it is used are artefacts of particular
cultures Examination of space in this sense can tell us much about the culture as a whole,
not least about those aspects which are taken so much for granted that they are rarely
expressed verbally,’
8 Oa/i 2008, 78, on the quasi-religious environment of the museum.
9 On the aesthetic superiority’ of the antique over the modern, see Hamilakis 2007, 41-44. On
die attitudes to classical heritage following the Knglightenment, ibid., 75f.; cf. IMant/os 2008,
I2f Luke 2000, on the construction of a ‘ritual’ tourist experience at Knossos.
10 Meskell 1994..
Emotions and Archaeological Sources: A Methodological Approach 133
ment of responses to death," and an attempt to reintroduce personal responses and

emotions into the phenomenon, in considering the empirical facts that the remains
of disabled children indicated relatively long life and formalised burial, she infer
red care for them in both life and death.12 Her secondary inference, that death of
the young is the ‘most poignant reminder of our inherent powerlessness in the
world and our own transience’,13 is not, however, securely transferable to the
ancient inhabitants of Deir el Medina. Anxiety surrounding infant and child mor
tality may have been less, not more, than that surrounding adult death on account
of its frequency, and there may have been other culturally-instilled emotions re
garding disability that encouraged the children’s ongoing care. But Meskell is
correct to consider the role of emotions in explaining the behaviour of individuals,
and not simply confining such acts to the impersonal and emotionally restrictive
notions of ‘tradition’ and ‘ritual practice’.
More valuable still is Sarah Tarlow’s article, presenting an important review
of the place of emotions in archaeology, raising concerns about the empathetic
approach to understanding the past14 and highlighting the paramount importance
of contextual knowledge in any inferences we make.15 Studies of architecture,
artefacts and landscapes, she asserts, all benefit from an understanding of emo
tions since ‘[e]motion, in short, is everywhere’.16 Less clear from her article, how
ever, is the methodology by which this might be achieved.
2.2 Art
By contrast, the role of emotions in art (by which 1 mean here visual culture) has a
long pedigree in scholarship, not least because of the prominence of figurative
imagery in Western Art. Indeed the very vocabulary of the Greeks indicates an
ancient appreciation of such images as interfaces for relationships and not simply
technical or material achievements.17 One term for statue, agalma, means ‘a plea
sure’. That this term is particularly connected with dedications18 suggests so
mething of a persuasion strategy by the dedicant: an effort to engender positive
reception by the god by predetermining in the dedicatory formula the emotions
that he will feel. But it seems highly likely that the use of the word by the Greeks
also affected their own perception of these figures, essentially influencing the
I I Aries 1974, on 'W estern attitudes’; Meskell 1944, 36.

12 Meskell 1994, 39.
13 Meskell 1494,43.
14 Tarlow 2000, 723-725.
15 Tarlow 2000, 719.
16 Tarlow 2000, 720.
17 Cf. the physical immediacy o f ‘bronze’, 'statue', ‘relief, 'engraving', 'terracotta', etc; ct.
Benoist 2008, 30.
18 E.g. I d I* 608 - Raubitschek 1949, no. 234 (Athens National Museum. In\ no. EM 6351T on
the base o f a statue dedicated to Athena on the Acropolis (c 530-520 BC E); Lazzarmi I9?t>,
95-98; Scheer 2000,8 -18.
134 Jane Masseglia
mortal viewer as well as the divine.19 Similarly sensitive are the terms sema
(‘sign’)20, mnema (‘memorial’),21 eidolon (‘image’ or ‘reflection’)22 and eikon
(‘likeness’ or ‘comparison’),23 all of which reveal a Greek conception of the art
object in relation to (even standing in for) some absent thing. Such vocabulary
suggests that art images for the Greeks were conceived of as cues for recollecting
and responding to this ‘prototype’,24 in essence generating emotional relationships
through their imitation of the real.
The particular communicative potential of the body, and above all the face,
has been observed by practitioners of different academic disciplines to be of great
importance: The field of physiognomy, popular in the eighteenth and nineteenth
centuries,25 placed emphasis on face as the ‘window to the soul’, and even Charles
Darwin used the facial expressions of humans and animals to demonstrate key
similarities and differences in behaviour.26 More recent research into facial ex
pression has been taken up by specialists in neurology and psychology, and has
seen a greater emphasis on the role of the viewer (rather than the owner of the
face) in the interpretation of emotional cues.27 This has led to the identification of
areas in the brain with specialised roles, such as the right fusiform face area (FFA)
in the recognition of faces,2* and the amygdala in the reading of emotions in facial
expressions.29 In particular, neurological studies which reveal the importance of
‘reading’ the eyes in processing facial expressions30 have stressed the biological
basis for the widespread use of eye and gaze-related verbal and visual motifs in
social interaction: whether an anglophone speaks of ‘looking daggers at some
one’, a francophone of ‘lancant un regard assassin’ or a germanophone of ‘wenn
Blicke toten konnten’, they all recognise the emotionally expressive potential of
the eyes.
So too in images, whether text-message emoticon or Turkish nazar boncugu,
the eyes are used as signifies of emotion. Indeed, in his proposed theory o f art,
anthropologist Alfred Gell required eyes as the minimal concession to facial fea
tures required to ‘animate’ an object31 while, more recently, archaeologist and art
! 9 Sec p 415 in this volume, cf Plato, Memo 97d-e, where Sokrates employs the word agalma in
bis description of Daedalus' fabled moving statuary.
20 E g LEG I 26-28.
21 Theophrastos 21.9; CEG I 25, 32, and 54.
22 Herodotus 1.51, on the golden statue of ‘Croesus’ baker dedicated at Delphi.
23 E g. CEG 1 399,commemorating three Olympic victories.
24 Gell 1998,25.
25 Hartley 2001; Percival and Tytler 2005, on the work of Johann Lavatar (1741 -1801).
26 Darwin 1872
27 Ekman and Friesen 2003.
28 Taylor. Edmonds, et aJ 2001 laria, Fox, and Barton 2008; Churches, Baron-Cohen, and Ring
2009
29 With particular reference to ‘basic emotions’ such as fear, Anderson, Spencer, Fullbright, and
Phelps 2000 With particular reference to socially-constructed (‘complex’) emotions such as
guilt, Adolphs, Baron-Cohen, and I ranel 2002.
30 BaronCohen, Wheelwright, Mill, et al. 2001
31 Gelt 1998, 135. on the ‘consecration of contemporary idols’.
historian Clemente Marconi has considered the role of sculpted and painted eyes
in creating the sense of mysterium tremendum in those approaching temples. In
considering the overall decorative scheme of Greek temples in the sixth century
BCE, he identifies the outward facing carved faces of gorgons and monsters as a
means of drawing the viewer’s attention to the top of the building32 and then
generating anxiety and fear compatible with the emotional expectations of Greek
religion.33
But scholars have noticed too the importance of emotions in understanding art
in general. David Freedberg, in his monograph on responses to art, considers the
role of figurative images in providing material substitutions for mental images
about which we are ‘compassionate’.34 He constructs a persuasive history of We
stern art, understood, even in antiquity, to be means by which emotional response
could be elicited and focused.35
Freedberg also considers the role of art in regulating social relations, in the
dedication of votive objects. Investigating the phenomenon of thank-offerings to
the Virgin Mary, he touches on the important themes of relief, gratitude, and ha
ving one’s behaviour noted and judged by others,36 all of which have implications
for our understanding of votive practice in antiquity. While Freedberg’s book
deals primarily with votive dedications, secular gift-giving, commissioning, dis
play, distribution, and magic could also be considered as similar nexus (pi.) of
material culture, social relations, and emotions. These themes are explored in
greater details by Alfred Gell in his posthumously published theory of agency in
art objects.37 His theory rests squarely on the role of the art object (or index) as the
active party (or agent), and the serious consideration of animism. Whatever reser
vations there may be about the location of the agency permanently within the in
dex, rather than perhaps relying on the more familiar notion of ‘suspension of dis
belief5 (familiar to anyone who has been moved by the tiny, figure-shaped images
on their television), the book is a valuable study for anyone wishing to engage in
the power of art as an means of communicating meaning and effect within the
viewer.
An important investigation of Greek sculpture by Deborah Steiner38 provides
a model for Classical art theory, in its use of both textual and archaeological evi
dence in order to understand certain social phenomena, among them portraiture,
32 Marconi 2007,219.
33 Marconi 2004, 221f. Cl. Burkert 1996, 30-32. Cf. pp. 205-234 in this volume.
34 Freedberg 1989, 191; Hamilakis 2007, 69 on statues with ‘human properties and emotional
reactions’.
35 Freedberg 1989, 204. Euripides, Aieestis 348-354 (on portraiture); ibid. 149 and 162; Julian,
Frag. Epist. 293a-b, and similarly Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologica Part 11.2, Q. 81.art. 3:
‘The worship of religion is paid to images, not as considered in themselves, nor as things, but
as images leading us to God incarnate.’
36 Freedberg 1989, 138 and 142.
37 Gell 1998, 47f. (on the commissioning party); 96 (on distribution of portraits); 32 (on volt
sorcery) and 83 (on apotropaism).
38 Steiner 2001.
136 Jane Masseglia
religious icons, memorials, desire for art objects, and literary ekphrasis (descripti
ons of objects).Particularly valuable is her identification of the Greek tendency
to combine images with directive text, whether in the form of a grave relief with
an inscription, or an honorific monument set up with an accompanying enco
mium.3940 This synthesis of text and image, Steiner proposes, is a means to provoke
response41 and it is these responses and the provoking techniques which are of
interest to the scholar of ancient emotions.
2.3 Archaeological space
Just as art objects and decorative schemes can manipulate and elicit emotions, so
equally can archaeological space. The social anthropologist Edmund Leach saw
the human need to divide space and time, to impose order on the otherwise unbro
ken whole, was a means to ‘give dimension’ and thus relieve the anxiety of confu
sion42 It is these delineated spaces and topographical features, whether naturally
occurring or man-made, that Leach sees as indices for ‘metaphysical discrimina
tions'.43 Subsequently the archaeologist can be encouraged to view such spatial
and topographical areas as the material manifestation of otherwise immaterial
phenomena. This is of great relevance to the study of emotions. The archaeologist
faced with their material remains, such as a city gate or a temenos wall, is in fact
presented with evidence for where one code of behaviour finished (or in other
words where one emotional context ended) and another began.
These liminal zones, in particular, are of great interest in the study of emo
tions in antiquity since they are frequently marked, even lavishly decorated, so as
to exploit the emotional drama inherent in designated transformative spaces.
Marconi’s study of the eighth century Temple A at Prinias in Crete, suggests just
such an emotional transformation took place in those passing from the secular to
the sacred space, a process emphasised and heightened by the figural decoration
of the temple’s exterior.44 This same principle would equally explain the pheno
menon of monumental propylaia in antiquity, elaborated beyond practical neces
sity and often elongating the dark, interior space, but indicating in emphatic terms
the importance of the distinction between ‘here’ and ‘there’, and rousing the
emotions which accompany that particular transformation.
The social implications of man-made spaces have received scholarly attention
from various disciplines. Social anthropologist Christopher Tilley has remarked
on the of power-relations in the construction and subsequent use of built spaces.45
Hut while power and emotions are inextricably linked, his preference is for the
39 On ekphru'.is, see also Mersey 2009, 14 - 16.

40 Sterner 2001. evp 255, 205, and 293. Also Ma 2007.
45 Sterner 2001,294
42 Leach 1976, 34f
43 Leach 1976, 52, between this world/othcr world, secular/sacred, low status/high status,
normal/abnormal, living/dead, impotent/potent’
44 Marconi 2007, IK9 (J (icrstel 2006, on the use ol screens and barriers in the early Church.
45 Tilley 1993. Xt
seemingly more objective discussion of ‘status’ rather than ‘fear’, ‘anxiety’,

‘pride’, and so on. By contrast, the architectural theorist and art historian John
Onians has embraced the connection between human psychology and material
culture as a central tenet of his approach, whether to building material46 or the
appearance of enclosures.47 Classical archaeologist Dieter Metzler presents a case
study in just such a relationship between emotions and architectural shape, in his
consideration of the interior of Greek temples. His identification of Egyptian
influences in the long, thin architectural forms leads him to consider the effect of
this arrangement on the viewers. In particular, the distance imposed between the
cult statue and the viewer is, in his opinion, ‘a situation engendering veneration
and/or fearful respect in the latter’.48
The architectural designer and historian Jane Rendell is equally explicit in her
formulation of architectural spaces as emotional. Particularly fruitful is her
emphasis on the reception of buildings by the viewer in light of their use; she sug
gests an emotional response to the disused operating theatre in the Staatsicherheit
Headquarters in Berlin as ‘melancholic and sick with anxiety’, highlighting the
need for contextual information, such as function, to illuminate a space’s emotio
nal significance. Her discussion of ‘Ruin as Allegory’, focussing on the intentio
nal redeployment of derelict architectural space as art, might initially smack of a
highly modem (indeed postmodern) view of art and experience. But the process
has, in fact, a number of ancient parallels, not least in the story of the Oath of
Plataia in which the Athenians swore not to restore the temples destroyed by the
Persians but leave them as ‘memorials of barbarian impiety’.49 Indeed, I will re
turn to the allegorical power of buildings, and their state of repair in another
chapter in this volume (pp. 342-349).
3 METHODOLOGICAL CHALLENGES
Since emotions are fundamental in the motivation to make and interact, it would
be difficult to imagine a study of material and spatial culture without an apprecia
tion of emotions. And yet, naturally, there is a methodological reticence to ex
amine closely material which is too open to interpretation. While textual evidence,
whether epigraphic, papyrological, or literary, is a means to communicate and
explain meaning, archaeological evidence is rarely so explicit.50The risk of super
imposing anachronistic interpretations on ancient evidence is considerable when
46 Onians 1992, 1%.

47 Onians 2006, esp. 27.3 and 461 (the latter including his extraordinary 'phalanx’ theory of
(ireek temple facades.)
48 Melzler 1995, 57.
4*) Hurwit 1999, 141, after Isocrates, Panegyricus (4) 156. Cf. l.yeurgus. Against Leocrates 81;
Diodorus 11.29.3; On the historicity of the oath, cf. Theopompos FgrH 115 F 153; Raubit-
schck I960; Siewert 1972; Cawkwell 1975; Meiggs 1975, 504-507; Blamite 1977, 1511. Cf.
Krentz 2007.
50 Dietler and Herbich 1998, 244.
138 Jane Mass^glia
the interpreter does not take full account of their own prejudice,51 and when
emotions are discussed without reference to the social-cultural expectations ta
boos which governed their expression.52
And yet the certain loss which comes with avoiding archaeological evidence
is far greater than the potential harm in misinterpreting it. Moreover, a disinclina
tion to engage with the ancient mind because it cannot be completely reconstruc
ted is defeatism bordering on the solipsistic.53 As a defence against this risk, there
are three important approaches:
The first is to ensure that archaeological material is not studied in isolation,
but in relation to the more explicit, textual evidence, so that one may illuminate
the other (the historical approach). There has been a curious pessimism regarding
this approach among a number of archaeologists. Sarah Tarlow’s own specialisa
tion in pre-historical archaeology may explain her identification of ‘meagre con
textual information’ among the main methodological difficulties in studying emo
tions in archaeology.54 Contextual evidence for Classical antiquity is not without
its problems, but ‘meagre’ would certainly be an overstatement. The ruins of a
shrine to Asklepios, for example, can be ‘revived’ and some of its emotional con
text restored through the application of textual evidence. The comic account of the
healing of Aristophanes’ eponymous Ploutos,55 for example, and the epigraphic
records of healing miracles at Epidauros56 work together not only to reveal the
practical processes of ritual healing, but to express the emotional experience of
the patients, including fear, hope, and gratitude.
The second approach rests on the collation and comparison of similar archae
ological phenomena, and the drawing of conclusions from patterns of occurrence
in particular contexts (the archaeological and art historical approach). The third is
through the application of models derived from multi-ethnic and diachronic
observations of human behaviour (the anthropological and psychological appro
ach). In short, archaeologists are duty bound to interdisciplinarity if they wish to
avoid the dangers of fiction.57
Another complication in the study of archaeological material is the seemingly
arbitrariness of determining where a piece of evidence ends. Just as Clemente
Marconi warns against ‘dissecting’ temple decoration at the expense of the overall
51 Cf. Burke 2005, 37 39, on the approaches of C. S. Lewis, Lucien Febvre, and Jean
[Jelumeau.
52 Leach 1976, 47f ; Tariow 2000, 714- 720; Reddy 2001, 124.
53 O . Hodder 1992, 16 23; howler 2000, 127; Tariow 2000, 721.
54 I arlow 2000, 727.
55 hsp. lines 655 747.
56 Collected and translated by LiDonnici 1995. See pp. 177 -204 in this volume with further
bibliography.
57 Contra Harre and Parrot 2000, who eschew the use of texts as methodologically unsound;
Avenll 2000, who believes archaeologists do not have access to texts; cf. Ilodder 1992, 11:
‘the archaeologist deals in things and not words;’ cl. T il ley 1999, 75, for a more inclusive
appn/ach
Emotions and Archaeological Sources: A Methodological Approach IW
effect,58 so too must we bear in mind that this same temple was part of a larger
complex, this complex of a sanctuary, and so on. Thus a pediment depicting the
battle between the Lapiths and the Centaurs (for example on the Temple of Zeus
at Olympia) might elicit certain emotions when viewed at close-range, and when
the rest of the building is temporarily excluded from consideration. But a view of
the entire building, from a distance, might elicit very different ones. When talking
about emotions and the Temple of Zeus at Olympia therefore, we must be clear
about where we are standing and be aware of the ‘degree of magnification’. The
interpretation may well need adjustment if the ‘zoom’ is changed to take account
of the wider physical or social context.
A further considerable challenge is one of language. Linguistic evidence, such
as text, can identify emotions by name. In archaeological evidence, however, the
emotional content may not necessarily correspond to a single word. Evidence for
ancient behaviour, in the form of objects and spaces, may invoke emotions and
responses which do not have a linguistic counterpart. But in order to communicate
any analysis of emotions in archaeology, whether in a lecture or publication, we
are obliged to use linguistic descriptors, despite knowing that they may be simpli
fied or approximate.59 An important exception to this is the phenomenon of emo
tional allegory, highly visible in the ancient Greek visual arts: symbolic repre
sentations of emotions can be identified by both iconography and, in certain
media, written captions which present an explicit interelation of image, word, and
emotion (e.g. Eros, Eris, Phobos, Nemesis, Phthonos, etc.). In what follows, whe
rever an emotion is associated with an archaeological object or space, it is pre
sented in the knowledge that the word used as a convenient approximation, unless
on occasions where conventional emotional allegory or accompanying text make
the association more secure.
4 ARCHAEOLOGY AND ‘EMOTIONAL COMMUNITIES’
Just as the ‘degree of magnification’ may skew the interpretation of evidence, so

too the same object or space may have an entirely different emotional significance
according to the identity of the person or persons interacting with it. This ‘emo
tional community’, to use Barbara Rosenwein’s term,60 may be those who crafted,
commissioned, bought, viewed, displayed, or used it. Furthermore, the emotions
of an emotional community also depend on whether it is composed of individuals
or social groups, and on the particular nature of their social and cultural context.61
58 Marconi 2004,212.
59 On the complex relationship between emotional behaviour and emotional expression, see
Wollheim 1973, 84-100.
60 Rosenwein 2006, 2: ‘groups in which people adhere to the same norms of emotional expres
sion and value - or devalue - the same or related emotions’. In what follows, these communi
ties need not be formally defined. On emotional communitues in ritual see Chaniotis 2011.
See also pp. 76-81 and I95f. in this volume.
61 Hodder 1987, 142 (on the normative effect of the dominant class); Ottians 2006,437.
140 Jane Masseglia
In the particular case of art objects, this can also include figurative depictions that
can themselves be shown engaged (literally artificially) in emotional display and
expression. These can form emotional communities both between themselves, and
with the viewer.
This quality of art is not only at the heart of its means to entertain, but can
also be exploited in more formal ways in the maintenance of social identity: in the
case of Greek war memorials for example, we find ‘arte-ficiaT figures or other
replacements for absent bodies (however abstract their form) accompanied by text
and ritual action, employed to rouse emotions and contribute to the construction
of a communal memory.62 Such were the polyandreion (communal war grave) at
Athens commemorating those lost at the Battle of Salamis, and the Tomb at Ma
rathon, both which served to maintain Athenian civic identity.63 Serving as physi
cal loci for communal expressions of pride and grief through ritual actions such as
pilgrimages, sacrifices, and honorific hymns, these monuments acccorded particu
lar significance to historical events and provided a means to ensure their ongoing
importance.
Through the engagement of the viewer in sympathetic emotions, the figures
are able to reinvigorate their emotional proximity with the deceased, and combat
their being forgotten. Indeed, regular ‘refreshing’ of emotions is an essential part
of the maintenance of memory and is a process incorporated into many objects
and spaces which regulate interpersonal identities.64
Important changes in the context of an object’s display can also radically
change its emotional significance. As we will see in a chapter dedicated to the
archaeology of Ephesos (pp. 342-349), shifts in social context, whether political,
religious, economic, or otherwise, can lead to the adaptation and reinterpretation
of old material over time (i.e. reception). Conversely, the redeployment of an arte
fact in a new setting (e.g. an item seized from its original context as war booty)
can lead it to take on an entirely different meaning. And so we can say in response
to Sarah Tarlow’s objections to the empathetic approach to the study of emotions,
that far from being ‘wrong’, it simply renders the empathetic party themselves as
the emotional community, rather than the ancient society they intended.65
That emotional response to archaeological evidence is person-specific may
seem to be stating the blindingly obvious. But when dealing with ancient cultures
for which the notion of identity within a community was regulated by very diffe
rent means (such as ritual practices, and political systems), an awareness of the
subjectivity of emotions in antiquity should not be taken for granted. Thankfully,
we have a number of textual references which can confirm that emotions were
thought to vary according to the identity of the individual. A fragment of
62 hl»ncr 2003, 209. On war memorials see also Ma 2005 and C haniotis 2012.
63 (.humous 2005. 237-240.
64 ( t the emotional strategy oi Lysias 10 (Against Theomnestos) 24 32: lie Incites the jury’s
anger by recalling Iheomnestos’ conduct in the past, and encouraging them to remember
(anamnesthetej and to refresh’, their collective outrage. For more bibliography on memory,
see pp. J42L
65 ItuU m 2000,72i 725; ( owgill 2000, 732
Aeschylus’ Spectators at the Isthmian Games, for example has a group of satyrs
admiring a votive figure and its likeness to its owner. So realistic is it, its owner
remarks, that were his mother to see it, she would ‘turn and run off shrieking,
thinking it was me, the boy she raised’.66 The particular emotional response to this
archaeological object, as it is presented, rests entirely on the woman’s identity as
his mother and her specific familiarity with him. A different emotional commu
nity, for example someone who did not know him, would not produce the same
response.
The complete reconstruction of any emotional community, let alone the elu
sive ‘original’ one, however, is an impossibility.67 But that should not be grounds
for not attempting to gather as much information as possible in order to contex
tualise the object/space and the emotions which relate to it. Such a collated quan
tity of information can enable us to identify patterns of emotional behaviour with
in a particular community, a target both more attainable and historically useful for
those interested in the nature of ancient societies.68
5 PROCESSING THE ARCHAEOLOGICAL EVIDENCE. A SUGGESTED

FRAMEWORK
In order to collate this information, we require a framework both broad enough to

accommodate a wide range of evidence types, and succinct enough to be useful to
any scholar dealing with large quantities of material. Having selected an item and
identified supporting evidence that can enable further analysis, the following
three-step process has proved invaluable to the author:
First Step
Identify the emotional community or communities (artist/maker, commissioning
party, buyer, viewer, user, and if a figurative item, the figures depicted).
Second Step
Consider the following three kinds of emotional response:
A) Emotions o/P hysicality
When the emotional communities respond emotionally to the size, shape,69 mate
rial, stability,70 fabrication of the object/space.71 E.g. an artist feels pride in his
66 P.Oxy. XVIII 2162 fr. la, transcribed with alternative translation in O’Sullivan 2000, 356f.;
Marconi 2004, 21 f.
67 Levinson 1042, 184.
68 Of. Tarlow 2000, 728.
64 Onians 2006, 535 (on culturally-acquired sensitivity to shapes and colours).
70 Onians 2006, 273.
71 Of. the response of Dio Chrysostomus to an object's physicality in oratio 12.52: 'But was the
shape you produced by your artistry appropriate to a god; and was its form worthy of divine
nature? Not only did you use a material which gives delight, you also presented a human form
of extraordinary beauty and size’ (t'i 5' «u to xpeitov tiSov, vat tijv aîotv poptpnv uk Btov
142 Jane Masseglia
work, having overcome technical challenges in both medium and subject matter;72
a viewer admires a building, for its size and balance, and considers these indica
tors of the architect's skill;73 an initiate feels fear in the darkness of an under
ground cave.
B) Emotions of Image
When the emotional communities respond emotionally to depicted figures or ob
jects (usually art objects, often figurative). These include emotions which are in
ternal to the image (i.e. those being expressed or represented by depicted charac
ters), and external emotions (i.e. those which are communicated to the viewer of
the object).74 These representations may be universally understood (e.g. figures
performing universally recognisable actions) or require specialist knowledge (e.g.
abstract symbols or allegories). In either event, they rely on the viewer’s familia
rity with the ‘language of images’, including body language, iconography, and art
conventions in order to successfully decode the intended meaning. E.g. a statue of
an old woman holding a large lagynos shows her throwing her head back in drun
ken happiness (see pp. 413-430); personifications of emotions, such as Eros, Pho-
bos (fear), and Lyssa (‘raging madness’) are recognised and their significance
understood by the viewer; a viewer feels intimidated by a statue of a male ruler in
dominant pose and wearing kingly accoutrements.
This class of emotions does not require the viewer to believe what they are
seeing as really true, but to respond to it with a degree of suspension of disbelief.
When, however, the incongruity is too great for this suspension to be maintained,
the art object can lose its capacity to communicate emotions, or even communi
cate very different ones.75
C) Emotions of Use
When emotional communities respond emotionally to associations acquired
through and subsequent to an object/space’s creation or formation, through its
engagement with individuals and groups (the same or different emotional com
munities). E.g. a tripod is treated with reverence because of its ritual function; a
domestic space is held in affection because it was used as a family home; knuckle
bones take on connotations of gratitude because they are dedicated in fulfilment of
a prayer; a wooden doll takes on connotations of revenge and hostility because it
was used as a fetish; a stone beside the road prompts feelings of anxiety or relief
y i n t tiK Urr\p.iovprfT\cuJxai uXr) xe mxfpnf! xptl°«Oevo<;* «v8p6q xe popcphv i>7tep<poa xo

n titjjK Ku’i to
72 Sec e.g, the inscription on the base of a colossal statue of Apollo (Delos, early sixth century
1 Delos 4 * Jeifery 1990, 304 no. 10: [x?]b u f\n 6 X(0o epi dvSpia^ kui xo o«prX.(x<; (‘I
am oi the same stone, both the statue and the base’). On the interpretation of this text see
more recently Di Oesare 2004
73 Pliny, naturalis his torta 30.89, moved to write out of admiration for Apelles’ skill.
74 Cl. Phdsostratos, Imagines 1,28, who describes a painting of a hunter, commenting on both
the hunter s internal emotions, and his own emotional response to the figure. Onians 2006,
189
75 Cf Paiisanias 3 15.11, on the chains added to a figure of Aphrodite by Tyndaraios.
Emotions and Archaeological Sources. A Methodological Approach 143
(according to the direction in which it is passed), because it marks the border

between home and foreign territory.
Third Step
Consider how the information generated by the first and second steps connects
this object/space to other objects/spaces.
With these three means of engagement with the emotions of archaeological
evidence, it becomes possible to trace patterns of emotional response and context.
The second step might seem an insurmountable task, but in truth, very few objects
have evidence for all the categories under consideration. The method rests on the
principle that there is no shame in working with what we have.
6 THE FRAMEWORK IN ACTION: TWO CASE STUDIES
What follows are two brief examples, demonstrating how the three step approach
can prompt useful observations, even in the case of greatly differing phenomena.
Here, the studies of one geographical space and one artefact are presented in their
preliminary format, showing how information relevant to emotions can be gathe
red and stored.
6.1 Case Study 1: Rheneia
Figure 1. The object: The island of Rheneia, rocky island c. 500m from Delos (c.
seventh second centuries BCE).
144 Jane Masseglia
Supporting evidence: Thucydides (3.104.1-2) reports that Delos was purified by

the Athenians through the removal of burials; all Delian births and deaths were
confined to neighbouring Rheneia. He also reports that the Samian tyrant Poly-
krates (532 -521 BCE) bound both islands together and dedicated Rheneia to
Apollo. According to the Hellenistic poet Theocritus '{Idyl 17.70) ‘Apollo also
loved Rheneia equally (i.e. to Delos)’. Corroborating evidence comes from a
number of grave stelai found on Rheneia and absent on Delos.76
First Step: Emotional Communities
Apollo; the Athenians; the inhabitants of Delos, especially the elderly, the sick,
and pregnant women.
Second Step: Emotions of Physicality, Image and Use
A) Rheneia’s proximity to Delos invites similar emotional responses to both: it
gives rise to Apollo’s equal love, and invites its binding and similar dedication in
Polykrates’ show of piety. But similarly, Rheneia’s proximity, Thucydides im
plies, lies behind its suitability as Delos’ receptacle for pollution.
B) Not applicable.
C) Prospect of birth and death on Delos provokes fea r of religious pollution (mi
asma). Emotions towards religious pollution must have therefore have affected
the experience of those who came to Rheneia (whether to bury a relative, suffer
ing from serious illness, or about to give birth). The Athenians’ relief in being rid
of this fear is formally demonstrated in their establishment of new Delian Games.
Third Step. Related Phenomena
A similar exclusion of death and childbirth is attested at the sanctuary of Askle-
pios in Epidauros.77
Suggested lines of enquiry:
i) An emotional responses to birth and death as a wider cultural phenomenon in
Greece.
ii) The role of physical proximity in expressions of religious reverence.
76 Grave ttelar. Couilloud 1974. On the purification o f Delos see Chankowski 2008, 53-56 and
63 70
77 H i IV*.1,12) lines I 2 , I'ausamas 2.27.1 and 7,
6.2 Case Study 2: a Quiver from Macedonia
Figure 2. The object: Gilded silver gorytos (quiver) from Tomb II at Vergina
(Tomb of Philip II’) embossed with an image of the sack of a city. Of Scythian
origin (fourth century BCE).
Supporting evidence: Scythian gold gorytoi of identical shape, one with same
battle scene (from Kararagodeushkh), others with mythical scene depicting seated
figures (Chortomlyk series) indicate that the Vergina example was of Scythian
origin.78 The concealment of nudity in figurative motifs supports a non-Greek
intended audience. The chronology suggests that this gorytos may be war booty,
following Philip’s defeat of Ateas in 339 BCE. This item is one of many grave
goods in precious metal in the ’Royal Tombs’ at Vergina; it is one of several
items of weaponry in this particular tomb.
First Step: Emotional Communities
The owner of the object (a member of Macedonian royalty); those who placed the
object in the tomb (someone within elite circles of Macedon); visitor to tomb be
fore its closure (?); previous owner (member of Scythian elite); (internal) sacking
warrior, citizens of sacked city.
78 Schlitz 1979; Triester 1999; Daumas 2009. 119.

146 Jane Masseglia
Second Step: Emotions of Physicality, Image and Use

A) The highly-wrought, precious metal invites admiration ; the military function
suggests pride in power.
B) Aggressive warriors attack fearful populous, who cower and flee. Figures em
brace cult statue and altar, demonstrating hopelfaith in divine protection. One wo
man holds her baby away, showing emotional hierarchy of love of child over fear
for own safety.
C) The use of the object in a tomb implies respect for the deceased. The use in
combination with other rich grave goods and weapons invites admiration for the
deceased and pride in wealth and power. The item’s identity as war booty sug
gests a symbol of pride in victory and function in humiliation of the enemy.
Third Step: Related Phenomena
Hydria by Kleophrades Painter in Naples, showing sack of Troy, with Trojans
seeking sanctuary at a cult statue and an altar.79
Weaponry' among grave goods of the fourth-century Thracian elite tomb at Ka-
zanluk.80Gold shield, from spoils taken from the Argives, Athenians and Ionians,
dedicated by the Spartans at Olympia.81
Suggested lines of enquiry:
i) The cultural distribution and development on the ‘sack’ motif in art.
ii) The emotional significance of weaponry as a suitable choice of grave goods,
especially among the elite.
iii) The role of ‘exotica’ in demonstrating emotional relationships with outsiders
(e.g. war booty and diplomatic gifts).
7 HOW THIS INFORMATION CAN BE USED
In isolation, these preliminary studies are of only limited use to the archaeologist
or historian. But collated in numbers, patterns of emotional behaviour can be seen
to emerge, as well as similarities in context which can help us to identify the so
cial and cultural parameters at work. For the archaeologist such an endeavour can
reveal, for example, whether certain kinds of evidence lend themselves to parti
cular emotional expressions. Thanks to their inscriptions, grave stelai can be clo
sely associated with sadness and disappointment; but can similar emotional asso
ciations be made for phenomena such as votive objects, assembly spaces or hono
rific portraits'' Similarly, in considering the emotional communities in each case,
can we observe social and cultural patterns in the distribution of emotions? Are
objects intended for female users, such as jewellery, toiletry vessels, or votive
objects for all-female cult practice, associated with different emotions than those
79 Naples MI4K0 ( Ik a/ley Archive no. 201724).

m Zhivkova 1975,21 26.
HI Pausamas 5.10.4, PrilcheU 1971,95. On dedicatory inscriptions connected with the dedication
of booty see e.g, L a//ariin 1976, 317 322.
for the male? And does the material culture of one region show variations in emo
tional behaviour from another?
These are the kinds of questions which we need to ask in order to understand
the relationship between archaeology and emotions. But in order to identity these
patterns, we first need a meaningful corpus of individual case studies, exemplified
by the preliminary accounts of Rheneia and the gilt gorytos above, on which to
draw. By collating these studies and identifying recurring themes in motivation
and communication,82 we can re-introduce emotions to archaeological evidence,
revealing not simply how but also why ancient societies engaged with their physi
cal environment.
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PICTURE CREDITS
Figure 1: Illustration: J.E.A. Masseglia.

Figure 2: Gilded silver gorytos from Tomb II in Vergina. Archaeological Museum of Thes
saloniki. Photo reproduced by kind permission of the 17th Ephorate of Prehistoric
and Classical Antiquities, Edessa.
BEYOND THE USUAL SUSPECTS
Literary Sources and the Historian o f Emotions
E d Sanders
1 INTRODUCTION
And you have never considered what manner of men are these Athenians with whom you will
have to fight, and how utterly unlike yourselves. They are revolutionary, equally quick in the
conception and in the execution of every new plan; while you are careful only to keep what
you have, originating nothing, and not acting even when action is most urgent. They are bold
beyond their strength; they run risks which prudence would condemn; and in the midst of
misfortune they are full of hope. Whereas it is your nature, though strong, to act feebly; when
your plans are most prudent, to distrust them; and when calamities come upon you, to think
that you will never be delivered from them. They are impetuous, and you are dilatory; they
are always abroad, and you are always at home. For they think to gain something by leaving
their homes; but you, that any new enterprise may damage what you have already. When
conquerors, they pursue their victory to the utmost; when defeated, they fall back the least.
Their bodies they devote to their country as though they belonged to other men; their true self
is their mind, which is most truly their own when employed in her service. When they do not
carry out an intention which they have formed, they think they have been robbed of their own
property; when an enterprise succeeds, they have gained a mere instalment of what is to
come; but if they fail, they at once conceive new hopes and so fill up the void. For they alone
have something almost as soon as they hope for it, for they lose not a moment in the
execution of an idea. This is the lifelong task, full of danger and toil, which they are always
imposing upon themselves. None enjoy their good things less, because they are always
seeking for more. To do their duty is their only holiday, and they deem the quiet of inaction to
be as disagreeable as the most tiresome business. If a man should say of them, in a word, that
they were bom neither to have peace themselves nor to allow peace to other men, he would
simply speak the truth.1
Thucydides 1.70: o\>8’ eicA.oy{oaa0ai rcamoxe itpoq otou; uptv A0qvaioui; ovtou; icon ooov
itpcov m i tlx; rtav Statpepovxa*; 6 dyaiv eaxm. oi pev ye vecoteportoioi tcai eittvoqaai oljeTs
tcai eruxeAiaai epytp a av yvuknv open; 8e xa um pyovta te ocoêiv icai etuyvoivai pq8ev
icai epyu) ou8e xavaytcaia eîxeoOat. au6xq 8e. oi pev xai rtapa Suvapiv xoXgqtai tcai
jxapa yvcopqv KivSuveuxai xai ev xoiq Seivoiq z v iln iS e q - xb 8e upexepov xfj^ xe 5uvdpeo>;
ev8ea Kpaôii xtyc; xe yvaxprn; pr|8e xoT<; [)e()atoi*; jtiaxeuaai xwv xe Seivoiv pqSejtoxe
oTeaBtti dnoA u0riaea0ai. tcai pqv icai aotcvoi rcpd; upaq peAAqta^ icai djto8qpr|xai xpb^
evSripoxdxouq- oiovxai ydp oi pev xfi dnoucnt^ av n vxao0ai, upet^ 8e xtp erceA0eiv ku! ta
exoipa av (3A.ayai. xpaxouvxeq xe x<ov ey0pcbv eiti Jtkeurxov eêpyovxat vai vuwpevot ex’
eXotytoxov dvajtijixoooiv. ext 8e xoT<; pev axbpamv dXAoxpiu>tdxoi>; uttep xrjv, xdAeux;
ypSvxai, xfi 8e yvatpri oitceioxdxq e>; xo Jipdaoeiv xi \»iep aitxfy;. vat a pev av emvoq-
aavxeq pq ereeêXOioaiv, oitceuov axepeoOai qyouvtai, a 8’ dv exeA.06vxe<; K'rqautvtat,
152 Ed Sanders
In this passage (set in 431 BCE), Corinthian ambassadors to Sparta comment on

the national characters of the Athenians and the Spartans, in a speech to the
Spartan Assembly. Ancient texts that do not obviously portray deep, powerful
sensations or displays of e.g. anger/shame/grief, which quickly bring about some
great reaction and reversal of fortune (emotions and emotion scenarios that are
prevalent, and have been widely studied, in epic and tragedy), have generally been
overlooked by those studying the emotions of the Greeks. And yet, if we read this
passage more closely, the characters of both Athenians and Spartans - juxtaposed
as polar opposites - involve emotions. These are not, perhaps, sharp and short
lived (as are anger/shame/grief etc.), but longer-term emotions and perceptions of
feelings determined by culture are equally important. Here Thucydides talks about
the Athenians’ hopeful character (the word ‘hope’ [elpis] appears three times in
this short passage), contrasted with the Spartans’ caution and distrust. The
Athenians are ‘revolutionary’, ‘bold’, ‘impetuous’, thinking about ‘gain’ - words
implying hope, confidence, and a lack of fear. The Spartans, on the other hand,
are “careful’, ‘distrustful’, thinking about ‘damage’ - words implying caution,
fear, and a lack of confidence.
We must not forget that this is a speech to an audience of Spartans, who
would have reacted emotionally to what they were hearing - perhaps they would
have felt shame or anger, and perhaps this would have affected their response?
The speech, too, was given in a physical setting, i.e. at an assembly, where the
speakers were probably situated on a bema (speaker’s platform), talking
downwards to the Spartan listeners. What effect might this spatial arrangement
have had on the listeners’ emotions? Such a question is perhaps only answerable
after considering many more examples of emotion arousal in deliberative contexts
(that is, speeches to Assemblies, Councils etc.). Interestingly too, these words are
put into the mouths of Corinthians, addressed to Spartans, in front of Athenians.
Are they the Corinthians’ genuine views; or spoken with ulterior motive: to rouse
some of the emotions mentioned above in their Spartan audience? Or, perhaps
more likely, are they Thucydides’ own views - and if so do they reflect his pride
as an Athenian, or his dismay at the impetuosity of his fellow-citizens; or should
they merely be read as part of his narrative technique, his explanation for the
causes of so much that follows? Again, these questions cannot be answered from
studying just one passage, but careful reading of Thucydides’ text will uncover
many more.2
o/.i'ya xpoc ta nS/M m u iv /riv npafy/vrei;. qv 8 ’ a pa too k« 1 rcttpa otpakoicnv, avxtX-

jtujavw; ( i / j j i . in>.T|pojouv mv xp«uv- govoi yap exouat te opoiox; tail rkniôuaiv a av
r j c t v o T ) < i < n o i bio to tu/t'u/v t t ) v rrtixfipricnv nounaOui (bv av yvcimv. icat t u u t u petit
w u v o j v n a v x o tan k i v o v v o j v 5 f o/Wu too uiaivoq po/Bubai, kui anoX.a{)ooaiv eXuxtota
■uiti bjiafr/bvtojv 8 m to uie.i k t o o B u i icai ptftf eoprf|v I tX k o t i t ) Y £ iaO ai h to tit 8eovta

Kpaâi qupipopbv te oti/ r ) a o o v hnoxiav ujtpuygova r) aoxoAiav nun o v o v toote ei tiq
r/otuix; $ u v f /,(»v tpoi t ) jtH p v K r v a i erti xqj p.f|te o a i t o i k ; e'xeiv hm jxtav uhTf t o u <; aAAout
r / v b p o m / u $ H i m , opBox; av n m n (translation by Jowett 1963, 47f., slightly adapted).
2 Horriblower 199I, II4 notes parallels to a speech put into the mouth of the Athenian
statesman Klenn (3 37 X) and ari authorial assessment in Thucydides’ own ‘voice’ (X.%), and
Beyound the usual suspects: literary sources and the historian of emotions 153
Unlike many of the other types of evidence so far discussed in this hook
(archaeological, epigraphic, papyrological), literary sources have been signifi
cantly studied with respect to the emotions, especially in the last twenty years.1
However, there are methodological problems with relying solely on literary
sources for the history of Greek emotions: nearly all Greek texts were written by
educated men of high wealth and/or status; they were frequently written to be read
only by other such men; and a large proportion were written, or received final
form, in one city in a brief period - Classical (479-322 BCE) Athens. It is possib
ly for this reason that the majority of research done so far into Greek emotions has
been philological and cultural (for instance the words and metaphors used for
anger in Homer; how the expression of shame in the Iliad differs from that in
tragedy), or philosophical (for instance Aristotle on the socio-psychology of
emotions; the Stoics on control of the emotions). It has only rarely been historical:
for instance, the ways real people interacted with each other in various poleis and
other communities across the ancient Greek world at specific points in time; the
way emotions change over long periods of time; the way emotions are shaped by
social tensions and cultural developments.
Further, attention has generally focused on certain genres (epic, lyric poetry,
tragedy, and philosophy) that only very indirectly reveal how emotions worked in
real life, and to a much more limited extent on such genres as historiography,
oratory, and biography that, under certain conditions, may be a better source of
information for the part played by emotions in social, political, legal, religious,
and cultural communication. Many other literary genres, especially outside the
usual canonical authors, have received almost no attention at all - for instance,
medical writings, technical treatises, didactic texts, fables, epigrams, satires and
mimes, literary letters, anthologies, epitomes, commentaries, and fragmentary
texts of all kinds. It will not be my purpose here to canter through as many such
texts as possible, covering large amounts of ground skimpily. Rather I will use a
handful of passages from a selection o f genres to consider what sort of historical
questions literary sources might answer, and what they might not.
concludes that the above passage must therefore also reflect Thucydides’ own views: he
describes it as ‘as glowing a tribute as anything which Thucydides puts into the mouth of an
Athenian speaker and is more effective coming from an enemy.’
3 Major monographs and collections in English include: Cairns 1993; Williams 1993; Nuss-
baum 1994; Konstan 1997; Sihvola and Engberg-Pedersen 1998; Harris 2001; konstan 2001;
Nussbaum 2001; Braund and Most 2003; konstan and Rutter 2003: Sternberg 2005; Konstan
2006; Fitzgerald 2007; Graver 2007; Konstan 2010; Munteanu 201 la and 201 lb; Sanders et
al. forthcoming; Sanders forthcoming,
154 Ed Sanders
2 FICTION
I start, perhaps perversely, with a non real-life genre - the romantic novel - to see
what can be gleaned even from such a text.4 At the start of Chariton’s C h a ire a s
a n d K a llirh o e ,5 a number of aristocratic suitors are competing to marry Kallirhoe,
the daughter of a Syracusan general. However Chariton tells us that ‘Eros inten
ded to make a match of his own devising’.6 He continues:7
Eros likes to win and enjoys succeeding against the odds. He looked for his opportunity and
found it as follows.
A public festival of Aphrodite took place, and almost all the women went to her temple.
Kallirhoe had never been out in public before, but her father wanted her to do reverence to the
goddess, and her mother took her. Just at that time Chaireas was w'alking home from the
gymnasium; he was radiant as a star, the flush of exercise blooming on his bright countenance
like gold on silver. Now, chance would have it that at the comer of a narrow street the two
walked straight into each other; the god had contrived the meeting so that each should see the
other. At once they were both smitten with love ... beauty had met nobility.
Chaireas. so stricken, could barely make his way home; he was like a hero mortally wounded
in battle, too proud to fall but too weak to stand.
This passage is formulaic (a to p o s ), and has precedents dating back several centu
ries. Here, for instance, is a similar passage from the third-century BCE poet
Theokritos:
And when 1 was come already midway on the road, where Lykon’s is, I saw Delphis and
Eudaimppos walking together. More golden than helichryse were their beards, and their
breasts brighter far than thou, O Moon, for they had lately left the manly labour of the
wrestling-school. ... I saw, and madness seized me, and my hapless heart was aflame. My
4 Other examples of non real-life, or fictional, Greek genres include epic (e.g. Homer), tragedy,
and comedy.
5 The romantic novel flourished in Greek (and Roman) culture in the first few centuries CE;
Chariton's Chaireas and Kallirhoe is one of the earliest surviving, dating from the mid-first
century <Reardon 1989, 5).
6 Chariton, Chaireas and Kallirhoe 1.1.3.1-2: 6 8c "Eptoq £euyo<; T5tov r|0eXr|oe au|i7rXe£><ju
(translated by Reardon 1989, 22).
7 Chariton, C h a ir e a s a n d K a llir h o e 1.1.4.1-7.4: iptXovucoq 5c rcmv 6 "Epox, K«i xaipn toit;
xapu5o£ot£ (c«top6aipuoiv- e^m ac $e toiovSe tov Kcupov. A<ppo5itri<; coptri SruioTeXf^,
Kut nuoai <r/c86v «i yvvaiice^ arrn/.0ov ci^ tov vetov. tea*; 8c prj npoioOaav triv KaXXipo-
nv xpofjroffv f| primp, ”Epano<; kcAcv a a v x o q Ttpoatcvvfiaai thv 0c6v. tore 8c Xaipeaq
ano twv yopvamtwv cfJaSi^cv oua5f atiXpwv cooncp aotrip’ eirfivOci yap autou ta>
Xapxpt? tov upoatMW to rpu0r|pa tt|<; naXaiatpcn; axjncp apyoptp xpoocq. ck tv>xn<; ouv
*cp{ xivo. KU|iJtT|v otcvorcpov ouvavTarvTft; rccpicncoov uXXf|Xoi<;, too 0coO rcoXitcuoa-
givov rf|v8» tnv avvoSiav i'vu FKtttcpoi; t<j) ctcpw oipOf). taxeox; ouv 7ta0o<; cpamicbv
avt f 6 o n c u v oOd]X014 ... toil tcaXXovs xfi evycveia ouvcX0ovto<;. O pev ouv Xaipcai;
o i x u h t p e v r tfru Tpr/vgoto^ poXti; anfict icai oioncp tk; apioteix; cv noXiptp Tpu>0ei<;
K a i p t a v tttti tcu xoK f O f i v p r v otOoCpcvoi;, atrjvm 6c pi| 8uvdtpcvo<; (translated by Reardon
1989, 22)
looks faded away. No eyes had I thereafter for that show, nor know how I came home again,
g
but some parching fever shook me, and ten days and ten nights I lay upon my bed.
We should not interpret such passages as being necessarily reflective of real-life

scenarios, but rather literary narrative devices: a stock Move at first sight’
scenario.89
Despite the formulaic nature of the C h a irea s a n d K allirhoe passage, however,
it nevertheless suggests several profitable lines of enquiry to the historian of
emotions. For instance, cult: Eros is the divine son of Aphrodite, but he is also a
deification of an emotion (erd s = sexual desire). This particular deity is well
known across the Greek world, at least as far back as the eighth-/seventh-century
BCE epic poet Hesiod.10 However, other deified emotions are more bounded in
time and place - for instance the cult of Nemesis in Rhamnous and elsewhere,11or
that of Phobos (Fear) at Sparta.12 One historical question is why certain emotions
were deified at certain places, and/or in certain periods - a question that might be
answered by a literary author, by commentaries on the text, or perhaps by in
scriptions of decrees instituting cults or establishing temples. For instance, regard
ing the cult of Phobos at Sparta, the first/second-century CE biographer Plutarch
tells us that the Spartans13
pay honours to Fear, not as they do to the powers which they try to avert because they think
them baleful, but because they believe that fear is the chief support of their civil polity. ...
And the men of old, in my opinion, did not regard bravery as a lack of fear, but as fear of
8 Theokritos, Idylls 2.76-86: p8p 5’ eooa peaav teat’ apaîxov, a xa Au*cawo<;, 1 eiSov
AeXipiv opou xe Kai Eu8dputJtov iovxaq- I xou; 8’ p.; £av0oxepa pev eXixpvooio yeveidu;,
axp0ea 8e ax{X|iovxa noA.6 rcAiov p to, leXava, I ax; arco yupvaaioio koXov itovov apxt
A.i7tovx(ov I .... x&S i8ov, ox; epavpv, poi rcvpi 0vpo<; iaq>0p I 8etXaia;, xo Se icaXtax; exa-
kexo. ookexi Ttopna*; I rpva<; cippaaapav, ou8’ ax; rcaXiv oiko S’ aixpvSov I eyvtov, aXXa pi
xiq Ka7ropd voao<; eêaaXaêv, I Keipav 8’ ev <Xivxppi 8ek ’ apaxa Kai 8exa vokxo$
(translated by Gow 1950, 21-23).
9 On formulaic passages in the Greek novel, and their relationship to similar passages in earlier
Greek narrative or in oriental novels, see Anderson 1984,25-42.
10 Hesiod, Theogony 120 - though associated iconography changes over time. See Most forth
coming; Stafford forthcoming.
11 On Nemesis cults, see Homum 1993, 6-14. On Rhamnous in particular, see Fortea Lopez
1994, 24-30; Parker 1996, 154; 2005, 406f. I have not provided a one-word translation for
Nemesis, as there is no equivalent label in English; nemesis is a righteous indignation that
leads humans to censure and gods to punish wrathfully; the god Nemesis is often translated
Retribution, but this does not capture the emotional connotations of the Greek word.
12 The latter is referred to at Plutarch, Life of Kleomenes 9.1.
13 Plutarch, Life of Kleomenes 9.1-3: xipcom 8c xov <t>6pov ovy coonep ovq otJtotpcxovxm
Saipova^ pyoupevoi pAaPepov, aXXa xpv noAixeiav paAicrta <rovexea0ai (pofkp vopi-
ôvxcq. ... Kai xpv avSpetav 8e poi S okouoiv ook oupopiav. aXXa qxipov voyou Kai Sea;
a8o4ia»; oi naAaioi vopiêiv. oi yap 8eiAoxaxoi itpcx; xotx; vopooc 0appaA.ea>xaxoi *po<;
xoi)<; JtoAepiouv; eiai, Kai xo jia0eTv piaaxa 8e8iacuv oi paAiata tpopoopevoi to kokox;
aKouaai (translated by Perrin 1921,671. This passage is consistent with the Spartan ‘mirage’,
w hich Cartledge 2002, 45 describes as: 'the distorted image of what both Spartans and non-
Spartans for various and often mutually inconsistent reasons wanted Sparta to be. to stand for
and to have accomplished.’
156 Ed Sanders
reproach and dread of disgrace. For the men who feel most dread of the laws have most
courage in facing their enemies; and those shun death least who most fear ill fame.
The connection between emotions and public/private space is another fruitful line
of enquiry. Here. Kallirhoe's chastity and modesty are suggested by her only
being outdoors to attend a religious festival and chaperoned by her mother;14
Chaireas' wholesomeness is suggested by his exercise in the gymnasium. Such an
encounter would therefore be plausible. In a real-life situation (just as depicted
here) they would not be allowed to express their emotions, by action, speech, or
any other sort of flirtation: it would damage Kallirhoe’s reputation to be seen
conversing with a young man in the street, and give the lie to Chaireas’ supposed
nobility of character were he to press it upon her. Even fiction can demonstrate
how place (e.g. assembly, courtroom, religious processions, festivals, within the
home, at another’s house, in the street, in the agora, at war etc.) has a profound
influence both on the sensation and expression of emotions, and the social
acceptability of such expression. The characters’ age, social class, and gender are
important too: Greeks might expect young people to fall instantly in love, and
their emotions to be violently felt and incontinently expressed;15 only a wealthy
youth would have the leisure to attend the gymnasium;16 and Chaireas is notably
bowled over by a girl, while most Classical Athenian literature might lead us to
expect erotic feeling and competition for a beautiful boy or a courtesan.17 Age,
social class, gender, place: all matters that must intimately concern the historian of
emotions, as any other.
Another aspect we might consider is the cause of Chaireas’ and Kallirhoe’s
emotion: in this case, catching sight of each other.18 Greeks of different periods
were interested in a variety of competing causes for emotions. Aristotle famously
suggests that anger can be understood psychologically as ‘the appetite for return
ing pain for pain’, or physiologically as ‘a boiling of the blood or warm substance
surrounding the heart’.19 Competing socio-, psycho-, and physiological explana-
14 Attendance at, and indeed participation in, religious festivals was the one major role women
played in the public life of most Greek cities - at least m the Classical period when the novel
is set. though not, perhaps, at the lime it was written (see below).
15 Consider Aristotle, Rhetoric 2.12 I389a3 -6: oi gev oov veoi xa n6r| eia'tv eniBogTVtucoi, icai
own rtoifiv oiv av cmOnprirroKn. ica't tojv nepi to aoipa ejuBopitov [laXioxa « icoA.ov0t|t>koi
tun ttj Rtpt to. tuppohtaia icai UKpcmti; toiottv; (‘the young are prone to desires and
inclined to do whatever they desire. Of the desires of the body they are most inclined to
pursue that relating to sex and they are powerless against this’); 2.13 1389b 13-15: oi 8f
itprojluTtpot koi nuppKgr/KOTf:<; crêS6v fk tow fvovticdv tovVtok; to 7t>aiaTu fyonoiv fjhn
( people who are older and more or less past their prime have characters that are for the most
part the opposite of these’; translated by Kennedy 2007, 149- 151).
16 f isher 1998 challenges this, at least lor Classical Athens, with its unusually democratic socio
political organisation
17 See Davidson 1997, 73 136.
18 See ( aims 2011 , on the role vision plays hi arousing eras.
19 Aristotle l)e amma I I 403a30 32: otov opyrt xi foxiv 6 gsv yap optîv avTiA-vutnoFax; f) xi
xoioi/xov, 6 of £eatv too ni.pt Kopbiov uipoxoi, nut Brppob (translated by Smith 1984,
643).
Bcyound the usual suspects: literary sources and the historian oi emotions 157
tions for the causes of the emotions can be found in the writings of philosophers
and medical writers of all periods, but also (as we see above) in the most in
nocuous of literary text. Ideas went in and out of fashion in ancient thought as in
modem, and what Greeks believed in different periods and localities is a profita
ble line of enquiry for the historian of emotions. Such ideas are almost exclusively
expounded in literary sources.
Many psychologists have noted that it often makes more sense to speak of an
emotional episode or scenario, than an emotion p e r se .2<) Emotional episodes
begin with ‘antecedent conditions’, which have been well defined as ‘the elements
physically or objectively present in a situation, along with the perceptions, inter
pretations, and appraisals of them’;2021 these arouse psychological and physiological
feelings (frequently confused by laypersons with the ‘emotion’ itself); attempts to
regulate or cope with the emotion may follow; then verbal expressions and/or
physical actions resulting from the emotion; and eventually resolution.22 In this
analysis, Chaireas and Kallirhoe catching sight of each other in the way, place,
and moment that they do, can be seen as the antecedent condition of their eros
episode. Continuing the life-cycle of this episode, we would hope to come to the
symptoms of the emotion,23 the metaphors, similes, and other imagery used to
describe it, and its resulting actions. Here Chariton is rather restrained. Plato is
less so in describing Hippothales’ ero s for the boy Lysis - his symptoms and
actions include blushing, talking incessantly about Lysis, composing poems and
prose to him, singing about him, hiding from his beloved, and being in an agony
of confusion that he might be discovered.24 Even fuller ‘symptomatologies’ are
found for some emotions.25
20 E.g. Parrott 1991,4: \ .. an emotional episode is the story of an emotional event, and it seems
a natural unit of analysis for understanding human emotions.’
21 Sharpsteen 1991,37.
22 See also Elster 1999, 244-283 and Ben-Ze’ev 2000, 49-78, whose analyses differ in some
details.
23 Some medical writers attempt to diagnose and cure emotions, for instance the second-century
CE physician and philosopher Galen in On the Diagnosis and Care o f the Passions o f the
Soul - see Harris 2001, 385-387. Plutarch, Life o f Demetrios 38.2-7 and Heliodoros,
Aithiopika 4.7 provide literary' dramatisations of this process, in both cases for eros.
24 Plato, Lysis 204c2-d8: Kai os oiKo/iaa*; noXi) en paAXov pp\)0piaacv. 6 otiv Krf|awtJtOv
Acrmov ye. r) 8’ o<;. o n cpuQpia^. (b 'lnn60aXc»;, Kai okvei.; ciitetv loncpam todvopa- ectv
8’ outoi; Kai opncpov xpovov auvSiarptyr) am, jtap«Ta0f|aeTcr. uno aou ouvovkdv 0apa
XeyovtOv iipcdv youv, d> IcoKpateq, EKKCKaxpcoKe ta coxa icai AdaiSog- av pev
8f| ku\ vutojtui, cupapia rjpTv fa tiv Kai c£, unvou cypopevoi*; Auai8o>; ou'a0at touvopa
ukoueiv. Kai a ptv KataXoydSnv SuiycTtai, Sctva ovta, ou Jtdvv n 8civa fanv. aXA*
cnnSdv td itoifjpata ripcbv emxeipricrn KataviXeiv Kai ovyypdppata. Kai o eanv tov>-
tiov Sctvotcpov, o n Kai a8ci trie, ra jiai8iKa qstov'fj 0aupaa\<jt, nv nM«s Sci aKOUOvta^
dvfxr^Q"'- vuv 8c Epambpcvoq \mo aou rpu0pi<jt. 20784-6: Kai Sf) Kai o litKoBaXiv;,
ine\Sr\ nA.ciov<; ccnpa ftpiarapevoui;, toutov«; cTcnûyurdpevo^ jtpoacatri ft pn $Eto
MnoycaOon tov Aoatv ... 2IOe5-7: KanSwv ouv aotov dywvuovra vai rc0opv>pr|pevov into
twv A-eyopcvov, avcpvFf|a0r|v o n Kai rcpoacanix; A.av0dveiv xov Adaiv t'(iouXcto.
25 See e g. Cairns 2003, 24f. on anger in the Iliad. See also pp. 81 -85 in this volume.
158 Ed Sanders
Chaireas eventually marries Kallirhoe, but one envious rival tells Chaireas
that his wife is being unfaithful to him. Chaireas believes this:26
For a long time he lay dumb, unable to speak or raise his eyes from the ground. When he
managed to find his voice - a small voice, not like his normal one. ... [He follows the rival,
sees a man admitted to his house, and:] Chaireas could restrain himself no longer and rushed
in to catch the lover red-handed and kill him. [However, on seeing Kallirhoe:] He could not
find his voice to rev ile her; overcome by his anger, he kicked her as she ran to him. Now his
foot found its mark in the girl’s diaphragm and stopped her breath.
Again this passage is formulaic - we can compare the late second-century CE

satirist Lucian’s Dialogues o f the Courtesans: 27
Demophantos was my admirer in those days. ... But one day when he called, I was ‘not at
home’: 1 had Kallides the painter with me (he had given me ten drachmas). Well, at the time
Demophantos said some very rude things, and walked off. However, the days went by, and 1
never sent to him; and at last (finding that Kallides had been with me again) even Demo
phantos began to catch fire, and to get into a passion about it; so one day he stood outside,
and waited till he found the door open: my dear, 1 don't know what he didn't do! cried, beat
me, vowed he would murder me, tore my clothes dreadfully!
In the Chariton passage we again see many psychological and physiological

symptoms, and resulting actions, but of what emotion? The rival tells us earlier
that his intention was to ‘set Jealousy (zelotypia ) in arms against [Chaireas]’,28
and Chariton in his own voice suggests Chaireas could have pleaded jealousy in
his defence.29 This Greek word zelotypia highlights a further concern of historians
of emotions: the lexical and psychological overlap between ancient Greek and our
own emotion words, in terms both of what they signify (the scenarios in which
they occur, and the verbal expressions and physical actions they lead to), and also
their change in meaning over time. Zelotypia (or rather the adjective zelotypos)
first occurs in surviving literature in Aristophanes’ comedy Ploutos ( Wealth,
dated 388 BCE), and David Konstan has argued not only that it did not at that
stage mean sexual jealousy, but also that sexual jealousy as we understand it may
26 Chariton, Chaireas and Kallirhoe 1.4.7.1-3: Eni rcoXu pev ouv ax«vh<; ekeito, pme to
axopa pm* tov>^ 6<p8tt/ipoi><; ercapai 5uvap£vo<;' she! 8e (pcovriv ov>x opoiav pev oXtynv 8e
ovvtXiâio; 10.3-4: Xaipeaq ouketi Koaeaxev ak'Ka eiae8papev in amorpuipa) tov
poixov avuipfiooiv; 12.1-4: 6 8t <pa>VT|v pev ovik eoxev wote Xoi6opr|oaa0ai, icpuToiipevo*;
Of uito opY»K eâtaioe npooiovaav. evictoxto^ ouv 6 jcov><; kixio . too 8ia<ppuypaToq
t vt /bnq inio/e ths nu\bbq tt| v avanvof|V (translated by Reardon 1989, 26f,).
27 Lucian, Dialog meretruii 8.300.10-25: r\pa pou Ar|p6«pavTo<;. ... eneiSfi 8 e ikOovxa note
ani r jjio a — Ka/.t.ibr\r yap 6 ypuipeix; ev8ov t\v bixa 8puxpa<; nenopipoiq to pev
Kponov unr^/Mi: poi /.oiSoppoapevoi;- int\ 8e icoXAui pev 8if|/.0ov ripfpai, eydi 8e oil
spoorJtfpJtov, 6 K«>./.!8r|c 8r 8 fv f|v, VTtuOfppaivoprvoi; i]8n tote o Ar|p6<pavTo<; teat
o v
umo: (/vuAp'/.iytifji i<, to npuypa. icai ekiotok; tiote aveqrypevnv Tripnoat; ttjv tKipav
ekamev, fTvjitfv, rptn>,t:i ipovevoeiv, nepiFppTtyvve t»)v ecOtyta, ancxvTu rnoirt (translated
by Fowler and Fowler 1905, 63).
28 Chariton, Chaireas and Kallirhoe 1.2.5.4: eiponXioi yap avmu ZriXoTuniav (translated by
Reardon 1989,24j. On Chaircas’ jealousy, see Jones 2012, chapter 1.
29 ( hariton, < hatreas and Kallirhoe 1.5.4.6 7: ouSev eindiv toiv jcpoq ttjv ujtoXoyiav Sikuuov,
oO Tfjv 8u/{Wi|v, oil ttjv ty\txruiKuiv (translated by Reardon 19K9, 28).
not even have existed prior to the first century BCE.30 While I have demonstrated
elsewhere that this latter assertion is invalid,31 it is certainly the case that in the
Classical period the word zelotypia implies possessive jealousy or envy/greed, in
either a sexual context or metaphor, rather than sexual jealousy as in Chariton.32
Drawing together several strands already referred to, these two Chariton
passages suggest one final issue: to what extent do fictional genres reflect the
emotions of real-life historical Greeks, rather than being merely literary topoH
And inasmuch as they do, do they reflect the emotions of the time in which they
are written, or the time at which they are set?33 These are tough questions, and
most scholarship on ancient emotions in Greek literature does not address them -
fairly, as they are not questions philologists or philosophers frequently set out to
answer. However, for historians these questions cannot be ducked. Comparisons
must be found in other, contemporary genres - for instance fifth-century tragedy
with Thucydides or Old Comedy (more tentatively with fifth-/fourth-century
oratory); alternatively in authors of the period in which it is set - for Chariton,
perhaps Thucydides or Xenophon. Non-literary media can also be extremely
helpful: love stories and rivalries, sexual jealousies, and actions causing harm
abound in letters found on papyri, for instance; curse tablets may be helpful too,
as may epigrams.34
3 ‘HISTORICAL’ GENRES: ORATORY, BIOGRAPHY, HISTORIOGRAPHY
Amongst literary genres, oratory is unique in that it both reflects real life, and
addresses a mass audience, thus providing excellent evidence for the values of a
community. Tragedy and comedy (and arguably epic) address mass audiences, but
are fictional genres. Historiography and biography purport to record real-life
events, but are written for an unrepresentative audience (educated males of
superior class/wealth). Of literary genres that purport to record real life, oratory
must uniquely be credible to an audience of broad social and educational back
ground (though still entirely of citizen males). It is for this reason that I have
chosen to concentrate on oratory in my case study later in this volume (pp. 355—
383).
30 Konslan 2006,219-243.
31 Sanders forthcoming, chapter 8.
32 Possessive jealousy: Aristophanes, Ploutos 1016; Plato, Symposium 213d2; Aeschines 1.58.4:
Menander, Perikeiromene 987. Envy/greed: Aeschines 3.81.7; Aeschines 3.211.10; Isocrates
15.245.3. NB envy in a sexual context is the feeling 1 have for someone who has a beautiful
girlfriend; sexual jealousy is my feeling at his dating Jane Smith, with whom I myself am in
love (and believe previously reciprocated). See Salovey and Rodin 1986 on this distinction
between what they label ‘social-comparison jealousy’ and ‘romantic jealousy’.
33 E.g. the first-century CE Chaireas and Kallirhoe uses zelotypia anachronistical^. for its
fourth-century BCE setting (see above).
34 for epigrams evoking physical intimacy between husband and wife, see p. 103 in this volu
me; for a curse tablet show ing jealousy, see pp. 85f.
160 Ed Sanders
Let us consider a passage of Lysias’ speech Against Sim on , in which he

portrays a defendant’s character:35
I am particularly upset, members of the Council, at being forced to speak about matters like
this in front of you. I put up with mistreatment, because I was ashamed at the prospect of
many people know ing all about me. ... But if I can show I am not guilty of any of the charges
that Simon has stated on oath, even though it is obvious that 1 have behaved rather foolishly
towards the young man. given my age, I shall ask you to think no worse of me. You know
that desire affects everybody and that the most honorable and restrained man is the one who
can bear his troubles most discreetly.
As with the Chariton passages in the previous section, we can note once again the
influence of age, social class, and gender on emotions. Unlike Chaireas, the spea
ker in A gainst Simon is a mature man, and (as he himself admits) eros is consi
dered somewhat unusual at his time of life.36 The object of his passion is a teenage
boy. possibly a slave,37 while he himself is wealthy enough to afford a speech-
writer (and a prostitute as companion, if that is what the young man is), and to
leave the city at will - i.e. he is of the leisured classes. Yet he must persuade a
jury', which will mostly be made up of poorer citizens, for whom indulging in love
affairs with young male prostitutes will be an alien experience. Age, gender, and
social class will have an effect not just on the speaker’s emotions, but also on how
he can best portray those emotions.
Orators use emotions as a persuasion strategy in two principal ways. First,
through narrative. The speaker can describe his own emotions, in a way that is
designed to demonstrate his innocence or show his good character - here, his
eros. shame at inappropriate sexual desire, and upset at being forced to make it
public (all of which may be faked). Alternatively, he can accuse his opponent of
being motivated by baser emotions - as in the following passage from the same
speech, where the speaker portrays his opponent as driven by jealousy:38
35 Lysias 3.3 A : poXioxu 5 ’ riyavoocxd), <a f)oiiXr|, dxi nepi xwv 7tpayp«xa>v eiueiv avayicaaOri-
oupoi itpoc i»pu;, fiiEp div eyd) uiaxvvopevo;, d peXXoiev tcoXX oi poi cruvdaeaOcxt,
r)vtcr/6pT)v uSiKovipevoq. ... e«v St nepi xouxojv «no5dâi ax; oinc evoôq d p i o i; Iipaiv
Suupoaaxo, aXXcuc of iipiv (pui'vojpou napa tt] v rjXndav tf|v epauxoO avor|x<'mpov npo<; xo
peipotaov ProxtOd;, uixoupai upa; priSev pc xdpoi voptêiv, d5ox«<; oxi eniOupfjcrat pfv
r/xwnv avOpanron; evcoxiv, ovroq Si (ieXxtoxo; av dr) icai oaxppoveaxaxo;, oaxtq tcoopid)-
totw tttc aupipopa; tpepeiv Svivaxau (translated by Todd 2000, 44f.). Lysias lived in Athens
as a resident alien in the late fifth/early fourth centuries B C E , and wrote speeches (almost
entirely) for delivery by others in trials.
36 The speaker ieerns embarrassed: he says he did not want to appear rather foolish, pursuing an
erotic relationship with a young lad at his time of life (3.4: oXXox; Si opiv ipuivoipoi rcapu
tt)v t\/a k 'u/v rnv fpovxr/i> uvopxcmpov npfx; to
peipaKiov 5tuxi0d<;) - cf. note 15 above.
Todd 2007, 278 notes that the speaker ‘appears to be unmarried at an age when this was
evidently unusual’ 7he fourlh/third-century B C E comic playwright Menander portrays a
mature man similarly ashamed of a relationship with a courtesan at Sarnia 23, 27 see Eapc
2004, I 30f
37 Carey 1080 87 believes that he is; 7 odd 2000, 43 believes that he is not.
38 Lysias 3 5 8 Hpi c yop txtOupnorxpi v, <» |iouXf|, Hmfioxou, I iXotxcdKovi peipuKum. ...
noOopt voc, /op OTI xo pi ipr/x tov fjv nop’ tpot, tX0o.iv ntt xnv otietav xf)v tpnv vutcxoip
We were both attracted, members of the Council, to Theodotos, a young man from Plataia ...
He found out that the young man was staying with me, and came to my house drunk one
night. He knocked down the doors and made his way into the women’s rooms, where my
sister and my nieces were - women who have been brought up so respectably that they are
ashamed to be seen even by relatives. Simon, however, reached such a level of arrogance that
he refused to leave, until the men who were present, together with those who had accompa
nied him, realized that by entering the rooms of young orphaned girls he was behaving un
acceptably, and threw him out by force. Far from apologizing for this outrageous conduct, he
found out where I was having dinner and did something that was extraordinary and (unless
you know his criminal insanity) unbelievable. He called me out of the house, and as soon as I
came out, he immediately tried to hit me. I defended myself, so he moved off and threw
stones at me.
The second use of emotions in oratory is to arouse the audience’s emotions: their
sympathy or pity (as in the first passage above), friendship, gratitude, or other
kindly emotions for the speaker; or their anger or indignation (as in the second
passage), hatred, envy, resentment, or other hostile emotions for the opponent.39
This emotion arousal can be achieved in a variety of ways. One possibility is
explicitly, through exhortation - there are hundreds of explicit calls for an
audience’s emotional response in Classical Athenian oratory, for instance (from
the end of the same speech):40
So I rightly deserve pity from you and from others, not only if I should suffer the fate that
Simon intends but simply because I have been compelled by these events to undergo such a
trial.
Alternatively orators can arouse an audience’s emotions covertly, by playing on

their values - in the first two passages above, the audience’s sympathy/pity is
roused for the speaker for the travails he has suffered and his embarrassment, and
their indignation/anger against the opponent by his violence against the speaker
and outrageous behaviour towards the female relatives (see pp. 357-359 on covert
arousal of emotions). A final way an audience’s emotions can be aroused is
through theatrical effects - that is, delivery. Here, for instance, is an account of a
pe0u©v, EKKOvgaq xac; Gupaq eicrrjA,Gev eiq tt)v yuvauctovmv, ev8ov ouatov xhs xe ot8cA.(pfiq
rn<; eprj<; Kai x©v a8eA.<pi8©v, a i oux© Koapi©^ |k(3ia>Kaaiv coote Kai vno x©v oixeiwv
opcopevat aiaxuveaGai. ouxoq xoivuv tiq xouxo r)XGev u^peax; ©at’ ou itpoxepov fiGeXpocv
ajteXGeTv, rcpiv auxov ryyoupcvoi 8eiva rcoieiv oi reapayevopcvoi icai oi pet’ auxou eA.Gov-
xe<;, eiri nai8a<; Kopaq Kai op<pava<; eiaiovxa, e£r|A.aaav Pia- xoi xooouxou e8enocv auxip
pexapeA.naai x©v uPpiapev©v, ©axe eêupwv ou eScutvoupev axoruotaxov xpaypa icai
aniatoxatov ertouiatv, ei pf| xv<; d8eir| xpv xovxou paviav. exKakeaaq yap pe evSoGev,
enei8h xaxtaxa e^nXGov, cuGvx; pc xuitxeiv ejicx£ipno£v' eitei8p 5e auxov f)puvapnv.
fxoxa<; f paXX.t' pc XiGoiq (translated by Todd 2000, 45). For other examples of such detailed,
vivid descriptions (enargeia), see other studies in this volume: pp. 63 and 76-79 (petitions in
papyri), I02f. (funerary epigrams), and 188f. (healing miracles of Epidauros).
39 Arousal of the audience’s emotions is particularly recommended by Aristotle, Rhetoric 1.2
1356al4-20 and 2.1-11 1378a 19—1388b30, and [Aristotle), Rhetoric to Alexander 34
I439bl5-I440b4.
40 Lysias 3.48: ©axe 8ncaiwi; av u»p’ up©v Kai tmo x©v aXX©v eXciiGcinv. ou povov ei xi
jtaGoipi ©v Iip©v PouXexai, aXXa Kai oxi nvaYKuaGnv ck xoiouxwv xpaypatwv
xoiouxou^ aycovaq Kuxuaxfjvai (translated by Todd 2000,52).
162 Ed Sanders
speech to the Assembly in the Sicilian city of Engyion in the late third century
BCE, described by Plutarch:41
Nikias. right in the midst of some advice that he was giving to the people, suddenly threw
himself upon the ground, and after a little while, amid the silence and consternation which
naturally prevailed, lifted his head, turned it about, and spoke in a low and trembling voice,
little by little raising and sharpening its tones. And when he saw the whole audience struck
dumb with horror, he tore off his mantle, rent his tunic, and leaping up half naked, ran
towards the exit from the theatre, crying out that he was pursued by the Mothers [goddesses].
No man venturing to lay hands upon him or even to come in his way, out o f superstitious fear,
but all avoiding him, he ran out to the gate o f the city, freely using all the cries and gestures
that would become a man possessed and crazed.
This passage leads me to another historical genre, biography, and a different type
of text. Plutarch informs us in his L ife o f A g is about the reasons for, and effects of,
a fourth-/third-century BCE law change in Sparta:42
But when a certain powerful man came to be ephor who was headstrong and o f a violent
temper. Epitadeus by name, he had a quarrel with his son, and introduced a law permitting a
man during his lifetime to give his estate and allotment to any one he wished, or in his will
and testament so to leave it. This man, then, satisfied a private grudge o f his own in intro
ducing the law ; but his fellow citizens welcomed the law out o f greed, made it valid, and so
destroyed the most excellent o f institutions. For the men o f power and influence at once
began to acquire estates without scruple, ejecting the rightful heirs from their inheritances;
and speedily the wealth o f the state streamed into the hands o f a few men, and poverty be
came the general rule, bringing in its train lack o f leisure for noble pursuits and occupations
unworthy of freemen, along with envy and hatred towards the men o f property.
In this passage we see emotions (explicitly grudging, greed, envy, and hatred;
implicitly anger) interacting with property ownership, laws to promote equalisa
tion (or otherwise) of property, the relationship between rich and poor, and the
41 Plutarch, Life o f Marcel!us 20.5-6: 6 8e NiKtaq gexa!;u xt Aiywv Kai a o p p o o ta u a iv npoq

xov Sqgov, eâiipvqq a<pf|icev £t<; xqv yrjv xo ctoga, teat gtKpov StaXmtov, oiov eiic6 <; qav-
Xtac adv ficjtXfiqei yevogevq*;, xqv tce<paA.qv eitapcn; teat nepieveyictbv ojtoxpogq) (ptovfj Kai
fktpetu, icaxa puepov oovxeivtuv Kai itapo^dvaiv xov rixov’ 8*; ipptKfl Kai mamf)
Ktmxoprvov xo Oeaxpov, uRoppiiga^ xo igaxiov Kai jcepippri^dpevo<; xov xcuovickov,
figiyogvoi; dvattriSfioai; cBce npoq xqv e£o5ov too Geaxpoo, pocov orco xcov Maxeptov
cAaovcoGai, Kai pqScvoi; xoXgaivxoc; a y a a G u t gq 8 ’ dTtavxqaai 8 td S e ia iS a tg o v ia v , a XX'
cKXpenogivojv, « ti xd<; niAux, £ ^ 8papev, ooxe <po)vrj<; xivoq odxe Ktvfiaeaiq Ttpenouarii;
Oaipovcovxi Kui itapaippovodvxi ipnodgevoq (translated by Perrin 1917, 491). See Chaniotis
1997, 2341. and forthcoming. Plutarch relies on earlier sources - here the first-century BCE
historian Poseidontos {FgrH 87 F 43).
42 Plutarch. Life o f A%i\ 5.2 3: £<pope{>oa<; 8c tk; ttvqp Sovaxoq, avGd8riq 8c ku 'i x a h t:noq xov
xpojtov, 'Eim d6ro$ ovoga, npc><; xov uidv adxtp yevogrvTiq 8ia<popaq, pqxpav fy p ay rv
ic fiv m xov oikov ooxoo K«i xov K/iqpov to xu; cGeXxn Kai ^(ovxa 8 o o v ai Kai KuxaXuteiv
StaxtGfgcvov. ooxo^ gev odv auxod xtva Bo gov dno7ug7tA.d<; V8iov ciariveyKc xdv vogov oi
0 d/.Aoi n/vcovc^tou; cvcko. 6c£dgcvoi Kai KOptncavxcs, u n riA ta a v xqv a p icu n v kux«-
axam v. rKxoivxo yap utpcidvx, qon napwGoovxe<; oi 8ovaxot xodq 7tpoof|Kovxa<; ck xtbv
8ta8ox<bv, Kai x a /d rrv> rdreoptat; ctq dA.tyoo<; ao p p o rto q q , jttv ta tq v TtoXiv kwxcctxcv,
dvf/UoGfpiav Kai xwv ko/, civ do/oA iav ciuipcpooaa g rx d tpGovoo Kai 8oapcvcia<; jtpdt;
x</o<; f/ovxa<; (translated by Perriri 1921, 1 3 1 5 ).
Beyound the usual suspects: literary sources and the historian o f emotions 16}
stability or otherwise of the polity - the socio-political effects of this law, accord
ing to Plutarch, creating the conditions for revolution. Such issues are staples of
Greek historiography, as well as other political writings.4345Aristotle, for instance,
tells us that
those who have secured power to the state, whether private citizens, or magistrates, or tribes,
or any other part or section of the state, are apt to cause revolutions. For either envy of their
greatness draws others into rebellion, or they themselves, in their pride of superiority, are
unwilling to remain on a level with others.
Likewise. Thucydides, following a description of horrific civil strife in the p o lis of

Kerkyra.
Love o f power, operating through greed and through personal ambition, was the cause of all
these evils. To this must be added the violent fanaticism which came into play once the
struggle had broken out. ... As for those citizens who held moderate views, they were
destroyed by both the extreme parties, either for not taking part in the struggle or in envy at
the possibility that they might survive.
The extent to which Greek historians, biographers, orators, philosophers etc.

ascribed such issues (and others) to emotional motivations, is clearly a major
subject for investigation.46 We might also consider to what extent emotions are
postulated, as in the A g is passage above, as a rationale for something whose true
origins are lost in the mists of time.
A second area for study suggested by this passage is the connections Greeks
believed there were between emotions - for instance, how one emotion leads to
another, and under what circumstances. In the passage above, private anger and
grudging mingles with generalised greed, leading to widespread envy and hatred.
Aristotle suggests a different sort of connection, when he opines that those
(jurors) feeling indignation or envy will be incapable of feeling pity.47 The fourth-
century BCE historian/moralist Xenophon unites both these issues (emotions in
43 E.g. see Ehrenberg 1938, 52-61 on pathos (yearning/longing/desire) as a frequent explanation

of Alexander the G reat’s actions in ancient historiography. Until recently, modem historians
are considerably less willing to attribute political decisions to emotions. See pp. 12-14 in this
volume.
44 Aristotle, Politics 5.4 1304a34—38: ox; oi Suvapeox; a ’m o i yevopevoi, xat iSiiorai teat
ap x ai m i ipukai icai oXosq pepo<; x a i 7tA.q0o<; orcoiovouv, atac n v tavouoiv* rj yap oi tad-
tou; «p0ovoovte<; tipiopevoiq ap x o u m tqq atdaeax;, i) od to i 8ia tqv tmepoxqv od 0eA.ovm
peveiv eni ttov tcrcov (translated by Jowett 1984, 2071).
45 Thucydides 3.82.8: Ttdvxtov 6 ’ onjubv a m o v apxh h d id rtXfoveîav tcai ipiAoupiav- « 5’
autcov mxi £<; to (piA.oviKEiv icodhatapeviov to JtpoOopov. ... t a 8c peoa ttbv xoXitaiv uk'
dpipotepaiv rj o il ou ûvriytoviôvto ij <p06vip too itcpieivoi 8ic«p0t'ipovto (translated by
Warner 1954, 243f.). Hornblower 1991, 485 comments that: 'These motives - love of power,
greed, ambition - were all o f the greatest importance for T h .\ and provides comparative
passages elsewhere in the History'.
4b E.g. see Harrison 2003 on envy as a cause in the Histories o f the fifth-century BCE historian
Herodotus. We might also compare inscriptions mentioning phthonos (envy), of which there
are many.
47 Aristotle, Rhetoric 2.9 1387a3-5: 8 id tooXuuicd pev t'kt'ou x d v ta t a u t ’ e a ti, Sioupcpt'i 8f
8ia ta<; eipnpeva^ «itia>;, coatt itpo>; to pq t'Xft'ivd noieiv d ito v ta opoiioq xpqoip«-
164 Ed Sanders
their socio-political setting, and the relationships between emotions) in his

description of how friendship changes one’s emotions and actions:48
By nature human beings have certain tendencies towards friendliness. They need one another,
they feel pit)', they benefit from cooperation and, realizing this, they are grateful to one
another. They also have hostile tendencies. When they have the same opinions about what
things are beautiful and pleasant, they fight for their possession, and, falling out, take sides.
Rivalry and passion also make for hostility; the desire to overreach is a cause o f ill-feeling,
and envy arouses hatred. Nevertheless, friendliness finds a way through all these obstacles
and unites men who are truly good. Their moral goodness makes them prefer to enjoy
moderate possessions and avoid tribulation rather than gain absolute power by means of war,
and enables them, when hungry and thirsty, to share their food and drink without a pang, and
to control their pleasure in the sexual attraction of beauty in such a way as not to cause
improper annoyance to anyone. It enables them not only to suppress greedy instincts and be
content with a lawful share of wealth, but even to assist one another. It enables them to settle
arguments not only without annoyance, but even to their mutual advantage, and to keep their
tempers from rising to a degree that they will later regret. It rids them completely of envy,
since they give their own goods into the possession of their friends, and regard their friends’
property as their own.
Returning to the Plutarch Life o f A g is passage above, another issue that will be
familiar to historians is what we might refer to as commentator bias: how far can
authors who are rich, educated, and (frequently, though not here) Athenian, be
believed when they opine on the emotional motivations of those who are poor,
uneducated, and/or non-Athenian - or even non-Greek? To what extent are
‘Greek’ emotions themselves Athenian cultural constructs? For instance, discus
sion ofphthonos (envy/possessive jealousy) in so many Classical (479-322 BCE)
sources - which are overwhelmingly Atheno-centric - is so intimately bound up
with class and wealth issues in democratic Athens that it raises legitimate
questions as to how appropriate any understanding drawn from them will be to
non-Athenian contexts.49
48 Xenophon, Memorabilia 2.6.21.2-23.7: (puoei yap e'xoumv oi avGpomot xd pev (piqued-

Seovxai Tt yap akki]'km icai etaouai Kai ouvepyouvxeq rixpeXouai Kai xooxo axmevxeq
yaptv Exovmv aKkr\ko\^ xd 8e TtoXepiKd1xd xe yap aiixd Kaka Kai h8ea vopiôvxet; unep
xauxtov gdyovxai icai Oixoyvcopovoovxeq evavxtodvxar jtoXeptKov 8e Kai epic; Kai opyiy
icai Suopcvd; gdv 6 xou n7eoveKxetv epox;, picrnxbv 8e 6 <p0ovoq. aXk' opox; 8ta xouxwv
mvttiiv f) <pi/.ia 6ia8oogevr| ouvdnxei xoin; KaXoxx; xe KayaGoxx;. 5id yap xf|v dpexqv
aipouvxai pev aveu rtdvou xd pexpta KfKxrjoBai paXkov ij 8ta noXepoti navxtov Kvpieu-
eiv, icai Suvavxai jieivwvxei; icai 8n|/covxe<; dXinKDq oixou Kai jxoxou Kovvcovevv Kai xou;
twv ©paiwv «<ppo5unou; f)56pevoi Kapxepeiv, cooxe pf) XuneTv ouq ph 7tpoaf|Kef 8uvavxat
bt icai tt)v fpiv ou pdvov dAwtax;, a lia xai aupipepovxax; dX7r)Xoi<; 8iaxt0ea0ai Kai xqv
dpynv kw/vUpiv tic xd pexagfXnoopevov repoievar xov 8e cpGovov navxanamv dcpaipoCoi,
xd pev wvxosv dyuBa xo'u; <pi7oiq otKeia napexovxeq, xd 8e xcov cpt'Xwv eauxedv vopiôvxei;
(translated by Tredennick and Waterfield 1990, 123).
49 To take one example, we might wonder at its relationship to an envious (phthoneros) god
causing someone’s death, a cause which has been frequently attested in funerary inscriptions
for examples see Verilhac 1978, lOOf. no. 66, 257 no. 180, Lattimore 1942, 148f., also 147
lor huskama and I53f for tnvidiu (‘envious glance’ in, respectively, Greek and Latin) doing
likewise,
Finally, one more issue familiar from historiography can he raised here: that
of reporting. Plutarch bases much of his L ife o f A g is on the writings of historians
of the Hellenistic period (322-31 BCE), and an exaggerated emotionality was
supposedly one of the hallmarks of writing in this period. The second-century
BCE historian Polybios criticises the third-century BCE historian Phylarchos for
this tendency:50
Exercising in this case too his peculiar talent, the author gives us a made-up story of his cries
when on the rack having reached the ears of the neighbours during the night, some of whom,
horrified at the crime, others scarcely crediting their senses and others in hot indignation ran
to the house. About Phylarchus’ vice of sensationalism I need say no more, for I have given
sufficient evidence o f it.
Plutarch, like any commentator separated by time from the events he describes,
can only be as good as his own sources - and undated, unreferenced anecdotes
about private emotional motivations must be treated with caution.5152Like other
historians, the historian of emotions must test sources for plausibility, and for their
wider applicability.
4 BEYOND THE USUAL SUSPECTS: OTHER HISTORICAL SOURCES
At this point it is perhaps appropriate, then, to turn to a fragment of a text by

Phylarchos himself, preserved in Athenaios’ D e ip n o so p h ista i :5~
Phylarchos says that the Athenian settlers in Lemnos were flatterers. For the Athenians in
Lemnos - showing gratitude to the descendants of Seleukos and Antiochos, because Seleukos
not only delivered them when they were severely oppressed by Lysimachos, but also restored
both their cities to them - not only erected temples to Seleukos, but also to his son Antiochos;
50 Polybios 2.59.2: xripcov 8e Kai rcepi xaoxriv ttiv npaîv 6 aoyypacpeix; to <a9' auxdv
iSicopa cpcovou; xivaq rtAaTTei 8 ia itj? vuktoq aoxoo axpe()A,oopevou /cpocntiTtTooaai; toL;
avveyyvc, KaxoiKooaiv, cov Tout; pev EKjtA,r|TTopevou<; tt(v aaepeiav, xo6<; 5' ajuaxoovxa>;.
Toot; 8 ’ ayavaKxoovxat; erci xoTq yivopevoi.; Jtpooxpexeiv 7tpo<; xr^v oitdav (ppatv. itepi pev
oov xrjq xoiauxty; xepaxeia<; JtapeiaOar 8e8f|X<oxai yap apKouvxax; (translated by Paton,
Walbank, and Habicht 2010, 425). Cf. Polybios 2.56.7-8. On so-called 'tragic historiography’
see Walbank 1960; for further bibliography on Polybios’ criticism of tragic historiography,
see Chaniotis 1997, 221 note 14; Schepens 2004; van der Stockt 2004; Marincola 2010.
51 On Plutarch’s sources and reliability, see Pelling 2000, 44-60.
52 The Deipnosophistai is an invaluable late second-/early third-century CE compendium of
excerpts from earlier literary and historical sources, organised by subject; it takes the form of
a report of a dinner-party discussion between a large number of educated men. Phylarchos
FgrH 8IF29 (at Athenaios, Deipnosophistai 6.66.254f-255a): koXclko.^ 8’ rival <pt)oi
4>uX,apxo<; Kai xoix; ev Ar\pva> KaxoiKoovxat; ABpvaiwv. ... x«piv yap ajtoSi86vxa<; 1014
leAeoKoo Kai Avxioxou ajtoyovoig, eitei a 6 xou>; 6 IeA.eoKo>; JiiKpax; eTtiaxaxoupevou>; V)x6
Aumpaxou ou povov eêiAexo, aXAa Kai xcu; tcoX.i i >; aoxon; aiteSioxev ap<poxepa>;. oi Arj-
pvo0cv ’ABrivaToi 06 povov vaoix; Kaxecxeuaciav xou leXeoKoo, a kkix Kai xoii uiou
Avxioxou- Kai xov ercixedpevov KuaGov ev xaT>; aovouoiai>; leXeuKou ocuxrjpo.; KaXouoi
(translated by Yonge 1854, 400, slightly modified). For a similar decree instituting cult
worship o f Seleukos and Antiochos in the polis of Aigai, see Riel and Malay 2009.
166 Ed Sanders
and at their feasts, the cup which they use for libations they call ‘the cup o f Seleukos the
Saviour'.
It had long been customary to express gratitude to a foreign benefactor by the

granting of honours.53 Since Alexander (336-323 BCE) in particular - although
there are earlier precedents - this expression of gratitude began to include the
local establishment of cults, in which the benefactor was worshipped as a divini
ty.54 The fullest extent of their development was not immediate, however, and this
excerpt of Phylarchos provides evidence for an inflation in cultic honours.55 The
Athenians surpass customary gratitude in a number of ways (hence why
Phylarchos terms this flattery): by establishing a cult to the king’s son as well as
to the king himself; bv binding future generations to continue to express gratitude;
by erecting temples;56and by pouring libations at banquets - this act of worship in
private homes assimilating both kings to the level of gods.57 Since canonical lite
rary evidence for this period is extremely limited (chiefly Polybios and Plutarch,
both working from earlier sources), much of the literary evidence available for the
development of such cults will only be found in fragmentary texts.
This particular fragment was preserved in an anthology (see note 52 above),
and such anthologies are useful, if rarely used, historical sources. Another type of
source rarely used is educative literature. One tract, addressed by the fourth-
century BCE educator Isocrates to the young ruler Demonikos, contains the
following instruction on the moral virtues of shame:58
53 Among literary texts, Demosthenes 20 and 23 evidence a lively discussion on the topic in
fourth-century BCE Athens. See Austin 2006, 320f. no. 175 for an example o f an inscription
(dated in the 240s BCE) in which Seleukos II of Syria acknowledges the gratitude o f the city
of Miletos for his and his ancestors’ benefactions.
54 Habicht 1970 is the seminal work on these so-called ‘ruler cults’ established by poleis in the
Hellenistic period (323-31 BCE). For recent discussions o f ruler cults, including their
historical development, see Chaniotis 2003; Buraselis and Aneziri 2004; Chaniotis 2007 (on
gratitude and memory in the ruler cult); Chankowski 2010. The cults in the cities should be
distinguished from the cults that were established centrally by the major dynasties - see van
Nuffeien 2004 on the royal cult of the Seleucid kings of Syria; Melaerts 1998 on the dynastic
Ptolemaic cult in Egypt.
55 On this specific cult, see Habicht 1970, 89f.
56 Chaniotis 2003, 438f. notes that this is a rare example of an entire temple being erected to a
ruler, an altar in a sacred precinct normally sufficing.
57 On private worship of Hellenistic monarchs, see Aneziri 2005; for Ptolemaic monarchs, see
Pfeiffer 2008,
58 Isocrates 1.15.4-5: 'A notetv cxiaxpov, xavxa vogi£e pr)8e keyeiv eivai icakov. 1.15 .7 -16.2:
Hyoit gdkicxa wauxqi npentiv Koogov aioxvvriv, Sucaioaovriv, aaxppocruvnv xovxon;
yap ajtamv ftoxri Kpaxe'icrOai to xgjv vetotepcov r)0oq. Mr|6enote ppSev aiaxpov rtoif|aa<;
c)jn£c knoetv- icai yap av taii$ akkovt; kaOtiS, aeauttp auve.18f 10F.15. 1.21.2-4: ’Ytp’ wv
rpaxeiaBai xt]v yu/nv ai<r/pov, xouxwv eyicpdxeiav dcncet rcdvtuiv, icepSouq, opynq,
flbovf}*;, kvttT)^ 1.21.10 II: aioxpdv UTtokdPflq xci)V pev oiicexwv apxetv, xatq 8’ n 8ovaTq
8oukeueiv. 1.24.4 7: BpaSrox; gcv ipikoq yt'yvou, yevogcvoq 8c rtetpoi Stapeveiv. 'Opoiax;
yap uiaypov «pt/u>v r/eiv irui rtokkouq exuipouq pexukkdxtetv. 1.26.1-3: 'Opouoq
n lO/pov civat vopi£c xoiv i/Hpoiv viicdaBai xuiq ku Konoiiaiq tccxt x<?jv ipikcnv n tx«a 0ai
xatq euepyemat<; (translated by Mirhady 2000, 22 25).
Believe that what is shameful to do is not good even to mention.

Think that a sense of shame and justice and soundness of mind are an especially fitting
regimen, for all agree that the character of the young should be controlled hy these things.
Never expect to do something shameful and get away with it; for although you may escape
the notice of others, you will be conscious of it yourself.
Strengthen your soul against all those things by which it is shameful for it to be overcome,
such as profit, anger, pleasure, and pain.
It is shameful to rule servants and yet to be a slave to pleasures...
Be slow to take on a friendship, but once you have, try to maintain it, for it is equally sham
eful to have no friends and to be continually changing companions.
Regard it a similar disgrace to be outdone by your enemies in doing harm and to be beaten by
your friends in doing good.
This passage shows the thoughts of a conservative, Athenian philosopher/educator

on the appropriate uses of a healthy capacity for shame (aidos/aischyne ), especial
ly in training the young. It demonstrates that this particular individual was well
aware of the educative value of the emotion.59 His comments, however, also re
flect ‘traditional’ thought - many ideas that appear in later educative tracts were
attributed to earlier moralists such as the ‘Seven Sages’ of the Archaic period
(seventh/sixth centuries BCE) or can be traced back to the poems the sixth-/fifth-
century BCE conservative aristocrat Theognis purportedly wrote to his young
beloved Kymos - historical sources that are often ignored. Consider, for example
the following verses:60
You will lay by no greater treasure for your sons than a sense of shame, Kymos, which
follows good men.
Kyrnos, feel shame before [i.e. respect] and fear the gods - for this prevents a man from
doing harm or speaking impiously.
Such thoughts can be traced forwards in time too, and we might expect similar
comments to appear in such works as Plutarch’s M oralia, Stobaeus’ Anthology ,61
or the C orpus P a ro em io g ra p h o ru m G raecorum (Corpus of Greek Proverbs). Such
texts have never yet been consistently studied in connection with the history of
emotions, but they will both trace patterns of thought that persist over a thousand
years of Greek moralising, and help highlight similarities and differences between
different geographical locations. For instance Plutarch records one anecdote in
which a character says:
59 Kristjannson 2007, 99-112 argues that for Aristotle emulation was the primary’ educative
emotion; for a contrary view see Sanders 2008, 272-274, where I argue that Aristotle sees
education in virtue as involving all the emotions.
60 Theognis 409f.: OuSeva Oqoaupov rcaiaiv k-ataGijoei dgeivu) ai5ou<;. iyr‘ dyaGoicf
dv 8pdm, Kupv’, e'jicTOu; 1179f.: Kupve, Geouq a i 8oC vai 8d5i8v tovho yap av 8pa eipyn
ep8eiv pf|Te Xeyeiv daepq (my translation).
61 Of which, for instance, 3.31-32 in particular deals with aithis. The Anthology was probably
compiled in the fifth century CE.
168 Ed Sanders
In Sparta wealth, softness, and adorning oneself are held in no honour, while a sense of
shame, good conduct, and persuasion of the leaders are prioritised.
This is both excellent historical evidence for Spartan thought about shame,6 26364and
an indication that they too believed it could/should be taught: consider what it is
grouped with.
Finally. 1 wish to discuss briefly one more type of source that has never been
systematically studied in connection with emotions, and that is the so-called
s c h o l i a This is a vast field, and here I shall select merely a handful of passages
which cast further light on an emotion 1 considered earlier: ze lo ty p ia . In the
Ody-ssey, the nymph Kalypso responds to Zeus’ reported order to let Odysseus
(her lover, but also her prisoner) go free:65
You are cruel, gods, zelemones beyond all others, who resent (agaasthe) goddesses sleeping
beside men publicly, if one of us makes him her dear husband.
This adjective ze lem o n e s is habitually translated ‘jealous’, which at first glance

would seem to make sense; but on closer examination it becomes clear this is not
the emotion Kalypso is referring to: she says that it is not merely sleeping with a
man that is the problem, it is making him her husband. The verb a g a a sth e , which I
have translated ‘resent’, is related to a g a n , which means ‘very much’ or ‘exces
sively’; accordingly the verb can be translated in a good sense ‘to admire’, or in a
bad sense ‘to be envious / bear a grudge against’. It is characteristically used in
Homer to mean ‘begrudging’ or ‘resentment’,66 and this explains the prior use of
ze lem o n e s: male gods (Kalypso says) believe female gods go too far, and accord
ingly they feel some sort of censuring emotion for them. The s c h o lia make the
following comments:67
IH.P Q.) zelemones, jealous (zelotypoi); baneful (delemones), harmful.
(V.) Baneful (delemones) is written.
62 Plutarch, Apophlhegmata Lakonika 2 28c9-ll; ev ln u fn r\ ..., ev f| nAoutot; pev teat Tptxpf)

teat iraAAoMimpoq tm pdôvtai, aiSdx; 8e teat euicoapta teat tow hyoupevatv nei0d> rcpe-
ajtedovtai fmy translation).
63 Or at least for the Spartan ‘mirage’ - see note 13 above.
64 The scholia started as explanatory comments written in the margins o f manuscripts of major
Greek authors. They eventually became more formalised from the third century BCE, as
scholars working in the great library of Alexandria collected these comments and added to
them (though the process continued for centuries after the destruction of the library in 48
BCE). Some scholiasts wrote entire commentaries themselves on individual works, but for
the most part the scholia arc anonymous and undated. For a guide to using scholia, see
Dickey 2007. For more advanced analysis, see Niinlist 2009.
65 Homer, Odyssey 5.118 120: o/ kt'/Uoi eote, (hoi, £nA.f|pove<; eôôv cxAAuiv, I oY te Ot a io ’
r/yaaafh n ap’ avopam v t.uv«£r.o0at I ag<pu5it)v, tjv tit; te tplAov noiricret’ aicotfnv (my
translation).
66 Walcot 1978, 25f
67 Scholia to Homer, Odyssey 5.1 IB: (H IM /) ^pAfjpovit;, ^qAanunor rj SpAnpovec;,
pAr/juncoi, (V.) ypatpi to i 6r|W)ftovf;<; given in Dindorf 1855, 254 (my translation).
The scholiasts make the same mistake as modern translators in assuming,

wrongly, that zelemones is a synonym for zelotypoi,68 and that both have the
meaning zelotypoi has in the later period, i.e. ‘jealous’. The scholiasts do at least
realise that ‘jealous’ is the wrong word in this context, that what is meant implies
some sort of resentment, some desire to punish, but this leads them to the
mistaken conclusion that zelemones must be the wrong word. They would not
have been led down that path had they realised that zelotypos had changed its own
meaning over the centuries since the Classical period (as discussed above), and
that zelemones need not mean the same as zelotypoi in any case.
Turning finally to zelotypia itself, in a comment on Iliad 11.58 (‘Aeneas, who
was honoured as a god by the Trojan people’), the scholiast writes-.689
This addition is not gratuitous, but displays the rankings of men; for this man was second
after Hector; and because of this there was some jealousy (zelotypia) between them; so they
say anyway, for he was always angry with godlike Priam [the Trojan king], because he did
not honour him at all despite him being noble among men.
Zelotypia is translated ‘jealousy’ here, but (just as in the Classical period) this is
not sexual jealousy: rather it shows the jealousy of rivals.70 Zelotypia frequently
appears to be similar to phthonos (envy/possessive jealousy); the two are paired in
a sexual context by Plato,71 but a Homeric scholiast pairs them in a non-sexual
one: commenting on Nestor’s attempt to persuade Agamemnon to accept good
counsel without grudging the person giving it, he says that Nestor ‘knows that
many good deeds are destroyed though envy and anger and unjust jealousies’ (my
translation).72
Once again the context is not sexual but, this time, deliberative. Such scholia,
though undated, have told us much about this elusive and controversial emotion,
and in particular put paid to the notion that it always represents sexual jealousy.
68 Both words derive from zelos, which itself means ‘emulative rivalry’ and generally has no
relation to sexual jealousy.
69 Scholia to Homer, Iliad 11.58: on porniv i] rrpoaBrjK'n, aXX' epcpaivci tf|v td 'iv ttbv
avSptov- petex yap "Etaopa outoi; demepoq- 5to m i ^r|Xotuju« rjv xis autois- <pr|oi yovv.
ouci yap npidpto eirepf|vi£ Step, oovck’ ap’ eo0X.ov eovta per’ avSpdatv ox> u Ttccncev -
given in Erbse 1974, 135 (my translation).
70 This is close in meaning to the etymological root zelos - see note 68 above.
1 1 At Plato, Symposium 2 13d2 - though the emotion referred to is again not sexual jealousy, as
displayed in Chaireas and Kallirhoe, but rather possessive jealousy: Aleibiades knows of
Socrates’ penchant for disbursing wisdom to attractive young men, and (since Socrates
refused to take advantage of Alcibiades’ sexual advances) it must be this that Alcibiades
wants all to himself.
72 Scholia to Homer, Iliad 9.102: otSe ydp ip8dvcp m l Qupip m i ^Xorundai., dSixovc,
updfjeu; dya0dq dvppr|peva<; - given in Erbse 1971, 4 19 (my translation).
170 Ed Sanders
5 CONCLUSION
My aim in this chapter has not been primarily exegetic, but rather explorative: to
broaden horizons, rather than to derive any new knowledge - though some new
findings have emerged. The heterogeneous collection of passages discussed
should, it is hoped, have given the reader some idea of the huge range of ancient
Greek literary sources that are available to the historian of emotions, and the types
of questions that such sources can, and cannot, answer.
Literary' sources have unique benefits not generally applicable to other types
of source: we generally know something about the personality of their authors;
many texts can be reasonably precisely dated; their intended readership (or au
dience) is generally known, as is the intention of the author in writing the text.
Additionally, literary texts are generally far longer than other types of text, and
accordingly provide a much wider narrative context.
However, literary sources also have certain problems as sources for emotions:
they are almost exclusively written by, and frequently intended to be read only by,
men of higher education and wealth/status; and a disproportionately large number
come from one city in a relatively brief period (Classical Athens). The historian
must necessarily be concerned, therefore, with the extent to which such texts are
representative of the wider society, or indeed other p o le is and non- p o lis areas, and
other periods. Further, many literary texts belong to genres which are partly or
wholly fictional, and the historian must be wary that scenes portrayed may not be
wholly reflective of real life, but rather literary to p o i , or that details of a scene are
unintentionally anachronistic.
While literary sources do, therefore, raise methodological issues that must be
recognised and resolved, they are far from unique in doing so, and are neverthe
less an immensely rich source for the historian of emotions. Accordingly they
fully deserve their place alongside the other types of evidence discussed in this
volume.
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PART TWO
Emotions in the interaction

between mortals and gods
DREAM, NARRATIVE, AND THE CONSTRUCTION OF HOPE
IN THE ‘HEALING MIRACLES’ OF EPIDAUROS
Paraskevi Martzavou
1 SLEEPING IN EPIDAUROS
In antiquity the ill could turn to the divine for healing by visiting the shrines of
healing gods, notably that of Asklepios. The healing procedure involved incuba
tion: a patient would spend a night within the sacred premises in order to receive a
divine visitation in the form of a dream. This practice is described in a striking
way by Aristophanes in his play Ploutos; Karion, the servant, gives an account of
the bringing of the blind Ploutos to the sanctuary of Asklepios, probably in
Piraeus, in order for Ploutos to be cured from his blindness by the god.1 Karion
describes the healing procedure as follows: After the completion of preliminary
rites, the patients are put to sleep in a special place and the priests lie in the same
location. After a while, Asklepios enters with a number of assistants including two
snakes. With the help of his assistants, the god applies ointments to the patients
and cures them. Ploutos has his sight restored - and hence follows a vivid expres
sion of joy by Karion and the other characters in the play.
The cure described in the narrative of Aristophanes takes place on the prem
ises of the Asklepios shrine in Attica. Several Asklepieia have been found scat
tered around the Greek world. A famous one of these shrines was located in Epi-
dauros, and from it we have a series of inscriptions depicting instances of mi
raculous healing (iamata). These were drawn up at the end of the fourth century
BCE by one or more compilers, probably by members of the priestly personnel.2
The iamata confirm the testimony of Aristophanes concerning the role of incu
bations and sleeping or dreaming experience in the healing procedure, which also
included purifying baths and sacrifices and took place in sanctuaries.3 Four stelae
bearing such texts survive today. Pausanias, the traveller of the second century
CE, mentions them and he specifies that, in his day, six plaques were exposed, but
1 Aristophanes, Ploutos 649-763; see Edelstein and Edelstein 1945, T421.

2 Main editions: IG IV2. 1.121-124; Herzog 1931 (text with German translation and commenta
ry); Edelstein and Edelstein 1945, 221-237 T234 (text and English translation); LiDonnici
1995 (text with English translation and commentary); Pretre and Charlier 2009 (text, French
translation, detailed philological and medical commentary); further bibliography in Chaniotis
19X8, 19; LiDonnici 1995; Pretre and Charlier 2009. On language and style. Nehrbass 1935.
On the relation between the iamato and local historiography: Chaniotis 1988, 19-23 T2. On
their compilation by priests: Sineux 2007.
3 Edelstein and Edelstein 1945, 145-158.
178 Paraskevi Martzavou
in earlier times there were probably more.4 Apart from the ia m a ta , miraculous
healings are described in individual dedications to Asklepios, but we are not deal
ing with this documentation here.5
The iam ata inscriptions detail the relationship between the god Asklepios and
several other characters, namely patients. As texts, they prove to be sophisticated
literary compositions, and ultimately they seem to be relevant to the relationship
of the drafter to the audience consisting of readers, pilgrims, and auditors. In that,
they are similar to more sophisticated genres of literary creation, notably to epic
and tragic poetry. These texts with extremely detailed descriptions (evapyeia) and
dramatic elements (rceputeTeta) - both features of literary creation - lead the
audience to metaphorical and literal catharsis through ‘pity and fear’, to refer to
Aristotle's definition of tragedy.6 The final aim of these texts is to arouse the emo
tions of hope and confidence in members of the audience, who would have been
people seeking a cure. The healing procedure can thus be described as an emo
tional path: alter the suffering caused by illness and the agonising wait for well
ness, the arrival of a successful cure produces emotions of relief and hope. In this
paper, I aim to identify and explain emotions sought through narrative techniques
in the context of the Asklepion. My ultimate goal is to demonstrate the value of
the miracle inscriptions’ as a source for the socio-cultural construction of emo
tions in ancient Greece and for the history of emotions in general.
2 FROM DREAMS TO NARRATIVE AND EMOTIONS
The importance of dreams is a key parameter in the construction of the narrative

of these healing inscriptions. The experience of a dream was the main means of
diagnosis and healing in the sanctuaries of Asklepios, as we can also judge from
other sources.78However, as has been already highlighted, the accounts of dreams
are not simply dreams per se, but the representation of the dream experience as
narrative.* These texts should be considered as compositions, not as direct ac
counts of dreams.
4 Pausanias 2.36.1.
5 For individual accounts of healings see Girone 1998, 5, who does not treat the iamata
inscriptions.
6 On the concept of catharsis as a metaphor taken from the medical world in order to under
stand the function of tragedy, see Sifakis 2001, 72-113. On enargeia see pp. 107-109 in this
volume.
7 7'he recording of healing stories, in an institutionalised way, is a feature characteristic of other
sanctuaries of Asklepios, for example the sanctuary of Asklepios in Lebena in Crete {I.Cret.
l.xvn.K 12) and the sanctuary of Aesculapius in the Tiber island at Rome (IGUR 148; cf.
Reriberg 2006/2007, esp. 93 95 and 137-139); see Rhodes and Osborne 2003, 539. For
f pidauros see die record of miraculous healing in IG IV2. 1.126. Even though this inscription
comes from a much later period (117 CE), this text attests a combination of a diagnostic and
healing procedure based equally on dreams and on advice concerning modification of
behaviour (e g practicing moderate exercise).
8 Stewart 1997,877-894.
Dream, Narrative, and the Construction of Hope in the 'Healing Miracles’ of f pidauros I 79
The approximately seventy stories of Epidauros, distributed across four stelae,

are unevenly preserved. Two stelae (A and B; see Appendix, pp. 196-203) hold
20 and 23 complete narratives respectively, whereas the stories recorded in two
further stelae (C and D) survive only incompletely (23 and 4 entries respectively).
In what follows, I shall focus on stelae A and B, only occasionally using the
material from stelae C and D. The text, as a compilation of an important number
of healing stories, is an illustration of the powers of the god. In that sense, it is
conceptually very close to the genre of aretalogy, the praise of the power (arete)
of a god (cf. pp. 267-290 in this volume), as it records the power of the god
manifested in his wonder-working. In that sense also, the healing stories are quite
closely related to religious acclamations.9 At the same time, the stelae that survive
today can be broadly perceived as religious dedications - that is, as religious
gestures in the context of communication between the divine and the human
sphere, as well as between humans themselves.101
However, even while tackling the complex semantic character of the iamata,
my specific goal in this chapter is not to define these texts by attributing them to a
particular genre, but to evaluate them as a source for the study of emotions in
ancient Greece. So rather than gradually moving towards a precise definition, I
shall pay attention to the content of the inscriptions, the types of tales, the style of
the presentation (language, rhetorical elements), the modes of linguistic expres
sion and the tropes in use, the arrangement of the individual stories, the general
narrative, and the organisational principles in each individual stele and in the en
semble of stories, inasmuch as these elements are relevant for the central theme of
the present volume, namely emotions. 1 shall place special emphasis on the narra
tive techniques and their role in the construction of emotions.
It is important to focus on language, especially language that describes or al
ludes to emotions. I aim to understand how language works in the specific setting
of a healing sanctuary in the flow of the narrative. Furthermore, I shall try to
identify the object towards which the narrative leads, the function of these tales as
they are presented, and the degree of their success in fulfilling their role. And of
course, special attention must be paid to these texts as material objects, as monu
mentally presented written records of miracles, to which aspect 1shall now turn.
3 CONTEXTUALISING THE EPIDAURIAN TEXTS
The four stelai were probably exposed in front of the eastern wall of a building
designated as the abaton,n next to a well and an incribed text of political impor
9 On religious acclamations see Chaniotis 2009a; on acclamations, generally, see pp. 295-312
in this volume.
10 Riipke 2009, 31-41.
11 See internal evidence (stories A3, A4, B16) and also archaeological evidence, i.e. the
discovery o f grooved stele-bases within the abaton building itself, which may indicate that
the stelai were displayed there; LiDonnici 1995, 18 and note IS; Kolde 2003, 1. LiDonnici
mentions as problematic the interpretation of these stele-bases as the actual bases of the
tance: a cult regulation and a song of praise to Asklepios composed by a certain

Isyllos (early third century BCE).12 The positioning of the stelai is relevant to their
emotional impact. The name abaton literally means ‘not to be trodden’, but it is
obvious from the narrative that into this building the people were sent to sleep in
order to dream about their cure.13 However, even if not literally ‘inaccessible’,
this space was probably restricted to those practicing incubation in the sanctuary
in need of a cure or advice.14 The use of the word abaton to indicate the place of
actual incubation is significant; it belongs to a religious perception of space and it
is highly suggestive. We can imagine the emotions o f someone, in need of a cure,
when actually entering a place defined as abaton: fear of transgressing a limit,
awe because of the presupposed sacred character of the space, anticipation and
hope for a cure and, in general, emotional tension. On the other hand, the hymn to
Asklepios by Isyllos, with its clearly civic character and aristocratic resonance,
represents the authority under which the miraculous activity took place in the
abaton and in general in the precinct of the sanctuary of Asklepios in Epidauros.15
It is plausible to suggest that both texts contributed to the construction of civic
pride for the Epidaurians. In what follows, 1 shall try to explore the construction
of these and other emotions in relation to techniques of narrative and especially to
dream narrative. 1 shall also look at other parameters that shaped the emotions of
people who either visited the sanctuary of Asklepios in Epidauros, or who had
exposure to the Epidaurian texts. For the latter, exposure to the texts could be
either direct or by word of mouth.
4 CAUSES OF SUFFERING AND CURES
What is striking throughout the tales is the non-specialisation o f the healing and
comforting offered by the sanctuary. The variety of causes o f suffering, and the
diversity of problems considered to be appropriate to bring to Asklepios, is im
pressive by the standards of modem medicine.16For instance, suffering because of
lice (Appendix, B8) is considered in the text right after the case o f a man with a
festering sore inside his belly (Appendix, B7). No actual distinction between
lamatu, since there is only room for four bases in this area and Pausanias m entions six stelai.
But the exposure of four stelai in the abaton does not exclude the exposure o f other stelai
elsewhere in the sanctuary. For the abaton in Epidauros see also Girone 1998, 4 1.
12 Kolde 2003, 1; Kolde throughout her book analyses the m eaning o f the exposure o f a text
with high political significance next to the ianuita inscriptions.
13 See e.g Appendix, A2 line 21 and A11.
14 EilJonmeci 1995, 19
15 Kolde 2003, 257 301.
16 See Pretre and ( harlier 2009, nos. I 4 , where the authors attem pt a diagnostic approach to
these texts, an original breakthrough to the medical reality o f the ancient world.
Dream, Narrative, and the Construction of Hope in the ‘ Healing Miracles’ of Lpidauros 181
physical and mental cause of suffering is made.17 The importance of psychologi

cal suffering as a cause of psychosomatic illnesses is apparent throughout these
texts. Also, considerable variety can be detected in the sources of the tales. Picto
rial and textual dedications must have been an important source from which the
anonymous compiler has drawn material for his narrative. Sometimes a combina
tion of oral tradition along with simple anatomical dedications (pictorial, textual,
or a combination of both) must have been the source of the story put into narrative
in the ‘miracle inscriptions’.18 An example is the tale that opens the narrative, the
first tale of stele A (Appendix, A 1):
Kleo was pregnant for five years. After the fifth year of pregnancy, she came as a suppliant to
the god and slept in the abaton. As soon as she had left it and was outside the sacred area, she
gave birth to a son who, as soon as he was bom, washed himself at the fountain and walked
about with his mother. After this success, she inscribed upon an offering: ‘the wonder is not
the size o f the plaque, but the act o f the god; Kleo bore a burden in her stomach for five years,
until she slept here, and he made her well.’
It seems obvious that the source of this tale lies in an inscribed dedication, a tablet
of some sort, that a woman named Kleo had put up as a dedication in the sanctu
ary of Asklepios as a sign of gratitude; there would probably also have been an
oral story attached to this dedication which the drafter and compiler of the text
would have taken into account. Simple inscribed dedications must have been as
sociated, through the passing of time, with legends that circulated by word of
mouth. This must have been the case, for instance, with another story (Appendix,
A4) in which we have an allusion to an object that must have been placed as a
dedication in the sanctuary and which probably caused much curiosity and discus
sion. In this story, a woman named Ambrosia from Athens, blind in one eye, came
as a suppliant to the god. The god healed her, but because she was doubtful, he
ordered her to dedicate a silver pig in the sanctuary ‘as a memorial of her igno
rance’.
Thus it seems that, apart from the pictorial and inscribed dedications, the
drafter(s) of the compilation must have drawn on stories that circulated on the
premises of the sanctuary by word of mouth as rumours or ‘sanctuary legends' (to
coin a term inspired by the concept of ‘urban legends’). For example, one of the
first tales (Appendix, A3) gives neither a name to the protagonist, nor a descrip
tion of the dedication he made; similarly, the healing story of a mute boy (Appen
dix, A5) provides neither a name nor an ethnic identity. As in the case of Kleo, an
important source for these tales must lie in the various ‘anatomical’ dedications
that were deposited as dedications in the sanctuaries of Asklepios, either inscribed
17 The same m ixture o f mental and bodily diseases as the cause of suffering is apparent
throughout the propitiatory inscriptions and dedications of Lydia and Phrygia: see Chaniotis
1995,323-337.
18 The anatomical votives represent body parts which are healed or expected to be healed by a
deity; see Forsen 1996. On the various sources upon which the compilers of the iamata could
draw see Herzog 1 931,52-54 and 56; Chaniotis 1988. 21.
or un-inscribed.19 A number of stories must have been circulating by word of

mouth not only on the premises of the sanctuary but also in the cities and villages
that were in contact with the sanctuary, once the pilgrims had returned to their
place of origin. The presence and the importance of audience in the case of the
performance of miracles is indeed crucial. The example given above in Aristo
phanes’ Ploutos (p. 177) is telling. An inscription from Rome explicitly indicates
that the healed person had to thank the god in public.20
However, the major source of the tales seems to be the dreaming experience
that the people visiting the sanctuary sought in order to find a cure for their physi
cal or mental illnesses, or a solution to a problem. There must have been a record
in the sanctuary of the dreaming narratives based on the dream experiences of the
visitors. Narrative based on dream experience appears to be the basic source of
‘miracle tales’: the majority of healing stories are based on dreams, and we can
see that 30 out of 46 acts of healing involve dreams.21 The framework for describ
ing the dreams follows the ‘epiphany convention’. According to this framework,
the dream consists of the appearance to the dreamer of an authoritative personage
who may be either divine or a representative of a god; this figure then conveys
instruction or information.22
5 DREAMS, NARRATIVE, AND THE CONSTRUCTION OF ANXIETY AND

HOPE
The miracle inscriptions, without being exclusively dream records, are fully
packed with dream narratives. At first sight, the narratives do not seem to be ar
ranged according to an order. However, a narrative is the result of an intention and
usually the product of editing. It does not deliver just pure information, but it can
represent or include the manipulation of that information for the fulfilment of
specific goals. When reading through the miraculous stories, we should ask our
selves not only what the story says but also why the drafter wants us to know it
and in what ways he chooses to inform us. Through the narrative of these texts, I
will attempt to detect some of the intentions of the drafters of the compilation and
the ways they used to fulfil their intentions, and I will focus on the construction of
19 Petsalis-Diormdis 2007,214 -217.

20 Set IGUR I 148 (inscription from the sanctuary of Asklepios on the insula Tiberina in Rome).
It is obvious that the worshipper after his rescue was expected to come to the sanctuary and
express in public his gratitude to the god. See Girone 1998, 157f.; Chaniotis 2009b, 120.
2 1 Rhodes and Osborne 2003, 541.
22 Harris 2009, 4, 52 -57, 278 Harris thinks that this kind o f dream occurs very seldom in our
experience arid that this pattern is merely a narrative convention that eventually disappears.
However, there are modern attestations of this phenomenon. ‘Kpiphany dream s’ occur for
instance in a collection of cures published by the monastery o f Archangelos in Thasos (To
npoOKVvrifJf/ u/v 'ApxuyyeXuv MixuqX rr/c, (-)daov, Thasos 2008, nos. 15, 19, and 23) and in
notebooks from the village of Koronos in Naxos: see Stewart 2012.
Dream, Narrative, and the Construction of Hope in the ‘ Healing Miracles’ of f-.pidauros 183
two basic emotions: anxiety and hope. I will then evaluate these emotions as they
were operating in the context of the healing procedure.
It is in fact of great interest that in the opening tale (Appendix, A1), the story
of Kleo cited above (p. 181), the dreaming experience does not seem central.
Despite the fact that the majority of the tales involve a dream narrative based on
dreaming experience, this first story does not involve such narrative. We do know
that Kleo slept in the abaton, but we know neither whether she had a coherent
dream nor the content of any dream. In view of the importance of the dreaming
experience in the ‘miracle inscriptions’ in general, the fact that this story inaugu
rates the series becomes significant; this initial lack of clarity about a coherent
dreaming experience would be confusing especially for the reader in need of a
cure who came to a sanctuary where the main means of diagnosis and cure was
the practice of incubation and the experience of a dream. What should the reader
who came to sleep in order to dream expect? This uncertainty concerning the
prospect of a dream would be a source of worry and anxiety - we might wonder if
this was the very effect sought by the drafter of the compilation.23
More anxiety might be experienced through ignorance of the form to be taken
by the divine in a possible encounter, in or outside a dream. In the narrative of the
first tale, the word used to denote the divine is tov 0eov (line 4), ‘the god’ - but
which god? We must bear in mind that the inscribed text begins with a heading
which reads: ‘God, Good Fortune; Healings by Apollo and by Asklepios’. Which
one of the two divine personae will come to the aid of the human in need? And in
what form? The anxiety that is constructed though uncertainty concerning the
prospect of a dream is made more sophisticated through the vagueness of the form
of the encounter with the divine. In line 8, where we have the citation of the origi
nal inscription on the plaque dedicated by the woman, the term used is to 0etov,
‘the divine’; this is a rather impersonal way to indicate the divinity, without gen
der or form (human or animal).24 An uncertain encounter with an indefinite ‘di
vine’ could be a source of serious anxiety for a reader in need of a cure. Although
the indefinite character already exists in the text of the dedication that must have
inspired the narrative in which it is quoted, we have to bear in mind that the nar
rative was the product of composition and editing.25 We are dealing here with an
effort of editing from the drafter of the compilation in order to manipulate the
emotions of the reader.
However, during the course of the second story (Appendix, A2) things
change; the vagueness concerning the nature of the dream experience and the
form that the encounter with the divine might take disappears:
A three-year pregnancy. Ithmonika o f Pallene came to the sanctuary to have children. Sleep
ing here she saw a vision. It seemed that she asked the god if she could conceive a daughter.
23 See the analogies with the collection o f miracles o f the monastery of Archangelos in Thasos
(note 22).
24 The translation o f the term GtTov can vary according to the context. For instance Girone 1998,
II 2, translates the term GeTov, used in the hymn to Asklepios by lsyllos, as * I’evento divino'.
25 See Chaniotis 1988, 20 and note 4 1.
and Asklepios answered that she could and that if she asked anything else that he would do
that as well, but she answered that she didn’t need anything more. She became pregnant and
bore the child in her stomach for three years, until she came again to the god as a suppliant,
concerning the birth. Sleeping here, she saw a vision. The god appeared, asking whether eve
rything she had asked had not happened and she was pregnant. She had not said anything
about the birth, and he had asked her to say whether there was anything more she needed and
he would do it. But since now she had come to him as a suppliant for this, he said he would
do it for her. Right after this, she rushed out of the abaton, and as soon as she was outside the
sacred area, gave birth to a daughter.
In the very first lines of the tale the ‘god’ is introduced to the reader; he is imme
diately identified as Asklepios. In contrast with the tale A l, not only do we have
the specific name of the god who is coming to the aid of the human, but we are
also provided with the extremely coherent dream experience of a woman in need
of help; we have a narrative based on a first dream in a first phase (before the pre
gnancy) and on a second dream in a second phase (before the birth). The second
dream is supposed to follow the first after a three-year gap. The dialogue between
the human and the god is referred to in indirect speech; this dialogue is so cohe
rent that it can be continued even after a gap of three years and in that way the two
dream narratives of A2 are connected to each other. Thus, we can read the petition
of a woman to Asklepios; and then we read the continuation of that petition which
aims to correct the woman’s incomplete first petition (i.e. asking initially to con
ceive a daughter, but not actually to give birth to the child). In this case, the divi
nity is clearly indicated by the anonymous narrator as the male god Asklepios.
From the indefinite indication of the identity of the divine in the first tale, we
progress to a tale which unambiguously defines the divinity: it is Asklepios, the
god who dwells in the sanctuary of Epidauros. The second story (Appendix, A2)
is thematically related to the first one (A l) - in both cases the theme is an
extended pregnancy - and this gives unity to these two stories that function as a
basis for the construction of the personality of the divine, even though the god is
openly presented only in the second story. These two initial tales may differ in
regard to their function in the overall narrative, but thanks to their thematic con
nection they work very well in a complementary way. In the dream narratives of
stele A, the god appears several times.26 Given the fact that the dream is a highly
personal experience, it is noteworthy that all of these people dreamed of Askle
pios. In fact, it would be more accurate to say that they dreamed of someone they
thought was Asklepios ~ at least that is what the compiler wanted the reader to
believe.
The construction of the personality of the god is carefully accomplished
through the tales of the first stele. The nine tales that actually include an encounter
with the divinity describe the divinity as a mature male. An instructive example is
the very well constructed dialogue of A2 which includes the petition for a pre
gnancy by the woman, followed by questions by the god who, in a manner of a
thoughtful merchant taking an order, tries to specify the character of the petition.
The dialogue continues three years later, when the pregnancy had been achieved
26 Appendix, A2, A3, A4, AH, A9, A 12, A13, A18, A 19.
Dream, Narrative, and the Construction of Hope in the 'Healing Miracles’ of Epidauros 185
but - alas - not the labour. The god, in a manner of a meticulous entrepreneur,
recalls the wording of the petition; in a highly rational way with a dose of humour,
he reassures her that he will take notice of her new petition and will fulfil it. The
god in this case is presented like a teaser with a deadpan sense of humour. The
fact that the god is presented like an individual with absolutely good intentions
makes it easier for the reader to engage emotionally with the constructed image of
‘the god’ who in fact has a name - Asklepios - rather than with an abstract and
general idea of the divine. The communication with the divine is analogous to the
communication between humans.
It is easier to know what emotion to experience when the divinity is presented
as a benevolent man who, like a pedantic teacher, is trying through teasing to
‘teach a lesson’ to his pupils so that they are more accurate next time when they
hand in their essay (or petition, in this case).27 This is highly reassuring for the
readers who are puzzled by their own personal problems of physical or mental
health and by their suffering in general; and therefore it assuages their frustration.
Concerning the individual stories of the narrative, it is remarkable that the
story concerning the suspicious man (Appendix, A8) brings to mind the well-
known story of ‘doubting Thomas’ in the New Testament.28 This happens because
these two stories have a common theme, namely the doubts of a human concern
ing the powers of the divinity (healing in the case of Asklepios, resurrection in the
case of Jesus Christ). They also have an analogous function in the general narra
tive, as they both illustrate a moral and religious lesson: the doubting individual is
relieved of his doubts but, as a penalty, he is given the name ‘the Unbeliever’, so
that his name becomes associated with doubt in approaching the divine. This act
of naming establishes a permanent blame, setting the individual up as an example
of the proverbial ‘doubter’. The existence of patterns in common with other re
ligious contexts, not always related to dreams, requires an explanation. As we
have stressed above, we are not dealing here with the raw material of the dream
ing experience but with the narrative that has the dreaming experience as its
source. This narrative is not the direct product of the individual who experienced
the dream, but it is the processed product of a community of priests and their
helpers, and of other people who narrated their experiences as dreamers to the
religious officials of Epidauros. It is understandable then that in the miracle in
scriptions we find patterns of narrative that also occur elsewhere.29
It is worth emphasising that this type of story that has a punitive theme works
towards the construction of the fear inspired by the divine - the fear of punish
ment - either because one has been doubtful or because one has forgotten to pay
27 In this regard, Asklepios, as presented in this story, is similar to Asklepios as the latter is
constructed through the narrative of Aelius Aristides’ Sacred Tales', that is, as a teacher of
rhetoric who orders Aristides to start again to write and speak, who presents him to Plato and
Sophocles, and who writes even his words for him; see Petsalis-Diomidis 2007, 211.
28 See Herzog 1931, 95, 99, 125 for other narratives (pagan or Christian) concerning doubt or
disbelief.
29 Stewart 1997, 877-894.
1 86 Paraskevi Martzavou
respect to the god after his or her cure.30 This function can be attributed to a series
of tales in the Epidaurian compilation of miracles.31 The second tale (Appendix,
A2) is constructed as an exercise for the patient’s - and the reader’s - imagina
tion. It demands a certain amount of attention in order to follow the dialogue in
indirect speech, and it becomes obvious that this story bears the following
moral for the reader: ‘be careful when you ask for something from the god, for it
might come true’ - a moral that could be unpacked as follows: ‘when you ask
something of a god, try to use your imagination, try to be clever. Think of the
ambiguities of language, think of the traps that exist in the words; and remember,
if something goes wrong, don’t blame it on the god, blame it on your own lack of
imagination, lack of intelligence, and use of the wrong formulas.’ This particular
story, based on a dream narrative, represents for the reader a sort of awakening to
the difficulties and the complexities of the communication with the divine, espe
cially through the means of the dream. Communication is not less complicated
with the divine than with fellow humans: one has to be vigilant. This realisation
might put the reader in a state of intellectual alertness.
As mentioned above, the compositional background o f these healing miracles
is extremely varied; these texts can be considered as sorts o f ‘snapshots’ in a con
stant process of reworking. We should not however hold that these texts are hap
hazard amalgamations of random stories. It takes little attention in order to dis
cover that we are in front of quite sophisticated compilations. As it has been con
vincingly suggested, the reading and the discussion o f the iamata was an impor
tant preparatory activity before the incubation.32 At this point, our effort must be
focused on the possible existence of a compositional principle and on the function
that it might serve especially for the arousal of emotions.
In order to better understand the construction of the narrative as a means of
arousing emotions, let us look at the texts through the eyes o f a first time reader.
Special attention must be paid to the language. It does not lack ambiguities, and
this fact, though it does not serve well the descriptions o f the sufferings of the
characters from the medical point of view, contributes to the presentation of these
texts as part of the wonder-working of the god.33 A telling example is the word
chosen as title of the inscription: ia p a ia ; the first sense of the word is ‘therapeu
tic remedy’ and in that way, it is synonymous with the word tpappaicov.34 The
reader was actually reading something which could be understood both as the
story of a cure but also as a ‘remedy’ in itself. In this context, the very title of the
compilation could indicate to the audience the function of these texts. The double
meaning of the word iamata (story of healing/remedy) could even provoke a
‘placebo effect’ to the suggestible reader.
30 ( f pp 201 230 in this volume, on the construction o f the fear of god.

31 fc g .A 3 ,A 7 .A 9 ,B 2 ,B IM ;4 .
32 1-iDonnici 1902,25 41.
33 Prctre and Charlier 2000, 39.
34 Pretre and ( harlier 2009, 32.
Dream, Narrative, and the Construction of Hope in the 'Healing Miracles’ of F.pidaurns I 87
From the beginning of the story AI and then in the story A2, the reader’s at
tention is gripped through the strong images created by the simple words used to
describe the situation and construct the tale. The impressive graphic details of the
first two stories seem hard to swallow; for instance that the child born after a
pregnancy that lasted five years was able to wash himself and crawl around his
mother immediately after birth. In the second example, the god gratified the
woman with a pregnancy but not with a labour, since, literally, she did not ask for
a labour but only for a pregnancy. Before the reader finds time to digest what s/he
has just been reading, and probably at the moment when doubts would start to
arise about the trustworthiness of these two tales, another story (Appendix, A3)
begins where the protagonist, a man paralysed in his fingers, is presented as hav
ing some serious doubts about the truth of the narrated tales in the dedications
(pictorial or inscribed), as he wanders around the sanctuary. However, he is hav
ing a dream in which the god interacts with him, stretching his fingers one by one,
and taking the opportunity to chat with him (as a doctor would), asking him
whether he will continue to doubt regarding the narratives of the sanctuary of Epi-
dauros. The man replies negatively but the god still gives him the name
(Suspicious). Then comes another tale of a suspicious woman (Appendix, A4)
who is depicted as even laughing at the stories on the inscribed dedications of
people claiming that they were healed just by having a dream. Yet when it is her
turn to have a dream while she is sleeping at the sanctuary, the god appears to her
and promises that he will heal her but would like in return a silver piglet as a
dedication and a ‘memorial of her ignorance’ (wiopvripa apaOiaq). The drafter
of the text, judging that these two stories of ‘punitive’ miracles were enough to
describe the god as capable of punishing the doubtful and the scornful, returns
with a tender story of a child (Appendix, A5) who, unable to speak, came with his
father in order to find a cure in Epidauros; which duly happens.
The stories have a didactic character and goal, and this is illustrated by the
tale of Pandaros.35 Pandaros from Thessaly had atiypaTa (‘marks’) on his fore
head and, after sleeping in the Asklepios sanctuary, was cured. He ordered an
other man to offer a dedication on his behalf, giving him at the same time the
money to do that. But the man, who apparently was also seeking some sort of
cure, did not do as Pandaros told him, and kept the money. The god asked him in
a dream if he had money for a dedication on behalf of Pandaros but the man
denied it. He also said that if the god healed him, he would offer a dedication. The
god, apparently irritated by his lies, tricked him, and the man left the sanctuary
with the oxiypata of Pandaros. After this story, which shows a vengeful face of
the god, comes another story which shows a completely different aspect of
Asklepios (Appendix, A8). It is the story of a small child from Epidauros who
came and slept at the sanctuary in order to be cured from a ‘stone’. The god
appeared to him in a vision and asked the child what he would give him if he was
35 Appendix, A6; discussed by Chaniotis 1997, 1521'. On the possible medical background of the
a tiy p a ta see Pretre and Charlier 2009, 40—45.
healed. The child replied: ten knucklebones.36 The god laughed and cured him.
This episode reveals a completely different - gentle and tender - aspect of the
god. From this small specimen of tales as they are arranged in the narrative of the
first stele, it is obvious that the placement of the individual tales in the general
narrative of stele A is not random but is done according to a principle that serves a
specific goal; it engages the reader with the characters and the stories of the
narrative and arouses a number of emotions: anxiety, fear, and of course hope.
Hope is one of the most important emotions for the reader in need o f a cure.
6 DREAM NARRATIVE AND THE CONSTRUCTION OF HOPE
Even though the achievement of a coherent dream was the main diagnostic and
healing procedure, as mentioned earlier, not all of the tales include a narrative
based on dream experience. There are exceptions: no dream is involved in the
story of how a broken cup miraculously was put together again by the invisible
intervention of the god (Appendix, A 10). For the restored ‘whole’ cup, uyifi
(‘healthy’) is the word used in the text, and the metaphor is telling. Nor does the
story of lame Nikanor, whose crutch was grabbed by some boy ‘while he was
awake’, have a dream associated with it (Appendix, A16). As Nikanor got up to
chase the boy, he walked without difficulty ‘and from then on he became well’;
likewise, there is no dream in the story of a blind boy who had his eyes treated by
one of the dogs about the sanctuary ‘while he was awake’ and left cured
(Appendix, A20). As human experience suggests, the achievement of a coherent
dream is not always possible. The narrative o f the miracle inscription had to deal
with this possibility and the anxiety that this might generate.
The function of the non-dream tales, randomly distributed through the
narrative of all four stelae, is probably to comfort the reader in need of a dream
who, despite his or her incubation in the abaton, could not experience a coherent
dream. In addition, in some cases, the narrative clearly indicates that the
achievement of a coherent dream is in fact impossible (e.g., Appendix, B5 and
BI3). It is significant that in these cases, the action of the god is expressed in
another way: for instance, as a woman was unable to have a dream and was
carried homeward (Appendix, B5), she and her attendants met up in the middle of
their trip with a handsome man who, on the spot, performed an operation - he cut
open the belly of the woman and took out so many ‘creatures’ that they were able
to fill two basins. After sewing up the woman’s belly, the man revealed his
identity, he was, of course, Asklepios, who ordered the woman to send her offer
ing to Epidauros. The encounter with the divinity in this tale resembles in many
ways the encounters with the divine in the other tales: we have a suffering person
who, after having put her hopes in the god, is cured through an operation. The
difference is that, in this case, we have an epiphany o f the divinity in real life and
36 A ( hantolls informed me that knucklebones have been found in the sanctuary o f Asklepios
in l.issos t( rete)
Dream, Narrative, and the Construction of Hope in the ‘ Healing Miracles’ of Fipidauros 189
not in a dream. In addition, the god operates far from the sanctuary, literally in the
middle of the road. The moral here is that there is a solution even for those who
are experiencing difficulties in the exercise of dream hunting - that, again, ‘there
is hope’.
7 AN APPARENT DISORDER ...
The narrative is constituted by a succession of tales and it is structured with the

help of headings that introduce individual healing stories37 - the existence of
headings seems to be a rule throughout stelae B, C, and probably D. In stele A, the
headings exist, but they seem less prominent than in the subsequent stelae. In
many cases, only a personal name and an ethnic identity are listed. In some cases,
the heading consists of the name of a person and the main characteristic of his
suffering, such as the name of the illness, when available. In fact, the sources of
suffering can be more diverse than just an illness; such examples include the
breaking of a cup (Appendix, A 10), baldness (A 19), disappearance of a child
(B4), lice (B8), and frustration in the search of a buried treasure (C3). In that
sense, the general impression of human suffering, throughout the miracle
inscriptions of Epidauros, is somewhat chaotic because the sources of suffering
are not only diverse but are also linked to subjective impressions - such as
suffering caused by a broken cup, or frustration because of an ineffective treasure
hunt. In these cases, it is clearly the reaction to the event that is the cause of the
suffering and not the event itself. As has been noted, this apparent disorder is a
metaphor for the effect of suffering on human life, but this impression is
countered by order, in the form of the architecture of the sanctuary and of the
ritual.38 Likewise, the subversive element of surprise in the miracle narratives
alludes to what an audience consisting of sick people expected from the miracle
inscriptions. It constitutes the matter out of which their hope is made.
8 ALL YOU HAVE TO DO...
It is noteworthy that, according to the narrative of the miracle inscriptions, dealing

with illness, its effects, and with human suffering in general, is achieved by taking
practical action. What Asklepios has to offer is not a ‘philosophical’ handling of
the situation and a transformation from within the individual, but rather an actual
cessation of the cause of the subjective suffering, independent from the degree of
objective seriousness of the situation. For instance, in the case of the bald man
(Appendix, A 19) who was hurt from the reaction of others to his baldness: it is not
the patient who, thanks to the intervention of Asklepios, changes from within in
order to help re-arrange his values and stop suffering; it is the physical cause ot'
37 See A2, A 4-A 6, A8, A 10, A13-A20, B1-B3. B5. B6.

38 Petsalis-Diomedis 2007, 1 83-218.
suffering that miraculously changes, and, in fact, ceases. In that sense, the repre
sentation of the god is constructed as that of a tender father who takes care of his
children who are suffering for whatever reason, without trying to underplay the
cause of the suffering. The model of the relationship of the patient to the god here
is that of a child to his father. This way the ‘therapeutic’ operation demands
nothing else from the suffering person than confidence in the power of Asklepios
to cure, in the same way that children believe that adults are capable of doing mi
raculous things. Hence another moral of the tales: the value of child-like naivety.
This constitutes another pattern which we also find in the New Testament.
However, the differences from the New Testament and, furthermore, the
differences between Asklepios and, say, Jesus Christ as miracle-makers are
important. As Emma and Ludwig Edelstein underline,39 confidence in the power
of the procedure followed in a healing sanctuary should not be synonymous with
the belief or even faith in the god. People came to Epidauros because they were
hoping to be cured from their physical or mental illnesses and not because they
wanted to be ‘saved' in general. They hoped to be cured independently of whether
they believed that Asklepios was the son of Koronis or indeed of someone else,
and regardless of whether they believed that he was a hero or a god. All these
details were of no importance in the construction o f their hope to achieve cure,
even though the text exposed next to the iamata, the hymn of Isyllos (see note
12), gives a certain version of the life and story of Asklepios. We even see
through the narrative of the healing miracles that some people were there because
they were hoping to be cured, even though they were in doubt about the effective
ness of the healing procedure.
9 TECHNIQUES FOR THE AROUSAL OF EMOTIONS
The four stelae seem to have different organisational principles, but we can
attempt to identify them only for stelae A and B, since they are preserved in good
condition. While the stories of the first stele A seem to be arranged in order to
provide the god with a personality, a necessary element for a personal relationship
with the divine, and suggest a link between the healing and the requital of the debt
towards the god,40 the stories in the second stele B are arranged in a way that
creates a whole range of strong images that alternate in an unpredictable manner
for someone who reads the texts for the first time. The story of a man who, struck
with a spearhead though both his eyes, carried the spearhead around in his face
(Appendix, BI2) is immediately followed by the story o f a man who, unable to
achieve a dream, was carried back to his hometown, while one of the snakes of
the sanctuary was twined around the axle of his wagon; when he arrived home,
the snake cured him. While the narratives in stele A aim to construct a human
personality for the divine, some of the stories in stele A, and mostly in stele B,
39 LdeUteiri and l-delstein 1945, 145 and 161 f.

40 Rhodes and Osborne 2003, 540.
Dream, Narrative, and the Construction of Hope in the ‘ Healing Miracles’ of hpidauros I 9 I
seem to deconstruct the human aspect of the god’s personality by presenting other
miraculous agents that provide the cure.41 This deconstruction provokes confusion
in the reader and, again, puts him in a state of intellectual alertness.
Given the fact that these texts narrate encounters with the divinity during the
dreaming experience, it is remarkable that words indicating emotion are extremely
rare. We should expect an emotional reaction before, during, and after an en
counter with the divine, and we can easily imagine the protagonists of these
stories as sad because of their physical and mental suffering; frustrated because of
possible previous failed efforts to find a cure; and finally anticipating, hoping for
a cure. However, it is clear that the anonymous compiler of this text chose not to
indicate with specific words the emotional states of the characters of these tales
concerning either their own suffering or their emotional reaction during and after
a divine encounter. Instead, the effort of the drafter is concentrated on the
extremely vivid description of the physical aspect of some of these illnesses. From
this element, we can deduce that his focus was not on describing the emotions of
the characters in the tales - these we can in fact easily deduce from the general
narrative - but on constructing a number of emotions in the audience of these
tales. This audience itself would have been filled with people suffering in some
way, since they were visiting the sanctuary of Asklepios and were sleeping in the
abaton where these texts were exposed. This feature suggests that the function of
these texts is not to distract and to please as a literary text would, but to help, in a
specific way, the healing procedure of the people that would come in contact with
the iamata. This element confirms the hypothesis that the reading of the healing
miracles was supposed to be part of the healing procedure. The positioning of the
stelae in the abaton, the heading bearing a word with a double sense, and the
function of the narrative, all identify the sick people in need of a cure as the
audience of these texts. The healing procedure based on the use of narrative has
many anthropological parallels.42
What is noteworthy is the set of techniques used for the construction of strong
images.43 We have here a straightforward description of basic details: the people
(a man, a woman, a child), the wounds and abnormalities. With this minimalist
approach the narrative provides images of great intensity. The pictorial represen
tations that we often find in dedications in healing sanctuaries accomplish the
same function (see p. 192 figure 1).
The account of dreams is introduced with some formulaic phrases - for
example evetcaGeuSe, eKaxaicoifidGri, eyKataKotpaGeToa oytv ei8e, eyKaOeu-
8(ov 8e o\|/iv d8e, etc. - after which we are transferred to the time, place, and plot
of the dream. The result is that the reader pays special attention to the dream
41 Appendix, A5: the boy who carries Fire for the god; A16: some boy; A17: a snake; B3: the
sons of the god; B6: a dog; B 11: a handsome young boy.
42 Dein 2002, 41-63; Pearcy 1088, 377-391.
43 This is an element know n in ancient rhetoric and historiography as evapyeiu. See Chaniotis
2013 and pp. 102f. in this volume. See also the observations of Nl. Theodoropoulou on
iconicity in this volume (p. 463).
I 92 Paraskevi Martzavou
narrativ e, which, especially in the context of a healing sanctuary, was believed to

have diagnostic and prophetic qualities. The accomplishment of healing is also
presented in a formulaic, stylised way with some standard sentences: e'Grpce oyifj,
apepac Se yevopevrii; t>yir)<; c^rjAGe, icai ex toutod uyif)<; eyeveto etc.
Figure 1. Votive relief dedicated by Archinos, from the sanctuary o f the healing hero
Amphiaraos, in Oropos (Boiotia). It depicts the healing hero performing an operation on Archinos’
shoulder (left); on the right, Archinos is depicted lying on a bed, while the hero’s snake bites (?)
his shoulder (c. 400-350 BCE).
Some tales from stele B have a number of particularly gruesome details con
cerning the suffering of the people and some ‘technical’ details concerning the
procedure of healing, which usually involves some kind of operation taking place
either during a dream or in real time. A woman goes to consult the sanctuary on
behalf of her daughter who has dropsy (Appendix, B1); in her dream, the god cuts
off the head of her daughter and hangs the body neck downwards (as if it were an
animal’s body hanging outside a butcher’s shop). After much fluid has run out,
the god unites the body, putting the head back on the neck. The graphic details of
this dream recall the treatment of the body of animals, which was part of regular,
daily experience (we are dealing after all with societies where the butchering of
animals was not the job of specialists but of almost everyone). The same grue
someness can be seen in the detail of another story (Appendix, B5; see p. 188),
with reference to two basins filled with ‘creatures’ removed from an ill woman’s
belly. Another entry describes how a man wounded in the lung by an arrow in a
battle filled 67 bowls with pus (Appendix BIO). A man who had been struck and
blinded with a spear through both his eyes during a battle (Appendix, B12) is said
to have carried around the spearhead with him, through his face; in his dream, the
god pulled out the dart and fitted the apples of his eyes back into his eyelids. In
the morning he left well. Both the description of the suffering and the operation
which leads to the cure have vivid details, but since no emotion is described, this
way of describing the cure has a detached and ‘clinical’ character - very appropri
ate in a place with a healing character such as the Asklepieion in Epidauros. As
emphasised above, probably because abstract language is inadequate to express
the emotional intensity of a dream, the verbal description of vivid images is often
more effective.44 The absence of terms denoting emotion and the use of strong
images is a very effective way to express the emotional intensity of the encounter
with the god, even within the context of a dream.
The importance of dreams as a diagnostic tool and a component of the healing
process is obvious from the miracle inscriptions of Epidauros. It is not unrea
sonable to assume that in a healing environment they were particularly useful,
especially in the cases where the patient was in a state of embarrassment or numb
ness because of the suffering caused by the illness, or was incapable of producing
a narrative of his illness - thus hindering diagnosis. In these cases, the dream
provides material for narrative and subsequently a way towards diagnosis and
healing. The dreams are used as a major diagnostic tool, as a way to break through
to the cause of suffering. The diagnosis in the case of the miracle inscriptions is
not seen as a preliminary stage of the healing, but as a structural part of it. The
importance of the narrativisation of the illness and its symptoms as a breakthrough
for the diagnosis of the illness and its treatment has already been underlined by
some scholars.45 This way of considering the diagnostic procedure has been
observed in other cultures and has been suggested by anthropological studies.46
What is also obvious from the non-specialised character of the cures is that, in
general, the notions of happiness, well-being, and health are linked with religious
devotion.47 The function of the miracle inscriptions is to contribute towards the
construction of hope in this religious context - an emotion which is basic for the
general well-being of someone in need of a cure.
10 EMOTIONS AND THEIR WORKING IN A HEALING ENVIRONMENT
From what has been analysed above, it becomes obvious that the drafter of this
compilation aimed at working on the emotional reactions of the reader. He care
fully staged the different episodes of the narrative in order to create in the reader
an initial tendency towards incredibility, just to annul it a few lines later as an
effect of the narrative of the subsequent episode. There is something theatrical, a
44 Stewart 1997,878.
45 Pearcy 1992, 595-616.
46 Milne and Howard 2000, 543-570 (in Navajo culture).
47 Compton 1998, 30If.
sort of ‘coup de theatre’ effect, in the choice of the stories and in the structure of
the narrative, depending on the order in which the stories are presented. The
element of surprise (which aims at a shock reaction) has potentially healing
effects;48 indeed an emotional reaction could be the beginning of the cure. The
reading of the miracle inscriptions was not a way for the patients to ‘kill time’, but
it was part of the healing process. A certain degree of auto-suggestion must have
played an important role in the improvement of the patients’ situations while they
were on the premises of the sanctuary.49 The fact that we do not follow their
stories outside the sanctuary is significant; and when we learn of people who
came back to the sanctuary because the ‘healing’ had not been final, it is always
because they did something wrong in the first place (e.g. Appendix, A2).
The healing power of the miracle narratives is also a phenomenon that has
been observed through anthropological studies.50 Formulaic expressions create a
unity among disparate stories and make them part of a ‘miracle narrative’ irre
spective of the fact that some of them (the majority, in fact) are based on dream
accounts and some of them have their source in oral stories that were diffused on
the premises of the sanctuary.
11 THE CONSTRUCTION OF ANXIETY AND HOPE
The basic emotions that these texts help to create are anxiety and hope, through
internal evidence (narrative, organisational principals of the narrative, use of the
language, etc.) and also through their positioning in the abaton of the healing
sanctuary of Asklepios. The means are in fact simple, but their use is quite
sophisticated.
As we noted, entering the abaton must have created the feeling that a
boundary was violated and thus caused emotional tension. This tension might
have counterbalanced another tension, the one caused by the physical and mental
sufferings of the people who visited the sanctuary either for their own sake or for
that of a loved one. A distraction is necessary as a way of entering a healing pro
cedure. Another way of distracting a visitor in need of a cure is to attract his
attention by hard-to-believe stories. In cases of physical pain this diversion may
even act as an analgesic.
A diversity of elements make the reading of these stories very distracting: the
alternation of stories with different subjects and with different or even contradic
tory descriptions of the action of the god, the rhetorical means that are used, the
element of excess, the quantity of the tales (more than seventy), and the diversity
of numerous types of suffering extended pregnancies, lice, social ostracism,
numbness, blindness, tattoo marks, stones, leeches; all of these elements make the
reading of these texts very distracting indeed. Along with the anxiety that the
48 f-or the importance ol shock as a form ot therapy see hdelstein and hdelstein 1945, 168.
49 hdelstein and hdelstem 1945, 144, 158.
50 iJtm 2002, 41 63.
reading of these stories must have inspired - at least after the reading of the first
few lines where the situation that causes the suffering is exposed, and the follow
ing lines where the plot of the stories eventually becomes complicated anxiety
for the fate of these people in need of a cure arises. In some cases, when the ill
person is portrayed as an honest person, a strong feeling of compassion can also
develop. The sympathy for the characters and the happy ending of the stories were
very ‘cathartic’ for the reader, in an Aristotelian sense. The formulaic, hypnotic
sentences that are used remind us of fairy tales: ‘when day came, he left well’,
‘and from this, he/she became well’, ‘he/she slept in there (in the abaton) and be
came well’.
We do not follow the stories of these people after their return home or for
long after their cure. We can suspect, however, that many of them, while they
were ‘miraculously’ cured during their stay in the sanctuary of Asklepios in Epi
dauros, relapsed after their return home. But that is another story. The material we
have examined suggests that the narrative path through the emotions of anxiety,
uneasiness, shock, relief, and hope, is a metaphor for the path of the reader in
need of a cure from suffering to health.
12 FROM STORIES TO COMMUNITIES
In what precedes, I have tried to demonstrate the importance of these texts in a

healing environment; that is, the importance of their emotional impact on the
audience in need of a cure, as an indispensable part of the healing procedure.
However, to fully understand the significance of these texts in general for the
history of ancient religion and for the history of emotions we have to realise that
the miracle inscriptions were operative not only for the people who actually took
the trouble to go and visit the sanctuary of Asklepios and read these texts but also
for all the people who, during the entire period of the functioning of the sanctuary
of Asklepios, in one way or another came into contact with these texts in the form
of rumours. The readers of these inscriptions in the sanctuary of Asklepios con
tributed to the diffusion of these stories, by word of mouth, as rumours, when they
were returning back to their home cities. The practice of reading and discussing
these texts must be considered as constitutive of a sort of a temporary community
whose members were sharing the emotional impact that the activities of reading
the texts and hearing about the texts were able to achieve. It is the emotional
impact of the texts in written and oral form that created the reputation of the
sanctuary of Asklepios through the years, not the ‘miracles’ themselves, whose
authenticity it was impossible to verify. This is of great importance for the
creation of a common emotional fund which can form another community: that of
the people who received as oral narrative the content of the miracle inscriptions,
and also those who received the emotional impact of these tales. In a religion,
which is not based on a book or written text, the contribution of these texts to the
creation of such types o f communities must be fully appreciated. 1 would like to
stress here the importance of rumours for the arousal of hope and also for the
1% Paraskevi Martzavou
construction of the divine itself.51 These two combined phenomena can be

observed through Late Antique sources, for instance in collections of miracles of
Christian saints.52
I hope to have shown that an emotions-centred approach helps us better
understand the way these texts were actively operative in the specific cultural
context, namely in healing procedures within a shrine. Being in the intimate space
of private experience (incubation and dreams), yet also offering themselves,
through their narrativisation, as a source for rumours and stories, these texts are an
example of the way in which individual emotional experience becomes a source
of community.
APPENDIX
The healing miracles of Epidauros (stelae A and B)53
Greek text, stele A

0eo<;. xxjya [ay]a0d. [iajgaxa xov AitoM-covo; <ai xoxi AcncA-arnoo.
A1. [KAJedi xev0' exp eKupae. aiixa rcevx’ evxaoxoxx; tiSt) Koooaa no! xov [0e]ov iketk; atpxKexo
tea! eve*ca0e\j8e tv xa>x dpdxwx • ox; 5c xaxxc[xa] e^r)X0e ei; aiixod Kai ck xoo xapoe eyevexo,
Kopov cxckc, 0$ ev>[0]vx; yevogevo; auxo; arto xaq tcpava<; eA.ooxo Kai a p a xax gaxpi [rt]epxpp-
jte. xxôvaa 5c xouxmv cnx xo av0ega erteypaiiraxo ■«o\> peye[0o]q rtxvaKoq 0au g aax eo v , a k \a
xo 0cxov, jtcv0" exp (ix; eioupoe ey yaoxpi KXedi papoq, eaxe I eyKaxeKoxgdGp Kax piv e0pKe
vpfj»-
A2. xpiexpi; [<po]pa. ’10povxKa rieA/Urn; oHpiKexo eic, xo iapov onep yevea<;. ey[KaxaKox]pa-
0e!oa 8c oyxv et5e- c5 okei aixexo0ax xov 0eov icupaax Ko[pav], xov 5 ’ AaKA,anxov xpapev
eyxcoov eaoexo0ax vxv, Kai ex xx aXKo a[xx]oxxo, Kai xooxo oi cnxxeA.exv, a d x a 5’ oi)0evo<; xpapev
ext noi8e{T]a0ax. eyKtxx; 5e yevopeva ey yaoxp! eipopex xpxa exp, eoxe 7iape(3aA.e no! xov 0eov
iKexn; dnep xoo xokod- EyKuxaKoxpa0exoa 8e o\|/[x]v ex8e- e8oKex ercepcixpv vxv xov 0eov, ex oxj
yevoxxo adxax n a v ta o ao a aixpaaxxo Kai eyKuo; etp • onep 8e xokoo noxGepev vxv od0ev, Kai
xaoxa nov0avopevoo adxoo, ex xxvo<; Kai a/.Aoo 5eoxxo A.eyexv, ax; nopooovxot; Ka! xooxo. enei
51 1 owe this formulation to Eleanor Dickey who helped me articulate it in the course of a
workshop in June 2010.
52 For instance in the healing cult of St Demetrios of Thessaloniki (Bakirtzis, Kourkoutidou-
Nikolaidou, and Mavropoulou-Tsioumi 2012, 133f.; Mentzos 1994). His miracles, in the form
of therapeutic dream-visions, are recounted by John the Bishop both as first-hand testimony
and as second-hand accounts (Lemerle 1979-1981, I 52). The same importance of rumour
appears in the miracles of St Cyrus and St John in Egypt, collected by Sophronius: ‘...w e wri
te about what has been done in our own time, some of which we ourselves witnessed, others
we heard from those who saw the events themselves’ (Montserrat 1998, 274). Similar formu
las are encountered in the miracle narratives of St Menas (Drescher 1946, 108 125). I thank
Chrysi Kotsifou for the last two references.
53 Since we are interested in the textual and narrative structure of the healing miracles, not in
their epigraphic features, we do not present an edition of the text according to the epigraphic
conventions The Greek text is that of the ‘Searchable Greek Inscriptions' of the Packard
Humanities Institute (http://epigraphy.packhum.org/inscriptions/main). Not all readings and
restorations are certain, but this does not affect the arguments presented in this chapter. Of
stele B, we only present the first 13 entries, which are better preserved.
Dream, N arrative, and the C onstruction o f Hope in the 'H ealing M iracles’ ol l pidauros 197
8e vbv ujicp xobxoo rcapeip not’ abxov iKexiq, kcm xobxd oi tpapev eimeXeiv. pexb. 8e tobto
OTtoodou e< tod apdxoo eêXGobaa, fix; et,a> too iapob pq, exene Kopav.
A3, avpp xobq xaq yppoq SaKtbXouq aKpaxeiq eyoiv riXav evdq btpiKexo no! xdv Bedv iKexaq-
Gewpcov 8e xobq ev xcoi ia p an nivaKaq dnioxet xoiq id p a m v Kai bno8ieovpe xd Kjtiypdggu[Tju.
eyKaGebSwv 8k ovjnv ei8e- eS okei bred ta n vafin boxpayaXi£ov(x|oq abxob Kai peXXovxoq
PaXXeiv xtdv daxpayaX on. ercupavevTa [x]ov 0eov etpaXeaBai eni xdv yppa Kai EKteivai cm
xobq SaKtbXXooq- oiq 8 ’ arcoPaip, 8 okeTv auyKdptpaq xdv xppex Ka.0’ eva EKxeiveiv xfnv o u kzv -
Xwv- ejtei 8 k navxaq eêo 0 b v ai, enepcoxpv viv xdv Oeov, ei ext djiicxpaoT xoiq eniypappam xotq
eiri Toig m vaK ov tojv K a ta xd iepov, abxoq 8 ’ ob tpdpev. «oxt xotvov eptxpooGev bnioxeiq
abxo[T]q ouk eobaiv an iaxoiq, xd Xoircov eoxio xot», tpapev, «’Ajtunoq ov[opa|». apepaq 8k
yevopevaq byipq e^pX,0e.
A4. A pPpooia ’A 0avav [axep6];tT[i]XXoq. a b x a iKexiq pX0e not xdv 0eov- Jtepiepnouoa Se
[naxa x]o iapov xtdv iapaxaiv xiva SieyeXa <bq atiiO ava Kai d8bva(xa eov]xa, xtuXobq Kai xo-
tpXob[q] byieiq yiveaG ai evbrcviov i5ov[xaq pojvov. eyKa0eb8ouaa 8k otpiv etSe- eSokei oi 6
0eoq ercioxbq [eineiv], oxt byip pev viv ttoipoot, pio0op pdvxoi vtv SepcoT dv[0epev e]iq xd
iapov bv apybpeov b n o p v a p a xaq apaG iaq. eijtavfxa 8k xabx]a d voxioaat ob xdv ojixiXXov
tov vooobvxa Kai tpappjaKov xt eyxe]ai- ap ep aq 8k yevopevaq byipq e£pX0e.
A5.rcaiq atpeovoq. [obxoq d(pi]Kexo eiq xd iapov brtep tptovaq- tdq 5e npoeOboaxo Kai [ettdpce xaj
vopiôpeva, pexa xobxo o rcatq 6 ta n Bean noptpopcdv [eKeXexo, rtjoi top naxepa xdv tob JtatOdq
jcoxipXeyaq, bjco8eKea[0ai abxov ejviauxob, xoxovxa etp’ a napeaxi, dnoBooeiv xd iaxpa. [6
8k ixatq el;]ajiivaq «b7to5eKopat», etpa- 6 5e reaxpp EKnXayeiq naXtv [eKeXexo abjxov eirtetv • 6
8’ eXeye ixaXtv • Kai ek xobxoo bytpq eye[vexo.
A6. ndv8ap]oq Q eaaaX oq a x iy p a x a e'xtov ev xedt pexaman. obxoq [eyKa0eb8<ov o]iptv et8e-
eSoKet abxob x a [t]v ia t K ax a S p a at xd ax ily p ax a o 0eoq Ka]i KeXeaOai viv, enei [ko e^to)
yevpxat xob dpdxoo, [atpeXopevov xa]v x atv tav av0epe[v ei]q xdv vaov- apepaq 8e yevofpevaq
eâveoxa] Kai atppXexo x[av x at]v iav , Kai xd pev ttpootonov [Keveov et5e xtd]v axtypdxa)[v,
x]av 5[e x ja iv ta v ave0pKe eiq xdv vafov, exooaav xd yp]appax[a] xd ek xob pexawtoo.
A7. ExeStopoq xd n a v 8 a [p o \) o x iy p ax a eXJaPe rcoi xotq bitapyouaiv. obxoq Xapdtv ttap
[riavSdpoo x P P P a ta ], coax’ avGepev xtbi 0etdt eiq 'EniSaopov bttep abfxob], [ook] dttedibou
xabxa- eyKa0eb8tov 8 k ovptv ei8e- eSokei oi o 0e[oq] etttoxdq ejteptoxpv viv, ei exot xiva xpppa-
xa nap n a v S a p o o e[^ E b]0pvav a v 0 e p a eiq xd iapov- abxoq 8 ’ ob tpapev XeXappKeiv ob0e[v]
xoiobxov n a p ’ abxob- aXX’ a i Ka byirj viv ixopaai, dvBpaeTv oi eiKova ypaipapevoq- pexa 8e
xobxo xdv 0eov xdv xob riav 8 d p o i) x aiv iav jxepiSpoai nepi xd axiypaxa ob Kai KeXeo0ai viv,
enei Ka eêXBpi ek xob a p d x o u , atpeXopevov xdv xaiviav anoviipaaBai to npooamov and xaq
Kpavaq Kai eyKaxorcxpiâaGai eiq xd b8top- ap epaq 8k yevopevaq eiqeXGtbv ek xob apaxon xdv
xaiviav dcppXexo, xa y p a p p a x a ook exooaav- eyKa0i8oiv 8k eiq xd u8a>p ecdpp xd abxob ttpo-
otonov jto't xoTq iSioiq a x iy p a a iv Kai xd xob riav8< d> poo ypa[p]paxa XeXaPpKoq.
A8. Ebtpavpq ’E niS abpioq txaiq. obxoq XiBicdv eve[Kd]0eo8e- e8oê 8p abxtbi 6 0eoq ettioraq
eitieiv- «xi poi StoaeTq, a ’i xb Ka byip tioipato»; abxoq 8k tpapev «8eK’ doxpayaXooq>». xov 5e
0eov yeX aoavxa tpapev viv naoaeTv • ap e p aq 8k yevopevaq byipq e^pX0e.
A9. avpp atpiKexo not xdv 0eov iKexaq dxepotxxiXXoq obxtoq, axjxe xd pXetpapa povov eêiv,
eveTpev 8 ’ ev abxoiq pp0ev, a \ \ a Kevea e(i]pev oXtoq. (eyeXtov) 8p tiveq xwv ev xtbi iaptdi xav
ebpGiav abxob, to vopiêiv pXeigeiaGai oXtoq ppS epiav bnapyav exovtoq dnxiXXou aXX’ p
Xtbpap pdvov. eyK a0[eb8o|vxi obv abxcbi oipiq etpavp- e86 kei xdv 0eov eippoai xi <pa[ppaKov,
ette)ixa S iayayovxa xd pXetpapa eyxeai eiq ab x a - apep[aq 8k yevopevjaq pXentov aptpolv
e^pX0e.
A 10. K(b0iov. aKeuotpopoq ei[q xd] iap[ov] eptttov, enei eyevexo trepi xd 5eKatna8iov, KateKeTE'
[tbq 5e] a v e ax a , avtdiê toy yoXiov Ka[i e]rteoKOJiei xd ovvtexpippeva aKjejbp' atq 8’ ei5e toy
K(d0a>va Kaxe[ay]6xa, e^ ob o S eanoxaq eiGiaxo [n]iveiv, eXoneixo Kai truvexiQei [tot] ooxpaKa
KaOiôpevoq. d8o[i]n6poq obv xiq i8d>v a b t o v «xi. to a0Xie», [e]tpa, «ow xi0pm toy KioOuiva
(pdjxav; xobxov y ap ob8e Ka 6 ev "EniSabpcm AoKXamdq byip itopoai 8bvatto)». axoboaq
xabxa o naTq aovBeiq xa ooxpaK a eiq toy yoXidv i\pite eiq xd iep d v enei 5 ’ dtpivexo, av<m*e toy
yuAtdv Kai eâipev dyui toy KcoOxova yeyevnpevov Ka' T®1 8eonoxai rippdveoae toe TtpayGevta
mi Aex0evxa- o>c 8k a to w ’, avoOtpce xedi 0ea>t toy Ka)0cova.
All. Aicryivac eyKEKOipiapevorv fj6r| r©v iKEtav ejti 8ev8peov ti apf3a ; dTtepeKOTtxe ei; to a|3a-
rov. Karanexm’ ovv and too 8ev5peo; nepi aKoAona; xiva; xod; ojtxiAAoo; apcpeTtaicre •KaKco;
8k SiaKeipevo; Kai xuepAo; yeyevripevo; Ka0iKexedaa; xdv 0eov eveKd0ei>8e Kai VjyiTiq eyevexo.
A12. Edinno; Aoyxav exp £cpopr|oe e; ev xat yvaBeoi•eyKoixaa0evxo; 8’ adxod eêAwv xdv
Aoyxav 6 0edc ei; xd; yiipd; oi eSxoKe- apepa; 8k yevopeva; dyiri; e^nprce xdv Aoyxav ev xal;
yepoiv eywv.
A13. avf|p Topwvalo; SepeAia;. odxo; eyKaOedSaw evdrcviov ei5e - e8o£,e oi xov 0eov xd
axepva paxaipai avoxicroavxa too; 8epeAea; ei;eAeiv Kai 8opev oi eg xd; x£ipa; K0(i aw -
payai xd axt|0TV apepa; 8k yevopeva; e^rjAOe xd Bripia ev xai; xePaiv £Xa)V Kai vyiri;
eytvexo kaxkme 8’ adxa 8oAa)0ei; duo paxpina; ey kokcxvi eppePAripeva; ektuxov.
A14. avT]p ev aiSoian Ai0ov. odxo; evunviov ei8e- eSokei nai8i KaA.an aoyyiveaSai, eôvei-
puxracov 8e xoA Ai0ov eypdAAet Kai aveAopevo; eÂOe ev xai; xepaiv ex©v.
A15. EppoSuco; AapyaKX|vd; aKpaxri; xod awpaxo;. xodxov eyKa0ed8ovxa iaaaxo Kai ekeA.ii-
oaxo eÂOovxa Ai0ov eveyKeiv ei; to iapov dnooaov 8dvatxo peytaxov •6 8k top npo too apa-
XOUKEipeVOV fjviKE.
A16. NiKavwp xwAo;- xodxou Ka0T|pevot) nai; xt; wrap xov emneova apnaâg expeoye- 6 8e
data; eSioke Kai ek xodtoo dyiri; eyevexo.
A17. avrjp SaKxtiAov ia0T| drco depio;- odxo; xov too no8o; SaKtoAov vko too aypiou eAkeo;
8eiv<d; 8iaKeipevo; peBdpepa vno xwv Bepanovtcov ef;eveix0ei; eni eSpapaxo; xtvo; Ka0i£e-
vitvoo 8t viv Aa|idvto; ev xodxtoi SpaKtav ek too dpdxou eêA.0a)v xov 8aKxoA,ov iaoaxo xai
yAokroai Kai xorho noificta^ ei? to aPaxov avexcopTiae jcaAtv. eêyepPeic; 8e d)^ rp; t)yiii<;, e<pa
oyiv tSeiv. SoKeiv veavtCKov evtnpejrii tap popepdv erti xov 8otKxt»Aov ejtucfjv epappaKOv.
A 18. AAkexoo; AAikoi;- o\>xo<; xuipAix; kaiv evvnvtov ei8e- e8 okei oi 6 0eoi; jioxeA.0d)v xoiq
SartiiXoic 8idyeiv xa oppata Kai iSeiv xd 8ev8pri itpaxov ta ev tail iapau. apepaq 8 k yevope-
vac vyiric eÂOe.
A1V Hpatexji; MottAnvotio^' ooto<; ouk eixe ev tai KecpaAai Tpixoo;, ev 5e rooi yeveiwi
napjro/dva;. aiaxuvopevoi; 8k [eix;] KaxayeAdpevo<; tirt[oJ xcov aA.A.a)v eveKaPeoSe. xov 8e 6 0eo<;
xpiaac ipappaKtoi xdv KeepcxAav ertoriae tpiyaq e'xeiv.
A20. Aoowv 'Eppioveix; naiq di8ri<;. ooftoq] U7tap x>jco Kovoq xebv Kaxa xd iapov 0e[pa7t]eo6-
pevoc tod; duxiAAou; dypnk ditfiA0e.
Greek text, stele H(B1- B 13)
B 1 Apaxu [AdjKaiva iiSpawifa. dtt]ep xadxa; a paxT|p eveKd0eo5ev eA AaKe8aipovt eaaa[<;]
Kdi tvdjmov [ojprp eSokei xd; Poyaxpo; od xdv 0eov attoxapovxa xdv K(e|<paA.dv xd atopa
Kpf/pdoot Korxoj tdv xpdxaAov e'xov- ax; 8’ eêppda ooxvov dyp[o]v, KaxaAdaavxa xd aa>pa
xav KupjJjciv n a h iv entPepev eni xdv adxeva i5o[d]aa 8k xd evdtrviov xodxo dyxMpriaaaa ei;
Aatcedaipova Kuxa/j/pP«ve[ i tjdv Payaxe pa dyiaivoooav Kai xd adxo evortviov aipaKOtav.
B2 "Epparv (Jfdmo;. xodxoJv xotpAov eovxu tdaaxo- pexd 8k xodxo xd i'axpa ook andyovxla d
Ped; vivj ck(/t)oe xo<p/.dv udBu; d<piKopevov 8' adxov Kai ndAtv eyKa0e[d8ovxa dyt|fi kox-
eoxaat
B3 Aptaxalyopt/ Tpo^Javi'a aina e'ApiQa e'xoooa ev xdt KoiAiai eveKaPeoSe ev TpoQavi ev
ttot] xod 'Aok/mkiov xepevet kui evdnviov fl8f eSokei (oi) xod; vilod; xod 0 |eod, ook enifia-
podvxoc adt(;d, a/./, rv EntftadpaM edvxo;, xay Keq>a|Aav dito|xapeTv, od Sovupevoo; 8’ ertt-
Pf-pev Jtd/.tv xr.pyui xiva no|ij tdv AoKA|arndv, ojirax; poAnt- petard 8k dpepa eniKaxaAap-
pavfi k« i o iappto; opdi |od<pa xjdv Kupafaiv dyaipnpevav dtto xod adtpaxo; ■xd; ripeprtod
aag & vvKxjo; Ap|ioxay6pa oyiv et8e eSoicei oi o 0to ; ikwv e§ ’Etu8adpoo etnOei; x|dv ke|-
(jx//dv eju |xo]v tpd/a/vov, p>xd tadxa avaîana; xdy KotA|ia|v xdv adx|d; eCJeAetv xdv
E[/4iji0a Koi avpprryai no),tv, Kai f k xodxov dy|ir||; eyevex|oJ.
B4. djn|o n|»tpai not; ApioxoKpixo; AA.imx;' odxo; dnoKoAopl[d)o|(x; ei; xdv PulA^xajaav
e*fita devdpdajv ei; x6nov dyiKixo i^ripdv, kukIAohI JtFxpxxt; itep|iexd|pevov, icai odtc e8dvaxo
r</j8ov oddepu/v edpeiv, Ipejxa 6> xodxo b Jiaxldp ajdxod, d>; odPrxpei neptexdyxavE paoxed-
Dream , N arrative, and the C onstruction o f Hope in the ‘Healing M iracles’ of Hpidauros 199
©v, nap’ [AjaicAanidn ev tan a[pdx]©i eveKd0ei>8e nepi xod nai8d; Kai evdnviov e[l|8e- f8okf.i
adxov 6 0[eo;] dyetv ei; xiva yxopav kuA 8eiât oi, 8fi|oxi xoox(e|i eaxi 6 do; adxod. eê[A0©|v
8’ ek xod dpdxoo Kai A axopdaa; xa[vj nexpav d[v|r|dpe xop nai8a ef)Sepu[io|v.
B5. Icoaxpdxa O epai[a napjeicdnoe. a[d]xa ep navxi eodoa <popa8av ei; xd iapov fopucopevo.
eve[icd]0et)8£. ©; 8e od0ev evdnviov evupy[e|; edipri, naAiv oucaSe dneicogi£|e]xo. pexd 8e.
xodxo aopPoApaai xi; nepi Kopvoo; adxai Kai xol; e[nope|voi; e8oê xdv oyiv ednpenp;
avrip, o ; nvOopevo; n a p ’ adx©v x [a; SoanpaJîa; xd; adx©v CKeAdoaxo 0epev xdv kAivmv,
exp’ a ; xdv I© axp[axav eipejpov. eneixa xay KoiAiav adxa; dvayioa; eâipet nArj9o; £[©d<pi(i>v
nap]noAu, [8d]e noSavmxripa;- a o v p d y a ; 8e xa[v yjaoxepa Kai nofpja; d[ytfil xdv yuvaiKa
tdv xe napoooiav xdv adxo[d njapeve«pdvi£,e o ’AoKAanio; Kai Taxpa ekeAexo dn[o]nepneiv ei;
’Eni[8a]op[ov.]
B6. k6©v iaaax o n a t8 a Ai[ytv]axav. odxo; «pdpa ev xw[i xpaJxdAwi eiye- axptKopevofv) 8’
adxov noi x[ov] 0e[o]v ko©v x©v iapcdv d[nap x]ai yAwooai eBepaneuae Kai dyid enoTi[<j|e.
B7. avnp e[vxo); x a ; KoiAia; e'Ako; eywv. odxo; eyKa0ed8©v ev[dnvio]v ei8e- eSonfeJi adx©t 6
0eo; noixaâi to t; enopevoi; dnr|pexa[i; ai)A]Aa|36vxa; adxov iaxeiv, onto; xaprp od xdv
KoiAiav adxo; 8e (ped[yet]v, xod; 8e auAAaPovxa; vtv noi8f|oai noi ponxov- pexa 8e xodxo xdv
[AcfcAanidv av ax io aav x a xay KoiAiav EKxapeiv xd e'Ako; Kai ooppafyai] naAiv, Kai AvBrjpev
ek x©v 8eap©v • Kai ek xodxou dyiri; e£,d[A0je, xd 8e 8ane8ov ev x©i dpdxwi aipaxo; Kaxa-
nAeov rj;.
B8. KAeivaxa; 0iiPaTo; o xod; <p0eipa;- odxo; n[Af)]0o; xi napnoAu <p0e[ip]©v ev xwi o©paxi
[e)x©v aipiKopevo; eveKa[8eo]8e Kai oprp oyiv. eSokei adxov vtv o 0eo; eySdoa; Kai yopvov
kax a a x a a a ; 6p0ov oap[w]i xtvi xod; cpSeipa; and xod atdpaxo; anoKaOaipetv • apepa; 8c
y[e]vopeva; ek xod apdxoo dytri; e^dA0e.
B9. Ayeaxpaxo; KeipaAa; [a]Ayo;- odxo; ayponviai; aovexopevo; 8ia top novov xa; Keipa-
Aa[;], ©; ev x©i dpdxcoi eyevexo, Ka0d nv©ae Kai ev[d]nviov ei8e- eSokci adxov o 0eo; iaaa-
pevo; xd x a ; KeipaAa; aAyo; 6p0ov a a x a a a ; yupvov nayKpaxioo npo(3oAav 8t8aât ■apepa;
8e yevr|0e{aa; d y id ; e^rjA0e Kai od pexa noAdy xpovov xd Nepea evtKace nayKpaxiov.
BIO. Topyia; 'HpaKAeicdxa; ndo;. odxo; ep paxai xivi xptoBei; ei; top nAedpova xoê[d]p[a]xt
eviavxoy Kai eâpnvov epnoo; rj; odxco a«po8 p(d;, ©axe enxa Kai e^Kovta AeKava; evenAriae
ndoo;- ©; 8 ’ eveKaOeoSe, oipiv ei8e- eSokei oi o 8eo; xdv didSa eêAeiv ek xod nAedpovo; 1
apepa; 8e yevopeva; dyvri; eÂOe tdv aKt8a ev xai; yepai cpep©v.
B11. AvSpopaxa e^ ’A neipofo] nepi nai8©v. ad x a eyKa0ed8o\jaa evdnviov ei8e- eSokei adtai
n[a]i; xi; © paio; ayKaAdipai, pexa 8e xodxo xdv 0eov ayaaO ai od xai [xnJpi- ek 8e xodxou xai
Av8popaxai v[i]o; e^ Apd(3(3a eyevexo.
B12. A[K]paxri; Kvi8io; 6<p0aApod;. odxo; ev xivi payat dno 8o[pa]xo; nAa(y£i]; 8i’
ap<poxep©v x©v o<p0aAp©v xixpAo; eyevexo Kai xdv Aoyxav [napjodaav ev x©i npoa©n©i nepie-
(pepe- eyKa0ed8©v [8]e oyiv ei8e- e8[6 ke] i (oi) xdv 0eov eêAKdaavxa xd |5eAo; ei; xd |3[Ae]-
(papa xd; KaAoop[ev]a; Kopa; naAiv evappoâi. ap ep a; 8e yevopeva; dyin; e^r|A0[e].
BI3. [0]epaav8po; AAiko; «p0iaiv. odxo;, ©; eyKa0ed8©v [od]8epiav oyiv {e]©pty eip’ a p a ;a ;
[dpnaAjiv aneKopiêxo e i; AAiei;, 8paK©v 8e xi; [x]©v iap©v eni x[a; ap jaâ; KaBiSpupevo;
d;, to no[A]d x a; o8od nepiritAilypevo; nep[i x]ov aôva SiexeAeae. poAovx©v 8’ [a}d[x]©v ei;
AAiei; (ko.1i tod 0 ep a[a|v 8 p o o KaxaKAi0evxo; oi[ ko]i , o 8paK©v and xa; dpa(£,a]; Kaxapd[;
xjdv 0epaav8pov idaaxo. [xa; 8]e ndAio; x©v AAik©v [dyye]AlA]odaa; xd yeyevtipevov Kai
8ianop[oopeva;] nepi xod oipi|o;. no]xepov e i; ’Eni8aopov anoKopi^©vxi [r\ adxdv Ka]xa
X©pav e©v|xt, e|8oê xai noAi e i; AeAipod; dnoaxeiAa[i xpO°ofl£]vou's< noxepa [njoiwiti- 6 8e
Bed; e x p ire xdv dipiv ei^v ad[xei Kai i]8poaapevo\)[; AjoKAamod xepevo; Kai eivdva adxod
no| nyaape |voo; dv0epev lei;) xd iapov. ayyeA0evxo; 8e xod xp»Wpod, a noAi); a x©v AAik©v
iSpdaaxo xepevo; AaKAamod ladxei Kai xd dno xo]d 0eod pavx[ei))o6evta eneteAeae.
Translation1
God. Good Luck. Healings of Apollo and Asklepios
Al. Kleo was pregnant for five years. After the fifth year of pregnancy, she came as a suppliant to
the god and slept in the abaton. As soon as she had left it and was outside the shrine, she gave
birth to a son who. as soon as he was bom, washed himself at the fountain and walked about with
his mother. After this success, she inscribed upon her offering: 'The wonder is not the size of the
plaque, but the div ine: Kleo was pregnant with a burden in her stomach for five years, until she
slept here and he made her well'.
A2. A three-year pregnancy. Ithmonika of Pellene came to the sanctuary to have children. Sleeping
in the shnne, she saw a vision. It seemed that she asked the god if she could conceive a daughter,
and Asklepios answered that she would and that if she asked anything else that he w'ould do that as
well, but she answered that she didn’t need anything more. She became pregnant and bore the
child in her stomach for three years, until she came again to the god as suppliant, concerning the
birth. Sleeping in the shrine, she saw' a vision. The god appeared asking whether everything she
had asked had not happened and she was pregnant. She had not asked anything about the birth, and
he had asked her to say whether there was anything more she needed and he would do it. But since
she had come to him as a suppliant for this, he said he would do it for her. Right after this, she
rushed out of the abaton, and as soon as she was outside the shrine, gave birth to a daughter.
A3. A man who was paralyzed in all his fingers except one came as a suppliant to the god. When
he was looking at the plaques in the sanctuary, he didn’t believe in the cures and was somewhat
disparaging of the inscriptions. Sleeping in the shrine, he saw a vision. It seemed he was playing
the knucklebones below the temple, and as he was about to throw them, the god appeared, sprang
on his hand and stretched out this fingers one by one. When he had straightened them all, the god
asked him if he would still not believe the inscriptions on the plaques around the sanctuary and he
answered no. Therefore, since you doubted them before, though they were not unbelievable, from
now on,’ he said, ’your name shall be ‘Unbeliever”.’ When day came he left well.
A4 Ambrosia from Athens, blind in one eye. She came as a suppliant to the god. Walking about
the sanctuary, she ridiculed some of the cures as being unlikely and impossible, the lame and the
blind becoming well from only seeing a dream. Sleeping in the shrine, she saw a vision. It seemed
to her the god came to her and said he would make her well, but she would have to pay a fee by
dedicating a silver pig in the sanctuary as a memorial of her ignorance. When day came she left
w'ell.
A5. A mute boy. He came to the sanctuary for a voice. He performed the opening sacrifices and
did the required things; and then the boy who carries fire for the god, looking over at the boy’s
father bid him to promise to sacrifice within a year, if what he came for occurred. Suddenly the
boy said, I promise’. The father was amazed and told him to repeat it. The boy spoke again and
from this he became well.
A6. Pandaros of Thessaly, with marks on his forehead. Sleeping here, he saw a vision. It seemed
that the god bound a fillet around his marks and told him that when he was outside of the abaton,
to take off the fillet and dedicate it in the temple. When day came he rose and took off the fillet,
and he saw his face clear of the marks. He dedicated the fillet, which had the letters from his
forehead, in the Temple.
A7. Lthedoros received the marks of Pandaros along with those he already had. He had taken
money from Pandaros in order to make a dedication to the god at hpidauros for him, but he did not
hand it over. Sleeping in the shrine, he saw a vision. It seemed to him that the god came to him and
asked whether he had any money of Pandaros’ to make a dedication for Athena in the sanctuary.
He answered that he had taken nothing of the kind from him, but that if he would make him well,
he would have an image inscribed and dedicate it to him. At that the god seemed to tie Pandaros’
fillet around his marks and to order him, when he went outside the abaton, to take oft the fillet and
I The hnglish translation is that of l iDomed 1W5 (slightly modified).

Dream, N arrative, and the C onstruction o f Hope in the ‘Healing M iracles’ o f Epidaurus 201
wash his face at the fountain and to look at his reflection in the water. When day came, he went
out of the abaton and took off the fillet, which no longer had the letters, but when he looked into
the water, he saw that his own face bore his original marks and had taken on the letters of
Pandaros.
A8. Euphanes, a boy of Epidauros. Suffering from stone, he slept (in the abalon). It seemed to him
the god came to him and said, ‘What will you give me if I should make you well?’ The boy
replied, 'Ten knucklebones.’ The god laughed and said that he would make it stop. When day
came, he left well.
A9. Once a man came as a suppliant to the god who was so blind in one eye that, while he still had
the eyelids of that eye, there was nothing within them and they were completely empty. Some of
the people in the sanctuary were laughing at this simple-mindedness in thinking that he could be
made to see, having absolutely nothing, not even the beginnings of an eye, but only the socket.
Then in his sleep, a vision appeared to him. It seemed that the god boiled some drug, and then
drew apart his eyelids and poured it in. When day came he departed with both eyes.
A10. The cup. A baggage carrier was walking into the sanctuary, but he fell down near the ten
stadia stone. Getting up, he opened his bag and looked at the shattered things. When he saw that
the cup from which his master was accustomed to drink was broken into pieces, he grieved and
sitting down, tried putting the pieces together. Some passerby saw him. ‘Why fool,’ he said, 'are
you fruitlessly putting that cup together? For not even Asklepios in Epidauros would be able to
make that cup whole.’ Hearing this the boy, having put the pieces into his bag, walked into the
sanctuary. When he arrived he opened the bag and took out the cup, which had become whole. He
explained to his master what had happened and w hat had been said. When he heard it, he dedicated
the cup to the god.
A ll. Aischines, when the suppliants were already sleeping, went up a tree and peered over into the
abaton. Then he fell out o f the tree and impaled his eyes on some fencing. In a dreadful state,
having been blinded, he earnestly prayed to the god, slept (in the abaton), and became well.
A12. Euhippos bore a spear in his jaw for six years. While he was sleeping in the shrine, the god
drew the spearhead from him and gave it to him in his hands. When day came, he walked out well,
having the spearhead in his hands.
A13. A man from Torone, leeches. When he was sleeping, he saw a dream. It seemed to him that
the god ripped open his chest with a knife, took out the leeches and gave them to him in his hands,
and sewed his breast together. When day came he left having the animals in his hands, and had
become well. He had drunk them down, after being tricked by his stepmother who had thrown
them into a potion that he drank.
A14. A man had a stone in his penis. He saw a dream. It seemed that he was having sex with a
beautiful boy and as he had an orgasm in his sleep, he ejected the stone and picking it up he
departed with it in his hands.
A15. Hermodikos o f Lampsakos, paralysed o f body. When he was sleeping in the shrine, he was
healed and ordered, when he went out, to carry into the sanctuary the biggest stone that he could.
He brought the one which lies in front o f the abaton.
A16. Nikanor, lame. When he was sitting down, being awake, some boy grabbed his crutch and
ran aw ay. Getting up he ran after him and from this he became well.
A17. A man’s toe was healed by a snake. He was in a terrible condition from a malignant ulcera
tion on his toe. During the day he was carried out of the abaton by the servants and was sitting on
a seat. He fell asleep there, and then a snake came out of the abaton and healed the toe with its
longue; and when it had done this it went back into the abaton again. When the man woke up. he
was well and he said he had seen a vision: it seemed to him that a good-looking young man had
sprinkled a drug over his toe.
A18. Alketas of Halieis. This man being blind, saw a dream. It seemed to him that the god came
towards him and drew' open his eyes w ith his fingers, and he first saw the trees in the sanctuary .
When day came he left well.
A19. Heraios of Mvtilene. This man had no hair on his head, but plenty on his chin. Ashamed,
because he was laughed at by the others, he slept (in the abaton). The god anointed his head with a
drug and made it have hair.
A20. Lyson of Hermione, a blind boy. The boy while awake, had his eyes treated by one of the
dogs about the sanctuary, and went away well.
Bl. Arata of Lakedaimon. dropsy. For her sake, her mother slept (in the abaton), while she
remained in Lacedaimon, and she sees a dream. It seemed to her the god cut off the head of her
daughter and hung the body neck downwards. After much fluid had run out, he untied the body
and put the head back on the neck. Having seen this dream she returned to Lakedaimon and found
on her arrival that her daughter was well and that she had seen the same dream.
B2. Hermon of Thasos. He came as a blind man, and he was healed. But afterwards when he didn’t
bring the offering, the god made him blind again. Then he came back and slept (in the abaton), and
he restored him to health.
B3. Aristagora of Troizen. Since she had a worm in her belly, she slept in the temenos of Askle-
pios tn Troizen and she saw a dream. It seemed to her that the sons of the god, while he was not
there but was in Epidauros, cut off her head, but they couldn’t put it back again so they sent
someone to the Asklepieion, so that he would return. Meanwhile the day overtakes them and the
priest clearly sees the head removed from the body. When the night finally came again, Aristagora
saw a vision. It seemed to her that the god had returned from Epidauros and put the head on ther
neck, and after that cut open her belly, took out the worm and sewed it together again, and from
this she became well.
B4. Under a rock, a boy Aristokritos of Halieis. He had dived and swum away into the sea and
then remaining under water he came upon a dry place completely surrounded by rocks, and he
couldn't find any way out. Later his father, after he found nothing by searching, slept in the abaton
before Asklepios concerning his son and saw a dream. It seemed that the god led him to a certain
place and there showed him where his son was. When he left the abaton and cut through the stone
he found his son on the seventh day.
B5. Sostrata of Pherai, false pregnancy. This woman, borne entirely on a litter, arrived at the
sanctuary and slept (in the abaton). But since she saw no clear dream she was carried homeward
again Later, around Komoi, she and her attendants met up with someone, in appearance a hand
some man, who when he heard from them their bad luck, told them to set down the couch on
which Sostrata was borne. Then he cut open the belly and took out lots and lots of creatures - two
footbasins full When he had sewn up her stomach and made the woman well, Asklepios revealed
his presence to her and ordered her to send offerings to Epidauros.
B6 A dog cured a boy from Aigina. He had a growth on his neck. When he had come to the god, a
dog from the sanctuary took care of him with his tongue while he was awake, and made him well.
B7 A man with a fastering sore inside his belly. Sleeping here, he saw a dream. It seemed to him
that the god ordered the servants who accompanied him to seize and restrain him, so that he could
cut hisbelly. He run away, bu they seized him and bound him to an operating table. After that
Asklepios cut open his belly, cut out the sore, and sewed him up again, and he was released from
his bonds From this he left well, but the floor of the abaton was covered in blood.
BM Kleinatas of Thebes, who had lice. This man, having a great multitude of lice on his body,
came and slept (in the abaton), and he sees a vision. It seemed to him the god stripped him and,
standing him up straight, naked, cleared the lice from his body with a broom. When day came he
left the abaton well.
H9. Hagestralov headache This man was afflicted with sleeplessness on account of the distress in
hi* head, hut when he came into the abaton, he tell fast asleep and saw a dream. It seemed to him
the god had cured the pain iri his head and then stood him up straight, naked, and taught him the
pankratum thrust. When day came he left well, and not a long time after won the pankration at
Nernea.
BIO (jorgias of Herakleta pus This man was wounded in the lung by an arrow in some battle,
and for a year and six months it was festering so badly that he filled sixty-seven bowls with pus.
Dream, N arrative, and the C onstruction o f Hope in the "Healing M iracles’ o f Epidauros 2 0 3
When he was sleeping in the shrine, he saw a vision. It seemed to him the god drew out the barb
from his lung. When day came he left well, carrying the barb in his hands.
B11. Andromache from Epirus, concerning children. When she was sleeping in the shrine she saw
a dream. It seemed to her that a handsome young boy uncovered her, and after that the god
touched her with his hand. From this a son was bom to Andromache by Arhybbas.
BI2. Antikrates of Knidos, eyes. This man had been stuck with a spear through both his eyes in
some battle, and he became blind and carried around the spearhead with him, inside his face.
Sleeping in the shrine, he saw a vision. It seemed to him the god pulled out the dart and fitted the
pupil back into his eyelids. When day came he left well.
B13. Thesandros of Halieis, consumption. This man, since he didn’t see any vision while sleeping
in the shrine, was carried on a wagon back to Halieis. But one of the snakes from the sanctuary had
settled down in the wagon and rode for most of the way twined around the axle. When they arrived
in Halieis and Thersandros was lying in bed in his house, the snake came down from the wagon
and cured Thersandros. The city o f Halieis reported what had happened, and the people didn’t
know what to do about the snake, whether they should carry it back to Epidauros or keep it in then-
own country. It seemed good to the polis to send to Delphi asking which thing they should do. The
god proclaimed that the serpent should be right there and that they should dedicate a temenos of
Asklepios, and make an image o f him and dedicate it in the sanctuary. When the oracle was
announced, the polis o f Halieies dedicated a temenos of Asklepios there, and carried out the things
divined by the god.
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PICTURE CREDITS
Figure 1 Marble votive relief stele lrom the sanctuary of Amphiaraos in Oropos, c. 400 350
BCF Photo: Petrakos 1997, 2631. no. 344, pi 39.
CONSTRUCTING THE FEAR OF GODS
Epigraphic Evidence from Sanctuaries of Greece and Asia Minor
Angelos Chaniotis
1 FEAR AND HOPE: THE EMOTIONAL CONSTRUCTION OF GOD
Lucian, the second-century CE satirist, had no doubts about the motives of a

certain Alexander from Abonou Teichos and his companion when they decided to
introduce a new cult, that o f the snake-god Glykon Neos Asklepios:1
They readily understood that human life is ruled by two great tyrants, hope and fear, and that
a man who could use both of these to advantage would speedily enrich himself. ... Thanks to
these two tyrants, hope and fear, men continually visited the sanctuaries and sought to team
the future in advance, and to that end sacrificed hecatombs and dedicated ingots of gold ...
Whether the introduction of the cult of Glykon was an enterprise planned and
executed in the manner described by Lucian is arguable. But that religious
experience in the Greek world had an emotional background is not. As it was
believed to be exclusively within a god’s discretion to punish or to forgive, to
listen to a prayer or to ignore it, to come when invited or to stay away, the emo
tions of the mortal who approached a god were fear and hope. In their acclama
tions and prayers mortals addressed the gods with epithets that expressed their
expectations: that a divine being would listen to a prayer (ntfiKoa;, <piXf)Koo<;);
that it would be willing to manifest its power (ercKpavrj,;, CTCKpaveatatos, peycu;);
that it would be a patron o f their communities (KaOriyepcov, 7tpom0T|y£pa>v, *po-
eaxax;); that it would be continually present (Evbrjpov;, eniSô*;); that it would
offer protection (aomrip, aotpaXeioq, dnoTponaux;); that it would be a donor of
good things (dya0o7ioio<;, KaXoyaGio^).2
Where there is hope, however, there is also fear: fear of disappointment,
failure, and rejection. Perhaps the best expression of these ambiguous feelings is
the use of the verb ‘to have courage’ (Sappeiv or S apcelv) in narratives ot human
encounters with a god. The imperative ‘take courage!’ (0apoei) is an expression
regularly used by gods w hen addressing mortals. The imperative of courage pre
supposes the reality o f fear: fear o f the unknow n, of the future, of a god’s unpre
1 Lucian, Alexander or The False Prophet 8. On the cult see more recently Miron 1996; Victor
1997; Sfameni Gasparro 1996 and 1999; Chaniotis 2002.
2 On these epithets and their significance see Chaniotis 2010, 129-138. On acclamatorv
epithets see Chaniotis 2008.
dictable reaction.3 One of the miracles narrated in an inscription from Lindos,

which aimed at glorifying the local goddess Athena Lindia and her sanctuary (99
BCE), describes how the Lindians were in despair because of a water shortage
during a siege of their city by the Persians. While they were considering
surrender, Athena appeared in one of the magistrates’ dreams and ‘urged him not
to be afraid (GapceTv), for she herself would request from her father [Zeus] the
water that they so urgently needed’.4 It was the prerogative of a god to assuage the
fear of an impending disaster.5 A similar situation is described by the poet Isyllos.
He narrates his encounter as a sick boy with Asklepios, who was on his way to
save Sparta from a Macedonian attack (early third century BCE):6
Asldepios. you met him as he approached, shining in your golden armour. When the boy saw
you, he implored you (Xiootxo), stretching out his hand to you and addressing you with
words of supplication (kern* guSon): ‘I have no share in your gifts, Asklepios Paian. Have
mercy on me'! (ikokmpov) And clearly you said to me this: ‘Have courage (Qdpoei)! For I
shall come to you in due time' ...
The vocabulary used in this encounter clearly expresses the asymmetry in the
relationship between the petitioning mortal and the granting god.7 Understanding
that the mortal’s predominant emotion is fear, the benevolent god gives courage.
Of course, some gods had to be feared more than others. Pan, a patron of
hunting, herding, and the wilderness,8 did not give his name to panic for no
reason. A Cretan, probably a mercenary with some poetic talent, dedicated a
3 Fkipoei and similar words are often used in the ‘alphabetical’ and ‘dice’ oracles of Asia
Minor; these metrical texts are presented as oracles, i.e. as divine pronouncements. For a
recent collection see Nolle 2007. A few examples of such verses: Oapaei• Koupov e'xeiq■
a BeXciq (‘Have courage! You have a good opportunity; you will achieve what you
wish. ); 'Ekutti nenoiOtoq guXXov ei)9apcri)q i0i (‘Trusting in Hekate, proceed with more
courage '); dupoei, ocycmôu Zeuq Kxriaioq eotiv aparyoq (‘Have courage, fight! Zeus
Ktesios assists you.’); ou 8’ au ôyoim pavTiKoiq TteioOeiq, £eve, daporioov (‘And you,
stranger, persuaded by the oracular pronouncements, have courage.’).
4 J.Lindas 2 D lines 14 16 rtotpetccxAti 0«poeiv (oq a u ta xapa too 7iaxpoq airnoeupeva to
Krmxetyov uutouq u8wp. On this inscription see Chaniotis 1988, 52-57; Higbie 2003; Koch
Piettre 2003; Diliery 2005; Shaya 2005.
5 For cases m which gods give courage in the context of wars see e.g. IOSPE I2 352 I 25f.
(Artemis in Chersonesos in Tauris, late second century BCE): 0cipooq 8e k« 1 toXpuv evenoi-
rW Jtovti ion OTpuTortf(8on|; Bernand 1969, no. 175 III 18 (Isis praise in Narmouths, first
century BCE): oXiymcn 8i: 0«pooq f(8o)ice|.
6 Kj JVM 128 lines 63-68. Recent editions of the text: Furley and Bremer 2001, I 227-240
(translation and comments), II 180-192 (text); Kolde 2003, 8-15 (text and translation), 192
209. I follow Kolde in the assumption that the sick boy is Isyllos, not Isyllos’ son. Kolde
2003, 198 209, observes the similarity between this scene and encounters between gods and
mortals in the Homeric poems in which Bupoci is used five times by gods addressing mortals:
Hud 15.254; 24 171, Odyssey 4.825; 8.197; 15.362.
7 toupptoiftnpoid) is used in a similar context in negotiations between the emperors and their
subjects, see Hi XII 3.35 col. b I 5 and 33; L Uriphes 111.4.304 lines 22 27; SEU XVII 759
col II 37, Sherk 1969, no. 58 line 93.
8 (tn the perceptions and cult of Pan see Borgeaud 1988
Constructing the Fear of Gods: Epigraphic Evidence from Greece and Asia Minor 207
statue of Pan in Thyrreion (Akarnania, c. 300-250 BCE), expressing in the dedi

catory epigram the fear intrinsic in the encounters of human beings with this god:*1
Farewell, demon. Who can approach you without fear, even if he is bringing you sacrificial
animals? From your very nature you are entirely wild (or boorish).
it is, therefore, not surprising that intellectuals regarded the fear of gods as
instrumental in bringing about the existence of religion. A radical expression of
this view is found in a satyr-play (Sisyphos) composed in late fifth-century BCE
Athens and attributed to the sophist Kritias. Its author argued that belief in gods
was the invention o f a smart guy who wanted to deter offenders by making them
believe that superior beings could see, hear, and know everything. In the earliest
times, mortals lived like animals, subdued by the power of the mightiest among
them; they knew neither the punishment of the wicked nor the reward of the
virtuous. It was only later that they developed laws; but again, only open deeds of
violence could be punished. In order to deter secret offenders as well, some clever
man invented the gods. Our source is a passage in Sextus Empiricus (c. 200 CE):910
When the laws prevented men from open deeds of violence, but they continued to commit
them in secret, I believe that a man of shrewd and subtle mind invented for men the fear of
the gods, so that there might be something to frighten the wicked even if they acted, spoke or
thought in secret. From this motive he introduced the conception of divinity. There is, he said,
a spirit enjoying endless life, hearing and seeing with his mind, exceedingly wise and all-
observing, bearer of a divine nature. ... For a dwelling he gave them the place whose mention
would most powerfully strike the heartsers of men, whence, as he knew, fear comes to
mortals and help for their wretched lives; that is, the vault above, where he perceived the
lightning and the dread roars of thunder, and the starry face and form of heaven fair-wrought
by the cunning craftsmanship of time. ... With such fears did he surround mankind, and so by
his story gave the godhead a fair home in a fitting place, and extinguished lawlessness by his
ordinances. ... So, 1 think, first of all, that someone persuaded men to believe that there exists
a race of gods.
Few Greek intellectuals would have possessed the boldness shown by this play’s
author to directly instrumentalise religion by associating the creation of belief in
gods with the hope o f a more effective implementation of justice. And few intel
lectuals throughout history would claim that an emotion, in this case the fear of
divine powers, was the invention o f a certain individual. But the fear of god(s),
along with the fear o f divine wrath and divine punishment, is a widespread -
perhaps universal - phenomenon. However, its manifestations in space and time
are determined by specific cultural parameters.11
9 /O’ IX2.1.253: [fpp]u)Oo, d> 8a?pov- riq 8’ av tcai Oupara ayaiv ooi I [irp]ocmeXdoai Oap-
paiv; itapreav drypeToq etpuq.
10 Sextus Empiricus, Against the Mathematicians 9.54. Translation and discussion: Guthrie
1971, 243-244; see also Davies 1989. The idea that the fear of the gods makes the mortals
respect justice is rejected by the Epicurean philosopher Diogenes of Oinoanda; see the
recently discovered fragment of his work in Hammerstaedt and Smith 2009, 5-12.
11 See e g. C'amporesi 1990 (fear of hell in early modem Europe); Dinzelbacher 1996 (medi
aeval Europe); Michaels 2006 (fear and anxiety in religion); Fischer 2010 (fear in Christianity
in early modem America).
208 Angelos C’haniotis
The aim of this chapter is to present and discuss evidence, primarily epigra-
phic, for the media through which specific agents, sometimes identifiable (priests,
dedicants, worshippers, members of the elite), promoted the fear of god in Greece
and Asia Minor in the Hellenistic and Imperial periods (c. 300 BCE-c. 300 CE).
2 THE INTERPLAY OF EMOTIONAL EXPERIENCE, RELIGIOUS BELIEF,

AND RITUAL
Some time in the late second century CE the inhabitants of Daokometai, a small
village near the Phrygian city of Aizanoi, set up an altar for the worship of Zeus.
The short text on the altar reports:12
The inhabitants of Daokome in fulfilment of a vow [- On the 19th of the month Loos,
.Menophilos was taken by sudden fear, and (the cult of) Great Zeus of Menophilos was
founded.
We will never know what caused Menophilos’ fear and made him establish a cult
of Zeus (‘the Great Zeus of Menophilos’). Was it a divine epiphany or a vision?
Did he survive being struck by Zeus’ lightning? Or was he perhaps a repentant
victim of divine punishment? Although these questions must remain unanswered,
this inscription still epitomises several essential features of popular religion in
Greece and the rural areas of the Hellenised East: religion was belief in the pre
sence and pow er of (a) god, a belief that was based on experience and was both
expressed and enhanced through rituals.1314Menophilos’ experience of fear made
him recognise the presence of god and exclaim ‘Zeus is Great!’ By establishing a
cult, which probably consisted in the offering of a sacrifice on this altar on 19
Loos, Menophilos transmitted his experience and belief to his community. The
regular repetition of this ritual strengthened the belief in divine power.
A very similar case is reported in a contemporary inscription from Sidyma
(Asia Minor). It contains an oration referring to local myths and traditions. A
fallen rock in a cave was attributed to a miracle of Apollo; as it was a memorial of
a fearful experience that testified to the god’s power, it was associated with a
ritual:54
12 Lehmler and WdrrJe 2006, 76 78 no. 135 (SEG L,VI 1434): AatMcwuntai K a t’ levxhv - -1-
Atuw; pr)voc tvvt:uK(xi6cKdvr\ Mr)vo<piAo<; [»c]aTe7tXr|y0r| 8f|tvaj<; ieui| eim aO n Zeitq Meyaq
MrjvoytZoii. See aim Chaniotis 2009a, 2 3 11. no. 73.
13 Chaniotis 2012,269.
14 TAM II 174; more recent publications and commentaries: Chaniotis 1988, 75-84 no. TI9;
Merkelbach 2000: ... xoiup npoq Ho.Au.onr\, A om oiq, anriXuiw anoKpvfpa) hvonoohu) ek
KOp\Mpi}q ot iponobAKOv uvmypti. ptiKpov fyovti, fieoov eiq o icaOorttt'uoai 0rA.r|o«a« xiq
ayvo>; byoyTjTt tov Oiov K(/xT]vt/Hr] kui AiBoq ta ’iTut nrw pa, (pofiov StTypa KUTaaKonwv
hut KOi KfMfir'iv im nonpuxi *'/v,ipr "AnoKAov (o) ey Aonrwv», f larpxopevoi (paivoOpcv. 11
one read* kovulokoiuov, the meaning is slightly dillerent: ‘as learlul warning for those who
try to look inside. ’
... In a place near the sea, in Lopta, in a secret cavern, hard to approach, having a small
opening on the top which lets some light inside, some woman who tried to spy on the god
from above fell unexpectedly and without making noise; and now she lies there as a fallen
stone, as evidence that one should be afraid to look inside. For this reason, when we enter the
cave we make noise in our greeting of Apollo, shouting ‘Hail, Apollo, the one from Lopta.'
Another example is Philostratos’ Heroikos (early third century CE), a fictional

dialogue between a Thracian vine-dresser and a Phoenician merchant. The Phoe
nician expresses his disbelief in the heroes of the Trojan War and their powers.
More generally, he refuses to believe in tales that are not supported by personal
experience:15
1 was right in my disbelief in such things, vine-dresser! You say that you have heard some
thing from your grandfather, perhaps also from your mother or your nurse. But of what you
have personally experienced, you say nothing; unless of course you shall say something about
Protesileos.
The vine-dresser then presents evidence for how Protesileos had manifested his
power in his sanctuary in Thessaly and concludes:16
For the sanctuary there is effective (or active) on behalf of Protesileos, and it gives the
Thessalians many signs, both kind and benevolent, but also angry (opyiXa) if he is neglected.
It is only then that the Phoenician exclaims:

By Protesileos, I believe you, vine-dresser! As I recognise, it is a good thing to swear by such
a hero.
The experiences of the vine-dresser and the Thessalians and the display of the
hero’s anger dispel the Phoenician merchant’s doubt (cauamv) and replace it
with belief (rteiGogcu). The very first manifestation of his belief is a ritual: swear
ing by the name of this hero.
In Greece, and later in the areas that were Hellenised after Alexander’s
conquests, religious belief beyond intellectual circles was inextricably linked with
experiences that were attributed to divine interventions. This can be clearly seen
already in the healing miracles in Epidauros (late fourth century BCE). Some of
the narratives in this collection of texts deal with disbelievers in Asklepios’ heal
ing powers or with individuals who thought that they could cheat the god and
deprive him of his reward. But then the god revealed his power, usually punishing
the disbeliever and restoring faith in his power. Thereupon, this belief was ex
pressed in public.17 The narrative of the fishmonger Amphimnastos, who had
15 Philostratos, Heroikos 8.2: CK> pdtvjv an iareiv eonca xoiq roiooroi^, agneXoupye• xol m>
yap nanno\) pev ti atcr|Koevai tpr^ icai Yaax; pntp6<; r\ m0ris> oeautou 8e ajiayyeXXcic;
ouSev, ei pi) a p a nr pi tou npooreaiXeto ei'jton;.
16 Philostratos, Heroikos 16.5-6: ieat yap t o etaTvti itpov evepyov rep npumcnXetp xai xoXXa
rou; GertaXou; eniaripai'vei tpiXavOptojia re xai eugfvrj, xai opyiXa au, ei dpeXoito. —
HeiGopai, vf| rov npcoTfchXfcov, dpjreXoupye- xaXov yap, tlx; opto, xai opvovai toioutov
hpto.
17 In the collection o f LiDonnici 1995, nos. A3, A7. A9, B2, B16, C4. Cf. Pretre and Charlier
2009, 35 and 40-45. See pp. 177-204 in this volume.
neglected his promise to dedicate a tithe from his profit to Asklepios, is a good
example. When Amphimnastos was in the market at Tegea, his fish were struck
by lightning:18
While a big crowd was standing around to watch, A m phim nastos confessed the w hole fraud
that he had committed against Asklepios. And after he had entreated the god, the god revived
the fish and Amphimnastos dedicated the tithe to Asklepios.
Divine punishment restored the man’s belief in the power o f the god and
prompted him to perform two rituals: prayer and dedication.
The fear of divine punishment for crimes, violations o f sacred regulations,
impiety, or anything else that might cause the anger o f gods was omnipresent in
Greek culture. The gods’ wrath could fall upon innocent and guilty alike. This is a
central theme already in the earliest literary works. In the Iliad, when Agame
mnon refuses to return Chryseis to her father and insults him, Chryses’ prays to
Apollo and the angered god indiscriminately shoots Agamemnon’s soldiers with
his arrows; when Odysseus rouses Poseidon’s wrath by blinding Polyphemos, his
crew pays the penalty. Belief in the collective suffering o f divine vengeance for
the wrongdoing of an individual had deep roots in Greek religion; impurity result
ing from the neglect of a religious duty was also often regarded as communicable
and potentially collective.19 This concept is not only reflected in literary sources,
which are not always to be trusted; it clearly also dictated the public actions of
communities. The public imprecations o f Teos (c. 470 BCE) repeatedly threaten
the violator of laws with the destruction not only o f him self but o f his entire li
neage (a7i6Â,uo0at teat auiov teat yevoq).20 A decree o f Iolkos in Thessaly (third
century BCE) reintroduced sacrifices to the heroes to prevent their anger, should
their worship be neglected.21 As late as the early third century BCE the polis of
Dodona was wondering whether ‘the god had sent bad weather because o f the im
purity (aicaGcxpTia) of some man’.22
In this context, piety (euoePeta) can be understood as fear o f the divine (8ei-
oiSaipovta).23 But piety can also justify hope for divine grace. The idea that
18 LiDonnici 1995, 121 no. C'47 (1G IV2.1 .123). I only present the part o f the text that is relati
vely securely restored: o%kov 5e noAAoo n[£jpi[axd]vxo<; e[iq] xdv Oecopiav, 6 Am>igvaaxo<;
Srpun Tr/.v efyumtav ditaaafvj (xdjg nep|i| xov Aaictatmov yeyevripevav eûcexeuaavxoi;
f t ' ovxovto v 6edv (hoxlfjvovxei; nu^(ijv ixBfieq, £<pavev iced 6 Apipipvaoxoi; av£&nic[e Tl«v
[5eicd.xu]v x<m AatcXunion.
19 Collective and inherited guilt in popular religion. Lloyd-Jones 1983, 35, 901.; Parker 1983,
198 205, 218f.; Johnston 1999, 53f.; Chaniotis 2004a, 2f.
20 Sytl s 37 38; Tod 1946, no. 23.
21 Beûignon 1935, 74-77; Meyer 1936. The restoration of many lines of this inscription is
uncertain, but the passage relerr/ng to divine wrath is clearly preserved (B line 5: (Yvu pn xi
f Kf}i(Jt:v pT)viopo yivnxui).
22 StCj XIX 427, f hot* 2006, 641. no. 14.
23 I or the iear of god as a constitutive part of piety in the wider context of pagan religiosity, cf.
the term which designates a religious group influenced by Judaism and also high
lights awe in the face of god On the controversy over the identity of the 0coat (kTq see Lieu
1995; Mitchell 1998 and 1999; Ameling 2004, 13 20 Fear o f god is also clearly expressed in
C onstructing the Pear ol G ods: E pigraphic Evidence Prom ( ireece and Asia Minor 2II
success originated in piety, while failure could ultimately be attributed to some

transgression, was very prominent in Greek public discourse, as is authentically
recorded in epigraphic sources. An Athenian decree concerning the festival of the
Thargelia shows that one o f the arguments used by its proposer was precisely the
intrinsic causal connection between piety, the proper observance of rituals, and
success:24
It is a norm of the forefathers and a custom of the Athenian demos and an ancestral tradition
to show the greatest care for piety towards the gods and it is for this reason that the Athenians
have achieved the fame and the praise of the most glorious deeds both on land and in the sea
through many campaigns on land and on board of ships, always beginning all their activities
with an homage to Zeus Soter and with the worship of the gods.
When the Romans wished to assure the Greek city of Teos of their piety, they
needed no other proof than their success:25
One would surmise that we always pay the greatest attention to piety toward the gods from
the fact that we receive the favour o f the gods for this reason.
Piety placed a w orshipper in the privileged position o f approaching the divinity

with confidence. For instance, having experienced a cure, a worshipper in Maro-
neia (c. 150-100 BCE) dem onstrated his faith in Isis by means o f a highly rheto
rical eulogy, in which he expressed his confidence that the goddess would accept
his invitation to com e and listen to his praise:26
an inscription connected with the Montanist movement. The prophetess Nana declares in a
metrical inscription (c. 350 CE) that ‘from the beginning she felt the fear of god all night
long’ (reavvvxiov 0eou (pof}ov dxev a n ' apxT<;): SEG XL1II 943; Merkelbach and Stauber
2001,349f. no. 16/41/15.
24 Sokolowski 1962, no. 14 = SEG XXI 469 C lines 3-8 (Athens, 129/8 BCE): I kciSti rcaxpiov
[ejoxfiv Kai e]0O£ ton 8npan xwi AGrivattov tcai uko xdiv Kpoyovcov jc[a]pa8e[8]ogevov Kept
rcXeiaxou KoeiaOat xrjv np6<; xouq Oeoxx; [euae(kiav] Kai 8 ta xauxa KoXXa<i)q <kc£at<;) Kat
eiti vauai oxpaxei(at><; xpv KXe[iv]oxdxu>v lpya>v Kat Kara yrjv Kai Kata GaXaxxav ev8o-
î'a[v] Kai [euXoyiav KCKxJrivxai apxopevoi 8 ta navxos; ano (xou Aicx; xov) Zarrnpo*; {xrv;
rrjpo<; xou<; 9eou<; oatoxriroq. Recent discussions o f this text: Chaniotis 2009c, 100f.; Stavria-
nopoulou 2011,94-96.
25 Sherk 1969, no. 34 lines 11-15 (letter of the praetor M. Valerius Messala, the tribunes, and
the senate to Teos, 193 BCE): oxi pev SioXou KXeiaxov Xoyov xoiovpevoi 8iaxeXovpev xt);
npoq xou<; 0eov<; evae|teia<;, pdXicrx’ av xt<; axoxaôtxo ex xhs owavxwpevns npeiv evp«-
veta<; 8 ta xauxa n ap a xov 8aipoviou.
26 Loukopoulou et al. 2005, 383-385 no. 205 lines 10-13: aeiGopai 8e Kavxax; oe KapeaeoOat.
d yap UKep xiV; Iprjs KaXoupelvri aioxr|pioi<; f|X0e<;, nux; vKep xt); i8ia; xipiV; ouk av IX-
0ou;; Oapptov ouv jcopeuopai rcpoq xa XoiKa, ytvtooKtov oxi xo eyxwpiov I vou^ plv 0eou,
xdpr; 8e ypdipouctv avGpamou. On this text, its highly rhetorical style, and the use ol
rhythmical prose see Papanikolaou 2009. See also p. 278. During the initiation into the
mysteries o f Isis a priest gave courage to the initiates: ‘Have courage, initiates, now that the
god has been saved, For we shall receive salvation from troubles.’ (Firmicus Matemus, De er-
rore profanarum religionum 23.5: OappeTxe, puaxai, tov 0eou ocociwplvou • Icrtai yap npiv
I k kovcov atotripi'a).
I am confident that you shall certainly come. Since you came when I called you to save me,
how couldn't you come now to be honoured? Without fear (Bapptov) I am now proceeding to
the rest, knowing that this praise is written by mortal hands but by a divine mind.
This praise of Isis was certainly set up in a sanctuary o f the goddess, together with
other manifestations of piety, especially dedications. In the following sections of
this chapter 1 shall survey such inscriptions that enhanced the fear of god.
3 THOU SHALL NOT CULT NORMS AND THE FEAR OF

PUNISHMENT
As recognized by Kritias (see p. 207), a principal function o f the fear of god is to

endorse obedience to norms. Not only religious norms required such backing; the
hymn to Asklepios by Isyllos (see p. 206), for instance, endorsed an aristocratic
political regime. In this section I only discuss religious norms and, in particular,
cult prescriptions and cult regulations.27
Since piety is expressed through rituals, it follows that the observance of
rituals could save a community from the wrath o f gods. No less an authority than
that of Apollo Klarios declared this. In an oracular response given to Hierapolis
when the city was facing a plague (early second century CE), Apollo gave the un
ambiguous command:28
1 command you to avoid the gods’ grievous wrath through libations, feasts, and the offering
of hecatombs of full-grown animals.
Another of his oracles, again from Hierapolis but this time fragmentary, mentions
the fear of god (0eoi>8etr|) in an unclear context concerning a Roman magistrate -
possibly advising the city to accept the verdict o f a Roman governor (late second
or early third century CE).29 In yet another oracle, this time recommending rituals
for the removal of a plague from Ephesos (second century CE), Apollo directly
threatens the Ephesians: ‘if you do not follow my commands, you shall pay the
penalty of fire.’30
Composed in metrical form and solemnly recited by priests, these words of
Apollo must have had the desired impact on an audience confronted with disease.
As soon as they were inscribed on stone, they were transformed into unremitting
reminders that divine punishment awaits those who disobey sacred norms and
2? for an overview of Greek cult regulations (often misleadingly called ‘sacred laws’ or leges
sacrue) see Parker 2004; fupu 2005, 3-112.
28 Merkeibach and Stauber 1998, 259 -261 no. 02/12/01: <ov (’x n«A ,tvuo0«t iceA-opui xoôv aX
ytvorvt</• I Aoiffc/ic, nXornvo.K; t f xr/.rpooou<; 0 ’ eicuxoppan;.
29 Merkelbath and Stauber 1998, 263 no. 02/12/03: oibt yap ovk fx<pug«pxr|aei(; oiv xoi Bt'loc,
ttvboj, 1itc 6n 0rou6( KUfxjf i<;, r\ o ’ ooxt [icuK(ixm| ('In this way you will not tail in
what the god pronounces, and through the fear of god, which will not harm you, you shall
achieve something j
30 Merkeibach arid Stauber 1998, 2961 no, 03/02/01; d 8e xr ph xcTiroixe, itupbs tote tetoete
xoivrx^
Constructing the Fear o f Gods: Epigraphic Evidence from Greece and Asia Minor 2 13
secular institutions. The oracles from Hierapolis were in fact published as a small
‘anthology’ upon command by Apollo himself and at the expense of some citizen;
as we can infer from the dedicatory formula ‘lor his own well-being’ ([{ixe|p kav-
tov), the inscription must have been dedicated in a sanctuary, probably a sanctua
ry of Apollo.31
Prescribed by traditions - both true and ‘invented’ believed to have been
introduced through divine agency (especially oracles), and expanded through the
agency of pious citizens (usually members of the elite),32 ritual norms became
known to the worshippers, both orally and in written form. Priestly proclamations
at the beginning o f rituals encouraged some worshippers to attend without fear
while discouraging others who did not fulfil the requirements of purity and
morality.33 Such proclamations are echoed by sacred regulations, such as a text
from Lindos (early third century CE) which concerns matters of ritual purity. The
regulation ends with a metrical text - certainly an oracle - urging those who are
pure to enter the precinct o f Athena without fear (BappaXecoq) and the impure to
depart.34
One of the longest sacred regulations in Greek fixes the requirements for
participation in the mysteries performed by a private cult association at Philadel
p h ia (late second/early first century BCE).35* The founder of the association
claimed that he had received ordinances for the performance of purifications and
mysteries from Zeus in his sleep:
... When coming into this House, let men and women, free people and slaves, swear by all the
gods neither to know nor to make use wittingly of any deceit against a man or a woman,
neither poison harmful to men nor harmful spells. They are not themselves to make use of a
love potion, abortifacient, contraceptive, or any other thing fatal to children; nor are they to
recommend it to, nor connive at it with another. They are not to refrain in any respect from
being well intentioned towards this House. If anyone performs or plots any of these things,
they are neither to tolerate it nor keep silent, but to expose it and to defend themselves....
The text continues with further restrictions, accompanied with blessings and
threats:
Whoever, woman and man, does any of the things written above, let him not enter this House.
For great are the gods set up in it. They watch over these things and will not tolerate those
who transgress the ordinances. A free woman is to be chaste and shall not know the bed of,
nor have sexual intercourse with, another man except her own husband. But if she does have
such knowledge, such a woman is not chaste, but defiled and full of endemic pollution, and
unworthy to reverence this god whose holy things these are that have been set up. She is not
to he present at the sacrifices, not to offend the purifications and cleansings, not to see the
mysteries being performed. But if she does any of these things from the time the ordinances
31 On the discovery place see Pugliese Carratelli 1963/64, 351.

32 On the origin of ritual norms see Chaniotis 2003 and 2009c; Stavrianopoulou 2011.
33 Dickie 2004 with examples.
34 Sokolowski 1962, no. 91 lines 23-26: eTm0r TOiycip. t'i tcaOapo*; a> £eve, 0appa-
Aio*;. Metrical cult regulations are usually oracles; see Petrovic and Petrovic 2006
35 Sokolowski 1955, no. 20 = TAM V.3.1539; Barton and Horsley 1981; Chamotis 199Ta, 154-
162; Petzl 2003, 93f. I use the translation by Barton and Horsley with small modifications.
have come on to this inscription, she shall have evil curses from the gods for disregarding
these ordinances. For the god does not desire these things to happen at all, nor does he wish
it; but he wants obedience. The gods will be gracious to those who obey, and always give
them all good things, whatever gods give to men whom they love. But should any transgress,
they shall hate such people and inflict upon them great punishments.
The regulation was endorsed through a ritual:
At the monthly and annual sacrifices may those men and women who have confidence in
themselves touch this inscription on which the ordinances of the god have been written, in
order that those who obey these ordinances and those who do not may be manifest.
The inscription was probably set up in the entrance of the shrine. Before the wors
hippers were invited to touch the inscription, the text was certainly read aloud to
them. The worshippers heard the long list of the gods whose altars were set up in
the club-house; they heard the expression ‘great gods’ (0eoi ... Y8puvTou peya-
Axn), which in this period signified divine power, efficacy, and presence, the wil
lingness of the gods both to listen to the just prayers of mortals and to prosecute
sinners with their infallible justice (below p. 229);36 they heard both the promise
of blessing and the threat of punishment.
This cult regulation is more detailed and direct than most similar texts, and
thus it helps us understand one of the functions of cult regulations, not as texts but
as inscriptions: they were texts meant to be read and sometimes to be ‘performed’
(to be read aloud solemnly) in order to arouse hope and fear. Another metrical cult
regulation from Euromos in Karia (late first/early second century CE) expresses
similar thoughts in clear and unambiguous language;37
Stranger, if you have a pure heart and if you exercise justice in your soul, then enter this
sacred place. But if you are unjust and your mind is impure, then stay away from the im
mortals and from the sacred precinct. This sacred house does not like evil men and punishes
them. To the holy, however, the god gives holy gifts.
Not unlike the text from Philadelpheia, which presents itself as a text directly
given by a god, the text from Euromos seems to be an oracle (cf. note 34). It was
probably written on one of the doorposts of Zeus’ temple to be read by (or to) the
worshippers who approached the sacred place.
The emotive impact of other cult regulations was endorsed with curses. In the
third century BCE the assembly of the small city o f Gambreion in Asia Minor
approved of a decree which limited the duration o f mourning, especially for wo
men. 3* In order to reach its primary addressees, women, this decree was inscribed
36 Chanlotis 2010. 134, cf. Muller 1013, Peterson 1926, 196-208.

37 Voutiras 1995; Merkelbach and Stauber 1998, 70 no. 01/17/01; SEG XUII 710: Ei ic«0aprxv.
& êtvf, <ppf vu K</i to 8iko.|iJov I rjaicnicf<; ftouve e a t’ culepov• I n 8 ’ uSikuiv
eat out I vooc; <n» KuBupeiiei, I noippb) a n ’ a0«vrxtotv |f|pyro Ktxi tepevo\v oi»
otcpyei <jwxw,xrtjq |ijcpo<; 86poc; avttvepc|i x«P>“38
38 Sokolowski 1955, no. 16 This text has often been discussed in connection with measures for
the limitation of lament See Engels 1998, 70f, I risone 2000, 139 154; Stavrianopoulou
2005. Ihe English translation reproduced here is that of Price 1999, 180 no. 14.
Constructing the Fear o f Gods: Epigraphic Evidence from Greece and Asia Minor 215
twice, and the two inscriptions were set up in the two sanctuaries most frequently
(and exclusively) visited by women: one in front of the doors of the sanctuary of
Demeter Thesmophoros, the patron of the women’s festival of the Thesmophoria;
the other in front of the temple of Artemis Lochia, the protector of women during
pregnancy and at childbirth. Again, rituals endorsed the efficacy of the word:
The supervisor of the women elected by the people shall pray at the purification rituals before
the Thesmophoria for the men who abide by and the women who obey this law that things
will be well and that their existing goods will increase, and that the opposite will occur for the
men who do not obey and the women who do not abide by this law. And it shall not be proper
for those women, because of their impiety, to sacrifice to any god for ten years.
In addition to the solemn cursing of potential violators, women who did not
follow the law were threatened with being prohibited from sacrifice for ten years,
that is, with the interruption o f communication with the gods.
Many sacred regulations do not explicitly refer to divine punishment but
imply it with phrases such as ‘he shall be impious’.39 What the cult regulations
refer to only as a possibility is presented as a past event in the records of divine
justice to which I shall now turn.
4 EPIGRAPH1C MEMORIALS OF DIVINE JUSTICE
The sanctuary o f the Mother o f Gods Autochthon at Leukopetra near the Macedo
nian city of Beroia was an important cult place that attracted numerous worship
pers from the nearby urban centres and the countryside in the Imperial period. As
we can infer from the inscriptions in that sanctuary, it was accessible on certain
festive days. Many o f its visitors used this opportunity to dedicate their slaves,
and a few times their children as well, to the goddess. By becoming the property
of the goddess and being obliged to serve her on the festive days, the slaves
acquired their freedom from their mortal masters.40 The dedications were
inscribed on the columns o f a portico. Some of them explained the motivation for
the dedication. In one case a couple made a dedication after ‘having suffered
many terrible misfortunes at the hands of Meter Theon, Autochthon’; in another, a
man declared that he had been ‘harassed by the goddess’.4142In a third inscription,
an angry man dedicated his female slave who had run away. In asking the goddess
to find and keep her, he indirectly urges her to show her punitive power:4'
39 E.g. Sokolowski 1955, no. 28 line 17: eivfai aaelPn; 53 lines 26f.: daepfj xal dSucov vxdp-
XEiv tcov TtpoYeYpaM^Vft)V 0e«v. For a discussion of this term and its meaning see Delli Pizzi
2011.
40 On the legal aspects of this form of ‘sacred manumission’ see Youni 2005. The inscriptions
from Leukopetra have been published in Petsas, Hatzopoulos, Gounaropoulou, and Paschidis
2000. On religious aspects see Chaniotis 2009d and 2011,277-280.
41 Petsas et al. 2000, no. 65: noXXa 8iva icaicd naaxovtfi; onto MqTpcx; 0 eu>y Av>tox0ovo<;; no.
35: 6xA.oi>hevo<; uno rfr; 0e(oj{).
42 Petsas et al. 2000, no. 53: exapiaopqv xopaaiov ovopati luvtpepoucav ... to ve djtoo-
Xo)<A.>ov to auth utti ava^ntnaeiv
I dedicated to you a girl by the name of Sympherousa, whom I have lost, so that you can look
for her for yourself.
In another sanctuary in Macedonia, that of the Huntress Artemis (Artemis Kyna-
gos), an anonymous woman dedicated a female slave and her descendants ‘after
having been harassed by Artemis Ephesia, the one in Kolobaise’.43 All these texts
were inscribed in sanctuaries as manifestations of the belief in punishment by
vengeful gods for human misdemeanours. Their emotive effect on those who read
them - or listened to the texts being read aloud - must have been awe and fear.
At first sight, the agents propagating this belief seem to have been the
worshippers themselves; we cannot, however, exclude the possibility that they had
been advised to do so by the priests or administrators of the sanctuaries. After all,
visitors did not have the liberty to set up inscriptions wherever they liked without
permission by the sanctuary’s personnel. The active involvement o f priests in the
recording of the gods’ punitive miracles is attested in the sanctuary of Asklepios
in Epidauros. Here, a collection of miracles, including miracles in which Askle
pios is shown punishing those who tried to cheat him or who lacked faith, was
composed by the cult’s personnel (see pp. 177-204 in this volume). However, the
best evidence for priests as agents for the propagation of the fear of the gods is
provided by the so-called ‘confession inscriptions’.
The term ‘confession inscriptions’ designates a group of texts from Asia
Minor (Lydia and Phrygia) which contain confessions of various offences (often
violations of ritual norms). They also mention the ritual acts with which the angry
gods were propitiated and record exaltations of the divine power. Their dedicators
believed that an offence committed either by them or by their relatives had
angered a god who prosecuted them with illness, accident, death, or the destruc
tion of their property.44 The relevant texts date from the first to the third century
CE; they were written on stone stelae and set up in sanctuaries. It has often been
pointed out that the term ‘confession inscription’ isolates only one of their
components. These inscriptions combine elements of confession, propitiation,
exaltation, and dedication - consequently they share common features with vows,
dedications, prayers, aretalogies, and praises - , and were connected with complex
ritual actions.45 A more appropriate term for these texts would be ‘records of divi
ne justice’ or ‘records of divine punishment’.
43 1G X.2.2.233 fKolobaise, 200 CE): evo>xA,ri)i£v[Ti orcoj AptepiSoi; E<peaia<; {tt^ I ev K0A.0-
fknaT).
44 Main corpus: Pet/I 1994 (cf. Petzl 1997); new texts (‘confession inscriptions’ and related
texts): SEG XLVII 1651, 1654, 1751, LIII 1344; LIV 1225; LVII 1158, 1159, 1172 1174,
1182, 1185 1187, 1210, 1211, 1222, 1223 (Herrmann and Malay 2007, nos. 46,47, 51, 52,
54 56, 66, 70, 72, 83 85), Malay 1999, no. 217; cf. nos. 111-112. For a suspected confession
inscription from Jerusalem see SEG 1.111 1852 and LVII 1833. Recent studies on the religious
significance of ‘confession inscriptions’: C’haniotis 1997b, 2004a, and 2009b (with further
bibliography); Pet/1 1998; de Ho/ 1999, 114 124; Versnel 2002, 63-67; Rostad 2002 and
2005; Schnabel 2003; Gordon 2004a and 2004b; Belayche 2006, 2007, and 2008.
45 On the rituals see ( baniotis 2009b
Constructing the Fear of Gods: Epigraphic Evidence from Greece and Asia Minor 2 I7
Despite many uncertainties, it seems that these texts come from individuals
who thought that a god was inflicting punishment on them because they had,
intentionally or not, committed a crime or violated a norm. In this difficult situa
tion they made vows to the gods and appealed to local sanctuaries, where the god
revealed the cause of his anger and the way in which atonement could be
achieved. This was done by means of oracles, divine messengers, or dreams, and
with the active assistance of priests, who interpreted the signs of the divine will
and advised those who wished to atone for their misdemeanours. In cases of
disputes between villagers, the priests served as arbitrators, swore in the parties,
or cursed the offenders in order to attract the gods’ interest towards the offence.
An example illuminates the background of these ‘records of divine justice’.
The delinquent reports:46
I suffered punishment because I was not ready, and 1 received the following oracular respon
se: ‘because you are impure’.
Some worshippers received an oracular response indicating the possible cause of

the divine wrath, others identified this either by interrogating relatives or through
discussions with the priests. If they were unable to find an explanation, they could
atone for ‘known and unknown sins’ (e£ eiboTtov tea! pq eiSotcov; p. 219 figure
2)47 The offenders atoned for their failing by erecting a stele with the record of
their offense and punishment, making a dedication, performing rituals (purifica
tion, praise of the gods), and sometimes paying a fine to the sanctuary.48
A few selected inscriptions shall illustrate the impact of such monuments on
the visitors of sanctuaries. The first text from Kollyda (205 CE) narrates in a very
syncopated form the sin of two brothers who prevented their father from propitiat
ing the gods. A fragmentary relief seems to represent a man being killed by an
animal (figure 1):49
Ammianos and Hermogenes, sons of Tryphon, appear (at the sanctuary) asking the gods. Men
Motyllites and Zeus Sabazios and Artemis Anaitis, and the great senate and the council of the
gods, asking also the village and the sacred Journos [assocaition?], in order that they may find
mercy. For they have been punished because they seized their father, while he was
acknowledging the powers of the gods. And their father did not obtain pity but died. -
‘Nobody should ever disparage the gods’. - They wrote (this) on account of his first written
declaration and dedicated (the stele) praising the gods.
46 Petzl 1994, 115f. no. 98 (Bulladan, second century CE); Chaniotis 2009b, 131 with note 74:
ieoXaa0ei>; 8ia to p<t)> etoipov etve ice KeicXnSov(a0£ pe «ou pepoXupevo*; ei».
47 Chaniotis 2009b, 134 with note 90.
48 Chaniotis 2009b, 134-142.
49 Herrmann and Malay 2007, no. 85 (SEG LV11 1186): Apptavd; tea! ’Eppoyevrv; Tpuiptovoi;
irdpiaiv epamovTe.; tou<; 0eod<;, Mt)va MoroXXur|v vat Aia lapa^tov tea! Aptepiv Avaet-
uv Kai peydXriv ouvato<; tea! auvteXritov t<ov 0e<ov, eptotamec; tf|v Katoivia(v) vav tov
iepov 8oupov, iva eXeoo toxiomv. ’Ex! eieoXacOnMav outoi. bti rdv satepa eicpdtT\aav
eôpoXoyoupevov to ; Suvapt^ ttbv 0ea>v. Kat eXripoadvrjv pit Xafiovto^ tou xatpd;
aimdv, aXXd dnoteXe<j0evto^ autou. - «Mr| its xott xapeuteXicn rot*; 0eov>9>. - Ata td^
rtfp|(6ta^ npoypaipdq autou eypa|y]av icai ave0t)ieav tuXoyouvteUl tou; 0eo!;. Cf.
Chaniotis 201 l,283f.
Figure 1. Relief stele from Kollyda (Lydia, 205 CE) with a record of divine
punishment and atonement. The relief probably represents the death of a man
who had failed to reconcile himself with the gods.
It seems that Tryphon was about to confess a sin, probably after having been
punished by the gods, but was held back by his sons. As his reconciliation with
the gods was denied to him, he met with a violent death. The wrath of the gods
then fell on his sons, until they were forced to come to the sanctuary and confess
their sin, so as to put an end to their prosecution by the gods. Their question was
addressed to three particular gods who were very popular in this region: the
Iranian moon-god Mes or Men, whose sanctuary was at Motylla; Zeus Sabazios;
and the Iranian goddess Anahita, identified with the Greek Artemis. Their case
was also presented to a council of gods, which is sometimes mentioned in these
confession inscriptions and was perceived as a divine court.50 But this affair was
not only a matter between these sinners and the gods through the mediation of
priests. Their village (katoikia) and a religious association (hieros doumos) were
also involved, certainly as an audience, possibly as witnesses and advisors. The
brothers’ reconciliation with the gods was achieved when they erected a stele with
their confession and a quite unambiguous visual message (figure I). In the text
they quoted a statement written by their father (or an oracle) which would serve as
a warning to others: ‘nobody should ever disparage the gods.’ The text ends with
a reference to the fact that the repentant sinners praised the gods - probably in the
usual form of acclamations.
50 Chamotis 2000b. 131 134.

Constructing the Fear of Gods: Epigraphic Evidence from Greece and Asia Minor 2 1()
Figure 2 (left). Stele of unknown provenance (Lydia, third century CE) recording
atonement from ‘known and unknown sins’; under the pediment
representation of the statue of Mes, holding his sceptre.
Figure 3 (right): Stele from Silandos (235 CE) recording Theodoros’ confessions, the responses of
the god Mes, and ritual instructions. The drawing of a crescent moon symbolises Mes’ power,
that of two eyes alludes to Theodoros’ punishment with an affliction of his eyes.
Another example illustrates the transmission of the gods’ oracular responses to
sinners by the priests. Theodoros, a sacred slave at Silandos (235 CE), had repeat
edly violated the obligation of sexual abstinence and had even committed adulte
ry. When his sight was afflicted, he went to the sanctuary. There, he may have
been kept in custody - possibly not as a punishment but as a result of his affliction
- and he received instructions concerning the rituals through which he could pro
pitiate Mes, the god who had punished him. The crescent moon and pair of eyes
represented on the stele allude to the punishing god and the affliction (figure 3).
The text does not give a continuous narrative of the events, but presents three
confessions by Theodoros, followed by divine utterances and ritual instructions.
The gods’ declarations and the instructions were probably given by the priests.
who impersonated the gods. With Zeus’ assistance the council of the gods in a
heavenly court entreated Mes to forgive Theodoras.51
Theod.: 'For I have been brought to my senses by the gods, by Zeus and the Great Mes
Artemidorou.'
Mes: l have punished Theodoros on his eyes for his offences.'
Theod.: i had sexual intercourse with Trophime, the slave o f Haplokomas, the wife of
Eutychis, in thepraetorium.'
He takes the first sin away with a sheep, a partridge, a mole. Second sin.
Theod.: ‘While 1 was a slave of the gods o f Nonnos, I had sexual intercourse with the flautist
Ariagne.’
He takes away with a ‘piglet', a tuna, (another) fish.
Theod.: ‘For my third sin 1 had sexual intercourse with the flautist Aretousa.
He takes away with a chicken, a sparrow, a pigeon. A kypros o f barley and wheat, a prochous
of wine, a kypros of clean (?) wheat for the priests, one prochous.
Theod.: ‘1 asked for Zeus’ assistance.’
Mes: ‘See! 1 have blinded him for his sins.’ But, since he has appeased the gods and has
erected the stele, he has taken his sins away. ‘Asked by the council (I respond that) I am
kindly disposed, if (or when) he sets up my stele on the day I have ordered. You may open the
prison. 1 set the convict free after one year and ten months.’
The ritual described in this text is labelled in other texts as tr ip h o n o n (triad of

animals) or en n e a p h o n o n (three triads of animals). It seems to be a specific, local
ritual expressed in Greek terms. The triads of animals probably represent ele
ments, such as earth, sky, the underworld, and water. The ritual transmission of
the sin to animals recalls scapegoat rituals, but also finds parallels in Hittite ri
tuals. Such rituals included the release of animals (birds, fish, mice) to remove
evil and sins, followed by incantations. The scene described in this text must have
taken place in a sanctuary or a temple, in front of the images of the divinities.
The importance of the sanctuary as the stage for the rituals of confession and
praise is also clear in one of the most detailed inscriptions, which concerns the
conflict between a woman (Tatias) and her village (Kollyda, 156/7 CE):52
51 Petzl 1994, 7 -1 1 no. 5 lines 2-26: «Kaxa to e<ppevw0ei<; imo xwv 0ea>v, urco too Aio<; ke too
(Mr|v6g geydAou Apxegi8(bpou». — «’EKoA.aaogr|v rd o g a ta xov ©e68wpov Kata xaq
dgapxtaq, ac; in\)T\aev». — «Luveyev6gnv TTi rceSicxfi AnXoKOga, xt) Tpoipigfl, xr)
yuvanci xfi EvxvxoSoi; eU to rtAexa>piv». — Arcaipi xr)v npd>xr|v a g ap x ia v 7tpoPaxw |v(,
KEpSeua, aotpuXaia. Aeuxepa ag ap x ia. «AAAa 8ouA.o<; cW xcov Oecbv tcov ev Novou auv-
eyevognv xrj Apidyvri xf) govauAia». — ’rcaipt xupip, 0eivvct>, cxOuei. «Tr) xpixri agapxia
ouveyevogpv ApeOoucrfl govauAia». — ’rtaipi opvei0i, crcpooOqj, Jiepioxepa, icu(rtp(p) tcpei-
0071vptov, 7tpo(xip) otvov tculTtpo)?) 7njpa>v Ka0apo<; xoic; eiepoiq, 7tpo(xcp?) a '. — «”Eoxa
7iapdicAr|xov xov Aeiav». — «ET8ai, x a ta xa Ttuhgaxa 7ie7tr|pd)Kiv». Nov Se eiAaôpevoo
obxov too; 0eo\t<; ice axnAoypaipouvxo^ avepvaexov xa<; d g a p tia q . ’Hpo>xt|gaivo^ (mb xrv;
ovvK/.r\\uv mtTKwq eigai avaaxavogevTi<; xfj<; axf|AAr|V gou, f) pgepot tdpiaa. Avu£,ai<; xr)v
(pu/^/Ktiv, e^/.<ptw xov Kaxd8iKov 8id eviavxov ke govcov i' 7tepi7xaxouvxo)v». Chaniolis
2009b, 131 133 (with further bibliography).
52 Petzl 1994, 8H 90 no. 69 lines 3- 34: ... rVi louKouvSot; eyevexo ev 8ia0ecn gaviKfl xai imo
Twivxwv 5ie<jxngio0r| <b<; UTtd Taxu/<; xr\<; 7tev0epa<; auxou ipdpgaKov auxip 8e8oo0ai, n 8c
Taxiac, rru'cmioev rncriTtxpov xai a.pa<; eBtikev ev xto vaw die, iKavo7toiouoa nepi too rtapir
giaBai auxhv h oovn&nai xoiauxti, oi 0eoi avxhv ercouiaav ev KoA-doei, pv ou Sieipuyev
dgolwc M/.i Lo>Kpdxrj(; d uio<; auxf)s n apayov xt) v Tao8ov xr|v t<; to aAooq anayouoav
Constructing the Fear oI Gods: Epigraphic Evidence from Greece and Asia Minor 221
Since Jucundus was struck by insanity and it was rumoured by everybody that he had been
given a potion by his mother-in-law Tatias, Tatias set up a sceptre and deposited imprecations
in the temple to defend herself against an imputation, although she was conscious (of her
guilt). For this reason the gods exercised a punishment which she did not escape. Similarly,
her son Sokrates, when he was passing by the entrance which leads to the grove, having a
sickle in his hands with which one cuts down vines, the sickle fell on his foot and, thus, he
suffered punishment within a day and died. The gods at Azitta are great! They demanded that
the sceptre and the imprecations made in the temple be annulled; Sokrateia, Moschas, Ju
cundus, and Menekrates, the children of Jucundus and Moschion and grandchildren of Tatias,
annulled this, atoning in every way the gods. Having reported the power of the gods on a
stele, we praise the gods from now on.
In order to defend her honour and free herself from slander, Tatias went to the
sanctuary and cursed her accusers (‘she set up the sceptre and deposited impreca
tions’). Tatias’ ritual actions were performed in public, in the temple, the most
prominent public space o f a small community, possibly on the day of a festival.
The ceremony consisted of the setting up of a sceptre, the symbol of divine power.
This is a common attribute of Mes in the reliefs that decorate the stelae recording
divine punishment (figure 2). The sceptre’s erection was presumably carried out
by the priests. During the ceremony they probably mentioned the case for which it
was being set up and invoked the particular god whose sceptre was being erected
and who was expected to punish the culprit.53 Such ceremonies were also perfor
med against the violators o f graves. In Saittai, for example, a family that had built
a grave warned potential wrongdoers that it had ‘made an imprecation in order
that no one should harm the grave, because sceptres have been set up’.54
As well as putting up a sceptre Tatias ‘deposited curses in the temple’, in
order to demonstrate publicly that the accusations against her were unfounded.
But when misfortunes befell her family, this was interpreted by the community as
punishment for an unjustified curse. To put an end to the divine prosecution,
Tatias’ grandchildren ritually annulled the curses and ‘praised the gods from now
on’.
The praise o f the gods, which is only mentioned here and in similar in
scriptions, is more evident in another inscription from Lydia which, without being
a ‘confession’, is still a record o f divine punishment (57 CE):55
Speitavov Kpataiv dpjxeAoxopov, etc xp<; x£ip<>s eneaev auxtp eit! xov x68a xai o\ix<»>s povp-
pepip xoAdaei djtpAAdYP. MeyaAoi o\>v oi 0eoi oi ev Aîxxok;' exe^pxpoav AuOpvai ™
aicrjitTpov teal xaq dpou; xa^ Y£V°P£VOts £V Tv5ou sal Mooxiou,
e'yyovoi 8e xp<; Taxia<;, Ia)Kp«xeia kou Mocyaq tea! ’IovkoGv5o«; teal Meveicpaxps Kat“
ruxvta e2;eiAaadpevo\ xoxk; 0eou<;, tea) ano voTv eGAoYoGpev axpAAoYpatppoavxe.; xa; 5v-
vapiq ttov 0etov. Discussion: Zingerle 1926, 16-23; Versnel 2002,64f.; Chaniotis 2004a, 11-
13;2004b,245-256;2009b,122-125.
53 Chaniotis 2009b, 121-124.
54 TAM V A, 160 = Strubbe 1997, 53 no. 62 (108 CE) lines 5-8: Kcti EJtppdoavxo pp xi*; aGxoG
xtp pvppeitp npooapapxp 8id xo eniaxao0ai oKpnxpa.
55 SEC LII1 1344 (Magazadamlari, Lydia): MexaAp Mpxpp Mpvd^ Xîoxxpvou. Mpvi
OGpcxvitp, Mpvi Aptepi8iopou Aîoxxa Kaxex°vm TAGkojv AxoAAioviou vai MGpxxov TAG-
kwvoi; euAoYiav Gnep xpq eauxcov awxppia^ xai xSv iSitov xewcov. IG Yap pe, vGpie,
aixpaAomôpevov pAepaeq. M r/a ooi xo ooiov, pfya aoi xo Sixaiov. pryuAp veixp.
'>*)*> Angelos Chaniotis
Great is the Mother of Mes Axiottenos! - Glykon, the son of Apollonios, and Myrtion, the
wife of Apollonios, (set up) this praise for Mes Ouranios and for Mes of Artemidoros who
rules over Axiotla, tor their rescue and for that of their children. - ‘For you. Lord, have
show n mercy, when 1 was a captive’. - Great is your holiness! Great is your justice! Great is
your victory! Great your punishing power! Great is the Dodekatheon that has been established
in your vicinity! - ‘For the son of my brother Demainetos made me his captive. For I had ne
glected my ow n affairs and helped you, as if you were my own son. But you locked me in and
kept me a captive, as if I were a criminal and not your paternal uncle! Now, great is Mes, the
ruler over Axiotta! You have given me satisfaction. I praise you’.
This text consists of acclamations and an account given by Glykon before an
audience in a sanctuary. Glykon had been locked up by his nephew, probably in
the course of a family quarrel. After an unknown incident was interpreted by the
nephew as divine punishment, he was forced to set his uncle free. Glykon came to
the sanctuary, accompanied by his nephew, and presented his accusations in an
emotional manner. In so doing, he indicated his nephew’s ingratitude and praised
the god. Presumably, Glykon’s dedication and praise were accompanied by the
nephew’s propitiation of the god in accordance with the manner often described in
such records of divine punishment (public confession, request for forgiveness,
performance of a propitiatory ritual, praise). We may assume that the acclama
tions recorded in the text were performed during the erection of the stele.
Records of divine punishment do not only appear in ‘confession inscriptions’.
As we have already seen, divine punishment is occasionally mentioned in the
healing miracles of Epidauros (see pp. 209f. and 224), in manumission records in
the sanctuary of the Mother of the Gods at Leukopetra, and in ordinary dedica
tions (pp. 215f.). They are also found in decrees, such as a decree of Stratonikeia
which records a miracle of Zeus. When the sanctuary of Zeus and Hekate at
Panamara was under attack by the troops of Labienus during one of the last wars
of the Late Republic (c. 40 BCE), Zeus burned the weapons of the enemy with his
divine fire. A sudden storm with thunder and lightning terrified the enemy to such
an extent that ‘many were those who deserted, asking for forgiveness and crying
out with a loud voice, “Great is Zeus Panamaros’” . In this confusion and chaos,
the enemy soldiers ended up killing and wounding one another; out of their sen
ses, as if pursued by the Furies, they met a terrible death in the nearby mountains.
When the enemy attempted a second attack, surrounding the fort and laying a
siege, they heard cries, as if help was coming from the city, and the loud barking
of dogs.
Besides the aforementioned texts, which mention divine punishment as a fait
accompli, a large variety of inscriptions present it as a possibility. These texts
confront their readers with a threat and therefore fulfil a similar emotive function.
Aretalogies of Isis (see pp. 267-291) present the goddess as the guarantor of
pr/a/M o u i v t:g f oeu;, gE yu o o i to 6 o j6 e ic d 0 e o v to n u p a a o i tc a te K T ia p E V o v . H xguka> -
n o fh w v x d pov trx v o v i to o A t ip o iv e t o u . 'O t i tc t e g u r tp o e X t i \ |/ « ic a i a o i |i o i 0 e u v
td a iK u ok , T E ic v < g . I d Si- e E / k A e io e i; g f K ui p c o u x c, n d t p a x ; , dXXd ccx; k u -
t c o v p y o v . M f 'y u f ; o o v e o t i M e u ; A ^ io t t o . k u t e x u iv . T o e iic a v o v p m tn o n io a ^ . E d X o y a ) v g e iv .
Discussion; ( haniolis 2009b, 116 122.

Constructing the f ear of Gods: Epigraphic Evidence from Greece and Asia Minor 223
social norms and therefore indirectly threaten transgressors with prosecution by

the goddess.56 Aretalogies were not only set up in sanctuaries; they were also
orally performed in them. Curses often do not simply request divine action against
an opponent of the dejigens\ they also explicitly plead for the divine punishment
of wrongdoers.57 Sometimes they were publicly exposed in sanctuaries - as seems
to have been the case in the sanctuary of Demeter at Knidos.58 A ‘prayer for
justice’ at Delos was set up in the sanctuary of the Syrian goddess; the author of
the text not only invoked the justice o f the goddess but also urged worshippers to
abuse the woman who had wronged him continuously in their speech (see pp.
25If. in this volume). Curses against suspected wrongdoers were often performed
in sanctuaries. This is certain in the case of funerary imprecations. Those who
engraved these, invoking the anger o f the gods against violators of graves, some
times explicitly state that a ceremony o f cursing (the setting up of the sceptres of
gods) had taken place.59 Pleas for the punishment of the people responsible for an
individual’s death were inscribed on tombstones (see pp. 235-266). This interplay
of sacred space, texts (eulogies, records o f miracles and manifestations of divine
anger), images, and performances (acclamations, orally performed aretalogies,
imprecations) contributed to the construction of fear of gods.
5 SPACE, TEXT, IMAGE, PERFORMANCE
What all the texts discussed in this chapter have in common regardless of their
ncontent is the fact that they were set up in sacred space. The healing miracles of
Epidauros were inscribed on stelae dedicated to Apollo and Asklepios; the manu
mission records from Leukopetra were dedications of slaves to the goddess,
inscribed on the columns o f a building in the sanctuary; confession inscriptions
and praises referring to divine punishment were dedicated in sanctuaries; cult
56 See e.g. the aretalogy of Kyme (first century BCE/first century CE; Bricault 2005, no.
302/0204; see pp. 287-289 in this volume): ‘I established laws for human beings and created
legislation which no one has the power to change..... I made justice strong.... I ended the rule
of tyrants. I ended murders. ... I legislated that truth be considered a fine thing. 1 invented
marriage contracts. ... 1 made nothing more respected than the oath. I delivered the person
plotting unjustly against another into the hands of the person plotted against. 1 inflict punish
ment on those acting unjustly. 1 legislated mercy for the suppliant. I honour those who avenge
themselves with justice. Through me justice is mighty.’
57 For this reason, and despite the objections of Dreher 2010, it is legitimate to distinguish a
sub-group of ‘prayers for justice’, i.e. curses that present justifications for the suffering of an
opponent, within the more general genre of curses; this distinction is a useful hereustic tool
that allows us to study the ancient mentality. On ‘prayers for justice’ see pp. 236f. in this
volume.
58 For the publicity of curses in some cases, see Kieman 2003; Chaniotis 2009b, 125. K.nidos:
Chaniotis 2009d, 63-66; on these Knidian curses see also pp. 253-255 in this volume. A
curse tablet from Maionia preserves a suspension hole: SEG XXVIII 1568; XL 1049; Versnel
1999, I45f.; 2002, 55f.; Chaniotis 2009b, 127f. (with further bibliography).
59 Strubbe 1997, 48; Chaniotis 2009b, 124 (with examples).
regulations were usually inscribed in the entrance of sacred precincts or in front of

temples. For this reason a sanctuary’s sacred space acquired great significance in
shaping the image of god(s) and, in particular, propagating fear of god(s). The
sanctuaries were also the places where relevant rituals were performed and, more
importantly, they were the places where agents of religious mentality operated:
the priests, who compiled collections of miracles, communicated and interpreted
the expression of divine will (e.g. oracles), interacted with worshippers, and com
posed cult regulations; the authors of aretalogies; the cult personnel that regu
lated the setting up of inscriptions and dedications; and finally the pious worship
pers themselves.
Inscriptions are texts, but texts of a peculiar kind. Their significance changed
depending on w'here they were set up; their ‘messages’ could be enhanced through
images (e.g. figures 1-3; cf. below note 73) and the form of the monument; and
precisely because they were set up in sacred and not private space, they reached
their audiences through performance (loud reading, recitation). The varying inter
dependence between text, space, image, and performance gives inscriptions their
particular significance. This applies also to inscriptions that aimed to shape the
‘profile’ of a divinity for worshippers. This interdependence is not always directly
attested, but it can be safely inferred from a variety of testimonia. Let us take, for
example, the healing miracles of Epidauros. One of the stories refers to a para
lyzed man who came to the sanctuary of Asklepios.6061When he looked at the dedi
cations and the healing narratives, ‘he did not believe in the cures and sneered
somewhat at the inscriptions’ (uTtoSieaope xa e7tiypdppa[T]a). The use of the
verb utto5iaaupa) (‘to ridicule, to scorn’) makes it clear that he did not keep his
comments to himself; he interacted with other worshippers. In the aforementioned
cult regulation from Philadelpheia (see pp. 213f.) the inscription that contained
the prescriptions and prohibitions was set up at the cult place’s entrance and was
integrated into the ritual: the worshippers had to touch the stone whenever they
entered, confirming that they abode by the cult association’s moral and religious
principles.
In view of such testimonia, one can understand the function and impact of
dedications in sanctuaries. One of the ‘confession inscriptions’ concerns the pre
ventive cursing of those who might commit theft in a public bath. A thief who
ignored this was punished by the god and forced to confess his crime and deliver
the garment he had stolen:
A sceptre was set up in case someone should steal something from the bath. When a garment
was stolen, the god angrily prosecuted the thief and made him, after some time, bring the
garment to the god. And he confessed. Through a messenger the god ordered the garment to
be sold and (the manifestation of) his power to be written on a stele.
60 KJ W l.). 121 lines 22 33; UDonnici 1995, X6f. A3 For (he text see p. 197, Appendix, no
A3.
61 Petzl 1994, 3 5 no 3 lines 2 11 (Saittai. 164 C K): frui eneoxc&i\ <jKn«tpov, ft tu; etc toC
|5o/zmu/i> tt tc/vf tpi, ic/M/.Ttfvtot; oov rijum ou 6 0r.o$ evfgfonof tov tcAirttnv «cal etioiiof
Figure 4. Stele with a record of divine punishment from the area of Saittai (Lydia). A thief brings
to the god Mes a garment that he had stolen from a bath; the inscription narrates the incident
(164/5 CE).
As in the case of other records of divine punishment, an image (figure 4) attracted
the visitors’ attention. If they were not able to read the text themselves, they could
ask another worshipper or the priests. But it is also possible that such inscriptions
were read out to the worshippers from time to time, as happened with the narra
tives of miracles in the worship of Sarapis. As we learn from a papyrus fragment
from Egypt (second century CE), the priest read narratives aloud from collections
of miracles. The reading was followed by acclamations by the worshippers.62
Inscriptions could attract a worshipper’s attention in different ways: through
their location - for instance, at the entrance of a precinct, in front of a temple, near
the incubation room in a healing sanctuary with their decoration, or by their
size. An inscription from Delos found in the area of Sarapis’ sanctuary (Serapeum
A) contains a text of 94 lines which narrates both in prose and in verse how the
pcta xpovov to eipatiov evevtdv erci tov 0eov, icai eîopokoyricmTO. '0 0eo>; oov eicckeuae
5i’ otvYfAoi) npaOhvai eipativ xai atr|A.A.oYpa<ptioai roc^ Suvagety
to
62 P.Oxy. XI. 1382: 'H apexf| ev tau; Mepxoopiou (3t(iX.io0tixais’ oi Rapovxe^ etnat? «?u;
Zeix; I«pajuc,» (‘this miracle is contained in the Library of Mercurius; those who are present
should exclaim: "One Zeus Sarapis!”’).
cult was introduced, how the god faced the opposition of local authorities, and
how his priest overcame this resistance with the god’s miraculous assistance. The
exact original location of the stone (a marble column) in the sanctuary is not
known, but its size is impressive (1.25 m).63 One o f the texts is a poem of 64 lines,
which may have been performed during a celebration. An inscription from Maro-
neia in Thrace (c. 100 BCE) which contains a long encomium of Isis is not entire
ly preserved.64 The surv iving section is 44 lines long, and the stele is 53 cm high.
The text is a highly rhetorical composition65 which was originally meant for oral
deliver}'. The orator explains that the goddess had healed him and asks her to ap
proach again:66
Isis, as you once listened to my prayers concerning my eyes, now come to receive your praise
and to listen to my second prayer. For your praise is more important than my eyes with which
1 have seen the sun. 1 am confident that you shall certainly come. Since you came when I
called on you to save me, how could you not come now to be honoured? Without fear I am
now proceeding to the rest, knowing that this praise is written with mortal hands but a divine
mind.
By communicating his personal experience, the author gave hope to others. By

referring to his reciprocal relation with the goddess - fulfilment of a prayer fol
lowed by gratitude -, he provided other worshippers with an exemplum. By refer
ring to his divine inspiration, he gave his text a higher authority. By eloquently
praying again, he invited the goddess to return. All this suggests that the praise
was intended for re-performance on later occasions as well. The author expresses
his confidence that the goddess would come. This confidence was made visible
with a particular type of dedication in the sanctuaries of Egyptian gods: footprints
that indicated the presence of the gods.67 Similarly, representations of ears in
reliefs (e.g. p. 95 figure 2 in this volume) alluded to the expectation that gods
listened to prayers; anatomical votives showed the parts o f the body that were
cured by the god - or afflicted with disease as punishment (p. 227 figure 5);68 and
hands raised in prayer on tombstones informed the passer-by and potential robber
that divine protection had been invoked.69 All these were means of attracting
worshippers’ attention to the inscription. And the reading of the inscription in its
63 Main editions: IG XI .4.1299; Engelman 1975; Bricault 2005, no. 202/0101.

64 Editions: Grandjean 1975; Loukopoulou et al. 2005, 383-385 no. E205; Bricault 2005, 176—
178.
65 See the thorough analysis by Papanikolaou 2009.
66 Lines 6-13: iuejnt:.p ouv eni x<bv bppdxwv, ’lot, xutq ev>x«iq |E7tf|Ko]v>aac;, eXBe xoiq £7tcu-
voi; tcai «ri Srvxepo.v Evxnv licafi yap xo aov eytcGipiov dppdxmv eaxi tcpnooov |a-
ixjov, ot; tov pXiov xouxoiq ku\ xov aov pXenw xoapov neiBopat 6e 7tavxioq ax
jtttptataBui. Et yap urtep xhq KuXoupevn aotxripiaq r\X,Btq, jitoq ukep xpq tSvuq xtprjq
crux «v t/.Boic;; Buppitv oov nopcoopui npoq xa kouid, yivaioKtov oxi xo EyKwpiov vooq prv
Beov, /EipEq dr ypd<|»tn>oiv dvOpomou.
67 Dunbabin 1990.
68 VanSuaten 1981, 105-131; Chan intis 1995,1 orsen 1996.
69 Oral 2007.
decorative, spatial, and ritual setting added to the stimulation o f the three most
important em otions in ancient religious experience: fear, hope, and gratitude.
Figure 5. Stele from Kollyda (?, second century CE) recording the punishment of a woman: Giykia
had been punished by Anaitis with a disease in her buttock. Responding to the goddess’ request,
she dedicated the stele. The relief represents the diseased part of her body.
6 EMOTION AND JUDGMENT: FEAR AND SUBORDINATION TO

NORMS
The fear o f god is a co n stitu tiv e elem ent o f religiosity in the G reek and Hellenised
world, since popular religion can be understood as b elief in the presence and
power o f (a) god, a b e lie f that w as based on experience and was both expressed
and enhanced through rituals (§ 1). The experience that supported the belief in
god(s) w as often an em otional one - including that o f fear (§ 2 ). For this reason,
piety was closely co n n ected w ith the fear o f gods. This sentim ent was at times
endorsed by secular and relig io u s authorities or by pious devotees. Several groups
of inscriptions from sanctuaries in Greece and Asia Minor clearly address the fear
of gods and, in particular, the fear of divine punishment: cult regulations (§ 3 );
narratives of punitive miracles; confession inscriptions; dedications; and funerary
imprecations (§ 4). The interplay of sacred space, text, image, and ritual enhanced
the emotive power of these inscriptions which was expected to promote piety (§
5).
The part played by emotions in the texts that I have discussed in this chapter
is evident. The 'confession inscriptions’ continually describe or allude to a variety
of emotions - fear, hope, shame, honour, anger -, but their common denominator
is the fear of gods. The fear of divine punishment is also explicitly stated in the
cult regulations; it is described in narratives of punitive miracles; it is the back
ground for propitiatory dedications. These inscriptions were simultaneously
normative, performative, and emotive.
The normative nature of inscriptions is clearly evident in the case o f cult
regulations. What the cult regulations did in a direct manner - prescribing be
haviour - was done indirectly by dedications, healing miracles, and records of
divine punishment. By telling a story - a miracle, the fulfilment o f a prayer, the
punishment of a transgression - they served as exempla. It is explicitly stated in
many ‘confession inscriptions’ that they had been set up as exempla (eêpnXa-
piov, U7i66£iypa) and proofs (paprupiov) of the effectiveness o f divine justice.70
They urged their viewers and readers to interpret the problems that occurred in
their everyday life, both little and big, as punishments for their offences. Eulogies
and acclamations gave public testimony to the power o f a god and confirmed the
worshipper’s faith, thus contributing to the intensity o f emotions during celebra
tions. The reliefs that decorated the stelae sometimes depicted the performance of
acclamations.71
Oral praise was an effective, albeit ephemeral, means o f attracting the
attention of pilgrims to divine power. It was the erection o f the stele (orr|ta)-
ypaipeiv) that made the ephemeral ritual into a perpetual exemplum (£^£p7tXapiov)
for others. No demonstration of divine power is meaningful if there is no one to
testify to it. The very word that describes the manifestation o f divine power (epi-
phaneia) underlines the visual nature ((paiveiv/tpaiveoGai) o f the miracle. A
‘confession inscription’ explicitly associates the erection o f the inscription (ecrrr|-
Aoypacprôev) with the pronouncement of instructions (rcapaYYeMxov): a man ‘set
up a stele, ordering (others) not to neglect the god.’72 The stereotypical images
that decorated the stelae - especially those of ‘confessions’ (pp. 219, 225, and 227
figures 2-5) and dedications (p. 95 figure 2 and p. 218 figure 1) - enhanced the
70 E f r u n U p io v : Pet/I 1994, nos. 106, 111, 112, 120, 121. Maptopiov: Petzl 1094, nos. 9 and
17; cf. the verb nuptupeiv: Petzl 1994, nos. 8, 17, 68. Cf. Versnel 1999, 153; Chaniotis
2009b, 124,
71 Petzl 1994, nos 6, 7, 10-12,20, 37, 38.
72 Petzl 1994, 136f. no 117 (unknown provenance in Phrygia, Imperial period): fotntarypatpTl-
aev Kupuyf /Mjv nr\ftrv</ KatrjMppovd] v t o o 0 k o o ? | . On the emotive significance of Kutcuppo-
vtin see pp, 74f in this volume
message.73 These images - diseased parts of the body, hands raised in prayer for
revenge, the god Mes with the sceptre symbolizing his power, worshippers per
forming gestures o f adoration - , deeply embedded as they were in contemporary
experiences and cult practices, served as visual signals that attracted the attention
of the worshipper.
The stereotypical phrases used in these texts, especially the stereotypical vo
cabulary of divine punishment and the standardized phrases of acclamations (heis,
megas etc), fulfilled a function as acoustic signals.74 For instance, the phrase fteoi
... Tbpuvrai peytiA-oi (‘great gods have been established here’) in the cult regula
tion from Philadelpheia (see pp. 213f.) quotes the common acclamation peycu;
Geoi;,75 which had a strong emotive function in this period as a reference to the
efficacy, presence, grace, and infallible justice of a god. Just as the verb nepiopao)
(‘to remain indifferent’) in decrees appealed to pity, just as the verb KotTatppoveo)
in petitions on papyri underscored female weakness, just as <p0ovo<; in Attic
oratory was used to arouse anger, so [leyou; 08o<; in inscriptions with a religious
content was expected to arouse hope o f grace in the pious, and fear of punishment
in the impious. The emotive meaning o f words in specific contexts - for instance,
Auslander in German or liberal in American-English - is stronger than their literal
meaning. If I were to ask someone what Z is, the response that I would get in
countries that use the Latin alphabet is that it is the last letter of the alphabet;
Greeks would recognise the sixth letter o f their alphabet and at the same time the
numeral seven; cinephiles might be reminded of the sign of Zorro or of Costa
Gavra’s movie. But for a Greek alive in the sixties and seventies of the twentieth
century, Z (pronounced zi, £f|) means ‘he is alive’ - referring to Gregoris Lambra-
kis, a murdered member o f parliament and peace activist of the Left. ‘Z’ was the
symbol of Greek progressive youth in the sixties, the symbol of a movement that
led to the collapse o f the conservative government in 1963. In Greece, in a very
specific historical context, ‘Z ’ had an emotive function embedded in specific
experiences. Similarly, only when we study the emotional background in which
ancient texts and images are embedded can we properly understand them as
acoustic and visual signals that aimed to arouse emotions. Texts and images set up
in sanctuaries were such signals that inspired the fear of god. Their meaning was
activated during rituals and became effective in the presence of large audiences
and during collective actions. The reconstruction of these emotional contexts and
the emotional communities that were associated with them is a great challenge for
the ancient historian.
73 On the importance of the reliefs on the ‘confession inscriptions’ see Gordon 2004a, 185;
Belayche 2008.
74 On the emotive impact of such acoustic signals see also pp. 114 and 363 in this volume.
75 On this acclamation see Muller 1913; Peterson 1926, 196-208; Chaniotis 2010. For its
presence in records of divine punishment see Chaniotis 2009b. 115f.. 118f.
One of the most fascinating subjects in the study o f emotions, both in the
humanities and the sciences, is the study o f the interdependence o f attention,
memory, emotion, cognition, and decision-making. As Ray Dolan wrote, 6
Emotion exerts a powerful influence on reason, and in ways neither understood nor
systematically researched, contributes to the fixation of belief.
It is precisely such interdependences that historians and historians o f religion can

discover in the study of textual sources. An inscription on an altar in Asia Minor
in the second century CE states: ‘There is a goddess Nemesis [the goddess of
divine indignation and retribution]. Observe justice!’ Narratives o f divine
punishment written on stone and set up in sanctuaries preserved the memory of
past events that had caused fear of god. Their decoration with reliefs attracted the
attention of pilgrims. Their reading out loud, often in the context o f rituals, arou
sed emotions: fear of divine punishment, hope of divine protection. And this foun
ded a belief in the presence and power of god which guided decisions and actions.
The text on the altar expresses this connection precisely: remember the punish
ment of others; feel fear; act justly. Emotions determine decision-making.
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Victor, U. (1997) Lukian von Samosata, Alexander oder Der Lugenprophet. Eingeleitet, herausge-
geben, ubersetzt und erklart, Leiden/New York/Cologne.
Voutiras, E. (1995) Zu einer metrischen Inschrift aus Euromos, Epigraphica Anatolica 24, 15-19.
Waldner, K. (2006) Die poetische Gerechtigkeit der Gotter: Recht und Religion im griechischen
Roman, in D. Elm von der Osten et al. (eds.), Texte als Medium und Reflexion von Religion
im romischen Reich, Stuttgart, 101-123.
Youni. M. (2005) Maitres et esclaves en Macedoine hellenistique et romaine, in V. I. Anastasiadis,
P. Doukellis (eds.), Esclavage antique et discriminations socio-culturelles. Actes du XXVllle
colloque international du Groupement International de Recherche sur l ’Esclavage antique
(Mytilene, 5-7 decembre 2003), Frankfurt, 183-196.
Zingerle, J. (1926) Heiliges Recht, Jahrbuch des Osterreichischen Archdologischen Instituts 23,
Beiblatt, 5-72.
PICTURE CREDITS
Figure I : Relief stele from Kollyda (Lydia, 205 CE). Photo: Hasan Malay.
Figure 2. Marble relief stele of unknown provenance, third century CE. Photo: Georg Petzl.
Petzl 1994,47 no. 38.
Figure 3: Marble stele from Silandos, 235 CE. Photo: Hasan Malay. Petzl 1994, 7 no. 5.
Figure 4: Marble stele from Kdlekdy (area of Saittai in Lydia), 164/5 CE. Photo: Georg Petzl.
Petzl 1994, 3 no. 3.
Figure 5; Marble stele, probably from Kollyda, second century CE. Photo: Georg Petzl. Petzl
1994,98 no. 75.
SWEET REVENGE
Emotional Factors in ‘Prayers for Justice’
Irene Salvo
1 INTRODUCTION
In one o f the best known legends o f early Greece, Artemis sent a monstrous boar
into the region o f Kalydon (Aitolia), when the local king Oeneus had failed to
sacrifice to her. As the boar was devastating the countryside, the king called the
strongest heroes to organise a hunt. Among the hunters was the king’s own son,
Meleagros. The hunt was successful, but over the spoils of the boar an argument
arose, in which Meleagros killed a maternal uncle.1 His mother had a strong emo
tional reaction.2 The wish to obtain vengeance for her brother’s death was even
stronger than the love for her son.3 The desire for revenge was articulated in a
mediated way: Althaia, his mother, did not attempt to kill her son with her own
hands, but she invoked the gods o f the underworld, entrusting Meleagros’ death to
them.4 It was impossible for her to slay this bravest hero, the city’s defender, or to
1 Bakchylides, 5 .127-135, gives an account o f an involuntary slaying of two maternal uncles in

the war between Aitolians and the Kouretes. On Meleagros’ myth and its versions, see ex
plurimis Grossardt 2001.
2 Homer, Iliad 9.565-572: it) o ye JtapicaTeXeicTO xoXov ©upaXyea rceoowv I apeaiv gr|TPOs
KexoX.(opevo<;, h pa GeoTai I 7toXX’ axeouq’ ripaxo tcaoiyvf|xoio <povoio,l itoXXa 8e icai yai-
av JtoXotpoppriv xepmv aXoia I KiKXrjoKouq’ Ai8r|v icai ertaivqv nepo£<poveiav I npoxw
ica0e£opevr|, 8ev>ovxo 8e Saicpuai koXjcoi, I itai8i 8ogev Qavaxov ■ 8’ rppoipoiTu;
Epivix; I eicXoev 'EpePeacpiv apciXixov prop exouaa (‘by her side lay Meleagros brood
ing on his painful anger, out o f temper because of his mother's curses; for she imprecated the
gods immediately, being grieved for her brother’s murder; and in addition, instantly beat with
her hands upon the all-nurturing earth, invoking Hades and awesome Persephone, the while
she knelt, and her garment was steeping in tears, that they should bring death upon her son;
and the Erinys that moves in darkness, she of the implacable heart, heard her from Erebus’,
trails, adapted from Murray 1924).
3 This must be understood in the context of the solidarity between the woman and her original
family group and also in the context of the special relationship between brother and sister. In
fact, for the Calydonian hunt, Meleagros had been helped by his maternal uncles and not his
paternal ones. On the maternal uncle and uterine nephew link, see Brenimer 1983.
4 In Hesiod, Catalogue o f Women, t'r. 25.l2tY. edd. Merkelbach and West, Meleager was killed
by Apollo; in Bakchylides 5.140-150, Althaia, grieved for her brothers’ death, placed on tire
the brand linked to Meleager’s life, consuming him. On the manner in which Althaia killed
her son and on the curse in the Homeric version, see most recently Vox 2008 -2009 [20101.
236 Irene Salvo
find someone to kill him on her behalf; this was the reason why she called for help
from those who could certainly accomplish her murderous intent. The urgency to
get satisfaction through retaliation was channelled into a cursing prayer. Similar
dynamics are well attested in Greek epigraphic sources, especially from the
Hellenistic period onwards.
I shall analyse a group of documents defined by Henk Versnel as
pleas addressed to a god or gods to punish a (mostly unknown) person who has wronged the
author (by theft, slander, false accusations or magical action), often with the additional re
quest to redress the harm suffered by the author (e.g. by forcing a thief to return a stolen ob
ject, or by publicly confessing guilt).
According to Versnel, the following characteristics distinguish these prayers from

proper curses (defixiones):567
1) the name of the author is mentioned;
2) an argument defending the action is presented, sometimes with a single term,
sometimes with more elaborate details;
3) the author requests that the act be excused or that the writer be spared the
possible adverse effects;
4) gods other than the usual chthonic deities appear;
5) either because of their superior character or as a persuasive gesture the gods
are addressed either with a flattering adjective (e.g. phile) or with a superior
title such as kyrios, kyria, or despoina;
6) expressions of supplication (hiketeud, boethei moi, boetheson auto) are added
to personal and direct invocations of the deity; and
7) terms and names which refer to (injustice and punishment are used (e.g.
Praxidike, Dike, ekdikeo, ad ike6, kolazd, and kolas is).1
Texts of this kind were written on different materials: lead or bronze tablets, stone
inscriptions, ostraka, and papyri. ‘Prayers for justice’ in Latin and in Greek are
attested all over the Mediterranean world and beyond, from Mainland Greece and
the Aegean islands to Asia Minor, and from Sicily to Great Britain.8 We have
attestations of these documents from the fourth century BCE to Late Antiquity.
5 Versnel 2010,2781. See also Versnel 1991,671'.; 2002,49f.; 2009, 22-25.

6 See Jordan 1985, 151: ‘Defixiones, more commonly know as curse tablets, are inscribed
pieces of lead, usually in the form of small, thin sheets, intended to influence, by supernatural
means, the actions or welfare of persons or animals against their will. They became popular in
the fifth century fi.C. and continued in use in Mediterranean lands until at least the sixth
century of our era.’
7 Versnel 1991, 68. For a full scholarly discussion and new texts discovered recently, see
Versnel 2010. See Versnel 2009 on the magic or religious nature of these documents. Many
ancient texts and parallels analysed in the present research have already been discussed in
Versnel’s contributions For recent critical discussion on the concept of ‘prayer of justice’ see
Drehcr20l0and Velissaropoulos-Karakostas 2010. See also p. 223 in this volume.
8 On the diffusion of rituals and the dynamics of ritual transfer in the Imperial period, see
Chaniotis 2009a, 17 24.
Sweet revenge: emotional factors in ‘ prayers for justice* 237
It has been pointed out that these documents have an emotional tone.'' The
aim of this chapter is to explore this emotional attitude and how feelings are con
structed in those texts. I would like to show how these prayers were used as a way
to soothe and cool the feelings behind a wish for revenge. Taking the Greek
‘prayers of justice’ as a case study, I shall ask some questions of more general
significance concerning the study of emotions in inscriptions: can we identify
emotions? Towards whom are they expressed? Who is the audience that observes
this display of emotions? Why, in what way, and to what purpose does someone
voice his own sentiments? To find an answer to these questions, I shall comment
on some inscriptions ranging from the Hellenistic to the Imperial period and from
various geographical areas.
2 SUSPICIOUS DEATH AND DESIRE FOR REVENGE

THE TEXTS FROM RHENEIA
I shall start by presenting a famous inscription on a tombstone from the island of

Rheneia, one of the earliest examples of a ‘prayer for justice’.910 The stele of white
marble is broken at the top and has a tenon beneath; the text is inscribed on both
sides but with a dissimilar division of lines, since on one side the words are
smaller than the image and vice versa on the other side; both sides show a pair of
raised hands above the writing field (figure 1). On side A, traces of the original
red paint are still visible inside the letters. Dated to the end of the second or the
beginning of the first century BCE, the text of side A runs as follows:11
I invoke and entreat the God Most High, the Lord of the spirits and all flesh, against those
who have treacherously murdered or poisoned the miserable untimely Heraklea, and shed un
justly her innocent blood, that the same may happen to them who have murdered or poisoned
her, and to their children. O Lord, you who see everything, and you angels of god, for whom
every soul humiliates itself on the present day with supplication, that you may avenge the
innocent blood, may investigate, and as soon as possible.
9 Most recently Versnel 2010, 280.

10 /.Delos 2532 I A -B; Hirschfeld 1874, 403 no. 57; Syll} 1181; 0/725; Bjorck 1938, 29 no.! 1;
SEG X IV 505; Couilloud 1974, no. 485; Guarducci 1978, 236-238; SEG XXXVII 687;
Gager 1992, 87; SEG XLV1 966; Noy, Panayotov, and Bloedhom 2004, no. Ach70; now kept
in the Bucharest National Museum; see Wilhelm 1901 for details on provenance and disco
very of the stone. The island of Rheneia is close to Delos. In antiquity it was mainly under
Delian control, partly as burial ground, partly as territory of the sanctuary of Apollo. Cf.
Hansen and Nielsen 2004, 769. See also pp. I43f. in this volume.
11 /.Delos 2532 I A: enucaA-oopai icat «£i(0 xov 0eov xov I uyioxov, xov xupiov x©v icveupa-
t(ov I xai rtaoTiq aapKoq, eiii xoi)^ 56A<m <jK>vev>loavTa<; ij <|>appaicev>oavxai; tpv xalXaino-
pov aoipov HpatcXeav, cxXâvb ai? aurfjs ™ avamov aipa dbikax,. tva ovxax; yEvrpai
Ton; <J>ovfv>laacnv au rriv q (happaiceuoaaiv teal I xoT<; xeicvoi<; avxtov. kupie, 6 rcavra
el<j>opojv icai oi avyeA-oi 0eoC, (i) jtaaa yulxti ev xij crfipepov qpepai xaneivooxab] prB’ ixt-
xeicu;, Yva eySucflop*; xo ocipa xo alvcunov £rvrr|<ms xut tpv xaxiaxqv.
238 Irene Salvo
This is an epitaph with a ‘prayer for justice’, without any doubt from a Jewish
context as evident from the biblical quotations.12 The inscription is a good ex
ample of what ‘interculturality’ means in the Hellenistic period. Here we have
Jewish people that made use o f a Greek practice, and they expressed themselves
in the Greek language but chose Jewish phrasing. Since it is a product o f a Jewish
community living in a Greek country, it is legitimate to use this text as evidence
for a ritual practice widely attested in the Greek-speaking world.
^TH K A A oyM A lkA IA * LrT

•T O K O roN Y tlrT oN rih
■k r f Ioh r-A,KnKe ymAm;
IkA rrA T h % ja p Koren rro;
N AKEV rAK XAr THNTM
i f nikMcYKAiMiASirrroNGFOhiTOM jn -TcpoN A a p O H HPAK AEA*
* * XT^n TCHoi f ' X i t* r ME yMATJV k V * FAN T A Z A Y T H FT oAK V
iah*aimr 4*r n!To'fr t t THH AIM A A riNAol
err*- taj:tw* i 'a 10 r / x r r F N H T A [ 7oirJoH EY
yuhAPok* AONE XAf
r a i a y rw i t can a r r low a im a a a i
ia t.'NA»n/v t r r n N-rAii <»i f oo N
rAiwAY T W * H f A f ( YfAllN* A S S 5' 5 S S * f f i
r«tt
h u tT f
**“"
AYT-'v* »Off fEotTA N TM
*fA»AAi*iAwr caomcoyahaj:Ary
•ftriiAtwAtniiAHi
se e
PM T*nf K*9VXA
mi t*a im a t o a
------------f*A) H AT&A
ssssssiaS
.X H E N T H rH P f E P ^ H M ,
Figure l. The grave stele of Herakleia, Rhenaia (late second/early first century BCE).
The young Heraklea was believed to have been a victim o f injustice. She died in
an untimely way and for this reason it was believed that she had been murdered.
When individuals die young, the bereft can use various form ulas to reproach Fate:
they denounce the inconsiderate decisions o f the d ivinity;13 they accuse Fate
(Moira), the gods of the underworld (Hades, Plouton), or a daim on to be cruel,
envious, or ruthless.14 These gods steal lives o f young and prom ising mortals,
12 For a commentary on the Jewish or perhaps Samaritan ambience, and references to biblical
passages, see Deissmann 1910; Bergmann 1911; Schurer 1986, 70; White 1987; Gager 1992,
186f.; Sthckenbruck 1995, 183; van der Horst and Newman 2008, 137 -143.
13 See Lattimorc 1942, 147-158. E g. V6rilhac 1978, no. 147 line 5 (Smyrna, first century CE);
Merkelbach and Stauber 1998,637f. no. 07/06/05 line 10 (Ilion, first/second century CE).
14 Many examples in Eattimore 1942, 1481. I think, however, that the following epigrams refer
to human envy rather than to a jealous divinity, as Lattimore states: Kaibel, EG no. 560 line 2
(Naples, first century CE); Merkelbach and Stauber 2001b, 210 no. 16/23/10 (Aizanoi). Other
example* of cruel divinities in V^rilhac 1982, 195-203.
Sweet revenge: emotional factors in ‘ prayers for justice’ 239
even though every soul is doomed to die anyway,15 and this generates frustration
for a divine behaviour which cannot be explained by plain logic. But in the case of
Heraklea, it was not against Fate that her relatives directed their feelings. They
thought that no insatiable god was responsible for Heraklea’s death, but humans.
Their charge was general and comprehensive. The real reason behind her death
was unknown: murder, poison or maybe a binding spell. But her relatives were
sure that someone (one or more persons) had killed her. When the relatives buried
the poor maiden, they decided to make public their desire for vengeance: they
inscribed on her gravestone an appeal to god against whoever caused her death.
At first sight, this prayer is addressed to God. But he is not the only addressee.
Other addressees were equally essential: the text was inscribed on a gravestone,
and so it was meant to be read by passers-by. The readers of the funerary stone
were clearly thought as receivers of the plea for justice: everyone in the commu
nity had to be informed that an appeal to divine justice had been performed.
Implicit, but also of great significance, is the role of the deceased, Heraklea;
she was perhaps the primary addressee of the text inscribed on her tombstone.
Having died before her time, Heraklea could return from the realm of death and
frighten the living. She was regarded as an unhappy dead, because she failed to
fulfil her social duties as wife and mother;16 moreover, she had to be avenged,
otherwise, she could get angry and spread fear and madness among those who
ignored her.17 These beliefs were at the origin of a powerful emotion that influ
enced the behaviour of Heraklea’s relatives: the fear of the dead’s anger induced
them to make clear to Heraklea that they sought vengeance. To appease an un-
15 See Verilhac 1978, nos. 148 (Rome, second/third century CE), 149 (Rome, second century
CE?), 150 (Albani Hills, third century CE?), and 154 (Naples, first/second century CE).
16 Although we do not know at what age she died, as a girl or as a young woman, the text
clearly says that she died an untimely death and we can assume that she did not complete the
natural course of life. See van der Horst 1991,45^)7; Noy, Panayotov, and Bloedhorn 2004,
238; Graf 2007, 145; van der Horst and Newman 2008, 140.
17 Full analysis of types of dead people that, in ancient Greek culture, are dangerous for the
living in Johnston 1999, 127-199. The adroi, spirits of those dead before their time, had
magical power. First, defixiones could be buried in their graves. See Jordan 1988, 273f.: ‘The
spirits of the untimely dead - the Greek word is adroi - were believed to have to wait in their
graves until their span of mortal life had completed itself before they could go to their final
rest. Admittedly, this belief is articulated by ancient authorities of a period much later than
the classical (e.g. Tertullian, A Treatise on the Soul 56.4; Servius, Commetarv on the Aeneid
4.368), but in every period of antiquity when we have been able to estimate the ages of the
dead who have curse tablets in their graves, those ages have proved to be young. Presumably
the ghost could see through the rolled-up lead and read the names written inside, for it was
important that he should focus his feeling of outrage at his unnaturally early death on these
persons. ... Then the ghost, it was believed, would arise from the grave on such occasions and
do his evil.’ Second, their spirits could be invoked in spells for magical purposes, for instance
for binding a lover (PMG IV.342) or in helping the performance of a love spell of attraction
(PMG IV. 1401). In another love spell of attraction, the heroes who died without wife and
children (tivei; npuxov e'0avov dyovaioi te anaiSei;) are invoked together with Hekate (PMG
IV.2727—2730).
240 Irene Salvo
timely dead by the right epitaph was a fundamental function o f funerary monu
ments.18
Claiming revenge for this sudden and unexplained death, the only available
weapon was to implore the God of heaven to seek justice against the people chief
ly responsible for what happened. In doing so, Heraklea’s parents were channel
ling all their negative emotions into a concrete action. They had to convince God
that they had been wronged and they needed help from him now. Every word they
chose to engrave had a precise aim. The persuasion strategy in order to bring God
to their side was double-faced. It aimed, first, to show how immense their
suffering was; and second, to extol the divine interlocutor.
The author of the text employed various means in order to express a sense of
loss and affliction: details about Heraklea’s death; redundantly repeated synonyms
used as attributes; figures of speech such as alliteration and the reiteration of key
concepts; flattery of God; expectation o f justice; hope in the success of the ritual
prayer; urgency of the request; the combination o f textual with visual media. In
line 3, the author specified that the crime was committed by guile (dolos). It is
interesting to note that this is the only known occurrence in Greek inscriptions of
the expression 5oA.u)i (j>oveoaavTa<; r\ <pap\iaKE\>Gavxaq. But guile was greatly
condemned both in Jewish and Greek culture. In the Old Testament, killing some
one by treachery meant to act wilfully, and this was punished with death;19 he
who mortally struck down his neighbour was cursed.20 In Greek thought, it was a
very common idea that slaying by treachery was much more horrible than to be
killed by someone more powerful.21 In addition to this, unexplained death could
be attributed to bewitchment or poisoning {pharmakeia).22 We have a great num
ber of Greek texts on this motive o f undistinguished causes o f untimely death
(deceit, murder, binding spells, poisons).23 D olos poneros, equivalent of the Latin
dolus malus, was pursued by Greek as well as Roman law, and its disapproval was
embedded in popular morality.24 In lines 4 -5 , H eraklea’s misery and her untimely
death are deplored. As already noted above, the theme o f the untimely death was
18 Casey 2004.
19 Exodus 21.14.
20 Deuteronomy 27.24, See also Deissmann 1910; Noy, Panayotov, and Bloedhorn 2004.
21 Cf. e g. already in Homer the death of Agamemnon, O dyssey 3.249C: tiv a 8 ’ amqj gfiâf
o/xftpov A\'yu70o<; SokogTVtu;, enei tcrave rcokXov apeiw ( ‘what death did guileful Aigisthos
plan for the king, since he slew a man mightier far than h im self/’); or what Polyphemus says
to the Cyclopes, Odyssey 9.408: o’) tpiAoi, CKm<; pc k t e iv e i 8ok(p o\)8e pirnpiv (‘my friends, it
is Noman that is slaying me by guile and not by force’).
22 See Versnel 1999, 130-139 for a summary on death caused by dolos poneros in Latin and
Greek texts.
23 See Graf 2007 for a collection of the relevant epigraphical material.
24 See Chamotis 1997a, 36) note 46, with references to previous bibliography and ancient
sources, including the cult regulation from Philadelpheia { T A M V .3.1539; see pp. 213f. in this
volume), the Isis Aretalogies from Kyme, Thessalonike and los (Totti 1985, 1 § 34; cf. pp
267 29) in this volume), and the poem o f the Pseudo-Phokylides (line 4. prpe Sokovs
pr/nmv).
deeply rooted in Greek mentality. In lines 5-7, we find a vivid image of

Heraklea’s blood that had been shed. The impact of this image is enhanced
through striking use of the alliteration of alpha (eccheantas autes to anaition aima
adikos): the vowel -a suggests a sense of largeness,25 and thus the figure of speech
here increases the injustice o f the guiltless blood spilt. In lines 12-13, to aima to
anaition is repeated but with an inversion of noun and adjective, giving more
emphasis to the condition of innocence.26
The second aim, the glorification of God, is achieved by employing the lan
guage of the Septuagint (see note 12). Does this exaltation of the divinity have a
special function? Could praising God’s name be considered a persuasion strategy?
When dealing with crimes, whose agents are unknown, human justice is helpless;
the victims need to go beyond normal jurisdiction and to appeal to divine agen
cy.27 Furthermore, another reason to invoke God could be that the author of the
text was a foreigner, a Jew in a Greek site: ties between worshippers and divine
actor were stronger than ties between foreigners and the local justice system.28
God was obliged to intervene in order to avenge the victim.
The capacities and the range of action of God are believed much more
extended, but it is also regarded necessary to highlight what the divine powers are
in order to remind God to use them. At the beginning of the text, the divinity is
invoked as ‘God the highest, Lord of the spirits and of all flesh’, a designation
which refers to the God o f Israel.29 To the sovereignty over all human beings is
added the ability o f omniscience towards the end of the prayer: ‘O Lord, you who
see everything’, an epithet familiar to the Greek audience for the Sun avenger and
protector of justice.30 The deity has supreme powers. The concept of God as
creator and ruler o f the universe is of course the kernel of the Jewish faith. But in
this prayer, the hierarchal characterisation o f the relationship between human and
25 On the connection between phonemes and semantic areas, see Ohala 1994 with references to
other research on sound symbolism.
26 In the Old Testament, the innocent blood cries out for divine vengeance and falls over the one
who shed it: Judges 9.24; I K in g s 2.32-33. For a study o f homicide laws and customs in the
Bible, see Barmash 2005.
27 On wrongdoers escaping legal punishment but not divine justice, see Chaniotis 2004a and
2009c; for parallels in ancient Egypt and the Near East, see Assmann 1992
28 For parallels of foreigners invoking divine justice, see Robert 1936, no. 77 (below note 51);
I.D e los 2531 (see below note 74). See also SEG LIU 813 w ith Jordan 2002 and Chaniotis and
Mylonopoulos 2007, no. 128, on a ‘prayer for justice’ from Delos (first century BCE or later)
to the Dea Syria and the gods who live in Sykon, an unknown place (maybe in Syria); the
owner prayed for vengeance against the thief o f a necklace; the author could be a Syrian in
Delos.
29 References to the biblical occurrences in van der Horst and Newman 2008, 139f. On the cult
of Theos H vp sisto s and its controversial connection with Judaism see Robert 1946, 155;
Mitchell 1999 and 2010; Stein 2001; WalratT 2003; Ameling 2004. 13-20; Belayche 2005;
Chaniolis 2009a, 13-15 and 2010a.
JO See van der Horst 2008, 141 on solar aspects of Yahw ism. The Greek epithet was Jtavn'jto-
7ttr|<;, on which see Chaniotis 2010a, 135 note 98 with other equivalent epithets and a
collection of the most relevant examples.
242 Irene Salvo
God is also foundational to the aim of the prayer itself. In a condition of anguish,
as in this case, the believer reminds God of his greatness so that he can use his
effective means31 together with his angels who promptly execute his orders.32
Every individual humbles himself in front of God with supplication.33 The author
of the text presents himself as a good believer who knows that before God one
must be meek and suppliant. And in other Greek ‘prayers for justice’ we find the
same dynamic: the divinity is addressed as king or queen, lord or lady, absolute
ruler or mistress; on the other hand, the human part is a servant, a slave, a
suppliant that kneels down, a victim that seeks refuge.34 The more the divinity is
high and almighty, the more the human beings are inferior, fragile and in need of
help.
What could seem to be an emphasis upon the distance between men and god
is in fact a way to bridge this gap. The powers of god are invoked so that they can
be manifest in the human world and the mortals can experience the divine
presence in their lives.35 Does this experience involve any emotion? We can say
that the hope in divine help is at play here, and we can add that it is exactly this
feeling that provokes an appeal to the divinity composed in these modalities.36
This process is valid at the individual and family level, but it is extended to the
whole community when the prayer is inscribed on stone; everyone could take part
in the appeal for justice, and could use the same pattern if something similar hap
pened to himself.
In addressing God, the young woman’s relatives made use of a judicial
terminology. The verbs ekdiked and zeted were used almost as technical terms to
express the requests of punishment of the guilty person.37 The last statement, as
‘soon as possible’ (ten tachisten), shows that waiting was unbearable. We can
understand this request of rapidity as a recognition of how fast divine justice is -
in contrast with the slowness of human law.38 It is tolerable to be disappointed by
secular law, but there is a strong hope that an appeal to divine justice will be
31 Chaniotis 2009b, 126f.

32 See Noy, Panayotov, and Bloedhom 2004, 239; van der Horst and Newman 2008, 142; on the
inclusion of angels here see also Stuckenbruck 1995, 183-185.
33 Van der Horst 2008, 142 comments that ‘to humiliate one’s soul’ means ‘fasting’ in biblical
language, and it is a reference to the day of Yom Kippur, although a practice of invoking
revenge is not attested on that day. On the Day of Atonement see also Gager 1992, 187 note
44, with previous bibliography.
34 See Pleket 1981; Belayche 2006; Versnel 2010, 285 note 33, 335. A well-know example is
the prayer for justice’ from Amorgos (IG XI 1.7, p. I A, c. 100 BCE); see below note 98 and
pp. 214-216 in this volume.
35 Chaniotis 2010a, J33f.
36 On hope, see pp. 77,205-208, and 267-291 in this volume.
37 SeeBjorck 1938, 81 f ; Versnel 1991,71 f. For a complete analysis of the judicial terminology
in 'prayers for justice’ and confession inscriptions, see Chaniotis 1997a.
38 Swiftness of operation is a prerogative of gods, and stressing this quality is a persuasion
strategy common also in magical texts; see most recently Chaniotis 2009b, 127 (with biblio
graphy and main references to ancient sources).
Sweet revenge: emotional factors in ‘ prayers lor justice’ 243
satisfied quickly. Otherwise, we can say the opposite: to emphasise acting quickly
implies a fear that God will not hear his believers and that this plea could remain
an unfulfilled wish.39
A very good means of persuading Gd to hear humans is indicated in a grave
inscription from Phazimon in northern Turkey, that represents a perfect parallel
for our text.40
Lord the Almighty, you have made me, but an evil man has destroyed me. Revenge my death
fast!
We have an appeal to divine justice to take vengeance for the murder of a young
man. On the top, the stele is decorated with a hair crown (possibly a symbol of the
revenge of the solar god, Helios) and a pair of crossed hands. The text presents the
victim as a creation o f Gd; since a wicked man is responsible for the destruction
of god’s creation, now God must avenge this death fast. The logic is clear: God
himself was wronged, because his own creation has been destroyed.41 Here the
strategy is even more compelling, since the author and creator-god have been tied
up in a personal relationship. In both texts, Phazimon and Rheneia, the aim was to
render the divine the main wronged actor, but in the Rheneia texts the discourse
remains general. God is the ‘Lord o f all spirits and all flesh’ (lines 2f.): he created
every human being, so when one of his creatures is killed, he himself is the
injured party.
The loss of a member weakened the family; therefore the punishment of the
guilty person could restore God’s authority and strength. Since the loss was ir
recoverable, the only acceptable form o f redress would be revenge. In response to
this desire a goal must be pursued: to bring death upon the individual who had in
jured them. The way to achieve this aim consisted of implying that God himself
was damaged by the crime, so as to arouse in the divinity the same emotions as
the ones that they themselves felt.42
In the Rheneia inscription, the text was engraved twice - on both sides of the
stele, possibly in order to enforce the prayer.43 This may be related to the setting
up of the stele to face east and west, the rising and setting sun, perhaps connected
with a ritual.44 The sun and other gods are regarded as pantepoptai (seeing every
thing).45 The two palms o f the raised hands, above the writing field, also are de
picted twice. This iconic sign is conventional on gravestones of persons who died
39 For similar requests o f quick action in ‘prayers for justice’ in papyri see Chaniotis 2009b, 127.
40 SEG L 1233 (Phazimon-Andrapa, later Neapolis/Neoclaudiopolis, 237/8 CE): Kupie riavxo-
K pattop, a u ge e ic n a e ^ , kooc6<; 5e ge avOpcorcot; antoXeoev- CKSiiaiaov ge ev taxi. The
similarities between these two texts have already been highlighted by Marek 2000, 141 f.
41 Chaniotis 2009b, 126f.
42 On the intention to arouse in others hostile emotions, cf. pp. 359-387 in this volume.
43 Examples of imprecations inscribed twice: IG Xl.4.1296; IG R I 195. On repetition as means
to make a prayer ‘more powerful’, see Deissmann 1910, 432; Guarducci 1978, 238. On repe
tition and emotion see also pp. 68, 108, and 112 in this volume.
44 On public ritualisation o f appeals to divine justice, see Chaniotis 2009b, 122-128.
45 See Chaniotis 2010a, 135f., with references to ancient sources and secondary literature.
244 Irene Salvo
prematurely and symbolises the invocation to the Sun. the best performer of
divine vengeance.46 Nevertheless, we can read in it something more. The symbol
of raised hands can be interpreted as an expression o f emotions. The pair o f hands
on these reliefs expresses the misery (great pain) and the despair (loss o f hope in
human justice) of those who have been wronged (Heraklea and her family) and, at
the same time, hope (of the family of the deceased) in an immediate and resolute
intervention of god.47 Furthermore, the engraved words reiterate the prayer that
probably had been repeated aloud at the burial ceremony, and in the same way the
image reiterates the gesture of raising hands towards the sky performed in the
praying ritual. If on one side of the stele the words are smaller than the image and,
vice versa, on the other side the image is smaller, this may signify that the two
elements - text and image - must have equal value and visibility, without one
depriv ing the other of the right attention.
This document was intended to be read and seen by a passer-by, and its nature
was easily recognised. Indeed, the language is formulaic. We have an almost
identical gravestone from Rheneia, with the same text and the same image, for the
young woman Marthina.48 We cannot say that we are dealing here with a trend
setter, since we have only two inscriptions and not a large num ber o f similar epi
taphs. But we can assert that the tombstone of Heraklea influenced that o f Marthi
na, if we consider a process of reduction during copying: from a more complex
structure with both sides of the stone inscribed and decorated, we arrive at a
simpler layout with only one face engraved.49
In a milieu of cultural exchanges between Greek and Jewish communities, we
know that for an inexplicable death, such as the suspicious m urder o f a young
individual, there is a precise set of actions to be followed. It is possible to identify
an emotional community in which a clear response to damage prevailed and was
acceptable. When a harmful event provoked negative emotions, there was a set of
social rituals at one’s disposal in order to channel feelings and to contain the
46 See Cumont 1923, 1926, and 1933; Strubbe 1991; G raf 2007 with a catalogue o f inscriptions
and bibliography. The gesture of raising hands toward the sky is cross-cultural and it can be
used in different contexts (prayer, imprecation, magic). For more references see recently
Belaynche 2007, 76f.; Chaniotis 2009b, 126. Cf. also Aristoteles, D e mundo 400a 15-16 on
the universality of praying with raised arms. Bibliographical references on this gesture and
body language in Morris 1985, 144; Pease and Pease 2004, 32f.; Anderson 2009. On the
emotive impact of such images see pp. 224-227 in this volume.
47 For divine interventions as reflected in the confession inscriptions, see pp. 216-223.
48 / Delos 2532 II - Noy, Panayotov, and Bloedhorn 2004, no. Ach71 (second/early first century
BCE'.'.), now in the Epigraphical Museum, Athens. The stele is inscribed only on one side; the
upper portion is broken but from certain traces we can say that there was depicted a pair of
hands. In line 13 after rw m io v there is not £r)U)aei<;, as in the stele o f Heraklca (I.D e lo s
2532 I A line 13 and B lines 18f ).
49 To be considered also is the lack of a fundamental verb such as £iycriaei<; in Marthina’s
gravestone (see previous note).
Sweet revenge: emotional factors in 'prayers for justice’ 245
negativity o f the situation.50 I would now like to test these remarks on other
documents from both sim ilar and different contexts.
3 EM O TIO N A L R EA C TIO N S TO M URDER - REAL OR IMAGINARY
In a funerary stele from A lexandria in Egypt (late Ptolemaic period) there are
elements sim ilar to those in the R heneia texts: a suspicious death ascribed to
poison, the invocation o f the gods, and an imprecation against the suspected
murderers so that they m ight die in the same way as the victim:51
Virtuous T herm is, farewell! Rulers o f the chtonian daim ons down there, and you revered
Persephone, daughter o f D em eter, receive this pitiful wrecked foreign woman, me Thermis,
bom to father Lysanias, and noble spouse, married to Simalos. If someone led against my
body or my life the dreadful E rin y e s (Furies) o f poison, then, immortal gods, do send to him
not a different fate, but the one I hold. Under the earth I live, and after three months o f con
sumption I had left the fruits o f life, that the all-powerful Earth gave to mortals, and I was be
reft o f my children, lords, and o f m y husband; with him 1 was one soul and life was sweet.
Having forgotten all these things in m y m isery, I utter curses, in such a suffering, against
them and their children, m ay all their race go to the great abyss o f Hades and the doors o f
darkness. But m ay the life o f all m y children and o f m y husband proceed without breaks until
old age; if in Hades a prayer still has som e value, m ay the curse, against those whom 1 impre
cate, be accom plished.
Singing in verses our shared life, in a joyful and painful way, Therm is, my spouse, 1 tell you
these words: I will bring the children you gave me up in a way worthy o f your love, my
consort, and Lysas, the son you had before, 1 will look after him as one o f my children, doing
you a favour. For you adopted a blam eless behaviour in life.
50 Main collections o f texts w ith an appeal to a god, quite often the Sun, for vengeance for
som eone’s death (usually a m urder done m ysteriously): Bjorck 1938; Cumont 1923, 1926,
1933; G raf 2007. O ther texts also in: B E 1965, 335; 1968 535 = CCCA 1.57; Robert 1973.
172 note 40 (= O M S 7.235); Jordan 1979; Pippidi 1976; Riel 1 9 9 4 ,170f.
51 Robert 1936, no. 77 = Peek 1955 no. 1875; Bernard 1969, no. 46; Del Barrio 1992, no. 136;
Graf 2001 : 0eppiv xphovr), xatpe.1 X&Mtov £vep0e Satpovcov avaiaopfs I aEpvf) te 4>epae-
(paooa, Afiprixpoi; Kopp, I 8exect0e Tr|v vavayov a0Xtav £evpv, II rtatpo*; yeydiaav Auoavt-
ou ©epptv eye, I eaOXqv 8’ ateouiv IipaXou 4t>v«°Pov- * ei 5' epol? anXavxvoIatv f)
(3iq> Jtote I oiK-tpcu; ‘Eptvb*; (pappaieaiv esfiyayev, I pq samot’ aXXnv potpav, a<p0uoi 0eoi, II
7tepyr|0’ opoiav 0' ijv eyw K£Krnpevr|. I evep0e vaito, tptsTuxou.; pnva<; «p0ia\, I ptotou Xt-
itouoa Kapkov, ov yrj jtavKpdtiop I Ppototi; SiScoai, tou5' dseatepnpE[v]ri I tekvcdv tc,
dvatcTe<;, Kav8po«; ou yvix’l [pb« HV)Jn\pX£ pot ouv av5pi xat pu>; yXuicu*;. I too taw entav-
Ttov a0Xia XeXnopevTi I dpdi; ti0r|pt, tola exouaa rtf)para, I autoten teat texecn sapptôuq
poXTv I *A8ou peyav xeu[0]pa>va icai okotou soXa^, II xekvgsv S' epebv a0pau<nov oXpiov
piov I rtdvtwv iKco0ai icdv8po<; t<; yppux; xpdvov. I Et y’ ear' ev "ASov paios ei>xa>Xrj.; X6-
yos, I apdi; te X n a s oT^ eseuxopat teXvv. I — Mouacbv doiSpv cnwpiaxTeax; oe0ev I) tepsvr|v
te k« i Xujrqpov evitaXiv 8i8ou^, I Oeppiv, epn ûveuve, tot«8' tvvw w I 0peya> 5’ ooovq
eyxxjai; e£ epou yovoi>s I xtls rcpos tpiXiou; aîax;, (juvaope. I Auoav te tov spiv toi^
epotq opopposov (eton*;) H a i m kc; ' II satcriv cruveîo, crqv xdpiv taon\v tt0 \^ . I dpev-
ntov ev pitp yap eaxnK«? tposov. O n the use of metaphors in this text. cf. the rem arks o f
Maria T heodoropoulou (pp. 463f. in this volume).
246 Irene Salvo
The author of the first part of the text, possibly the husband, presents the text as a
prayer of the deceased woman to the chthonian gods and to Persephone; the
curses of a dead soul were perceived as more powerful, because it was impossible
to revoke them. Only in the last lines the husband addressed his poor dead wife.
Here, we have a truly moving story: genuine love, a wonderful marriage disrupted
by a calamity; we have the suspicion of poisoning, hate, and anger; finally, there
is also a son from a previous marriage. Thermis died after three months of con
sumption. Those who suspected an external intervention made - in her name - a
plea for revenge: the same death for whomever deprived her of the sweetness of
life.
In this text, the ‘prayer for justice’ does not follow a formulaic style; and it is
a poetic text. This allows us not only to detect the feelings of the author of the text,
but also to observe in what way and by what means these feelings were displayed
with a personal approach - always inside a well attested socio-cultural frame.52 A
clear persuasion strategy is used, choosing a manipulative language. Interestingly,
deities are assumed to be persuaded with arguments suitable for a human audience.
In other words, the author addressed sensitive social issues.
First of all, the inscription mentions the fact that the victim was a foreigner
(line 3).53 Far from his homeland, a foreigner is without rights and without
protection; most of the time, he needs to petition civic authorities or powerful
citizens to obtain both rights and protection. Such an alien suppliant would be
viewed according to traditional norms.54 To put it in Plato’s words,
all the faults against foreigners are — compared with those against citizens — to be strongly
referred with an avenging deity. For the foreigner, being alone without companions or
kinsfolk, is more likely to move pity (eAceivoTepoi;) in men and gods. ... He who, then, has
but a bit of foresight willây great attention to live until the end of his life without causing
any offence to foreigners.
We have to imagine exactly this mentality behind the words ‘pitiful foreign ship
wrecked woman’. The author of this text knew that these values were shared by
the whole community.
A second important issue is that an illness that confined someone to bed until
death was attributed to magical poisons or binding spells. We can say that in the
community of the author this was regarded as a harmful threat. To stress that
52 Of Robert 1946, 122 note 3: ‘L’interet de cette epigramme vient d’ailleurs de ce que les
sentiments personnels n’ont pas ete coules dans le moule de formules passe-partout.’
53 To die far away from one’s own fatherland was considered deplorable. See some examples of
grave inscriptions for foreigners: 1(1 IV2.2.906 (Aigina, fifth century BCR); IG i f 11780
(Attica, beginnings fourth century BCR); Merkelbach and Stauber 1998, 62 no. 01/12/23
(Halikamassos, fourth century BCR); Merkelbach and Stauber 2001a, 304 no. 10/02/29
(Kaisareia/Hadrianopolis, Roman Imperial period); 1(1 XIV 2566 (Bonn, second/third century
CR). Cf. Sophocles, Oedipus Coloneus 562 569.
54 On the xenia relationship and foreigners as suppliants, see ex p lu rim is Herman 1987; Zelnick-
Abramovitz 1998; (/ill, Postlethwaite, and Seaford 1998; Ciodde 2000; Naiden 2006.
55 Plato, Luws 5.729e 730a.
others were responsible for Thermis’ death was an attempt to provoke an

emotional reaction in the readers of the epitaph. Since they considered such a
death terrible, their own sympathetic feelings were awakened. The intention of
Thermis’ husband was to arouse in his fellow citizens precisely this empathy. The
suffering of the woman created an emotional community.
The author focused also on a third social issue: this death broke the unity of a
happy family - a couple full of love for their children. This point is stressed in an
extreme way through an exaggerated use of adjectives, connoting both negative
and positive aspects of the condition of Thermis and her family group. To give
some examples: the victim depicted herself as ‘miserable’ twice (line 4 with
‘shipwrecked’, line 16); she left the ‘sweet’ life enjoyed with her husband (line
15), and she wished for her children a ‘blessed unbreakable’ life (line 19). We
note this abundance o f attributes also in the varied manner of addressing the
gods:56 ‘rulers of the chthonian demons down there’ (line 2), ‘revered Persephone,
daughter of Demeter’ (line 3), ‘immortal gods’ (line 9), ‘lords’ (line 14).57
Between the deities and the worshipper a hierarchal relationship was established.
Moreover, these epithets functioned in a way already analysed in the Rheneia
texts: they reminded the gods what powerful sovereigns they were, and this meant
that they could decide authoritatively the destiny of Thermis’ enemies.
Last but not least, a fourth critical social concern: the deceased was
disgruntled and enraged. All the community could be in danger in such a situation.
In a long appeal to the divinities (lines 7-23) the dead woman described with
great detail how joyful and pleasant her life had been and how grievous and pitiful
her actual condition was. The imprecation against the persons responsible for her
death caused by sorcery (line 8: Erinys pharmakon\ together with their children,
is opposed to the wish o f a blessed life until old age for all the members of her
family.58 The love between husband and wife satisfied both parties of the relation
ship: they were one heart and one soul, their life together was delightful and
gratifying, they will have brought their children up - even the wife’s son from a
previous marriage (a sign o f great love). Entering the doors of Hades, she left the
pleasantest o f life. Unlike other epitaphs, which offer consolation by stating that
the deceased individual escaped the negative aspects of life, Thermis, presented as
speaking from her grave, rejects this consolation. The conditions of her death
made her an unquiet dead character that emphasises a strong feeling of regret for
her own death. What is the reason to communicate such unhappiness? In other
56 To address the god in the right way was very important in Greek prayers and hymns, and, in a
sort of captatio benevolentiae, different epicleseis defined functions and powers of the in
voked gods: see Jakov and Voutiras 2005, 117 and Furley 2007, 122-124, with the relevant
bibliography.
57 Cf. Bernard 1969, 212: ‘Daimones a ici le sens courant de Manes. appefes parfois theoi
katachthonioi. ... Neanmoins, certains textes distinguent les theoi et les daimones (cf. 93).'
58 See Graf 2001 on the unusual combination of curse and blessing in this text (with many
parallels from the Imperial period both in Greek and Latin).
248 Irene Salvo
funerary epigrams from Graeco-Roman Egypt for w om en and wives,59 we can

find expressions o f grief and pain60 and stories o f true conjugal love destroyed,61
but never with a style so accentuated; usually there is a consolatory motive.62 The
aim o f Thermis’ husband was different. Three tim es (lines 10, 17, 23) the de
ceased cursed her murderers/sorcerers, and every tim e she talked about her beauti
ful life, grateful to the fruitful earth or thinking o f her sons and in particular of her
husband. The curse o f a dead person was inescapable. Portraying her as a ranco
rous soul, her husband was asking the gods and his social group to act fast and to
avenge her death properly, in order to appease her spirit and to escape being
damaged by her and her curses.63
In this family drama, we have a display o f em otions related to various levels:
first, the house context (love between husband and wife, maternal and paternal
59 Bemand 1969,28-61.
60 Eg. Bemand 1969, no. 35 lines 11-16 (Apollonopolis Magna, second century BCE): cm
yevognv euvov<; pioxov 8idyoi>o' aga xoivfii icai yeveaex xexvtov, Vyv Ainov ev 7cpoxo7tai<;-
©v g'drtexcopio’ 6 navx’ ecpopcov Xpovoi;, f|Se <ri>v avTtp MoTpai xA-coaxcipcov vfjaav an'
aBavaxov- too ydpiv r) xArigcov xaxo8bpogai eiv Ai8ao, rcavxoicov yapixwv xaAAo;
eveyxagcvrp ( i was committed to him during our life together, and also to the children we
had, that I left in vigour; from them separated me Time that watches over everything, and
together with him the Moirai spun out my fate on their immortal spindles; this is the way that
I, miserable, moan in Hades, where I brought in a beauty of a thousand delights’).
61 E.g. Bemand 1969, no. 36 lines 9-12 (Cairo, second century BCE): Bpnvetxe ge rravxet;,
Bvgov h oA.A,ug’ eyco, Seogeov cgf)*; <piA.iri<; av8pa A.i7tooa’ AjioAAwv (‘wail all of you about
me, I who lose my life, leaving the bond of my love, my husband Apollon’).
62 E g. Bemand 1969, no. 28 lines 9-11 (Alexandria, third century BCE): aA.A.’ erci Acoiovi gev
goiprg vug<pt|v xo; ayoixo xotauxuvSe, aaouv oitcov eniaxagevuv (‘that you could have a
better fortune and marry a young wife, who could be able to give prosperity to the house’); no.
32 lines 9f. (Memphis, third century BCE?): aXX' ovy euaPeov vaten; gexa 7taxpi oovoixo;
Aioyevei, xov xai £©aa rrdpoiB’ trcoBeu; (‘certainly you live with pious men, dwelling in the
same house with your father Diogenes, that you in earlier times craved’); no. 44 lines 5-9
(Leontoplis, late first century BCE/eariy first century CE): ci 8’oA.iyov ^ a a xpovov
xcxptgevov, aXXci eXeovc eXniSa ayaBbv eya> npoa8exogai (‘if the time that I lived and
that was fixed for me was short, now 1 receive favourably good hope of mercy’); no. 48 lines
5-8 (Memphis, Imperial period): ov yap anaaiv ogax; Bdvaxoq papoq, &A.A,’ oxu; ea0A6<;,
ouxo;; xai Bavaxou xoorpov drteoxe xeAxx; (‘not for everyone is death likewise grievous, but
he who is noble, may(?) he receive a light death’).
63 An opposite model can be found in Bemand 1969, no. 52 (Alexandria, Imperial period); the
deceased has to be propitious and unharmfuI, because the dead woman is assured that
everybody in her family performed the customary duties and honored her at the funerary
ritual: ypdggottu xai axf|A.riv xexapaygeva ar\<; apexr)ai r|oeA.ijxe<;, gaxdpwv iq xBov’ avep-
/og£VT| a././.’ eoyo/i, £c portion;, arto aa>v ye xeicvrov ok; ebxou teBetaa- ciev yap avf|p npo-
enegtge xai a8t/.<poi aoo aovogaigor ooi xapixaq 8e e'xogev, enei piov r)8uv efioxa;'
oXX' aye oovxnpet bv nenXrxzc, oxeipavov aoi 8e ’OaeipiSoq ayvov u8<op Eim; xapittaito
(‘engraved letters and a stele remembering your virtues you leave, going up to the land of the
blessed. Have courage, Serapias! You were buried by your children as you wished, your
husband escorted you to the grave and also your brothers and your kindred. We are grateful to
you because you made our lives sweet. Good! Preserve the crown that you have twined; Isis
may gratify you with the pure water of Osiris’).
Sweet revenge: emotional factors in ‘ prayers for justice’ 24<)
love towards the children); second, the social community (realisation of hate and
curses against the murderers); third, the relationship with the supernatural (hope in
divine retribution). The communication strategy works both horizontally between
members o f the same status and vertically between men and gods.
Let us continue with another family drama, this time less romantic. In this
case we are dealing with a real murder, not an effect of witchcraft. The lover of a
treacherous wife killed and threw the legitimate husband off a cliff. And the dead
man invoked Zeus to punish his wife.64
Passer-by, Aphrodeisios is my name, and I am a citizen of Alexandria, leader of the chorus. I
die a most wretched death because of my wife, the dirty adulteress, whom Zeus will destroy.
Her secret lover, a member of my own family, Lychon, slaughtered me and threw me from
the heights like a discus, still a young man. In my twentieth year, full of beauty, the Destinies,
who have spun (my fate) sent me as a delight to Hades.
His wife probably managed to escape secular law, but for the relative’s victim she
was equally responsible for A phrodisios’ death as her lover. The family of Aphro-
disios put in his mouth an imprecation full o f anger against her, which was also an
invocation to Zeus to implement justice. The aim o f this grave epigram is to
arouse in the passers-by feelings o f indignation and rage against the treacherous
wife - feelings which were particularly significant if they were community
members. M oreover, the family had to make clear to everyone that they were con
demning Lychon even though he was a kinsman. As regards the woman, punish
ment from the gods was expected, and at the same time the social community was
led to take measures in order to satisfy the anger o f the victim, another restless
dead.
Let us briefly exam ine how the appeal to justice is constructed. Stronger than
the hate against the secret lover was the anger against the wife, ‘the dirty
adulteress’.65 In contrast with the negative characterisation o f the wife and the
lover, the deceased was celebrated as a handsome choir-leader, whose image is
64 From Alexandreia (Troas?), third century CE, now in the Louvre, Paris. CIG II 3588; Peek
1955, no. 1098; l.Alexandreia Troas 90; Merkelbach and Stauber 1998, 632f. no. 07'05/04;
Greek text and discussion on pp. 104f. in this volume. On the stone a standing male figure
inside an aedicula is depicted. See Graf 2007, I42f. for other examples of epitaphs for young
victims of a real murder.
65 For reproach o f treacherous wives, cf. a cult regulation from Philadelphia (c. 100 BCE):
LSAM20 = TAM V.3.1539; see Barton and Horsley 1981; Chaniotis 1997b; Versnel 2002, 43
note 19; Petzl 2003; Chaniotis 2010b, 227f.; see also pp. 213f. in this volume. A certain
Dionysios established a new cult. Access to the cult was subject to strict requirements ot
accepted behaviour. For example, a woman was not allowed to sleep with a man other than
her husband; otherwise she would be defiled and not permitted to enter the house cult or take
part in the cult practices (lines 35-41). If she disregarded these rules, the gods would curse
her (lines 41-44). This text is interesting also for considering that even the intention ot having
sexual relations outside of marriage was worthy of punishment by the gods, as in the case ot
Aphrodisios’ wife; a man had not to even consider having sexual relations with a woman that
was not his own wife (lines 25-28): and the gods which were guardians of these precepts
were powerful and did not accept any contravention (lines 33-35).
250 Irene Salvo
depicted in the relief. His physical beauty provoked an emotion in a divinity:

Hades rejoiced when such a fine-looking young man arrived in his realm.
While this epitaph denounces a crime and accuses the real instigator, another
funerary epigram clears an accused husband o f a wife-killing. In fact, the
deceased wife is presented as rejecting the gossip that the husband killed her: she
was not the only one to die before her time.66
Know, thou stone palace of the Night that hides me, and thou, Hood of Kokytos, where
wailing is loud: it was not my husband, as they say, who murdered me, wishing for another
marriage. Why should Ruphianos have this reputation for naught? But the fatal Destinies
brought me here. Paula of Tarentum is not the only woman who has died untimely.
The husband had to save face. He inscribed this epitaph in order to show his love
for his wife and his grief after her death, but at the same time it was a message to
his community to stop gossiping about the strange death o f the woman.67
My last example also comes from a funerary context. A young and successful
athlete, son of powerful parents, was killed not by love charms, but by ‘doom-
bringing insalubrious herbs’.68 Although we do not have an explicit demand for
revenge, still this epitaph is worth mentioning. An interesting feature is the play
with the name of the young man: Abaskantos.69 This name means ‘protected from
66 First century CE. Peek 1955, no. 1819; Greek Anthology 7.700: ’'Iaxw vuktoi; eprjc;, ij p’
EKpu(j)EV, o m a xatixa 1 Xaiva Kancoxov t’ agîyorixov oScop, I ouxi p ’ avrip, 6 Aiyoum,
icaxEKxavEv e<; yapov aXXri<; I Ttanxaivajv. xl paxr|v ouvopa ‘Pouc))iav6q; I aXka pe Kfypeq
ayauoi gepoppevou. ou plot 891100 I riauJux Tapavxivri K<xT0 a v e v dncupopoq (translation
slightly adapted from Paton 1960). On uxoricide in the Imperial period, see the case of
Regilia murdered by Herodes Atticos, now analysed by Pomeroy 2007.
67 See Chaniotis 2004b for information on gossip, loss of face and social stigma in confession
inscriptions, ‘prayers for justice’, and epitaphs.
68 1G XII.5.764; Peek 1955, no. 711; Del Barrio 1992, no. 295 (Andros, second century CE):
‘PcogTii; fj8’ 'Amin; eju|}d<; 8ia rcpdypaxa noAXdc icai 7tavxa»v de 0A,wv veiKoq eveyicdpevoi;
vAv5pio<; A I« k i 8 t )<; xeicvip piya xq)8’ evl xvpfkp Keipai ’A(3daicavTO<;, itai<; tcpaxeptbv
yoveojv • oi>x ox; I"Iii/i£i8ti<; 4>iXxpoi<;, a k \ ’ ox; peyaq "Aprp; poipvSlovq A.r|p<t>0el<; ot>x ooiai;
fjotavaiq. a/.Aa naxpoq pev epeio A.uypo<; [-~~-] pf|TTip 7iev0aXen S’ eox[e-«-««-].
‘Having already travelled to Rome and Asia for many deeds and having won every contest, 1,
Abaskantos, a descendant of Aiakos, son of powerful parents, lie in this grave together with
my son. 1 was not defeated by love charms like the son of Peleus, but by doom-bringing
insalubrious herbs, as was the great Ares. But the baneful (...) of my father, my mother is
mourning' (trans. A. Chaniotis). See Graf 2007, 140 no. 7 for a commentary on the mythical
examples.
69 Attested 9 times in the Aegean Islands, Cyprus and Cyrenaica, always in the Imperial period
(LGNE I s.v. Apdowxvxoi;). Another interesting epigram that plays with the name is SEG
XLV 641, huhydrion (Thessalia), third century CE, a funerary epigram for the eighteen-year-
old Zoe III. 3 4: Kd.x0ve yap Zcor) ouvopo. tcXriaicopfvri). See also l.Stratonikeia 1202:
bpEyo; pot Kdpiux; ... ndvxw oA-toai; xapnov xoiv err’ epoi xapcixtov; IEiytlirn 309:
A/vVWtvx; yet.8oM.tgov; discussion of these epigrams and more examples of this playing
with the name of the deceased in Chaniotis 2004c and SEG UV 555.
Sweet revenge: emotional factors in 'prayers for justice’ 251
the evil eye’.70 We can detect the fear of the evil eye behind the choice of this
name by his parents. They were probably well-off people (krateroi) who feared
the envy of others and the possibility of a spell that could cause damage or death.
But a name was not enough, or rather, in this case, the nomen had the opposite
omen. The poor Abaskantos died exactly because of magical poisons - at least this
is what his parents thought - given to him by an enemy, possibly by someone who
envied him. To denounce in the epitaph a death by sorcery was the only instru
ment available for the grieved parents. Their pain (lygros, penthalee) needed to be
shared: they communicate their emotions to the whole civic group. Whoever read
this grave epigram knew the truth, and so could take part in the emotional situa
tion of the family of the deceased.7' We can hypothesise that their prime intent
was to create an emotional community with other elite families, arousing in them
the fear of the evil eye - their sons could have the same fate as Abaskantos.
Within this emotional community it was easier to identify the risks and to try to
find valid means of protection of life.
3 EXPERIENCES OF INJUSTICE
SMALL CRIMES THAT STIR UP RETALIATORY EMOTIONS
What emerges from the texts presented so far is that it was socially permitted to
express one’s own desire for revenge, and that for doing this there were culturally
constructed means.72 Death that demanded revenge was not the only situation in
which it was acceptable to show the wish for vengeance. We have a great number
of texts about cases of theft, abuse, economic damage, slander, and false accusa
tions.73 Through a selection of some more exemplary texts, in the next pages I will
get closer to various circumstances in which a strong feeling of being offended led
to an appeal for justice to the gods and to a public expression of emotion. We will
notice how a retaliatory emotion dynamically interacts with other emotions such
as envy and Schadenfreude.
The gesture of raising hands towards the sky is observed in connection with
an event less grievous than an untimely violent death, but charged with the same
intensity. In a text from Delos, Theogenes raised his hands to the gods, the Sun,
and the Dea Syria (Hague thea) in order to bring punishment to a woman who did
not return his deposit of money despite having sworn to give it back.74 He
70 See Bonneau 1982, 23-25 for the etymological explanation.

71 For other examples of unknown or shadowy murderers, see Graf 2001, 187 with notes 19f.
72 On the importance of revenge in Greek culture see Gehrke 1987; Blundell 1989; Cohen 1995;
Mcllardy 2008.
73 For a discussion about small crimes of everyday life and belief in divine punishment, see
Chaniotis 2004b.
74 Small stele of w'hite marble, discovered in 1881 (Delos, second'first century BCE?!, / Delos
2531: 0eoyevr|<; teat’ avayiou aTpei ia«; xe‘Pa $ T<P ‘HXiio xai rrj Ayvrj 0e<jt. opwgoicev
autan ph atppeoai pr|8e aSixfioai autov jtapax-aTa0f|,mv pniSe A.a|3ou<rav dnoocm'pfiv.
252 Irene Salvo
harboured a deep grudge against her, and the best solution to give voice to his
feelings was to erect this stele in the Sanctuary o f the Syrian Gods.75 We can
reconstruct his emotions through the text and the image above it - a pair of
upraised hands. The text gives us the details o f the story: his behaviour, correct in
every detail, is contrasted to her perjury. He was not the one who started the
conflict. Such a justification is a typical feature o f this group o f documents. He
claimed then for damages, and he exploited two levels o f action: the power (kra-
tos) o f the goddess and the slandering o f human beings (the therapeutai, ‘no doubt
the group of those devoted to the goddess, including the sacred personnel of the
tem p le'76). The image, as we have seen also in the Rheneia texts, is an expression
o f his emotions and tells us that he perform ed a ritual to communicate with the
gods and with the whole social group.
Theogenes’ emotions are projected onto the divinities, and in particular onto
the Dea Syria. The woman in the above episode broke the oath first and thus the
goddess will have to show her anger.77 The m echanism o f action here works in
this way: the anger and the disappointm ent o f Theogenes are rendered as the emo
tions o f the goddess herself. This is an excellent strategy to assure an involvement
of a divine agent. Perjury was an offence not prosecuted by secular law. However,
a misfortune which befell a perjurer was perceived as punishm ent from the gods,
who had been wronged by the broken oath ,78 T he revenge, then, would come not
directly from Theogenes but from the goddess - and the punish-ment of a
powerful divinity is the worst thing that could happen to a hum an being.
Furthermore, Theogenes prayed that the w om an w ould be the object of the
slander of the therapeutai. He wanted to be sure that his opponent would be under
attack from heavenly powers and m ortals alike. He knew the deceitful woman
personally, although he did not name her.79 A sking that the devotees to the god
dess speak badly about her, Theogenes w anted to spread a bad reputation for this
w'oman, and to awaken the judgm ent o f others. G ossip am plified the news, and in
eyia 8k TcercoiOox; xfi ayvT) 0ea nejuaxeuKa opiccp icai o\)0ev epov abitcqga yeyovev eiq
uvtt )v -
auxq 8k A,a(3ovaa 7mptticaxa0fticnv ek eA,e\)0epiav arceaxepriae. gh kxfyvyoi to
tcpaxoc xqq 0ea;, a t,m be teal beopai rcavxa<; xovt; 0eparcewa<; pA,aa<t>qpeiv camiv icaO’
wpav. ‘Theogenes raises his hands to the Sun and the Pure Goddess against an impious
person. She swore to him neither to deprive him of something nor to wrong him, and if she
takes a deposit not to defraud. And 1, having confidence in the Pure Goddess, trusted in the
oath and no wrong-doing was done to her by me. But she took a deposit, in order to be
manumitted, and deprived me (of it). May she not escape the power of the goddess. And I
demand and request from all the worshippers o f the goddess to slander her at the right time’
(trans. A. Chaniotis).
75 On the sanctuary of the Syrian Gods in Delos, see Bruneau 1970, 466-473; Will 1985.
76 Versnel 1999, 141.
77 On divinities showing their anger after a crime, see e.g. Petzl 1994, no. 3 (Sailtai, 164 CE) fot
a stolen garment (see pp. 2241); Strubhe, Arai Epitymboi, no. 40 (Lydia, first/second century
O ) for tomb-robbery.
78 On perjury, a crime between secular and sacred law, see Chaniotis 1997, 2004a and b.
79 Jordan 1979, 523 note 5.
Sweet revenge: emotional factors in ‘ prayers lor justice’ 253
the end the whole story was known to everyone in the community. In this period,
the island of Delos was a centre where merchants, bankers, and businessmen from
various countries were exchanging goods. Unreliable behaviour could undermine
basic social or economic relations within the society itself, and so it was to be
manifestly condemned by everyone.
At Knidos (an ancient city of Caria, in modern Turkey), during the second or
first century BCE, it was a common practice among women to go to the sanctuary
of Demeter and Kore to denounce a wrong suffered. We have 13 lead tablets, all
written by women, found in the sanctuary.80 The authors of these texts presented
themselves as victims mistreated by other persons. Standard expressions and simi
lar phraseology were used to describe various situations,81 always an experience
of injustice: theft, slander, or a deposit not returned. The wrongdoers were com
mitted to Demeter and Kore. A reading of two of these documents will give an
idea of the contents of this dossier:
(A) Artemis dedicates to Demeter and Kore and all the gods with Demeter, the person who
did not return the cloak and the garments that 1 had left behind, even though 1demanded them
back. May he, in his own person, bring them back to Demeter; also if it is another person who
has my possessions, may he be burnt internally by fever, publicly confessing. For me let
everything be holy and free. (B) Let it be allowed for me to drink and eat together and to
come under the same roof (as the cursed person). For I am wronged, Lady Demeter.82
I hand over to Demeter and Kore the person who has accused me of preparing poisons against
my husband. Let him go up to Demeter, burnt internally by fever, with all his family, publicly
confessing. And let him not find Demeter, Kore or the gods with Demeter to be merciful. For
me let everything be holy and free. Let it be allowed for me to be safe when under the same
roof or involved with him in any way. And 1 hand over also the person who has written
charges against me or commanded others to do so. And let him not find Demeter, Kore, or the
gods with Demeter merciful, but may he go up burnt internally by fever together with all his
family.83
80 Found in the sanctuary of Demeter and Kore in Knidos in 1859. See Bliimel 1992, nos. 147—
159, with references to previous editions.
81 See Chaniotis 2009c, 63 f.
82 I.Knidos 148 = DTA 2; translated by Versnel 2002 (modified): dviepoi ’Apxepei<; Aagaxpi,
Koijpa[i 0eo]T<; Ttapa Aapaxpt n a o r ocm<; xa xm’ epod KaxaA.i<p0evxa igaxta icai evSoga
Kal dvaica)[A.]ov, egod arcaixlriKadjaac;, odic <xjte[8toice] got, aveveymi avxoq icapa A[a-
p]axpa, Kai ei xi(q dWoqj xapa e(x)[ei, 7tenpr|Jgevo<; eâyopeOjcov egofi 5e oma ic]ai
eA.EV>0epa icai oognievv icaii aopipayeiv icai en[i xo a]dxo oxeyoq e[A.0]e!v ■a5iier|gai yap,
8fOTco[i]va Aapaxep. Cf. SEG XXVI11 1568 (= SEG XL 1049), a 'prayer for justice' from
Maionia, with Chaniotis 2009b, 127, and 128-130 on the cession of disputed, lost or stolen
goods to the divinity.
83 IKnidos 150 = DTA 4 A; translated by Versnel 2002 (modified): [dva]xt0tipi Aagaxpi vai
Kodpai xov icax’ epo[d] eut[a]vxa, oxi eya> xtdi epan av8[pi] ipappaica rcoiaf ava[paT]
napd Aapaxpa rtt7cpr|gevo<; pexa xtbv aoxod [i8ia)v] ndvxtov fâyopedtov, tcai gfi xv>xfl
ev)eiA.dxoo lA]dpaxpo<; icai Kodpa<; gn8e xtdv 0ea>v x©v ttapa Ad[ga|xpo^, ego't 8e f| doia
wxi EXeu0Epa ogooxeyriadari r\ an jxo[xe] xpottwi cmreX-EKogevip- avaxi0iipi 6e xai xov
Kax’ flpod] ypdyavxa rj icai ertixdâvxa- gp xdxoi Aagaxpo»; K.ai lk]opa^ gn8e 0e«»v taiv
xapa Aagaxpoq e\nA.dx©v, aKK' alv]a(p)ai gexd xa>v iStoov itdvxwv napd [A|dgatpa
254 Irene Salvo
Some essential features of these prayers, as rightly outlined by Henk Versnel are:
first, the punishment from the goddess could be referred to as a kind of ordeal by
fire that would force the perpetrator to confess and recompense the damages (see,
how ever, below pp. 255f.); second, having dedicated the wrongdoers to the gods,
the author of the prayer knew that they were now cursed, and so asked to escape
contagion in case of an encounter with them - a quite realistic eventuality in a
small community, especially if the culprit was unknown; third, the author justified
her choice of such vindictive measures by claiming to suffer injustice.84
These texts need to be put into context. Christopher Faraone cautiously
suggested that the festival of the Thesmophoria, performed in the sanctuary of
Demeter and Kore, might have offered the occasion for a quasi-juridical activity
aimed at solving crimes and securing the culprit’s punishment. Especially on the
second day, the day of fasting and grief for the injustice suffered by Demeter, the
rape of Persephone, women could deposit their tablets or orally accuse their
offender. The fear of coming into contact with the accursed person, as expressed
by the self-protection clauses, might be limited to the context of the Thesmo
phoria, when women lived together and shared meals in the sanctuary. The
process of crime detection and conflict resolution might have been an ongoing
dialogue with the goddess and the hypothetic offender, with previous written
requests left unanswered.85
As noted by Angelos Chaniotis, the women that frequented the sanctuary
displayed their emotions in these prayers. They influenced each other as proved
by the convergence in phraseology. What we read resulted from the interaction
among the female worshippers. Showing one’s own emotions had the function of
a persuasion strategy in the asymmetrical relationship established with the god
dess. The women deposited their appeals for justice in the context of ritual actions;
and such moments loaded with emotions were worthwhile times to come to the
sanctuary to meet other women and to deposit one’s own prayer.86
There are still some further questions that can be addressed in connection with
these texts to understand them more deeply within their cultural framework. What
is their social function? Does the display of one’s own emotions to the divinities
and to other women play a role in the dynamics of social interrelationships? To
ntnptwizvoo,. The possible consequences of an accusation of having poisoned a family

member are exemplified by the story of Tatias, see Petzl 1994, no. 69; see also Chaniotis
2009b, 122-125 and pp. 220f. in this volume. See also Versnel 1994, 149: the pittakion and
the arai of Tatias ‘precisely denote the kind of objects that have survived in the form of lead
tablets in Knidos’.
84 See Versnel 1994 and Versnel 2002, 50-54.
85 See faraone 2011: he compares the Knidian tablets with the judgment for slander against
Euripides in Aristophanes’ Thesmophoriazousai (lines 372-379, 444-454, 663-684), and
with two curse tablets from Locri (Audollent 1904, no. 212, Calabria, third century BCE) and
Amorgox t/G XII.7 p. I; see below note 98).
86 See Chaniotis 2009c, 61-68, with a reference to Polybios 15.29.8-14, an interesting passage
describing how women were behaving and interacting in a sanctuary (in this case the
Thesmophorion in Alexandria, Egypt).
Sweet revenge: emotional factors in ‘prayers for justice’ 255
give an answer, it might be interesting to look at some recent findings in social

psychology and conflict management. I am thinking in particular about research
on social justice, that studies the fairness of procedures and behaviour in inter
personal relationships within organisations. Analyses of interrelationships in con
temporary workplaces could offer valid interpretative tools to approach our
prayers from Knidos.
Robert Bies and Thomas Tripp studied how, in a company, revenge is a
behaviour provoked by someone else, and most of the time the root of provocation
is in the sense of injustice. The emotions of revenge are characterised by a sense
of violation and by feelings of helplessness, which are intense and of an enduring
nature.87 The feelings of violation and helplessness provoke action-orientated
emotions. People describe their psychosomatic experience, and these emotions are
typified as ‘hot’, and the person herself is ‘inflamed’, ‘enraged’, ‘consumed by
thoughts of revenge’, or with a ‘burning desire for revenge’. The emotions of
revenge can poison the professional and personal lives of the people that feel them:
emotions themselves can operate as a ‘social toxin’.88
Another important result of their research is that social cognitive dynamics
shape retaliatory emotions. In fact, these emotions are amplified by a cognitive
process of ‘rumination and obsession’, that become stronger when people express
and give vent to their emotions in social gatherings called by Calvin Morrill ‘bitch
sessions’.89 Moreover, there is experimental evidence suggesting that to compare
equal experiences of inequity affects the individual’s perception of what happened
to him. The social environment then conditions the evaluation of blame and in
fluences the reaction to be taken.90 Revenge consists of two parts, the first being
the perception of the injustice suffered, and the second being the intention to
restore justice by harming the offender. Revenge can take different forms: beha
viour of retributive justice can be, for example, public complaints directed to a
humiliation of the rival, public claims for embarrassing apologies, or whistle
blowing and speaking badly about the wrongdoer.91
In what way could these statements be useful to us? Historical periods, local
contexts, and situations are completely different. We cannot simply transfer these
results from one setting to another. Interpersonal dynamics change in altered
circumstances. But these studies could be an inspiration for considering the
cognitive processes and the social mechanisms that structure the phenomenon of
praying for justice in Knidos. Far from implying universal elements in human
nature, 1 want to reflect on similar emotional cognitive processes that can be
compared. First of all, the Knidian women also started from a feeling of injustice
in a condition of helplessness: often their charges were based on purely circum-
87 Bies and Tripp 2005.

88 Hornstein 1996.
89 Morrill 1992.
256 Irene Salvo
stantial evidence, and at any rate they could not personally bring their cases to the
court.92 They decided then to apply to the authority of Demeter, Kore, Plouton,
and all the gods and goddesses with Demeter.
In considering the motives o f the women when seeking revenge from the
goddess, perhaps they asked that their offender be burnt inside as they were ‘burn
ing' with their own thoughts of violation and revenge; similarly, in ‘prayers for
justice' for an untimely death the author wanted the same fate for the murderer
according to the mentality ‘as I have suffered, you have to suffer’.93 After having
written their prayers, the women stopped being ‘inflam ed’ in their wish for re
venge, and they hoped for pain and affliction for their enemies. But this is only an
impression that cannot be proven since we cannot say what the women felt - if
they perceived themselves as ‘inflamed’ by retaliatory emotions. We aren’t able to
set up a scientific and psychological experiment as in the modern example above.
What can be taken from the Knidos example is that pepremenos indicates a form
o f punishment involving the interior (shame) or physical (fever) ‘burning’ of the
opponent.94
Another stimulating concept from the social sciences and research on
organisational justice is the idea that retaliatory emotions are acting as a ‘social
toxin’. Indeed, it is not hard to imagine what an offended woman was able to do,
as we can easily assume in cases o f slander or false accusations. Her reaction
could be unpredictable and possibly even socially unacceptable. She would need a
culturally established way to satisfy her wishes for revenge. Her emotions could
poison social and personal lives in a small com m unity operating as a face-to-face
society. The cognitive process of ‘rum ination’, the ‘bitch sessions’, and the ex
changes of similar incidents were not taking place during a coffee break but at the
sanctuary. The sanctuary, in fact, was a place o f social gatherings where women,
usually confined to their home, could meet other women and talk about their
pains.95 Women who were recently offended were m eeting women that had
already deposited a tablet. Plausibly, arriving at the sanctuary, they were not
clearly resolute on what they should have to denounce. But talking about and
dealing with one offence, they started rem em bering other wrongs suffered.
Festival after festival these women were all together amplifying individual emo
tions and shaping the response that should be given after an experience of injusti
ce. The social environment moulded their actions: their wish for revenge took the
form of a ritual.
Because o f their strong feelings, the demands and public complaints of the
women could appear to constitute overly em otional, antisocial behaviour that
could destroy peace and harmony in a community. It is true that their public com
92 Chamotis 2009c, 64.

93 See Cieberman 1974 on demanding justice in conformity (houtds) with the wrong suffered.
94 See Chaniotis 2004a, 7 with note 19 for an overview o f modern interpretations of the term
pepremenos.
95 Chan totis 2009c, 66f.
Sweet revenge: emotional factors in prayers for justice' 257
plaints could often be serious and violent, since they might pray for instance for
the humiliation of the rival, for embarrassing apologies from the rival and his
family, or for dreadful punishments and horrendous tortures, with no hope for
mercy. These are serious and violent prayers indeed. However, it must be under
stood that all of these retaliatory emotions were condensed into a text, and this
text was delivered to a divinity. It became now the responsibility of the divinity to
sort out the situation. Thus, through a ritual, which was well established and
socially accepted, the negative emotions of the women were eradicated from
everyday life. Indeed, the author of the text, praying to the goddess not to be
merciful, also tried to manipulate the emotions of the divinity.96
I think we can identify two cognitive processes activated by the ritual of pray
ing for justice in Knidos: first, women ruminated about their wishes for revenge
and amplified their emotions in interactions with other women; second, instruct
ing the divinity to sort out their problems, women were confident to have done
everything within their power against their adversaries: they had focused their
harmful feelings in a concrete action.
In conclusion, the social function of the display of emotions in the Knidian
prayers, ritually deposited in the sanctuary of Demeter, was to satisfy and cool
strong retaliatory emotions, and to ‘detoxify’ the social interrelationships within
the city. A ritual deed was a solution for daily misdemeanours that had generated
animosities.
Alongside the wish for revenge, Schadenfreude, the pleasure derived from the
misfortunes of others,97 plays a part as a very important feature of social dynamics
of a small community. In a famous ‘prayer for justice’ from Amorgos, the author
of the text asked Demeter to punish those who rejoiced in seeing him and his wife
suffering:98
Lady Demeter, I implore you, because I have suffered injustice; listen to my prayer, goddess,
and pass a judgment of what is just, so that you give the most terrible and harsh sufferings to
96 In these texts (j.f| yevovto eveiXatou tuxew is a recurring expression. Eudkaxoi; ‘very
merciful’ is derived from the verbs lA-npi (attested only in the imperative form ‘be gracious!’)
and DiaaKopai (‘appease’ (a god) and ‘to be merciful’): terms of the tA.- group are very
common in Greek prayers; they express the idea that the divinity should be propitious and
favourable towards the worshipper; see Pulleyn 1997, 145 and appendix 1.
97 Cf. Pinker 1997, 367: ‘When English-speakers hear the word Schadenfreude for the first time,
their reaction is not, “Let me see ... Pleasure in another's misfortunes. ...What could that
possibly be? 1 cannot grasp the concept; my language and culture have not provided me with
such a category”. Their reaction is, “You mean there’s a word for it? Cool!”’. On cultural
differences of naming emotions, see Oatley, Keltner, and Jenkins 2006,183.
98 IG XII.7 p. 1 (Arkesine on Amorgos, c. 100 BCE): Kupia ,Ar||uf|Tr|p, Aitavruo oe ixaOwv
a8uca, ejtaK'ouoov, 0e<x, icai xptvai to Sixaiov, Yva xou«; xoiavxa evftugoupevovi; vai
KaTaxoupovTc(<;) tea! Xi)Kaq eni0e(l)vai xapoi icat rrj eprj yovam ’Eiukttioi sat utooumv
Jioirjoou auxou; xa 8iv6xax<x kcu xotAentotata 5iva. BachXtaaa, eitdicouaov r\piv
JtaGovai, icoA.daai *; npa<; xoiowout; fi8eio>; pAiitovxav For the text see pp. 214-216 in
t o o
this volume. See also Jordan 1985, no. 60; Versnel 1999. The text was transcribed after its
discovery' in 1899 but, unfortunately, the tablet was then lost.
258 Irene Salvo
those who think of this (afYair) with joy, those who have given me and my wife, Epiktesis,
sorrow, those who hate us; listen to us, for we have suffered, and punish those who take
pleasure in seeing us in this misery.
The first part of this text (not cited here) explains the circumstances of the affair; a
certain Epaphroditos persuaded the slaves of the author of the prayer to escape;
plus, he seduced his handmaid and took her as wife against the wishes of her
owner (who may have been in love with her). It seems that there were many
anonymous rivals that approved the actions of Epaphroditos or rejoiced at them."
The author of the text seems to be an arrogant, rich man disliked by everyone.
And, after his slaves have run away, in a condition of public mockery, he made
himself slave of Demeter, and constructed a hierarchical relationship as a persua
sion strategy in order to obtain satisfaction from the goddess. The sense of viola
tion. felt by the author of the text, here concerned one’s own honour and social
esteem; and the curse was also against those who hated his family. But Schaden
freude, like envy, is an emotion not overtly expressed,99100 and so it was hard to
know precisely (although perhaps easily imaginable in a small community) who
was rejoicing in such a shameful situation. Therefore, the prayer is all-inclusive.
Schadenfreude of others was also feared in the case o f death attributed to
poison or magic: ‘if anybody poisoned her or if anybody exulted over her death or
will exult, pursue them’.101 This language is formulaic. The formula expresses the
idea that not only the damage itself is a reason for praying to the gods in these
terms. When someone rejoices, or will rejoice, in another’s misfortune it is neces
sary to invoke retribution from the gods. The Schadenfreude can be revenged.
Praying against someone who rejoices in one’s own misfortunes is also a way of
provoking one’s own Schadenfreude, the joy in seeing the rival punished by the
gods and tremendously suffering.
Gossip and storytelling offer occasions for pleasure o f another’s adversity and
for invidious comparisons, especially in an honour-shame culture. Moreover, an
other emotion is involved; fear to loose one’s own period o f prosperity. For the
person who feels it, Schadenfreude is a rewarding feeling and it is closely related
to envy; indeed, it is more likely to arise when misfortune happens to a person
who is advantaged102Schadenfreude finds its roots in a scenario of social injusti
ce, where the less fortunate are forced to remember what they lack.103 Envy and
Schadenfreude, as well as belief in the evil eye, are interrelated. Inequalities in the
99 Vermel 1999, 127.

100 See Sanders 2010, 38.
JOJ SB 1323; Curnonl 1923, no. 22; BjOrck 1938, no. 11: Bern oi|/{axq> kou ndvxiov enorctfl icai
‘H/U<p tccci Nepcoem oA'pu ’Apoeivon d<opo<; td<; h xiq aoxfi (pdppooca enoinoi’ '1
Kin i n i / u p t : xu; u \)X i\i; rip Buvuxw h eruxupfi, pExekBexe adtodi;. See Versnel 1999, 130 for
other parallels.
102 See the neuroscientific study of 1akahashi et al. 2009.
103 Portmann 2000, 34
Sweet revenge: emotional factors in ‘ prayers tor justice’ 259
social texture are the requirement to feel such emotions.104 And when someone
else’s loss could be your gain, the social struggle can run without rules, especially
within a community with limited control mechanisms.
4 AFTER VICTIMISATION
SOCIAL AND RITUAL STRATEGIES OF CONTAINING EMOTIONS
Murders, magical poisons, thefts, false accusations, cheating friends, conflicts

between owners and slaves, rivalry between noble families: the texts discussed in
this chapter depict communities with hard political and social living conditions.
Today in almost every country there is a government office or a charitable organi
sation that can offer help, practical advice, and emotional support to victims of
crime. Greek ‘prayers for justice’ show us a crime-coping method which involves
the supernatural.105 Even small crimes could threaten the social order and the
safety of the inhabitants of cities and villages.106 What these documents allow us
to analyse is the reaction to various types of crime, a reaction that has many facets:
emotionality, social norms, rituals, and compensation.
Fearful, frustrated and angry victims needed to cope with the experience of
being affected by a crime. It is from ‘une pousse emotionnelle’ that the procedure
of hunting the person responsible for the offence suffered begins.107 But, as Louis
Gernet pointed out, the logic of sentiments is a ‘logique collective’, that must be
preferred to a ‘logique inviduelle’.108 How can we detect collective emotions from
these texts, since ‘prayers for justice’ were written by a single person, and were
not, for example, decrees enacted by a popular assembly? Luckily, we have many
clues at our disposal: first, there are themes often recurring for similar circum
stances, and emotional reactions to wrongs suffered seem to become conventional;
second, there is formulaic language, phraseology, and style to express one’s own
emotions; third, the way chosen to display emotions presupposes that the ad
dressees and the observers have the same Weltanschauung as the author of the
text, as for example in the case of grave epigrams with a prayer for revenge; then
our texts were the result of a process of interaction and mutual influence between
104 Some categories of social inequalities in ancient Greek culture: male/female, free/slave,
Greek/barbarian, citizen/foreigner, rich/poor, politically powerful/w eak, influential/emargma-
ted class, educated/illiterate, urban/peasant, successful/unsuccessful, young/old, good-Iook-
ing/ugly, healthy/sick, lucky/unlucky, happy and functional family/unhappy and disaggre
gated family group, many dear friends/no friends.
105 This does not mean that secular law was not taken into consideration at all; see Chaniotis
1997a; Versnel 2002,73.
106 See Chaniotis 2008 for an historical account on problems of policing the Hellenistic country
side.
107 Fauconnet 1928, 238; see id., chapter 5 for his idea about the nature of responsibility as a
‘transfert des emotions suscitees par le crime’.
108 Gernet 1917,426.
260 Irene Salvo
members of a social community,109 as in the sanctuary o f Demeter in Knidos;

finally, certain emotions are valid only in comparison with other people, as the
intergroup emotion of Schadenfreude in the prayer from Amorgos.110
1 hope to have shown that a study of prayers for justice, as opposed to simple
curses that do not contain justifications, can contribute to our understanding of the
emotional dynamics of retaliation in ancient Greek culture. These documents need
to be analysed together with literary evidence on beliefs about revenge. In the last
two decades there has been a lively discussion in particular on fourth-century
BCE Athenian laws and Athenian values about honour, revenge, family feuding,
and litigation. Scholars have based this discussion mainly on the corpus of orators
and on Aristotle.111 Since we do have prayers for justice from Athens, and the
earliest attestations date from the fourth century BCE,112 a discussion of Athenian
beliefs on revenge should be reformulated taking into account the epigraphic evi
dence w'ith an analysis of its emotional factors.113 But this discussion can
encourage questions to ask of our sources. Are prayers for justice finally resolving
conflicts and tensions between different social actors? Or are they another means
to pursue hostility?1141 think that the involvement of supernatural agents had the
effect of smoothing down strife. As Henk Versnel has argued, the practice of
praying to the gods for justice testifies to two strategies o f social control:115
the first is the appeal to a powerful third party for help against a second party. The second is
the suggestion to the second party that a third party has been called in for assistance. If one
does not work, the other may.
The punishments of the gods against the culprit were effective, inescapable, and
terrific.116
From the data here presented, I would suggest that prayers for justice also had
another function for the maintenance o f a stable social order. A public expression
of one’s emotions served to regulate social behaviours and social interactions, and
109 For empirical evidence of how emotions are shaped by cultural and social processes, see Kita-
yama and Markus 1994, with studies on cognitive, linguistic, physiological, and neurochemi
cal components of the relation between culture and emotions.
110 On Schadenfreude as intergroup emotion see Frijda 1998, 276f.; Spears and Leach 2004;
Sanders 2010, 37-39.
111 See Cohen 1995 and 2005; Harris 2005; Herman 2006. The reader can find useful bibliogra
phical references in Harris 2005, Herman 2006, and Chaniotis 2013. On risk management and
control of imminent dangers, from the analysis of an oracle’s questions and curses, see Eidi-
now 2007.
112 See Versnel 2002,48f.
113 Gehrke 1987,143 has stressed the importance of ‘prayers for justice’ for understanding Greek
mentality of vengeance. See now Riess 2012, 164-234, who takes in consideration Athenian
curse tablets, and argues that they functioned as a form of mediated violence; the ritualisation
of violence contributed to hedge in troublesome emotions.
114 See Cohen 1995.
115 Versnel 2(8)2,73 and 37 40 for the definition of social control here impl ied.
116 The ‘confession inscriptions’ show clearly how illness and misfortune were interpreted as di
vine punishments. On the construction of fear of the gods see pp. 205-234 in this volume.
Sweet revenge: emotional factors in ‘prayers for justice’ 261
to culturally construct and to keep under control the negative emotions that could
threaten a peaceful life in a community. Indeed, the act of writing down a prayer
for justice modified the emotions of its author. Having transferred one’s own ne
gative emotions onto the gods or having publicly vented them, a person could
return to his everyday life with the certainty that he had been compensated for the
injustices experienced. At the level of these prayers, every murderer was punished
as deserved, every stolen object was given back, and slanders were publicly
proved as false.
This ritual practice aimed to calm social tensions. No cultural system allows
an unrestrained flow of negative and destructive feelings between the members of
its community. We have evidence in the form of tablets and other documents from
a broad geographical area and from a span of one thousand years that show how,
through the involvement of the divine dimension, the desire for retaliation spurred
on an action that could be seen as a legal one.
It would have been impossible to live in a community without a way to
control the emotions here analysed. These texts were a way to soothe and cool the
feelings behind a wish for revenge. Negative emotions, most likely felt against a
neighbour, a kinsman, or a friend, were then overcome through a ritual.117 At the
same time, this ritual was prompted by the emotions of the community: emotions
had a role in the decision-making of what response should be taken after a victi
misation.118 Praying to the gods for justice was an action of containment that
hoped to prevent one’s rivals from retaliating ‘irrationally like an animal’.119
The desire for revenge was manifested in a typical display that was shaped by
ritual conventions. The retaliatory emotions were channelled into a culturally con
structed system of revenge and were expressed through a socially accepted
custom. This allowed for a measure of containing emotions without suppressing
them; because after all, taking vengeance on our enemies is the sweetest of all
things.120
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PICTURE CREDITS
Figure 1: White marble stele from Rhenaia (late second/early first centiry BCE), now in the
Bucharest National Museum Drawing: Wilhelm 1901, 14 fig. 3.
ISIS ARET A LOGIES, INITIATIONS, AND EMOTIONS
The Isis Aretalogies as a Source for the Study of Emotions
Paraskevi Martzavou
1 INTRODUCTION
There exists a complex type o f textual source related to the cults of the Egyptian
goddess Isis, conventionally called aretalogies. In this type of text, the main body
is constituted by a thorough description of divine qualities and powers either of
Isis or of the divinities o f her circle. These texts, because of their partially cele
bratory character, have been mainly considered as mere ‘hymns’ to Isis and her
associates.1 In this study, I will use these texts in an attempt to write a detailed and
sympathetic history of a particular type of human experience. I shall examine the
aretalogies as a source for the combined study of religious history and the study
of the socio-cultural construction of emotions. One key concept here is the con
cept of religious change, a complex phenomenon whose study requires the de
ployment of a variety o f historiographical strategies. In the present study, as part
of this volume, emphasis is put on the construction and expression of emotions as
a way to help perceive and explain change. I consider this aspect as part of a wider
explanatory model concerning religious change as it can be observed through
various sources and in different aspects of religious life (space, time, humans, and
objects); conversely, the study of religious change allows us to see emotions at
work, and to look at their particular effect on individuals in the ancient Greek
world.2
In using this particular body of evidence, I will try to detect the type of con
cepts and emotions that are suggested through the aretalogies and to observe how
these are used in the construction o f a life attitude and life goals. But firstly, l will
try to reconstruct the context of performance of these ‘praises to Isis’. Such a re
construction is absolutely crucial in the process of understanding the construction
and re-enactment of specific emotions. In what follows, literary, archaeological,
and epigraphic information will be taken into account and will be used in an
imaginative way in order to propose a model of performance for these texts and an
interpretation of their possible function.
1 will argue that a group o f aretalogical texts - written in stone and set up in a
particular place, namely in the precincts of an Isis sanctuary - had a particular role
1 There is analogy here with the ‘miracle inscriptions’ of Asklepios in Eptdauros; see pp. 177—
204 in this volume.
2 For the emotional aspects of religious change see Harris 2010, 17.
in rites of initiation, in the context of a specific ritual tradition which developed in

the context of the Isiac cults from the late second century BCE onwards. Conse
quently, these texts, embedded in ritual and performed by specific priestly offi
cials, were instrumental in the construction of emotions intimately related to a
specific perception of the divine, in its role as an instigator of change. Such emo
tions were important first for the self-construction of the person who underwent
the initiation, through the individual performance of the initiation ceremony, and
second, for the group, through the re-enactment of the initiatic rites when each
new member joined the small but growing group(s) of initiates. This material the
refore enables us to see religious and emotional phenomena in very diverse
contexts, both individual and community-based, and in vivid detail.
2 THE SOURCES
2.1 What are the aretalogies of Isis?
It may be helpful first to recapitulate what we know about the Isis aretalogies.
The available evidence has been gathered, and it is easy to offer a synoptic view.3
There exist a number of miracle narratives, invocations, and hymns for various
Egyptian gods, that have mostly been studied as a group.4 These texts have, in
their majority, an Egyptian (or pseudo-Egyptian) allure and possibly origin,5 but
this is open for discussion. Some amongst them have as theme the goddess Isis.6
The larger body of the aretalogical texts are dated between the second century
BCE and the fourth century CE. However, it must be emphasised that these texts
are not of the same nature. Notably, the texts that have Isis as their theme are not
transmitted in the same manner; this is, they are not to be found in the same type
of medium. As we shall see, this element is decisive for the interpretation of their
function in wider contexts. For instance, we find a version of the aretalogy that
was allegedly inscribed on the grave of Isis, according to Diodorus Siculus.7
3 For a brief and useful survey see Grandjean 1975, 1-15; see also the survey with analysis in
Versnel 1990,38 95.
4 See for instance Peek 1930 as an example of such study.
5 The main concern of past research, obsessed with 'Quellenforschung’, has often been to
determine the alleged origin of these texts, and more specifically, whether they are ‘Egyptian’
or Greek’ Egyptologists and Hellenists have strongly polarized the debate but have not
reached a compelling conclusion; see Smith 1971. l his culturally unsettling question has
remained open
6 See die two texts included in the Appendix (pp. 287 290).
7 Diodorus I 27; the historian gives the origin of his text as a grave-stele at Nysa in Arabia,
where Isis and Osiris are supposed to be buried. Hut in 1.22.2 Diodorus cites an alternative
tradition according to which Isis was buried at Memphis, where her shrine in the temple area
of Hephaestus was famous in his day Apparently there were various and even divergent
traditions on die origin of this text and its content; the second tradition concerning the tomb
of Isis in Memphis, which Diodorus reports, appears also in the arelalogy of Kyrne (see
Appendix no I §2) However the text that Diodorus provides does not contain some ol the
Isis a r e ta l o g ie s , Initiation, and Emotions 269
Diodorus claims to give only one part of the inscription in question, which sug
gests that the historian was fully aware of the existence of a much longer text,
from which he quotes only the opening lines.8 Diodorus says that he gives a par
tial text because the rest o f it has been eroded by time - but this is nothing more
than a literary topos in the so-called pseudo-epigraphic literature.9
A number o f these Isis-themed texts can easily be grouped together in that
they are inscribed on stone and set up in sanctuaries. There exist today seven such
inscribed stones, all o f which are found in harbour cities.10 As suggested by
palaeographical criteria, the earliest of these inscribed texts seems to be the
aretalogy o f Maroneia (end o f the second century BCE)11 and the latest the
aretalogy o f Ios (second/third century CE). The genre is exemplified by the two
texts that appear in the Appendix - from Kyme (no. 1) and Maroneia (no. 2)
respectively.
Firstly, we should consider these inscribed stones as having religious signifi
cance, since they are clearly sacred dedications. The dedicatory formula with the
characteristic term euxqv (‘in fulfilment of a vow’) in the Kyme text, which was
found in situ in the Isis sanctuary, is well preserved (Appendix no. 1 §1). Even
though there is no such formula preserved in the text from Maroneia, we may
infer from its content that the inscription was dedicated in a sanctuary. These
inscribed objects should be considered not as isolated documents, or even as
isolated ritual acts, but as religious dedications in the widest possible way; that is,
as part o f a continuum in the communication between the divine and humans, and
amongst humans themselves. The other constituent parts of that human-divine
communication are rituals connected with sacrifice, prayer, performance of
hymns, consecrations, and so forth.12
In the present study, I focus on aretalogies inscribed on stone, set up w ithin a
sanctuary. This is because what matters for our purpose here is not merely the
formal and structural similarities o f these texts and their shared subject matter
from a strictly philological point o f view. In the exploitation of these texts as sour
ces for the study o f emotions, their literary features cannot be studied indepen
dently from the monument, on which they were inscribed, the space, where they
verses that appear in the aretalogies written on stone, for instance: ‘I am she who is called
God by women’ (Appendix no. 1 $10).
8 Burton 1972, 115.
9 In this kind of literature, to w hich the Hermetic texts belong, we have no knowledge about the
authors and their environment. The Hermetic texts use the literary fiction that Hermes instruc
ted his sons in the distant past and had these discussions written down on stelai in the Egyp-
tian sanctuaries.
10 RICIS 114/0202 (Maroneia, late second century BCE); 202/1801 (Andros; first century
BCE/CE); 302/0204 (Kyme, first century CE?); 113/0545 (Thessalonike. firstsecond century
CE); 202/1101 (los, third century CE); 306/0201 (Telmessos, late Hellenistic, unpublished);
RICISSuppl. 113/1201; SEG LVI1I 583 (Kassandreia, second century CE?).
11 RICIS 114/0202; Loukopoulou, Zournaizi, Parisaki, and Psoma 2005, no. 205; see Appendix
no. 2. On this text see also p. 226 in this volume.
12 For such a broad definition o f the sacred dedications see recently Bodel 2009, 17-30 and
mostly 18 and 27.
were set up, the manner in which individuals interacted with the material objects,
and the emotional impact of this interaction (cf. pp. 223-226 in this volume).
In what follows. I will argue first that these documents, embedded in se
quences of initiatic acts and discourse, had a specific role in the construction of
experiences based on individual and collective emotional responses. I will then
argue that the emotional function of these documents was essential in their role in
helping the reader to construct a life attitude and a life goal - a phenomenon with
wider social and political implications.
2.2 I am Isis, You are Isis
The seven inscribed aretalogies of Isis, even though they present similarities in
offering ‘praises to Isis’ and being set up in sanctuaries, also present significant
differences, which allow us to proceed to some form of classification.13 Some of
them, although they are not identical, present very strong similarities concerning
the formulaic presentation and description of Isis; others (fewer) appear as poetic
versions of the main body of the praise of Isis and are highly personalised, from
the points of view of both style and content.14 Consequently, the aretalogies of
Isis can be divided into two types:
The l-am-lsis' type

In four published documents,15 the praise/description of Isis, which forms the
main body of the text, presents the following characteristics. After the dedicatory
formula,16 the goddess introduces herself in the first person, gives a brief geneal
ogy, and enumerates her qualities and her powers. In the end, she greets Egypt as
her native land. In this way, the core of the text can be understood as a self-praise
of the goddess. The self-presentation of a god in his hymn is an original feature in
the context of the Greek-speaking hymnology. It is probably because of their
‘exotic’ resonance that these texts have not been included in a recent collection of
Greek hymns to gods.17
13 / have not seen the areiaiogy from Telmessos (RICJS 306/0201), since this text is unpubli
shed but according to RJCIS the text is quite similar to the Kyme arelalogy, see Appendix no
!.
14 (/randjean 1975, IOf.
15 f rom Kyme IRK IS 302/0204), Thessalonikc (K1CIS 1 13/0545), Kassandreia (R K 'tS Suppl.
113 1201: .SAG 1.VII1 5X3), and los {HICIS 202/1101) respectively. The better preserved
arming them »* die text from Kyme (Appendix no. I).
16 Preserved entirely only in the texts from Kyme (Appendix no. I §1) and partially only in the
text* from Jo* and Kassandreia It provides the name of the dedicant preserved only in the
text uf Kyim and constitutes a sort of prelude to the core of the text.
17 Aurley and Hremer 2001
Isis a r e ta lo g ie s , Initiation, and Emotions 271
The 'You-are-Isis ’ type

In the two known documents of this type,18 in the strategic first lines of the main
text, Isis is addressed in the second person, instead of introducing herself in the
first person, as she does in the ‘1-am-lsis’ type of text. Isis’ powers are then enu
merated in the main body of the text. Both types of texts can be described as
personalised, rhetorical or poetic, and idiosyncratic variants of the main core of
the ‘l-am-Isis’ type of text. But the second-person address to Isis is not a choice
followed throughout the ‘You-are-Isis’ aretalogy. For example, in the Maroneia
text (Appendix no. 2), which starts by addressing Isis in the second person, the
second-person address is abandoned at line 22 and the discourse continues in the
third person until line 29. In that way, the text is stylistically more similar to a
traditional Greek hymn to a god.19 However, the text then returns to the second
person until line 41, where it returns to the third person.20 Moreover, in the text of
Andros, the second-person address lasts only until line 7; after that, Isis introduces
herself in the first person, and enumerates her attributes in an extremely long
quotation,21 which constitutes the core of the inscribed text. Even if the second-
person address is not respected throughout the length of these texts, the strategic
placement of the address in the beginning of the text makes the second-person
aspect of the document dominant; the crucial first lines in the Maroneia and And
ros aretalogies suffice, in my view, to justify their classification in the ‘You-are-
Isis’ category. By its construction, this type of text seems to respond to the ‘I-am-
Isis’ text as a sort of confirmation or ‘awareness’ of the presence of the goddess.
3 APULEIUS AND HIS MODEL OF THE ISIAC INITIATION
3.1 ‘Aretalogical moments’
How did these texts work? In order to understand the function of the inscribed
aretalogies of Isis, we must adduce a literary source: the text of Apuleius’ Meta
morphoses, one o f the major sources for the Isiac cult due to its autobiographical
character.22 The narrative in this literary work is structured around the adventures
of Lucius, a young man who, transformed into a donkey because of a failed ex
periment in magic, roams in Central Greece and experiences an impressive num
ber of grotesque adventures, which occupy the first ten books of the novel. In the
eleventh and final book, a literal and metaphorical transformation of Lucius
IX From Maroneia (RIC1S 114/0202; Appendix no. 2) and Andros {RICIS 202/1801).
19 On the hymnie style, see Furley and Bremer 2001. On the rhetorical nature and style of the
Maroneia aretalogy see Papanikolaou 2009.
20 This might reflect responses by different bodies of worshippers in a possible performance of
this text.
21 178 lines are preserved.
22 Festugiere 1954, 76f. and Solmsen 1979, 104 113 insist on the value of Metamorphoses \I
as an autobiographical testimony.
21 2 Paraskevi Martzavou
occurs, through his encounter with ‘Isis’ and his initiation into the Isiac cult.23 In
spite of the literary conventions in a piece o f literary fiction, which must be consi
dered. I believe that the text of Apuleius, because o f its avowedly autobiographi
cal character, should be taken as a serious religious text.24 Hence it provides good
evidence for initiatic practices within the ritual tradition o f the Isiac cult, in the
particular form it took from the late Hellenistic period onwards.
There are two moments in the Xlth book o f the M etamorphoses that can be
described as ‘aretalogicaf, in the sense that they present strong similarities with
the texts from the inscribed stones, despite the different language - Latin in the
case o f the Metamorphoses and Greek in the case o f Isis’ aretalogies. These simi
larities concern the content as well as the style o f the two sets o f texts. The first
‘aretalogical moment' forms part of an experience, in sight and sound, o f Lucius,
which has the character of an epiphaneia (apparition) o f Isis. The goddess
emerges slowly from the sea and says:25
... Lo. I am with you Lucius, moved by your prayers, I who am the mother o f the universe, the
mistress of all the elements, the first offspring o f time, the highest o f deities, the queen of the
dead, foremost of heavenly beings, the single form that fuses all gods and goddesses; 1 who
order by my will the starry heights of heaven, the health-giving breezes o f the sea, and the
awful silences for those in the underworld, my single godhead is adored by the whole world
in varied forms, in differing rites and with many diverse names. Thus the Phrygians, earliest
of races, call me Pessinountia, Mother of the Gods; thus the Athenians, sprung from their own
soil, call me Kekropian Minerva; and the sea-tossed Cyprians call me Paphian Venus, the
archer Cretans Diana Diktynna, and the trilingual Sicilians Ortygian Proserpine; to the Eleusi-
nians 1 am Ceres, the ancient goddess, to others Juno, to others Bel Iona and Hekate and Rha-
mnousia. But the Ethiopians, who are illumined by the first rays o f the sun-god as he is bom
every day, together with the Africans and the Egyptians who excel through having the origi
nal doctrine, honour me with my distinctive rites and give me my true name of Queen Isis....
This apparition comes after Lucius’ general invocation to the goddess for help, a
sort of impersonal call by the miserable donkey at his w its’ end. Isis presents her
self as a vision to the exhausted Lucius-donkey, and ‘reveals’ her different names
and her powers. The long speech that Isis recites presents sim ilarities in style and
subject matter w ith the ‘I-am-lsis’ type o f text.
The second ‘aretalogical moment’ in the X lth book occurs in an episode
which, even though it does not have the exalting character o f the first ‘aretalogical
moment’, is nevertheless a solemn ritual event. At the closure o f Lucius’ initia
tion. three days after a ‘secret’ initiatic ritual o f nocturnal ‘revelation’ has taken
place, Lucius recites a prayer with tears in his eyes and with frequent sobs. He
stands in front of the statue o f the goddess in a ritual context, while the priest
Mithras stands nearby. Lucius prostrates him self in front o f the statue o f the god
23 for Apulcius' Metamophoses XI see Gwyn Griffiths 1975; Sanzi 2008 (with bibliography).
24 For other approaches which argue a non-serious character o f this literary piece see Winkler
1985
25 Apulciu*. Metamorphoses XI 5; translated by Gwyn Griffiths 1975. The similarities between
Apulesufc and the texts from Kyme and Maroneia is also noted by Sanzi 2008, 38 42.
Isis a r e ta l o g ie s , Initiation, and Emotions 273
dess and although emotionally overwhelmed, addresses the divinity in a masterful

way, in these words worthy of a skilful poet.26
... Thou in truth art the holy and eternal saviour of the human race, ever beneficent in helping
mortal men, and thou bringest the sweet love of a mother to the trials of the unfortunate. No
day nor any restful night, nor even the slightest moment passes by untouched by thy bless
ings, but even on sea and land thou art guarding men, and when thou hast stilled the storms of
life thou dost stretch out thy saving hand, with which thou unravelest even those threads of
fate which are inextricably woven together; thou dost pacify the gales of Fortune and keep in
check the baleful movements of the stars. Thee do the gods above honour and thou are wor
shipped by those below; thou dost revolve the sphere of heaven, and illuminate the sun, thou
dost guide the earth, and trample Hell under thy feet. For thee the constellations move, for
thee the seasons return; the divine beings rejoice for thee, and the elements are thy slaves. By
thy command breezes blow and rain-clouds nourish, seeds sprout and buds grow. Awe of thy
majesty imbues the birds that move in the sky, the wild beasts that roam the mountains, the
serpents that glide on the earth, and the monsters that swim in the sea. But I am bereft of
talent in singing my praises, and have scarce means to offer thee fit sacrifices. Nor have I the
rich power of speech to express what I feel about thy majesty; indeed a thousand mouths and
tongues are not enough for the task, nor an everlasting sequence of tireless talk. Therefore I
shall try to do the only thing possible for one who is devoted but indigent; 1 shall keep for
ever, stored in my inmost heart, the memory of thy divine countenance and most holy god
head. ...
Chronologically, this is placed just before the departure of Lucius and his re
integration in the wider world after the secluded period he spent in the premises of
the Isiac sanctuary. The newly initiated Lucius dedicates, or rather consecrates,27
himself to the (service o f the) goddess. Interestingly, even though the hero is
presented in the narrative as emotionally moved by his recent initiation and his
imminent departure, the prayer he is supposed to recite ‘spontaneously’ is not at
all disjointed and incoherent, as one might expect. It is a literary piece exhibiting
superb technical skill, with the composer in complete control. The Latin text of
Lucius’ prayer exhibits correspondences with the Greek ‘You-are-Isis’ aretalogy.
In addition, both texts claim artlessness on the part of the author and insist on the
importance o f the image o f Isis for the initiate. There are abundant and significant
counterpoints between Isis as presented in the M etam orphoses on the one hand,
and in the inscribed Isis a re ta lo g ie s on the other. Specifically, there is correspon
dence between the self-representation o f Isis (p. 272) and the ‘I-am-Isis’ aretalogy
(Kyme model); and betw een the prayer o f Lucius and the ‘You-are-lsis’ aretalogy
(Maroneia model). This invites us to think about a possible connection between
these texts in the context o f a conversational system; in other words, a dialogue
having as theme ‘Isis’, the identity o f the goddess. Despite the different langua
ges, there is a com m on interface between these two sets of texts. In w hat follows,
I will try to define it more clearly.
I will argue that the two ‘aretalogical moments’ in Apuleius’ M etam orphoses
XI correspond to two aretalogical events w hich formed part of the ‘real’ process
26 Apuleius, Metamorphoses XI.25; translated by Gwyn Griffiths 1S>75.

27 For the difference between consecration and dedication, which eventually can have legal
implications in the Graeco-Roman world, see Bodel 200*>, 21 f.
of the Isiac initiation; thus indicating that both types of aretalogies were instru
mental in this initiation. In the context of this hypothesis, I shall attempt a recon
struction of an initiatic ritual, demonstrating the ritual function o f the Isis aretalo
gies. 1 shall argue that the aretalogies were embedded in a complex ritual mod
elled on a polarised stichomythia between divine and human. Here, both the ‘I-
am-Isis' and the ‘You-are-Isis* texts had a performative role. I shall examine
literary’, epigraphic, and archaeological evidence in order to demonstrate this
hvpothesis.
I shall start by exploring the significance of the strong impression of the ‘im
age' of Isis in the imagination of Lucius, as we can perceive it first through the
narrative immediately preceding the first ‘aretalogical’ and epiphanic moment of
chapter 5. In chapters 3 and 4, the detailed description o f Isis, as she appears
emerging from the sea, is extremely vivid and appeals to all the senses. This
image seems extremely ‘alive’ and some details help to construct an even more
vivid picture; for instance, while an exquisite Arabic perfume fills the air, the
divinity appears to rhythmically shake the sistrum while speaking in a ‘divine
voice’ to Lucius.28 The importance of this visual impression in the literary econ
omy of the Metamorphoses is explicit at a subsequent moment also, where we can
perceive its function in the evolution of the plot. In chapter 25, which includes
Lucius' prayer, it is stated that the memory of the initial vision o f Isis functions as
a constant reminder of his devotion to the goddess,29 and we understand that
whatever Lucius does from that moment on, he is doing it as part o f his service to
the goddess. As Andre-Jean Festugiere observes, this is an original touch, practi
cally unknown among the ancients, which can be compared with religious
devotion among the Christians.30 The image o f Isis in this chapter is completely
emotionalised to such a degree that Lucius is in tears while evoking this image.31
The emotional attachment of Lucius to the image o f the goddess is a very
important element of the narrative because it propels the subsequent action of
Metamorphoses XI, But at the same time, and given the autobiographical
character of the book, the vividness of the description and the weight of the
28 Her description appeals to three out of five senses (Apuleius, Metamorphoses XI, 3 and 4);
the goddess appears dressed in a impressive multi-coloured opalescent chiton (stimulating the
sense of sight) and covered with a black fringed mantle; she is holding and rhythmically
shaking a sistrum (sense of hearing), and a golden vessel, which together with other glittering
objects (a tlat disk above her forehead, glimmering stars and a crescent woven into her black
mantle and contrasting with its colour) gave her quite a shiny appearance (stimulating the
sense of sight) A distinctive Arabic perfume (sense of smell) accompanies her apparition and
her presence, while she talks with an impressive ‘divine’ voice (sense of hearing).
29 Apuleiuy Metamorphoses XI 25: ‘ I shall keep for ever, stored in my inmost heart, the
memory of thy divine countenance and most holy godhead’ (translated by Gwyn Griffiths
197$) The importance of some sort of portrait, which was placed nearby the inscribed areta-
logy, is underlined in the text ol Maroneia; see Loukopoulou, Zournatzi, Parisaki, and Psoma
2005 no 205 with commentary
*0 fttfugiere 1954,80
it for an assessment of this type, addressing the nature and function of l.ucius’ tears in Meta
morphoses see Lateiner 2009,277 295.
Isis a r e t a l o g i e s , Initiation, and Emotions 275
attachment to the image conveyed by the author strongly suggest that this is a
reference to a reallife experience of the author Apuleius; a memory held by him
and conveyed through the description of the state of mind of his hero Lucius.32 It
is probable then that behind this cherished memory would hide a strong visual
experience of Apuleius himself, who was an initiate of the Isiac cult as we know
from other sources.33 What could this experience be?
3.2 Epiphany: real or staged?
Apuleius’ narrative offers some hints about the fact that part of the procedure of
initiation must have included staged scenes imitating or presenting divine epi
phanies. For instance, after his initiation, Lucius, at the priest’s behest, ascends a
wooden dais, in front of the statue of the goddess, wearing impressive embroi
dered clothes:34
... In my right hand I carried a torch with rearing flames and my head was garlanded grace
fully by a crown of gleaming palm whose leaves stood out like rays. When I had thus been
adorned like the sun and set up in the manner of a divine statue, suddenly the curtains were
drawn and the people crowded to behold me....
In fact, this scene could be easily described as a ‘tableau vivant’ made out of
disparate elements and, apart from Apuleius, there are other sources that suggest
that some sort o f spectacles, pantomime or other, were forming parts of the rites
of the Isiac cults.35 There are other sources that indicate that some people, dressed
in the manner o f certain gods, played a role in initiatic rituals.36 It is important and
significant for our purpose here that through the description of this scene in the
narrative of Apuleius, we perceive not only the individual (Lucius) who is
actually undergoing the initiatic ritual but also the crowd (of initiates) that is
gathered to witness Lucius’ initiation. Evidence for the presence of a group of ini
tiates as witnesses to initiatic rituals can be found in proclamation formulas.37 It is
32 For the importance of the autobiographical character of Metamorphoses book XI see Festu-
giere 1954, 76f.
33 See Solmsen 1979, 108-113.
34 Metamorphoses XI, 24 (transl. Gwyn Griffiths 1975).
35 See Merkelbach 1995, 113f. §§ 2 lOf., who briefly suggests that the women appearing dressed
in the manner of the goddess Isis in funerary reliefs (from Attica and elsew here) had the role
of representing the goddess during rituals and recited her revelation speech - that is, the
'aretalogy ; see also 172f. §§ 329-331 for the possibility of existence of an initiatic rite in the
cults of Isis and Sarapis and the possibility of a staged ritual with funerary character; see also
178-181 §§ 342-347 for theatrical scenes and theatrical devices used in such scenes in the
context of the Egyptian cults in Alexandria of Egypt; see also Kohler 1996, 123-125 for
spectacles with representations of scenes involving Egyptian and other gods as part of
processions.
3h The regulation concerning the initiation rites of the Andania mysteries provides evidence tor
representations of dances and pantomimes that were imitations of gods as part of initiatic
rites; see Deshours 2006, 135-136; see also Chaniotis 2009, 34.
37 For all this see Chaniotis 2011; for acclamations and emotions see pp. 295-314 m this
volume.
:76 Paraskevi Martzavou
also important for our purpose that, according to Apuleius’s narrative, the princi
pal initiatic scene, which has a revelatory character, takes place in the middle of
the night. This lends a dream-like character to this scene which perhaps was inten
ded by the ‘directors' of such a staged display within the Isis ‘epiphany’.
4 INSCRIBED ARETALOGIES AND ISIAC SPACE
Let us now return to our inscribed aretalogies from Kyme and Maroneia. How
would they fit the picture reconstructed on the basis of the testimony of Lucius,
hero of the Metamorphoses of Apuleius? In my view, they represent two different
moments of the initiatic ritual. The setting and the situation may be reconstructed
as follows.
Type I f I-am-lsis’) fulfils the following function: written on stone, set up in a
special place in the sanctuary, it was read out during initiatic rituals, probably by a
female priestly official, dressed up in the manner o f Isis; or by a male priestly
official while another female priestly official (someone already initiated in the
cult, and dressed up ‘in the manner of Isis’) was present as a sort o f symbol of the
divine presence. There is abundant evidence, archaeological and epigraphical, for
the existence of female priestly officials in the Isiac cults, which could be per
ceived as initiates dressed up in the manner of the gods, and notably of Isis
herself.3* We can assume that these officials had a prominent role in the Isiac
initiation. In this case, the ‘l-am-Jsis’ formula would have worked as the script for
a ‘role’ in some sort of theatrical performance played out in front o f the eyes of
the initiated. This symbolic divine ‘presence’ would ratify religiously the initiatic
moment and would enhance its solemn character. This performance would be
staged as an artificial ‘epiphany’, and it would represent the divine epiphany.39
The initiate would have here a merely passive role, that o f the simple spectator. In
the model of initiation we try to reconstruct here, we have o f course no possibility
to speculate about the time of day that the initiatic ritual could have been per
formed, as there is no direct evidence for this; but we can assume, based on the
testimony of Apuleius which reports a ritual of ‘revelatory’ character performed
in the middle of the night, that it could have been a nocturnal ritual having the
As mentioned earlier Ip. 275 n. 35), the hypothesis that women priestly officials dressed as
his recited the /-am-lsis’ text is proposed by Merkelbach IW5, §§ 2 1Of. f unerary reliefs
representing women dressed as Isis are attested especially in Athens from the early 1st cent
Ht f onwards hut we find representations of women dressed up as Isis in other contexts too;
ha Athens and the women dressed in the manner of Isis in the Attic funerary reliefs, see
Mart/avou 2011
V* See kupke 2010, 1X1 I% and especially 192: ‘...the presence of the gods is not arbitrary hut
it n statuesque fins presence draws its plausibility not from a specific form of material, hut
from an emotional experience, produced by the specific context of temples, perhaps
heightened by rituals
Isis a r e ta lo g ie s . Initiation, and ( motions 277
same ‘feel’ of dream-like experience as the one described by Apuleius. This

suggestion might be supported by the profusion ot'lamps found in Isiac contexts40
I have to stress here that the archaeological evidence not only does not
contradict the model presented above but, on the contrary, corroborates it; the
inscribed stone bearing the Isis aretalogy from Kyme was found, in situ, in the
precinct of the sanctuary, but in a separate room.41 This fact would suggest a
specialised use of this space in combination with the inscribed text of the areta-
logy. Based on other evidence, we can easily perceive the Isiac sanctuary as a
complex architectural ensemble formed by units with different degrees of
‘sacrality’.42 The differentiation in the function of space in the Isiac sanctuaries is
attested through epigraphical evidence which testify to the existence even of
physical restrictions to the access of some significant spaces;43 it is legitimate to
connect the restrictions in the use of space of an Isiac sanctuary with rituals that
introduce differentiations in a community of worshippers such as initiatic rituals;
the restrictions would work to exclude the non-initiates. There is also epigraphical
evidence, which attests the existence of groups with particular right of access to
some part of an Isiac sanctuary closed off to others. I suggest that the separate
space of the Kyme sanctuary was used for initiatic rituals; indeed, the excavator’s
reading of the layout is similar, since he called the room where the Kyme areta
logy was found the ‘Hall o f the initiates’.44 The sanctuary of Kyme was close to a
cemetery; a funerary inscription was found re-used in the sanctuary. Under these
circumstances, the information provided at the beginning of the Kyme aretalogy
concerning the initial setting of the ‘Egyptian’ aretalogy on the tomb of Isis in the
sanctuary o f Hephaistos in Memphis would find a fitting context. I will return
later to his ‘funerary’ character of the sanctuary of Kyme and its function in the
context of a study on emotions.
The ‘You-are-Isis’ type o f text can also be understood as part of an initiatic
ritual. This type seems to be a poetic variant of the praise of Isis written by a
specialist, who could compose in a skilful way following literary rules. In that
sense, it is significant that in the context of Isiac cults, a priestly functionary'
40See Podvin 2011; on the high number of lamps (70) found in the Isiac sanctuary of Marathon,
see Dekoulakou 1999/2001, 113-126.
41 Bouzek et al„ 1980, 59, 67f.
42 The modifications in the plan of the Isiac sanctuary of Eretria suggest the introduction of a
ritual which might have imposed differentiations in the use of the space; see Bruneau 1975.
122 and fig. 8.
43 In Delos the use of kivkA i' S ou (barriers) is attested in a dedication found close to the temple
of Isis in the precincts of the ‘Sarapeion C’ (R1C1S 202/0328 line 2; 104/3 or 92 I BCE); also
RI( IS 202/0426 line 19 (between 156/5 and 146/5 BCE) and 202/0433 lines 9f. The use of
k i v k A. i 6 « i is also attested in Athens in the sanctuary of the south slope of the Acropolis
(RICIS 101/0221 line 2, 120 CE) in Athens. In the Isis sanctuary of the dente of Teithras there
were also K’dvK'eXoi (barriers) dedicated (RICIS 101/0402, mid-first century CE); also the use
of KixvKtAAoi; is attested in Thespiai (RICIS 105/0402, firstsecond century CE); also in an
inscription from Palmyra (RICIS404/0201, 149 CE).
44 Bouzek et al„ 1980, 59.
known as aretalogos is attested in the epigraphical evidence.45 It is obvious from

the significant differences between the texts of Maroneia and Andros that certain
poetic ‘liberties' were allowed in the composition, not only concerning style,46 but
also concerning content.47 The best pieces of this category might have been pre
sented in competitions, as is suggested by Yves Grandjean for the Maroneia
piece.48 The ’You-are-Isis’ types can be considered as part of the reception of the
T-am-lsis" type. As free-floating compositions, they could be inscribed on stones
and set up as dedications in sanctuaries, probably next to a representation of the
goddess as the text from Maroneia suggests (lines 4f.).49 But at the next stage, in
such environments, they could then be re-embedded into rituals.
It would be legitimate then to suppose that these texts could have served as
the basis for the ritualised responses of the newly initiated at the closing of the
initiatic rites - something that was actually happening, as suggested in chapter 25
of Metamorphoses XT. For instance, the Maroneia text, inscribed on stone and set
up in a special place,50 would be at the disposal of any would-be initiate to leam
by heart while he was individually preparing for his initiation; and would be
ritually recited at the end of his initiation as a sort of ritual closure and as a type of
re-integration into the ‘profane’ world.
These texts would work in the aftermath o f an initiatic context in the
following manner. We can imagine the setting; the inscribed monumental form of
the text would be a constant reminder of the strong emotions of the initiatic
experience and institute a regular relationship with the divine and with fellow
initiates, past, present, and future. This relationship would be forged through text,
by way of formulaic words and expressions. The same procedure would take pla
ce every' time there was a new initiation to perform, a ritual attended by all those
who were already enjoying the status of initiates.
45 An apnuXoYO*; is known from Delos from the second century BCE (RICIS 202/0186, before
166 BCE; dedication of an aretalogos to Isis and Anubis) and an aretalogus Graecus is
known from Rome tRJCIS 501/0214, funerary epigram, third century CE).
46 Jt is characteristic that the two texts of Andros and Maroneia, which are not very far apart
chronologically, are yet stylistically very different.
4"? For instance, the Maroneia text gives an idiosyncratic version of Isis (interestingly, Athens is
prominent in her discourse, and Isis is presented as the wife of Sarapis rather than of Osiris).
Ahn in this text Isis is presented as daughter of Ge rather that as daughter of Kronos (the
latter being the Kyrne aretalogy version).
48 Grandjean 1975, I09f„ with suggestions as to one of the possible festivals for the per
formance of the aretalogy of Maroneia; the Sarapeia of Tanagra known from an inscription
that dales to the early 1st cent BCE.
49 The enk/mion is presented as equal in words to the representation of the goddess. See Riipke,
2010, 192 and note 59 he refers to a phrase of Gadamer ‘a representation enhances the
ontological reality of what is represented’ which is a stronger notion than the aura ol
facticity provided by specifically religious ritual. The aretalogy of Isis is hence an ekphrasis
of the goddess
50 Unfortunately we do not have information about the original setting of this stone. Note that
the inscription* arc also movable objects so they could be transported, manipulated, and re
integrated while die rituals develop and become more or less sophisticated.
(sis a r e l a h g i e s . Initiation, and Emotions 27<>
What is noteworthy in the text of Maroneia is the emphasis on the

representation of Isis, an image probably set up near the inscribed stone. The term
TtpoacoTtov (‘face’, ‘representation’), placed strategically at the beginning of the
text (line 5), probably refers to a real representation of Isis that functioned most
likely as a focus of the initiatic ritual and as a constant reminder of the attachment
of the initiate to the goddess; just as the text inscribed on stone, the image would
have enhanced the sense of the goddess’presence. Some sort of material repre
sentation (statuette, token, amulet) might have been given to the initiate in order
to enhance this constant ‘presence’ of the divinity in the spirit of the initiate, after
his initiation and his re-integration into the profane world.
On the other hand, according to the testimony of Apuleius, the initiatic clothes
of the initiates were kept in the temple and were worn by them during festival
days. This custom was a regular and constant reminder of the initiation, which
enhanced the presence o f the divinity in the life of the initiates and had an
emotional weight.5152 The emotional attachment to material things invested with
value - almost a fetichisation o f objects as it appears in Metamorphoses XI - is an
interesting feature o f the initiatic ritual in Isiac cult.
I have argued that during the process of Isiac initiation, an early ‘epiphanic’
moment was carefully staged and performed in front of the initiate, where the ‘I-
am-Isis’ type o f text53 was recited. In some cases this was spoken by a female
priest-like worshipper o f Isis who represented the divinity; in all cases it provided
a connection to the representation o f the divinity as visual focus for the ritual. The
event would unfold in front o f the initiate who would assume the passive role of
spectator. The initiate, at a later point nearer to the close of the initiation cere
mony, would assume an active role in a mirrored ritual moment. He would
‘respond’ to the ‘epiphanic’ moment o f the Isis self-representation with a ‘You-
are-Isis’ type o f text,54 written in advance by a specialist, learned by heart by the
initiate and performed in solemn circumstances, possibly in front of a repre
sentation of the goddess (a statue or a painted portrait), with the active participa
tion of priestly officials and in the presence of other initiates. This second ritual
moment, where the ‘You-are-Isis’ text was instrumental, would function as a sort
of closure of the initiation rite and as a sort of sealing of the pact between the
goddess and the initiate. It would mark the ‘exit’ of the initiate back into the
profane world and indicate his re-integration into wider society after a period of
51 See Merkelbach 1995, § 328 for a statuette of Isis which hides a mummy. On the use of
sealed papyri in rituals in the Sarapieion C of Delos see Brun-Siard 2010, 195-221.
52 While in Rome Lucius is reminded in a vision that he is not able to wear his initiatic clothes
which are left in Greece (Apuleius, Metamorphoses XI, 29). *... the garments of the goddess,
which you took upon you in Achaea, were stored in that temple and then? remain, so that you
will not be able, on festival days in Rome, either to make supplication in them, or, when the
command is given, to be made radiant by that blessed robe
53 See the Kyme text. Appendix no I .
54 See the Maroneia text, Appendix no 2.
reclusion, which consisted of the period before, during, and after his initiation.55
In the remaining part of this paper I will concentrate on the text of the Isis areta
logy, embedded in initiatic rituals, in order to show how epigraphy can be used to
write a religious history that includes experience, emotions, and close attention to
the modes of the construction of the divine.
5 THE EMOTIONAL CONSTRUCTION OF THE DIVINE as*

AND LIFE-GOALS
5.1 I-am-Isis
‘Tvpe-1'aretalogies are very impressive texts. The ’Eyw eipi formula is generally
an Oriental feature of presentation,56 achieving what Pierre Roussel, in his very
effective analysis of the peculiar style of this genre, calls a ‘hieratic’ character. In
addition, repetitions, assonances, alliterations, and figurative elements are put into
use to give a solemn character to the self-presentation of Isis. These elements are
not alw ays used in the best possible way, to the detriment of the literary quality of
the text Nevertheless, even though the text is not stylistically impeccable, its self-
assertive and ‘exotic’ (for a ‘Greek’ context) tone is overwhelming. If indeed the
document had an instrumental role in initiatic rites, as I argue in the present study,
the experience would leave a major impression on the person who underwent the
initiation (and its witnesses), enhanced as it would be by the solemn character of
the whole experience and by the initiatic paraphernalia: possibly singing and the
use of musical instruments to enhance the rhythm of the spoken word; rhythmic,
solemn movements; setting of the scene using special lighting and smells; etc.
Apart from the overwhelming tone of the text, its conceptual spatial setting is
emotionally suggestive as well. According to the introductory narrative,57* the
original aretalogy of Isis was supposed to be standing at the tomb of Isis in
E g y p tT h is fictional detail gives the document an alleged funerary character.
Moreover, the final formula of greeting, x«tpe Aiyvnxe Gpeyaaaooc pe, surely
has funerary connotations, given the fact that an important number of funerary
epigrams bear similar greeting formulas.59 We should remember here that the
55 This « exactly the function of Lucius’ prayer in Metamorphoses XI, 25. See also C'haniotis
2011.267 270, with parallels from Egypt and elsewhere.
56 found tn royal discourse of the Near East and the Orient in general; in the Isis aretalogies,
this formula operates at the same time as the means of glorification of the divinity, f or all
this, «ct the very instructive analysis of Roussel 1929, 149. See also Papanikolaou 2009, for
m analysis of the rhetorical media in the aretalogy of Maroneia.
57 Preserved in the Kyme and Kassandreia aretalogies.
5k Imereshngly this 'detail is not recorded in the aretalogy of los and the preserved part of the
uretalogy of Thessaloniki, nor in the aretalogies of Maroneia and Andros of the ‘You-are-
\m type
59 Iri these documents, a greeting is addressed to the deceased, and the deceased in numerous
caae* rephe* with a greeting even though hc/she recognizes that he/she cannot know the exact
Isiac sanctuary of Kyme was neighbouring a cemetery, and this spatial context
would certainly enhance the funerary tone of the Kyme aretalogy during its
possible use in a ritual context. Of course, at the same time, the final formula is an
address to Egypt, Isis’s native land; and this alludes to a conceptual space which
is not the one in which the reader of this text finds himself. The funerary conno
tations in two strategic points of this text - the beginning and the end - create a
very emotionally suggestive background; death, its monuments, and its language,
presented in such a grand way, provoke awe. This fact, combined with the allu
sion to Egypt, a space with important cultural weight, tends towards the creation
of a heterotopic space, which can inspire awe, wonder, and fear in a susceptible
audience.60
As suggested by the testimony of Apuleius,61 the future initiate was fasting
while awaiting his initiation, and fasting can lead to exhaustion and an altered
state of consciousness. All these features (an imposing tone, a suggestive con
ceptual setting, fasting) would have weakened intellectual resistance and would
have enhanced receptivity to emotionally suggestive arguments, hence playing an
instrumental role in a narrative setting where the element of surprise could be
used with great efficiency to shock the initiate. There would have been several
moments of surprise when listening to and reading Isis’ alleged relationships to
known figures of Greek mythology. To better understand their function, we will
examine five o f the initial immediately consecutive statements of Isis,
hypothesizing about how a critical listener might have responded to them (Appen
dix no. 1 §§3b-8).
5.2 Isis and her credentials in the I-am-Isis text
When Isis claims that she was educated by Hermes (Appendix no. 1 §3b), this
would have generated surprise, since it is not part of the generally known Greek
mythology around Henries.62 Moreover, the information about Isis being the
eldest daughter of Kronos (§5) would be equally puzzling for the audience.^3 The
information that follows immediately, however, presents Isis as the wife and sister
of Osiris (§6), something more widely known and accepted for the Egyptian
identity of the anonymous one who is passing by his/her tomb. See for instance, among the
funerary epigrams of Thessalonike, IG X.2.1.286: ‘Eniycvria Eiuyevou^ xaTpc. XaTpe xai av
x\<; note ei; ef. IG X.2.1.295 and 316.
60 On the concept of heterotopia and especially of the cemetery as heterotopic space see
Foucault 1984,46-49.
61 Apuleius, Metamorphoses XI, 21: (while waiting for his initiation) *... in the meantime ... 1
should abstain from unhallowed and unlaw ful foods, so that 1might the better make my way
to the hidden mysteries of the purest faith ...’
62 However, Isis is associated with Hermes in the Hermetic tradition. In the excerpt from the
Hermetic book entitled Kore Kosmou, Isis is presented along with Osiris as pupil ot Hermes
Trismegistus, who is equated w ith the Egyptian god Thot; see Ac»* Pauly VU. s.v. kore
Kosmou, col. 95.
63 This affiliation is not attested in Hesiod’s Theogony for instance.
goddess. Following this, Isis calls herself the inventor of crops for humans (§7);
this again would be puzzling for the audience who traditionally knew and
recognised Demeter in this role. But following that, Isis says that she is the mother
of Horos (§8) - and again, this information would be more widely known about
the Egyptian goddess. At the end of this list of claims, tactically put at the
beginning of the Isis speech, the audience would be in a mild state of shock,
bombarded with a combination of generally accepted opinions on the one hand
and disputable information on the other. Moreover, the element of suiprise is
present also in the other claims of Isis, which are later in her discourse. For
instance, Isis declares that she is the one who separated the earth from the sky,
who taught stars their way, who coupled woman and man, who arranged that
women should bring babies to the light after nine months, who legislated that
parents should be loved by their child (§19), and so on.64
What could be the result of the listener’s confrontation with such information,
controversial on the one hand and banal on the other? First, this alternation of
know n facts of Egyptian mythology (the double relationship of Isis to Osiris, her
relationship with Horos) with completely never-heard-of ‘facts’ (Isis as eldest
daughter of Kronos, Isis as inventor of crops), would be confusing indeed, the
more so in a ritual context, which, because of its secretive character, would have
the tone of a revelation’. To escape this state of confusion, the listener had the
possibility either to renounce completely his acquired knowledge about the facts
and figures of mythology (which is not easy) or to become more receptive to the
claimed attributes of Isis. It is perhaps easier to opt for the second solution. After
all, mythology is such a vast field, with so many local traditions, that nobody
could seriously claim to know the truth about the unknowable realms of myth and
the gods. As for the authenticity of the claims of Isis concerning the invention of
the facts of life, the options remained open from the moment when no other god
claimed such a role. Here too, the text created room for receptivity and religious
flexibility The translation from receptivity to firm belief is, of course, more
problematic In my view, the exposure of an individual to such detailed informa
tion, which is of course beyond verification, instead of leading to his or her total
conviction, could have effected a more blurred conception of all the divine
personas involved in the narrative. Curiously, such a technique would be prone to
lead to some sort of intellectual incredulity rather to firm belief. But this would
not matter in this specific ritual context, since what is important is the religious
experience rather than the intellectual act of believing (‘believing’ being the
recognition of something as ‘true’ based upon an intellectual process).
In addition, we should not consider our listener as too suspicious in the first
place. I he 1act that he or she was already in physical contact with an Isiac sanctu
ary, that he or she was even within the premises of an Isiac sanctuary and was
probably, as 1 have suggested in the first part of this study, in the process of being
initiated, meant that the listener was already favourably curious. The few doubts
64 Jhis p u l of text has been related Uj the movement ot euhemerism, that is, the belief that
mythokrgital gods were deified versions ot early heroes, see Memichs 19K4, 139-158.
he might have concerning the exact deeds of Isis would not dominate his thoughts
in such a solemn moment.
5.3 Emotions
The deeds of Isis in her discourse are coming through as simple information. No
word denoting emotion accompanies them. Emotions relevant to this text are -
presumably - expected to arise potentially with the confrontation of the audience
with such novel and shocking information. In that way, we can say that emotions
are suggested by this text and not imposed or dictated. But of course, because of
the important elements analysed in the previous paragraph, the person who expe
rienced the initiation was expected to be very receptive to emotionally suggestive
arguments.
In my view, the emotions suggested by this text are the following: Firstly,
admiration and gratitude for the achievements of Isis, which could be
characterised as benefactions for the race of humans in general (invention of
writing, introduction of crops, fishing and seafaring, enhancement of justice).
Then, awe because of her role in some specific secretive rites and other
inexplicable phenomena (Isis as teacher in the initiations, as guarantor of oaths
and mover of the stars, as raiser of the islands from the deep). Finally, fear
because of her role in the allotment of justice or hope for the attribution of justice.
All of these emotions and especially the last two, fear and hope, are usually
related to the communication between humans and the divine - they are not
particularly original or unexpected in a religious context. What is original is that
all these emotions, usually related to one divinity at a time in the context of
polytheism, here are associated with a rather polymorphous and blurred
perception of the divine. What is also original from the point of view of the
content and form is a rather clear and simple idea, strategically placed at the end
of the ‘I-am-Isis’ type of aretalogy (Kyme text). This is the concept o f ‘change’.
5.4 An important concept: change
The last sentences of Isis’ discourse indicate what Andre-Jean Festugiere

characterised as the most important part of the Kyme aretalogy: Isis' power over
Destiny.65 This claim implies that Isis presumably can change what was and what
is meant to happen. Through this simple and quite clear statement (‘I can beat
Fate’), Isis is represented as the instigator of change.
The concept of change, which in itself is neutral and therefore not necessarily
welcome, in the discourse of the goddess is represented as positive. It is
mentioned at the end of the impressive list of personal gifts that Isis imparts to
65 According to Festugiere 194*), 233f., the last two verses constitute a later addition to the
‘core’ ot the aretalogical praise to Isis; we find tt mostly in inscriptions. In that sense, it
translates the spirit of this later period of the cult of Isis and bears the whole weight of the
aretalogy of Isis of that period.
:84 Paraskevi Martzavou
humanity. The placement of the idea of change at the end o f Isis’ discourse and as
a culmination of the Isiac gifts entails its upgrading to something that has the
quality of desirability shared by any gift, thus transforming the concept of change
to something welcome and even sought-after, invested with desire. From ‘change’
to the ‘desire for change’: the shift makes a difference for the initiate because it
provides him or her with a clear focus, a willingness to accept change as desirable.
This point becomes relevant in the second part of the ritual where the initiate,
originally a simple spectator of a performance that takes place in front o f his eyes,
is transformed into an active participant through his recitation o f his part of the
ritual text - the ‘You-are-Isis’ type of text according to the initiatic model we
proposed above. In what follows, we will try to analyse the emotional impact of
this type of text.
5.5 I-am-Isis, You-are-Isis; Who-is-Isis?
Both texts arranged in the ‘You-are-Isis’ type o f text are successful and
sophisticated literary compositions, and are the antipodes o f the ‘I-am-Isis’ type of
text. In the Maroneia text, the sophisticated character is obvious from the begin
ning of the text (line 3), through the attention paid to literary tropes.66 It is obvious
that the text reflects a scholarly elaboration of the portrait of the divinity67 and it is
not the production of a simple mind, in spite of the fact that, through the ‘voice’ of
the text, the human element is allegedly subordinated to the divine element.68 The
author of this text stresses the fact that divinity - not humanness - hides behind
such composition.69 Likewise, we noticed a sort o f proclaimed artlessness in the
ritual aretalogical prayer’ of Lucius in the Metamorphoses 10 However, such a
command of the poetic language is in itself intimidating - especially to the less
educated, the less literate, and the non-native speakers. So, one o f the first
emotions of the person who comes into contact with this text is awe because of its
sophistication: this is valid for the text of Maroneia as well as for the text of
Andros.
6b The language shows no influence of the koine: there is no hiatus, anaphora is used as well as
assonance, the author exhibits considerable variatio, and the rhythm is diverse through the
alternation of simple and complex sentences: Grandjean 1975, 109. For a detailed stylistic
analysts see Papanikolaou 2009.
hi The same is true for the other text that we classified in this group - the Isis aretalogy from
Andros.
68 The false-homefy character of the text also fulfils a rhetorical function of accessibility.
69 See for instance lines 8 13: I am completely confident that you will come again. For since
you came when called for my salvation, how would you not come for your own honour? So
taking heed I proceed to what remains, knowing that this encomium is written not only by the
hand of a man, but also by the mind of a god’ (translated by Horsley 1981).
70 Aputeiuv, Metamorphoses XI, 25: ‘Hut I am bereft of talent in singing my praises, and have
scarce means to offer thee fit sacrifices. Nor have I the rich power of speech to express what I
feel about thy majesty; indeed a thousand mouths and tongues are not enough for the task, nor
an everlasting sequence of tireless talksec the remarks of Roussel 1929, 149 note I
Isis a r e t a l o g i e s , Initiation, and Emotions 2K5
The text is addressed to Isis, and we might expect the representation of the
goddess to agree with the self-presentation of the Isis as found in the ‘l-am-lsis’
texts. But, as we have already underlined, both texts are highly personalised. The
Maroneia version of the ‘You-are-Isis’ type is very idiosyncratic.71 While this text
replies in a way to the ‘I-am-Isis’ text, apparently recognising Isis as she presents
herself, it also actively shapes the persona of Isis and makes her into something
else. In that way, Isis becomes more concrete and familiar to the Greek audience
who recognises in her a version of Demeter of Eleusis. This intervention in the
portrayal of Isis’ image is potentially a source of tension between these two texts
because their dialogue is definitely concurrent. We have attempted to understand
the text of Maroneia as one of the multiple versions that represent the reception of
the ‘I-am-Isis’ aretalogy, however, the ‘You-are-Isis’ aretalogies can be con
sidered as equally authentic and legitimate. We cannot say that one version has
more authority than the others.
The emotions suggested through the ‘You-are-Isis’ discourse (Maroneia ver
sion) are the same as the ones identified in the ‘I-am-Isis’ aretalogy: admiration,
awe, fear, and hope. But the addition of Athens to the circle of Isis acquaintances
adds a new emotion; that is, admiration for Athens. As an inscribed monumental
text, set up in a sacred space, this text functions as written testimony that supports
the ritual tradition based upon the special relationship of Athens and Isis. Its use
as a religious text within the context of initiatic ritual would have enhanced the
power of this document to shape the perception of the divine experienced by the
people who came into contact with it. As far as concerns the element that we
identified as basic, notably the divine as an instigator of change, we cannot relate
anything definite to the text of Maroneia since the crucial final lines of the text are
missing. But concerning the other text we have placed in this category, that is, the
text from Andros, the role of Isis as instigator of change seems to be confirmed
even though also this text is quite fragmentary in the last sentences.72
If these two compositions from Maroneia and Andros played an important
role in the initiatic ritual, as we suggest, one technical detail of the whole proce
dure and of the ‘You-are-Isis’ aretalog}' might have played a very important role
in the emotional construction of the divine and in the self-construction of the in
dividual who was being initiated. The significant detail is present only in the text
of Andros: it is the shift to the first person in the enumeration of Isis deeds, attri
butes, and powers. This self-asserting formula, enhanced by the personhood-alter-
ing initiatic experience and by the blurred perception of the divine that we analy
sed in the previous section, would allow the initiate to experience a very powerful
71 Notably, it presents Athens as the favorite place of Isis (lines 40-42), even while accepting all
the elements found in the ‘1-am-Isis’ texts; namely the superiority of Isis and all her claims,
the content of the main body of her praise, and the style of the presentation of her powers. We
have the impression that the author of this particular text actively shapes the personality of
Isis by giving priority to Athens. This peculiar Athenian colour probably reflects the relation
ship between Athens and Athenian Delos at the end of the second century BCE, where the
Isis cult thrived until the Mithridatic wars; see Martzavou 2011.
72 See the mention of MoTpa ( line 171) and 'Atpoitcfc; (line 172).
:8^ Paraskevi Martzavou
identification with the divine, and allow him to ‘becom e’ god for the few
moments that the recitation of this text lasted. This would be an extremely
empowering dev ice, which would considerably enhance the initiate’s perception
of his own personhood and would lead to his temporary identification with the
divine. The important last sentence especially, concerning the concept o f change
and the desire to change, would take on a completely new meaning in the mouth
of the initiate and have an empowering effect. Uttered by the initiate who was
experiencing the initiation, the possibility of change (personified by Isis) becomes
a desire to change one's self, one's fate, one’s appearance. The reciting of the
closing formula in the first person made the identification o f the human element
with the divine element possible, even for a few moments.
6 CONCLUSION: THE USE OF EMOTIONS IN THE SHAPING OF AN

ATTITUDE AND IN THE SETTING OF A LIFE GOAL
The functional role of these texts in the vision-like experience o f a staged

epiphany, namely the initiatic ritual in the Isis cult from the late second century
onwards, must be assessed in relation to the emotions suggested by the Isis-per
formed discourse and the emotions experienced by the individual who came into
contact with these texts. The initiate’s emotional construction o f the divine ele
ment, as well as his own self-understanding in relation to the divine, are important
issues here. The function of the emotions in the vision-like experience would
serve to inculcate the initiate with the desire to change various lifestyle aspects:
his religious status (by becoming an Isiac in the first place), his body (by shaving
his head, for instance, or by wearing the special clothes o f the initiates), and his
fate (by doing whatever was possible to change such things as his social or
political status). All this tends towards the construction o f a life goal and a life
attitude since the life of an Isiac initiate, an isiakos, would be conceived as
entirely consecrated to the service of the goddess in as many ways as possible.
This desire would be enhanced in a group context by the repetition of the
ritual of initiation for every new initiate. As the text o f Apuleius suggests, the
mitiatic experience, apart from being an individual experience for the new initiate,
was also a spectacle for those already initiated, since they also had the right to
attend such rituals.73 In this way, the individual experience became a source of
community experience but in a limited way, since not all people received the
‘calling’ for Isiac initiation.
These two types of texts were stylistically overwhelming, either through the
exotic tone fKyme aretalogy) or the extremely skilful use o f Greek poetic lan
guage (Marorieia uretalo^y). They also were suggestive o f a number o f emotions,
mediated through the discourse of Isis but also through the introductory ‘voice’ of
the dedicants. Style, emotions, and the record o f individual dcdicants, were
73 Tbe right in walk in' to the interior (wi*.6g <>1 the temple is attested lor the members ot a
group in m inscription from f hessalomke U<K IS 113/0576, third century C l/).
Isis a r c t a l o f ’ ie s . Initiation, and Emotions 287
powerful tools for inculcating the desire for change in an infinite number of
individuals. These emotions - admiration, awe, and fear - were enhanced by ritual
re-enactment in front o f an audience. The ritual constituted a very powerful means
of harnassing these emotions around one central idea within the persona of Isis
and mediated through her discourse: her role as instigator of change. With the
help of the ritual and the textually suggested emotions, this simple idea of
‘change’ transformed into an emotional concept, which was empowering for the
individuals who experienced it.
APPENDIX
I. The T-am-Isis’ type of aretalogy.

Inscription from Kyme (first century BCE/first century CE). Found in situ, in a separate room of
the sanctuary of Isis in Kyme. Text: I.Kyme 41; RJCJS 302/0204
§1 Apxepi8d)pou 6 tcai 0paaea<; Mdyvr|[<;] ano MaiavSpov 'I 0181 evxnv-

§2 xabe eypouprp ck tt^ axfiXnq xf|<; ev Mepipei, hrn; ’eoxtikev npoq xtp 'H<paionf\(oi.
§3a Eioi^ eyd) eipi h xopavvo<; naax]^ x^paq-
§3b Kai enai8eij0r|v \m[o] 'Eppoo Kai
§3c ypappaxa evpov pexa 'EppoC, xa xe iepa Kai xa 8r|poaia ypappaxa, Yva pn ev xoi<; auxoiq
rcavxa ypaipnxai.
§4 eyw vopoxx; dvGpdmou; eBepnv, Kai evopoGexrpja a o\>0eiq Svvaxai pexaGeivai.
§5 eyd) eipi Kpovoo 0uydxr|p npEOpvxdxTp.
§6 eyd) eipi ylo]vfi xai d 8eX(pr| ’Oaeipi8o<; paaiXeax;.
§7 Eya) eipi r) xaprcov avGpconou; eopouaa.
§8 eyd) eipi prixr|p "Qpoo PaaiAiax;.
§9 eyd> eipi f| ev xcp xoo Kdvo<; aaxp<p enixeAXovoa.
§10 eyw eipi p n apa yuvaiî Oeoc; KaXovpevn.
§ 11 epoi BodPaaxoq noXu; ti)Ko8opf|0T|-
§12 eyd) extopiaa yhv a n ’ oopavoo.
§13 eyd) aaxpcov oSoxx; eSeiâ.
§ 14 eyd) hXioo Kai aeXf|vr|[i;] nopeav ouvexaâpnv.
§ 15 eyw GaXacroia epya exipov.
§16 eya) xo Sitcaiov iaxvpov enoinaa.
§ 17 eyd> yova itca K a i a v 8 p a aovriyayov.
§18 eyd) yuvauct SexapriviaTov ppe<po«; ei>; <pto<; eêveyneiv exaâ.
§ 19 eyd> i>no xeicvox) yoveu; evopo0exr\oa <piXoaxopyta0ai.
§20 eya) xoT; dax 6py<a)><; yoveuoiv 8miceipevoi^ xeipa)iav ene0iiKa.
§21 eya) pexd xoO aSeXipoxi ’O aipi 8o<; too; avBpiorcoipayiai; enaxxja.
§22 eyd) px>f|oen; dvGpuwton; ene8e[ijâ.
§23 eyd) dydX pata Gecov xeipav eSiSaâ.
§24 eyd) repevp 0ewv i8pi)odpr|v.
§25 eyd) xupdvviov dpxdq KaxeXx>cia.
§26 eyd) ipovoxx; e n a u o a .
§27 eyd) axe pyeaGai yuvaik-a^ xmo av 8pwv f|vdyxaaa.
§28 eyd) xo S tK a io v iaxvpoxepov xpôiou K a i apyopiou ertoir|oa.
§29 eyd) xo dXnGrq KaXov evopo[0e|xr|aa vopi£e[a)0ai.
§30 eyd) ax>vypa<pd<; yapiKcu; eopov.
§31 cyd> SiaXeKxoxx;''EXXnm Kai Pappdpoi^ etaâ.
288 Paraskevi M artzavou
§32 ryib to k u A,ov vat aioxpofvj Stay?tvwoiccaBm otto tf); d>uaeai<; en o iija a.
§33 rya> opicou <po|Jfp<oT£pov oi>0Ev eJtoiijca.
§34 rytb rov aSivok; tjriôvXfvovta a k k o iq unoxeipiov t© fruPou[A.]evo|aevcp jtapeSwKa.
§35 ry© toic a5oca rtpdaooumv teigwpiav EJtmOngi.
§36 ey© iKETctc eAfcrv evopo0[E]rT|oa.
§3" r*u) :oi>- 6ocai©c dguvogEvou; reig©.
§38 sap' egoi to Stcouov ia x u fi.
§39 ey© rtotaptov icai avepwv ficjat 0aA.aacnj<; eipi lcupia.
§ 40 o\>8e 'u SoâCerai aveu trie Egrj; yv©gij;.
§4! ey© etgi so/ig ou iciipta.
§42 ry«i) iccpavvoO revpia tipi.
$43 ey© jtpaiiv© ecu icvgatvw Q a ka o o c tv.
§44 ey© fv raic tov nAiou anyone eipi.
^45 ry© sape6pn>a) tt| too rcopeia.
§46 o ci\ epoi Soqrj. tooto xal TEAeuajiJ.
J4"5Epox rrem' ejtriirei.
§48 Ey© tub; e\ S ea poT; Xu©i.
§49 t/w vavtiAia; eipi Kopia.
§50ey© td s k a n a a n k w ia itoi|© ojtorv epoi 6 6 ^ .
§51 rydi ncpifkWouc nokeutv eimaa.
§52 ey© tipi n Beoptxpopo; K«/,ougEvrp
§53 ey& vcfpooob; ey (1[d0]wv et; <p«<<;> dyiyyayov.
§54 ry© oppp©v eipi icupia.
§55fy© to ipapptvov vnew.
§56epo0 to eigapgevov atcovet.
§57 yaip e Aryvjm B peyaoa pe.
Translation (Beard. North, and Price 1998, no 12.4.a).

Demetrius son of Artemidoros, also called Thraseas, from Magnesia on the Meander, fulfilled his
vow to Jsis
The following leaf was copied from the inscriptions in Memphis which is positioned in front of the
temple of Hephaistos ‘1 am Isis the tyrant of the whole land. I was educated by Hermes and with
the help of Hermes devised both sacred and secular scripts, so that everything should not be writ
ten in the same script. 1 established laws for humans, and created legislation which no one has the
power to change I am the eldest daughter o f Kronos. I am the wife and sister o f King Osiris. I am
she who invented crops tor humans. I am the mother of King Horus. 1 am she who rises in the Dog
bear 1 am she who u> called God by women. By me was the city of Doubastos built. I divided earth
trorr. heaven I appointed the paths of the stars I regulated the passage o f sun and moon. 1 invented
fishing and seafaring 1 made justice strong. I coupled woman and man. 1 arranged that women
should bring babies to the light after nine months I legislated that parents should be loved by their
child I inflicted punishments on those who are not affectionately disposed towards their parents. I,
with my brother Osiris ended cannibalism. I showed initiations to humans. I taught them to
honour images of the gods 1 lounded sanctuaries of the gods. I ended the rule o f tyrants. I ended
murders 1 forced women to be loved by men I made justice stronger than gold and silver. I
kgitianad fhar truth be considered a fine thing. I invented marriage contracts I assigned languages
for Greeks and barbarians I made good and evil be distinguished by nature. I made nothing more
respected than the oath i delivered the person plotting unjustly against another into the hands of
the person plotted against I inflict punishment on those acting unjustly. I legislated mercy for the
suppliant I honour those who avenge themselves with justice By me justice is mighty. I am
mtutrcM of rivers, winds arid sea No one is held in honour without my assent. I am mistress of
war I am mi*tre»s of she thunderbolt I talrn and agitate the sea I am in the rays of the sun I
accompany die passage of llte sun Whatever I decide is actually accomplished To me everything
yields 1 fret thvMt » chains I arn mistress of seamanship I make the navigable unnavigablc
Isis ctre ta lo g ie s, Initiation, and Em otions 289
whenever I decide. I built the walls of cities. I am she who is called Thesmophoros. I raised islands
from the deep into the light. I am mistress of rainstorms. I conquered fate. To me fate listens.
Hail Egypt who nourished me’.
2) The ‘You-are-lsis’ type o f a r e t a l o g y .
Inscription from Maroneia (late second/early first century BCE). No archaeological context known
(chance find).
Text: Loukopoulou et al. 2005, no. E205
[ ......................................................................................- ................................................ --]

[------------------ ---------------------------------------- ------------ ..............JAYTHI
[................- ............... - ----------- -------------------- eAJapPavov yap
[......................... - .............. Jv 0ea>pqaeiv, oxav itpoc; to piye0o<;
[xqq ede]pyeala<; oi Xoyoi toDv eitaivtov pq eM-iruoaiv. q i 5c
5 [xa 7t]pcoxa, to pev eyKiopiov, to 8e itpoadmov 0edu Keipevov
[ ovk dvJGpcbnan. dSarcep ovv eni xwv oppaxcov, "lax, xaT<; edxau;
[eitqKoJvaaq, eA.0e xoi<; enaivoK; Kai eni 8evxepav edxqv-
[xa]i y ap to aov cyxcopiov xd>v oppaxtov eaxi Kpeiaaov
[an ]av , oiq ePA xya xov qXiov- xooxoit; Kai xov aov pXeita) Koapov-
10 rceiOopai 8e itdvxox; a e n ap e ae aO ai. et yap dnep xq<; cpfjq jcaXovpc-
vq acoxripiaq qX0e<;, recoq dnep xqq i5 ia ^ xipq^ ovk av eA.0oi<;; 0ap-
ptdv odv n o p ed o p a i npoq x a Xourd, yivcooKcov oxt xo eyKibpiov
vovq pev 0eov, x£ip £S 5c ypaipouaiv av0pdwiov. tcai itptd-
xov eiti to yevoq q£a>, xcdv eyKcopicov noiqadpevo<; apxqv
15 xqv npdrcqv a o v too ycvovQ apxqv. yqv <paai navTcuv pq-
Tepa yevqO qvai • x avxqi 5e a d Ovyaxqp eaitapqi; icpcbxqi,
avvoiKov 8 ’ eXapeq le p a iu v tcai, xov koivov vpaiv 0epeva)v yapov,
toTi; vpexepou; npoadm ou; 6 Koapoq aveX apyev evoppaxia0ci<;
'HA,ion teal XeAqvqi. 5vo pev odv eaxe, KaA.eTa0e 5c ixoXXoi n a p ’ av-
20 0pdmoi<; • povovq y a p 6 pioq dpou; 0eodq oi8ev. itdx; odv xtdv
eyKtopiwv o d SoaKpaTqxoq 6 Xoyot; oxav 8eqi xov enaivov
itoM.oT<; 0eoT<; npovacooai; avxq p e0 ' 'Eppov y p ap p a 0 ' evpev
tea! xebv y p appaxw v a pev iep d xoT<; pvaxaii;, a 8c S qp d cia
xoi<; ita a iv . av x q xo Siicaiov caxqaev, W CKaoxo<; qpcov
25 dx; ck xq<; (pvaeax; xov O avaxov Taov eaxev Kai £qv an d xcdv
laaiv eiSqi. avxq xajv av0ptoncov oi^ pev pappapov, ol^ 8' eXXq-
v(8a 8iaXeKTOV eaxqaev, tv’ qi to ycvoi; 8iaXA.aaaov pq po-
vov avS pdatv npot; yvvaiKai; aXXa Kai n a a i jrpo<; navxat;.
ad vopoxx; eSwKaq, 0eapoi 8 ’ eKaXoOvto Kaxa npuixa*;- xot-
30 (ya]poov a i noXeiq ed ax d 0 q aav , od xqv piav vopixov a U a
| r ]6v vdpov dpiaax o v cd podaai. ad u p a a 0 a i yovel>; died
[tJckviov enoiqaaq, od pdvov cix; itaxeptov, a X X ' d)^ Kai 0eidv
l«p]povxiaaaa- roiyapodv q xdpti; Kpeiaaiov oxc xq^ <pdac-
ax; xqv dvdyKqv Kai 0cd vopov eypaijiev. aoi itpd^ KaxoiKqaiv
35 Aiyv>nxo<; raxepx0q. a d pdA.iaxa xq«; 'EA.A.a8o<; cxipqaat; xd<;
AOqvixt;- Kei0t yap itpdjxov xod<; Kapitodc; eêipqvavi' TputxoAc-
po«; 8c xodi; icpod^ 5pdKovxd<; ao v Kaxa^cdE,a>; appaxoepo-
jiodpcvot; cii, ndvxai; *'EA.A.qva<; 5 ic8 o)kc to aneppa- xoiyapodv
rq^ pev 'F.XA.d8o<; i8cTv aned8opev xdu; A0qv«v xidv S' A0q-
40 vd)v 'EAcvaTva, xq^ pev Edpioitqi; vopiôvte^ rqv rtdXiv, xq^
5e noAeios to icpdv Koapov. eyvio xov ptov e^ dvSpcN
avvraxqKdxa Kai y v v a i e y v i o | — |xepov xqv yv-
v«Tk« ■n<d^ eSci xo ?jaaov | ............................... . . . . |
f- -]N eor<ppay\a[
45 l....................
Translation of lines 4—43 (Horsley 1981, modified)
... So. just as in the case of my eyes, Isis, you listened to my prayers, come for your praises and to
hear m> second prayer; for the praise of you is entirely more important than my eyes whenever
with the same eyes with which 1 saw the sun I see your world. I am completely confident that you
will come again. For since you came when called for my salvation, how would you not come for
your own honour? So taking heed I proceed to what remains, knowing that this encomium is
wntten not only by the hand of a man, but also by the mind of a god. And first I shall come to your
family, making as the beginning of my praises the earliest beginnings of your family. They say
that Ge was the mother of all: you were bom a daughter to her first. You took Sarapis to live with
you, and when you had made your marriage together the world, provided with eyes, was lit up by
means of your faces. Helios and Selene. So you are two but have many designations among men.
For you are the only ones whom (everyday) life knows as gods. Therefore, how would the account
of your praises not be unmanageable when one must praise many gods at the outset? She with
Hermes discovered writing; and of this writing some was sacred for initiates, some was publicly
available for all, She instituted justice, that each of us might know' how to live on equal terms, just
as. because of our nature, death makes us equal. She instituted the non-Greek language for some,
Greek language for others, in order that the race might be differentiated not only as between men
and women, but also between all peoples. You gave laws, but they were called thesmoi originally.
Accordingly , cities enjoyed tranquillity, having discovered not violence legalised, but law without
violence. You made parents honoured by their children, in that you cared for them not only as
fathers but also as gods. Accordingly, the favour is greater when a goddess also drew up as law
whai is necessary in nature. As a domicile Egypt is loved by you. You particularly honoured
Athens within Greece. For there first you made the earth produce food: Triptolemos, yoking your
sacred snakes, scattered the seed to all Greeks as he travelled in his chariot. Accordingly, in
Greece we are keen to see Athens and in Athens, Eleusis considering the city to be the ornament of
Europe, and the sacred place the ornament of the city. She determined that life should cohere from
a man and a woman ...
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p a r t three
Emotions in the public space

EMOTIONALITY IN THE POLITICAL CULTURE
OF THE GRAECO-ROMAN EAST
The Role of Acclamations
Christina T. Kuhn
1 INTRODUCTION
Some time in the early third century CE, a certain high-priest Eumelos, probably
from the city of Tralleis (Karia), was sent to the Roman governor of the province
to act as a petitioner on behalf of the neighbouring village of the Pylitai.1When he
returned from his mission and gave a report on his success in the city council, he
was praised with effusive acclamations:2
The one and only Eumelos in history! Hurrah, bravo, for the high-priest! Great is the name of
Dionysos! To Eumelos, the great protector of the Pylitai! Eumelos shall have all the privi
leges of the Pylitai inscribed on a stele!
The minutes of the council meeting were later recorded on stone and have, to this
day, preserved the emotional reactions of the councillors - their enthusiastic pride
in the diplomatic skills of one of their leading citizens, their great joy over his
successful mission, their spontaneous eagerness to call him a ‘protector’ (kh$£-
picov) of the rural community of the Pylitai. The inscription on the marble stele
captures and records for posterity a particular moment of emotional interaction
and sense of community and solidarity in the council chamber. Its rendering of
every word of the acclamatory chants no doubt lends a sense of immediacy and
authenticity to the document and provides lively insights into the whole complex
of powerful emotions in the civic institutions of the Greek East.
The Pylitai inscription is not a singular document of public acclamation. In
the rich epigraphic sources of Asia Minor we frequently find texts which show
that the mention of people’s emotional involvement in the event was by no means
viewed as less significant by the civic elites than the report focussing on the
particular facticity of the event. In what follows 1 shall deal with acclamations in
1 SEG XXXVIII 1172 with Malay 1988 and Nolle 1990. Nolle suggests that the village of the
Pylitai may have belonged to Magnesia on the Maeander.
2 SEG XXXV1I1 1172 lines 13-18: eiq art’ aitovoq, E u [p n ^ ]' oua, tcaXo*;, apxiepev peRa
t o ovop]a Aiovuaou- EupfiA.cp pelyatap icrdSepovi nuXmtov- Eupnlôv. JidvRa ta SUaia
fluA-euau; ev (arhXpl a v ay p ay a i.
2 % Christina T. Kuhn
the Graeco-Roman East.3 The analysis does not aim at a general, ‘phenomeno
logical' approach to the subject, but examines acclamations from the special
perspective of their significance for the study of the history of emotions. The term
‘acclamation' is used here to refer to the unison shouting and chanting of (short)
phrases by a group of people, who (often) employ conventional, sometimes em
phatically rhvthmic formulas to express an opinion or a request.4 In recent years
acclamations have attracted much scholarly attention, yet a detailed study of the
phenomenon in the context of emotions and emotionality has not been under
taken so far. Broadly speaking, two forms of acclamations in the ancient world
have been the objects of scholarly research: religious acclamations and secular ac
clamations.5 This chapter will revolve around the latter, which usually took place
at public meetings in the political institutions (council, assembly) or during civic
festivals and games. Their addressees were mostly local benefactors, magistrates,
governors or emperors. These acclamations have been recognised in recent
scholarship as an important instrument of political communication in Rome and
her provinces: they provided a vehicle for the citizens to express their will and
thus functioned as an indicator of what may be called ‘public opinion’ in a two-
way process of communication between ruler and ruled, elite and masses.6 It is
evident, then, that they played much more than just a minor, purely ‘decorative’
role in the public sphere: they formed an integral part in the civic life of the poleis
under Roman rule.
The aim of the following chapter is three-fold: first, it will deal with some
central aspects of secular acclamations with reference to the issue of emotions and
emotionality; second, it will draw attention to certain striking developments in the
history of emotions to illuminate the immediate cultural-historical context, which
left its mark on the practice, function, and meaning of acclamations; and third,
3 On the phenomenon of acclamations cf. Peterson 1926; Klauser 1950; Colin 1965; Burian
1980: Roueche 1984, 1989b, and 1999; Quass 1993, 4 0 5 ^ 1 8 ; Aldrete 1999; Ando 2000,
199-205; Wiemer 2004; Chaniotis 2009a and 2012, 307f. and 314f.; Fernoux 2011, 134-150.
4 Cf. also the following definitions of the term: Klauser 1950, 216: ‘Unter Akklamation ver-
steht man die oft rhythmisch formulierten u. sprechartig vorgetragenen Zurufe, mit denen
eine Volksmenge Beifall. Lob u. Gluckwunsch, oder Tadel, Verwiinschung u. Forderung zum
Ausdruck bringt;’ Roueche 1984, 181: ‘the expression, in unison, o f wish, opinion or belief,
by a large gathering of the people, often employing conventional rhythms or tunes of phrase;’
Ando 2000, 200 'the unisonal, rhythmic chanting of religious or political formulas;’ Chanio
tis 2009a, 201: short texts performed orally by a group (or an individual) in the presence of
an audience, expecting and eliciting the audience’s verbal approval.’
5 This categorisation is mainly focussed on the addressee of an acclamation: while religious ac
clamations address and honour a deity, secular acclamations are directed towards an emperor,
an official, a citi/en, or the city itself. A classic example for a religious acclamation is the
case of the silversmiths at hphesos, who gathered in the theatre to protest against St. Paul’s
preaching, shouting in unison for hours: MtydX,r) f| ’Aptfpiq ’Eipecntov {Acts o f the Apostles
19.28) for religious acclamations see above all the studies by Petersen 1926, 141-240; Ver-
uwl 1990, 193 196, 242 244; Versnel 2000, 129-158; Belayche 2005 and 2006; Chaniotis
2009a
6 On the role of acclamations in political communication see e.g. Aldrete 1999, chapters 4 5;
Ando 2000, 199 205; Roueche 1984, 182 188; Slootjes 2006, 122-129, 155-161.
Emotionality in the Political Culture ol the Graeco-Roman East: Acclamations 297
based on two exemplary ease studies, it will elaborate some contemporary

political and socio-cultural parameters that were characteristic of and constitutive
for the emotional dimension of acclamations. Geographically and chronologically,
the analysis mainly focuses on the Imperial Greek East; however, tor purposes of
clarity, it will occasionally draw on evidence from the Western parts of the
Roman Empire.
2 ACCLAMATIONS AND THE STUDY OF EMOTIONS
Acclamations are first and foremost acts of oral performance, whose memorisa
tion in written form became a common practice in the course of the second
century CE.7 They were recorded in the official minutes of the political institu
tions and, in addition, were often inscribed on stone and publicly displayed. The
epigraphic evidence for secular acclamations in the Greek East is quite rich.8
Whereas most o f these inscriptions only inform us about the fact that an acclama
tion had taken place without providing the actual wording of the people’s chants
(e.g. 6 bfjpoq e(36r)0£v; nXfjOoq eTuPePoqKev),9 some inscriptions provide us with
a literal rendering of the actual words or phrases of the acclamatory shouts - as in
the case of the councillors from Tralleis.10
The value of acclamations for the study of the history of emotions lies in the
fact that they are major carriers of collective feelings and passions, reactions and
responses evoked in concrete, often highly emotionalised situations in the public
sphere. When trying to trace their (hidden) causes, we must realise that manifest
interests and intense rivalry - between individuals, political factions, or social
groups, between neighbouring cities or between the Greek cities and the imperial
power - frequently form the background of acclamations. This means that in any
assessment o f the emotional dimension of acclamations we must take into account
the specific contemporary circumstances underlying their oral performance and
written memorisation: Which socio-political and cultural factors generated an
emotional situation for the performance of an acclamation? In what specific com
municative situation did the acclamation take place, and how did the physical
setting impact on the emotional reactions of the producers and recipients of an
acclamation?
These are only a few aspects which the historian of emotions must bear in
mind when analysing the historical circumstances of acclamations. He should
7 Cf. Roueche 1984, 184f. Ando 2000, 202 suggests that the practice of recording acclamations
in the provinces was influenced by the senatorial practice in Rome. On this practice in Rome
see Talbert 1984, 298-302.
8 For a collection o f this material see e.g. Roueche 1984, 182f.; Chaniotis 2009a, appendix 2;
Eernoux 2011, 134-150.
9 See e.g. IStra to n ikeia 15; SEG X X V ll 938; MAMA VIII 499; Paton 1900, 74 no. 2.
10 The longest series o f verbatim acclamations from Asia Minor recorded on stone are those
from Tralleis (SEG XXXVIII 1172), Perge (l.Perge 331 col. II. see Appendix), Termessos
(SEG LI 1813; see A ppendix), and Aphrodisias (Roueche 1989a, no. 83; IAph2007 4.21 >.
208 Christina T. Kuhn
likewise be concerned with the language and, above all, the stylistic devices, to
explore how they were employed as a means of emotional intensification. After
all, acclamations in the ancient world drew on a standardised set o f formulas and
distinctive linguistic registers that could be adapted to the specific situation.11
These formulas were usually short and concise, mostly based on eulogy and
praise. They were easy to remember and could be employed by a large crowd in
unison without much prior instruction and planning. The repetition of similar
sounds, the anaphoric use of words or the reiteration of entire phrases proved as
an effective device to lend emphasis to the message and to increase the emotional
impact of acclamations. The persuasive and emotionalising effects of this speech
style were furthermore intensified by the strategy o f the emphatic rhythmic clap
ping of hands. Towards the Byzantine period, acclamations often adopted a
metrical structure and, because of the refrain-like repetition o f phrases, even
resembled songs.12 Anthropologists have pointed out the emotion-producing
qualities of melody and rhythm, emphasising that music and rhythm are the
‘language' of emotional arousal.1314They provide
a shared form o f emotion that, at least during the course o f the song, carries along the parti
cipants so that they experience their bodies responding em otionally in very sim ilar ways.
While chanting together, people’s emotional responses are in synchrony and

harmony. This common emotional experience is often further heightened through
body movements and gestures that accompany the acclamatory chants such as the
rhythmic clapping or waving of hands.15
A graphic impression of the effective rhetorical techniques and modes of
persuasion broached above may be obtained from a papyrus from Oxyrhynchus
(c. 300 CE), which minutely records a complex series of acclamations directed to
the prytcmis on the occasion of a festive assembly:16
11 For a collection and analysis o f these formulas (e.g., aîcx;, a ii^ e i, eiq, viica, rcokkou; m o i )
see e g. Klauser 1950, 227-231; Aldrete 1999, 128-164.
12 Aldrete 1999, 141, 144-147.
13 Richman 1987,222.
14 Richman 1987,222 with Tuomela 2007, 260 note 49.
15 Klauser 1950, 232: ‘Dem erregten Affekt ist durch Akklam ation allein nicht Geniige gesche-
hen, er macht sich auch in begleitenden Gebarden Luft. Diese sind wohl zu alien Zeiten im
wesentlichen die gleichen: handelt es sich um Begriihung, Segensw unsch usw ., dann streckt
man den rechlen Arm u. die Hand in die Hohe; handelt es sich um einen R uf des Abscheus,
eine Verwiinschung usw., dann macht man mil der Rechten eine abw eisende Schleuderbewe-
gung in Brusthohe Ist die Erregung besonders grofi, dann wird aus dem Armheben ein
kidenschafthches Schwenken, vielleicht noch versUtrkt durch In-die-Hand-nehm en eines
lu ch ev ’
16 IrOvy 1 41: ( J ojKiuvi npvtuvi, wKeuvr 66â nokcmlq], coKxtxve At6|aic|opr npumi-
ttoAwx, fJti aov to O'ft&u icai nkeov yivetat, apjpiY^ T^v totny <piA.fi at ku'i
f/vojjf/ivf i n/ iv/i»c tiu <pi/.o7io/viTr|, cutuxox; tip (piXopexpup, apxnYf u?>v uyaOuiv, ktiotu
tt); x f . . . ). . wtauvf ... ou|...| o npudavu;) ev totality (huepl?. xoAAuv
yr)<piopmv aîoc, iu)/j.dw i/yufhov urtoXMVoprv 5ta or, npv»T«vi. f... 1 8eope0u mOokucr,
xrpi too mrw/vHiK, y|rppiaJOrj'toj 6 nputixvu;, yi]<pia0r|Tuj ev Toit«>T|| npepa. touto
Kpmov * u i r/voyicoiov 1 f (translation by Kruse 2006). On this papyrus see Hlunie 1989, De
Emotionality in the Political Culture of the Graeco-Roman East: Acclamations 299
[...] Long live the pry'tanis, bravo, glory of the city, Hurrah, Dioskoros, you foremost of
citizens! Everything that is good will be increased under your administration, you initiator of
good things! The Nile (Isies) loves you as the blessed and rises! Long live he, who loves his
fellow citizens, long live he, who loves moderation, initiator of good things, founder of the
city! ... Bravo ... A conferment (of honour) should be passed for the prytanis on this day! He
is worthy o f many conferments! Many are the blessings we enjoy through you, prytanis] (...)
We beseech you, Katholikos, concerning the prytanis: a conferment (of honour) should be
ratified for the prytanis, the conferment should be ratified today, this is the first and foremost
duty! [...].
It is obvious that some degree of direction and coordination must have been ne
cessary to make a crowd articulate the above series of elaborate acclamations. It
has been characterised as a ‘dramatic production of the ritualised speech of the
crowd.’17 The whole gamut of psychotechnics applied in acclamations is used
here to honour a deserving citizen: the heaping of excessive flattery and praise on
this foremost citizen, the extensive use of rhythmic prosody and a metaphor
(‘ocean’), the ostinato-like repetition of coKeave or ijrri(pia8f|T(o, the short phrases
with simple syntactic structure - these are some of the most conspicuous devices
to produce an emotional effect in a crescendo-like fashion.
The historian of emotions should be well aware that in the ancient world
subtle but powerful strategies could be adopted to arouse and manipulate
emotions. For instance, we know from the evidence of extant source material that
hired claqueurs were frequently involved in the running of public affairs, whose
main function was to stimulate and lead the rhythmical shouts and chants of the
crowd.18 For the Greek East this practice of deliberate manipulation is most
evident in a scene in Aelius Aristides’ Sacred Tales, in which the orator vividly
describes how a stirred-up crowd in the assembly tried to push him into taking
over liturgies with acclamatory shouts. Aristides speaks of a kind of claque who
had worked on the crowd beforehand.19 Such claques usually mingled with the
public and tried to initiate applause, shouts of approval, cheers, and chants. They
functioned as instigators and co-ordinators of acclamations, calculating that the
audience would join in. On the other hand, one should not overrate the power of
such claqueurs in producing, directing, and controlling the emotional reactions of
the demos: after all, claqueurs could not force an unwilling audience to react
favourably through acclamation. What they could do, however, was to intensify
an existing favourable or critical attitude among a significant faction in the
audience, try to give it a strong voice, and temporarily gain what in modem terms
is called ‘opinion leadership’.
Ste. Croix 1081, 314; Slootjes 2006, 127f.; Kruse 2006, with an interpretation of the papyrus
in the context o f ‘ritual dynamics’.
17 Kruse 2006, 310.
IS On such claques see e.g. Cameron 1976, 230-240; Potter 1006, 133; Aldrete 1000, 135-138;
Morstein-Marx 2004, 134-143. A well-known example is furnished by Nero, who introduced
in Rome the so-called Augustani, a professional claque from Alexandria, to orchestrate ac
clamations (Suetonius, Nero 20.3; Tacitus, Annates 14.15; Dio Cassius 62.20).
10 Aristides, Oratio 5 0 .100-103.
Those who joined in the acclamation constituted an ad-hoc ‘emotional

community'.20 Its main pillar is what sociologists have termed a ‘we-feeling’.
Such a 'we-feeling' develops when feelings are expressed and communicated in
interaction with each other, and when the members o f a group are linked to a
collective cause.21 A common interest underlying an acclamation was, for in
stance. to put forward a demand, to bestow honours on a citizen (in particular
local benefactors), to express pride in the polis, to display loyalty to Rome and the
emperor - in short, to articulate goodwill and approbation, but also opposition,
disapproval, and displeasure in civic and imperial politics (to name only the most
frequent aims and intentions that can be identified in our sources).22 A good
example for a situation in which such a we-feeling comes to the fore is furnished
by an acclamation of the members of the Dionysiac association of the Iobakchoi
in Athens (c. 178 CE). After they had unanimously passed new statutes for their
organisation, which were to guarantee disciplined conduct during their celebra
tions, they gave voice to their feelings in the following acclamation:23
Long live our foremost priest Herodes! Now we are happy! Now our Bacchic club is the first
among all (Bacchic) clubs!
The chants reveal that the lobakchoi felt united not only as members of their club
per se, but. in addition, by a common cause and the emotional reaction to their
achievement: they were filled with immense joy and pride at being, from now on,
superior to all the other Bacchic groups.
The loud expression of a we-feeling in the group dynamics of mass acclama
tions does not preclude the existence of different degrees o f intensity, as far as the
depth of emotions and the individual identification with the common cause are
concerned. We must assume that among the majority of highly emotionalised
citizens there were a number of people who were more or less emotionally
detached and who may even have felt indifferent to the issue but joined in the
acclamation due to group pressure or purely out o f habit. This point is touched
upon in a passage in Tacitus’ Histories, where he critically notes that many Car
thaginians who joined in the acclamations for Lucius Piso, proconsul of Africa,
were ignorant of the actual reason and circumstances for their acclamatory chants.
They did not even have a strong allegiance to Piso but participated in the acclama
tion only because the centurion, who had started the chants, had urged the by
standers to join him.24 Thus, even if the emotional community, as it takes shape in
the act of acclamations, at first glance appears to be a homogeneous group in our
sources, emotional diversity must be presupposed.
20 On a different usage o f this term see Rosenwein 2006. On a d hoc ‘em otional communities’ in
Greek cult see ( hamotis 2011,265.
21 ( J 1 uomela 2007,2501 note 49
22 On the diverse functions of acclamations see Roueche 1984, 181-188; C’haniotis 2009a, 202.
23 /O If 116H 51 oaav) nokko'ic, h e a i tov tcpomoTov lepra Hpufoi|v Nvv
H/TVyUti' Nov no vtoiv nproxoi to>v ItoKyoifuv! Discussions of this text: Basle/, 2004, IIX
120, ( hamom 2006, 232 214 and 2012, 3051.
24 f atifus, Hunorme 4.49
Emotionality in the Political Culture of the Graeco-Roman East: Acclamations 301
3 ACCLAMATIONS AND THE EMOTIONALISATION OF THE

POLITICAL CULTURE OF THE GRAECO-ROMAN EAST
After these general remarks on some basic aspects of the emotional implications
and functions of acclamations, we shall explore in the following section the wider
cultural-historical context in which they are embedded and examine a striking
phenomenon that can be observed in the second century CE, namely a remarkable
increase in the epigraphic record of acclamations in that period. It has been argued
that this development may be attributed to ‘a general increase in verbatim record
ing, which itself may have resulted from technological developments’25 (in steno
graphy, for instance), but also to the fact that ‘the status of acclamations was in
fact changing, and that they were coming to be seen as increasingly worth of re
cord’.2627There is no reason to challenge these arguments. We should in this con
nection, however, not neglect the profound impact of another factor that may also
account for this development, and which must be seen as another manifestation of
the major changes in the political culture of the period: the marked trend towards
the emotionalisation of political communication.
In his comprehensive research on public communication in modem society,
Barry Richards has pointed out that
one contribution that sociology can make to the study of political communication is to identi
fy broad social and cultural changes which are influencing the democratic process and so are
likely to have effects on political communication.
Under the impact of the ‘affective turn’ in the social sciences, the role of emotion
in political communication has increasingly become an important object of re
search in recent years. In this connection, Richards, for instance, has persuasively-
argued that a cultural trend which can appropriately be labelled as ‘emotionalisa-
tion’ has profoundly transformed the context for political communication in
modem society. According to Richards, the boundaries between ‘politics' and
‘popular culture’ have become blurred, politics has become interwoven with
popular culture and, as a consequence, political audiences are now expecting
‘certain kinds of emotionalised experience from politics’.28 To what extent, one
may ask, can these observations on the emotional dynamics in contemporary
political debate be of interest for the ancient historian? Can similar cultural de
velopments which have led to a changed nature of political communication be
observed in the ancient world? O f special interest in this regard is the Hellenistic
period. It has been argued that theatricality - which encompasses a new trend of
influencing and eliciting the emotions of the audiences - became a distinctive
feature of civic life in the Hellenistic age.29 This is not to say that emotions did
25 Roueche 1984, 184.

2b Roueche 1984, 184.
27 Richards 2004, 339.
28 Richards 2004, 339.
29 Chaniotis 1997. Originating from the behav ioural sciences, the subject o f theatricality has
made its advent in classical studies during the last two decades, where it has been fruitfully
not matter in political communication before the Hellenistic period.30 It is the

process of the intensification of theatrical elements in the civic life of the
Hellenistic period that deserves our close attention.31 And it gained, as will be
shown below, further momentum in the Imperial period and clearly left its mark
on the culture of political discourse in the Greek East.
In the first three centuries CE, the culture o f the Graeco-Roman East was
characterised by a highly theatricalised quality.32 There was a boom of performan
ces of all kinds in the cities of the Graeco-Roman East: processions, festivals,
plays, concerts, gladiatorial games, or declamations.33 It was notably the declama
tions that developed into a new form of entertainment and attracted large
audiences, who gathered to enjoy the masterly display o f epideictic oratory by the
representatives of the so-called Second Sophistic.34 In Tim Whitmarsh’s words, it
was ‘an extraordinary phenomenon’, and ‘it is hard for moderns to grasp the
central cultural importance of this practice without resorting to misleading
parallels: pop concerts, sports events, religious gatherings’.35 In their declamations
the sophists slipped like actors into the roles o f various (historical) characters,
charming their audience with melodic speeches in effeminate voice, gestural
accompaniment, and magnificent attire.36 The delivery o f the sophists was indeed
so impressive that even people who did not understand Greek poured into the
theatres to be entertained by their declamations.37 We may gain some idea of the
theatrical quality of sophistic oratory from an illuminating passage in Aristides’
Oratio 34, in which he makes derogatory remarks on the sophists’ mode of
speaking:
Indeed, J once actually caught one o f those who grovels before the m asses ... For to gratify his
audience, he sang, modulating his voice, while he added the sam e final clause at the end of
each sentence, as if in a song.3*
applied to the analysis of political discourse in the ancient w orld, though no systematic
analysis of theatricality in the political culture o f the G raeco-R om an East has been undertaken
so far. Fora definition of theatricality see Bums 1972; C haniotis 1997 and 2009b.
30 For theatricality in the political rhetoric o f Classical A thens see O ber 1989; O ber and Strauss
1990; Slater 1995; for theatricality in the public life o f the Ffellenistic period see above all
Chaniotis 1997 and 2009b; see also Bielfeldt 2012. For the Im perial period see Bartsch 1994.
31 Chamotis 1997
32 Connolly 2001
33 For an overview of spectacles and games in the G raeco-Rom an East see e.g. Mitchell 1993,
217 225; Klose 2005; Marek 2010,614-626; Leschhom 1998; Konig 2005.
34 On the Second Sophistic as a cultural m ovement in this period see Anderson 1993; Bower-
sock 1969; Swam 1996; Schmitz 1997; W hitmarsh 2001 and 2005; Borg 2004.
35 Whitrnarsh 2005, 3
36 On theatricality in the declamations o f the sophists see Connolly 2001.
37 Fhilostratos, f.ives of the Sophists 491, 519, 589.
38 Aristides, Oraiio 34.47: f i u i t o i m /.'i t o u x u i v uvi i iv u to>v n r p ' l toot; ofkovc, KukivSoupeviuv
bfili rot’ tq/tupatw. tavuvtia itpurtovtu t) eoneuSev. f|6« pev yap eyicXivou; ttov
/i/pixu/v wvuov 8’ im■ipBr.yyrio rip’ rKriotO) to»v tcoppatioiv ioant.p rv pcXn
toi/tov (translation by ( Behl 1981 1986. Connolly 2001, 89 notes on this passage: ‘The
criticism leveled by Aristides at the sophists who performed in sing-song and effeminate
Emotionality in the Political Culture ol the (iraeco-Koman East: Acclamations 303
Interestingly, there were actually many points of contact between the theatrical
world and the world of politics to facilitate the adoption of theatrical dements in
political discourse. In most poleis, political meetings were held in the same
locales where sophistic declamations and theatrical performances took place. The
bouleuterion / odeion was not only the meeting place of the council; it was also
the place where sophistic performances were given, as we learn from a passage in
Aristides’ Sacred Tales.39 Likewise, the theatre was not only the place where the
assembly deliberated about civic matters; it was also the place of spectacle (Oea),
where people gathered to watch all kinds of theatrical and musical performances,
celebrations, civic festivals, and carefully and aesthetically staged rituals such as
the announcement o f honours or the crowning of benefactors.40 Moreover, it was
often the same men who were active both as political speakers and professional
show declaimers.41 And even if political speakers were not professional sophists
at the same time, they usually had received their rhetorical training from sophists
- an education that was meticulous about the art of theatrical delivery and
dramatisation. Against this background, it is not surprising that elements which
were typical of sophistic performances were gradually taken over into political
speech.
There is indeed much evidence in the sources of our period for the dramatic
evocation o f strong emotions by political speakers. The contemporary rhetorical
handbooks such as Anonymous Seguerianus’ The Art o f Political Oratory ( Tex^h
rov nofariKov Aoyov, c. end of the second century CE) or Apsines of Gadara’s
The Art o f Oratory ( Texvrj pt]Topacrj, c. 190-250 CE) devoted much space to
teach the students sophisticated strategies of arousing emotions in the form of pity
and compassion and how to move the audience to tears.42 The sophists in
voices serves to highlight the fact that mimetic acts of some kind - even the imitation of
women or Asiatics - were central to the sophistic profession.’ Plutarch (Moralia 623B) refers
to the same phenomenon when he points out that orators and actors in their perorations often
raise the pitch of their voice and approach song. According to Dio Chrysostom (Oratio 32.68)
this ‘disease’ was a general phenomenon in Alexandria: ‘Since they observe your interest in
singing and your passion for it, they all sing now, public speakers as well as sophists, and
everything is done to music; if you were to pass a courtroom, you could not easily decide
whether a drinking-party was in progress or a trial; and if there is in your neighbourhood a
sophist’s lecture-room, you will be unable to distinguish the lecture' (translation by H. L.
Crosby [l.oebj) (wq yap opwot tn v onouShv up<ov xnv Jtepi xouxo kcu xtjv ejxidugiav,
rtdvTEt; 8f| a8ouai xai pntope^ teat ao<p\axai, tcai Jtdvxa JtEpaivExai 6C (pSip;' wax', eT xu;
jtapioi 8ncaaxr\piov, ouk dv yvoin paSio*; noxepov ev8ov nivouaiv r\ 5uca£ovxar Kav
aoipiatou 5e oiKnpa rtkiimov p, ook eotou yveovat xrw 5iaxpipnv).
39 Aristides, Oratio 18.8; 5 1.31-34. On the locales of theatrical performances see Pernot 1993,
440; Korenjak 2000, 3 1f.
90 On rituals that took place in the theatre see Chaniolis 2007.
91 See the information in Philoslratos, Lives o f the Sophists e.g. on Niketes (51 It.), Skopelianos
(5191.), Dionysius (522), Ptolemy of Naukratis (595). Polemon (524t.), Heliodoros (t>25t.),
Quirinus (621), Hadrian (579), Athenodoros (594), Apollonios of Athens (000), Damianos
(606), Merakleides (613), and Philostratos of 1 emnos (628).
42 On pity ( eA.eoi;) see Seguerianus 6; Apsines 10.15-47; on compassion (iur0o^) see
Seguerianus 6.2If., 27, 94, 136, 139, |47f„ 160, 203, 205, 20o, 224-228; Apsines 10.48-58.
particular seem to have been masters o f these techniques. The following examples
refer to occasions on which they appeared in the Roman courts, but we may with
good reason assume that the same forms o f ‘theatrical’ persuasion were mutatis
mutandis employed by them when they were active in the civic institutions. Thus,
when the sophist Niketes o f Smyrna was brought before the governor’s court, he
delivered an emotionally charged speech o f defence that impressed the governor
‘so profoundly that the tears he shed over Niketes amounted to more than the
water that had been allotted to him for his defence’.434N iketes’ ability to move the
governor by his words saved him his life, and the governor ‘sent him away not
only unscathed, but singled out for honour even among the most illustrious of the
citizens of Smyrna’. Equally successful in touching the emotions o f the Roman
emperor by the power of his words was Aristides, when he tried to elicit favours
from Marcus Aurelius for the earthquake-stricken Smyrna. Pleading for the
emperor's help in a letter, Aristides
lamented its fate to Marcus in such moving words that the emperor frequently groaned at
other passages in the monody but when he came to the words: ‘She is a desert through which
the west winds blow’, the emperor actually shed tears over the pajps and in accordance with
the impulse inspired by Aristides he consented to rebuild the city.
Regardless of their trustworthiness, these anecdotes reveal the significance that

was attached to dramatic self-styling by many politicians. All this was a con
comitant not only of the increasingly theatrical quality o f the rhetorical training
but also of the novel expectations and demands o f the political audiences. Since
they were accustomed to (and spoilt by) spectacular celebrations and festivals in
the civic life of their po/eis, the audiences, w hether in the council, the assembly,
or the courtroom, expected to be ‘entertained’ by the politicians in the same way
as in a theatrical performance. Plutarch alludes to this attitude when he remarks
that the good statesman goes to the council and the assembly ‘not merely for amu
sement as if to see or hear a performance’.45 Plutarch’s criticism indicates that
people had come to experience the management o f political matters in the civic
political arenas as a performance and a spectacle; consequently, they demanded
from the protagonists of public life to meet their expectations.46 Thus, a statesman
who wished to win the favour and the support o f his audience had to adopt the
43 Phiiostratos, Lives o f (he S oph ists 512: 8id (jiv 8f| T am a eni 'Prjvov Tf icai K k X to ik ; T|X0ev,
rupf /Jitjhi
6f ini tt| v dnoXoytav om<o tt tcaxenX.r|ê tov Pofxpov, ax; nXfio) gtv dtpnvai fin
xiu Nurfim bdicpua ov S ifg fT p q a e v am w u8ato<;, dnonf.mpai 8e odic atponov povov, aXXa
jicpifjXfflTov xai rv toi; £nXomn$ Igvpvaunv (translation by W . C’. W righ t [Loebp,
44 Philosiratos, l ives o f the S o p h ists 5X2: ... omo) Ti coXotpdpaTo npoc; tov Mdpicov, inc, Tfl prv
d/./.r) povtpbta 0aga fniOTevdi;ai tov f)amXfa, ent 8e xw «£e<pupoi 8e tphpqv kutu-
nvfov*ji* bdtcpua Tq> |ii(iXuw fruotaât tov (iaatAia £,nvouduv Tf tt) ndX.fi t ic tojv tov>
Apimti8<n< t:v8omjio/v vruaai (translation by W. C. Wright |Loebj).
45 Plutarch. M o r u h a \A n s e n t r e s p u h l i c u % e r e n d u v//J 7 9 6 f: dXXox; 5 f 8tayoyyh<; yapiv ox; fin
H fJ iv fj aicpdomv, t'r to v i n t / . b i ) , napayiyvdpfvov, dXXd, »aiv pf| n ap ay ev n tu t tot ooipuu,
n a p d v t a t t i y v o j p f i m / . i t t p nwHuveabm t o p t v dno8fxdprvov too; 8c SuoicoAmvovTu t w v
npr/TTopjrvow (translation by H N. fow ler |I,o eb |)

46 <i Chamom 1997, 252 and 2009b, 57 62
Emotionality in the Political Culture of the Ciraeco-Roman East; Acclamations 305
role of an actor: he had to offer his audience an entertaining ‘show’ with novel
effects, a powerful, dramatised presentation of arguments with highly emotional
appeals. This dynamic, interactive relationship between speaker and audience is
evident in Aristides’ report on his appearance in the court of the Roman gover
nor:47
And when I came forward, I received all due respect from him and from the ranks of the
assessors, as well as from the pleaders who stood by, and from all the others who were
present, and there was more of the air of an oratorical display than a lawsuit. For their
goodwill was wonderful, and then they signified their eagerness for my speech both by their
hands and voices, and they behaved entirely like an audience at a lecture.
Aristides’ words nicely reflect the star cult atmosphere in the courtroom. His
speech of defence takes on the character of a sophist’s lecture: the great orator
here addresses the public in the role of the celebrated sophist, and, accordingly,
his listeners behave in their reactions as if the courtroom had been converted into
a lecture hall.
The above observations on the increasingly dominant role that emotions came
to play in the public sphere and political culture of the period quite plainly show
the strong relationship between theatricality, emotions, and politics. It is this triad
that was formative for the cultural-historical context of acclamations. The fact that
the audience at a political meeting increasingly behaved in a way as if the political
institutions were located in a theatrical context becomes most apparent in the
practice of acclamation. Its emotionalised speech style and emphatic application
of applause - features that were usually employed in the theatre and hippodrome
to support actors, performers, artists, and competitors - surely added an increas
ingly ‘dramatic’ quality to public political discourse.48 It was an ideal instrument
for the audience to express its emotional reactions to what was happening on the
political stage: by singing, shouting, and clapping hands, they could give vent to
their enthusiasm, joy, frustration, or anger. In this sense, one has interpreted the
establishment of acclamations in civic politics in terms of a transfer of rituals
from the world of the theatre to the political sphere 49 According to Frank Kolb, it
47 Aristides, Oratio 50.91: r a t eTtetSf) mprjXOov. anaaav aiStb rat rtap' avion vat rtapa ttbv
ouve8p(ov, (boaviTtog 8c prpopaw twv icpooeatriKOTcov ra t tcbv aXAtov ojtooot mprjaav,
Kai ayn p a ejii8d^ca)g pfxAAov rjv n Siicr|<5* h Y«P cvvoia Qaugaarn Kai to tipcn; tot*;
XoyoDc,cbppnKoq eneanpaivov tote ra t yet pi ra i <piovrj, Kai turn* nv ia a n tp ini axo^-Hs
aKpocopcvtov (translation by Behr 1981-1986).
48 Roueche 1984,184.
49 Kolb 1999, 104; ‘Inschriftlich oder auf Papyri erhaltene Sitzungsakten verdeutliehen, dass
Iftrmliche Abstimmungsprozeduren weitgehend von geradezu als Chorgesange zu bezeich-
nende Akklamationsritualen abgeldst warden. Und in diesem Zusanintenhang ISsst sich eine
Uhertragung jener Sitte von der Festversammlung im Theater, wo sie schon seit klassischer
Zeit auflaucht, auf politische Versammlungen nachweisen.’ Such a transfer of rituals can also
be observed in modern society. During the World Youth Day in Cologne in August 2005, tor
example, the gathered crow d honoured Pope Benedict XVI in the ceremonies of the vigil and
the church service by rhythmical acclamation (Be-ne-de-tto) as it is known from the football
stadia, thus giving the traditional Catholic liturgy a new 'theatrical' flavour.
became increasingly difficult to distinguish the ‘Volksversammlung’ (political

assembly) from the ‘Festversammlung' (festive meeting); the differences between
the two became gradually blurred towards the third century CE.50
This emotionalisation is, of course, only one factor in the transformation that
political discourse underwent in the civic institutions of the Imperial period. It
was concomitant with profound institutional changes such as the remodelling of
the civic councils after the Roman Senate or the increasing monopolisation of
poli-tical discourse by the civic elites, which can primarily be attributed to
external factors, above all the impact of Roman rule.51 Previous scholarship has
argued that this transformative process resulted in a ‘decline’ of the post-classical
polis or more specifically, in a ‘hollowness’ of the political institutions and a
degenera-tion of the political debating culture.52 In recent years this scenario of
decline has come under attack in favour of a model which emphasises the
continuing vitality of civic life, its structures, and institutions.53 Such a re
assessment encourages us to view acclamations not so much as ritualised acts of
an apathetic, de-politicised demos, but as a powerful tool for putting forward
demands, for expressing a collective opinion, and for exerting considerable
pressure on the urban elites and the local government. The memorisation of
acclamations must then be seen as symptomatic of a fragmentised, competitive
elite, whose individual members tried to secure majorities in civic politics and
publicly displayed on stone the support they had won as a token of their
acceptance in society.
4 THE SOCIO-POLITICAL AND CULTURAL CONTEXT

OF EMOTIONAL AROUSAL
Public gatherings in the civic institutions were the ideal breeding ground for the
arousal of strong emotions and their dramatic articulation through the medium of
persuasive acclamations. In the following, the main focus will be on the socio
political and cultural circumstances giving rise to mass emotions as mirrored in
the practice of acclamations and the communicative intention behind them.
Particularly intriguing for our purpose is an inscription from Perge (Pamphylia),
found in situ in the so-called Tacitus Street, which dates to the period between
50 Kolb 19 0 0 ,1 0 4 i
51 ( f U v y 1X95, Ouass 1993
52 See e g U v y 1895. 205 218; Jones 1940, 170; Sherwin-White I9 60 , 8 4 -8 6 ; De Sle. C roix
1981 300 317; Veync 1990; S th m il/ 1997, 39 44, 91 96. A good overview o l scholarship is
provided by Mar land 2006
53 Mitchell 1984; Ouass 1993 355 423; U w iri 1995; Salmeri 2000, 69 75; Ma 2000; Chaniotis
2005, f ernoux 2005; Hat land 2006
Emotionality in the Political C ulture of the Graeco-Roman East: Acclamations 307
275-276 CE.54 It lists a long series of acclamations in honour ol the poiis made at
a public gathering of the citizens:55
Up with Perge, which alone has the right of asylum! IJp with Perge, to/with/by whom Tacitus
[...! Up with Perge], neokoros since Vespasian! [Up with Perge], honoured with a sacred
vexillum! [Up with Perge] honoured with silver coinage! Diana of Ephesus, Diana of Perge!
Up with Perge, the treasury of the Emperor! Up with Perge, four times neokorosl Up with
Perge, first among the assize-centres! Up with Perge, where consulars seek honour! Up with
Perge, where consulars sponsor contests! Up with Perge, the head of Pamphylia! Up with
Perge, which is not false in anything! All the rights (are confirmed) by senatorial decree.
This series of acclamations testifies to the citizens’ immense self-esteem and civic
pride in the pre-eminence of their poiis in the province as well as its good rela
tionship with the Roman emperor and government. Their feeling of superiority
and distinction finds a clear expression in the long list of Perge’s political,
religious, and cultural assets - privileges and honours which had all been granted
by Rome: the right to offer asylum, the right of having a temple for the imperial
cult, the honour o f hosting the Roman military standard (vexillum) and the
treasury into which provincial taxes had to be paid.56 Many of these privileges are
even further specified to underline their peculiarity and uniqueness. So it is
highlighted by the acclamatory crowd that Perge alone had the right of asylum.
This is a manifest statement about Perge’s outstanding status in comparison to
other cities with asylum rights in Asia Minor such as the neighbouring city of
Side, the other most important poiis in the province. The acclamations, moreover,
emphasise that Perge was four times neokoros. Again, this statement is clearly
made with Side in mind, which had been named neokoros only three times by the
Roman emperors. The acclamation also speaks of Perge as ranking first among
the assize-centres (r) 7tpcbTT] xwv dyopEcov) and as the head of the province (t] ico-
potpri iqq Ila[i(()i)Xiaq). All this is indicative of the specific socio-political context
that generated these acclamations: it is the notorious rivalry and competition
between the cities o f Asia Minor for precedence (npcaietov) within the province
and for the award o f privileges by the Roman government.57 Perge had been
successful in securing many privileges, and accordingly, the citizens proudly
celebrated the great prestige and the achievements of their city through
acclamations. The concluding chant ‘up with Perge, which does not lie!’ (adê
riEpyri r) pr|8ev v|/e\)5op£vr|) was clearly addressed to Perge’s rivals, who
obviously maintained that Perge was presenting false claims in the inter-urban
competition for honour and prestige. Singing together and asserting claims against
rival competitors - Side, in particular - fostered a distinct we-feeling among the
acclamatory crowd and strengthened their sense of pride and identity. The
54 SEG XXXIV 1306; l.Perge 331 II (see Appendix no. 1). See also Weifi 1981 and Roueche
1989b. The date of the inscription can be deduced from the reference to the Emperor Marcus
Claudius Tacitus (275-276 C'E).
55 For the Greek text see Appendix no. 1. Translation by Roueche 1989b.
56 On a detailed analysis of the meaning of these rights and priv ileges see Roueche 1989b.
57 On discord between cities see Robert 1977; Sheppard 1984-86, 230-240; Price 1984, 126-
132; Mitchell 1993, 2031.; Meyer-Zwilfelhoffer 2002, 307-315; Heller 2006.
repetitive, emphatic use of (‘long live’), which counts among the most
common acclamatory formulas, progressively increased the intensity of the emo
tions shared by the group. In addition, this strong group feeling may have been
reinforced by a hierarchical communicative context: it is not unlikely that the
event took place in the presence of the Roman governor or some high-ranking
Roman official and that the citizens of Perge hoped that the mechanisms of accla
mation left their emotional impact on the decision-making process o f the ruling
power.58
While collective pride is the underlying emotion in the acclamations from
Perge, public apprehension about the well-being o f the p o lis is the dominant
feeling in the follow ing document, a series o f acclamations from Ovacik, a place
situated in the territory of the p o lis of Termessos (Pisidia). The acclamations have
come down to us as part of a long inscription on two blocks, which contains se
veral documents.59 The main concern o f this epigraphic dossier was to honour the
local office holder M. Aurelius Hermaios and his son Kiliortes, who - presumably
in the years 278-283 CE - had distinguished themselves by their outstanding
services for Termessos and the surrounding countryside. The most vivid docu
ment of the whole dossier is certainly that of the acclamations for Hermaios:60
Let him who (acts) on behalf of the city reside! Let him who (acts) on behalf of peace reside!
This is of benefit to the city. A decree for the brigand chaser! Let the well-born brigand
chaser guard the city! Let him who has killed brigands guard the city! Let him who has often
acted as ekdikos [legal representative] for the city guard the city! Let him who has acted as
ekdikos for the city reside! Let him who has ... sent annona [food supply] reside! Let him
who (acts) on behalf of peace reside! Let Hermaios reside; let the son of Askoureus reside!
Hermaios, son of Askoureus, as brigand chaser as long as we live! Let him reside so that we
can live! Let him reside according to the order o f the governor! Let him who has often saved
the city reside! Let him who has sent suplies to the city reside!
While reading these acclamations one cannot possibly escape their powerful
appeal of authenticity and immediacy: we almost seem to hear the rhythmically
chanted or shouted words and feel the intense em otionality o f the scene, which is
magnificently captured in the text. Its emotional depth cannot be fully grasped
unless seen in the light of its specific historical context. It was in the second half
of the third century CE that the cities of southern Anatolia were faced with the
problem of endemic banditry and brigandage, which assumed the dimensions of a
5X It seems very likely that an inscribed copy of the document will have been sent to the Roman
emperor. After all, since Constantine’s provision for acclamations to be made known to the
central imperial authorities (C odex T h eodosianu s 1.16.6), the citizens could address the
governor directly by chanting to him en m a sse in the theatre or on the occasion of his arrival;
these acclamations were lormaliy recorded and were sent to the emperor. The significance of
such acclamations in lâte Antiquity as an expression of opinion has rightly been emphasised
by Brown 1992, 149: ‘Such acclamations carried with them an aura of divinely inspired un
animity In them, the crowd expressed a group p a r r h e s ia , tinged with supernatural certainty.’
59 Most recent edition. SEd LI 1X13 (see Appendix no. 2). Cf. S E d XXIX 1514 with Harrison
1979 Mitchell 1979, 19X9, and 1995; Zmimermann 1996; Ballance and Koueche 2001;
Iplikîoglu 2004; Br*la/ 2005,2X5 320, 423 43 I; Icrnoux 2011,149.
60 for the Greek text see Appendix no 2. 'translation hy Ballance and Roueche 2001.
Emotionality in the Political Culture of the Ciraeco-Koman East. Acclamations 309
serious regional plague/’1 The bandits’ activities ranged from cattle rustling and
highway robbery to uprisings and insurrections, culminating in the conquest of
FCremna, one o f the largest Pisidian cities, by Lydios, an Isaurian brigand leader,
who used the place as a base for his looting raids until it was recaptured by the
Roman army in 278 CE.6162 The obvious weakness of governmental and military
control and the corresponding lack of public security caused anxiety and fear
among the population, since the bandits actually threatened the existence of whole
rural and urban communities. No wonder that the citizens longed for a strong
leader who could take effective action against brigand terror in Pisidia and give
them a feeling o f security.63
In the above quoted series of acclamations the citizens have voiced their
existential fears, hopes, and demands, while highlighting the lasting merits of their
fellow-citizen Hermaios, the ‘well-bom brigand chaser’ (6 eoyevfiq Xr|cxo8i-
(OKiriq). As we know, Hermaios had mobilised a group of selected young men and
led them to Kremna to support the Roman troops against the rebels.64 In the accla
mation, Hermaios is praised for having killed brigands (6 A,T)oxa<; (poveocaq). But
his achievements for the city obviously went beyond fighting brigands. He is also
honoured for having acted as representative for the city in legal affairs (6 noA-ducu;
exSeixfiaaq if|v rcoAtv)65 and for having provided food to the city (6 xpo<pa<; xfi
noXei 7iep\|/a<;), probably when there had been a shortage because of regional
unrests. Against this background it is not surprising that the citizens celebrate him
as the epitome o f a ‘ saviour’/acoxfip (6 TtoXonaq ow ca; xt)v 7t6A.iv). The
61 On the problem of banditry in the Roman Empire see e.g. Shaw 1984, 1990, 1993, and 2000;
Mitchell 1979; Hopwood 1999. Modern scholarship has much speculated about the identity,
motivation, and ideology of these brigands. While Shaw 1984, in his classical article on
banditry in the Roman Empire, has explained the phenomenon of organised crime in the
Taurus region (esp. the Isaurian and Cilician Taurus) in terms of a structural conflict betw een
highland and lowland regions, Mitchell 1979 - with reference to the siege of Kremna in 278
CE - has called for a regionally more refined interpretation and argued that ‘banditry'' in the
Western Tauric region of Pisidia took ‘a somewhat different form from the pattern observable
further east in the Taurus’ (159). According to Mitchell, the siege of Kremna should be
construed as ‘a revolt from Rome’ by a group of rebels in a time in which Roman authorities
were very present in this region due to Gothic raids and incursion by the Sassanians.
62 On the siege of Kremna see Mitchell 1979, 1989, and 1995.
63 On the problem of security and the activity of the elite guarding the cities and their territory in
the Hellenistic and Roman periods see Brelaz 2005; Chaniotis 2008b.
64 This becomes evident from a letter sent by the dux Ursio to Hermaios (SEG LI 1813 A 1):
|(?)M. Aujp. Oopaiwv 6 8il[acrr|lpoTaxos I 8ou^ I {'Ep]pmtp Acncov[p]l[e(*;] xaipeiv |
lapltt up Aafkiv I [tlaOxa ypappata I xo\>H) y[elav[i]oKou^ I [enliAeicxouv; 8eT I (jcolXfixa^
TONA I (c. 7-91ATON I l[ c. i 1-13)1 ftllpep&v l[ c. 7-9) I 0E auxou ei<; Kpijipva ayaytxv
(ppovltiaov navovxcov I n ap ’ upwv ekcT KE [ (?) ] I peAAovrwv KA©E-IE[.)5E[.|Ai2PHN oia
eolxai oxe [.|EAiiN gpoloov [,.]HKE1N F1AIPACKE0HNA1 Swlpov teivou;- fppwao I [e. 12-
141. (‘Marcus Aurelius Ursio, the most distinguished leader, sends greetings to Hermaios, son
of Askoureus. As soon as you receive this letter, you must... the selected band ot young men
... bring them to Cremna’ etc.; translation by Ballance and Roueche 2001).
65 Qn the meaning of the office of ekdikos see Ballance and Roueche 2001, lilt.; Dmitriev
2005,213-216.
complexify and the length of this series o f acclamations leaves no doubt that the
scope of his help as well as that of his son, who may have been active as brigand
chaser contemporaneously with his father,66 had obviously exceeded the citizens’
expectations of normal rural policing and euergetic activity. The narrative o f his
services tor the city culminates in several succinct statements affirming the
strongly held belief that Hermaios should continue to reside in the city. This
collective insight is hammered staccato-like into everyone’s minds by the crowd
itself, turning the acclamation into an act of collective self-reassurance. It is put in
the form of a request or rather an insistent demand that makes use o f highly emo
tional prosody to enhance the persuasive power o f words. Major features of this
device are, above all, the repetition of key words and concise phrases which are
easy to remember and which bring to focus the essence o f the message. The latter
is encapsulated in the one word that, like a refrain or a pulse beat, is rhythmically
repeated eleven times throughout the acclamation: e7ti5r|gei'TG> (Tet him stay’).
Those participating in the chants for Hermaios were emotionally united as a ‘we-
group' both by their eagerness to bring forward this demand and, in addition, by
their enthusiasm to bestow honours on Hermaios (\j/f|<piapa rq> ApcrcoSeicoKTr)).
The major motive for this appeal is rooted in the citizens’ anxiety that Hermaios
could leave the polis and thus expose it again to great dangers. In three identical
sentences they express their demand for public security, insisting that Hermaios
should remain in office to protect ((ppoopeiTco) the Termessian territory. All these
demands culminate in a bold, highly emotional statement o f existential nature
placed at the beginning and towards the end of the acclamation: ‘let him reside so
that we can live’ (ejribqpetTO) Yva bovapeOa £r)aai; lines 5 and 29-31). Those
chanting here make the whole future of the community entirely dependent on
Hermaios’ office-holding and continued presence in the territory. Though this
categorical statement may be tinged with flattery and exaggeration, it sheds some
interesting light on the emotional component in the relationship between the urban
elite and the demos in the poleis of the Graeco-Roman East - a relationship which
too often has been discussed with a primary focus on its financial dimension in the
context of euergetism.
There is no direct evidence about the addressee o f the acclamations nor the
locale in which they were made. The most obvious setting for such an event
appears to be a meeting of the council or a public assembly, possibly in the pre
sence of Hermaios himself. It has been suggested that the crowd’s insistence that
Hermaios should stay in the polis seems to convey a message intended for the
Roman governor, who had to approve the extension of Hermaios’ command.67
But the governor seems to have already made a decision on the issue in favour of
the Termessian petitioners, k o t o . xf|v k c ^ f o o i v t o o fiyooiacvoo ejcibiipetto) (lines
3If). In the light of this statement it is well conceivable that an inner-urban
conflict may have been underlying the acclamations of the crowd. Their highly
emotional demands may hint at some disagreement and factionalism at Termessos
¥> Hallaocc and koueche 2<H)I OV

07 Ballance and Knufcdit 200I J 08
Emotionality in the Political Culture of the Graeco-Roman East: Acclamations 3I 1
concerning Hermaios’ role in the city. There may have been (leading) citizens and
notables who viewed Hermaios’ continued presence - and the social power that
arose from his function as brigand-chaser - with reservations and misgivings. If
so, Hermaios was not necessarily an undisputed public figure of the whole civic
community, as the demands of the acclamatory crowd in support of him make us
initially believe. This interpretation would also explain the three emphatic initial
chants, which explicitly stress that Hermaios only acts on behalf of the city and
that his actions benefit the citizens (line 6: 6 urcep tfj<; rcokeox;; lines 7f.: 6 imcp
tt)<; eipfivriq; lines 8f.; touto onptpepei ifj 7ioX.ei) - a message perhaps addressed
to all doubters and critics. The whole series of acclamations can thus be read as an
appeal directed to those citizens who could not share the passionate enthusiasm
for Hermaios and saw the extension of his command in a negative light - rather
than as an appeal directed to the Roman officials in support of a re-appointment of
the popular local leader. This target group of fellow-citizens may also account for
the high emotional involvement and commitment and the skilful persuasive
strategies of all those making these acclamations.
5 CONCLUSION
The acclamations recorded in the inscriptions from the Imperial Greek East which
we have analysed (with special reference to two illustrative examples from Perge
and Termessos) directly mirror the many-facetted emotional microcosm of a polls.
They offer lively insight into the political culture of the communities in the Greek
East - a political culture which was characterised by an increased degree of emo
tionality in the Imperial period. Our focus on emotions in acclamations has
brought to the fore the human side of civic life. Under certain circumstances
acclamations could function as a powerful tool that gave the crowd a voice to
articulate their hopes and fears, their pride and enthusiasm, their joy and anger,
and in this way to put forward their wishes and demands and exert pressure on
members of local and imperial government. This is not to say that acclamations
and the emotions they carried could not be manipulated by members of the urban
elites, who had the possibilities to mobilise and direct the masses in pursuit of
their interests. The texts of most acclamations were carefully composed in terms
of structure, rhythm, and sentence melody to produce an immediate, highly emo
tional effect. In the moment of their performance, acclamations undoubtedly
evoked a definite ‘we-feeling’ among the members of the crowd, thus demonstra
ting unanimity towards any listener and bystander.68 Their later memorisation on
stone and display in the public sphere served as a visible reminder of the great
emotional support that existed in the community for a notable or a specific
political issue. It is difficult for the historian to reconstruct in detail the dynamics
and forces which were at play. What, however, can be illuminated in many cases
are the political, social, and cultural conditions that gave rise to the expression of
68 Cf. the remarks of Maria Theodoropoulou (p. 463 n 174) m this volume.
mass emotions. In view of the competitive and tense atmosphere in which many
acclamations emerged, the inscriptions recording acclamations become silent
witnesses to the continued vitality of civic life in the Imperial period. The study of
acclamations in the light of emotions and emotionality thus highlights a dimen
sion of political communication in the post-classical p o l i s which so far has not
been given the adequate attention it deserves.
APPENDIX: THE ACCLAMATIONS FROM PERGE AND TERMESSOS
1. Acclamations from Perge. Text: I.Perge 331 col. II.

ai>4f riepYH- h govp atruAxx; • auê riepyp 8' vecoicopoi; ■
nepyp. fl Tdiaxo*; ai>4e ricpyp f| npcoxp xtov
(................. *.......... 1 16 ayopecov
4 i - : ................ aoê flepyp, fl urca[xi]icoi
fau^r riepYTi p] ano Oueojna]- tpiAoSoôuaiv ■
[mavou vjewKopot;’ auê riepyp, II unaxncoi
[au^F nepy]r| p iepw oviîXAq) 20 aY<i)[v]o0exo\>aiv
8 (xeT]£tgpg£vp- a n e p y n p Kopotpp
[auj^f nfepy]r| p apyuptp vogia- xrj<; riag<puXia<;'
gaxt XETEigpgivp • oriê flEpyp p gp8[e]v
Aidve E<pecna Atavrj riEpypma- 24 \|/£\}8ogevr)‘
12 avcg. nepyn 6 &paaupo<; rcavx[a] xa S ix ata [8]6yga-
TOX» x~uptov • xt IuvicA.f|xoi)
2 Acclamations from Termessos. Text: SEG LI 13 A II.

f ] Eipnvapzl- - - (?) Epgoicpl- £K8eucfjaa<; xhv n[o]-
u m ayvoj^ (— - c. 6-7 — -) 20 Atv ent8pgeixar 6 a[vj-
{. j EpgoicpdtEi • 'Epg[aio<d vtova^ ENNECA[ . .]
4 {v'!j Aoroupcax; xt| jtoXc ft J Jl£gyOt£ E7ll8llg£{[xO)] ■
Yvcr Suvagrhu ^ p a a i • 6 -UTtep xfiq [e]ipr|[vjr|lq]
6 vnep tp ; xoXeox; in- 24 EntSpgEixav'Efpga?]-
t5pgEixa>- vnep tp^ ei- o<; £7u8pgeix[o:>- (?) 6 tn]-
8 pi}VT}; £nt6l)g£ITW to[uj- oq Aaxoupeax; E|ni8pJ-
u> ovgtpf-pft tp noXej11- gcixar EpgaTo^ A|ajK[ouJ-
yp<f>ioga xrui$ tpv n|dj- geixto tva 8uvdgf0ot (4hL
XlV fpOVpmtlJ' 6 XpO- c a t • K«xa xpv tcfXfuatv xo\> p-
tac (povfvuo; tt)v 32 Yovgfv|o|\> rxnSrigfixo) 6 n|o|-
noXtv <ppoupmcu Xdtcu; o ^ o aq xhv n6A.iv tniSp-
J6 6 t < 6 n tcr|o r/; tr)V I g £ )iw 6 xpocpoK; xp noAtt nrlgl
%‘jfA v xpv xo/.tv vacal vacat? ya<; fki- vacat?
ippoupeiTtu 6 36 vacat? 8pg£tTO) vacat
Emotionality in the Political Culture o f the Graeco-Roman East: Acclamations 3 I3
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A GLIMPSE INTO THE WORLD OF PETITIONS
Aurelia Artemis and her Orphaned Children
Chrysi Kotsifou
1 INTRODUCTION
Petitions were documents that sought redress for abuses or help against injustice,
and they often inaugurated a lawsuit. They survive from the Hellenistic, Roman,
and Late Antique periods.1 This chapter will examine one petition by a woman
from the end o f the third century CE. It will analyze how expressions of emotion
are employed in order to enhance the rhetoric of the document, and will explore
the ways in which the theories o f contemporary legal narratology2 can illuminate
the reasons why emotions were so heavily used in such documents. According to
Ari Bryen, ancient petitioners
create ‘fictions’ - that is, they take care to shape individual instances of violence into
narratives. Through retelling the events in question, petitioners present the information that
they see as relevant to their case, as well as what they think will be convincing to legal
authorities.
As legal narratology theorists claim, narrative in law is a form of discourse that
accommodates the desire to express emotion and emotion-laden thoughts.45
Lucinda Finley explains that these theorists react to the long-standing idea and
practice that
Law is a language firmly committed to the ‘reason’ side of the reason/emotion dichotomy....
The inability to hear the voice of emotion, to respond to thinking from the emotions, is one of
the limitations of the legal voice. ... Rage, pain, elation, the aching, thirsting, hungering for
freedom on one’s own terms, love and its joys and terrors, fear, utter frustration at being
contained and constrained by legal language - all are diffused by legal language.3
1 Palme 2009, 377. He adds that petitions to officials are the most common type of record other
than tax receipts. More than a thousand petitions survive from the entire papyrological mil
lennium.
2 Legal narratology is concerned with the story elements in law and legal scholarship. Cf.
Gewirtz 1996, 135-137; Posner 1997, 737. On how language can be the primary tool in the
manipulation of a narration of a story in order to achieve the desired outcome in a court case,
see Ferguson 1994.
3 Bryen 2008, 182.
4 Cook 1994/1995, 101.
5 Finley 1989, 903. Cf. Henderson 1987, 15751’.; Gewirtz 1996. 145f.
318 Chrysi Kotsifou
Furthermore, since the case study of this chapter is a legal document composed by
a woman (or at least meant to protect the interests of a woman), the importance
that feminist legal narrative places on the notion of co n tex t is also applicable to
this petition 6
2 ARTEMIS’ PETITION
In 280 CE at Theadelphia in the oasis of Fayum, Artemis lodged the following

complaint to the prefect of Egypt:7
To Hadrianus Sallustius the most eminent prefect, from Aurelia Artemis, daughter of Paesios,
from the village of Thraso of the Arsinoite nome: Perceiving your love of moderation, my
lord governor, and your care for all, especially for women and widows, I approach you,
thinking myself worthy to receive aid from you. The matter is like this: Syrion, having
become a dekaprotos [see note 14] from the same village, Thraso, persuaded my husband,
K.aet by name, to shepherd his flocks - who unjustly took off with my aforementioned
6 By understanding context, they mean looking at the intricate details of complex human situa
tions that give rise to conflicts; and by considering these, finding solutions that are tailored to
the particularities of the situation. Cf. Cook 1994/1995, 114. On the value of emotional
discourse, context and one’s subjective circumstances and law procedures, also see Heilbrun
and Resmk 1989/1990, 1950; Cook 1994/1995, 145-147. These theorists also note that some
members of marginalized groups such as women, by virtue of their marginal status, are able
to tell stories different from the ones legal scholars usually hear. Cf. Delgado 1990,95.
7 Translation of Evans Grubbs 2002, 258 (modified). P . S a k a o n 36: A Sp ia viw laÂovcmto tm
diaoTiHOTaT© Tjyrpovi napa AuppA-iaq ApTEgitoq flar|aiou ano K(bgr|<; 0paaw tou
Apoivoitou vogou. to g£Tpio<(>iXe<; aou aiaGogevp, SecraoTa gov fiyegiov, kou tie pi navra;
tcrjSegovtav, gaAiota rcepi yvvaiicaq icai xhPa<;. rn v rtpoaEA-euaiv rcoiovgai croi aîovoa
tfjc dito oov pori0eia<; t u x e iv . to 8 e npayga outcd*; e' x e i‘
Zvp iw v yevogevot; bEKattpcoToi;
ctrio xx\q auTiji; Kcogî; 0paadj avaneicsaq gov tov av8pa K a fjT ovogcm rtotgatveiv autou
tci xpdfktTa — octtk; dSiKox; tou; tov irpoKEigevov dv8po<; aiya<; K a i rcpoPata tov apiGgov
auvaitcojiaaev avtfi). Kai e«p’ oaov gev nepirjv 6 npoiceigevog gov avf|p, EKaoto;
k x jy tio v x a .
to eavTov exapnovTo, 6 te egbt; dvnp Ta i'8ia icai 6 rcpoKEigevoq Ta eavTov. ercei ovv Kata
Tponov dvGpamwv r / e v e x o 6 npoKEigEvdi; gov avf|p, eio£7tr|8paE (JovXogevot; 6 Ivptcov Kai
a<pap7tdÊiv t u tojv vtittuov gov tekvgjv tt ) ToniKp S w a a re ia xp^gevoi; rcapa avtrji; Tp;
k o itt )c tov dv5pd<; gov Kai tov aojgatoi; Kigevov E7tei 8e eajtov8aaa td f)geTepa
ano/xtfieiv Kai reepiOTEiXai tov dv8pa gov, g£T’ omeiX-rji; ge dnejiegi|/ev Kai gexpi tt )<;
<rf|p£pov K<j.rry<ov Tuyxavei Ta TjgETEpa Ttoigvia. 8id napaKaX.dj oe, Secmota, rcegyai goi
fior\bov ek tt ^; rji\q upooTaêox;, onw<; T<i te tcqv vriiumv gov tekvgjv Ka i Ta egov Ttj<; X0Pa9
ano/Apb) Kai OuvtiGgj eugapox; u tiu k o u eiv xS) anoxuKXM — ov yap ev neptypaipau;
K(/Xf /,r\fn^hf o npoKeigevdi; gov dvt|p vrcep t <ov SiaipepovTtov toj Tagteup, o iK Eio ita i 8 e tw
jtpoKEigevig Ivpm tvi Egi. t t |v X0PUV M£td vnnioiv tekvojv dei cxtcootepeT v , gjote t Ov tou
TfTE/^:i/ir|Kf/Tfx; gov dv8po^ aitov XafibvTa 8 id tov |3or|0ou vreep tujv e ;t i (}u A.A.6vtu >v
gETpngr/To/v ovgfio/.ov gn ExSovvai — imax; Ta i'8 ia e k Tfj<; arji;, tov Kvpiov Kai ndvTiov
ibffrffxov, f/itnov V7u//p</.<pr] Kixi 8vvn0ti) gETa vnnicov tekvojv rv r j i 18ia
ovvgEveiv koi d el rr) tv/ ji oov ydpiTa<; ogoX oyeiv 8vvr|0o) | ------J 8 ievtvxei . (hand 2) |c.
I ) ] 0 jrpf^ to Toiq ipdpoic /(xfioigov |t . II] K</.xa to SiKixioTaTov SoK igdoE i 6 KpaTiaTot;
\tn\oxp(i.xr\ fi4q. Togfov) a '. All abbreviations of papyri are according to the
Checklist o f h d it tons of Creek, halm, iJemolic a n d Coptic Papyri, O straca a n d Tablets at
http'.//ncnptoriurn.lib duke.edu/papyrus/texts/clist papyri.html.
A G lim pse into the W orld o f Petitions: Aurelia Artemisia and her Orphaned Children 3 19
husband's goats and sheep to the number of sixty. And as long as my aforementioned
husband was alive, each man reaped his own profits, my husband his own and the afore
mentioned (Syrion) his own. But when my aforementioned husband went the way of men,
Syrion burst in, exploiting his local power, even wishing to snatch away the property of my
infant children from my husband’s very bed and with his body lying there. And when I tried
to take back our property and to cover up (the body of) my husband, he sent me away with
treats, and up until today happens to have hold of our flocks.
Therefore, I ask you, lord, to send help to me by your command, in order that I might get
back the property of my infant children and of myself, a widow, and that I might be able to
comply with my tax assessment readily. For my aforementioned husband was not caught out
regarding property belonging to the Treasure, but it is in the nature of the aforementioned
Syrion always to despoil me, a widow with orphan children - so that having taken the grain
of my deceased husband through his assistant he did not give a receipt for the payment in
kind that was due - in order that I might get back my property by your benevolent decision,
lord and benefactor of all, and might be able to stay together with my infant children in my
own home and always be able to acknowledge my thanks to your fortune. Farewell.
[- - ] With a view to what is advantageous to the revenues, [- -] the excellent epistrategos will
judge the matter according to what is most just.
Sheet 69, Roll 1.
This petition, together with other documents concerning Artemis, belongs to the
archive of Sakaon, an Egyptian farmer in the last century of Theadelphia.8
Normally in an archive of papyrological documents we find items addressed to the
owner of the archive, such as letters, or documents that are drawn on his behalf,
such as contracts and receipts. At the same time, there are documents composed
by the owner himself, such as petitions. This can be explained by the fact that an
original completed petition could be returned to the archive owner after a decision
was made and could even contain a note by the official who dealt with the case 9
Sakaon is the most prominent person in the archive from 310 to at least 342 CE.
As head of the family he apparently kept in his archive papers for other members,
including those of his second wife Kamoution and her mother Artemis.10 General
ly, these petitions come from people who view themselves as victims, and are
directed to a variety of legal authorities at both the local and provincial level. In
these petitions, the offended individual dictates to a scribe a narrative of the
events that caused his or her suffering, and through a variety of formulaic
addresses and requests, the individual asks for justice.11
8 Discussion of the entire Sakaon archive: http://www'.trismegistos.org'arch/archives/pdf 206.

pdf.
9 Vandorpe 2009, 237.
10 Many interesting papyri involving ancient women derive not from archives women them
selves compiled, but from archives collected by their menfolk, for men appear to have been
more ready to intersperse personal letters among their business papers. Cf. Hanson 2005, 3.
11 Bryen 2008, I8lf. For more on the role of formulas in petitions and their association to
emotion, see pp. 60-65 in this volume. It has been noted, though, that an unfamiliar narrative
invariably generates resistance; despite our best efforts, counter stories are likely to effect
only small, incremental changes in the listener or reader. Cf. Delgado and Stefancic
1990/1991, 1933.
320 Chrysi Kotsifou
3 A R T E M IS, H ER F A M IL Y A N D H E R T R I B U L A T I O N S
A rtem is w a s a w id o w , and three papyri from th e e a r ly 2 8 0 s C E fe a tu r e her as a

litigant or petition er on b e h a lf o f her u n d era g e c h ild r e n .12 O n ly in th e o n e q u oted
a b o v e d o es sh e nam e h e r se lf as her c h ild r e n ’s g u a r d ia n ( kedestria), but sh e is
clearly acting in that cap acity in all three e x a m p l e s .13 H er t r o u b le s sta r ted after the
death o f her husband w h en a local n o ta b le in v a d e d h e r h o m e a n d s t o le s o m e o f
her property.14 A lm o st a year after A r te m is s u b m itte d h e r fir s t p e titio n , another
d ocum ent in the a r ch iv e 15 con ta in s p r o c e e d in g s b e f o r e an epistrategos. From
these w e learn that the children in q u estio n are b o y s , oupf|A.iK£<; (u n d e r a g e ), and
that Syrion is still refu sin g to return the s to le n l iv e s t o c k a n d to a p p e a r at court as
he has to be a w ay for b u sin ess. F in a lly , in 2 8 4 C E A r t e m is p e t it io n e d th e p refect
again, because her sister-in -law w a s a v o id in g p a y in g h e r t a x e s a n d A r te m is w as
not able to bear the financial b u rd en .16 S h e b e g s a n d b e s e e c h e s th e p r e fe c t for
ju stic e , and in order to p ro v o k e h is p ity , sh e r e p e a te d ly r e fe r s to h e r un derage
orphaned children and their su fferin g.
4 A R T E M IS ’ P E R S U A S I O N S T R A T E G I E S
4.1 A r o u sa l o f p ity
A ristotle, in his Rhetoric, e x p la in s:17

Let pity, then, be a kind of pain in the case of an apparent destructive or painful harm o f one
not deserving to encounter it, which one might expect oneself, or one of one’s own, to suffer,
and this when it seems near.
M ore im portantly for the p u rp oses o f th is p a p er , w e s h o u ld n o t e th a t G r e e k pity

w a s not an instin ctive resp on se to an oth er p e r s o n ’s p a in , b u t d e p e n d e d o n a ju d g
m ent o f w hether or not the o th er’s s u ffe r in g w a s d e s e r v e d .18 A r t e m i s ’ m e th o d o f
narration is so le ly d e sig n ed to ju s tify that sh e d o e s n o t d e s e r v e h e r s u ffe r in g . H ow
can w e tell that this p etition relates to p ity ? T h e e v id e n c e c o m e s fr o m b oth the
sp e c ific vocabulary it e m p lo y s and the w a y it u n f o ld s its c a s e . R e g a r d in g th e first
p oin t, the co m p o ser o f this d o c u m e n t e m p lo y s v a r io u s te r m s th a t d e n o t e ‘p ity ’.
12 The importance of Artemis’ case is reflected in the interest it has created in contemporary
scholarship. Cf. Parsons 1985; Beaucamp 1990-1992 II; Krause 1995; Arjava 1996; Bagnall
1996: Leans Grubbs 2002; Adams 2006; Kotsifou 2009; Connolly 2010.
13 Leans Grubbs 2002,257.
14 As dekapmtos of that area Syrion was in charge of the crops of the year and for collecting the
relevant taxes for the role of dekatropos see Bagnall 1978, 164; Bagnall and Thomas 1978.
J 5 /' Saiuion 31,
16 I’Sakuon 37
J7 Amtotle Rhetoric 2 8, 1385b 13 16: eoxto 5t) fXeoq Xorni tk; ern (paivojievq) mxko) <p0«pti-
trq> f| /.vjrnptj) xoi> ovoûm 107/6vnv, 6 tco.v uuxcx; npoaSoiajaetev rxv jt«0cTv f| xa>v auxoo
xtvo. Koi xovxo 6x0,v R/.nmov (poivTixoi (translated by Konstan 2006, 131).
J8 Konstan 2001 and Konstan 2006, 201-218
A Glimpse into the World of Petitions: Aurelia Artemisia and her Orphaned Children 321
Widowhood and orphanhood are key ingredients. The latter is mainly, if not ex
clusively, brought into play by women in their persuasion strategies.
Generally speaking, the way petitioners narrate their stories chiefly aims at
justifying pity. Petitioners usually commence their petition by stating that they
know that the prefect is a just judge and a protector of all. Then they describe the
dispute, usually with great detail, assuming that the more details they provide the
more credibility they lend to their case.19 They often contrast the virtues of the
poor with the vices of the rich and powerful. Furthermore, in order to provoke the
pity of the authorities, petitioners employ strong language such as the verb ‘to
despise’ (KoaouppovEO); cf. p. 74 in this volume) or make repeated references to
their unfortunate children, their weak feminine nature, or to their modest lifestyle
if they are men. At the end of the document, some petitioners mention their conti
nued gratitude to the prefect, should he help them attain justice.20 Admittedly,
most of these features are standard formulas in most petitions, but the lengthy
narrations combined with the pity-related vocabulary are not.
All in all, petitions in the beginning of Late Antiquity start to become more
fulsome and elaborate, and the petitioners artfully combine the pitiableness of
their vulnerability as women or men with references to their wealth and status.21
Despite what is stated in these petitions, ultimately many of these women and men
came from well-to-do families and may not have been as vulnerable as they claim.
Their weakness is certainly exaggerated to provoke pity. The fact that most of the
people who feature in these documents belonged to the propertied classes should
always be kept in mind when their role in their families or in society more broadly
is considered. In addition, as Dominic Rathbone has elaborated, these petitioners
were hardly ever alone as they claimed. There must have always been some close
or distant relatives nearby to assist them with the day-to-day business affairs or
any legal matters that might have risen.22 The same applies to Artemis, of course.
Looking specifically at Artemis’ petition, we observe that she petitions the
prefect because sixty o f her deceased husband’s goats and sheep were stolen.23 In
general, she uses exaggeration, repetition of important facts, and a detailed
account o f events; all o f these aspects are deeply immersed in a great deal of
19 Besides credibility, details invite sympathy. Gewirtz 1996, 142, notes that the account of the
suffering of the victim’s survivors in individual cases is a particularization of a generally
foreseeable harm. Particularization, the theorists of storytelling remind us, invites empathetic
concern in a way that abstraction and general rules do not, and encourages appreciation of
complexity.’ Cf. also pp. 67 and I07f. in this volume.
20 For example, P.Col. VII 173 (Karanis, 330-340 CE); P.Diog. 17 (Arsinoite nome, second to
third century CE); P.Oxy. Xll 1470 (Oxyrhynchos, 336 CE); P.Oxy. XIX 2235 (Oxyrhyn-
chos, ca. 346 CE); P.Oxy. XXXIV 2713 (Oxyrhynchos, 297 CE).
21 Kovelman 1991, 135-137. Studies have also show n that the ideal of respecting the rights ol
the weak, the widow, and the orphan flourished in times of decay or at the beginning ot a new
period. Cf. Fensham 1962, 132.
22 Rathbone 2006, 103-105.
23 There might seem to be a discrepancy betw een the high rhetoric of the text and the humble
matter of concern, i.e. theft of only sixty sheep; how ever, that amount of livestock in rural
Egypt in the 280s constituted a considerable piece of property. Cf. Bagnall 1996. 142 -144
322 Chrysi Kotsifou
pathos. S h e stresses her w id o w h o o d a n d th e p o o r sta te o f h e r o r p h a n e d child ren.

N o n eth ele ss, sh e is o b v io u s ly a rich w o m a n w h o b e l o n g s to th e u p p e r c la s s o f
T h ea d elp h ia . H er p etition starts w ith th e sta te m en t:
perceiving of your love of moderation,24 my lord governor, and your care (icr|5e|iov{a) for
all, especially for women and widows, I approach you, thinking myself worthy to receive aid
from you.
A rtem is d o e s n o t sh ow up w ith a kvrios ( m a le g u a r d ia n o r le g a l r e p r e s e n ta tiv e ) in

a n y o f the d o cu m en ts that regard her, s o th is is an a tte m p t to c a s t th e p r e fec t in
th is ro le and ‘o b lig e ’ him to sa fe g u a r d h e r c h ild r e n , in t e r e s t s , a n d p ro p erty . Sh e
a lso u ses va rio u s v io le n t verb s r e la tin g to th e p e r p e tr a to r , s u c h a s a p m ^ e i v
( ‘sn atch a w a y ’), to in d ica te S y r io n ’s a g g r a v a t io n a n d h o s t i l i t y a n d A r t e m is ’ fear
and a n x iety . S h e a lso c la im s that ‘S y r io n b u rst in , e x p l o i t i n g h i s lo c a l p o w e r ’, thus
m a k in g a direct a ss o c ia tio n b e tw e e n sta tu s a n d e m o t io n . In t h is c a s e , th e high
statu s o f the perpetrator in d u c ed h is v io le n t a c ts a n d n e g a t i v e f e e l i n g s o f co n tem p t
tow ards A rtem is.
M o st im p ortan tly, A r te m is m a k e s r e p e a te d r e f e r e n c e s to h e r in fa n t ch ild ren .
In th e co u rse o f this o n e p e titio n , s h e m e n t io n s h e r c h ild r e n fo u r tim e s ! T h e term
‘in fa n t’ (vr|;no<;) is m o st c e r ta in ly a n o th e r e x a g g e r a t io n s i n c e in h e r s e c o n d p eti
tio n 25 a y ea r later at th e m o st, A r t e m is ’ c h ild r e n are r e fe r r e d to a s ‘m in o r s ’ (atpf|-
Tliice^). T he form er term referred to c h ild r e n a g e d a p p r o x im a t e ly 3 to 7 , w h ile the
latter to ch ild ren or j u v e n ile s a g e d fro m 1 3 - 1 5 to 2 5 . 26 T h is c h a n g e o b v io u s ly
c o u ld not h a v e h ap p en ed in the c o u r s e o f a y e a r . A fin a l p o s s i b l e e x a g g e r a tio n is
her in d ica tio n that i f sh e r e c e iv e s j u s t ic e , s h e a n d h e r c h ild r e n w i l l n o t h a v e to
a b a n d on T h ea d elp h ia. B e c o m in g a f u g it iv e d u e to u n ju s tly i m p o s e d d e b ts w a s
a n o th er c o m m o n th e m e fr eq u e n tly u sed in p e t it io n s fo r p ity .
A r te m is’ len g th y narration a ls o le n d s i t s e l f to t h e t o o l s o f n a r r a to lo g y in an
a d d itio n a l w a y , C o n tem p o ra ry s tu d ie s o f a n c ie n t G r e e k lite r a tu r e , n a r r a to lo g y , and
th e ro le o f tim e h ave n o te d that ‘r h y th m ’ (th a t is , d u r a tio n a n d s p e e d ) r e fe r s to the
a m o u n t o f tim e w h ic h is d e v o te d to an e v e n t in t h e s t o r y a s c o m p a r e d to that in
th e fabula. ‘T ab u la’ is d e fin e d a s all e v e n t s w h ic h a r e r e c o u n t e d in th e story,
a b stracted from their d is p o s itio n in th e te x t and r e c o n s tr u c t e d in their
c h r o n o lo g ic a l order.27 S in c e in p r a c tic e it is v e r y d i f f i c u lt to m e a s u r e v a r ia tio n s in
a ctu a l tim e b e tw e en fab u la and sto r y , th e r h y th m o f a n a r r a tiv e is u s u a lly d e fin e d
in term s o f th e am ou n t o f text d e v o t e d to an e v e n t . T h e m o r e l in e s d e d ic a t e d to an
e v e n t, the m ore im p o rta n ce p la c e d o n th is e v e n t .28 T h e r e f o r e in A r t e m i s ’ c a s e , to
w h at c o u ld h a v e b een d e sc r ib e d in o n e lin e ( n a m e l y , S y r io n s t o l e m y h u sb a n d ’s
a n im a ls a fter h is d ea th ), A r te m is d e d ic a t e s at le a s t f if t e e n lin e s ! T h is is anoth er
p lo y u sed to str ess the im p o r ta n c e o f h er c a s e , th e v i o le n t n a tu r e o f th e th e ft, and
her w o rry and fear.
24 For the ambiguous use and role o f ‘moderation’ in petitions, see Kotsifou forthcoming.
25 /' Sakuun 31
26 Fnn/ing 2009, 20
27 fJe Jong 2007, 10
2k tit Jong 2007, 11
A Glimpse into the World o f Petitions: Aurelia Artemisia and her Orphaned Children 323
4.2 Reciprocity and rationality
It is also noteworthy that Artemis is attempting with this petition a combination of

emotional display and rationality. Besides all the emotional ‘drama’ she recounts,
she also stresses that it is not only out of personal gain that she is petitioning this
case but out of her wish to be able to pay her taxes and make good her responsi
bilities towards the state. She also directly castigates Syrion’s abuse of power, by
stressing the fact that he took her property ‘exploiting his local power’. This
attitude is even more evident in the way she addresses the authorities that will
judge her case. Various epithets are employed in order to remind the judge of his
good qualities and that he is and should be acting according to the laws and as a
protector for the weak.29 Similar expressions are found in all of the petitions in the
Sakaon archive. While in her second petition30 the standard official title of the
governor, ‘the most eminent prefect’ (biaaripoTaxo^ ryyeiKov) is used, in the
petition we have discussed here the prefect is addressed with praising epithets that
appeal to his pride. He is called ‘my lord, prefect’ (beorcoxa poo, pycpcov) and
‘the lord and benefactor of all’ (tcupioc; kou tkxvtcdv euepyex-nq). Other petitions in
the archive address the governor with expressions such as ‘your revered valor’,
‘your virtue’, and ‘your clemency’.31 Thus, the petitioner appeals to the go
vernor’s pride, at the same time indirectly reminding him of the importance of
reciprocity in the relations between subjects and authorities.
At the end o f the document Artemis stresses the fact that if she receives
justice, she will always acknowledge her thanks to the prefect. Ultimately, this
action can have two-fold benefit for the authorities. Firstly, it provides publicity
for the prefect’s benevolence and justice, and secondly it will increase people’s
faith in the effectiveness o f the legal system, that is, of the petitions.
Roger Bagnall further points out that widowhood in fourth century CE peti
tions simply did not have the central role it held in the later texts, and that even
women with living and present husbands would submit petitions. There was a
much lesser tendency to cite widowhood as a factor in being a victim or as
something the officials should take into consideration. Arguments (however valid
and fair) were made more directly on the basis of law and actions.32
29 Widows and orphans have been in need of protection since ancient times. Regarding the
ancient period, Fensham 1962, 139, notes that the attitude taken against widows, orphans, and
the poor is to be looked at from a legal background. These people had no, or in some cases
possibly restricted, rights. They were almost outlaws. Anyone could oppress them without
danger that legal connections might endanger his position. To restore the balance ot society
these people had to be protected. Therefore, it was necessary to sanction their protection by
direct command of the god and to make it the virtue of kings. For the status ot widows and
the care of their children in the Roman period, see Evans Grubbs 2002.48t.
30 P.Sakaon 31.
31 P.Sakaon 38 and 42: aKataippovnTo^ avSpia; P.Sakaon 40 and 41: dperrt; PSiikiion 46 and
47: (pikavGptonm.
32 Bagnall 2004, 57.
324 Chrvsi Kotsifou
5 GENDER AND STATUS
PapvToJogical data provide us with the rare opportunity to study emotions, events,
people, and their paperwork as they are preserved in archives or dossiers. Thus,
the association of emotions with gender or status - although it can still be raised
by a single document such as a petition - is further highlighted and clarified if we
look at a group of texts from the same collection. Therefore, a comparison
between the petitions that were submitted by Artemis and Sakaon during the same
era is very' fruitful. Artemis and Sakaon petition the same local authorities with
similar complaints: the theft o f livestock and problems with tax-collectors. It is
also very probable that the same scribes composed the respective documents. An
examination of the emotional phraseology o f the texts reveals, though, that
Artemis always requests pity and justice while Sakaon always requests vengeance
and justice. This phenomenon could be due to Artem is’ gender, her lower social
status relative to that of Sakaon, or a combination o f both.33
Revenge is associated with anger; and anger is mainly - perhaps only -
demonstrated by the powerful.34 Sakaon and his co-workers belonged to the upper
crust of village society. For all their complaints, they were relatively well-off
landowners with diverse economic interests and the means to pay petition writers
and even to travel to the prefect’s court on occasion. A survey o f other preserved
petitions from villagers confirms the impression that they came from the pro
pertied classes.35 Status was a crucial factor in determ ining how a person would
argue his or her case. As Jill Harries explains, the inadequacies and injustices in
Roman law towards the underprivileged made their means o f rendering legal
redress both unattractive and dangerous. Harries notes that ‘the dispossessed, if
without power, surely would have minimized the risk to themselves and sought
restitution rather than revenge’.36 It is very possible that the lack o f allusions to
revenge reflect the real or alleged low status o f the petitioner. It would be an
exaggeration to claim that everything mentioned in these petitions is sheer
rhetoric. The names of our petitioners (mainly Aurelia and Aurelius) indicate their
low status, as recipients and descendants o f recipients o f Roman citizenship with
the Constitutio Antoninianu of 212 CE.37 In general, petitions from the fourth
century CE - especially ones concerning women - come from a wider social and
cultural range than do later ones.
But Artemis does not get discouraged either by her gender or her status.
Instead she uses her ‘assets’ in order to achieve her goals. Finley explains that
33 A notable exception can be found in a petition a few decades later: P.Amh. II 141 (350 CE) is
a petition to the praepo,situs pagux by a woman complaining of an assault committed on her
by her brother and his wife After she gives a detailed account of the event, the petitioner
explains that she, being a weak widow woman, cannot rest or relax any more (due to worry
and anger), and requests that the praepositus takes revenge on her behalf.
34 Harris 2001. 139f.
35 BagrialJ I W , I67f , Adams 2006, I Oft.
.36 Harries 2006, 09 < I. pp. 115 NX in this volume.
37 Keenan 1973
A G lim pse into the World of Petitions: Aurelia Artemisia and her Orphaned Children 325
law is, among other things, a language, a form of discourse and a system though which
meanings are reflected and constructed and cultural practices organized. Law is a language of
power, a particularly authoritative discourse. ... Legal language reinforces certain world views
and understandings of events. ... In light of this power, those who seek to use law to help
empower and positively change the status of a group, such as women, must in their theory
and practice be concerned with the origins, nature, and structure of legal language and legal
reasoning. To tame the beast you must know the beast. Thus, a crucial project for feminist
law history must be to ask constantly and critically who has been involved in shapin^law, in
selecting and defining its terms, and in deciding what is and is not one of those terms. 8
Therefore Artemis, working within the limitations set for her by society and its
laws, uses emotional display and a direct appeal to pity in order to achieve the
prefect’s empathy.3839 It is relevant that her petition address the civil authorities and
not a monarch. She can ultimately expect more empathy from the judge of her
case if he is a prefect and not a king or emperor. Therefore, the scribe of her
document can afford to use more expressions of emotion.40
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39 I use ‘empathy’ here the way it is defined by Henderson: Empathy is 1) feeling the emotion of
another; (2) understanding the experience or situation of another, both affectively and
cognitively, often achieved by imagining oneself to be in the position of the other; and (3)
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40 On the differences as to how one addresses a king or civil servant in a petition, see White
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White, J. L. (1972) The Form and Structure o f the Official Petition, Missoula, Montana.
MAKE OR BREAK DECISIONS
The Archaeology of Allegiance in Ephesos
Jane Masseglia
INTRODUCTION
Having already identified three forms of emotional response towards archaeologi

cal evidence (emotions of Physicality, Image, and Use; see pp. 141-143), this
chapter focuses on the latter. It examines three different processes, construction,
destruction, and adaptation, which could change the significance of objects and
spaces, and endeavours to show how they shaped both the visual and social land
scape in antiquity. Following from the more recognisably interpersonal paradigm
of honorific portraiture and its dedication, this chapter also considers the impor
tance of archaeological spaces in the study of emotions. By placing these very
different phenomena side-by-side, it demonstrates how both sculpture and spaces
were used in very similar ways to express personal relationships and political al
legiances within their community. By drawing on evidence from Ephesos, on the
Aegean coast of modem Turkey, it also considers some of the contributions made
and challenges posed by using archaeological evidence in the emotional study of a
geographically-defined community.
2 CONSTRUCTION
Reconstructing the appearance, location, and function of sculptural displays in

Ephesos is not easy. The city had a long tradition of repairing and recycling its
stone monuments, making the original contexts of many honorific statues difficult
to determine.1 But, seen in more general terms, the very existence of such sculp
tures at Ephesos, wherever they are finally excavated, is significant enough: they
are items that required the investment of time and money in their construction,
inconveniences which were overcome by the desire to obtain certain results.
Here ‘construction’ is not simply the act of creating the statue, but rather the
combination of factors which affected its display and message, such as what it
looked like, where it stood, and how it was dedicated, referred to, and used. Evi
dence for this construction of honorific portrait statuary comes in three forms: the
1 Aurenhammer 1990, 17.

Jane Mass^glia
130
Figure 1. Plan of excavated remains at Ephesos.

Make or Break Decisions: The Archaeolo
gy of Allegiance in Ephesos
/ modern
s e l <;uk
1-3 Harbor Gate* 38 G a te o f H ad rian

4 Warehouses 39 Latrine
5 A r k a d i i n c / S t r e e t o f A r c a d ia *
4 0 B a th s o f V a riia /S c b o ia stik ia Bath.*
6 B y z a n t in e c i t y w a il
41 S o -c a lle d T em p le o f H adrian
7 Monument of the Four Evangelist* 43 H ero o n o f A ndroid os
8 H a r b o r B a ih s / B a i h s o f t h e E m p e ro r
4 4 H ero o n o f A nunod IV /O ctafcm
9 Harbor Gymnisiutn/Gymflfcuum of the Emperor* 45 S lo p e H ouse 2
10 "Xystoi" of the Harbor Gymnasium 46 S lope H o u se I
13 Church of Mary 49 F o u n ta in o f T rajan
14 Southern Stoa of the temeoosof the Olympieion 51 G ate o f H erak les
15 Temple of Hadrian Olympioa/Olympieioo 52 M cf& m h* M oon m e at
16 ‘TelsspaUtempcl'' 53 T em p le o f the F lavian S e b a x to ^ T e m p te o f D o flu b aa’
1 7 H e l l e n i s ti c c ity w a ll 56 S tale A g o rv T e m e n o c o f D ivus Jultua aad D ea Rom a
1 8 M a c e llu m 58 T em p le o f D ivua M ru x and D ea R o n a /T cm p le o f b o p )
19 Vedius Gymnasium 59 T o m b o f S cxtiliua PolU o/Fountain o f Bollio
2 0 N o r th e r n G a te 6 0 Fountain o f C laneaniiM B aauvH ydrefcdochetott
2 1 S ta d iu m 61 Prytaneion
2 2 L a te a n tiq u e fo u n ta in 6 2 F e n tfy tc w k h double m o n u n e a u
24 Theater Gymnasium 63 B ouleu ten o n
2 5 T h e a t e r P la z a 64 B asilike Stoa
2 6 T h e a te r 6 5 U pper gym nasium
2 7 F .m b o lo V C u r e te s S tre e t 66 S urge tank o f M a m as A queduct/M ocuraeniai Foumam
2 8 N e r o n ic H a ll 67 F o untain on tec to a d to the M agne& an Gate
29 Marble Street 68 T om h o f Luke
3 0 V c tra g o n o s A g o ra 69 E ast G ym nasium
31 W e s t G a te o f T e tra g o o o s A gora 70 M agnesian G ale
3 2 S tr e e t fro m ih e w e s t g a te o f th e T e tri g o o o s A gora 7) S even S te e p e n
3 3 S a r a p c io n 72 K ybete Sanctuary
3 4 G a te o f M a z a c u s a n d M U h rid a te i 74 A rtem isioo
3 5 L ib r a r y o f C e ls u s 75 fcabey M oaqne
3 6 A H ar o f A rte m is a t th e T rto d o a 78 C hurch o f St. John
37 H a r b o r e x c a v a tio n ( 5 0 0 m )
332 Jane M a sseg lia
statuary itself, contingent evidence such as plinths and dedicatory inscriptions,

and literary accounts,2 Ephesos has a sufficiency o f all these forms of evidence to
reveal a long history of constructing figurative images to signify, and moreover
manipulate, its emotional relationship with individuals.3
2.1. Dedications, declarations, obligations
The use of statues to denote allegiance was a social phenomenon familiar to

Pausanias, the travel writer of the second century CE:4
When Alkibiades and the Athenian warships were in strength around Ionia, most of the loni-
ans paid court to him, and there is a bronze portrait-statue of Alkibiades in Hera’s sanctuary
on Samos; but when the Athenian fleet was taken at Aigospotamoi [405 BCE], the Samians
dedicated Lysander at Olympia and the Ephesians dedicated in the sanctuary of Artemis not
only Lysander but Eteonikos and Pharax and other Spartans that hardly any Greek has ever
heard of. Yet when the balance tipped again and Konon won the sea-battle off Knidos and
Mount Dorion [394 BCE], the lonians changed sides, and you can see a bronze Konon and
Timotheos dedicated to Hera on Samos in the same way throughout the ages, and all mankind
are like the lonians: they pay court to the strongest.
The mimesis of a person’s body, set up by a community in a durable medium and

publically displayed, manifests their wish for that person to be identified as one of
them, literally among them.5 The ostensible emotions in Pausanias’ account are
positive, connected with value (such as admiration), manifested in the Samians’
choice of bronze, and the uniformly prestigious locations o f the constructions in
the major sanctuaries.6 Here we also see the significance o f space: the exclusivity
of the sanctuary area enhances the positive associations o f the statuary and so too
the relationship between the two parties. But the motivating emotion behind these
dedications, Pausanias hints, is fear. The lonians shift allegiance in order to avoid
conflict with the strongest. Similarly, his choice of verb (Geparceueiv; ‘to serve’,
‘to pay court to’) implies the inequality of power, which made the Ionians anxious
to please.
In cities like Ephesos, this combination o f images and prestigious spaces to
construct positive relationships is particularly evident in the case o f the Roman
2 For exemplary studies in combining these different forms of evidence, see Smith 1993; Ma
2007; Smith, Dillon, Hallett, Lenaghan, and Van Voorhis 2006, Lenaghan 2008.
3 Cf. Ma 2007, 203.
4 Pausanias, 6.3.15 16 (transited by Peter Levi).
5 On statuary as ‘replacement’ tor the absent, see Steiner 2001, 3 -76; cf. Hcrodian 5.6.3-5 on
the Emperor Meliogabalus’ allegiance with the Semitic goddess Astarte through a marriage
ceremony with her statue Hersey 2009, 31, 82; cf. Ma 2010, on this phenomenon with the
agency reversed, as a means lor Hellenistic kings to assert their power (one is reminded of
(/ell’s Distributed Person’; Gell 1998, 96-154). On art and absence in Ephesos in particular,
sec Pogers 1991,91 95; Schowalter 1999, 123.
6 To give out the right message, a dedication required both the right appearance and location. In
bis account of an ugly but well-oriented portrait of Hadrian he has seen in Cappadocia, Arrian
U'eriftlus I 3 4) urges the emperor to send something ‘worthy’ (ax ins) to replace it. Ma 2010,
163
Make or Break Decisions: The Archaeology o f Allegiance in Fphesos 333
imperial cult, where the blurred distinction between honours for a political domi-
nus and for a divinity resulted in imperial portraits within temples themselves.
Simon Price’s study of the phenomenon suggests that despite the very positive
connotations of such a spatial construction, there was often a careful distinction
between the earthly divinities and the traditional ones, with emperors subordi
nated, if only sometimes subtly, from the gods proper.7 In Ephesos, this explana
tion could account for the sanctuary area around the Temple of Artemis, to the
North-East of the city (figure 1, no. 74), which contains separate and distinct Im
perial buildings and constructions; so too for the so-called Temple of Hadrian
(figure 1, no. 41) on the so-called ‘Kouretes Street’, in front of which statues of
later emperors were displayed,8 which may have been dedicated to Artemis with
in.9 Such a spatial distinction would suggest a degree of socially-constructed anxi
ety (or one could also say piety or modesty) in the placement of imperial portrai
ture, with both relative proximity and size used as a means to communicate rela
tive importance. This phenomenon, however, is understood slightly differently by
Steven Friesen in the context of sanctuary spaces; he observes a distinction not
between traditional gods and emperors, but between the principal deity of a sanc
tuary and those introduced as ‘guests’.10 This interpretation fits well with the con
struction o f both statuary and space in the sanctuary of the Sebastoi at Ephesos,
where, in a reversal of the ‘Temple of Hadrian’ construction, sculpted images of
‘traditional’ gods appear to have stood in front of the temple dedicated to the im
perial cult.11 If Steven Friesen is correct, then we also have a two-tier model of
response to imperial portraiture constructed in the sanctuary space at Ephesos: one
when the emperor is the principal deity, another when he is a member of the ‘sup
porting cast’. But if such a strict programme of hierarchical positioning is too
dogmatic for varied cultic practices of the wider Roman Empire (which I suspect
it may be), it is nonetheless noteworthy that the placing of imperial portraits in
close proximity to those of gods, is an easily understood expression of power and
stability intended to inspire admiration in the viewer.12
A similar use of privileged space to express positive relationships is implicit
in the inscription recording the benefaction of the Roman equestrian C. Vibius
Salutaris to Ephesos in 104 CE.13 Among his many gifts to the city, the instruction
regarding twenty-nine gold and silver type-statues is not simply remarkable for
7 Price 1984, 146-156, esp. 147.

8 Roueehe 2009, 160, and passim on the imperial monuments and inscriptions of kouretes
Street; Thiir 2009, on the current state of research on the area.
9 Price 1984 149f.
10 Friesen 1993,73-75, 146-148.
11 Ibid. 75.
12 For a more flexible arrangement, compare the temple of Apollo ktarios at Sagalassos (SW
Turkey) co-dedicated to the imperial cult; see Talloen and Waelkens 2004. 175-177. For lo
cal sculptural programmes outside Asia Minor, compare the mixture of imperial portraits and
divine images so-called ‘Augusteum’ at Narona (Vid in Croatia): Mann 2001.
13 1. Ephesos 2 7; Rogers 1991, Append ix 1.
334 Jane Masseglia
the lavishness of material stipulated or their great number.14 Great stress is also
plaeed on the specific spaces in which these constructions should be displayed.
Portrait statues of Trajan and Plotina, we are told, are ‘to be placed in the assem
bly meetings above the sector of the Boule. together with the gold statue of Arte
mis and the other images’.15 This indicates the seating area within the assembly
space - which in Ephesos was the theatre (figure I, no. 26) specially designated
for members of the city council. The theatre itself is a powerful choice of venue
for display, a place of both civic and political significance which lends a sense of
communal approval to these sculptural constructions.16 The positioning of the
statues behind the seats of the theatron (or Latin cavea), as opposed to the niches
of the theatre exterior or of the skene building,17 also suggests their integration
into (and therefore allegiance with) the citizen body: they are placed in the posi
tion of spectators.18The further refinement of this placement to the Boule seats in
particular, effectively combines the flattering implications of this civic camarade
rie with the honorific implications of political weight and distinction.19
In the same foundation inscription, Salutaris also stipulates that the statues are
to be earned through the streets of Ephesos in a circular route from the temple of
Artemis to the great theatre and back.20 The treatment of the statues reflects the
privileged status of the individual they depict: not only are they carried (subordi
nating the carriers), but the implied message is publicised more broadly by mov
ing through the streets and interacting with the Ephesians.21 Such behaviour and
use of space communicates to a larger number of people in a brief amount of time
a ‘short and sharp’ emotional experience22 very different from those engendered
by statues erected in a fixed spot which became a familiar part of the city’s visual
landscape.23 Such a procession also had an additional connotation, one con-
14 On the statues and their identity, Rogers 1991,83 and Table 9. On the Ephesian appreciation
of the relationship between precious metal and the honour done to the depicted, see Acts of
the Apostles 19.23-41 (Demetrias the silversmith).
15 I Ephesos 27 lines 156-158; Rogers 1991, 159 (lines 157-159); Gebhard 1996, 121-123.
16 On the widespread use of the theatres as venues for political, not simply theatrical, aggran
disement in the Hellenistic and Roman periods, see Gebhard 1983 and Chaniotis 2007, esp.
49
17 Which, by the Imperial period, provided ample opportunity for the display of honorific statu
ary: Gebhard 1983,69.
18 Gebhard 1996,122f., 127.
19 Cf I.Ephesos 27 lines 468f., stipulating that a statue of Athena Pammousos should be dedi
cated to Artemis and to the patdes (the age-class of the boys) of the Ephesians, and should be
set up at every regular assembly above the blocks where the paiJes sit’. It is significant that
the statue is dedicated to the same group who are sitting below.
20 Rogers 1991, 80 126, 1951'.. figs. I -2; Gebhard 1996, 122.
21 ( I. the ritual procession of imperial images during the festival at Gytheion in Sparta in the
first century CF SE(i XI 923; Gebhard 1983,67f.; Chaniotis 2007, 52f.
22 Schowalter 1999, 123 ‘the emperor’s image got up and came to you ... in a way that de
manded your attention, ’
23 Die statues were not to be permanently on display, but brought out during assemblies
U Ephesos 27 lines 157, 468 and 476). I he type-statues of the goddess were stored in the
pronaos of her temple (lines 553 568)
Make or Break Decisions: The Archaeology ol Allegiance in Lphesos 335
strutted through association and repetition within the community: it was a ritual
familiar in the worship of deities.24
And yet, while the performance of honorific acts may seem emotionally one
sided, restricted to displays by the subordinate party, they are, in fact, only made
successful by the construction of mutual obligation with the honorand. In
Pausanias’ account of the fifth-century lonians, the dedication of statuary is in
tended as a form of protection based on gratitude and reciprocity (that is, ‘we
hope you won’t hurt us if we’re good to you’). While for the lonians the fear was
of war and invasion, the very same phenomenon of mutual obligation is very visi
ble in Ephesos in the Imperial period in the recognition of euergetism (civic bene
faction), where the risk was not bloodshed, but that such generosity might not be
repeated. Similarly, the vocabulary of thanks-inscriptions can often be seen to
maintain not only the relationship between the immediate benefactor and the com
munity, but also the overall system of euergetism through observing certain emo
tional protocols which encourage its continuation. The lines conventionally given
over in Hellenistic and Roman inscriptions to expressions of hope and encour
agement (the hortative formula)25 can be explicit in their intention to encourage
other citizens to emulate the recent benefaction26 And so in Ephesos we find this
conventional hortative formula in Aquillius Proculus’ addition to thanks offered to
Salutaris for his generous foundation:27
1 rejoice with you [i.e. the Ephesians] for having praised this man, and deemed him worthy of
rightful commendation from us, so that there might also be more who, according to their
means, are enthusiastic (7tpo0\)|ioijpevoO to do similar things.
2.2 Construction, ambition, and piety
This notion o f obligation in the face of benefaction is also evident in another ac
count of a constructed space in Ephesos, although with a very different outcome.
After the Temple o f Artemis had been destroyed by the fanatical Herostratos in
356 BCE,2829Alexander the Great’s offer to rebuild it was declined by the Ephe
sians, sensitive to the price of gratitude:2**
And [Artemidoros says], Alexander offered to undertake both the expenses already incurred
and any future ones, on condition that he would have the inscription [i.e. the credit]. But the
Ephesians were no more willing to do this, than they would have been to gain glory by sacri
lege and spoliation. He [Artemidoros] also praises the Ephesian who replied to the king, that
it was 'not proper for a god to make dedications to gods’.
24 E.g. the Dionysos statue in the procession of at the Ptolemaia in Alexandria: Athenaios 200d;
Caspari 1933; Rice 1983; Rogers 199 1, 80. For the carrying of statues see also l Magnesia
100; l.Ephesos 2.
25 Pouilloux I960, 18 and 23; Henry 1996; McLean (2002) 22If. See p. 13 in this volume.
26 Mai 999,2371'.; Lambert 2011, 1*94-197.
27 I.Ephesos 27 lines 350-353 - Rogers 1991, 172f.. with English translation.
28 Valerius Maximus 8.14.5, who attributes it to 'desire for glory”; of. Thomas 2004, 145;
Scherrer 1995, 17.
29 Strabo 14.1.22 (my translation).
336 Jane Masseg/ia
Not only is the Ephesians' refusal of Alexander’s offer remarkable as a record of

an unrealised benefaction, but also as a careful construction of refusal, one which
conceals the Ephesians’ negative emotions and presents instead a justification
based on piety.30 Piety is a useful emotional position in the regulation of social
interaction, and one that we find frequently in the context of euergetism at Ephe-
sos. Not only can a claim to piety counter unwelcome behaviour (such as the case
with Alexander),31 but it can also justify the welcome kind. In this way, the so-
called vStoa of Damianos’ (figure 2) was constructed over the Sacred Way to the
Temple of Artemis in the late second to early third centuries CE, and justified by
Philostratos (a pupil of the eponymous benefactor) as service to the goddess, as
serting that ’the idea behind the construction was that the worshippers would not
stay aw'ay from the temple whenever it rains’.32
Figure 2. Reconstructed view of the Stoa of Damianos.

It is evident in Philostratos’ account of Damianos’ life that, if a flattering picture
was to be painted, a balance had to be struck between stressing the material desir
ability of wealth, and the moral desirability of piety and altruism. The stoa was a
considerable technical and financial undertaking, measuring more than 2.5 km in
length, entirely in marble, and was, on completion, dedicated to Damianos’ wife
(not the goddess). At the end of this route, inside the temple itself, Damianos de
dicated a lavish banqueting hall in his own name. These details might smack of
ostentation, were it not for Philostratos’ regular reminders of the wider public ad
vantage of his benefactions: he gave to the poor, he gave to the state, he gave to
his friends and, in building the stoa, he gave to the goddess. The explanation that
the primary motive was to benefit the goddess and her worship places a different
emotional spin on the construction. This is not to suggest that this pious motiva
tion was false: rain was a strong possibility at this time, a period of frequent rain
fall and flooding.33 Hut Philostratos’ account gives an excellent insight into the
30 Murphy-0 Connor 2008,23f.

3J Cf. Salutans Foundation Decree (LKphesos 27 line 217), in which any administrative chan
ges to his stipulations, which we might consider secular concerns, are prohibited as hierosylia
(sacrilege) and usebeia (irnpiety).
32 Fhilostratos, Lives of the Sophnls 2.23 I (605); Scherrer 1095,64; Knibbe 2002, 56f.
33 Vetters 1995 and Knibbe 2002, 57 note 17, on the effect of a volcanic eruption on the climate
in the second century ( f.
Make or Break Decisions: The Archaeology of Allegiance in Ephesos 337
kind of ‘emotional negotiation’ which went on within the complex system of civic
benefactions in Ephesos. Pride, gratitude, fear, envy, and admiration were built
into the stoa from the moment the first stone was laid.
Another particularly rich seam of evidence for the emotions of honorific be
haviour is the competition between the cities of Asia Minor for the acquisition of
city titles, especially those relating to the acquisition of a temple to the imperial
Cult which brought with it the much-coveted status of neokoros,34 That civic pride
was felt specifically in relation to other cities is implicit in the use of city titles in
Asia Minor.35 The full implication of the title ‘twice neokoros’ for example, em
ployed by the Ephesians on coins and in inscriptions,36 can only be understood
when we observe the response of the wider emotional community: on receiving a
second imperial cult in CE 114, the Pergamenes responded by declaring them
selves ‘the first and twice neokoros’.37 While such competition is ostensibly criti
cal of other cities, expressions of civic pride and superiority are dependent on a
respect for their neighbours as meaningful competition. Such displays of pride and
anxiety, therefore, not only established social relationships but could even be seen
as contributions to the wider stability of the region.38
The abstract notion of civic competition is given physical form in the archaeo
logical material. Most prestigious of these manifestations is the designated space
and architectural realisation of the imperial temples themselves. The site of the
temple to the Flavian Sebastoi (the Sebasteion) at Ephesos (figure 1, no. 53) com
bined an impressive elevated position with the powerful associations of the nearby
political heart of the city.39 An expression of pride in this kind of built space is
evident in the numismatic evidence, where we find depictions of temple facades
used as symbols of the city, where the bee symbol of Ephesian Artemis had once
sufficed.40 Even more interesting are those Ephesian coins where space is inten
tionally distorted, and proportions manipulated in order to present a scene with
several, equally-sized temples in the same view. Two such coins in the British
Museum (figures 3a-b) are examples of spatial reality subordinated to symmetri
cal composition and the desire to inspire admiration in the viewer. We are pre
sented with artificial constructions, placing three (figure 3a) and even four (figure
3b) temples in a single vista. Intended for the eyes of both Ephesian and foreigner,
34 See Friesen 1993, 236-239 for a critique of the existing scholarship relating to the motiva
tions of this competition, including notions of vanity, patriotism, and anxiety. On competition
to be a neokoros, see Tacitus, Annals 4.55, on eleven cities competing for the Temple dedica
ted to Tiberius in CE 23; Rogers 1991, 10.
35 Heller 2006, esp. 283-342.
36 Friesen 1993, 561'.; Burrell 2004, 59f.
37 Friesen 1993, 58. Cf. the numismatic competition between the cities of Perge and Side: Bur
rell 2004, 176f.; Heller 2006, 287. See also pp. 306-308 in this volume.
38 Price 1984, 64f„ 132; Friesen 1995, 239; Heller 2006, 14f.
39 Friesen 1993, 65-69; Biguzzi 1998, 287f.: ‘the selection of sites as hidden persuader.'
40 On bees in Ephesian religious titles, Pausanias 8.13.1; I.Ephesos 2109; Ransome 1937, 57-
60; cf. a coin showing a temple facade surrounded by bees (the symbol of Ephesos): London
British Museum 1973.5-1-4; Burrell 2004, 60f„ tig. 67. On the role of bees in the founding of
nearby Smyrna, and their attachment to Ionia, see Philostratos, Imagines 2.8.6.
338 Jane Masseglia
these coins stress the greatness of a city of origin which enjoys a combination of
divine and imperial favour, and express a civic pride in implicit competition with
neighbouring cities. A comparison with the real positions of the temples in the
Upper Agora41 reveals no such vista. Instead these numismatic ‘re-constructed
constructions' are evidence of a hierarchy: expressions of pride and competition,
over spatial reality.
Figure 3a-b. Ephesian coins showing multiple temple facades. Left, coin of
Septimius Severus, showing temple of Artemis Ephesia between the temples of Domitian and
Hadrian. Inscribed EOEIIQN riPQTQN AZIAI (‘Of the Ephesians, foremost of Asia’);
right, coin of Elagabalus, showing four temple facades. Inscribed n POTON A IIA I A ll NEOK
EOEIION (‘Of the Ephesians, foremost of Asia [and] twice neokoroi’).
2.3 Constructions and Emotional Hierarchies
This notion of hierarchy is also evident in the cities’ architectural remains. In an

urban area such as Ephesos, the construction of something new inevitably often
meant the destruction of an existing object or space. This prioritisation of con
struction also gives us evidence for a corresponding hierarchy of emotions. Build
ings (including domestic housing) on the Western edge of the Upper Agora, for
example, were dismantled in order to allow the construction of the terrace which
supported the Sebasteion (figure 1, no. 53), and redevelopment of the surrounding
area.42 Motivations for keeping the district as it was (e.g. love of one’s home, fear
of change, etc.) were, in the official reckoning, subordinate to those which drove
the construction of the Temple (e.g. those concerning competition with neighbour
41 Or 'Upper Square’, 'State Agora’ or ‘The lemenos of Divus Julius and Dea Roma’. See Price
1984, 139 fig. 3 (plan); Scherrer 2004, 5 (on identification); Friesen 1993, 59 fig. 2 (plan);
Knibbe 1981 (~Eorschun%en m Ephesos IX.2), fig. 71 (detailed plan of north side).
42 1riesen 1991,69 f; Scherrer 2004, 9.
Make or Break Decisions: The Archaeology of Allegiance in Ephesos 339
ing cities, desire to please the Emperor, etc.). We have, however, no record of any
such objections. The positivist nature of archaeological evidence on its own gives
instead a picture of unanimity.
A related, but more puzzling emotional hierarchy is evident in the site of the
‘Library of Celsus’ built in around 120 CE (figure 1, no. 35),43 and the neighbour
ing enclosure of the so-called Sarapieion, in the West of the city (figure 1, no. 33).
They are located in an area of the city dedicated to leisure, including the theatre,
baths, and gymnasia. And yet the placement of these two buildings on the South
ern end of this complex also prevents easy access from the city to the Sacred Way
to Ortygia, which ran to the North-West. Indeed, it appears that the so-called Sara
pieion was constructed directly on top of a former incarnation of the route.44 In an
inversion of the emotional hierarchy implicit in the construction of the Sebasteion,
this appears to be a subordination of religious space to the civic. It is unlikely that
this represented a determined choice on the part of the Ephesians to demote
Artemis Ortygia, since access to the Sacred Way could be gained from a different
location. But it is clear that a change in priorities had taken place, and a more
useful interpretation would be that esteem for the dead proconsul Celsus,45 or
greater desire for the development of this district as a location for impressive civic
amenities, was greater than the attachment to the original path of the Sacred Way.
3 DESTRUCTION
The case of the Sacred Way to Ortygia highlights the difficulties in distinguishing
between destruction and neglect. We might suppose that the former entailed a
concerted effort, and the latter not; or that destruction implied a source of great
interest, and neglect the contrary. But it is not necessarily the case that neglect can
be equated with a lack of interest or a decrease in the value of the object or space.
Even neglect (as the story of the Oath of Plataia demonstrates; see p. 137) can be
an emotionally-driven and consciously undertaken social act in certain circum
stances.
Violent destruction of honorific objects and spaces, on the other hand, is one
of the most recognisable metaphors for a shift in an interpersonal relationship.
Just as the construction of statuary, architecture, and privileged areas can be used
to forge positive ties, destruction can be used to dissolve them and to express
negative emotions. The particular manner in which the destruction occurs (e.g. by
fire, water, hammer blow, as part of a planned or impromptu act, etc.) is signifi
cant, with the object or space as a form of physical substitute for the absent party.
43 Housing the tomb of Ti. Julius Celsus Polemaeanus, proconsul of Asia in 105-107 CE, and
also functioning as a library; Rogers 190], 98; Scherrer 1995, 132-134 and2004, 10-12,
44 Scherrer 2004, 11.
45 Both of his son who commissioned it and the city that ‘housed’ it.
340 Jane Masseglia
Whether this amounts to ‘volt-sorcery’46 or simply metaphor is difficult to deter

mine (see p. 135 in this volume), so similar are the manifestations in the archaeo
logical evidence (see p. 142 in this volume).
3.1 Destruction and Textual evidence
The complication in studying the archaeology of destruction in its absolute form,

however, is that there are. ipso facto, no physical remains to study. And this is
particularly troublesome in the study of art objects such as statuary, which do not
have the deep foundations of architectural work, for example. They can indeed be
broken beyond recognition, burnt for lime, melted down, consigned to the sea, or
otherwise entirely prevented from reacquiring any communicative context. And
yet, again, textual evidence is able to restore a number of objects and spaces to the
record, while simultaneously indicating particularly significant moments of use
through deeming them worthy of record. So for Ephesos we have Arrian’s ac
count of the destruction of Philip’s statue by the local oligarchs in the fourth cen
tury BCE:47 Appian’s account, of the Ephesians pulling down Roman statues un
der the influence of Mithridates VI in the first century BCE;48 an inscription of
unknown Christian date, recording that one Demeas had toppled a figure of
Artemis,49 and set up a cross in her place;50 and Proclus’ account of John Chry
sostom, Bishop of Constantinople, Maying bare’ something belonging to Artemis
(presumably either the cult statue or her temple).51 Each of these acts of
destruction was apparently successful, both in contributing to the complete disap
pearance of the statues, and in communicating negative emotions, which the
authors of the textual accounts acknowledged and recorded.
While the personal associations of architecture and spaces may be less obvi
ous than those of portraiture, nonetheless they can be vehicles for expressing
emotions of allegiance. A space can take on associations, for example, with those
that use it, those that pay for its construction, or those who take charge of its
maintenance. These personal associations can be positive or negative, can quickly
change according to the popularity of the individual,52 and can vary greatly ac
cording to the identity of the emotional community who interacts with the space.
The Temple of Artemis at Ephesos and the space around it, for example, was de
46 Gel! 1998, 102.

47 Arrian, Anabasis I.J7.11.
48 Appiari, Mithndalu Wars 21; Thomas 2004, 110.
49 Scherrer 2004,2 suggests from a location near the Gate of Hadrian.
50 I Ephesos 1351. See also Pont 2004, 561.
51 Proclus, (Jratio XX - Laudatio S, loannis Chrysostomi ed. Migne (Putrologia Graeco 65,
832): In Epheso, artem Midae [i.e. Artemidae] nudavit. The choice of nudavit and subsequent
reference to the Artemis in Phrygia, as an individual, might suggest the figurative statue, al
though in comparing (Jio ( hryostom 31.55, it might simply refer to the decoration and wealth
of her temple
52 hg the changing reception of Nero’s Domus Aurea at Rome, under the Flavians: Paguet-
Gagey 2007, 11Of Rosso 2008.
M ak e or B reak D ecisio n s: T h e A rch aeology o f A llegian ce in Ephesos 341
stroyed and redrawn several times in antiquity to communicate different mes

sages. In the case of the fanatical Herostratos (see p. 335), the reason given by
Valerius Maximus is desire for glory, not directly a response to Artemis or to the
sacred space.53 Instead the explanation given supposes a relationship between He
rostratos and the great number of people whom he hoped would hear about his
act. Similarly ‘emotional’ were the frequent changes to the boundaries of asylum
surrounding the temple, including those made by Mithridates, Antony, and Au
gustus,54 intended to communicate relationships with more than just the goddess.
In the case o f Augustus, the annulment of Antony’s extension of the asylum area
both communicated a negative relationship with his predecessor and acted as a
demonstration o f power to the Ephesians, who had had the misfortune to back the
wrong horse on more than one occasion.55 Strabo’s account certainly presents
altering the boundary of the asylum area as an opportunity for great men to dem
onstrate (and with Augustus, retract) largesse, rather than a primarily pious act.56
Presented schematically (figure 4), these changes reveal how emotions can be
manifested in a spatial phenomenon, and how text can restore largely invisible
social developments to the archaeology of Ephesos.
Figure 4. Changes in the asylum boundaries of the Temple of Artemis at Ephesos. Schematic
based on descriptions in Strabo 14.1.23 and Rigsby 14%. 3%.
53 Although, of course, these construct the infamy of the act.

54 Strabo 14.1.23; Rogers 1991,6-8; Rigsby 1996,388-393.
55 Having backed Brutus and Cassius, and played host to Antony and Cleopatra in the winter ot
33/2 BCE: Plutarch, Antoni 56; Rogers 1991,8.
56 On Roman pragmatism regarding rights of asylum, see Chaniotis 2009a. 81.
342 Jane M asseglia
The Ephesians clearly felt a strong attachment to this asylum space at the sanctu
ary, weaving a number of myths around it and arguing for its preservation to a
senatorial enquiry under Tiberius, on the persuasive basis of divine foundation
and historical precedent.57 The social forces which rendered the space inviolable
(such as the veneration of tradition and fear of transgression) were nonetheless
apparently stable in Graeco-Roman culture, and continued to regulate social be
haviour even in the second century CE, when Aelius Aristides described it as ‘a
refuge in time of need’.58
The destruction of the temple of Artemis by the Goths in CE 262, however,
reveals different motives again. Without an interest in preserving social stability
or historical precedent, there remained few of the obstacles which, according to
Dio Chrysostomos (see above note 58), had checked the behaviour of previous
invaders. We must ask, therefore, what value the Goths did place on the temple to
warrant its destruction. Two reasons present themselves, and are by no means
incompatible: one is the possibility that the Goths may have considered the tem
ple as potentially dangerous, the headquarters of the Ephesian’s divine figurehead
and so an advantage to the enemy.59 The second lies in the knowledge of its value
to the Ephesians, and an awareness of the effect of such destruction on a commu
nity. Whether the sacking of the Athenian Acropolis, the bombing of Coventry
Cathedral, or the attacks on the Twin Towers, in the destruction of architecture
and the desecration of designated space, emotions are among the most potent
weapons of war.
3.2 Adaptation
But there remains one great sticking point in discussing the destruction of objects
and spaces: those for which some evidence remains (even if only in the texts)
were not entirely destroyed. If, as in the case of fire-damaged architectural re
mains, this is simply the result of luck, their partial survival cannot necessarily be
attributed to a particular agent. If, however, we find an object or space which has
been intentionally damaged only in part, then the emotional communication can
be said to continue long after the destructive act.
The ongoing communication of intentionally, partially destroyed objects and
spaces lies at the heart of the official process which censored the traces of an indi
vidual in the public record, known in post-Classical parlance as damnaiio (or abo-
hno) memoriae,60 Archaeologically manifested in the erasure of this individual’s
name and image from official lists and from display, the process demonstrates the
ancient appreciation of importance of memory in shaping social relationships.
57 Tacitus.. Annals 3.61; Rausanias 7.2,7; Rogers 1991, 100; Rigsby 1996, 3861'.
58 Aelius Aristides 23.24 (Concerning Concord) ed. Behr 1981; cf. Dio Chrysostomos 31.541.,
on the implication of fear in maintaining the safety of the money deposited there, ‘since no
one had ever yet dared to violate that place although countless wars have occurred in the past
and the city has often been captured’
59 Ct. Mango 1963,63, on the behaviour of the ( rusaders.
60 fo r Rome, see flower 2006,
M ak e or Break D ecisio n s: T he A rch aeology o f A llegian ce in Ephesos 343
Portraits, named objects, and spaces with personal associations which are muti
lated or altered are fossils of these negative expressions,61 while those completely
obliterated risk being forgotten. Where evidence of this activity remains visible,
we might do better to think not of destruction, but of adaptation: its original or
previous reception may indeed be destroyed, but the object or space itself lives on
as a new conception, communicating different messages. In some cases, this adap
tation is the means by which the agent reveals their wish to have their sentiments
recognised and preserved. However counterintuitive it may seem, damnatio me
moriae (and indeed iconoclasm in general) is most effective as a communicator of
negative emotions when it falls short of eradicating all memory of an individual62
Such emotional fossils can be found in Ephesos in the obvious erasure of
Domitian’s name from inscriptions. The survival of so many examples of this
practice is a result of the continued use of the stones on which they were carved,
whether in their existing contexts or new ones. One example (figure 5) of a rede
ployed stone displays an inscription detailing the bringing of water from the Mar-
nas and Klaseas to Ephesos by Domitian,63 which was found in the front wall of
the basin o f Trajan’s Nymphaeum.64 The inscription is truncated on both sides,
although the left by a greater amount, simultaneously removing the offending first
word (‘To Domitian’), and producing a new sized block for its new position. Si
milarly, his campaign title ‘Germanicus’ was also erased from the top line, while
still retaining most o f the pleasingly appropriate ‘watery’ inscription (which may
suggest that it belonged to a previous, Domitianic Nymphaeum). The overall
programme o f alterations is one that combines ideology with practicality.
Similarly, the stone block, which described Ephesos’ first acquisition of the ti
tle neokoros (‘temple warden’) in the form of an imperial temple to Domitian,
took on another function when it was later used as part of a supporting pillar near
the furnace area o f the so-called Baths of Varius.65 And fragments of the colossal
figure of Domitian, which had originally stood in the Sebasteion,66 were subse
quently incorporated into the western walls of the enclosure.67 In all these cases,
this practical form of recycling expresses a change in the emotional climate of the
community: an act which might previously have prompted indignation becomes
acceptable through changes in the relative social value of (i.e. allegiance to)
Domitian versus useful building material.
61 Varner 2008, 130f. (inscriptions), 134-136 (sculpture).

62 Hendrick 2000, xi-xiv, 117; Vout 2008, 165f.; Savalli-Lestrade 2004. 127. Cf. the removal of
heads from statues of Christian saints by the medieval Bohemian Taborites. See also Eisner
2003, 211-214; Pollini 2008 174; Smith 2012, on the Sebasteion at Aphrodisias. Smith ar
gues that defacing represented and memorialised the incapacitation of the city’s old god.
63 The Marnas and Klaseas were tributaries of the Kaystros river (modem Kutfilk Menderes).
64 /.Ephesos 415 (92/43 CE); Miltner 1959, 343f.
65 l.Ephesos 234, from Keretapa; Keil and Maresch I960, 83f.; Friesen 1993, 30f
66 Ephesos Museum inv. 670 (head). For other fragments, see Meric 1985, 239f.; Biguzzi 1998,
284f.
67 Meric 1985, 240; Varner 2004, 128; cf. Friesen 1493, 59f.
344 Jane M a sseg lia
It is, however, important to consider the origin of the decision to censor an indi
vidual’s record. A decree issued in Rome might be driven by emotions which may
not have the same reception in the provinces. An individual may be more popular
in another city than in Rome,68 the erasure might be technically or financially too
challenging to implement.69 the diffusion of the decree might be poor, or the de
cree itself might even be misunderstood.70 In the case of centrally-issued damna-
tiones memoriae, we cannot presume that negative emotions were being experi
enced by the communities that acted on them: only that they were being formally
expressed by them. The response of provincial settlements to such decrees may
indeed tell us more about their emotional relationship with Rome than with the
condemned individual. In the case of Domitian, we clearly see Ephesos’ willing
ness to comply with a programme of erasure; but for this community, who owed
their precious title of neokoros to the now-disgraced regime, we may well suppose
that this enthusiastic co-operation was to some extent fuelled by anxiety and a
desire to please the new order.
But the adaptation of honorific monuments was not always the result of inter
national shifts in allegiance. They could result from entirely local circumstances
too. The devaluation of civic statuary through a process of ‘rebranding’, for ex
ample, is the subject of great criticism by Dio Chrysostomos, who singles out the
people of Rhodes for allowing the reuse of portrait sculpture by others. Especially
abhorrent to him are the unscrupulous Rhodian salesman who pass off old statues
as new, and magistrates who order the erasure of old inscriptions, both which
tjH Kajava 1005 204 note 11

6V I>i VitaKvrard 1000
70 Kajava I W . 207, and tflu^ fV06, 222. on the wrong’ Piso al Samos
M ak e or B reak D e c isio n s : T h e A rch a eo lo g y o f A lle g ia n ce in E phesos 345
suggest that recycling of statuary was not an unknown phenomenon.7' This text is
particularly illuminating because it hinges on a conflict within social and cultural
parameters: Dio Chrysostomos finds the practice abhorrent, while certain Rhodi
ans he identifies have, like the men behind the Domitian inscriptions in Trajan’s
Nympheaum and the Baths of Vedius, apparently reconciled themselves with a
different emotional hierarchy, e.g. love of money, dislike of unnecessary work, or
an appreciation of old materials, above gratitude to old honorands or fear of caus
ing offense.7172
And beyond the archaeological traces of mortal lives in Ephesos, even the
city’s patron goddess was the subject of adaptation, rather than straightforward
destruction, at the hands o f the new religious and social order. The discovery of
the fallen and intentionally buried statues of Artemis at Ephesos certainly reveals
a change in the behavioural protocols of the citizens. But the desire to attribute
this to flamboyant iconoclasm should be resisted. These figures, which were only
slightly damaged, appear to have been buried carefully. As Peter Scherrer writes:
‘There is no sign o f a wilful Christian destruction as if often claimed.’73 And yet,
by removing the statues o f the goddess from sight, their burial is a response to
what they represent both immediately and culturally (i.e. emotions of image and
emotions of use). It does indicate a change in priorities and the relative subjuga
tion of the goddess in the communal esteem, but was not, apparently, an act per
formed without inhibiting constructs (such as respect), emotions (such as fear), or
in a blaze of hammer-wielding Christian fury. The same kind of care can also be
detected in the erasure o f the goddess’ names from public inscriptions. On a sec
tion of architrave once belonging to a monumental gateway,74 dedicated by the
Ephesian people to Artemis and to the Emperor Trajan c. 114-115 CE (figure 6),
the opening words ‘To Ephesian Artemis’ are erased, without disturbing the sur
rounding letters and mouldings.75 Interestingly, the pagan Emperor, his imperial
title Sebastos (literaly, ‘most revered one’), and the city’s title of neokoros (refer
ring to her role in the ‘pagan’ imperial cult), are all untouched. We might suppose
71 Dio Chrysostomos, Oratio 31, esp. 38, 47, 70-72, 95-100, 153-156. Significantly, at 31.153,
he calls this recycling process q toiaurq SiaipOopa (‘this kind of destruction’), referring to
the loss of the original reception. On this widespread practice, see Kajava 2003: Shear 2007.
72 An inscription from Rhodes, from 22 CE (l.Lindos 419), reveals the community ’s anxiety in
not being able to afford proper honours for the gods, and subsequent recourse to recycling.
Kajava 2003, 72; Seve 2008, I25f. Cf. Shear 2007, 223, for the more positive notion of ‘cul
tural capital’ in Roman recycling of Greek dedications.
73 Scherrer 2004, 19; cf. Knibbe 2002, 50f.; Jacobs 2010. 297 catalogue no. 37; contra Miltner
1958, 101. On the Christian treatment of pagan imagery , see below note 80.
74 We do not know in what kind of structure this architrave block continued to function. It ap
pears to have been recycled from a gateway located elsewhere in the city. Miltner 1959. 347;
Strocka 1978, 894.
75 /.Ephesos 422, found on Kouretes Street. Faint traces of the letter shapes are still visible (ah
low ing its reconstruction), and the final letters of the original conjunction kui (‘and’) remain.
Nonetheless, the tools required for this generally neat finish does not suggest an act of spon
taneous iconoclasm.
Jane Masseglia
346
that such terms had taken on sufficiently civic and secular overtones so as to avoid
erasure.
Figure 6. Re-used architrave of a monumental gateway at Ephesos, with the name of

Artemis erased at left edge.
From these examples, we can see that many of the events which might initially be
called destructive actually have more to offer the historian when seen in terms of
adaptation. Even if the only remains of the object or space are in memories or
texts, they have found a form of preservation, serving a new purpose as a means
to explain motivation. By understanding how a community changed archaeologi
cal material into another form, we gain an insight into the emotional atmosphere
of the time.
3.3 Adaptation and Rehabilitation
Clearly adaptation need not always be linked with negative emotions towards the
original construction, nor is it always part of a destructive act. Indeed, adaptation
can be based on an appreciation of the object/space as valuable. In Ephesos we
find the case of an allegorical figure, originally one of the Virtues of Celsus set up
outside his library, given a new inscription in order to rehabilitate the reputation
of a certain Philip.76 The original inscription was removed and replaced by the
phrase 'Ewou/. diXinnou (‘The Thoughtfulness of Philippos’). Such a recarving
indicates not only the acceptability of sculptural recycling,77 but also the impor
tance ol art objects in both expressing and managing relationships.
76 See Scherrer 2004, 17, who suggests Praefectur Orientis Flavius Philippus, whom Con-
stantius If had wrongly suspected of defection, and subsequently honoured with statuary. See
l.k'phfxos I 41 for the emperor’s decree praising his loyalty and ordering several cities to set
up golden statues to him On the re-use of statues see Shear 2007.
77 Cf. above note 71 on Dio Mirysostornos. We can only speculate whether he would have
raised the same objections to the reuse of an allegorical figure as he does to the reuse of por
trait images
M ake or Break D ecision s: T he A rchaeology o f A llegiance in Fiphesos 347
A different form of rehabilitation can be seen in the treatment of a small num

ber of portrait heads found in the Basilike Stoa, among which are those of Augus
tus and Livia (figure 7).78 Despite slight damage to the hair and nose in both fig
ures, there is no evidence of hammer blows, nor of the ritualised damage often
associated with the denigration of images.79 Instead we find small crosses carved
into their foreheads, neatly centred and aligned so as to indicate an act of some
care. Gerhard Langmann considers the possibility of these markers as a sign of
baptism, although the specificity of the ritual is perhaps less important here than
the fact that they were intentionally, publically and permanently Christianised.
Figure 7. Portrait heads of Augustus (left) and Livia (right) from seated group in the Basilike Stoa
at Ephesos, with crosses carved into their foreheads.
In any case, such behaviour is highly significant for our understanding of their
reception: firstly, it implies a strong tendency towards animism or metaphor
among those who carved these crosses and among those Ephesians who were to
view them. Secondly, like the carefully buried Artemis, it is another example of
careful modification by early Christians in Ephesos, even towards objects and
78 Langmann 1985, 65; Scherrer 2004, 18; Jacobs 2010, 279f, 298, catalogue no. 45; cf. 295.
catalogue no. 19.
79 Such as the scarification of the eyes, mouths, nose and ears. Varner 2004, 3f. Cf. die emotive
language of Eichler 1966, 11, who sees this as the work of Christian fanatics'.
348 Jane M asseglia
spaces born out of a pagan context in order to render them acceptable to their new
emotional community.80
3.4 Adaptation and Practicality
We have seen how the adaptation of portrait sculpture can be a highly emotive
process. And yet we have also seen in the case of the ‘Thoughtfulness of Philip-
pos' that non-portrait sculpture offers a greater degree of flexibility for reuse, and
indicates a strong tradition of pragmatism in the adaptation of material. Studies of
the sculpture of Ephesos’ neighbour and competitor Aphrodisias have shown a
remarkable willingness to redeploy even damaged and incongruous figures in new
contexts as part of programmes to rejuvenate existing spaces.81 Dio Chrysosto-
mos' criticism of the Rhodians suggests that practical and economic advantages
could prevail over the more abstract pressures of social constructs like honour.
And there is plenty of evidence to suggest that this pragmatic attitude towards
both art and its reuse was not unusual in the Christian period.82 Indeed, rather than
ask how it was that communities reconciled themselves to the negative connota
tions of re-use, we might better understand this cultural phenomenon in terms of
positive emotions: a value of the past, enjoyment of juxtaposition and variety,
enthusiasm for economic and practical projects, etc. These kinds of response may
seem largely alien to a modem Western society with a high regard for the new,83
but if we cannot accept that archaeological re-use had its own appeal, we would
be condemning the communities of the Late Empire to living under a permanent
cloud of anxiety and disappointment. Rather, we might compare how certain mo
dem socially-enforced conventions can make re-use desirable, in introducing val
ues such as ‘environmentally friendly’, ‘antique’, and the more recent meaning of
‘vintage’.
Re-use lends itself particularly well to architecture and functional spaces,
where changes in association and meaning are more easily made through changes
in use. Thus in Ephesos we find the emotions associated with the funerary context
of Sextilius Pollio’s tomb (97 CE), are adapted and replaced when the building
was turned into a fountain. Similarly, the negative emotions associated with the
fire-damaged remains of the Hadrianic Library of Celsus were replaced with a
more positive construction when the facade was re-used as part of a nympheion;
HO Langmanri 1985, 69. On this phenomenon beyond Ephesos, see Mango 1963 (on the adapta
tion of classical statuary in Constantinople); Saradi-Mendelovici 1990; P o llin i 2 008; Tro m b
ley 2008, I5 2 f.; Chaniotis 2009b, 3331., Jacobs 2010 and Sm ith 2 012, on the Parthenon and
the Sebastcion at Aphrodisias. A s Smith argues, in Christian thinking the Sebasteion was not
so much brutalised as made sale and good lo r its new function as a grand commercial mall.
81 1 g the repaired and re-used 'B lu e Horse’ set up beside the huge, s im ila rly redeployed statue
known to her excavators as ‘Megawoman’: Sm ith 2009.
82 One need only think of the Arch of Constantine in Rome fo r such a 'patchwork aesthetic’.
See Ward-Perkins 1999, 227 233, although he does not completely rule out an ideological
motive behind re-use
83 Although we have no such qualms about our sim ila rly derivative approach to m usic.
M ak e or B reak D e c isio n s : T h e A rch a eo lo g y of A lle g ia n ce in E phesos 349
and the Tetragonos Agora, rebuilt under Theodosius I (c. 347 395 CE), seems to
have put to good use stone from a number of older constructions damaged by the
earthquakes and the Gothic invasion.84
Even spaces previously sacred to Artemis were adapted by the construction of
Christian churches like that in the Basilike Stoa (figure 1, no. 64).85 There must
have been appeal both in the existing social prestige of the location and the practi
cality of the existing stoa which suggested to the Christian community that this
was a location suitable for them to construct a relationship with their God.
4 CONCLUSION: CHALLENGES AND NEW DIRECTIONS
In the introduction to emotions in archaeology (pp. 142f. in this volume), it was

proposed that emotional responses to material culture could fall into three broad
categories: physicality, image, and use. The examples from Ephesos in this chap
ter have shown how statues and spaces could take on emotional connotations be
yond their material and appearance, through their association with individuals,
and how their treatment could come to express emotions of allegiance or division.
Whether the setting up of Salutaris’ sculptural benefactions in the theatre, the
redrawing of asylum space around the Temple of Artemis, or the re-use of stone
blocks once bearing Domitian’s name, the use of these archaeological phenomena
shows how emotional communities went about expressing their social relation
ships through their environment.
But closer examination o f this use, broken down into the processes of con
struction, destruction and adaptation, has raised further methodological chal
lenges for scholars engaged in the study of emotions through archaeological phe
nomena.
In the case o f construction, in discussing how and why objects and spaces
were formed, it has become apparent that archaeological remains are often not
enough. So much has been lost, and that which does remain can often be difficult
to decipher. The material skeleton must be clothed with social context, and can be
reconstructed with the help of the people who speak through ancient histories,
literature, inscriptions, and letters. Through Pausanias1 account of the lonians we
are told about statues we no longer have, and even why he believed they were set
up. Through Strabo’s account o f the asylum area, we can re-imagine lost bounda
ries, and their political potential. Through Salutaris’ foundation inscription we are
able to return the benefactions, statues, and the procession to the mins of Ephesos.
Without these texts, we would not know about the lost archaeology. We are fortu
nate that Ephesos is, for scholars of the ancient world, a relatively well-docu
mented environment. However, the same need for supporting textual evidence to
corroborate our emotional readings of the archaeology also leads us to an un-
84 Scherrer 2004, 20, possibly even including parts of the Flav ian Sebasteion. See also ibid. 15,
on the effect of these catastrophes on the building programmes of the fourth century CE.
85 Scherrer 2004, 19.
350 Jane M asseglia
avoidable problem: there is a great quantity of archaeological material at Ephesos

which has no such description or record. Understanding the emotional associa
tions of such material is very challenging. In such cases, the best we can do is
draw comparisons with better-documented examples, but without specific details
of the social context of the original, results can only be informed suppositions.
Even more problematic is the wealth of material which has not been preserved
either in archaeological or textual form. Unfortunately, this accounts for the ma
jority of material culture and spatial phenomenon in antiquity. Artefacts and struc
tures made from perishable materials, or spaces delineated simply by social ob
servance, may leave no traces behind. Without traces, there can be no archaeo
logical reconstruction other than in the imagination.
This ‘missing majority’ has had two important effects, on our study of emo
tions in ancient Ephesos: firstly, that all cases of the intentional annihilation of an
object or space (which would be fascinating to scholars of ancient emotions and
allegiances), are necessarily lost. We have been confined in this chapter to the
evidence which remains, but will almost certainly have missed episodes where
allegiances were broken and confined to oblivion along with the evidence. We
can. for example, well imagine that a love-letter was, at some time, burnt in an
cient Ephesos, but this highly emotional expression, channelled through a physical
object, is invisible to the archaeological record. Secondly, that within this ‘miss
ing majority’ are the ephemeral objects and spaces which surround the lives of
ordinary people. The inscriptions, the durable marble, and the sacred precinct con
sidered in this chapter all tell stories focussed on wealthy and well-connected in
dividuals, and display public, even political emotions. Such stories are essential
for our understanding of political history, but they inevitably skew our image of
Ephesos in favour of the adult elite. Tradesmen, slaves, farmers, entertainers, sol
diers, even children, would all have engaged in the same process of using material
culture to express their allegiances, but this is not well-represented in the evidence
because the scale, material and public visibility was so very different (an imbal
ance exaggerated by the, albeit understandable, preference for excavations in ur
ban centres and temples, and not on areas where such individuals lived). Archae
ology certainly has the potential to illuminate the lives of a broad social spectrum
in ways which would be impossible, for example, for ancient literature which is
dominated by male elite authors and their concerns; but this potential cannot be
easily realised with the material currently available in Ephesos. Until this changes,
we must be aware of the limitations of our evidence and the forces which shape its
availability.
A final challenge in the study of emotions which this chapter has presented
has been exemplified by the process of adaptation. We have seen how archaeo
logical evidence can be reformulated and re-used by different groups of individu
als to express very different emotions over time. Textual evidence, on the other
hand, tends to be associated more firmly with a particular moment in history, such
as when it was written, or the moment it describes. But if we wish to consider the
emotions associated with art archaeological phenomenon, then we must take care
to specify from which point in history we are looking out, and from within which
M ak e or B reak D e c isio n s : T h e A rch aeology o f A lleg ia n ce in E phesos 351
social group. The very same statue of Artemis in Ephesos was a source of pride to
one emotional community, and a source of suspicion and anxiety to another, and
was used differently (displayed or buried, for example) to express this. The emo
tions associated with objects and spaces were not static, and however well-docu
mented their construction may be (inscriptions usually accompany inauguration),
we cannot suppose that such expressions were representative of their reception
through time.
So long as we take into account the elite bias in the material record at Ephe
sos, and properly identify the social context of objects and spaces, the city’s ar
chaeology remains an invaluable complement to traditional textual evidence in
conveying how public life was constructed and managed. Moreover, in communi
cating expressions o f allegiance and dissent, it also reveals the critical mecha
nisms in forming a community’s identity: whether united in gratitude for a bene
factor, or in disapproval for a pagan goddess, social groups were defined by ex
pressions o f common tenets. And so too in the case of Ephesos, we have seen how
communities encoded their emotional relationships into their environment, not
only towards fellow Ephesians, but absent individuals, deities and even communi
ties remote in time. The potential for objects and spaces to outlive their original
significance makes them complex subjects for study, but also highly rewarding as
reflections o f the ever-shifting nature of public opinion and the role of emotions
as a historical factor.
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PICTURE CREDITS
Figure 1 Plan of Ephesus. Knibbe 2002, fig. I .

f igure 2 Reconstructed view of the Stoa of Damianos. Knibbe 2002, fig 7.
M ak e or Break D ecision s: The Archaeology o f Allegiance in Ephesos 355
Figure. 3a: Coin of Septimius Severus. London, British Museum, BMC 261(BM Ionia 83, no.
261). Photo: © The Trustees of the British Museum.
Figure 3b: Coin of Elagabalus. London, Museum, BMC 305(BM Ionia 83, no. 305). Photo: ©
The Trustees of the British Museum.
Figure 4: Changes in the asylum boundaries of the Temple of Artemis at Ephesos. Schematic
based on descriptions in Strabo 14.1.23 and Rigsby 1996,390.
Figure 5: Domitianic inscription cut down and reused in Trajan’s Nymphaeum at Ephesos.
Photo: J.E.A. Mass6glia.
Figure 6: Re-used architrave of a monumental gateway from Ephesos, with the name of
Artemis erased. I.Ephesos 422. Photo: J.E.A. Masseglia.
Figure 7: Portrait heads of Augustus (left) and Livia (right) with crosses carved into the fore
heads. Langmann 1985, figs. 3-4. Photo: M. Aurenhammer.
PART FOUR
Emotions in interprersonal communication

‘HE IS A LIAR, A BOUNDER, AND A CAD’
The Arousal of Hostile Emotions in Attic Forensic Oratory
Ed Sanders
\ INTRODUCTION1
In the Classical Athenian political/legal system of direct democracy (c. 479-322

BCE), the executive, legislative, and judicial branches of government were fused,
all male citizens (collectively known as the demos) having the right, and indeed
duty, to take part in assemblies and to sit on juries. In the lawcourt the same indi
viduals were judges and jury.2
Greek rhetoric traditionally refers to three branches of oratory - ‘forensic’
(i.e. delivered in a court of law), ‘deliberative’ (i.e. delivered to the Assembly or
other body), and ‘epideictic’ (i.e. display speeches, e.g. orations over the war
dead)3 - though in fact other types exist (e.g. envoy speeches, addresses to an
army, messenger speeches). Some 165 literary works survive from Athens in this
period that are collectively known as the ‘Attic oratorical corpus’ - though a
quarter of these are not in fact speeches, but tracts (written to be published, rather
than delivered to a mass audience), rhetorical exercises, or letters (some pseudo-
1 I should like to thank Lene Rubinstein for her very detailed comments on an earlier draft of
this chapter. For the names of all ten Attic orators l am using the Latinised spelling,
consistent with the Oxford Classical Dictionary, (i.e. Andocides not Andokides). The quote in
the title is taken from Blackadder the Third, episode 3 ‘Nob and Nobility’.
2 Juries comprised 201 or 401 male citizens in private suits ([Aristotle], Athenaion Politeia
53.3), depending on the monetary amount at stake, and 501, 1001, or 1501 in public suits
(Athenaion Politeia 68.1 - or 1000 or 1500, the text is incomplete) - see Harrison 1971, 47,
239-241; MacDowell 1978, 36-^40; Rhodes 1981, 728f.; Todd 1993, 83; Rubinstein 2009,
507. See below for further discussion of the differences between public and private suits.
3 E.g. Aristotle, Rhetoric 1.3 I358b6—8. I shall refer to Aristotle’s treatise The Art of Rhetoric
(usually simply called the Rhetoric) frequently. This should not be taken as implying that 1
believe his views can be accepted without question - in many instances he is demonstrably
wrong (as here). But as a theorist of rhetorical emotion arousal he was unparalleled in this
period, and his views carry weight, especially when they can be independently verified by
evidence from real-life oratory. Where l quote his views, 1 shall demonstrate that they are
indeed supportable. Aristotle’s Rhetoric was written between 355—323 BCE (Kennedy 2007,
18). Another rhetorical treatise, with somewhat less to say about emotion, is the pseudo-
Aristotelian Rhetoric to Alexander - dated by Chiron (2002, xl, cvii) to the second half of die
fourth century BCE. This makes the composition of both treatises broadly contemporary with
at least half of the surviving Attic oratorical corpus (see note 4 below).
360 Ed Sanders
nymously attributed). O f the remaining three quarters, which are speeches, some
are deliberative, a handful are epideictic, and the remainder are forensic. It is these
last that I shall be exclusively concerned with in this chapter.4
A legal suit could be either private (dike, pi. dikai) or public (graphe, pi.
graphai).' The reason for the prosecution is written afterwards in the genitive case
(for instance graphe asebeias = public suit for impiety). It should be noted that,
strictly, all cases were dikai, but this term was usually not applied to public suits
(with the exception of homicide = dike phonou). Those personally affected could
sometimes choose whether to bring a public or private suit.6 In private suits, pro
secution and defence were generally each allowed two speeches, the second pro
viding a chance to respond to the opponent’s argument or to emphasise points.7
From the point of view of emotion arousal, we might note that the follow-up
speeches were the last chance to arouse an audience’s hostile em otions against the
opponent (prosecution), or friendly emotions for the speaker (defence). However,
the surviving evidence is extremely limited,8 and so it is hard to draw any mean-
4 The ‘Attic oratorical corpus’ survives under the names o f ten authors. Some are known or
thought to be pseudonymously attributed (represented e.g. [Demosthenes] for pseudo-Demo
sthenes), though are often nevertheless genuine works o f the period. The ten, with the number
and approximate dates (BCE) of their surviving numbered works, are: Antiphon (six; c. 422-
c. 410); Andocides (four; 411-391); Lysias (thirty-four; 403—c. 378); Isocrates (twenty-one,
plus nine letters; c. 403-338 - though speeches actually delivered are all early); Isaeus
(twelve; c. 389-c. 343); Demosthenes (sixty-one, plus a collection of prologues, and six
letters; 364-323); Aeschines (three; 346-330); Hyperides (six; c. 338—322); Lycurgus (one;
331), Dinarchus (three; 323). For methodological reasons I exclude from consideration all
works that were not performed in front of a mass Athenian audience, and cannot therefore be
assumed to reflect the values of the Athenian demos: tracts (Lysias 34; Isocrates 1—15; De
mosthenes 11-12, 61); rhetorical exercises (Antiphon 2-4 ; Andocides 4; Lysias 11; Demo
sthenes prologues); letters (Isocrates: nine; Demosthenes: six); resignation letter (Lysias 8);
delivered outside Athens (Isocrates 19). I also exclude deliberative speeches (Andocides 3;
Demosthenes 1-10, 13—17) and epideictic speeches (Lysias 2, 33; Demosthenes 60; Hyperi
des 6). Finally, I exclude fragments (even if forensic oratory and believed genuine), for
practical rather than methodological reasons: generally these are not sufficiently complete for
covert arguments to be reconstructed with confidence. In this chapter then, I work from a re
duced corpus of 105 torensic (i.e. trial) speeches written to be delivered in front of a mass
Athenian audience (Antiphon 1, 5-6; Andocides 1—2; Lysias I, 3—7, 9—10, 12—32; Isocrates
J6-J8, 20-21; Isaeus 112; Demosthenes 18—59; Aeschines 1—3; Hyperides 1—5; Lycurgus
I ; Dinarchus I 3). Twenty-live of these were written for delivery by the author (see Rubin
stein 2009, 511 for a list she excludes Andocides 2, which I include as forensic in effect if
not in form), the remainder written (often for pay) for delivery by someone else.
5 MatDowell 1978, 57- 61, Todd 1993, 99 102.
6 See Osborne 1985 and Carey 2004 for detailed discussions of choice of procedure; see also
below (§ 2.1), for the practical consequences (including for arousing emotions) of their
choice On the many differences between public and private suits, see Harrison 1971,76—78;
MacDoweil 1978, 53-'66, 235 259; Todd 1993, 99 146; in the main text I only mention
differences relevant to this chapter
7 MatDowell 1978.249
8 Only three follow-up prosecution speeches (Demosthenes 28, 31, 46), and no follow-up
defence speeches, survive
A r o u sa l o f H o s tile E m o tio n s in A ttic F o ren sic O ratory 361
ingful conclusions, and it is not obvious that the follow-up speeches that survive
are more dedicated to emotion arousal than the first speech in each trial.' In public
suits there was one slot allocated to each of the prosecution and defence, but
apparently (at least in some cases) no limit on how many speakers could speak
within that slot.910 We have many examples of both prosecution and defence
speeches, in both public and private cases, as well as speeches from ‘adjudica
tions’ (in which neither side was formally prosecutor/defendant, and only one
speech for each side was normally allowed). After a successful prosecution, the
punishment (except where determined by statute) had to be assessed. The prosecu
tor and defence each made another speech regarding the punishment that should
be im posed.11 Once again it may be assumed that these speeches frequently con
tained appeals to the emotions, but unfortunately we have little idea as not one
(non-fictional) exam ple has survived.
Arousing the audience’s emotions was one vital technique of the Athenian, or
indeed any, orator. According to Aristotle, arousal o f an audience’s emotions is
one o f three m odes o f proof available to an orator, alongside rational argument
and discussion o f character.12 In modem scholarship on Attic oratory, most atten
tion has so far fallen on explicit calls, o f which there are many, for the jury to feel
some em otion for an explicit reason.13 For instance, Demosthenes in Against
Meidias calls explicitly for his audience to feel hatred (misos), resentment (phtho-
nos), and anger (orge) for his opponent because o f his lifestyle and conduct, and
explicitly tries to suppress any pity Meidias has deceived them into feeling.14
However, there are two problems with looking only at explicit calls for a
ju ry ’s em otional response. The first is that they frequently do not occur - for
9 See, however, below p. 378, re Demosthenes 28.

10 Dinarchus 2.6—7 mentions that the ten prosecutors in that trial could each give a short speech.
Lysias 14 and 15 appear to be two supporting speeches from the same prosecution (unless one
is a rhetorical exercise - a possibility given little credence by Todd 2000, 162, and roundly
dismissed by Carey 1989, 142 note 1). On supporting speeches in general, in both public and
private suits, see Rubinstein 2000.
11 See Harrison 1971, 166-168; MacDowell I978,253f.; Todd 1993, 133-135.
12 Rhetoric 1.2 1356a14—15: 8 ia 8c raw oucpoaraiv, otav eiq Jid0o>; uxd too Xoyovi xpoay0w-
oiv. For rational argument and discussion of character see Rhetoric 1.2 1356al-4. I use the
word audience here loosely. Since my concern in this chapter is exclusively with forensic
oratory, the audience will be a jury.
13 E.g. Johnstone 1999, 110—125 on pity; Allen 2000 on anger; Rubinstein 2000, 212—231 on
gratitude; Fisher 2003 on envy; Kurihara 2003 on hatred; Rubinstein 2004 on anger and
hatred; Bers 2009, 77—98 on pity.
14 Demosthenes 21.196.4-6: lieydXriv pev t’ av apxf|v, paXXov 8e tcxvt| v, cip*; euptpcdx;, ci
8x»o T avavnortaS’ eautou; ev onto) (ipaxei xpdvcp ncpi oautov 8uvaio noicioBai. <p86vov
e!; cbv icat e<p’ oi<; ( i f i n a x q . q e'Xeov. ook eoriv ou8ap60ev aoi xpooijicwv cXco^ ov>6c
tcaB’ ev, dXXa rouvavtiov gTcioc; kou <p0ovov; teal opyrt (‘You would certainly have disco
vered a great source of power - or rather of deceit if you are able to gam for yourself two
things that are most completely at odds with one another: resentment for the way you live and
pity for your hypocrisy. There is no way that pity is the appropriate response for you, not in
any respect, but the opposite: hatred and resentment and anger. These are the responses that
your actions deserve’; translated by Harris 2008, 157, slightly modified).
362 Ed Sanders
instance, explicit calls for anger and hatred are largely confined to public prosecu
tions,15 while calls for phthonos (resentment) are rare as the word normally has
negative connotations (i.e. envy).16 The second problem is that explicit calls for an
emotional response cannot emerge in a vacuum; rather they must be built up to (as
those against Meidias painstakingly are), or subsequently explained, or at the very
least arise naturally from narrated circumstances. It is notable that Aristotle, who
makes the first and most explicit case for linking emotion arousal to rhetoric, does
not tell an orator to call for emotions, but rather to show the audience that certain
situations exist so these emotions will arise naturally - for example, he says a
speech might need to prepare the audience to be disposed to be angry, and show
the opponents as liable for such things that cause anger, and that they are the sort
of people one should be angry at.17*
This sort of covert emotion arousal has so far received far less attention from
modem scholars of oratory, yet it is the kind most intimately bound up with the
value systems of the audience and hence the cultural construction o f such emo
tions. !* Barbara Rosenwein’s concept of ‘emotional communities’ may be fruit
fully applied in this context.19 ‘Emotional communities’ are generally the same as
social communities, in which members ‘have a common stake [and] interests’ and
are tied together by fundamental assumptions, values, goals, feeling rules, and
accepted modes of expression’.20 At the highest level this could be a nation, a
tribe, or a Greek polis. Within this overarching community, though, will be subor
dinate emotional communities, such as the family, Assembly members, tavern
goers, celebrants at a sacrifice etc.; and as people move from one sub-community
to another they will adjust their cognitive judgments and emotional displays ac
cordingly.21 The Athenian male citizens who acted as jurors in the physical setting
of the lawcourt were an emotional sub-community. There are certain emotional
responses specific to this sub-community - for instance (as I argue below)
Athenians respond to sykophants with hatred in the lawcourt, but might respond
with a different emotion to them on stage in the comic theatre; Spartans, however,
15 Rubinstein 2004 tiers 2009, 77—93 argues that appeals to pity too must be carefully nuanced.
16 See further below on appeals to phthonos, and its meanings; also Sanders forthcoming,
chapter 5, where I argue that phihonos is mainly used explicitly in oratory to allege motiva
tion
17 Rhetortt 2.2 13K0a2-5: 8fjXov 5 ’ b it 8foi otv K a ta o x e u a ^ f iv to) Xoyto Totom ouq olot ovtc<;
r/oumv, Kui rout, tvtmiotx; toutok; e v o y o v q bvta<; c<p’ otc; bpyvôvxai, icai
toiovtmx, ounq opYtôvtai ( and it is clear that it might be needful in a speech to put [the
audience] in die state of mind of those who are inclined to anger and to show one’s opponents
a* responsible for those things that are the causes of anger and that they are the sort of people
again*! whom anger is directed’, translated by Kennedy 2007, 120).
I ft See Han i 19H6, Harre and Parrott 1996, Johnson-Laird and Oatley 2000 on the social
construction of emotion, (Griffiths 1997, 137-167 for a mure critical account; Reddy 2001 for
the implication* of constructionism for the historian of emotions, though he too is critical
19 Posenwein 2002 X42f. 2006, 24 26 The approach of this chapter is in line with Rosen-
wem's methodology, despite riot formally adopting it.
20 Kosenwem 2006, 24
21 Rosen*cm 2002, K42
A ro u sa l o f H o stile E m otion s in Attic Forensic Oratory 363
might have no emotional reaction to them as sykophants are not relevant to

Spartan life.
This sub-community is expected to respond emotionally in certain culturally-
specific ways to verbal or theatrical stimuli. We have relatively little information
contemporary with these speeches about non-verbal ways in which orators
attempted to arouse emotions. However, it is certain that theatrical stimuli were
employed as well as verbal. In Aristophanes’ comedy Wasps (staged in 422 BCE),
a regular juror gives a satirical account of defendants’ speeches as they try to get
off a charge: they flatter; they bewail (apoklaontai) their poverty and attribute
their misfortunes to it; they quote myths, fables, and jokes to make him laugh;
they drag their children out front to bleat (blechatai) in concert, while the defen
dant him self trembles (tremon) and entreats (antibolei) him as a god to approve
his accounts, asking him to have pity on hearing his son, or be persuaded by his
daughter - this, he says, makes him relax his anger (orges) a little.22
In this chapter my interest is in verbal stimuli, words that act as ‘acoustic sig
nals’,23 or that in other ways manipulate Athenian values by triggering memories
based on personal and/or cultural experience. A number of emotions can be arou
sed in this way, but I concentrate here solely on hostile emotions (anger, hatred,
and resentment), aroused against the speaker’s opponent.24 I will not exclude
passages in which explicit calls for an emotional response occur, but my focus
will be on those that prepare the audience to feel the emotion,25 whether an
explicit call is subsequently made or not. This will show that it is only with a deep
understanding o f the cultural construction of an emotion, that we can reach a full
understanding o f the emotional strategies that might be involved when orators
press certain cultural buttons, that may on the face of it have little or nothing to do
with emotions. This will have implications far beyond Attic oratory.
In dividing this chapter into separate sections on anger, hatred, and resent
ment, and considering certain actions or types of person under each, I do not mean
to imply that such actions/people will not arouse more than one of these emotions
- for instance I do not contend that the demos will only feel anger towards
someone committing hybris, and not feel any hatred or resentment. Rather, l
consider each type under the emotion which the ancient evidence suggests will
22 Aristophanes, Wasps 562-574. See Plutarch, Life o f Marcellus 20.5-6 (quoted on p. 162 in
this volume), for a later example of an orator using theatrical effects to arouse his audience’s
emotion. See also Slater 1995; Hall 1995; Wilson 1996.
23 l borrow this phrase from Chaniotis 2009, 200; see also pp. 114 and 229 in this volume.
24 [Aristotle), Rhetoric to Alexander discusses hatred, anger, and resentment as the three hostile
emotions an orator should aim to arouse against his opponent (34 I440a28~40; 36 1445al2-
29), while friendship, gratitude, and pity are those he should aim to arouse for himself (34
1439b15-36, 1440a25-8, I440a40~b4; 36 1444b35~l445al2). The causes of these emotions
vary, as they are the product of socio-cultural conditions. In this chapter, I am concentrating
on causes that are specifically connected with Athens in the period 420- 322 BCE.
25 In other media, one might compare the narratio of decrees, which are syncopated versions of
deliberative speeches in the assembly; see Chaniotis 2013.
364 Ed Sanders
principally be aroused, as the most logical way to draw out connections between
them. It may well be that other hostile emotions are also roused alongside them.26
2 ANGER
.Anger (orge) is the most obvious hostile emotion, and one referred to frequently
in the oratorical corpus. It is nevertheless a difficult emotion for a speaker to
arouse, because it is felt primarily in response to a personal slight.27 Accordingly
the speaker has the challenge of persuading his audience that his opponent’s
private slight against him himself, is equally a slight against the whole city.
Unless he can do so, the jury will not themselves feel anger against his
opponent.28
2.1 H ybris
One slight that clearly arouses anger is hybris - a term implying wanton violence,
with intention to insult, shame, and dishonour, for the aggressor’s pleasure.29
Hybris rears its head frequently in the oratorical corpus, the hybr- root occurring
some 425 times. Nearly a third of these (131) occur in just one speech, Demosthe
nes’ Against Meidias, in which Demosthenes prosecutes Meidias ostensibly for a
punch the latter gave him while he was acting in his capacity as a choregos (i.e.
performing a public liturgy as chorus producer - see below on liturgies). Demo
sthenes refers several times to anger the demos displayed against Meidias in a
preliminary censure vote in the assembly, and in a number of places calls for them
to feel further anger against Meidias by condemning him now,30 since his crime
was committed against the entire city (the prerequisite for an angry response), for
instance
26We might assume that it an orator wished to arouse hostility against his opponent, he would
not ha Ik at more than one such emotion being aroused.
27 Aristotle tells us it is only felt for a slight against oneself or those close to one (Rhetoric 2.2
1378^30-32: E cttw 6h opyr| optû; ge ta A,07m<; Tigoipi'on; [<paivogevr|<;j 8 ia ipaivogevTiv
okiytopir/v cis; a w o v fj xoiv auxoo, too oXiyw pEiv gq 7tpoaf|icovTo<; (‘Let anger be
(defined as] desire, accompanied by [mental and physical] distress, for apparent retaliation
because of an apparent slight that was directed, without justification, against oneself or those
near to one', translated by Kennedy 2007, 116).
2H Rubinstein 2004, I93f. This would not preclude other emotions, e.g. a desire for justice on the
speaker’s behalf
20 Aristotle, Khetoru 2.2 l378b23-25, supported in numerous places in the oratorical corpus,
some of which 1quote below. See also f isher 1092, 7-21; Cohen 1995, 143 162.
30 Demosthenes 21 Anger already displayed: §§6, 36, 175, 1X3, 215, 226. Calls for anger:
§|34 42 43, 46 100, I0X, 123, 127, 147, 1X3, 1X6, 196, 222. The speeches in the Attic
oratorical corpus are traditionally divided into sections. § indicates the section number
referred to. Thu$ e g fel I 2 4 indicates lines 2 4 (in the Oxford Classical Text, where these
exist, rise in the I orb edition) of section 11 ol this speech (Demosthenes 21). An alternative
notation is Demosthenes 2 J. i 1.2 4
A ro u sa l o f H o stile E m o tio n s in A ttic F oren sic O ratory 365
But if he clearly has committed all his crimes of outrage against your chorus producer during
a sacred season, he deserves to receive the people’s anger and their punishment. For together
with Demosthenes, the chorus producer was also the victim of outrage; he is a public official,
and this occurred on those days when the laws prohibit it.31
Demosthenes argues that at the point Meidias struck him, he was not merely
Demosthenes but also a representative of the city. Meidias’ blow against him was
thus an act o f h yb ris against the entire poiis: it affected each and every citizen per
sonally, and should therefore make each one of them angry.32 In order to call so
explicitly (and so frequently) for juror anger, Demosthenes had to demonstrate
that M eidias’ one act o f violence against himself qua liturgist, was symptomatic
of M eidias’ habitually h y b ris- tic behaviour against his fellow citizens33 - and he
spends a good deal o f the speech doing so. If Aristotle is right that anger is an
emotional response to a personal slight, and if Demosthenes could persuade the
jurors they had been slighted, then their anger against Meidias would be a fore
gone conclusion - allowing him to call for it explicitly so many times.
A more interesting speech for covert arousal is Demosthenes’ A g a in st Konon.
Lene Rubinstein has demonstrated the remarkable extent to which calls for juror
anger and/or hatred correlate with public prosecution speeches and are with only a
very few exceptions almost entirely absent in private prosecution speeches and
public and private defence speeches.34 A g a in st K onon deals with two acts o f much
more severe violence than M eidias’ punch, committed by Konon and his sons
against Ariston (the speaker) and his slaves. However it is known to have been a
private prosecution: Ariston says at the start of the speech that he chose to bring a
dike a ik e ia s (a private suit for battery, leading to a fine payable to Ariston) rather
than a g r a p h e h y b r e d s (a public suit for h yb ris , leading to the death penalty' or a
fine payable to the state).35 Bearing in mind Rubinstein’s findings, it is therefore
especially notable that Ariston goes through almost the entire speech without
calling for the judges’ anger. He refers to his own anger (orge) and hatred
(ech th ra ) following the first attack,36 but immediately says that at that point he did
31 Demosthenes 21.34: ei 8e xoptiyov ov0’ upextpov iepoprjviai; ouoris notv0’ oo'

(>Pp{aa<; ipouveiai, 8r|poaia<; opyiK tiptopiaq Siicaioq ecm Tuyxdveiv a p a yap tq>
AripocBevei kou 6 x°PdYOs b(3p{£eto, touto 8’ eott rifo koXcok;, teal to tau tau ; ta t ;
hpepan;, ai<; ouk eakxtv oi vopoi (translated by Harris 2008,99).
32 It is also symptomatic of his contempt for the demos (a subject I treat separately below),
which should also arouse their anger.
33 Athenians believed that the wealthy were prone to behaving in certain ways incompatible
with democracy, e.g. ostentatious lifestyle, arrogance, loud boasting, scorn for the democracy,
and a propensity to drunken violence - see Dover 1974, 110f.; Fisher 1992, 19-31, 102-104;
Ober 1989, 2 06-2 11.
34 Rubinstein 2004. She argues that outside public prosecutions, it was much harder tor the
speaker to justify calls for anger or hatred without risking alienating the jury.
35 See Demosthenes 21.25-8, 54.1, Isocrates 20.19 for comments on penalties and choice of
case. For a detailed discussion of graphe hybreds and dike aikeuis, see Mae Do well 1978.
129-132 and Fisher 1992, 36-85.
36 Demosthenes 54.6.1: tot) 8f npdypatos eiq toOxo repoeA.OovtOv ux; 8t0p’ t\tavf)A.0opcv, rjv
npiv, otov eiicos, ck Toutiov opyn Kai ?xBpu KpOs aAAnXoos (’The business came to such a
366 Ed S a n d er s
not intend to prosecute, thus ostensibly divorcing his own emotions from the
prosecution. Instead, he lets the narrative speak for him: he tells how his slaves
were attacked by drunken assailants (Konon’s sons) in an army camp, and then he
himself was assaulted verbally and physically by them; some time later he was
attacked by Konon himself, his son and his friends in the city, and nearly beaten
to death. Despite bringing the prosecution for battery, Ariston peppers his speech
with references to h ybris , the word or its cognates occurring twenty-eight times.
But it is only at §42 (out o f 44), when the idea o f h yb ris will have lodged firmly
enough in the jury’s mind, that the speaker finally asks that they not regard it as a
private matter, but feel the same anger and hatred towards his assailant as he does,
and punish them accordingly:37
So 1 ask you. gentlemen of the jury, since I have explained all my legitimate claims and have
added an oath to them, that just as each of you, if you are injured, would hate your assailant,
that you feel the same anger at this man Conon for my sake; and I ask you not to regard any
affair of this sort as a private matter, even if it should happen to another man, but no matter
who the victim is, to help him and give him justice and hate those men who before they are
accused are brash and reckless but at their trial are wicked, have no shame, and give no
thought to opinion or custom or anything else, except for escaping punishment.
A third speech in which hybris occurs is Isocrates’ A g a in s t L o c h ite s .3* Again calls
for anger ( o rg e ) are built up to carefully. The speaker mentions L ochites’ striking
him, talks at length about those for whom g r a p h a i h y b r e d s were instituted, states
that Lochites’ blow involved h yb ris , then calls for anger and punishm ent.39 He
compares hybris with temple robbery and theft as crimes dem anding harsh pu
nishment even for small breaches, and refers to the wider social behaviour popu
larly associated with h ybris (presumably the sorts o f behaviour described in note
33 above) and what it can lead to if unchecked (wounding, hom icide, exile etc.),
before calling again for anger on the grounds that h y b r is is greater than other
pomt that when we returned to Athens, we naturally felt anger and hatred for one another over
what had happened’; translated by Bers 2003,68f.).
37 Demosthenes 54.42: a£ub xoivuv upon;, w av8pe<; Sucaaxal, ndv0’ o a ’ eaxiv 8iKai’ erci-
dfiâvxcK; eptru icai reioxiv jtpoo0r.vto^ vpiv, toonep dv auxcx; EKaotoq rea0a>v xov reenoiT|-
icof epiaet, ovxo>; i»nip cpou rtpcx; Kovaiva xouxovi ti|v opypv e'xetv, kou pp voplêiv iStov
v&i xoiovxtov pp8ev b icav aXXtu xvxov aup|W p, aXX’ e*p’ oxou reox’ av aupfip, PopOeTv
•co.\ xa Oucoi’ areo6i8bvat, icai pioetv xo\*; repo piv xtov apupxppaxoiv 0puae!<; Koti reporee-
%ti$. ev Or: tip Sticpv vretxfw dvaioxvVT°v<; real reovppovq real ppxe So^pq PO*’ e0ou<; ppx’
ix/jjtn) ppdrvoc, tppovx(£ovxa<; repot; xb pp SoOvai 8iicpv. Translated by Bers 2003, 79.
38 Mtrhady 2000, 123 notes that it is not totally dear whether this was a graphe hybreds or a
ciiAe aikems, and summarises the arguments each way. I believe the argument for it being a
private case that a penalty is payable to the speaker (20.19) - is decisive. Rubinstein 2004,
194 refers to it as a private case, but (bearing in mind her main argument referred to above)
must then make a special plea for it to contain calls for anger, on the grounds that it deals
with hybris, a public concern. When we consider this speech alongside Against Konon, we
should not be surprised to see the same, probably intentional, confusion o f the two charges
and types of case
39 Isocrates 20.6: vreep wv repoofpeet x o i; f /UvOiipou; p d X to x ’ 6 p y (£ c a 0 a t teat peytoxp<; xuyxa
v i t v t i p t o p to* ;
A r o u s a l o f H o s tile E m o tio n s in A ttic fo r e n s ic O ratory 367
crimes.40 He says that cities have been destroyed because of hybris, and links
Lochites’ h y b r is against him self with the coups against the democracy41 - by
inference, as with M eidias, the entire city is the victim. He continues, saying that
those who com m it h y b r is show contempt for the laws;4243they want to, and can,
band together to take over the city. He highlights that any citizen might suffer
h y b ris , and argues that punishing it therefore helps all citizens. After a discussion
o f the retaliatory, educative, and deterrent aspects of punishment, he again calls
for public anger ( o r g e ) 43 This speech is short, yet the speaker manages to cover
economically m any o f the issues raised at much greater length by Demosthenes,
thus showing how a ju ry ’s anger might quickly be roused.44
2.2 Contempt
H y b ris was certainly not the only charge that would arouse public anger, but the
speaker’s challenge w ould always have been to persuade the jury that his
opponent had slighted them as well as himself. What types of charge might a
speaker try to m ake? Aristotle suggests that, alongside hybris, there are two other
types o f personal slight causing orge: spite ( epereasm os - a disinterested slight
ing), and contem pt ( k a ta p h r o n e s is - showing you believe the other person to be of
no account).4546W hile e p e r e a s m o s does not occur regularly in the Attic oratorical
corpus, there is, how ever, a minor to p o s whereby speakers argue that their oppo
nents have contem pt for the laws, the courts, or the whole city. We saw above, for
instance, that this form s part o f the accusation in Isocrates’ A g a in st Lochites;*6
Lochites’ contem pt for the laws (which had recently been re-linked to the dem os
40 Isocrates 20.9: HYOvigou $ ’ bgaq ovtux; av atjax; opYioOfivai too JipaYgaToc, ei SieqeX-
0oue repcx; vpaq autoix; oaa> geftôv eoxiv t o u t o t o »v aAXa>v agaprqgattov.
41 Mirhady 2000, 123 dates the speech to c. 402^400 BCE, shortly after the oligarchic regimes
of 411 and 404-403, when the crimes of the juntas would be fresh in jurors’ minds.
Whitehead and Rubinstein (forthcoming) argue it should be dated a few years later, to the
first half o f the 390s, but the argument remains valid.
42 Isocrates 2 0 .10, 21,22 - cf. note 32 above, and § 2.2 below.
43 Isocrates 20.22: itapaicaXeaavTCi; aXXfiXotx; evcrrigavdaSe Aoxitfl rnv opYhv mv u gn t-
pav.
44 Whitehead and Rubinstein (forthcoming) argue that we only have the latter part of the speech
- this could be because the earlier portion has not survived, or because the speaker only
commissioned part of the speech.
45 Aristotle, Rhetoric 2.2 1378b 14—25. This list is inadequate, for instance, many issues of social
misbehaviour that Aristotle would try to file under to nemesan (indignation), in other authors
w ill be said to arouse orge (anger) - see Sanders forthcoming, chapter 4 for a critique of
Aristotle’s to nemesan, from the point of view of its overlap with phthonos. Aristotle also
misses out anger aroused by memory o f past events - see Chamotis 2012 on the repealed
instructions to jurors in Lysias 12 that they should remember and be angry, or in Lysias 13
that they should remember and take revenge. On the connection between kataphronesis and
anger (or desire for revenge) in non-literary media see Chaniotis 2004, 18 and Chrysi
Kotsifou’s remarks in this volume (pp. 74f.).
46 See note 42 above.
368 Ed Sanders
by the restored democracy’s vote to codify the Jaws) is arguably then contempt for
the demos as a whole.47
The ‘contempt for the demos' argument is also used twice by Aeschines,
against Timarchos and Ktesiphon.48 But it is in the Demosthenic corpus that we
regularly find the accusation of contempt for justice, the law, and the sovereign
people, which appears in public prosecutions, private prosecutions, and arbitra
tions.44 Meidias is one of those accused of contempt - in his case the word kata-
phronesis is not used, but two other phrases amount to the same thing: Demosthe
nes says that if Meidias cannot treat the whole tribe, Council, and nation with
contumely (prope/akizein), then his life is not worth living; and later, that Meidias
does not give two hoots (meden phrontizein) for them.50 The first o f these words
(which literally means to trample in the mud) also occurs widely in the oratorical
corpus.51 The second phrase only occurs a handful o f times in surviving forensic
speeches, but its occurrence twice in Demosthenes’ collection o f stock prologues
suggests that it might have occurred more regularly than we would assume from
its limited survival.52
With no independent confirmation, we may not be able to rely fully on
Aristotle that a display of contempt (whether for the laws, justice, performing
civic duties, or for the demos directly) would arouse specifically anger in the jury.
However, clearly these comments are intended to arouse some kind o f hostility or
animus against the opponent (kataphronesis, particularly the kata- prefix, has
derogatory force), and we should therefore realise that accusations o f contempt
4? This is a specifically Athenian cultural feature, connected with democracy - it could not
occur in e.g. a monarchy (though a petitioner could argue that their opponent had shown
contempt for the monarch). The fact that the demos can respond with anger suggests it is
placed in a hierarchically higher position, like a king or a god - see the remarks of Angelos
Chaniotis in this volume (pp. 115 - 118), and my comparison with prayers for justice and
petitions below (pp. 383#'.). On the personification and cult o f Demos see Alexandri-Tzachou
1986.
48 Aeschines 1.114 and 3.53 both public prosecutions.
49 Public prosecutions: 26.2 and 25 (contempt for justice); 59.12 and 77 (Neaira scorns your
laws) Private prosecutions: 50.65-66 (contempt for performing trierarchies, i.e. outfitting
warships, as per the law); 56.10 (contempt for ‘you’, i.e. the demos, and the laws). Arbitra
tions 42.2; 43.72 and 78 (they committed hybris in their contempt for the laws). Again, as
with hybris (see above § 2.1), we see that covert arousal of anger occurs as easily in private
speeches as in public. Due to the regularity with which this argument is made, it is unsur
prising to find it in Andocides’ Against Alcibiades (not a real speech, but a rhetorical exercise
see note 4 above), where the defendant is said to have contempt for the Archons (magistra
tes). the laws, and the other citizens (4 )4).
50 Demosthenes 21.1318 10 u k h ’ n pf| ipuApv bAr|v icai (hnAijv icui c0vo<; nportr|ActKtr!
ofiio/Tuv iiti t rm a hu t xov fUov atittp (cf. §§ 61,66, 72, 109, 220); 2 1.201.1-2: o<; ouv ... to
6( iir\6t:v tppovti(/iv updw vcuvikov.
51 Public prosecutions: I.ysi as 15.6; Demosthenes 22.62; 23.89; 24.124 (twice); 25.50;
|Demosthenes) 59 93, 59 113; Aeschines 3.248. Private prosecutions: Demosthenes 30.36;
36.47; (Demosthenes) 50.45. Defence speeches: Lysias 9,4; Isaeus 2.47; Aeschines 2.44.
52 Lysias. 7 17, Demosthenes 25 39, 42.30, |Demosthenes) 54.42; Demosthenes Exordia 12.1,
32.2
Arousal o f Hostile Emotions in Attic Forensic Oratory to )
are not merely part o f the standard oratorical insulting that can easily be dismissed
as ‘noise’ by the modern reader.
3 HATRED
Hatred (misos), which for our purposes will include milder forms such as general
hostility or dislike, is an easier emotion to arouse than anger, because no personal
injury need be proved. Aristotle tells us that, while anger comes from what affects
someone personally, hatred can arise both from what affects them personally (for
instance anger, spite, or slander directed against them)53 and from what is not
directed against them as an individual; that is if we think someone is a certain type
of person (typically a type that is harmful to the community as a whole) then we
hate them - and Aristotle gives as examples that everyone hates a thief (kleptes)
or a sykophant (sykophantes).54
Labelling an opponent a thief or a sykophant is a character (ethos) argument
rather than, ostensibly, an emotion (pathos) one (see §1 above). However, while
characterisation o f the opponent is an important oratorical tool in its own right,
my contention in this section is that additionally certain characters arouse hostile
emotions;55 thus while arguments may explicitly be directed at the opponent’s
character, they also aim covertly to arouse an audience’s hostility towards him.
Thieves (or murderers or other such criminals) are common everywhere, as is
popular animus against them, and so they do not belong in a book that explores
the social construction o f specifically ancient Greek emotions.56 Sykophants,
53 If Aristotle is correct (and he may not be), this suggests that all situations that principally
arouse anger will also arouse hatred - see my comments above on arousal of multiple
emotions.
54 Rhetoric 2.4.30-31 1382aI —7: aepi 5’ e'x^Pa<J 1(01110^ HtoeTv ipavepov a>£ ek xtov evavxuov
e a ti GetopeTv. noirytiKa 6 e e'xGpa<; opyn, ettripEaogoi;, 6ux|ioA.r|. opyh gev ouv eortv ex x<ov
jrpoq auxov, e'xGpa 6e m l aveu rob rtpoq auxov av yap urcoXag|iav(Dg£v eivai xotovSc,
giaougev. m l r\ gev opyh del rrepl rd m 0 ’ em oxa, oiov KaXXuji ij lancpaxei, to de g1oo<;
m i npoq xa yevtv xov yap tcXercniv gioel m i xov auKotpavTiiv arcas ( ‘The nature of enmity'
and hating is evident from the opposites [of what has been said about friendliness]. Anger,
spite, and slander are productive of enmity. Now anger comes from things that affect a person
directly, but enmity also from what is not directed against himself; for if we suppose someone
to be a certain kind of person, we hate him. And anger is always concerned with particulars,
directed, for example, at Callias or Socrates, while hate is directed also at types (everyone
hates the thief and the sycophant)'; translated by Kennedy 2007, 127). 1 use the Hellemsed
spelling sykophant to avoid confusion w ith the English word sycophant - despite the obvious
philological derivation, the Greek sykophant was an entirely different creature (see main text
below).
55 We recognise this occurs (rightly or wrongly) in our modem world - e.g. disgust at beggars,
dislike o f certain races, hatred o f paedophiles - and it did no less so in ancient Greece.
56 Anger occupies a smaller part o f this chapter than one might expect for a similar reason:
many o f the crimes that naturally arouse anger (as part of a sense of justice) against the
perpetrators are not culturally specific to Athens, or indeed ancient Greece, and so are not
relevant to a volume on approaches to the cultural construction of emotion. This does not
370 Ed Sanders
however, aroused hostility particularly in Classical Athens (see above), so are ripe
for examination here.
3.1 Sykophants
In some types of public suit, Athenian laws allowed anyone who wished (ho bou-
lomenos) to prosecute; occasionally the successful prosecutor would even receive
a proportion of a fine levied on his convicted opponent, or some other payment.57
The sykophant was a busybody who sought to prosecute (frequently innocent)
people on a regular basis, possibly in order to receive money from the fine, more
likely as a bribe from the opponent to drop the case,58 or even for payment to act
as another’s frontman.59 Many speeches in the oratorical corpus contain accusa
tions that the opponent is a sykophant. Sometimes this occurs in prosecution, but
the argument lends itself best to defence speeches, where the successful labelling
of the prosecutor as a sykophant serves the important and wider strategic purpose
of undermining the legitimacy of the prosecution case.
It is well known that sykophants were unpopular,60 and the oratorical corpus
provides plenty of evidence for commonly held views. Sykophants take bribes,
prosecute those who have not committed any crimes to gain money, and are
charged as criminals. They are generally poor but clever (deinos) at speaking,61
mean they were irrelevant to the Greeks - see Allen 2000 on the centrality o f anger to the
punishment of crime.
57 MacDowel! 1978, 53-62; Todd 1993, 91-94. Osborne 1985, 44-48 argues that the surviving
evidence suggests that prosecution purely for monetary reward was uncommon.
58 MacDowell 1978, 62-66; Harvey 1990; Christ 1998, 48-71 and 2008, 170-174; Rubinstein
2000, 198-204; Fisher 2008, 297-299; for a different view see Osborne 1990. It is hard for us
to know if sykophancy was a genuine problem, as allegations are so frequent that one might
be tempted to conclude Athenians were seeing ‘reds under the bed’ (though, as in McCarthy-
era America, mass hysteria rarely allows the facts to stand in the way o f an emotional
response). It is almost certainly the case that public alertness to the possibility o f sykophancy
reduced its frequency, through the constant threat o f exposure in the lawcourt or ridicule in
the comic theatre: sykophants crop up several times as comic butts in Aristophanes’ comedies
(Achamians 818-828, B ird s 1410-1469, Ploutos 850-958).
59 In »ome cases, receiving less than 20% of the vote would result in the prosecutor being fined
1000 drachmas and losing the right to bring similai cases in future - Carey 2000, 12 notes
this effectively disbarred them from future involvement in Athens’ highly litigious public life.
In other aspects of political life too, taking a leading role carried risks. Rubinstein 2000, 202-
204 argues that politically active citizens might therefore choose to operate through a less
politically active friend when initiating legal actions, to protect themselves. Thus in 336 BCE,
when Ktesiphon proposed Demosthenes be awarded a crown, Aeschines was forced to pro
secute Klesiphon (Aeschines 3) rather than Demosthenes directly, for making an illegal pro
posal (on this procedure, the %raphe puranonum, see Hansen 1974); Demosthenes spoke on
betialf of Ktesiphon (Demosthenes 18) and received more than 80% o f the vote, forcing
Aeschines who had not taken the precaution of operating through a frontman, out of public
life (and the city Plutarch, Demosthenes 24).
60 On the ‘badness’ of sykophants see Christ 2008, 170 174, Fisher 2008, 297-299.
61 This perhaps suggests a link with sophists another type o f ‘bad person’ arousing hostility
(see below), Demos is not a compliment it means over-clever, cunning, full o f verbal tricks.
Arousal o f Hostile Emotions in Attic Forensic Oratory 371
and regularly prosecute rich men who are poor at speaking. They are all base,
malicious, and censorious. Sykophantia is linked with injustice, baseness, lies,
shamelessness, perjury, ingratitude, and slander.62
These comments, all made in front of a mass audience,63 suggest Athenians
disliked sykophants very much indeed, and there is little reason to question
Aristotle’s suggestion that this dislike was as strong as hatred. It is important for
us to bear in mind this hostile emotional response. While, clearly, we would not
expect Athenians to react viscerally every time a speaker labelled his opponent a
sykophant with little to back it up (which happens with surprising frequency, and
should perhaps be taken as part of the standard knock-about of Attic oratory), we
have a large number o f cases where charges of sykophantia are sustained through
out the speech, and we should certainly interpret these as instances of the speaker
aiming to arouse the ju ry ’s hostility against his opponent.
Building on Lene Rubinstein’s argument that it is only public prosecutions
that easily lend themselves to explicit attempts to arouse a jury’s hatred (see note
34 above), I propose that finding ways to label the opponent as one or other type
of undesirable is a more subtle way of awakening a jury’s hostility covertly, and is
thus suitable for wider use. While repeated labelling of the opponent as a syko
phant does occur in public prosecutions, in light of Rubinstein’s arguments it is
notable that this also occurs frequently in private prosecutions, and as a counter
accusation in public and private defence speeches - in all of which explicit calls
for misos are uncommon.64 For reasons of space I shall discuss only three of these
speeches here (none o f them public prosecutions).
In Isocrates’ Against Euthynos, the speaker plays on the idea that sykophants
prosecute those who are rich but poor speakers, by arguing at length that, since his
opponent is poor but a good speaker, he would not be a logical choice for some-
62 Take bribes (Andocides 1.105); prosecute for money (Lysias 25.3); criminals (Aeschines
2.272); clever and prosecute rich, bad speakers (Isocrates 21.5); base, malicious, censorious
(Demosthenes 18.242); injustice and baseness (Isocrates 18.55); lies, shamelessness, and
baseness (Demosthenes 25.9); shamelessness, perjury, and ingratitude (Demosthenes 25.35);
slander (lsaeus 1 1.4, Aeschines 2.145).
63 Isocrates also says that sykophants do not support democracy (8.133), practise bitterness and
evil (15.300; cf. 15.242), are hostile (dysmenes) to everyone (15.288), were judged by 'our’
ancestors as responsible for most evils and are comparable to criminals (15.313), and he also
regularly links sykophancy with slander (15.8, 15.175, 15.241; 15.163 also with envy).
However these comments are made in tracts that were not intended for a mass audience, so
we cannot assume his views were widely shared outside the wealth/education elite, except
where corroborated in speeches intended for a mass audience (e.g. the comments linking
sykophancy to slander, or the statement that sykophancy was a crime). Similarly, Xenophon,
Memorabilia 2.9 has an anecdote showing some sykophants attempting blackmail, and being
given a taste o f their own medicine - this suggests that such blackmail attempts were real,
though again as this work was not intended for a mass audience, it can only be taken as
evidence for the views o f Xenophon and his higher status readership.
64 Public prosecutions: e g. Lysias 28; Demosthenes 2 1, 25; [Demosthenes] 58. 59; Aeschines I,
3. Private prosecutions: e g . Isocrates 17, 18, 21; Demosthenes 33, 36, 37, 38. Counter
accusation in public defence speeches: e.g. Andocides I; Demosthenes 18; Aeschines 2.
Counter-accusation in private defence speeches, e.g. Demosthenes 29, 55, 5?.
372 Ed Sanders
one to prosecute sykophantically.65 This in fact anticipates his opponent’s

expected defence argument, that the prosecution was brought through syko-
phantia. Isocrates' Against Kallimachos is also formally a prosecution speech,
though in reality it is again a defence: Kallimachos was attempting to prosecute
the speaker, who in turn introduced a special plea (paragraphs) that Kallimachos’
prosecution was inadmissible, as it contravened the terms of the amnesty ending
the civil strife of 404-403 BCE between supporters of the oligarchic junta and the
restored democracy:66 it is this speech that survives. Again the word sykophantes
occurs a number of times,67 many of them simply to label the opponent, others to
make derogatory comments about sykophantia. In both speeches the accusations
are woven into the narrative, and build on themselves throughout the speech.
Finally. Demosthenes' On the Crown, delivered when Demosthenes’ ally
Ktesiphon proposed a crown be bestowed upon him, and his lifelong political
enemy Aeschines prosecuted Ktesiphon for making an illegal proposal (see note
59 above). Demosthenes begins by arguing that Aeschines told lies and abusive
slanders; he says that Aeschines has bad character, that he spoke abusively, and
repeats that he lied and slandered. He adds that the case shows the spite, insult,
abuse, and contumely of an enemy, and that Aeschines is acting out of spite and
malice.68 The ioidor- root (meaning abuse) appears fifteen times in the speech,
blasphem- (slander) eight times, pseud-/pseus- (lying) twenty times, and
accusations of diabole (also slander) nine times. The echthr- root (hatred/enemy)
occurs no fewer than forty-six times - and enmity is a reciprocal relationship in
Greece.69 Further, we find four accusations of epereia (spite) and four of phthonos
(envy), and baska(i)n- (envious/malicious person) appears nine times. Accusa
tions of sykophantia fit well into this litany of malicious reasons for Aeschines’
prosecution - the word occurs twenty-two times in the speech, of which well over
half are direct accusations.70 And all these accusations, these claims against
Aeschines, are designed to rouse hostile emotions in the jury against him.
65 The word sykophantes occurs eight times in this speech (Isocrates 21): §§ 5, 8, 10, 11, 13
(twice), 14, 19.
66 Mirhady 2000, 96. See Woltf 1966 on the paragraphs procedure; MacDowell 1978, 214-219
and Todd 1993, 135-139 offer brief discussions in English.
67 Isocrates 18:§§2, 3, 7, 10, 14,22,24,37,43,55,64.
hH Demosthenes 18. Lies (§9); abusive slanders (§10); bad character, spoke abusively, lied and
slandered (§11), shows spite, insult, abuse, and contumely o f an enemy (§12); spite and
rnahce(§l3/
69 See Rhodes 1998; Todd 1998.
70 Demosthenes 18: Louior-: §§3, 10, II, 12, 15, 123 (twice), 126, 138, 180, 256, 274, 284, 285,
290 tilmphem- §§10, 34, 82, 95, 123, 126, 256, 272. f>seud-/pseus-: §§9, II, 17, 21, 24
(twice), 41, 55 (twice), 57, 95, 126, 136, 141, 142, 150, 225, 291, 294 (twice). D iabol-
/dutball- §§7, 11, 14, 20, 24, 28, 111,225, 293. E c h t h r §§5, 12, 15, 16, 35 (twice), 40, 46,
61,70,82,119, J23, 124, 125, 131, 138 (twice), 139, 141, 143, 145, 147, 161, 163, 176, 188,
197, 198, 234 (twice), 236, 257, 265, 277, 278, 279, 283, 286, 293, 294, 295, 302, 307, 309,
315 hpennu. §§12, 13, 1.38, 320. Phthonos: §§13, 121,279, 303 (excluding those that are not
accusations) Huska(t)n §§108, 119, 132, 139, 189, 242, 252, 307, 317. Svkophant-: §§95,
Arousal of Hostile Emotions in Attic Forensic Oratory 17.1
3.2 Sophists
Another type that aroused hostility in Athens was sophists. These, at least in
origin, were itinerant teachers, who wandered Greece taking on paying pupils -
mainly the sons of the leisured classes.71 The main sophist movement flourished
in the last third of the fifth century BCE. Many of its most famous names gravi
tated to Athens which, thanks to the revenues of its empire, had a large wealthy/
leisured class in this period, who wanted their sons trained (inter alia) to address
the Assembly. Sophists had a variety of interests, but rhetoric was normally one of
the main subjects on their curricula; they were also infamous tor allegedly
teaching their young pupils to question existing mores, including religious ones.
The most famous depiction of sophists in literature written for a mass audience
does not occur in the oratorical corpus, but in Aristophanes’ comedy Clouds
(dated 423 BCE). In this play, Socrates is lampooned as representative of the
sophistic agenda: corrupting the young, not believing in the traditional gods, intro
ducing new divinities,72 and teaching his pupils to wield morally wrong arguments
so well as to overcome morally right ones.73
Demosthenes provides evidence that sophist was still a highly negative term
decades later, saying Aeschines calls others speechwriters and sophists as an act
of hybris against them, and that Aeschines labels him personally clever (deinos -
see note 61 above), a sorcerer, and a sophist. Demosthenes turns these labels back
on Aeschines, calling him a sophist, and a wicked one at that, a speechwriter, and
an enemy of the gods.74 Elsewhere, Aeschines calls Demosthenes a rascally
sophist who thinks to overturn the laws by phrasery, and also labels Timarchos a
sophist, coupling this with laughter and amusement at the demos' expense.75 In
each case such labels (coupled with accusations of sykophantia, lying, abuse,
slander etc. referred to above) were more than mere denigration: they aimed to
arouse hostile emotions (dislike or hatred) in the jury against their opponent.
This background explains an extraordinary passage in Demosthenes’ Against
Lakritos. The speaker, who has characterised himself as an ill-educated rustic,
bluff but honest,76 uses unexpectedly violent language about his opponent, label
ling him a rogue, a sophist, and unjust (adikos). Sophists, he says, pay cash to Iso
crates for education; they feel contempt (kataphronesis - see above) for others,
and consider themselves clever (deinos); they covet and take away others’ pro-
112, 113 (twice), 118, 121, 138, 189, 192, 212 (twice). 232, 233, 235, 239, 242, 249, 256,
266,275,289,317.
7 1 See Gagarin 2002, 9-36 on the sophist movement.
72 The real-life Socrates was in fact executed on just these charges, according to Plato (Apology
24b).
73 See Dover 1968, xx.xii-lvii on the association of these charges with the sophist movement,
and Aristophanes’ choice of Socrates to represent them.
74 Demosthenes 19.246; Demosthenes 18.276 - cf. Demosthenes 29.32 for another juxtaposition
of sophists and sorcerers; Demosthenes 19.250.
75 Aeschines 3.16, 3.202; Aeschines 1.125, 1.175.
76 MacDowell 2004, 133; 2009, 265.
374 Ed Sanders
pern, and are base (poneros). He makes repeated use o f derivatives o f the verb
paideuein (implying sophistic education, as taught by Socrates in Clouds), pone
ros. adikos, and deinos, while repeatedly using the verb pisteuein (trust) against
him. and contrasting his own simplicity and honesty.77 The violence o f the lan
guage in this passage, and (given the popular animus discussed above) the repea
ted use of such words and associations, seem calculated to arouse the ju ry ’s dis
like or hatred for his opponent.
4 RESENTMENT
The author of the pseudo-Aristotelian Rhetoric to Alexander argues that when an

orator cannot arouse hatred or anger, he should instead attem pt to arouse
phthonos, which he says is very close to hatred.78 Emotion labels (and indeed
emotions) do not alw ays correspond easily between languages,79 and phthonos is a
good example.80 In its usual meanings it covers both English envy (felt when
someone else has something I lack, and my impulse is destructive)8182and posses
sive jealousy (felt when 1 have something I want to retain exclusive possession of,
and am willing to damage/destroy the object or a rival to do so), and can also have
strong overtones of begrudging, spite, or Schadenfreude; it is thus a very negative
emotion, and in fact so taboo that it is almost never claimed for oneself, but only
ascribed to others.
However, there are occasions when - at least in Athens - it becom es a
morally positive emotion, and that is when someone is behaving in some way
beyond what is generally thought acceptable: phthonos is then deployed to cut
them down to size83 In the handful of instances where an orator enjoins his
77 Demosthenes 35.3<M3.
78 [AmtutieJ, Rhetoric to Alexander I445al 5-20.
79 Wierzbicka 1999.24-38; Cairns 2003,9-14 and 2008, 45f.; Konstan 2006, 4 -8 .
80 By contrast with orge and misos, which can uncomplicatedly be translated anger and hatred
respectively. Note this is not necessarily the case in reverse: I argue below (note 83) that
phthonos can sometimes (i.e. in certain situations) best be translated into English as anger.
This implies that ancient Greek urge included only a subset o f situations covered by modern
English anger the two are not direct equivalents. See my discussion o f scripts below.
til Though not when my impulse is emulative or admiring (‘Oh what a lovely X, I really envy
you' i, which is covered by Greek zelos.
82 Sec Sanders forthcoming, chapter 3 for a detailed exploration o f the scope o f phthonos,
83 Koristan 2003, 80 82 In the Rhetoric, Aristotle separates this emotion out as to nemesan
(usually translated indignation), which he describes as being felt for som eone’s undeserved
good lorUine, especially in relation to wealth or power, while phthonos is felt only by morally
base people and is unrelated to desert (Aristotle, Rhetoric 2.9 I386M 6 2ft, 2.9 I386b3l 35,
2.11 I388a35 46; At Nicomachean Ethics 2.7 I I08bl -5, Aristotle argues that nemesis (as he
calls it there) and phthonos are part of a continuum, where nemesis is a virtuous ‘m ean’ only
felt when someone's good fortune is not deserved, and phthonos is the excessive vice where
by nerneus is leh far too often (the vice is in being too morally untrained to ascertain deserts
properly; Sanders 2008, 268 270. However, there is no support for this separation in other
literature of the period, and it is dear that to nemesun/nemesis is Aristot le’s reinvention o f an
Arousal of Hostile Emotions in Attic Forensic Oratory 375
audience to feel phthonos, all o f which relate to the abuse of wealth or political
power,84 it is clear that it is the morally-positive, censorious version that is meant.
However, we m ust bear in mind that where we can distinguish different types
o f phthonos, for G reeks there was only phthonos?5 and it would always have
retained som e sense o f ambiguity even when used positively - which is possibly
why it is called for explicitly so rarely. For this reason I translate it ‘resentment’
here, w hich gives som e sense o f the ambiguity between envy and indignation in
English. But it should constantly be borne in mind that phthonos covers a wider
variety o f situations and emotional reactions (psychological, verbal, and dramatic)
to those situations, that in English might be best covered by any of the terms envy,
jealousy, resentm ent, indignation, or even, in the right circumstances, anger (see
note 83 above).
To understand em otions such as phthonos effectively, Robert Raster argues
for the use o f ‘narrative processes or scripts’ as an analytical tool.86 These are es
sentially different types o f scenario in which the emotion occurs, and which play
out differently, as regards their cognitive antecedents, psychological/physiological
effects, characteristic speech/action, and resolution.87 Scripts may or may not be
distinguishable by linguistic labels in the same, or another, language. For instance,
English jealousy has four scripts which are distinguishable by English labels:
jealous o f m y position, possessive jealousy, sexual jealousy, and envy. Phthonos,
as we have seen, com prises several scripts which are not distinguishable by other
labels in C lassical G reek, including those relating to English envy, possessive
jealousy, and indignation/resentm ent.88
em otion term that had by then m ore or less died out, and been incorporated into the wider
scope o f phthonos - Sanders forthcom ing, chapter 4. Ronstan 2 0 0 6 ,68f. argues that Aristotle
used to nemesan to cover one type o f anger (i.e. a response to an injustice, where orge is a
response to a slight); my argum ent would mean that (outside Aristotle) it is phthonos that
describes this sort o f anger.
84 Sanders forthcom ing, chapter 3; this again tallies with what Aristotle says about his to
nemesan - see note 83 above. The passages are: Lysias 27.11.2; Isocrates 4.184.1, 18.51.3;
lsaeus 6.61.2; D em osthenes 2 1.29.4,21.196.4,21.196.6, 37.52.3; Aeschines 3.42.1.
85 Raster 2005, 7 m akes the sam e point for Latin fastidium.
86 Raster 2005, 8. C airns 2008, 46 also argues for the use o f scripts, citing further scholarship
(59 n. 17). W ierzbicka 1999 m akes the case for meta-language (instead o f English language)
scripts, though this has attracted criticism - see e.g. Cairns 2008, 49f. Sanders forthcoming
uses a script approach throughout.
87 See pp. 157f.
88 Sanders forthcom ing, chapters 2 and 3. On the frequent use o f jealousy for envy by
laypersons, see Parrott 1991, 24; also Ben-Ze’ev 2000, 2 8 If., who argues that the one-way
confusion o f envy and jealousy arises because o f the frequency o f situations in which these
em otions co-occur, coupled with the social unacceptability o f envy.
376 Ed Sanders
4 .1 Avoidance of Liturgies
Unlike modem democracies, Athens had no income tax, though there were many
types of indirect taxes that fell on all citizens.89 However, it also instituted a
system whereby the rich (citizens and resident aliens) paid directly for certain
expenditures for the military or cultural benefit of the polls: e.g. outfitting war
ships (trierarchia). superintending the exercise halls (gymnasiarchia), producing
choruses for the tragic/comic festivals (choregia), and giving public feasts (hestia-
x/5).w,i The benefit for the rich was that, if the system worked properly, they
g rea tly reduced the risk of civil strife with the numerically far greater poor, in
which they risked being killed and having their property expropriated.91 Over
time, the traditional competition among the aristocracy found an outlet in compe
tition to render sendees to the p o lls92 A rhetoric o f reciprocity grew up, whereby
the rich performed liturgies and the polls responded with gratitude (charis) -
w hich could be called on if ever they were on trial.93 When wealthy individuals
avoided or evaded their duty to perform liturgies, the demos responded with
phthonos (resentment).94
89 E g. customs dues, transaction taxes, production taxes, slave tax etc. - see Bresson 2008,
30 7 -115: Migeotte 2009, 49-54.
90 Payment was initially voluntary; it became institutional over time, but some still performed
extra liturgies voluntarily - Ober 1989, 199; MacDowell 2009, 127f.; Harris 2008, 15 for a
list of liturgies, with references to further bibliography. Some expenditures were allocated on
a rota system, others by lot; some were defrayed by a group o f moderately rich men, rather
than one very rich.
91 Aside from two brief, bloody oligarchic coups in 411 and 404-403 BCE, the Athenian
democratic settlement was notably stable for its time. See Thucydides 3.69-85 for a detailed
account of civil strife (stasis), between the rich (who wanted an oligarchy and alliance with
Connth) and die poor (who wanted a democracy and alliance with Athens), in the Adriatic
island pohs of Kerkyra in 427 BCE. As Thucydides makes clear throughout his account,
stasis was a problem that bedevilled Greek poleis in this period. For a more theoretical
account of civil strife and (frequently violent) changes in constitution, see Aristotle, Politics
5 For modern studies oi stasis (excluding Athens), see Gehrke 1985; Ober 1989 for the most
in-depth study of ‘mass’ and ‘elite’ relations in Classical Athens; see also Hansen and Nielsen
2004, 124-129
92 Hence the demagogue and general Alcibiades’ boast to the Assembly in 415 BCE that he had
entered no fewer than seven chariots at the Olympic games, and taken first, second, and
fourth) prizes and that this splendid display profoundly boosted the public image o f Athens
( fhucydidc". 6 16). On aristocratic competition in services to the demos see Whitehead 1983;
Ober 1989. 84) 291; 1996, 27f; Mac Ho well 2009, 128 says they volunteered ‘to gain
prestige and honour
93 Ober 1989 226 233. Fisher 2003
94 Obci 1989 205f argues that die attitude of the poor towards the rich was always shaped by
phthonos (envy), though the evidence For this is questionable, being largely contained in texts
written by and for men of higher wealth arid status. Fisher 2003 and Cairns 2003, 244 249
argue, more plausibly, that economic differences and the concomitant potential for the
wealthy to avoid burdens that the poor could not avoid ensured that phthonos (envy) was
always a latent possibility, ready for exploitation as part of an orator's strategy. On accusa
tions of phthonos (envy) in the oratorical corpus, see Sanders forthcoming, chapter 5.
Arousal of Hostile Emotions in Attic Forensic Oratory 377
The connection o f phthonos (resentment) with under-performance of liturgies

is most explicit in Demosthenes’ Against Meiclias. We noted above frequent calls
for anger, occurring throughout the speech, which are related to Meidias’ hyhris.
Demosthenes then tells us, at some length, of Meidias’ manipulation of the laws
to have one Straton stripped of his citizenship.95 After describing this abuse,
which (as it is achieved through malicious prosecution) is akin to sykophantia,
and reminding them of Meidias’ impiety (in striking him on a religious festival),
he denounces Meidias as ‘abusive and disgusting’ and calls for juror hatred 96
Finally, having put down a number of markers linking Meidias’ wealth to his
arrogance (thrasos, hvperephania, hybris) and other inappropriate behaviour, and
making several general comments to the effect that bad behaviour resulting from
wealth deserves punishment, he brings Meidias’ inappropriate use of his wealth
centre-stage in a long section, deriding the small number of liturgies he has
performed, and explaining why such liturgies as he has done should not be taken
into account97 It is only at this point that Demosthenes finally draws on his earlier
allusions to the appropriate response, and calls for the jury’s phthonos (resent
ment, at M eidias’ lifestyle and conduct), without any trace of pity, to accompany
the misos and orge that he called for earlier.98
Confirmation that inadequate performance of liturgies deserves phthonos
comes from D em osthenes’ two speeches Against Aphobos, which he delivered
aged eighteen in the prosecution of his guardians (his father died when he was a
minor) for misappropriation o f his inheritance.99 Demosthenes asserts that Apho
bos and his co-guardians have acted in such a way that his estate has little left, and
asks rhetorically, ‘Surely this is worthy of indignation?’.100 The verb used here,
diaganaktein, refers to a somewhat milder emotion than orge and phthonos.
However, Demosthenes then goes on to argue that his inherited estate, which used
95 Demosthenes 2 1,83ff.
96 Demosthenes 21.98.3-5: o n vf| A(’ aoeXyh? « n t teal pSekupa; ta u t a yap ecru taknOt)-
a k k a pioeTv oipeikex’, avSpe^ AOpvaToi, 6f|Jtou xoxx, xoiouxou*; gakkov p atpêiv ('By
Zeus, that he is abusive and disgusting? That is certainly true. But, men of Athens, you
surely ought to hate such men, not protect them’; translated by Harris 2008, 121). On all of
these charges, the hatred called for relates to the kind of person Meidias is, and thus accords
with Aristotle’s comments on the nature o f hatred (Rhetoric 2.4 l382al-7) discussed above.
97 Wealth linked with arrogance etc.: §§20, 66, 96, 98, 109, 138, 198, 201. Bad behaviour from
wealth deserves punishment: §§98, 124, 143. Inappropriate use of wealth: §§151-174.
98 Demosthenes 21.196.4-6: tpOovov cov teal e<p’ ois eânattju; ckcov. oinc eottv
ou6apo0ev aoi rcpoorpaov ekeot; ou5e tca0’ ev, a k k a touvavxiov giao<; teal <p0ovo<; teal
opyri. From all we have seen about the cultural implications of these emotion words, we can
now interpret this call as: ‘He has show n himself deserving of your enmity' (so hate hun), he
has committed injustices through his wealth (so resent him), and he has injured each and
every one o f you personally (so be angry at him)’.
99 Demosthenes 27 and 28. Under Athenian inheritance law, the guardians o f an orphaned minor
administered the deceased father’s estate as if it were part of their own, and then passed tt on
(ideally suitably enhanced in value) to the son when he came o f age. Demosthenes’ guar
dians, including Aphobos, claimed that there was httle let) (Demosthenes 27.0).
100 Demosthenes 27.63.4-5: n u k ; o u k * a^tov SutyavuieTcTv:
378 Ed Sanders
to perform lots o f expensive liturgies, can no longer perform even small ones:
Aphobos and his co-guardians have hidden the will, used the profits to defray the
expenses of their own estates, and appropriated the capital to enhance their
own.101 What emotion is appropriate? By comparison with Against Meidias, we
would expect him to he covertly manipulating the ju ry ’s phthonos (resentment).
Demosthenes does not call for it explicitly here, but in his second speech in the
trial (see note 8 above) he does: ‘Which o f you’, he asks, ‘would not be justly
resentful at Aphobos...?’.102 Vety similar arguments to those in Demosthenes’
Against Aphobos speeches are made in Isaeus’ On the Estate o f Dikaiogenes, 103
another inheritance dispute, and one can assume the same emotion is being arou
sed. More explicitly, in Isaeus’ On the Estate o f Philoktemon, the speaker says his
friends (on whose behalf he is speaking) have performed lots o f liturgies while
their opponents have not, so ‘you should resent them not us’.104
A corollary of talking about one’s opponent’s avoidance o f liturgies to arouse
phthonos for them, is that if a speaker refers to his own liturgies at length, he
might be trying to defuse jurors’ phthonos against him, whether called for
explicitly by his opponent or not.105106In Demosthenes’ For Phormion, the speaker
criticises his opponent Apollodoros, saying that he will claim he has performed
many liturgies and then been treated shamefully; however, in reality, the liturgies
were performed on Apollodoros’ behalf by his guardians during his minority, and
since then Apollodoros has spent barely a fraction o f the income, let alone the
capital, on the city; instead he has shamefully and ignobly squandered his inhe-
ritance.,fMParaphrasing the emotions aroused and suppressed: Apollodoros is try
ing to awaken gratitude by talking o f his many liturgies; the speaker, however,
argues that gratitude is not due - and by inference phthonos (resentment) is -
101 Demosthenes 27.64.

102 Demosthenes 28.18.2-3; r 8’ ovk 6tv vg&v xovxtp p£v <p0ovf|aeie Sncatwc;...; see §1 above
on follow-up speeches, The juxtaposition of just and phthonos confirm it is the censuring type
(resentment, indignation, even anger) that is meant.
J03 Isaev* 5.34-45.
104 isaeus 6.61.1 3 otox’ ov <p0ov£icr0ai eimv aîot, ctXXa noXv gaXXov, vt) tov A(a icai tov
AxoXXai, oirtoi. et Xriyovxui ci pn rtpocrrjicei aoxoT;.
If) 5 And might simultaneously be trying to arouse their gratitude, or indeed other favourable
emotions for instance, at Demosthenes 25.76.5-6 the speaker says his opponent might talk
about h»s liturgies to arouse, not gratitude, but pity (eleos) and goodwill (philanthropic !).
However, this particular opponent has not performed any liturgies (25.77- 78), so (says the
speaker; these emotions should not be felt for him; we might instead read a covert attempt to
arouse phthonos
106 Demosthenes 36 39 -41 u / j j j vt) Aid. xrxuO’ r\ noXu; f ’tA.T)(pev, k u 'i 5ttvfx ne/iov0cx<; noXXit
*<>xn t j /.)) toopyri *ox, vXX it pev ck koivcov £X.T)ToopYfi^ t('ov ypppom ov, ctv icui «8cX<p6i;
nvi)/ji>ooxr it O' uotepov, oxjk eottv a^wx pr| o n Suoi v tw Ax x v t o iv n p o o o So v , <xAA’ o u 6 ’
e i K o m g v ix N . gT|Ofvov v tt|v ito X w o.itio), pf)8’ it tri> raw ovtojv a i ay pint; kcxi k u k u k , (i v t \X m -
tcaq, <&> i) tto/.i^ ffr.w rv, tva 6 ’ rifirit’. tl> av5pe<; A 0 t iv u io i , to tt t& v xpHM«-
ttw <wv i f n t w , icoi to; y.fitoupytaq itc, /UAflToupYTtK'ev, (xvtxyvdxjixm \>piv k « 0 ’ c v fku -
mov Toooi/tu p*v xotvuv ypripixt' fiXrppox; Krtl Xprix noXXutv tixXtivxtov eyinv .... Kai
vksu sa ovr|/X))K(iK, 6 o ’ f|xm'/aot£, oo8i r o X X ootov p fp o ; tojv n p o a o b o v , ph o n xtov
upy/xitov, n : to ; Xiytooppu/,, opox, uAxxôviuni xui xui xpuipupytui; i p n m x i yo piiyta;.
Arousal o f Hostile Fmotions in Attic Forensic Oratory 379
since Apollodoros has not been making the liturgies he should have. A further
indication that phthonos is being covertly aroused is Demosthenes’ statement that
Apollodoros squandered the assets he received from his father’s estate, as Lysias
testifies that phthonos is the emotion felt towards those squandering their patri
monies.107
4.2 Embezzlement and Bribe-taking
There was a widespread perception in democratic Athens that those who were
politically active (in the Assembly and/or the lawcourts, or filling magistracies)
did rather well out o f the system.108 Some genuine rewards were available to them
(voted honours and immunities from certain expenditures, free dining at public
expense etc. - though most of these were very rare); but still they were seen to
make money in all sorts o f underhand ways, including bribery (by foreign allies,
or to avoid malicious prosecution), corruption (i.e. kick-backs), and embezzle
ment.109 This prevailing assumption is underlined by the mid-fifth century dema
gogue Perikles’ pointed commendation of himself to the demos as incorrupti
ble.110 Hyperides suggests that it was both expected and acceptable for public
figures and generals to make significant personal profits, provided the money was
used in the interests o f Athens rather than against them,111 but this cannot have
been the generally accepted view. Rather we might look to Demosthenes once
again, who in his early political career castigates more established public figures:
he says some have gone from being beggars to being wealthy,11213and have become
eminent from obscurity, some o f their private houses are grander than public
buildings, and their personal fortunes have risen as much as the city’s have
fallen.1 3 Demosthenes alludes to wholesale embezzlement by those who are
107 Lysias 27.11.1-2: tcaixoi exepou; upeTq eaxiv oxe xa itaxpwa xeicx^pevon; xaCxa jxoiotimv
E<p0oveTxe. Ironically, Lysias is talking about people spending their patrimonies on the city,
but he refers to a time in the past (Lysias’ speech is in any case set some 40 years earlier -
Todd 2000, 282; MacDowell 2004, 152), and the implication is that in those times, rich
citizens spending money on the city were bribing the demos for their support. In fact,
squandering one’s inheritance was a crime in Athens, punishable by atimia (loss of many
citizen rights) - see Hansen 1976, 55-82 on the crimes for which atimia is imposed.
108 Sinclair 1988, 179; Carey 1994,73.
109 Harvey 1985, 89-102; Sinclair 1988, 176-186.
110 Thucydides 2.60.5.3-4: tpiXonoXic; xe kou Kpeiooiov - see Homblower 1991, 333f.
Harvey 1985, 98 notes that only four Athenian public figures are so described in literary
sources, three of them from the mid-fifth century.
111 Hyperides 5.25.1-5: onep yap Kai ev xcp 8r|pa> eucov, noXXa open; a> dv8pe<; SiKaotai
8i8oxe tKovxE<; xoTq axpaxtiyou; ical xoT<; pqxopoiv tbtpeXeiaOai, oi> xtov voptov auxotq 8e-
8u)koxcov xouxo noieiv, aXXd xf)<; upexepa<; rcpaoxqxos *ai tpiXavBptoiciou;, ev povov xapa-
tp\)Xdxxovxe<;, ontoi; 8 i’ upa<; icai pf) k.«8 ’ optov eaxat ro Xap(5av6pevov.
112 Compare ‘from poverty to wealth’ (note 117 below).
113 Demosthenes 3.29.5-9: arcopXeyotxe 8q Jtpoc; xou>; xauta reoXixeuopevout;. v oi pev eic
nxtoxtov nXoucnoi yeyovaaiv, oi 8’ aSol^tov evxtpot, m o t 8e xa^ i8 ia; oikias xtov 8r|po-
ottov oik*o8opiipdxtov crcpvoxe pa*; eiat kuxeoKeuuapevot, oo<p S£ td rtoXeak; t'Xdxxto
yeyovrv, xoaoijtcp xd xovmov iiuîyxat.
380 Ed Sanders
politically active, made even clearer when he goes on to say that, when politicians
spend public money, the demos are grateful for them spending their (the demos'')
own possessions.114*These accusations will play to a range of hostile emotions:
e.g. embezzlement is normally described as klope (theft) in Greek, and in several
speeches this is associated with explicit calls for orge.'15 Although we do not find
explicit exhortations to phthonos, 1contend that this is because phthonos generally
had such negative connotations (i.e. envy, jealousy) that it was much harder to
play with explicitly than orge - hence why there are only nine explicit calls for
phthonos in the corpus (see note 84 above). Nevertheless, it should be clear from
the previous sections that accusations of elites abusing their positions with respect
to money and political power, will at least potentially play to a phthonos agenda -
and 1 believe this allows some speakers to arouse phthonos covertly alongside
orge.
Close examination of several speeches about embezzlement and bribe-taking
suggest this does indeed happen. In Lysias’ Against Ergokles, the speaker begins
by listing a number of offences Ergokles has committed, and calls for org e."6
However, he focuses on just one of the charges: that Ergokles has become wealthy
from poverty at ‘your’ (i.e. the demos'1) expense,117 the latter phrase making clear
who the rightful owners of the money are. The speaker states that Ergokles and
his colleagues used to be poor and in need, but now have swiftly accumulated the
largest property of all the citizens.118 He continues to contrast the impoverished
jurors with his enriched opponent: the jurors are weighed down by the war tax
(eisphora), so should not forgive embezzlers and bribe-takers; jurors would be
rendered poor because of the eisphora, while Ergokles and his cronies became the
most wealthy citizens; as soon as they had taken their fill of and enjoyed the de
mos' possessions, they thought themselves apart from the city; now Ergokles and
hts cronies are rich and hate the demos, they want to rule over it and, fearing to
li4 Demosthenes 3.31.2 7: iigrit; 8’ 6 8ppo<; ... xcbv upetepwv avxoov xapiv rtpoaocpdAete.
i (5 Lysias 27, 28, 29, 30; Dinarchus 1 , 2 - some of which are discussed below. A notable
counter-example is Demosthenes 24, which has extensive discussion of theft and a number of
calk hr urge, but never connects the two. Aristotle connects theft with misos (see above), but
this only finds support in the oratorical corpus in Dinarchus 2.
Jib Lysias 28 2 5 -6: iigrapov toivuv fpyov ta tty , o’) av8pe<; AOrjvaioi, eni xo!<; to io o to n ;
ijfrfitjrfiw
117 Lysias 28.1.6-7: icon ix nrvrpot; eic twv iipETtpoiv jt3.oumo<; YfYtVTlMfvo<; The phrase
wealthy from poverty’ (plousios ek penelon, or similar) appears a number o f times in the
oratorical corpus (Isocrates 5.89.7, 8.124.7; Lysias 1.4.6, 25.27.1, 25.30.4, 27.9.6, 28.1.6;
Demosthenes 24 124 7, 57 45.10), and, as Aristotle notes in his description of to nemesun,
while those who have been wealthy lor a long time seem to be so justly, those lately wealthy
do not (Aristotle Rhetoric 2.9 I387a24 26: caxtov 8’ oxi oi pfv |upxai6nA,ovxoi| Sokoooi
vi ui/tm I f m oi 8’ fveoxAooxoi] ow to yc/,p <m oox oj ipuivopevov tx f iv aXn0c<; SokeT,
m u oi iftipot 00 w oinoiv i'/nv; ‘Correcting’ Aristotle’s to nemesan (see note 83 above),
we should read this phrase as aiming to arouse phthonos covertly.
118 Lysttfc212 3 5: TotVtno: 61 nr vr|to/, xoi unopovt; t-KxXt'ummoti; oxtxwq xetxcox; nAdaxnv
twv notAXtio 0i/Oittv xnaiigf.voos;,
A rousal o f H ostile Em otions in Attic f orensic Oratory 3X1
lose what they have embezzled, they want to turn Athens into an oligarchy.'10
This last charge, only a few years after the two bloody coups referred to earlier,119120
aims at arousing far more than phthonos - fear, anger, and hatred are at least as
likely. But the repeated ‘acoustic signal’ o f ‘we’re poor, they’re rich; we’re poor,
they’re rich’ should make it clear that phthonos is one of the emotions covertly
being aroused throughout this passage.
Sim ilar them es can be found in Lysias’ follow-up prosecution Against Philo-
krates. Ergokles was convicted and executed,121 but since no money was found,
the prosecutor alleges that he must have deposited it with the man he was closest
to, Philokrates, who m ust now be convicted similarly for the money to be re
couped. The speaker calls Philokrates one of those who possess the city’s proper
ty, and says that on conviction he would not be losing any of his own property,
rather he w ould be giving the demos' back to them; after a couple more references
to the dem os' property, he says Philokrates was an accomplice of Ergokles in
stealing their property, and they should grant no amnesty to those who steal their
property; finally, he concludes that if they are wise, they will take back their
property.122 The constant focus on the wrongful possession o f ‘your property’ (the
demos is addressed throughout in the second person) is striking, and seems
calculated to arouse the ju ro rs’ phthonos}23
One final speech I w ould like to draw attention to is Lysias’ On a Charge o f
Accepting B rib es.124 The speaker dwells at great length on his lavish expenditure
on liturgies and his other services to the city. He then pleads that he not be
119 Lysias 28.3.1-3: Kai yap 5r\ 8eivov av em, ei vvv pev ouxarq auxoi itieôpevoi xau;
eicupopau; auyyvtopriv toTq KXenxoncn Kai xoiq SwpoSoKoOmv exoite. 28.4.5-7: Kai n p a ;
pev 5 ia xa<; eiacpopaq neveaxepoo<; djxo8eti;eiv, 'EpyoKXea 8e Kai xo\><; KoXaraq xoix;
ain o d nXouoKoxdxovq xajv noXixwv noujoeiv. 28.6.4-6: ertEiSri xaxtcrxa EvenXnvxo Kai
xtov upexeptov aneX aoaav, aXXoxpunx; xt^ noXewc, a iix o ^ dyr\aavxo. 28.7.2-5: a p a yap
jxXouxodai Kai upac; pioodm , Kai oukexi wq apôpevoi rcapaaKeudôvxai aXX’ ax; vpwv
api;ovx£<;, Kai SeSioxeq xmep <ov i><pjipr|vxai exoipoi eiai Kai x^pia KaxaXappaveiv Kai
oXiyapxiav KaOiaxavax.
120 See note 91 above. Usher 1999, 99 notes this passage plays to the ‘tensions of those times’.
121 Lysias 29.2.
122 Lysias 29.8.3: xoix; xd xi)s JioXeax; ifxovxat;. 29.8.4-5: oi>8ev yap xwv avxou Kaxadrjoei,
aXXa xd vpexepa auxarv upiv dnoScoaei. 29.9.3-4: xoxx; 8e xd upexepa auxwv Exovxay
29.10.1: xd dpexepa exovxev 29.11.5-6: onto*; 8e xd xr\<; rcoXeax; ’E pyokXe i cruvexbox;
k X ejxxovxx. 29.13.5-6: K a i gr|8tpiav avixou; aSexav 8a>oexe ta vpetEpa auxarv SiapJta-
£ouax Kai k X ejxxovkjxv. 29,14.3-4: eav ouv oaxppovhxe, xd upExep’ adxcov KopxeTcOe.
123 Many of the same themes that appear in Lysias 28 and 29 appear also in Lysias 27, Against
Epikrates, including the phrases ‘they are stealing your property’ (27.6.1-2: vuv 8’ aoxpaXux;
outxoic, e'xei xd bpexcpa kXejiteiv) and ‘they have become wealthy from poverty out of your
property’ (27.9.5-7: ouxoi pcv yap ev xcp ixoXepii) ek nevriuov rxXououn yryovaoxv ek twv
bpexeparv, ugEix; 8 e 8id xodxou^ rcevr|X£i;) - see Usher 1999,98f.; Todd 2000,282.
124 Todd 2000, 228f. contends that the title of the speech may be misleading, and given various
comments about being in possession of the city 's money it could be embezzlement that is the
actual charge. It may be true that other charges are involved - however the speaker does beg
not to be convicted o f bribery (Lysias 21.21.4-5: eyCo 8’ upxov Seopax Kai iKctenor Kai
dvxi|ioX(ii pn Kaxayvmvai 6u)po6oKiuv epou).
382 Ed Sanders
deprived of ‘my own* property (contrast the repeated insistence on ‘your’

property in the two speeches just discussed), as the vast amounts he has spent on
the city should win him gratitude.125 Finally, he points out the sheer unlikelihood
that someone who spends so much of his own money to the benefit o f his city
would then take bribes to harm it.126 This line of argument directly links the two
issues we have been considering. The speaker recognises that the demos may feel
phthonos for his supposed bribe-taking and/or embezzlement (see note 124 above;
i.e. possessing the demos' money), and he cleverly draws a parallel to phthonos at
liturgy avoidance (i.e. not spending money on the demos). By conflating these two
issues, the speaker effectively attempts to defuse phthonos for one type o f action
by show ing phthonos for another type not to be deserved. And he even makes this
explicit: ‘you should pity me for being poor’, he says, ‘rather than feel resentment
(phthonos) for me for being rich’.127
5 SHARED CULTURAL VALUES AND AROUSAL OF EMOTIONS
It is clear that there are a number of ways to arouse hostile emotions in a jury
beyond explicit exhortation. Aside from crimes such as theft or murder, which
might be expected to arouse hostile feelings anywhere, there are a good many that
have culturally specific implications in the Classical Athenian democracy. I have
explored a number of these at length, and there will be many others, both for
hostile emotions and for other emotions such as pity, gratitude, friendship etc.
The examples I have chosen have demonstrated a variety of ways in which the
historian can determine the expected emotional response to a cultural stimulus.
The most obviously useful evidence is explicit linkage in similar texts - here
explicit statements in Attic forensic speeches that, e.g. someone has committed
hybris and they deserve orge in response, or that they have avoided their liturgical
obligations and so deserve phthonos. However, even when such direct evidence
does not exist, or is limited, it can be supplemented by evidence in other types of
text, especially when their complementarity can be demonstrated. In the case of
Attic oratory, the value system is that of the Athenian (mass) demos, and accord
ingly source evidence of similar standing was best provided by comedy (for in
125 Ly*iax2l 12; cf.2l. 17,21.25.

126 Lysias 2 1 22
127 Lysias 2I.J5.3-4. k o i tbrs\xtj. ytvogevov ckerjoai gaXXov ij nkoutoovTi (pOovfjmxi. This
provides some assurance that the emotional response to bribe-taking (and embezzlement)
indeed is - or ai the very least includes phthonos. The speaker also suggests that were he to
need them to, he'd expect the demos to plead on his behalf, in the way he would do for his
friends (§17; i.e he claims friendship with the demos). This is interesting, alongside his pleas
for gratitude and pity, in the light of | Aristotle], Rhetoric to Alexander's advice that an orator
should fry to arouse his audience’s gratitude, pity, and friendship see note 24 above. We can
also note that Aristotle, Rhetoric 2 9 I387a3 5, 2.10 1388a27 30 argues that when one feels
phthonos lor someone one cannot feel pity for them, so the very fact that the speaker asks for
pity suggests dial he believes he lias successfully dispelled the jurors’ phthonos.
Arousal of Hostile Emotions in Attic Forensic Oratory m
stance on sykophants and sophists) - another literary genre performed before the
full dem os, and having to work within its values. I have also used evidence (e.g.
Aristotle on contempt and orge, or pseudo-Aristotle on phthonos as an alternative
hostile emotion to org e and m isos) from philosophers who analysed the oratorical
corpus, despite their more limited audience, providing there was supporting evi
dence within other mass-audience literature - primarily within the oratorical
corpus itself. This methodological approach has allowed me to determine, with a
high degree of assurance, that certain acts and types of character really did arouse
specific (and perhaps more generalised) hostile emotions. Accordingly they could
be used to persuade a judge - in the case of Attic oratory, a number of judges - by
arousing his/their emotions, thus affecting his/their judgment.
That there are a great many ways to arouse a judge’s hostile emotions against
an opponent, is important for an understanding of Attic oratory and the culture of
the city in the democratic period. Of wider significance, though, is the conclusion
that by identifying and playing on certain jointly-held cultural values, any suppli
cant can covertly influence a judge to take his or her part against an opponent -
whether by arousing hostile emotions against the opponent (as 1have concentrated
on in this chapter), or by arousing friendly emotions towards him/herself.
In Attic oratory, speakers address large audiences of their equals, though (as I
suggest in note 47 above) the dem os is placed in a hierarchically higher position
than the prosecutor and defendant for the duration of the trial. Moving away from
literary sources, we find other examples of addresses to those hierarchically supe
rior, which seek to arouse emotions by appealing to common values, in order to
influence their judgment against someone: inscribed prayers to a god for justice,
for instance (see pp. 235-266 in this volume), or petitions written on papyri to
Hellenistic (fourth-to first-century BCE) kings and their senior subordinates (see
pp. 54f. and 57f.). There are a vast number of the latter, and many both show
emotion and seek to arouse emotion in the person petitioned, for instance:
To King Ptolemy greeting from Herakleides. ... As 1 was passing by her house an Egyptian
woman, whose name is said to be Psenobastis, leaned out of a window and emptied a
chamber pot of urine over my clothes, so that 1 was completely drenched. When 1 angrily
reproached her, she hurled abuse at me. When I responded in kind, Psenobastis in her own
right hand pulled the fold of my cloak in which 1 was wrapped, tore it and ripped it off me, so
that my chest was laid quite bare. She also spat in my face, in the presence of several people
whom I called to witness. The acts that I charge her with committing are: resorting to violen
ce against me and being the one to start the fracas by laying her hands on me unlawfully.... 1
therefore beg you, O king, if it please you, not to ignore my being thus, for no reason,
manhandled by an Egyptian woman, whereas 1 am a Greek and a visitor, but to order ...
Psenobastis ... to be questioned on my complaint and to suffer, if what 1 say here is true, the
punishment (zemia) that the strategos decrees.
To King Ptolemy, greeting from Philista daughter of Lysias. ... 1 am wronged by Petechon.
For as I was washing myself in the bathhouse ..., and had stepped out to soap myself, he
being bath-man in the women’s rotunda and hav ing brought in the jugs of hot water, emptied128
128 P.Enteux. 79. Trans. Lewis 1986, 61. We can note the similarity of the charges made here
against Psenobastis and some of those in Demosthenes 54 against Konon.
384 Ed Sanders
one over me and scalded my belly and my left thigh dow n to the knee, so that my life was in
danger. ... I beg you, therefore, O king, if it please you, as a suppliant who has sought your
protection, not to suffer me, who am a working woman, to be thus lawlessly treated, but to
order Dioghanes ... to bring Petechon before him in order ... [that] I may obtain justice
( dikaios ).
To Zenon, greeting. ... You know that you left me in Syria with Krotos and 1 did everything
that was ordered w ith respect to the camels and was blameless towards you. When you sent
an order to give me pay, he gave nothing of what you ordered. When I asked repeatedly that
he give me what you ordered and Krotos gave me nothing, but kept telling me to remove
myself. 1 held out for a long time waiting for you; but when I was in the want of necessities
and could not get anything anyw'here, I was compelled to run away into Syria so that I might
not perish of hunger. So I wrote you that you might know that Krotos was the cause of it.
When you sent me again to Philadelphia to Jason, although I do everything that is ordered, for
nine months now he gtves me nothing of what you ordered me to have, neither oil nor grain,
except at two-month periods when he also pays the clothing allowance. And I am toiling
away both summer and winter. And he orders me to accept sour wine for my ration. Well,
they have treated me with scorn because I am a barbarian. 1 beg you therefore, if it seems
good to you. to give them orders that I am to obtain what is owing and that in future they pay
me in full, in order that I may not perish of hunger because 1 do not know how to speak
Greek
In the first of the above petitions, we find a Greek man petitioning a Greek, that
he might punish an Egyptian. He lays stress both on his own Greekness and the
Egyptian’s non-Greekness, as well as describing in detail the barbarous way she
has behaved towards him (including violence and other humiliating behaviour).
The tone of the petition is outraged, and the writer clearly expects the king to
share that outrage - and he demands ‘punishment’.12913031 The second petition is less
straightforward, but again we have a Greek wronged by a barbarian, petitioning
another Greek. Again the tone is outraged, and again the petitioner dwells on the
lawless’ behaviour (she ignores the fact that it was an accident, and pretends it
was intentional violent behaviour), and demands ‘justice’. The contrast with the
third petition is marked. Here a barbarian petitions a Greek about the behaviour of
another Greek. There will be no shared Greek hostility toward barbarians to play
to, and the Greek’s actions are accordingly not presented as outrageous, but as
unjust. The tone throughout is one of suffering, and the petitioner’s clear intention
is to arouse not anger, hut pity. It is, once again, such attention to shared cultural
values that allows us to interpret the emotions these petitions aim to arouse.132
129 / ' f.nttrux K2 (translated by liagiiall and Dcrow 2004, 234 no. 140).
130 /'('o l /t'n I 60 (translated by fiagriall and Derow 2004, 230 232 no 137).
131 Rubinstein 2004 shows. Dial explicit attempts to rouse anger go hand in hand with demands
for punishment (kolu/ l wmt-i ttmor ) in Attic oratory. Sec also Allen 2000
I 32 See ( hanions 2005 for an instance where petitioners mistake their audience’s values,
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‘BEING UNABLE TO COME TO YOU AND LAMENT AND
WEEP WITH YOU’
Grief and Condolence Letters on Papyrus
C hrysi K o tsifo u
Who originated the most exquisite of inquisitions, the condolence system?... 1wish I could go
away! I wish i could go away and creep into the ground and die! If nobody need ever speak
any more words to me! If anybody only knew what to say! ... The luxury of grief, like all
luxuries, is pleasurable. ...
Elizabeth Stuart Phelps, The Gates Ajar
They told me, Francis Hinsley, they told me you were hung
With red protruding eye-balls and black protruding tongue;
I wept as l remembered how often you and I
Had laughed about Los Angeles and now ’tis here you’ll lie;
Here pickled in formaldehyde and painted like a whore,
Shrimp-pink incorruptible, not lost nor gone before.
Evelyn Waugh, The Loved One
l INTRODUCTION
Sometime betw een the third and the fourth centuries CE, Eudaimon wrote to his
friend H erm odoros to offer consolation;
Eudaimon to Hermodoros, my lord brother, greetings. By your health, if die duties that l have
been assigned were not so numerous and so important as to be inexorable, 1 would have left
everything and rushed to you myself to pay my respects to you, and to talk to you, (and) es
pecially to (our?) sister about the human fate which has befallen (your?) daughter. For 1know
that you, being a man and having become one through the experience of many things, (being
conscious of your human condition and one who has had the experience of many things) will
be able to master yourself. But I beg you to tell (our?) sister the necessary things about that.
For none of those who are bom at all is immortal. Blessed is she (the girl) who has escaped
this wretched and toilsome life before its disasters arrived. But it is necessary that (our?) sis
ter, even though she is in such a sad (?) condition, nevertheless has the benefit of her nearest
and dearest. I beg you, brother, if you have ever helped those in difficulties, now is the time
(?). To Hermodoros, exegetes of Alexandria, from Eudaimon, speculator, his brother.
1 SB XVII1 13946 (Hermopolis?, third to fourth century CE); cf. Chapa 1998, no. 8: EuSaiguiv
Eppo8u>pii> to) Kupicp pou dSeAipco xaipeiv. vf\ xqv crqv motqpiav, ei pr\ ra eicuripevd pm
vuv ippovtiopaxa xoiauxa qv xai tr\\iKuuxa wq dttapaixrtxa evvav, xavxa av KaxaXmov
390 Chrysi Kotsifou
In a much different light, Debra Hart May and Regina McAloney in their Every
day Letters for Busy People, state that ‘condolence letters are probably the single
most difficult letters to write. Many well-intentioned people handle them poorly
and actually offend rather than comfort the person grieving’. They then state that
some wishes that should never appear in a condolence letter are: ‘Charlie’s in a
better place’, ‘At least your baby won’t experience the hardships of life or did not
live a long life of pain’, or ‘Don’t worry, you’ll see Tommy again in heaven’.
They conclude that ‘one should also avoid trying to encourage a person back to a
place of normalcy. Different people experience grief differently, and it is often a
slow process’.2 Obviously, when Eudaimon was alive, this advice had not been
written, but there was a large corpus of Greek and Latin consolation literary
works,3 epitaphs,4 consolation decrees,5 various epistolary theories6, and other
condolence letters on papyri on which one could fall back for guidance. It is
noteworthy that contemporary scholarship on consolation in the Greek and Roman
world has never incorporated condolence letters on papyrus in its studies.7
Condolence letters on papyrus can, however, illuminate different aspects of
grief and consolation from the consolatory literature mentioned above. This article
therefore discusses how these letters described, expressed and attempted to con
trol gnef. First, they offer us an insight into private bereavement (grief) rather
than public bereavement (mourning).8 Secondly, since some of the writers of
these letters have also left dossiers of their other documents, the letters provide a
fuller picture of these people’s familial situations and their relationships with their
family and friends. The latter factor is important because in such cases we can
find out whether the same person expressed the same emotions in different letters
and also learn what sentiments characterized this individual’s domestic relations.
Naturally, we can never definitely know if, and how much, the afflicted persons
u\jto; npo; upon; a<piic6gT}v otcok; xe ;tpoaKiivf|oo) ica't rtepi too cruppavxoi; avQptojti-
vcai xf) Byyaxpi ypcbv 8iuA.ex0oj poAioxa xr\ aSetapfl. 018a yap oxi at), avGpamcx; cov m i
8ia xctpou; nokkm yevopcvoi;, 8vvf|cei aavxov xpaxclv, 8eogai 6e coo icai xrj d 8eA,<pfi xa
dtovxa optXhoui xoyxov k'veicev. ov>8eii; yap xa>v anXax; yevvopevojv aGdvaxoq. p a m p ia
pcv EKfivTj tj itpo xduv aupipopiiiv xov Svaxrivov m i poyBripov (itov ipuyooaa, xr|v 8e 8eT m i
ovxoi SiuKEipevxiv opo*; xwv avayxaioxaxwv anokavtaQ ai. 6eopa( ao u , aSetape, ei
w t t xoii; tv avdyiqi Expnmpt-vaa^, vOv mipoq... 'Eppo 8o>pa) eÛYn^Ti (design) AA,e£av-
dptia; xupo. Ev8uipovo<; ajieKotAdxopoc; (design) dSeAxpou. All abbreviations o f papyri are
according Ui die Checklist of Editions of Greek, Latin, Demotic and Coptic Papyri, Ostraca
and Tablets at hup^/scriptonum.Iib.duke.edu/papyrus/texts/clist papyri.html.
2 Hart May and McAloney 2004, 275 277. f or more on contemporary psychiatric consultation
on attachment and loss and on the various types of consolation, see Zunin and Stanton Zunin
1992.
i Ochs 1990 Sarres 2005; Konstan 2006, 244 258; Baltussen 2009; Graver 2009.
4 Uttimorc 1942,
5 Buresch 1894, Strubbe 1998
6 White 1986, 189 191; Malherbe 1988.
7 For example, Skounlakis 2006
8 tivenbruch 1984,281
G rief and Condolence Letters on Papyrus 301
grieved for the departed,9 or if the sender of a condolence letter truly partook of
the addressee’s suffering. Sarah Pomeroy, together with various other scholars,
has noted that it is hazardous for the historian to attempt to probe the psychology
of people long dead, since the application of modem psychoanalytic theory is
anachronistic, and interpretations are invariably subjective.10 Thus, we can only
examine the ways strategies of consolation were formulated, which emotions were
expressed in them, and what role they performed. In general throughout the period
that these letters span, one finds a common attitude towards death and the ways of
dealing with it. Most o f these letters, besides offering condolence at a time of
great need, also exhibit deep concern about other people’s well-being and a strong
love for the deceased. The emotional communities1112that are referred to in these
letters are those o f the extended family and close friends, and the emotional bonds
and support systems that existed or were expected to exist between them.
Finally, this chapter places condolence letters on papyrus, as far as is possible,
within the framework of current psychological and anthropological research on
grief, mostly in order to throw more light on these documents’ social and cultural
construction. Placing grief as expressed in these papyri in its social and cultural
context is o f principal importance, as we know that grief belongs among the emo
tions that are not a pure response.
Grief is conditioned by its dependence on an evolving cultural context, highly sensitive to
functional and larger cultural issues.1-
9 Equally important, the intensity of grief differs greatly from person to person when con
fronted with otherwise similar loss, as noted in Steams and Knapp 1996, 132. Aristotle’s
definition of grief is ‘a pain resulting from the death or loss of a one who is dear' (Konstan
2006, 246).
10 Pomeroy 1999, 75f.
11 1 use the term emotional communities’ as defined by Rosenwein 2002 and 2006. Rosen-
wein’s definition of ‘emotional communities' as communities that define and assess certain
systems of feelings as valuable or harmful to them, and that they expect, encourage, tolerate,
and deplore specific modes of emotional expression (Rosenwein 2002, 842) is most appropri
ate in the study of the cultural construction of grief, especially if one considers Walter's
statement that ‘clearly, whatever their inner experience, bereaved people live in a social con
text that promotes some ideas of grieving and pathologizes others' (W alter 1999. viv).
12 Stearns and Knapp 1996, 149. Lutz 2001, 195. adds that while death and consequently grief
are universal, mourning rituals - and condolence letters can be said to belong to this category
- channel grief into a variety of funeral rituals, which are different from one culture to an
other. For an even stronger emphasis on the cultural aspect of grief and how grief underlies
the constitution of any given society, see Good and Good 1988, 50; Walter 1999. \i\ \\i;
Robben 2004.
392 Chrysi Kotsifou
2 THE AUTHORS OF THE CONDOLENCE LETTERS
Up to now there are sixteen edited letters o f condolence on papyrus, dating from
the first to the seventh centuries CE, most coming from the Roman era.13 We do
not have any Ptolemaic condolence letters; all types o f documents on papyrus
from the Hellenistic period are underrepresented, however, especially private let
ters.14
Both men and women were the senders o f such letters. Three of the letters
were sent by women. As for the men concerned, we know with certainty that
among them were a civil servant, a doctor, a speculator (an army officer or civil
servant), a dyer in Oxyrhynchos, and a clergyman or priest: all and all, we can
say, people who did not belong to the lower classes. The recipients are relatives or
friends of the writers, and are therefore in most cases probably o f the same social
status.15 The general impression is that the senders o f these letters were able to
write for themselves and had received enough education to be acquainted with
consolatory practices. Their level of education and high status are also reflected in
the letters' actual execution, which is sometimes o f high quality and skill; at the
very least, the high standard of the letters shows that these people could afford to
employ professional scribes to write their letters for them .16 Notably, it is the ex
pression of grief and compassion that results in letters that are, strictly speaking,
associated with these middle-to-high status people. Grief, in itself, involves no
judgment of intentions, no reckoning of relative power, and no reference to social
status.17
The existence of hand-books about letter-writing in antiquity is well-
attested,’8 and all of them included guidelines about how a condolence letter
should be phrased. In his Epistolary Types, Pseudo-Demetrios elaborated:19
13 Chapa 1998, has collected and re-edited thirteen of them. His analysis of the letters is exem
plary and I draw upon it heavily for the authorship and social background o f these documents,
as well as for their literary antecedents. Chapa’s edition includes: SB XIV 11646 (first to sec
ond century CE), POxy I 115 (second century CE), BGU 111 801 (second century CE),
P Wise II 84 (second to third century CE), P.Rainer Cent. 70 (second to third century CE),
PSl Xll 1248 (235 CE or later), P.Ross.Georg. Ill 2 (third century CE), SB XVIII 13946
(third to fourth century CE), P Oxy. LV 3819 (first half of fourth century CE), P.Princ. II 102
(fourth century CE), POxy LIX 4004 (fifth century CE), P Oxy. XVI 1874 (sixth to seventh
century CE), and P.tFAOU 11 (second century CE). Since then, Papathomas 1998, has added
two letters to this list: ( PR XXV 21 and 33.
14 Bagnall and Cribiore 2006, i 5-18.
15 Chapa 1998, 191 Condolence decrees in inscriptions also date from the same period and in
volve people of the same status (Strubbe 1998, 64). For a general discussion of addressees,
social structure, and the importance of education, see Dickey 1996, 81. and 16f. for a discus
sion of die archaeological evidence that contradicts the up-to-now prevalent idea that the elite
did not mourn for their children, see Schorn 2009, 342.
16 Ihc paleography o i I' R o ss.G eo rg Ill 2, lor example, confirms this idea.
17 Konstan 2006, 247
18 White 1986,189f
Oriel' and Condolence Letters on Papyrus 393
The consoling type [of a letter} is that written to people who are grieving because something
unpleasant has happened (to them). It is as follows:
When I heard of the terrible things that you met at the hands of thankless fate, I felt the deep
est grief, considering that what had happened had not happened to you more than to me.
When 1 saw all the things that assail life, all that day long I cried over them. But then I con
sidered that such things are the common lot of all, with nature establishing neither a particular
time nor age in which one must suffer something, but often confronting us secretly, awk
wardly and undeservedly. Since I happened not to be present to comfort you, l decided to do
so by letter. Bear, then, what has happened as lightly as you can, and exhort yourself just as
you would exhort someone else. For you know that reason will make it easier for you to be
relieved of your grief with the passage of time.
We also have an exemplar of a condolence-letter surviving on papyrus from the

second century CE, which reads similarly to the text quoted above:1920
—for —, be of good heart. When the terrible news was signified to me about the deceased
how I was distressed with all my household I cannot describe in words. You, brothers, as ra
tional people who know what is in store for all of us and how you are neither the first nor the
last to suffer this, bear what has happened courageously. I would have wished to meet you
face to face, but I had no opportunity to set foot in the village. In remembering my fellow-
feeling for the deceased and his good deeds, which he performed unstintingly for all, so I beg
you not to hesitate to write to me about what you need....
In this model one had only to insert the required names in order to achieve a us
able product. The copy is misspelled and syntactically abrupt, which shows, ac
cording to Peter Parsons, the hand of a writer with more ambition than educa
tion.21 Consequently, if we consider these standardized instructions about the
composition o f condolence letters together with all the philosophical common
places that the letters repeat, one could easily dismiss these documents as com
pletely void o f any individual information or true sentiment.22 But Antony R. Lit-
tlewood in his study o f Byzantine condolence letters makes the valid point that in
antiquity the recipients o f condolence letters would have expected them to include
all these classical allusions. They would have treated this factor as a sign of true
19 White 1986, 202f. and Malherbe 1988, 34f. Also see P.Bon 5 (third or fourth century CE); cf.
Malherbe 1988, 46f. For similar instructions by orators about the proper way to express con
solation, see Konstan 2006, 255.
20 P.Hamb. I V 254 (second century CE): u($) tt(vv) euGupeiv. rij>; cukvictouou ; poi ayyeXia<;
crripavGt'ions ncpi too e upoip oo n(vo^) neb*; pxGfaGpv jtavouce(aia) ouk eyo t«p Xaytp
rcap ao tijaa i. upei<; 8e, aSeXcpoi, tlx; (ppovipoiKai yivcaoKovtfv; to ream aitoKEipcvov x a i
ilx; oute Jipcotoi oute u a t a t o i enaGtte too to ytvvaia)^ qjeptte to oup|3dv. t yd) yap GfXa>v
autorcpocubrtax; u p iv o u aT aB rjva i ouk eithXBe poi tp Ktopfl m |3nvai. pipvncKop£vo<; m s
7tpo<; tov e u po ip ov a u p n a G e ia ^ K ai tcov exeivou x^pirw v. a<; xpoq x d v t a s bupBcivox; ltaptu-
Xev, jta p aK u X w o u v upa*; pp OKveiv ypdwptiv poi Jiepi wv upiv ecmv ... (translated by Par
sons 2007, 129f.).
21 Parsons 2007, 129.
22 Scholars have also questioned whether these letters could otYer any consolation at all, given
all the stereotypical expressions they use. For example, Worp 1945, 154
394 Chrysi Kotsifou
friendship. Ultimately, for the ancient reader it was the thought, as well as the
time and effort spent, that counted.23
As mentioned above, the senders of these communications composed their let
ters because of the death of a family member or a friend. The deceased were both
adults and children. Seven of the letters concerned the death o f a child, six the
death of an adult. Scholars in the past have mistakenly noted that condolence let
ters only refer to the death of children, and that the deaths of adults, whether
young or old, were too routine a part of the human condition to call for special
comment.24 This corpus, though, demonstrates that the same amount o f grief and
consolation was felt and shared for both adults and children. It cannot therefore be
said that there is any strict relation between age and emotion in these documents.25
Interestingly in his discussion of consolation decrees, Johan Strubbe also notes
that there is no difference in grief and its moderation, or consolation and consola
tory ideas, between the consolation decrees for children and adults. Regardless of
the age of the deceased, the decrees’ movers always expounded the same general,
and wide-spread, consolatory ideas.26
3 THE FORMULA OF THE LETTERS
The lay-out of these letters is standardized.27 To open, the senders primarily used
the common greeting xaipetv (greetings), though in some we find euxjruxelv (take
heart, be of good courage) or euGugeiv (be of good heart).28 Ei)V|/\>xetv and ei)0v-
pciv were also frequently used in epitaphs as a farewell to the deceased, often in
combination with the formula ou5ei<; d0dvaxo<; (‘no one is immortal’).29 Chai-
rein, which strictly means ‘to rejoice’, is not really appropriate for such letters but
was still used, which points to its non-emotional connotations and usage in these
23 Littlewood 1999, 34 For the use of letters as a token of friendship, see pp. 61-67 in this vol
ume.
24 Lewis 1983, 80f.
25 These letters also contradict the long-standing attitude in modem scholarship that in the an
cient world there was no great emotional attachment to children due to high mortality rates.
For an acceptance of this theory in relation to the Byzantine world, see Littlewood 1999, 36f.
For more on expression of care for children, see Bradley 1999, 184; Tsitsaroli and Valentin
2008: see also pp. 76-81 in this volume. Eisenbruch 1984a, also analyzes how similar mis
conceptions exist between western and eastern civilizations nowadays. He concludes (Eisen
bruch 1984a, 293>: ‘The question is not whether one society shows greater sensitivity to chil
dren than another, but rather that each has a special view of the significance of the child and
his death for the bereaved family and for the whole community.’
26 Strubbe 1998,72 74.
27 The letters' formula is fully analyzed in Chapa 1998, 25-43.
28 Xr/ipr.iv is used in five fellers: Chapa 1998, nos. 1,4, 8, 9, 10; coyote? v in two: Chapa 1998,
nos. 2, 13; while tuffogr iv is encountered in one: Chapa 1998, no. 6. Notably, the exemplar
of a condolence letter, Humh IV 254, also recommends tuBupdv. In one condolence letter,
( hapa 1998, no. 7, there is also the greeting tv npoomiv (prosperity).
29 lîUimore 1962, 253f.
letters and others.30 It seems probable, however, that in some condolence letters it
was felt important to seek a special greeting, something distinct from the normal
practice, to emphasize the letter’s exceptional character. Their writers therefore
chose the alternative greetings.
The opening address is usually followed by an expression of sympathy and
then an exhortation for the addressee to overcome grief and to return to normal
daily activities as soon as possible.31 As part of their display of compassion, the
letters’ senders mention how they have heard of the disaster that has befallen the
addressee and how much they grieve with him or her. Given, though, that the let
ters’ composers were not together with the family of the deceased, we have to say
that these could only have imagined the emotions that the latter felt after the death
occurred. The use o f euphemisms to refer to the deceased can also be considered
an expression o f sympathy towards the bereaved: the departed person is usually
referred to as eupoipox; (‘o f good fortune’) or gotKOtpiox; (‘blessed’). In one letter,
for example, the writer states: ‘I grieved and wept over the departed as much as I
wept over Didymos’.32 Dead persons are called eupoipoi in other types of docu
mentary papyri, such as general letters, and in Late Antiquity it became a way of
referring to a late husband, especially in marriage contracts.33 Needless to say, this
term was also frequently employed in Roman and Late Antique epitaphs.34 Simi
larly, the sender o f a condolence letter states: ‘we were very much grieved when
we heard about your blessed wife...’,35 and in another letter the deceased daughter
is referred to as ‘blessed’.36
More specifically, consolations fall into three categories: ‘nothing can be
done’; ‘death is common to all’; and ‘those who die escape the sufferings of life.’
All three themes can also be found in ancient authors and inscriptions. Plutarch,
for example, gave his friend the following advice:37
So it is clear that he who tries to console a person in grief, and demonstrates that the calamity
is one which is common to many, and less than the calamities which have befallen others,
changes the opinion of the one in grief and gives him a similar conviction - that his calamity
is really less than he supposed it to be.
30 For the distinction between lexical or referential and address meanings of certain words and
how these meanings are separate but not unrelated, see Dickey 19%, 9-11.
31 The latter will be analyzed fully in the following sections.
32 P.O.xv. 1115 (second century CE): onto*; eXurcr^v icai ex'Xauoa eni twi evftotfxot 4 ; m
Ai8\)gato<; eicXaooa. The deceased son in P.Princ. II 102 is also referred to as eumoims.
33 Chapa 1998,29.
34 Eum oiros is a term commonly thought to be used primarily in Egypt; interestingly, though, a
search of this term at the PHI Greek Inscriptions database shows that out of the 75 matches
only 21 come from Egypt and Nubia.
35 P, Oxy. LIX 4004 (fifth century CE ).
36 SB XVIII 13946 (third to fourth century CE).
37 Plutarch, M oralia 106C ( Consolation to Apoilonios). For similar ideas in Classical poetry, see
Lattimore 1962, 251: Simonides: ‘Death cannot be escaped; it hangs over all alike, Good and
bad receive it equally;’ Euripides: ‘Death is the due to all mankind;’ Sophocles: ‘Death only
is what he cannot escape.'
396 Chrysi Kotsifou
The same idea is often repeated in inscriptions: ‘You are in ineluctable Perse
phone’s house, which is common to all'; ‘1 saw the common daylight, and now I
have death which is common to all forever’; ‘Time who crushes all has caught
m e’; ‘It is the common law for all men that they must die’; and ‘Do not weep, my
much-grieved father, nor you, mother, this is the common end o f all, and is
fated’.38 ‘Nothing can be done’ is also what Sempronios advised both his brother
and his mother: in his condolence letter to his brother, he says *... it is necessary,
since we cannot do anything nor even help, to think o f the human condition’; and
to his mother, ‘But what can we do against which nobody can do anything?’39
Another letter asserts that ‘nobody among men is im m ortal’ (o\)5 ex<; ev avOpw-
noiq d O avato;).40 Lastly, the consolation ‘those who die escape the sufferings of
life’ is noteworthy. As mentioned above, Eudaimon called H erm odoros’ deceased
daughter makaria (‘blessed’), and justified the epithet by explaining that the girl
was blessed because she had escaped ‘this wretched and toilsom e life before its
disasters arrived.’ Plutarch had expressed the same sentim ents three centuries be
fore, in his consolation for his friend Apollonios:41
Observe too the painfulness of life, and the exhaustion caused by many cares; if we should
wish to enumerate all these, we should too readily condemn life, and we should confirm the
opinion which now prevails in the minds o f some that it is better to die than to live.
In his consolation to his wife after their two-year old daughter died, Plutarch
added:42
That she has passed to a state where there is no pain need not be painful to us; for what sor
row can come to us through her, if nothing now can make her grieve?
A Late Antique Latin grave inscription from Trier also indirectly refers to the fact
that the dead are blessed because they have escaped the toils o f life:43
Here is buried a woman of senatorial rank, who merited, by the mercy o f God, not to know
about the death of her daughter which soon followed [her own] in peace; this consolation (so-
lamen) was accorded to her.
38 Lattimore 1962, 252 254. A notable difference, though, between the inscriptions and the
papyri is that in the former, it is often the deceased person who offers consolation. For this
phenomenon, sec Lattimore 1962, 2 17f. and 230f.
39 H.Wtsc II 84 Hate second century CL). This euphemistic way of referring to death (avOpuim-
vov, ‘die human condition’) is also commonly employed in wills. See, for example, the
documents in /' f’etne
40 I' f'nnc 11102 (fourth century CL).
41 Plutarch, Moralia I07A (( 'onsolation to Apollonius).
42 Plutarch, Moralia 611C (( onsolatum to his wife)-, translated in Pomeroy 1999, 601. On this
text set Haltussen 2009
43 Kosenweiri 2006, 68
G rie f and C ondolence Letters on Papyrus yn
4 GRIEF OR GUILT: DOUBLE-THEMED CONDOLENCE LETTERS
Another question that should now be asked is whether there is a discrepancy be
tween the expressed sorrow of the writer and the fact that he or she was not to
gether with the addressee. What priorities did the writers of these letters have?
What was the hierarchy o f their values? No matter how much grief and sympathy
they expressed in their letters, the fact that they were not together with their
friends and fam ily cannot be overlooked.44 As is to be expected, there was an in
consistency betw een what ancient epistolography maintained and the way people
actually com posed their letters. John White pointedly remarks:45
there was never a full integration of the practice and the theory. Ordinary letter writing, occa
sioned by practical necessities, influenced the theory but did not dominate it. Eventually,
epistolary theory seems to have influenced the practice.
The above questions can be illuminated if we consider the condolence letters that
do not deal exclusively with the consolation o f the addressee but also refer to
other fam ily or business affairs in the same letter. There are five such double-
them ed letters, all w ritten by friends o f the bereaved family and not family mem
bers. The letter o f T heodoros (fifth century CE) is a characteristic example:46
To my truly most honoured lord brother Kanopos, Theodoros. We were much grieved when
we heard about your blessed wife (or to hear about the fate of Makaria your wife?), and it is
not surprising that your son Gratianos missed her so much and even more her other sons. But
what can we do against mortality? So please console yourself and brave the journey and come
to me with my lord Valentios at Neson, for I have need of your Nobility. 1shall also have you
brought by boat. Do not delay, for the river has risen (it is the time for the river to rise?).
When you come please bring all the cleaned clothes that you have, that is: Nathanael’s tunic,
a white cover, Syncletike’s tunic, Kyra’s headscarf and tunic. 1 greet Didymos and Philo-
xenos and all your people.
(Written by a second hand) I pray for your health for many years, most honoured lord brother.
Do not worry about the wheat. I did not send it myself, so that it could be measured out on
your arrival.
44 Contemporary scholarship has repeatedly noted, for example, how remarkable it is that Plu
tarch did not go to his wife when their daughter died but chose to send a letter instead. See
Schorn 2009, 337f.
45 White 1986, 190; Chapa 1998,47.
46 P.Oxy. L1X 4004; cf. Chapa 1998, no. 11; Rowlandson 1998, no. 258: Kupiu) poo dXp0t»;
Tqucoxaxtp d8cX.<pa> Kavionto, QeoSwpoq. ravo eXunfiOppey cocouaayreq xi naOeiv Mavapi-
av ttjv ot|v eXeuGepav, xai ovk dXoYtoc, xoaovxov 6 uio<; oou Tpatiavdv; emSOrpjcv aurrjv.
K'a'i cxi 8c oi dtXXoi aoxrjq uio(. nXr^v t( 8uvape0a Jtoirjoai rtpo^ to av0pamtvov; Kaxaqi&>-
oov ouv oaoxov rcapapuGijaaaOai xat aKuXpov unopeivai xai eX0eTv Jipo^ pc pexa xou
xupioo pou OoaXcvxivoo ev xfj Nfimov. xpruxv Y«P GCO cou icai naXiv itoiai
ere 8td aKa<po\><; npojicptpGijvai. jar) ouv oxvijcrp,;, oti dvdpamt; eemv. epxopevos; Se tcata-
îaicrov cveyKai ooa eioiv Se■axixapiov NaGavaijX. paxvri Xcuktj, oxix<**
piov luyKXrixiKiV;, paipopiov tpi; Kupa^, axixdpiov Kupa«;. JcpooaYopruai Ai8upov icai
OAoêvov Ka\ ndvxa<; xou<; aou^. (Second hand) cpptuoGai oe evxopai xP^vol'i noAAoi*;.
tcupic xipuoxaxe d8tAipc. itcpi xou oitou pf| dptpi|3uA.Xe. eyth ouk entpya auxdv Yva ooi
eXGovxi irtxpapcxpnGij.
398 Chrysi kotsifou
The letter starts as a consolation but it turns to business matters immediately af
terwards. Kanopos’ wife had died, but once feelings of sadness and helplessness
had been expressed. Theodoros asked Kanopos to sail down to him because the
Nile flood had begun, and to bring garments which either needed fulling or had
already been fulled. If anything else, Theodoros’ letter expresses feelings of ur
gency and anxiety, that Kanopos should not miss the opportune time to sail to him
with all the required garments. His consolation is, therefore, kept to the bare
minimum, using just the standard phraseology. Maurice Eisenbruch states that
gnef cannot occur without a preceding attachment, and that this need for attach
ment is universal.47 Did the writers of condolence letters, then, feel less attach
ment to the deceased than the addressees? More to the point, did the composers of
the double-themed letters feel even less attachment?
In all fairness, not everyone was as tactless as Theodoros. Eirene’s dossier of
letters (second century CE) provides a good example. It contains three letters all
composed on the same day and dispatched by the same slave to the same recipi
ent. One is a condolence letter for Taonnophris and Philon, on the occasion of the
death of their child. Eirene’s short consolation reads:4849
Eirene to Taonnophris and Philo, take heart. I grieved and w ept over the d e p arte d as m uch as
I wept over Didymas. I and all mine, Epaphroditos, T h erm u thion, P hilion, A p o llo n io s and
Plantas, did all that was due. However, one can do nothing a gainst such th in g s. So, c o m fo rt
yourselves Farewell. Hathyr 30.
Then Eirene wrote two separate longer letters that concerned Philo and her busi
ness affairs with him. Quite sensitively, she seems to have wished not to combine
the two issues.
5 CONSOLATION AND CHRISTIANITY
Another relevant topic is whether the new religious beliefs occasioned by the ad
vent of Christianity affected the expression of grief and consolation.50 Barbara
Rosenwem is firm that Christianity had the potential to effect seismic shifts in the
emotions that were valued or disdained, as well as the norms of their expression.51
In the matter of death, however, the ‘calm and philosophical practicality’, as iden
tified by Alan Bowman,52 that was employed to deal with it seems also to have
been used in Late Antiquity. Certainly, the rationale that was expressed in Roman
47 Eiaenbruth 1984a. 285

48 H.(hy I 115 (Oxyrhyrichos, second century CL); cf. Chapa 1998, no. 2.
49 BOxy 1 116 md SB XX 15180 (O xyrhynchus, second century C h ) A lso see P a rso n s 200 7 ,
130
50 For the religious at filiations oI the persons m entioned in all the c o n d o le n ce letters, see C hapa
1998. 231 For the literary consolation tradition in Late A n tiq uity by the C h u rch F ath ers, see
Seourfield 1993, 15 13, lor die later tty/anting period, see l.ittle w o o d 1999 and S a rre s 2005.
5 1 Hju»enweiri 2006,42
52 bow m an 1990, f 37.
condolence letters - that ‘no man is immortal’ - is also found in later ones. Bern
hardt Palme attributes this phenomenon to the actual formula of the letters:
It can h a rd ly b e a c o in c id en c e th at the consolatio established itself as a literary genre during
ju s t th is p e rio d [th e Im p erial p erio d ]. N ot a single exam ple survives from the Ptolemaic pe
riod. S u rp ris in g ly , p e rh a p s, all o f th e condolence letters express only moderate sorrow , sym
p a th y , an d e n c o u ra g e m e n t. T h e ir stereotyped style o f w riting also explains w h^ there is no
s ig n ific a n t d iffe re n c e b e tw ee n th e pagan and the C hristian letters o f condolence. 3
In the Christian condolence letters on papyrus, the steps of expressing consolation

remain the same. The letter o f Alexander is typical of later examples:5354
T o m y lo rd b ro th e r K e rd o n , A le x an d e r greetings. I w ould have w ished to rush to you straight
fro m h e re a n d p a y d u e h o n o u r to th e benevolence o f your blessed son, but my not being able
to tra v e l a n d m e e t y o u h a s g o t into the w ay, since it is d ifficult for us to go up to the city. It is
n e c e ssa ry to b e a r th e h u m a n lot. T herefo re, put aw ay the grief o f human fault and think that
n o b o d y a m o n g m en is im m o rtal, but only G od, and rem em ber the prom ise o f the blessed
P aul, a s ... 1 p ra y th a t y o u b e w ell fo r m any years.
O f course, what changed was the view of the afterlife and that the blessed de
ceased person, who had avoided all the toils of life, was now in the bosom of all
the prophets and angels.55
Ultimately, just as in previous eras,56 uncertainty seems to have existed about
how one should feel when confronted with the death of a loved one. Both happi
ness and grief were legitimate alternatives. Therefore in Egypt on the one hand,
the liturgy and psalms expressed joy for the deceased’s attainment of happiness,
while on the other tombstones, Greek and Coptic, spoke of lamentation and tears.
Various Church fathers demanded control of one’s grief, but manuscripts and
condolence letters depicted sadness and loss in vivid colours.57 Peter Steams and
Mark Knapp claim that three related constraints operated to restrain elaborate
open displays o f grief, and possibly grief itself. First, undue grief could denote
undue attachment to worldly ties, rather than appropriate focus on God’s majesty.
53 P a lm e 2 0 0 9 , 3 6 2 f. T h is id e a is a lso sup p o rted by C hapa 1998, 23. Eisenbruch 1984a, 287,

n o te s th a t in o v e rc o m in g g rie f, so cial train in g is m uch m ore im portant than any religious or
e th ic a l b e lie fs . H e e x p la in s th a t 'th e su fferin g o f g rie f will be eased by the ways in w hich the
p e rso n c a n e x p la in to h im s e lf the “ c au se" and “co n seq u ences for his system o f v alues” o f his
loss. T h e re is a h u m a n n e e d to ju s tify h u m an in equalities or suffering. The C hristian ethic ex
p la in s lo ss a n d s u ffe rin g in o n e w ay, th e B uddhist ethic in another. It m akes little difference
w h e th e r th e b e re a v e d p e rso n is relig io u s in a form al sense. W hat m atters is how he w as so
c ia liz e d to re c o n c ile th e p ain o f lo ss.'
54 P.Princ. II 102 [fo u rth c e n tu ry C E ); cf. C h ap a 1998, no 10.
55 For th e d e v e lo p m e n t o f th e C h ristia n c o n cep t o f afterlife, see B renuner 2002.
56 F o r e x a m p le , w h a t P lu ta rc h a d v ise d his fam ily m em bers and friends to do in periods o f g rief
w as o p p o s e d to p re v a ilin g p ra c tic e ; see S e h o m 2009, 350.
57 For th e litu rg y , p s a lm s, m a n u sc rip ts, an d th e C hurch Fathers: W ipszyeka 1988; Thom as 2000.
5 0 - 5 5 ; fo r th e re q u e st to la m e n t o r not to lam ent on tom bstones: Roquet 1978, 1982a. and
19 8 2 b ; v an d e r V lie t 1988; SB Kopt. 1 464 ~ O Brii.Mus.CopL 3 t A ntuioopohs, eighth cen
tu ry C E ); fo r G re e k a n d R om an ep itap h s: L attiniore 1962, 2 3 4 f; for the attem pts o f contem
p o ra ry C h ris tia n m is sio n a rie s to c o n strain m ourning 'p e rfo rm a n c es' and their repression o f
e m o tio n a l d is p la y re la te d to d eath : Feld 1 9 9 5 ,1 0 0 .
400 Chrysi Kotsifou
Secondly, emotional ties within families were usually muted; the overriding eco
nomic concerns of families could reduce the shock of death since this, however
lamentable, was vital to keep family numbers within manageable bounds. Finally
the nature of death itself provided the third cushion against great grief: many
adults died what historians have labelled a ‘good death.’58 Only the first ‘cushion’,
the undue attachment to worldly ties, can be said to be related, albeit indirectly, to
our papyri, especially the ones from Late Antiquity. The other two constraints, if
they even existed in Antiquity, are not evident in these letters.
6 A COPTIC CONDOLENCE LETTER?
Now that the construction of the condolence letters on papyrus has been analyzed,
our consideration will shift to a Coptic letter that was published as a condolence
letter and subsequently accepted as such by various other scholars.59 The letter is
from Hermopolis and dated to the seventh century CE.60 Written by a man ad
dressing a monastic community, it opens with the customary prayers and greet
ings. The writer then asks the monks to intercede through their prayers to help
him and, more particularly, his wife to overcome the grief for their miserable
(TaXmntopoi;) daughter’s death. He explicitly states:
Look. J have sent Apakyri south to you so he can bring y o u r new s to us. F or w ith o u t you, the
distress that is upon us about our m iserable sm all d au g h ter is n o t sm all. It is G o d and yo u r
prayers that will console me about it. (A nd) because I can n o t drive aw ay the g rie f o f her
mother, also tread on/raise this g rie f...
Notably, all the words that refer to consolation and grief are in Greek. The writer
was most probably aware of the basic consolatory formulas. Nonetheless, judging
from the condolence letters and their model which we have seen, I feel that this
Coptic letter does not belong to the genre of condolence letters. First, in a condo
lence letter, condolence is always offered, not requested. Secondly, condolence
letters do not attempt to evoke pity. They purport to extend consolation. This Cop
tic letter, however, with its references to the ‘miserable’ dead girl and the great
suffering of her mother is clearly aiming to arouse pity in the addressee. Eleanor
Dickey, in her book Greek Forms o f Address has assembled twelve terms of
pity 61 Only one term (8{iottivo<;, ‘wretched, unfortunate’) shows up in the condo
lence letters, and that only once. In Eudaimon’s letter, the writer refers to the life
the dead girl escaped from as wretched and toilsome; quite carefully, he does not
use these terms in relation to any of the persons he is addressing.
It is a lot more probable therefore that this Coptic letter belongs to a much
larger genre of private letters, namely those asking for intercession from various
5k Stearns and Knapp 1996 133.

59 It is quoted as such, for exam ple, m Papathom as in CPR XX V 2 1.
60 Pditiori and com m entary in Sth en k e 1999.
61 Dickey 1996, 161 165
i anu condolence Letters on Papyrus 401
monastic figures.62 Its vocabulary, tone, and request for prayers are perfectly
compatible with this genre. Ultimately, as Nico Frijda explains,63
w h e n e v e r a s itu a tio n c an be v iew ed in altern ativ e w ays, a tendency exists to view it in a way
that m a x im iz e s e m o tio n a l g ain . E m o tio n s produce gains that differ from one em otion to an
other. ... G r ie f p ro v id e s e x cu se s, co n fers the rig h t to be treated with consideration, and gives
o f f c alls fo r ... sy m p a th y and m o llificatio n .
Three more letters can be brought in to illustrate this point:64 in the first, Isidora
wrote to her husband to inform him that their son was dying (second/third cen
tury). Her anxiety, fear and possible grief are unmistakably stated: ‘Come here
lest he die while you are not here. Know that if he dies in your absence, watch out
lest you find that I have hanged m yself. Admittedly, her great fear seems to have
been about dealing with her son’s death alone. In the second letter, a woman in
Syria (fourth century CE) wrote to her aunt in Egypt to let her know that her
mother/the addressee’s sister was dead. She stresses how her mother was all the
family she had and that now she was all alone in a foreign place. She concludes
with a request for news to be sent to her whenever possible. Two centuries later,
Esther asked a holy man from the Monastery of Epiphanios for help. Her children
had all died young; she was grieving and needed a commandment ‘which is pre
sumably intended to avert the death of future offspring’ or to offer her consola
tion.
7 CONSOLATION AND GENDER
On a different topic, this papyrological corpus can also offer important insight
into the relationship seen between emotions and gender, more specifically the as
sociation o f grief with women. Eudaimon’s consolation was addressed to the cou
ple, but especially to the mother who was greatly affected by her daughter’s death.
It has been noted that in the ancient world surviving the death of their children
was considered one o f the greatest misfortunes for parents, particularly for the
mother. This was one reason for feeling particular sorrow for the mother, since it
was thought that the loss was much more painful for her than for anyone else.65
But it is not only the increased maternal instinct and love that Eudaimon was re
ferring to here. He was making a direct association between emotions and control
over them, and men and women. His male friend, being a man of the world, had
knowledge of human nature and at the same time could control his emotions. Eu
daimon was concerned, however, that his friend’s wife lacked this knowledge and
62 R app 1949.
63 F rijda 1998, 2 8 2 f.
64 T h ey are: PSI III 177 (O x y rh y n c h o s, seco n d to third century C E); P.Bour 25 (A painea, S yria,
fourth c e n tu ry C E ); O. Mon.Epiph. 194 (T h eb es, sixth to eighth century CF.).
65 C h ap a 1998, I 15.
402 Chrysi Kotsifou
control. This was not a novel idea: Cicero and Plutarch in their consolation letters
were of the same mind. Cicero in his consolation to his friend Titius notes:66
F or if there was never even a woman so weak in mind that w hen she had lost h e r children she
d id n 't put a limit on grieving, certainly we [men] ought to anticipate by resolution w h a t the
passing days will bring, nor should we aw ait the medicine o f time, w hich w e can a nticipate
by reason.
Nevertheless, Eudaimon, Cicero, and Plutarch could have a point: the three conso
lation letters by women seem more emotional than the rest, especially when they
describe the sender’s emotions and actions of sympathy. For example, one of
them reads:6768
... because when I remember such an extrem e unexpected m isfortune, not even fo r a little can
I sleep. But you yourself are more worrying to me than that. A nd I p u ff m y se lf up b e ca u se I
have no possibility o f coming to you to lament and weep with you. Perhaps then I w o u ld have
been re lie v e d ...
This letter illustrates brilliantly one of the associations that Antonius Robben
draws between grief and mourning, namely that
crying relates in the same way to g rief as w eeping and w ailing relate to m ourning. M o urning
is not a spontaneous emotion but a collective obligation m anifested in a ppeasem ent rites.
The composer of this condolence letter first allows us to suppose that she was cry
ing by herself because of her grief at the addressee’s misfortune, but then she
claims that if she had been with the receiver of the letter, then they would have
wept and wailed together, thus achieving some solace.
Such weeping and wailing, especially by women, was as controversial in an
tiquity as it is still in the 21st century. Ritual wailing is contentious because it can
motivate others to action, through kindling in them either grief or the desire to
demonstrate that they too possess socially appropriate sentiments.69 Anthropo
logists of religion note the discrepancy that characterizes the role of women in
such rituals. On the one hand, women’s association with public grieving for the
dead has always been strong, particularly because of women’s greater intimacy
with birth, death, and a dead body, on the other, religious establishments often
frown on an excessive display of female grief. It is often thought that lament can
present ‘sub-theological’ complaints from the social margins; they may lend
women a political voice.70 It is too strong to say that the condolence letters under
consideration tried to control Roman women’s ‘political voice’. What is certain,
66 C icero, Ad famtliarex 5.16 6; of. Wilcox 2005, 242f. For Plutarch and his e x h ortation to his
w ife to be continent in grief, see Bradley 1999, 195. For the b elief con cern in g w o m e n ’s
weakness in dealing with grief also in the later Byzantine period, see L ittlew ood 1999, 2 7 f.
67 P Hamer Cent 70 (H erm opolis, second to third century O F), cf. C hapa 1998, no. 5.
68 Robben 2004, 7
69 U rban 1998 392. I.utz 2001, 199 205, also offers a thorough analysis o f the a m biguity re
garding hired m ourners and their outbursts o f grief throughout the ages and in d ifferen t c u l
tures.
70 Raphael 2008, 18Kf
G rie f and Condolence Letters on Papyrus 403
however, is that this corpus o f letters provides solid evidence for attempts to con
trol w om en’s feelings in both the public and the private sphere.
To be fair, it should be stressed that, in theory at least, ancient Greek society
tried to regulate m ourning as much for men as for women. It is a commonplace in
the consolation literature, and in the condolence letters on papyrus, that the be
reaved, w hether male or female, should stop grieving after a period.71 Various
funerary regulations were very specific on such matters. David Konstan explains
that
th e tim e a llo w e d f o r g r ie f h a s h is to ric a lly b e e n su b je c t to re g ulation. T he im p o sitio n o f lim ita
tio n s r e g a r d in g th e p e rio d o f m o u rn in g , a ttire , an d o th e r facets reflects an u n d e rstan d in g o f
g r i e f a s a s o c ia l fu n c tio n , n o t m e re ly a p riv a te s e n tim e n t.72
It has been noted, after all, that emotions tend to be targets for social norms, and
indeed some norm s are in fact only focused on the expression of emotions.73 This
topic begs the question, however, about the efficacy of such laws given that as late
as the m id-to-late Byzantine period extreme and emotional mourning practices
still existed and continued to be criticized by the institutional Church.74
Leaving aside the issue o f whether women are more emotional than men, and
whether that is supported by psychological and anthropological studies or n o t75
one issue that m ost o f the letters quoted so far seem to point to is that o f a strong
bond betw een m others and their children.76 Despite the high mortality rate of
children in antiquity, parents still knew and maintained that children ought not to
die before them .77 John Archer explains that the typical ways in which women and
men cope with bereavem ent is as loss-oriented (facing the loss) and restoration-
oriented (avoiding or denying it). To deal with grief, both coping styles are usu
ally necessary for successful resolution, but there are gender differences in the
degree to which the styles are adopted. These different coping styles are perhaps
more m arked in the case o f death o f a child, with fathers showing more intense
denial.78 W hether wom en felt sorrow more or not, we will never know; our letters
71 K o n s ta n 2 0 0 6 , 2 5 0 ; c f. T ra p p 2 0 0 3 , 118f.
72 K o n s ta n 2 0 0 6 , 2 5 2 . C f. S o k o lo w s k i 1955, n o . 16 = F riso n e 2 0 0 0 , 1 3 9 -1 5 4 . T his is a fu n e ra ry
re g u la tio n a b o u t th e ty p e a n d c o lo u r o f g a rm e n ts to be w o m d u rin g a funeral. It c o n c lu d e s
th a t ‘th e y s h o u ld p e rfo r m th e c u sto m a ry rites fo r th e d e ad fo r three m onths at th e m o st, b u t in
th e fo u rth m o n th th e m e n s h a ll sto p th e p e rio d o f g rie f, the w o m en in the fifth m o n th ’. A lso
s e e , K a v o u la k i 2 0 0 5 ; S ta v ria n o p o u lo u 2 0 0 5 .
73 E lste r 2 0 0 2 , 5 f.
74 K y ria k a k is 1 9 7 4 , 6 1 .
75 C a th e r in e L u tz ’s w o rk o ff e r s a n in s ig h tfu l stu d y o f th e v a rio u s c u ltu ra lly -b iase d n o tio n s th at
are a tta c h e d to e m o tio n s . E s p e c ia lly re le v a n t to th is d isc u ssio n is the s e c tio n E m o tio n a s Fe
m a le ’ ( L u tz 1 9 8 6 ,2 9 9 - 3 0 1 ) .
76 A s a c o u n te r p a r t to th is id e a , se e th e c o n tro v e rs ia l stu d y o f S c h e p e r-H u g h e s 2 0 0 4 on th e re la
tio n s h ip b e tw e e n m o th e rs a n d c h ild re n in B razil and child m ortality . S h e m a in ta in s th at the
a b s e n c e o f a d is p la y o f g r ie f is n o t th e re p re ssio n o f an in c o n so lab le loss a n d th a t the m o th e r
fe e ls p ity ra th e r th a n g r ie f fo r th e d e c e a se d b ab y .
77 B ra d le y 1 9 9 9 , 184.
78 A rc h e r 1 9 9 6 ,9 1 2 .
404 Chrysi Kotsifou
seem to indicate that women were more ready to express their grief, or that soci
ety allowed women to express such feelings more than men.
8 CONSOLATION AND FAMILIAL RELATIONSHIPS
In her discussion on burials in Pharaonic Egypt, Lynn Meskell notes that

death represented a disruption to the social bo d y m o re th an it d id th e p a ss in g o f an individual
body. Identity was rooted m ore in th e g ro u p th an w ith in th e in d iv id u a l. In th e p a st, ... death
79
m eant that the society had lost part o f itself, m o re than th e in d iv id u a l h a d lo st so c ie ty .
This ‘disruption’ can certainly be seen in the condolence letters under consi
deration in the familial milieu o f Roman Egypt. They highlight the break-down of
daily routines and stress the importance o f a family support-system in allowing
people to deal with death and bereavement, and ultimately to return to their nor
mal lives.
Anthropological studies have shown that the ritual expression o f sentiments,
particularly in mourning obligations for kin, serves the function o f enhancing the
solidarity of the group which the death of one o f its members has threatened.
Emotions that develop within the group include sorrow and anger.7980 Additionally,
it has been argued that
‘g n e f w o rk ’ or m ourning is the w ork that tra n sfo rm s the n e g a tiv e a ffe c ts e n g e n d e re d thro u g h
loss and bereavem ent, w hen su ccessfu l, and m a y re su lt in m e la n c h o lia w h e n it fails ... the
w ork o f culture is ‘the process w h ereb y pain fu l m o tiv e s a n d a ffe c ts su ch a s th o s e o c c u rrin g in
depression are transform ed into p u b licly a cc e p te d sets o f m e a n in g s a n d s y m b o ls ’ ... it m ight
be argued that one o f the causes o f d e p re ssiv e illn ess is th e fa ilu re o f th e w o rk o f c u ltu re .81
The ‘work of culture’ can be seen in this study in the encouragement, assistance
and provisions that existed and were made among family members. The case of
Sempronios and his family is an excellent demonstration o f the ways reciprocal
relationships between parents and children developed and o f how grief was
treated in their midst. This family is an ideal example because we have several
letters that were composed by its immediate members, so it is relatively easy to
establish that the relationships mentioned in their letters were actually true.82
Sempronios’ condolence letters in full read:83
Sem pronios to his brother S ato rn ilo s g reetin g s. 1 h a v e re c e iv e d tw o le tte rs fro m y o u , one
about w hat you com m unicated to o u r b ro th e r M ax im o s, th e o th e r a b o u t o u r lady m o th e r, that
she has been in danger and that she is still u n w ell. Y o u m u st k n o w , b ro th e r, th a t I am terribly
anxious and not even able to sleep n ig h ts, until yo u let m e k n o w h o w sh e is d o in g . In this re
spect do not w aste tim e (d o not be a lo o t? ) until y o u find s o m e o n e w h o is s a ilin g d o w n to my
direction, C onsole o ur brother M axim os as w ell as y o u can . I h av e a lso w ritten to o u r brother
79 M eskell 1994 36
80 fisen b riich 1984a, 289
HI Ciood and G ood 1988, 54.
82 Sypcsteijn 1976, C hapa 1998, 2 1i R o w lan d so n 19 9 8 , 1431.
83 C Witt: II 84 (late second cen tu ry C L ); cl C h ap a 1998, no. 4 , R o w la n d s o n 1998, no. 1 10.
Grief and Condolence Letters on Papyrus 405
V alerio s ab o u t that. I hope that he also realizes how deeply sorry we feel about her; but what
shall w e b e able to help w ith that? N ot he alone but all o f us are bereft o f her. Therefore it is
n e ce ssa ry , sin ce w e (y o u ?) cannot do anything nor even help, to think o f the human condi
tio n , e sp e c ia lly in such a crisis. Farewell.
Second letter:
S e m p ro n iu s to his m o th er S ato m ila, greetings. The moment you receive my letters let me
k n o w h o w y o u are becau se I am not a little worried until I learn about you. Concerning my
b ro th e r M ax im o s I w ill now w rite to you so that you may console him — 1 do not know if
su p e rflu o u s ly , fo r I am th in k in g o f saying these same things to him, but the time is not right
a n d this p re v e n ts m e — , fo r I fear that because o f the sorrow he may turn to something else. I
k n o w th at y o u , to o , are in m ore sorrow than him. But, as soon as possible, be serene, because
o f m y sib lin g s and the child, for this perhaps relieves the daughters and (our) sister the house
k e e p e r (O ik o u ro n ? ). B ut w hat can we do against which nobody can do anything? Farewell.
D eliv er to m y b ro th e r V alerio s and to my brother Satom ilos from Sempronios.
Both letters were executed on the same sheet of papyrus and deal with the same
themes and concerns. Sempronios was first worried about his mother’s health and
secondly about sending some words of consolation to his family. Thus, in a way,
these communications are more than condolence letters, since they are also con
cerned with his mother’s health and happiness. Sempronios seems to have had the
sense o f repaying one’s debt to one’s parents much in mind. For example, in an
other o f his letters to his family, he wrote as follows to his brother Maximos: ‘for
we ought to honour as divine the lady who gave us birth, especially since she is so
good. I wrote this to you, brother, knowing the sweetness of one’s revered par
ents.’84 The fact that in both letters the consolation part comes second shows that,
in a way, Sempronios subordinated his consolations to his general concern for his
family. He expressed his anxiety about his mother by telling his brother Satomilos
that, ever since he was informed about their mother’s bad health, he was so anx
ious that he could not sleep at night any more. This common theme of not being
able to sleep at night because of worry can also be found in other communications
between family members.85 He repeats the same concerns and wish for more news
to his mother. In the letter to his mother, however, he adds: ‘But, as soon as possi
ble be serene, because o f my siblings and the child, for this perhaps relieves the
daughters and (our) sister the housekeeper (Oikouron?).’ This is Sempronios’ ex
hortation to his mother to return to her usual way of living. He appeals to his
mother’s sense o f duty towards her family and encourages her to overcome grief
K4 Sel.Pap. I 121 (A le x a n d ria , second h a lf o f second century CE); see p. 79 in this volume. Si
m ila r fe e lin g s o f high esteem and h o nour seem to have existed between Sempronios and his
b ro th ers. In P.Mich. Ill 209 (late second to third century CE), Satonirlos wrote to Sempromos
a n d d e sc rib e d him ‘not ju s t as a brother, but also as a father and a lord and a go d ’. For the in
sig h t th at th ese letters o ffer us into the character o f their composers and rhe high probability
that th ey c o u ld e v en reflect g e n u in e feelings, see Sijpesteijn 147 (*, 17 If.
X5 See for e x a m p le , PA/ex. Giss. 5 H(A pollonopolite Heptakom ias nomc, I 13-120 CE); CPap.
Jud. II 4 3 6 (H e rm o p o lis, 1 15 C E); P Rain Cent. 70 (H erm opohs. third century CE).
406 Chrysi Kotsifou
and concentrate on the rest of the family as soon as possible.8687Furthermore, in

terms of the differences between the ways Sempronios consoled his brother and
mother, we can say that the first letter was more ‘matter of fact’ and had a ‘what
can we do?' attitude, but when he wrote to his mother, the letter was more emo
tional: he admitted to being afraid about his brother’s state of mind, acknowl
edged his awareness of his mother’s even greater pain, and exhorted her to control
her emotions and be serene, ultimately for the well-being of the rest of the family.
As Tony Walter explains,
condolence is a social interaction with rules that both parties must follow if com fort is to be
given and received ... both parties have to act on overcoming grief.
Sempronios offered his care, consolation, and advice to his mother, but she would
also have to act upon it if she were to overcome her grief.
9 DEATH IN PRIVATE LETTERS ON PAPYRUS
To conclude: we can say that, in order to fully appreciate the social and cultural
connotations of these condolence letters and what they can contribute to the study
of emotions, and grief in particular, a comparison between condolence letters and
other letters that mention the death of a family member or acquaintance is neces
sary. It is remarkable that several letters between family members or friends that
either announce that one of their family is dead or arrange funeral practicalities88
lack references to almost any emotion, let alone grief. The letter of Thaubas to her
father is a telling example:89
Thaubas to Pompeios, her father, many greetings. Please com e hom e as soon as you receive
my letter, because your poor daughter Herennia has died. A nd she already cam e safely
through a premature delivery on the ninth o f Phaophi. You see, she gave birth to an eight-
month child, dead; she lived on for four days but then died herself. She received a funeral
from us and her husband, as was right, and has been transported to A labanthis. So, if you
come and want to, you can see her. Alexander greets you and so do his children. Farew ell.
The only emotional word used in this communication is the adjective ‘wretched’
or ‘poor’ (TttAx/.(na)po<;) to describe the deceased sister. Even if references are
86 A similar exhortation is found in BGU III 801 (Fayum, second century C E); cf. C hapa 1998,
no. 3. A woman advises her brother upon the loss o f his wife: ‘bear it bravely, brother, for
your children's sake’ Time is of the essence in these exhortations, as well. The genre o f the
consolation was intended not so much to cut grief o ff at the root as to prevent it from settling
in as a permanent habit, see Konstan 2006,257.
87 Waller 1999, 1281
88 PSI VIII %7 (first to second century CE); cf. Gonis 1997, 5 5 -5 8 ; P.Haun. II 17 (second cen
tury ( h): cf Rowlandson 1998, no. 271, W ('hr 499 (Thebes, second to third century C E);
cf Rowlandson 1998. no 278 and Bagnall and Cribiore 2006, 289; SB I 5216 - Set Pap 104
ffabyrinthox, Aisinoites norne, first century BCE); c f Palme 2009, 371, Bagnall and Derow
2004, no 174, White 1987 no 61.
89 P I o u a J l 75 (Oxyrhynchos, 64 < Ej; cf Rowlandson 1998, no. 228. A lso see H anson 1987.
made in letters to several deaths that occurred simultaneously because of plague

or riots, in the best case scenario we find a sentence along the lines o f ‘I was sorry
to hear o f the death o f so and so’.90 Such documents also make similar, short,
unemotional comments when it comes to the death of an acquaintance’s child 91
At the same time, there are some letters that employ the strong vocabulary related
to death and grief, only to refer to everyday occurrences such as the loss of
money, simply as a device for emphasis.92
Were, then, condolence letters the principal, socially acceptable form to ex
press grief for a person’s death and to state one’s support and desire to relieve the
pain o f a friend or relative? This is a distinct possibility. If so, then why have only
a few condolence letters survived? Juan Chapa quite rightly maintains that we
only have a dozen or so condolence letters out of the thousand odd private letters
because, ultimately, people undertook the journey necessary and offered their
consolation face to face to those who needed it.93
As for the unemotional language of the other letters which refer to people’s
deaths, several factors could have come into play. Lynn Meskell maintains that
death invites individual responses not driven by social aspirations.94 But it is pos
sible that this corpus of letters contradicts such a statement. If the senders of the
letters were o f a higher status than the recipients or the deceased, very probably
they did not feel obliged to indulge the addressee with more compassionate lan
guage. Admittedly, the majority of the letters mentioned above report on a death
that occurred in someone else’s family and not in that of the letter-writer, and
their vocabulary lies in direct opposition to the evocative phrases found in the let
ters o f parents that report the death of their own children. This material points to
the fact that grief, consolation and support were offered and expected mainly from
immediate family members. The writers of these communications therefore did
not use more sentimental expressions.
Roger Scruton in his study o f emotion, practical knowledge and the notion of
common culture stresses:95
T o p a rtic ip a te in a c o m m o n c u ltu re is therefore, one m ight suggest, to be gifted w ith a cer
ta in ty in o n e ’s fe e lin g s , a c erta in ty w hich the uprooted, alienated, and disenchanted m ay not
h a v e h a d , a n d m a y n o t w a n t to have. B y certainty I do not mean crass im petuousness: there
a re o c c a s io n s w h e n any m an m u st h esitate. C ertainty com es when the m atter is, in the last
90 P.Grenf. II 3 6 (P a th y ris, 95 B C E ); cf. W hite 1987, no. 55; St.Pal. XXII 33 (Soknopaious
N e so s ? , se c o n d to th ird c en tu ry C E ); P.Mieh. V III 510 (A lexandria, second to third C E);
P.Strasb.X.TS (th ird cen tu ry C E ); cf. C asan o v a 198 4 ,1 7 3 .
91 BGV X III 2 3 4 9 , (se c o n d c en tu ry C E ); P.Lund 11 3 (second to third century CE).
92 P. Tebt. 111.1 7 6 0 , (T e b tu n is, 2 1 5 /4 B C E ); UPZ1 18 (M em phis, 163 BCE); P.Sarap. 88 (A lex
a n d ria ? , 9 0 - 1 3 3 C E ); SB XV1I1 13613 (third century C E); POxy X 1298 (O xyrhynchos,
fo u rth c e n tu ry C E ).
93 C h ap a 1998, 5 0 ; cf. a G re e k in scrip tio n (C ay ster V alley, second century' CE): it is a decree ot
a fu n e ra ry a ss o c ia tio n th a t, b e sid e s reco u n tin g all the honours for a deceased priestess, also
e x p la in s th at it is im p o rta n t for th e association to send a delegation that w ould offer consola
tion to th e p rie s te s s ’ so n s in p e rso n ; see SEG LVU 1188 lines 2 4 -3 1 ; see Jones 2008.
94 M esk e ll 1 9 9 4 ,4 2 .
95 S c ru to n 1 9 8 0 ,5 3 0 .
408 Chrysi Kotsifou
a n aly sis, settled fo r the ag en t, w h en h e sees his s itu a tio n in te rm s o f o b je c tiv e im p e ra tiv e s
ra th e r th an su b jec tiv e c h o ic es, im p e ra tiv e s th a t re c o rd fo r h im th e fa c t o f h is s h a r e d h u m a n ity ,
ev en in th e m idst o f a p re d ic a m en t that is u n iq u e ly h is. In th is w a y th e q u e s tio n w h a t to feel
b eco m es ‘s e ttle d ’ in a m a n n e r th at no m e re ‘a u th e n tic ity ’ c o u ld a c h ie v e .
This study has demonstrated that this certainty for the people o f the ancient world
about how to feel in the case o f death and how to respond to it was achieved via
the education of feelings,96 strong familial support-systems, and the fact that fam
ily and friends were actually physically present most o f the tim e to offer consola
tion. It is also equally possible that it was this certainty and assurance that be
reaved people would be surrounded by supportive, nearby relatives and friends
which indicated to the writers o f the unemotional letters m entioned above that
they did not need to include any distinct expressions o f grief in their letters.
But Roman Egypt was not an ancient society always distinguished by care,
sympathy, and constant support. A letter from the Great Oasis recounts:97
M elas ... to S arap io n and S ilv an o s ... g re e tin g s. 1 h a v e s e n t y o u b y th e g r a v e - d ig g e r th e b o d y
o f y o u r b ro th er P h ib io n an d h a v e p a id him th e fe e f o r tr a n s p o r tin g th e b o d y , b e in g 3 4 0
d rach m a o f the old co in ag e. A nd 1 am m u ch s u rp ris e d th a t y o u d e p a r te d f o r n o g o o d re a s o n
w ith o u t ta k in g the b o d y o f y o u r b ro th e r, b u t c o lle c te d a ll th a t h e p o s s e s s e d a n d s o d e p a r te d .
A n d fro m this 1 see th a t y o u did n o t c o m e up fo r th e s a k e o f th e d e a d , b u t f o r th e s a k e o f h is
effects. N ow take care to hav e re a d y th e su m s p e n t ... Y o u w ill th e re fo re m a k e e v e r y e f f o r t to
serv e the person w h o w ill b rin g the b o d y by p ro v id in g lo a v e s a n d w in e a n d o il a n d w h a te v e r
y o u can, w hich he m ay testify to m e. I f y o u d o n o t a c t ...
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R EA SO N S TO BE CHEERFUL?
Conflicting Emotions in the Drunken Old Women

o f Munich and Rome
Jane Masseglia
1 INTRODUCTION
A crouching old woman embracing a large lagynos (wine jar) is one of the most
celebrated statues o f Hellenistic art. It is preserved in two monumental copies
(figure 1, for the copy in M unich)1 and imitated in several small terracotta jugs.
The dating o f the monumental original is not wholly secure, but is reasonably
viewed by the majority o f scholars as a product of the late third century BCE,2
with its subject matter and manner of carving in keeping with other Hellenistic
figures o f old women and fishermen.3 Associated with a figure from Smyrna men
tioned by Pliny the Elder, and almost certainly misattributed by him to the sculp
tor Myron,4 she has been the subject of a range of identifications, including: an
Alexandrian priestess o f Dionysos, an attendant of the same, a character from
Plautus’ comedy Curculio, a moral warning advocating adherence to traditional
virtues, an illustration o f a proverb comparing life and wine, a subversion of the
‘Knidia’ (the celebrated bathing Aphrodite by the sculptor Praxiteles),5 a meta
phor for relief in old age, and an elderly prostitute.6 Various emotions have been
proposed regarding the emotional ‘message’ of the figure, including exhilaration,7
hope,8 (misplaced) sexual desire,9 shock, repulsion, and pity.10 Moreover, the
1 The other is in the Capitoline Museum in Rome, inv. 299; Stuart Jones 1912, plate 18.8.
2 Laubscher 1982, 118; Kunze 1999, 69, Cf. Pollitt 1986, 144, who sees them as a counterpart
to the bucolic trends of late Republican poetry. This is contradicted by the terracotta examples,
such as the Skyros figure (p. 42If., figure 5) with an earlier date; cf. Leroux 1913,73f.; Wald-
hauer 1946; Salomonsen 1980, 87-89; Kunze 2002, 100.
3 See notes 12 and 13 below.
4 Naturalis histoha 36.32; Smith 1991, 138; Kunze 2002, 99,102; Dimartino 2008.67.
$ The original is lost but Roman copies prov ide a good impression of both her appearance and
popularity, e g. Vatican, (iabinetto delle Maschere, inv. 812.
6 Priestess: Wrede 1991, 173; Szymanska 2005, 75 note 6; cf. Laubscher 1982,118f. Attendant;
Kunze 1999, 75, 78. Character from Plautus: SalaC 1959; cf. Laubscher 1982, 118. Moral
warning: Sande 1995, 49. Wine proverb: Beard and Henderson 2001, 142. 'Kmdia' subversi
on: ibid. Hope metaphor: Dimartino 2008, 74f. Prostitute: Zanker 1989; cf. Wrede 1991, 170.
7 Smith 1991, 137.
8 Dimartino 2008, 75.
9 Beard and Henderson 2001, 142.
414 Jane Masseglia
various emotional responses by modem scholars (from the nineteenth century on
wards). ranging from enthusiastic appreciation to keen embarrassment," make the
figure an important case study in the effects of social context on art historical in
terpretation. This raises fundamental questions about our ability to put aside our
own socially-constructed emotions, and reconstruct those of an ancient civilisa
tion.
Figure 1. 'The Drunken Old Woman’ in the Munich Glyptothek. Marble Roman copy of a Greek
original (height 92 cm). The Greek original probably dates to the late third century BCE.
In order to reconstruct the emotional effects prompted by this image in the ancient
viewer we must also reconstruct his or her values. These values were formed by
experiences, reinforced by such things as stories, education, rituals, and law (a
combination of influences more commonly called ‘culture’), and retained as me
mories which informed both subconscious and reasoned response. In trying to de
termine the viewer’s emotional reaction to the Drunken Old Woman, we must
look for these shared memories and values in the visual and textual records, to see
what they can tell us about the significance of old women, ritual drunkenness, and
of the nuances of her body language and appearance.1 012
Having identified a process in the ‘Introduction to Archaeological Sources’
ipp. J3I J50j by which an archaeological object might be approached, this short
10 Hum 2004, 73
11 When first joining the collection at the Munich Glyptothek, the Drunken Old Woman was
relegated to a storeroom, see Dirnartino 200H, 671
12 See also pp 223 225 and 229 m thin volume
Conflicting emotions in the Drunken Old Women of Munich and Rome 415
chapter focuses on the iconography and material comparanda which help to iden
tify ‘emotions of image’. It focuses on the celebrated Hellenistic figure of the
Drunken Old Woman whose appearance has generated a good deal of speculation,
and considers both the emotions she displays and those intended to be roused in
the viewer (that is, the internal and external emotions of image).
2 FIRST IMPRESSIONS: AESTHETIC RESPONSE AND

SUBJECT RECOGNITION
The Hellenistic viewer would have recognised the Drunken Old Woman as part of
a wider fashion that was appearing in the sculpture and images of the period: in
scale, quality, and subject matter she stands alongside works such as the New
York ‘Market Woman’13 and the Conservatori Fisherman14 as an example of the
Hellenistic fashion for highly detailed depictions of low-status individuals (known
to modem scholars as ‘genre figures’), engaged in outdoor activities and visits to
sanctuaries. Like these other high-quality examples, her scale (only three-quarters
of life-size) would have suggested an alternative reality to the life-size and monu
mental scale which characterised the honorific monuments and portraits of the
wealthy and well-known.15 Aside from any responses to the narrative meaning of
her appearance, the viewer would also have engaged in the emotional process of
‘art-appreciation’, in admiring (or criticising) the artist’s technical skill, and re
sponding to the composition as an aesthetically pleasing (or displeasing) artefact
While we have no record of such an aesthetic response to this particular figure, we
do know from the texts that statues did provoke these kinds of considerations and
responses.16 In the fourth mime of Herodas, a poet writing in the third century
BCE, we are presented with an account of two poor women, Kynno and Kokkale,
on a visit to a sanctuary. Their reaction to the votive statues set up there is illumi
nating. Their aesthetic appreciation of the works is manifested in repeated use of
the Greek kalos ( ‘beautiful’), emotional interjections and imperatives,17 praise of
the artists, and in sustained descriptions of the pieces’ lifelikeness.18 Despite being
an artificial account of a sanctuary visit, we have in Herodas’ fourth mime what
must have been a recognisable and plausible response to sanctuary offerings in
situ, and moreover by two, non-elite, third-century women. These are not edu
cated individuals, or those with a cultivated interest in art. This gives us good
grounds to suppose that viewers of the original Drunken Old Woman in her sanc
tuary context, may also have been excited to see her life-like dynamic pose, taken
pleasure in the compact composition and the qualify of the finish, and admired the
It New York Metropolitan Museum, Rogers Fund inv. no. 1909 (04.39); Dtmartino 2008. figure
9; Smith 1991, figure 175.
14 Conservatori inv . no. 1112; Smith 1991, figure 178.
15 Smith 1991, 137.
16 See p. 141 note 66.
17 E.g. ‘Oh!’ (lines 20 and 34); ‘Look!’ (line 27).
18 Lines 20-38.
416 Jane Masseglia
artist's skill in carving the different and often complex textures and contours of
her body and wrinkled face.
Beyond this early aesthetic response, the ancient viewers who looked more
closely would have noticed important differences between the Drunken Old Wo
man and the other 'genre' figures they may have seen. Unlike the images of fish
ermen, the stereotype for poverty' in both contemporary art and text,19 they would
have seen that the Drunken Old Woman wears an expensive, buckled chiton,20
that her fingers are decorated with rings, and that she holds an oversized (and so
ritual ) lagynos decorated with ivy motifs. The aesthetic impact of the Old
Woman's clothes and jewels must have been enhanced through the use of colour.
Because of the emphasis on the lagvnos in the composition, the figure has been
associated with the lagynophoria, a Dionysiac festival instituted by Ptolemy IV in
Alexandria and described in Athenaios.21 While many things are described in de
tail in the procession, included women in embroidered chitones and jewellery,2223
and incense burners with ivy motifs,23 lagynoi are conspicuously absent from
Athenaios' description. This seems to suggest that the lagynos was not as central
to the festival as its name suggests. Similarly, the pre-existing use of lagynoi in
figurines of standing drunken old women,2425popular in the Classical period, sug
gests that the shape should not be associated exclusively with the Hellenistic lagy
nophoria. ~ Instead, it seems best to view Athenaios’ account as a useful indicator
of the Hellenistic popularity of Dionysiac festivals, providing us with a general,
rather than specific, historical context.2627This festival narrative suggests that the
Munich-Capitoline figure originally served a votive function, set up in a sanctuary
space, similar to the other three-quarter sized ‘genre figures’ of the Hellenistic pe
riod." Furthermore, the narrative of drunkenness was already well established in
votive objects in the form of Silenus and satyrs, and other members of the Di
onysiac thiasos. The Drunken Old Women may be thought to represent a ‘real
life’ alternative to these mythological subjects.28
In addition to these first impressions regarding the size and identity of the fig
ure, the ancient viewer would also have responded emotionally according to their
reading of her body language. By examining the actions she performs, and the
way in which she performs them, they would have instinctively and instantane-
19 L.g. fheokritos, Idylls 2); Greek Anthology 7.295 (Leonidas of Tarentum), and received into
Plautus. Rudens 290 305.
20 Theperunemu or peronetris, Pollitt 1986, 143.
21 Athenaiov iJetpnosuphistm V I97e 198a.
22 Ibid. !97C f
23 Jhid 1986
24 t.g Athens Kandlopoulos Musuein inv. 1263, Schulze 1998, fig. 20.3.
25 /anker 1989, 55 and Wrede 1991, 164 167. Contra Beard and Henderson 2001, 14If. who
dismiss it as a modern myth’
26 Smith 199), 138
27 Smith 1991, 1381 this votive (unction would also make the response of kynno and Kokkale
in Herodas 4 even more important in the reconstruction of the figure’s display and social con
text
28 K.u»/*2002, 105.
Cl I unions in the Drunken Old Women of Munich and Rome 417
ously drawn on their own experiences of nonverbal communication in order to

interpret the narrative nuances of the Drunken Old Woman. The complex combi
nation of biologically-founded universal (such as smiling for ‘happy’) and cul-
turally-specific conventions (such as the modem, Western ‘thumbs up’ for ‘good’)
makes the retrospective interpretation of body language in the ancient art images a
challenge. We cannot, for example, map our own body language ‘rules’ wholesale
onto ancient art objects because the cultural context in which they were created
potentially imbued them with quite different meanings. But we can make useful
inroads into understanding the original significance of a figurative image if we
draw together contemporary ancient evidence, both image and text, which sheds
light on what individual elements of body language once signified. The study
which follows reveals how, by breaking down the body language of the Drunken
Old Woman into its constituent parts, and considering these in turn, we can recon
struct with greater security the internal emotions being communicated by the fig
ure.
3 THE INTERNAL EMOTIONS OF IMAGE
3.1 Body Language
Head thrown back

The throwing back of the head can express both freedom from emotional inhibi
tion and self-containment, since the performer can no longer engage with another
individual. Indeed, it has an established pedigree in Greek art for images of
women, expressing abandon in religious celebration, for example in the ecstatic
maenads of the Kleophrades Painter29 and Skopas,30 or the dancing Hours in the
relief in the Louvre.31 But while these idealised figures show the calm facial ex
pressions (the norm for such figures in the Classical period), the old woman is
shown with her mouth open, exposing toothless gums. With her head thrown
back, she appears to be laughing or even singing, with the additional sideways tilt
perhaps a sign of her rhythmic movement. This argues against the reading of the
figure as sad or unwell. Hanna Szymanska’s description of the ‘tongue stretched
in a vomitous grimace’ is highly problematic.32 The Old Woman’s tongue is not
clearly visible, nor is nausea probable: sufferers of nausea are inclined to keep
still, while the old woman’s body posture indicates the contrary.
How Hellenistic artists depicted nausea is instead better demonstrated by a
variant of the Drunken Old Woman motif in the form a bronze bottle found in
thermal spring in Vichy (figure 2). Her little cup, and the bottle that her image it-
29 Cf. red-figure amphora, Munich inv. 2344, c. 490 BCE; Bieber 1961. fig. 21-24; Kunze 2002.
104, makes a similar observation.
30 The 'Dresden Maenad’, Dresden Albertinum inv. 133, c. 450 BCE; Knoll, Protzmann. Raum-
schiissel, and Raumschiissel 1993, 9.
31 Paris, Louvre inv. 1449, second century BCE; Kaltsas 2002, no. 454.
32 Szymanska 2005, 76.
418 Jane Mass^glia
self decorates, make explicit the connection between her appearance and alcohol.
But she is a more pathetic drunkard than the Munich-Capitoline figures. While
she peers dejectedly at the ground, with drooping shoulders and sagging cheeks
around a downtumed mouth, the Munich-Capitoline figure is shown in a dynamic
moment of open-mouthed vivacity.33
Figure 2, Bronze bottle (height: 9.2 cm) in the form of a drunken old woman found in a thermal
spring in Vichy, late Hellenistic period. Paris, Louvre.
Exposing the shoulder

The chiton, slipped to reveal a bare shoulder, has prompted some strong emotional
responses among modem scholars perceiving a sexualised narrative.34 But curi
ously, the same motif appears in the walking figure of the New York ‘Market
Woman’ fsee note 11), without having prompted similar remarks. In both these
figures, this exposure is the result of movement. That such a detail contributes to
the identification of the Munich-Capitoline figure as a prostitute is unlikely.35 The
fact that all the small terracotta jugs which mimic the monumental composition
show the figure with her chiton firmly on both shoulders indicates how insignifi
cant this detail was in the reception of the piece.36 We would hardly expect such a
33 O Bieber 1961,141.
34 h g /anker 1989,4If', Smith 1991, 1371.
35 /anker 1989, 74.
36 h.g., the miniature Drunken Old Woman figurine from Phanagoreia, (s.l.), second century
M L Kobylma 1%), plaie 24; the figurine from North Africa, late second century C’h,
detail to be overlooked by the copyists if the figure was strongly associated with
erotic desire. Erotic emotions in an elderly subject are not, however, unheard of in
Hellenistic art. It can be seen in a small terracotta in Dresden from the second cen
tury BCE (figure 3) depicting an old celebrant beside a wine jar. She stands with
her right hand propped against her hip, and her head tilted alluringly to one side in
a pose recalling infantile behaviour adopted as allure signals.37 However, the in
tentional flirtation of this little terracotta is intended to be humorous through its
incongruity, while the exposure of the shoulder by the Munich-Capitoline figure is
primarily intended to narrate the effect of wine on her self-control, and so func
tions as an external measure of her internal state. Nothing else about her body or
body language suggests flirtation, or even interaction, but on the contrary narra
tive isolation.
Figure 3. Terracotta figurine (height: 9 cm) of an old woman celebrant with wine jar from Boiotia
(?), second century BCE. Skulpturensammlung, Staatliche Kunstsammlungen Dresden.
Kunsthandel Deutschland inv. 1975: Salomonsen 1980, figure 43a; and figurine from Sousse,
Tunisia, late second century CE, Utrecht University inv. BS 77.1. Salomonscn 1980, figure
41a.
37 Morris 2002, 66,275; Pease and Pease 2004, 173f.
420 Jane Masseglia
Clutching the lag} nos

Like the Dresden figure (figure 3) and similar standing figures from the Hellenis
tic period.3*' the Drunken Old Woman clasps her wine jar close to her, in this case
affectionately wrapping both arms around it in a pose which emphasises its large
circumference.'0 The firm hold also signifies a long period of drinking, with her
retention of the bottle. In this respect, the pose might recall a more familiar motif
for old women: that of the elderly nurse cradling a child. Certainly, coroplastic
evidence from the Greek world presents drinking and childcare as the only two
narrative possibilities for old women in classical antiquity, and in some rare cases,
we see both presented simultaneously. In one terracotta figurine of the Classical
period (figure 4), we see a plump old woman holding a grotesque baby in the
crook of her left arm and the neck of a large lagy’nos in her right. Despite the great
number of figures shown embracing children, however, we have no reason to con
sider the Munich-Capitoline figure a parody of the nurse motif, since the motif of
old women drinking w>as already familiar in Classical terracottas, and because the
position of the figure, sitting directly on the ground, is unlike any nurse figure that
we have.
Figure 4 ferracolta figurine of an aold

woman with child and lagynos (height; 0J cm) Iron1
(ireece t il* (Ml H< I. Athens Kanellopoulos Museum mv. 1263.
3k Kg Dreden ins rut /V 16 H and inv. no. 1055, both from second century HO Pt isterer-
Ham 19X0 figure* 146 and 147.
30 ( i the tale <lanital figurine from the Crimea of an elderly hetaira lovingly clutching her cup.
Pam Druvrc inv ( A 22‘/5 Pfistcrer Haas I9k<>, figure 95, cat. 27
hi
The forward tilt of the Drunken Old Woman’s wine jar has also attracted com
ment: Christian Kunze’s suggestion, that it represents a challenge to the viewer,
an offer to share in the wine, is improbable considering both her protective em
brace and her entirely self-absorbed head position.40 Nor can the supposedly phal
lic connotations of her grip on the lagynos be considered central to the narrative or
an intentional performance by the old woman, since we have already observed
that the act of laughing or singing to herself, precludes interaction with others. In
deed, the phallic qualities of the gesture are less obvious in the Capitoline version
where the right hand is partly obscured by the lip of the lagynos, a section which
is lost in the Munich version.41 Instead, the tilt of the lagynos seems to be de
signed to mirror, and so emphasise her backward lean, giving an impression of
drunken unsteadiness as both body and bottle splay out from the centre.
Sitting on the ground

Sitting, as opposed to standing, with her wine jar, and embracing it indicates the
duration of narrative. By adopting a sedentary position, she confines her attention
to one activity: a sustained period of drinking.
But her sitting position also has social connotations. In Hellenistic art, sitting
directly on the ground without a raised seat is usually an indication of low status,
reserved for rustics and beggars. But the Munich-Capitoline figure’s dress and
jewellery suggest that she is not poor. In addition, she is shown with her feet de
murely crossed at the ankle, unlike the wide-kneed position of the nauseated old
woman on the bronze bottle (figure 2). The sitting position is, therefore, paradig
matic of the overall composition in its depiction of conflicting emotional forces:
the anxiety which regulates codes of social propriety and the emotional freedom
enabled by wine.42 She attends a festival, presupposing communal celebration
with her community, but cuts herself off from interaction and drinks alone; she
puts on her best clothes, but one shoulder slips; she sits politely, but on the
ground.
3.2 Emotions and Reception
And yet while this low sitting position is present in all the terracottas jugs, the
crossed ankles are not. A late Hellenistic jug from Skyros (figure 5) show instead
the legs spread apart, perpendicular to the floor, with the lag\'nos held low be
tween the shins. This symmetrical pose, without crossed ankles, appears in all the
terracotta jugs, even in North African examples of the Roman Imperial period43
40 k u n /e 2002, 105.
41 Ii is also possible that context of the display at the Munich Glyptothek (with a racy sympleg-
ma group displayed in a secluded niche behind the Drunken Old Woman) may also have ren
dered some modern scholars more receptive to a sexualised reading.
42 Ct Murray I4^5, 4: ‘This anarchic quality of wine, this tendency towards anomic.'
44 See above, note 37.
Jane Masseglia
422
Figure 5 Terracotta jug from Skyros. (height: 25.5 cm), late second/early first century BCE.
Athens National Archaeological Museum.
Does this less demure leg position, therefore, imply different em otions o f im age?
And does the fact that the terracotta jugs all sit with their backs straight and not
leaning back, mean a completely different emotional narrative? Do they represent
a different balance between social anxiety and emotional freedom ? If we consider
the emotions of the image purely as an art phenomenon, the answ er to these ques
tions is certainly 'yes’ Hut if we also consider the em otions arising from the im
age as a practical object (which is to say, if we consider the figure in its ancient
context), there are important considerations to be made with regards to both its
fabrication and usage
The terracotta jugs are functional objects, hollowed out in order to hold wine.
The symmetrica! wide-legged position, with the lugynos betw een the knees, is not
only easier to fabricate, bui also makes lor a wider, more regular and m ore stable
bowl to the vessel. Similarly, the spout of the lagynos she holds on these jugs is
pulled in towards to the body, not projecting out, and the straight back allows for
the spout to be placed on top of the head. In short, the terracotta versions of the
motif retain the essential elements of the narrative in order to make the figure rec
ognisable, but adapt the finer details in order to better suit their function as jugs.
In this low-cost medium, such practical considerations naturally overrule the emo
tional nuances accommodated in a larger, finer, votive figure. The terracotta cop
ies, therefore, could be described as both visually and emotionally stream-lined.
Having examined closely the pose of the Capitoline-Munich figure, we have
seen love of wine implied in the hold on the lagynos, and an apparent tension be
tween the social anxiety which regulates propriety, and the so-far unidentified
emotional stimulus which prompts both her position on the floor and the tilt of her
head. The nature of this emotional stimulus is, however, made explicit in the in
scription on the base of the Skyros jug (figure 5). Despite the differences in ap
pearance resulting from a different medium and function, the chronological and
overall postural correspondence of the jug with the Capitoline-Munich figure
makes this inscription the best evidence we have for understanding the original
narrative: ‘This old woman sits here full of joy holding her wine.’44
And so we are to understand that, rather than a physical stimulus such as nau
sea, the reason for her sitting position and head thrown back (also mimicked in a
titled head in the Skyros jug) is an emotional one. It is enjoyment which is offered
as the explanation for her behaviour, and thus evidence for a not unfamiliar emo
tional hierarchy of personal pleasure over social constructions based on anxiety or
shame, facilitated by wine.45 This association between joy and alcohol may seem
entirely natural to many readers, but one only needs to compare attitudes towards
alcohol in Islamic jurisprudence, or even the Prohibitionist literature of the 1920s
to see that such associations are culturally and socially sensitive. That wine was
widely held to be a source of pleasure for the Greeks is both well- and long-
attested in the textual evidence. In the fifth-century BCE playwright Euripides, for
example, we find drunkenness euphemistically described as being ‘in the pleas
ures (hedonai) of Bacchus’,46 w hile, even earlier, we find in Homer an account of
how wine is able to change the emotional hierarchy of the drinker: in what is
clearly a metaphor for the power of wine to combat anxiety, Helen adds a special
pharmakon (drug) which ‘banishes sorrow, allays anger and makes all ills forgot
ten’ to the mixing bowl being shared by Menelaos and Telemachos. Such is the
power of this drink that it could stop any man from crying for a whole day ‘even
if his mother and father were lying there dead, and if men killed his brother or son
w'ilh a sword in front of his very eyes...’4748This is not to say that the effects of
drinking to excess were overlooked in Greek culture,4* but that drinking itself for
44 Ppaus h8e oivoipopoi; Kex«pnM^vrl wS)e irdOntat; Salomonsen 1480, 88.

45 See also the discussion of epigrams, including that of Pallidas, below p, 428.
46 Euripides, ton 552; of. Nilsson 1457, 131, who explicitly links the pleasure of drinking and
symposia with the appeal of Bacchic Mysteries which offered an eternal banquet' after death.
47 Homer, Odyssey 4.214-226. Of. the sixth-century BCE poet Theogms 874- 884.
48 Of. T heognis 2 11f., 873 -876 and the nauseous old woman in figure 2 (p. 418V
424 Jane Masseglia
the (significantly) men mentioned here, was not socially inappropriate behaviour.
If how ever, we are to fully understand the meaning of the drunkenness in the case
of the Drunken Old Woman, we must look beyond this simple interpretation. We
need, instead, to consider how the piece may have been ‘read’, through introduc
ing contextual information which illuminates the external emotions, those of the
viewer.
3 THE EXTERNAL EMOTIONS OF IMAGE
The introduction of a viewer into these considerations brings with it a second, ex
terior context. This is particularly significant in the case of the seated old woman
figures due to the correspondence between the narrative depicted in the images,
and the environment in which they were viewed: for whether a monumental vo
tive dedication in a sanctuary or a terracotta wine-jug at a drinking party, the sit
ting old woman motif could mimic the narrative context of the person looking at
her, who are themselves either sanctuary visitors or symposiasts. Would such a
metanarrative have prompted an emotional response in the viewer? Did the man
who picked up the Skyros jug, and read how the old woman enjoys her wine, also
feel a degree of camaraderie, and take encouragement to drink himself? And did
the woman who saw the Munich-Capitoline figure in a sanctuary take encourage
ment from this taboo figure to enjoy herself? Or would such proximity have had
the opposite emotional effect, strengthening the feeling of disgust, and distancing
the viewer from self-association with the subject matter? On such individual re
sponses, we can only speculate.
If, however, we are willing to engage with the viewers as a social whole, ra
ther than as individuals, as Sarah Tarlow advocates,49 we find ourselves with a
richer seam of supporting material. The response of the social whole has been of
ten strongly-formulated in modern assessments, such as that of Mary Beard and
John Henderson, who suggest that the Munich-Capitoline figures were seen as ‘a
joke about beauty itself, and its desirability; a put down for women no doubt, but
also a sneer at male desire.’50 But, as we have seen, the absence of the slipped chi
ton (the only faintly suggestive element in the composition) in both the Skyros jug
and the later Roman copies, seems to imply that the notion of sexual desire was
not central enough to the motif to warrant its retention. That this would have been
the ancient viewer’s overriding response to the Munich-Capitoline figure therefo
re seems unlikely. It is possible however, that the viewer may have responded to
the way she was dressed in another way: judging her moral worth through the ap
propriateness of her fine dress and rings.
4'y farlow 2000, 72X ‘social emotional values rather than individual, subjective emotional expe
rience ’
50 f*ca/d and 11coder von 2001, 142
Con Hiding em otions in the Drunken Old Women ol Munich and Rome 425
Inscriptions from various locations and periods of classical antiquity suggest

that matters of dress had always been of concern in religious practice. But the pic
ture is rather muddled: in some cases, we find cult regulations specifically prohi
biting ostentatious dress and self-decoration. An inscription from Lykosoura in
Arcadia from the late third century BCE records regulations for both jewellery
and clothing for women who wished to enter the sanctuary of Despoina.51 The
amount o f gold worn is restricted (unless it was brought as dedication), and they
should not wear ‘cloaks which are purple, or brightly coloured, or black or wear
sandals or rings.’ Elsewhere, in an inscription from first century BCE Andania in
Messenia, a cult regulation was also inscribed on stone warning, amongst other
things, that the women’s clothes should not be transparent, should have only small
decorative motifs, be made of linen, and be covered with a cloak worth less than a
hundred drachmae?2 Similarly, in the first century CE, the authorities behind cult
regulations in the town o f Kios in Bithynia appear to have taken a firm stand
against the wearing o f jewellery at religious gatherings, a practice presented as
hateful to the goddess:53
You are all to accompany the basket unshod and in clean clothes, but leave your gold at home.
for this she (the goddess) heartily despises, but to those she is well-disposed.
From the marble copies that we now have, we do not know what colour the Drun
ken Old W oman’s dress was intended to be. But we can see that it was intended to
be fine, fastened with buckels, and that she does wear jewellrey. Perhaps the vie
wer confronted with the Drunken Old Woman may have had some sense of her
finery being misplaced, contributing to the interpretation of the figure as one en
gaged in social transgression. But even so, the cult regulations prohibiting ostenta
tious adornment come from quite particular contexts. The degree of detail, parti
cularly visible in the Andania inscription, implicitly reveals an attempt to change
current practices, to stamp out the kind of ostentation which must have become
commonplace. In each case, these sartorial laws are slightly different, with vary
ing terms, length, and phrasing which suggests that these were not well-worn,
conventional prescriptions, but rules invented by and for the individuals in their
particular locale. It is also interesting to note that these clothing regulations are
also strongly associated with women-only rites, or parts of rites when the men
withdrew. Whether it was felt that an all-female environment was more conducive
to this kind o f competitiveness, or whether the absence of men was thought a a
risk to social regulation, we can only speculate. In the case of the Drunken Old
Woman, we do not know whether she was intended to be associated with an all
women celebration or not. If she w ere set up in a sanctuary space, one visited by
both men and women, such a narrative seems less likely. But we cannot entirely
5 1 IG V.2.514; Sokolowski 1969, no. 63 lines 4-9; on the sanctuary' cf. Pausanias 8.37.
52 IG V. 1.1390; Soklowski 1969, no. 65 lines 15-26; new edition and commentary : Deshours
2006; Gawlinski 2012; on the regulations concerning clothes see Deshours 2006, 102-106;
Gawlinski 2012, 107-133. This passage also contains regulations for priestesses (including a
ban on coloured trims and cloaks worth more than two minus), slave-girls, and f r e e b o r n girls.
53 Sokolowski 1955, no. 6; I Kios 19; traits Rigsby 2009, 79.
426 Jane Masseglia
rule out the possibility that she may have been viewed critically by these visitors
for her finery.
But, to complicate matters further, we also have textual evidence which sug
gests the contrary, that dressing-up was positively encouraged in many religious
contexts. Even in the passage of Athenaios describing the Ptolemaic lagymophoria
procession, there is great emphasis on the glamour and ostentation of the occasion.
Alongside the lavishly dressed individuals representing mythological characters,
and the decorated images of the gods, even the mortal attendants are in coloured
clothes and gold accessories.54 A similar attitude can be seen in decrees from el
sewhere, such as that regulating the annual procession at Antioch on the Pyramos
from c. 160 BCE. The text decrees that annual procession to celebrate an altar
foundation should be ‘as beautiful and glamorous as possible’, that the sacrificial
cows should have gilded horns and that ‘all citizens shall wear garlands’.55 More
particularly sartorial are a regulation from the Pireaus from c. 180 BCE which
describes how the women were to be provided with robes decorated with silver,56
and from Tlos, also of the second century BCE, decreeing that only women may
wear bright coloured stolai5158In short, the Drunken Old Woman, with her buckled
dress and rings, may have been intended to signal more than simply wealth: it
may have been an indicator of inappropriate ostentation, or it may have been in
tended to positively narrate her full participation in the celebration. Considering
the ornate decoration of the lagynos she holds, which seems to suggest a highly
‘decorated’ context, and that fact that she was probably a votive offering herself,
the latter seems more persuasive. Celebration seems better suited to a votive pur
pose than censure, and a means to encourage the viewer in his own pleasurable
experience.
And yet there are many who have provided largely unflattering assessments of
the emotional response she would have provoked. Lucilla Bum’s is perhaps the
most damning formulation, that it:
deliberately sets out to shock and repulse, to evoke conflicting emotions of horror and pity
through its cruelly exaggerated delineation of what old age can mean.
This focuses squarely on the taboo of growing old, without giving serious consid
eration to the possible positive nuances of happiness and celebration embedded in
the figure and its copies. But neither is a more positive reading entirely satisfac
tory, such as that of Alessia Dimartino who sees the Drunken Old Woman in
terms of contemporary philosophical attitudes towards relief of one’s cares, in this
case by combating old age with wine.59 In trying to wholly condemn or wholly
54 Atheriaios, fJzipno.iophistai V 200e: ‘live hundred girls decked out in purple dresses with
gold belts’, and ibid 202d ‘girls wearing expensive clothes’.
55 Sokoiowski 1955, no. Hi, ( hamotis 2010, 21 If.; cf. Chaniotis 2009 on Tesih£tique des ri-
tucls’ and the effect of local emotional experience on sacred laws.
56 Hi ll: 1328/1329 A 7f fSokotowski 1969, no 48).
57 Sh(j VII 775 On the implication ol transvestism, see Sokolowski 1955, 77.
58 Hurn 2004, 73M Sande 1995, 49
59 Ormarl mo 2008, 75.
Con Hiding emotions in the Drunken Old Women of Munich and Rome 427
rehabilitate the Drunken Old Woman, both these scholars are obliged to distance
her from the wealth of epigrammatic and parodic evidence which irreverently pre
sent the very same motif, and which form part of the cultural backdrop to the an
cient viewing experience. In this literary evidence we find strong support for a
reading of emotional ambivalence (even polyvalence), based on combined ancient
taboos concerning women, age, drunkenness and uninhibited behaviour. And ta
boo, as the texts make clear, can be both disgusting and funny.
It both literature and art it is striking that, while older men could occupy the
roles of eminent citizen or wise elder, old women had no such cachet. Instead the
only recognisable incarnation of the ‘good’ old woman is the old nurse, whose
primary role and indeed very identity rests in the care of her charge.60 Old women
are entirely absent from Hellenistic portraiture, just as the freeborn are almost in
visible in the texts.
It is significant that the practice of wearing a short headscarf, just as we see
on the Drunken Old Woman, is presented in an epigram by Antipater of Sidon as
a corollary of old age in women: ‘... the scarf which tied up my hair shows that I
was going grey’.61 The implication is that grey hair was undesirable, and was ex
pected to be concealed. The headscarf seems paradigmatic of the general absence
of ‘good’ old women in art and literature: they were not a subject to be drawn at
tention to. Doing so was a social transgression, one that provided ample material
for comic authors.
This taboo was harnessed, for example, in the fifth century BCE by the comic
playwright Aristophanes. In his Ekklesiazousai (The Assembly Women), we are
presented with the chaos which follows in the wake of a ‘sexually democratic’ de
cree: that any man wishing to make love to a young woman must first sleep with
an old one. A scene with three over-dressed, highly-sexed old women gives the
opportunity for a series of jokes about their ugliness and inappropriateness as they
try to compete with a young girl, flirt with her young boyfriend, and finally
strong-arm him into their house.62 In this instance, it is a novel legal catalyst
which allows the old women the opportunity to behave as they do. They express
emotions not usually considered appropriate for their age, and the audience can
squirm in discomfort and laugh in Schadenfreude all at the same time.
Aristophanes’ law is a unique construction for unleashing this behavioural
and emotional chaos. Wine, however, as a catalyst for unseemly behaviour, is far
more common. Indeed the Greek Anthology is filled with funerary’ epigrams for
old women who, despite the disapproval of others, like to drink, and whose en
joyment of wine is used for comic effect. And so we laugh at the fate of tottering
Ampelis (‘Young Vine’) who accidentally drowns like a ship going under as she
tries to sneak a ‘cup of Cyclopean size’ from a vat.63 And we are surprised to hear
60 Such as the nurse character in Greek Tragedy, e.g. in Aeschylus, Choephoroi, Euripides' Me
dea, Andromache and Hippolytus.
61 Greek Anthology 7.423 lines 2-4.
62 Lines 877-1 III’.
63 Aristo, Greek Anthology' 7,457.
428 Jane Masseglia
Maronis ('Strong Wine from Maroneia’)64 speaking from beyond the grave, who
only grieves, not for her family, but that the cup depicted on her grave marker is
not full.65 The drunken old woman is a stock character in the epigrammatist’s ar
moury, just as it was in the coroplastic arts.66
But perhaps the most explicit formulation of these social taboos, bringing to
gether expectations of appearance and behaviour, and the potential for wine to up
set these, comes in a touching epigram by Pallidas:67
The women look me up and down for being old, and tell me to look at the remnants of my age
in the mirror. But, if my hair is white or black, I don’t care, while I'm coming to the end of
my life. And with lovely-smelling oils and lovely-petalled garlands and with wine, 1 put a
stop to my troubled thoughts.
Even from women, it seems, we hear the kind of incompatible criticisms which
mark the 'no-win’ situation of a social undesirable: she is simultaneously criti
cised for being old, and for not behaving as an old woman should. No wonder,
then, that the old narrator is herself inconsistent: she claims not to care, and still
has 'troubled thoughts’ (phrontidas argaleas). Pallidas’ old woman is valuable in
our assessment of the Munich-Capitoline Drunken Old Woman because it ac
knowledges the kinds of social norms which surrounded old age and loss of
beauty, and the power of wine to both undermine behavioural expectations and to
comfort (that is to place personal pleasure into a superior position within the emo
tional hierarchy to social anxiety). Unlike the short inscription on the Skyros jug,
referring only to happiness, it recognises the possibility of conflicting internal
emotions within the old woman herself.
And so we are faced with the prospect of polyvalence in both the internal and
external emotions of the Munich-Capitoline Drunken Old Women: elements of
her body language, the Skyros inscription, and certain epigrams from the Greek
Anthology, all suggest a figure experiencing happiness and pleasure. Other epi
grams point to relief, in response to anxiety and shame. As to the external emo
tions, wider art conventions and textual evidence make it clear that both her age
and appearance were contrary to prevailing ideas of beauty. The appearance o f her
lined face, toothless gums, and unrestrained behaviour must have induced some
degree of disapproval or disgust, just as we see in the response o f the young man
in the Ekklestazousai and in Pallidas’ censorious women. And yet simultaneously,
they will have responded to the figure as a technical and aesthetic achievement,
enjoying the experience of looking at her in appreciation of the artist’s skill, and
perhaps even with respect for the patron’s taste and wealth. Moreover, through the
power o f convention and the construction of art and literary motifs, the Drunken
Old Woman would also have prompted emotionally positive associations with
64 Maron was the priest who supplied Odysseus with the strong wine with which he overcame
Polypbernos Homer Odyssey 9.197. His name became synonymous with the drink. Maroneia
m Thrace was producer of wine.
65 Antipater of Sidon, (/reek Anthology 7,35.
66 Sftx figures 3 and 4 (pp 4191). Hi stem Haas 1989 contains a large catalogue of examples.
67 Pallidas, (ireck Anthology i I 54
humour and enjoyment. Not only would the motif have recalled theatrical per
formances, comic poetry, and other humorous art images, but the viewer’s own
familiarity with the pleasures of wine. Her clothing and jewellery too may have
narrated the story of a woman really entering into the spirit of the occasion, em
phasising religious celebration as a source of enjoyment to those who were visit
ing the sanctuary.
And so, rather than trying to force a single emotional reading, such as horror,
pity, or hope, in this extraordinary figure, we might do better to accept that more
than one emotion is simultaneously possible and, moreover, that multiplicity is
not a failure o f understanding.68 Even the epigram of Pallidas shows that Hellenis
tic society was not unfamiliar with such emotional complexity, and it seems
highly likely that the challenging appearance of the figure was an intentional at
tempt to prompt mixed emotions. If this was so, the variety of interpretations
which the modem period has produced is a testament to its success.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
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Bieber, M. (1961) The Sculpture o f the Hellenistic Age, New York (revised edition).
Burn, L. (2004) Hellenistic Art: from Alexander the Great to Augustus, London.
Chaniotis, A. (2009) Le visage humain des rituels: experimenter, mettre en scene et negocier les
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-----(2010) D ynam ic o f Em otions and Dynamic o f Rituals. Do Emotions Change Ritual Norms?,
in C. Brosius and U. Hiisken (eds.), Ritual Matters. Dynamic Dimensions in Practice, Lon-
don/N ew Y ork, 210-235.
Deshours, N. (2006) Les mysteres d ’Andania. Etude d'epigraphie et d'histoire religieuses, Bor
deaux.
Dimartino, A. (2008) Anus Ebria: Immagini di una donna tra vecchiaia e ubriachezza, Prospettiva
129, 6 7 -8 0 .
G awlinski, L. (2012) The Sacred Law o f Andania. A New Text with Commentary, Berlin/Boston.
Kaltsas, N.E. (2002) Sculpture in the National Archaeological Museum, Athens/Los Angeles.
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num: Staatliche Kunstsammlungen Dresen Skulputrensammlung, Mainz.
Kobylina, M. (1961) Terrakotovye statuetki Pantikapea i Fanagorii, Moscow.
Kunze, C. (1999) V erkannte Gdtterfreunde. Zu Deutung und Funktion hellenistischer Genreskulp-
turen, Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archdologischen Instituts (Romische Abteilung) 106, 43-
82.
---- (2002) Zum Greifen nah: Stilphdnomene in der hellenistischen Skulptur und ihre inhaltliche
Interpretation, Dii sse Idorf.
Laubscher, H. P. (1982) Fischer und Landleute: Studien :ur hellenistischen Genreplastik, Mainz.
Leroux, G. ( 1913) Lagynos: Recherches sur las ceramique et l art ornamental hellenistique, Paris.
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Murray, O. (1995) Histories o f Pleasure, in O. Murray and M. Tecu$an, In l ino leritas, London,
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68 Cf. Z anker 1989, 74 on the piece’s ‘com plexity’ and 'ambivalence'.

430 Jane Masseglia
Pease, A. and B. Pease (2004) The Definitive Book o f Body Language, London.
Pfisterer-Haas, S. (1989) Darstellungen alter Frauen in der griechischen Kunst, Frankfurt.
Pollitt, J. J. (1986) Art in the Hellenistic Age, Cambridge.
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des Deutschen Archaologischen Instituts (Romische Abteilung) 98, 163-188.
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PICTURE CREDITS
Figure 1: ‘The Drunken Old Woman’ o f Munich. Marble Roman copy o f a G reek original
(height: 92 cm). Munich Glyptothek inv. no. 437. Photo: J.E.A. M asseglia.
Figure 2: Bronze bottle (height: 9.2 cm) in the form o f a drunken old w om an, found in a ther
mal spring in Vichy, late Hellenistic period, Paris, Louvre 2936 (M N C 1916). Photo:
akg-images / Erich Lessing.
Figure 3: Terracotta figurine (height: 9 cm) o f an old woman celebrant with wine ja r from
Boiotiaf?), second century BCE, Skulpturensam m lung, Staatliche Kunstsam m lun-
gen Dresden inv. no. 1055. Photo: Hans-Peter Klut/ Elke Estel, Dresden 2004.
Figure 4: Terracotta Figurine o f an a old Woman with child and lagynos (height: 9.3 cm) from
Greece, c. 375-350 BCE. Athens Kanellopoulos M useum inv. 126. Photo reprodu
ced by kind permission o f the 1st Ephorate o f Prehistoric & Classical A ntiquities,
Athens.
Figure 5: Terracotta jug from Skyros (height: 25.5 cm), late second/early First century BCE.
Athens National Archaeological Museum, inv. no. 2069. Photo: © Hellenic Ministry
o f Culture and Tourism /Archaeological Receipts Fund.
ENVOI
THE EMOTION SEEKS TO BE EXPRESSED
Thoughts from a Linguist’s Point of View
Maria Theodoropoulou
1 IN T R O D U C T IO N : TH E T R A P OF ‘ EM O TIO N’
E m o tio n , a resea rch o b je c t lo n g n eg lected , is presently at the center o f an interdis

cip lin a ry in terest as th e m e e tin g p oin t o f both b iological and social-hum anistic
sc ie n c e s. T h is in te rd iscip lin a r y en cou n ter is probably the strongest evid en ce o f the
c o m p le x ity o f th e nature o f em o tio n ; it is at the sam e tim e a kind o f warning that
from w h ic h e v e r p e r sp e c tiv e o n e c h o o se s to approach it one ought to look at the
fin d in g s o f o th er s c ie n tific fie ld s - i f not to h ave a dialogu e with them. The situa
tion b e c o m e s e v e n m o r e c o m p le x i f o n e a lso takes into account that there is no
in terd iscip lin a ry c o n s e n s u s a s to w h at em otion is .1 T he term inology is not in
a g reem en t eith er: th e term s feelings, sentiments, affects are used instead o f emo
tion e v e n b y r esea rch ers w ith in the sa m e field s -s o m e tim e s the adoption o f a term
a im s to in d ic a te th e p e r sp e c tiv e from w h ich the topic is approached.2
T h is last p o in t w ith regard to te rm in o lo g y is on ly indicative o f the crucial role
that la n g u a g e p la y s in th e stu d y o f em otion . It is not on ly that the concept o f
‘e m o tio n ’ is n o t u n iv er sa l, s in c e there are lan gu ages in w h ich this word is absent.3
It is m a in ly b e c a u s e th e c a te g o r isa tio n s o f the em otion s that every language m akes
are c u ltu r e-b o u n d . T h u s th e d a n g er b e c o m es evid en t that a researcher might inter
pret the p h e n o m e n a u n d er in v estig a tio n through the categorisations o f his/her
m other to n g u e , w h ic h m a y b e in com p atib le w ith those o f another culture or an
other la n g u a g e. T h is a sc e rta in m e n t has tw o asp ects. On the one hand it questions
I would like to thank Angelos Chaniotis and loannis Veloudis for their comments and lliana
Teazi-Antonakopoulou for editing the English version of this text.
1 ‘“Emotion” is a relatively new superordinate category or hypemym’ that ‘conveys a model of
reality related to modern(ist) psychology as it emerged in the UK in the middle of the 19th
century and now circulates globally’ (Wilce 2009, 22f.).
2 Concerning the anthropological literature Radcliffe Brown 1922, for example, uses the term
‘sentiment’, Palmer and Occhi 1999 as well; Lutz 1988 and Lutz and White 1986 use ‘emo
tion’; Massumi 1995 ‘links affect with sheer intensity, and emotion with cultural significa
tion’. See Wilce 2009, 28-32, for these distinctions in anthropological literature, and Wierz-
bicka 1999, ch. I, for the discussion concerning the terminology.
3 Wierzbicka 1999, 3f.
434 Maria Theodoropoulou
th o se stu d ies w h ich investigate em o tio n s in their n o n -lin g u istic m a n ife sta tio n (for
in sta n ce facial ex p ressio n s);4 on the other hand it m ak es e x p lic it that th ere is a l
w a y s ‘the trap w aiting for those w h o declare that th ey w an t to stu d y e m o tio n s as
su ch and “are not interested” in la n gu age’.5 In other w o rd s, e m o tio n c a n n o t b e in
v estig a ted ‘n a k ed ’, b ecause language a lw a y s m ed ia tes b e tw e en it and th e re
search er - and every language m akes its o w n proper in tersectio n in the sp ectru m
o f the em otion al experien ce. For A nna W ierzb ick a6 the d an ger o f e th n o c e n trism -
a n g lo cen trism also (b ecau se o f the d om ination o f the E n g lish la n g u a g e in a c a
d em ic d isco u rse) - can be avoid ed by u sin g a N atu ral S e m a n tic M e ta la n g u a g e
(N S M ). N S M is constituted by the universal h u m an c o n c e p ts and th eir ru les o f
co m b in a tio n (i.e . their ‘gram m ar’) - in this m e ta la n g u a g e feel is su ch a c o n c e p t
and not emotion as m entioned above.
2 U N IV E R S A L 1S M O R R E L A T IV IS M ...
A lth o u g h A n na W ierzb ick a’s approach has b een c ritic ise d in m a n y r e s p e c ts ,7 her
w arn in g co n cern in g the relativist tactic o f the la n g u a g es r em a in s c ru cia l. O n th e
o th er hand, o n e cou ld see W ierzb ick a’s undertak in g - irr esp e ctiv e o f w h e th e r o n e
a g r ee s or not - as her contribution to a lo n g lastin g d eb ate c o n c e r n in g th e nature
o f em o tio n . The evolu tion ary app roaches, w h ic h g o a lo n g w ith D a r w in ’s v ie w s
and derive m ainly from n eu roscien ces and p s y c h o lo g y , a rgu e that e m o tio n s are
b io lo g ic a lly determ ined p ro cesses that are grou n d ed in th e brain an d u se th e b o d y
a s their stage; em o tio n s w ere d e v e lo p ed du rin g h u m an e v o lu tio n a im in g at th e
m ain ten a n ce o f life , that is, su rvival.8 F urtherm ore, b y a d o p tin g th e d istin c tio n
b etw een primary or basic and secondary or psychosocial e m o tio n s , th e y argu e
that the prim ary o n e s are innate and, c o n se q u en tly , u n iv er sa l.9 A t th e o th er end,
a p p roach es that co m e from a n th ro p o lo g y 10 and p s y c h o lo g y 11 a d o p t a so -
cial/cu ltu ra l constructionist p ersp ective w h ich argue that e m o tio n s are c r e a tio n s o f
culture; in this sen se e m o tio n s are not innate but th e y are lea rn ed b y th e c h ild dur
in g p arent-ch ild interaction and other interpersonal r ela tio n sh ip s - n e e d le s s to sa y ,
la n g u a g e takes on an im portant role in this p r o c e s s .12 T h e a p p ro a c h e s v a ry a ls o a s
to the role th ey assign to language; in c o g n itiv e a n th r o p o lo g y an d c o g n it iv e lin
g u istic s paradigm s langu age is so m etim es c o n sid e r ed the m e d iu m th ro u g h w h ic h
cultural k n o w led g e is reconstructed, as it is r eflected in cu ltu ral m o d e ls , th at is, in
4 L k man 1980
5 Wter/bu ka 199V, 28.
6 Wierzbicka 1999: see also Wier/bicka 1996.
7 See Wilce 2009. 75 77 tor example, ‘ The idea that NSM is of a dif ferent sort than natural
languages while simultaneously being natural, is paradoxical at best.’
8 J.elioux 1998, Darnaaio 1999
9 E g Ekman 1980; UJ»ux 1998, Uainasio 1999
10 E g I a ii / and White 1986, Lu t/ 1987; see also W ilce 2009.
11 l g Averill 1974
12 f'larialp 1999, 1421 : Oalley el al 2006, 102
The Emotion Seeks to Be Expressed: Thoughts from a Linguist’s Point of View 435
‘c o g n it iv e s c h e m a s that are sh ared in tersu b jectiv ely by a so cia l g ro u p ’;13 so m e

tim e s it is la n g u a g e u s e that is e x p la in e d through cultural m o d e ls;14 in pragm atic
a p p r o a c h e s th e f o c u s is, a m o n g oth ers, on h o w em o tio n talk w ork s in so cia l lif e 15
or o n th e s tr a te g ic u s e s o f la n g u a g e ;16 Finally, m an y an th rop ological ap p roach es
a d o p t a s e m io t ic p e r s p e c tiv e c o n s id e r in g la n g u a g e as part o f the co n tex t o f c o m
m u n ic a tio n .
H o w e v e r , th e situ a tio n r eg a r d in g th e e v o lu tio n a ry and the con stru ction ist ap
p r o a c h e s is n o t a s p o la r is e d a s it m ig h t se e m at first g lan ce. For the issu e here is
the f o c u s w h ic h e a c h s id e e m p h a s is e s , so m e th in g w h ich a lso b e c o m e s o b v io u s in
w h a t it c h o o s e s to d e f in e a s its fie ld o f in v e stig a tio n . T h e ev o lu tio n a ry app roaches
stu d y th e e m o t io n p r im a r ily in a sp a c e o u tsid e lan gu age (for in stan ce Joseph L e-
D o u x f o c u s e s h is r e s e a r c h o n th e n eu ro n a l sy s te m o f fear, Paul E km an on the fa
c ia l e x p r e s s io n s ) , a r g u in g that e m o tio n p h y lo g e n e tic a lly p reced es lan gu age. T h ese
p o in ts o f v i e w d o n o t e x c lu d e cu ltu ral in terven tion ; E km an for in stan ce sp eak s not
o n ly a b o u t u n iv e r s a l fa c ia l e x p r e s s io n s but a lso abou t acquired b o d ily m o v em en ts
that are t y p ic a l o f a c u ltu r e a n d a prod u ct o f cultural learning. M oreover, he has
in tr o d u c e d th e te rm display rules so as to bring forth th e in terven tion o f social
c o n v e n t io n s in th e e x p r e s s io n o f b a s ic e m o tio n s; th e se ru les are part o f an ind i
v id u a l’s s o c i a lis a t io n a n d d e f in e th e s p e c ific e m o tio n , tow ard s w h at person it is
d ir e c te d , a n d in w h a t d e g r e e it is p er m itte d to b e e x p ressed ; for in stan ce the d e
g r ee o f p a in e x p r e s s e d in c a s e o f d ea th m u st b e in p rop ortion w ith the d eg ree o f
k in sh ip w ith th e d e a d p e r s o n .1718 D e s p ite th e fact that th e cultural factor h as been
in tr o d u c e d , th e f o c u s r e m a in s o n w h a t h a p p e n s in the b o d y , b eca u se it c o m e s from
the fu n c tio n o f th e u n c o n s c io u s brain sy s te m s . A s A n to n io D a m a sio sa y s, ‘w e can
e d u c a te o u r e m o t i o n s b u t n o t s u p p r e ss th em e n tir e ly ’ . For e m o tio n s e n c o m p a ss
brain f u n c t io n s to w h ic h w e h a v e n o a c c e ss; c o n se q u e n tly w e can d isg u ise our
e m o tio n s - u s u a lly w ith n o s u c c e s s - but w e c a n n o t in terven e in areas w h ere w e
h a v e n o a c c e s s a n d n o c o n s c io u s n e s s .
A lt h o u g h b i o l o g ic a l a p p r o a c h e s a llo w for cultural in terven tion w ith em o tio n s,
th e w a y th e c o n s t r u c t io n is t s treat th e b io lo g ic a l su bstrate varies: w ith the em p h a
sis a lw a y s o n s o c io - c u lt u r a l fa c to r s, th is ca n range from the sim p le rec o g n itio n o f
th e e x is t e n c e o f th e b io l o g ic a l su b stra te to th e in te rw ea v in g o f the b io lo g ic a l w ith
the c u ltu r a l. J a m e s A v e r ill fo r in sta n c e a r g u e s that ‘s o m e e m o tio n -lik e resp o n ses
h a v e th e ir r o o ts in m a n ’s b io lo g ic a l h e r ita g e ’ (e .g . the a v o id a n ce o f dan ger).
However, most standard emotional reactions transcend any biological imperatives related to
self- or species-preservation. They are based instead on human capabilities above the animal
13 [)’Andrade 1987, 112.

14 Quinn and Holland 1987, 24.
15 E.g. Lutz 1988.
16 E.g. Catli and Janney 1994.
17 Ekman 1980, 87 -89; 1984, 320.
18 Damasio 1999, 49.
level and, in particular,

|Q on the ability of man to create symbolic systems of thought and be-
haviour (i.e. culture).
H o w ev er, so m etim es the attem pt to separate the b io lo g ic a l a sp ect o f th e e m o tio n
from the socio-cu ltu ral on e has cau sed a lot o f d isc u ssio n : for in sta n ce D o n a ld
N a th a n so n ’s statem en t that ‘affect is b io lo g y , w h ile e m o tio n is b io g r a p h y ’20 has
been criticised by Elspeth Probyn w h o stressed the in d is so lu b le in te r w e a v in g o f
the so cia l and the p h ysiological:
Our bodies and their biographies may be more complicated than we’ve given them credit for.
Conceptually, they challenge any neat division of biological affect and biographical emotion,
the social and the physiological."
M ayb e the m ost extrem e version regarding the treatm en t o f th e b io lo g ic a l su b
strate o f em otion is exp ressed by p oin ts o f v ie w w h ic h a rgu e that ‘so c ia l life , and
perhaps ev en culture, shapes p h y sio lo g ic a l p r o c e s s ’.22
3 ... OR UNIVERSALISM AND RELATIVISM?
N o m atter h o w m uch this latter poin t o f v ie w h as a im ed at w in n in g th e b et in the

in ten se controversy b etw een the b io lo g ic a l and the cu ltu ral a s r eg a rd s e m o tio n s ,
ex p erim en tal research on other exp erien tial d o m a in s and th eir r e la tio n to la n g u a g e
c o u ld o ffer e v id en ce on h ow the b io lo g ic a l/u n iv e r sa l is in te r w o v e n w ith th e c u l
ture sp ec ific . The first dom ain is the p h o n e tic p e r c e p tio n b y n e w b o r n s: a s R e n e
D irven , H an s-G eorg W olf, and Frank P o lz en h a g e n sa y , ‘w e are b o m a s u n iv e r sa l
h ea rers’,23 insofar as the infant until the a g e o f s ix m o n th s can p e r c e iv e all the
p h on etic d istin ctio n s that the lan gu ages o f the w o r ld m a k e - th is is th e u n iv er sa l
d o w ry by w h ich the infant is eq u ip p ed g e n e tic a lly ; on th e o th e r h a n d , ‘w e are s o
c ia lise d as cu ltu re-sp ecific sound p e r c e iv e r s’, in so fa r a s fro m s ix m o n th s o n w a rd s
the infant starts narrow ing d ow n h is/h er a c o u stic p e r c e p tiv e sp e c tr u m u n d er the
in flu en ce o f the lan gu age o f h is/h er e n v iro n m en t, p e r c e iv in g o n ly th e so u n d s o f
his/h er o w n m other to n g u e.24 T he se c o n d d o m a in from w h ic h o n e c a n d ra w c lu e s
is the c o lo r s - an exp erien tial d om ain that has b een c o n n e c te d to e m o tio n s : 25 a l
though c o lo r term s in the la n g u a g es o f the w o rld o b e y a strict h ie r a r c h y th at is d e
term ined by b io lo g ica l factors,26 that is, the retin a ’s c a p a c ity o f p e r c e p tio n , recen t
exp erim en tal research es have sh ow n that the d istin c tio n s m a d e b y a la n g u a g e in
flu en ce the w a y its sp eak ers p e r ce iv e the c o lo r c o n tin u u m .27
IV Avenll 1974, 181,

20 Nathanvon 19%, 13.
2J Probyn 2004. 395
22 Wilt* 2009 30
2? Dirvcn, Wolf, and hilzenhagen 2007, 1209
24 Werker and Tee* 1984.; Kuhl el al 1992, Kuhl 1993.
25 Wike 2009, 72
20 f g Berlin and Kay 1909
27 I g Wmaweretaf 2008, larietal 2008,
The Emotion Seeks to He Expressed: Thoughts from a Linguist’s Point of View 437
I f th e s e f in d in g s su g g e s t e x p lic itly the e x isten ce o f a universal substrate upon

which culture acts, s tu d ie s on th e c o n cep tu a lisa tio n o f em otion s have argued that
the s a m e h o ld s fo r th e e m o tio n a l field . A cco rd in g to Zoltan K civecses, w h o stud
ie s e m o tio n m e ta p h o r s in ter- and cross-cu ltu ra lly ,2K b io lo g y creates a frame w hich
e a ch c u ltu r e f i lls w ith its o w n d e ta ils .2829 For instance in lllo n g o ts fa former head
h u n tin g trib e liv in g in north ern L u z o n , P h ilip p in es) an em otion that is experien ced
in th e b o d y , th e liget (th a t is g lo s s e d as ‘e n erg y /a n g er’ by M ich elle R osald o), is
c o n c e p tu a lis e d ‘a s a g e n e r a lis e d state o f arousal that m akes them to go out and
ta k e h e a d s ’ s e r v in g th e tr ib e ’s n e e d s for su rv iv a l.30 A s R osald o says,
the liget that lllongots associate with youthfull prowess and, for them, with the universal agi
tation that makes them want to kill, takes on reaht^ and significance because it is bound up in
... forms of relation central to Illongot social life.3
It is o b v io u s th a t th is k in d o f c o n c e p tu a lis a tio n is d ifferen t from the one o f an
ger; 32 w h ic h r e v e a ls an a m b iv a le n t attitude tow ard s th is em o tio n .33 It m ust be
n o te d that a r g u in g that b io l o g y c re a tes the fram e, K o v e c se s m eans that p h y sio lo g y
- a n d in th is s e n s e th e b io lo g ic a l - puts constraints in the m etaphorical con cep tu
a lis a tio n o f an e m o t i o n .34 In o th e r w o r d s, th e m etap h orical con cep tu alisation o f an
e m o tio n c a n n o t d r a w fr o m e le m e n ts that are in co n sisten t to the p h y sio lo g y o f the
e m o tio n : fo r in s ta n c e g i v e n th at th e p h y s io lo g y o f an ger is con n ected to the rise in
b o d y te m p e r a tu r e a n d b lo o d p r e ssu r e ,35 it is not to be e x p e cte d that anger m ight be
m e ta p h o r is e d in te r m s o f c o ld .
A c c o r d in g to Z o lta n K o v e c s e s 36 th e p h y sio lo g ic a l substrate o f an em otion
se r v e s a s a ‘p o o l ’ fr o m w h ic h c u ltu r e s p o te n tia lly s e le c t so m e com p on en ts (se e
b e lo w p. 4 4 2 ) ; th e s e c o m p o n e n t s m a y c h a n g e o v e r tim e. T h is m eans that in the
m e ta p h o r ic a l c o n c e p t u a lis a t io n o f e m o tio n s
• different peoples may be attuned to different aspects of their bodily functioning in relation to
a target domain, or that they ignore or downplay certain aspects of their bodily functioning as
regards the metaphorical conceptualisation of a particular target domain.37
K o v e c s e s ’ a r g u m e n ts c o n c e r n in g e m o tio n m etap h ors draw from the theoretical
a s s u m p tio n s o f c o g n i t iv e lin g u is t ic s , w h ic h argue for the un iversality o f so m e
m e ta p h o r s a n d m a in ly fo r th e u n iv e r sa lity o f so m e im age sch em as used in the
m e ta p h o r isa tio n o f e m o tio n s , that is, stru ctu res o f b o d ily ex p erien ce reflected in
th o u g h t. H o w e v e r , it is im p o r ta n t that A n n a W ierzb ick a, w h o stu d ies the interlin-
g u is tic /in te r c u ltu r a l v a r ia tio n , a ls o r e c o g n is e s s o m e un iversal elem en ts in the Ian-
28 See Kovecses 2000 and 2005 respectively.

29 See Kdveeses’ (2000, 190) ‘body based constructionism’.
30 KOvecses 2005, 247.
31 Kosaldo 1980, 138.
32 Lakoff 1987, in collaboration with Kovecses.
33 Kdvecses 1990, 25.
34 Kdvecses 2000, 160
35 Eknutn 1984,136.
36 Kdvecses 2005, 246f.
37 This is the notion of d iffere n tia l ex p erien tia l fi>cus\ see Kdvecses 2005. 246.
g u a g e s o f th e w o rld . O n e su ch a ‘u n iv er sa l’ elem en t is that la n g u a g es h a v e w o r d s

to refer to su ch e m o tio n s as the basic e m o tio n s o f fear and an g er (th e so c ia l e m o
tio n o f sh a m e in c lu d e d ).3839M ayb e the recognition that
39
in all languages people can describe ‘emotions’ a. via observably bodily ‘symptoms’ (that
is, via some bodily events regarded as characteristic of these feelings); b. with reference to
bodily sensations; c. via figurative ‘bodily images’
is m o re im p ortan t as regards the crucial role o f the b io lo g ic a l su b strate o f th e
e m o tio n .40 A lth o u g h both app roach es draw from d ia m etrica lly o p p o se d a s s u m p
tio n s. o n e can p o in t ou t the u n iversal p resen ce o f the b o d y in the in tercu ltu ra l/in -
te r lin g u istic c o n cep tu a lisa tio n s o f em otion s; in other w o rd s, the b r in g in g forth o f
the b io lo g ic a l a sp ect o f the em otion into langu age.
O n e c o u ld argu e that in the con stru ction ist ap p roach es to e m o tio n th e b o d y is
fa d ed . T h is is e x a ctly the criticism add ressed by Z oltan K o v e c s e s an d G ary P a l
m er41 to C ath erin e L u tz ’s stu dy o f Jfaluk song g lo s s e d a s ‘ju s tifie d a n g e r ’ :42 th e
n e g le c t o f fe e lin g states that are inherent in the c o n cep t o f song. Ja m es W ilc e a ls o
a r g u e s so m e th in g sim ila r co n cern in g relativist a p p roach es to e m o tio n in anth r-
p o lo g y : ‘their failu re to o ffer an exp erien ce-n ea r d escrip tion o f e m o tio n it s e lf .’43
H o w e v e r , a c co rd in g to K o v e c se s and Palm er, w h o try to o ffe r a s y n th e s is that
m e r g e s so c ia l co n stru ctio n ist and ex p erien tialist ap p roach es
... some emotion language is universal and clearly related to the experience of the physiologi
cal functioning of the body. Once the universal emotion language is isolated, the numerous
and important remaining differences in emotional linguistic expression can be explained by
differences in cultural knowledge and pragmatic discourse functions that work according to
divergent culturally def ined rules or scenarios
M o reo v er:
Emotion concepts must frequently blend universal experiences of physiological func

tions with culturally specific models and interpretations and emotion language must
reflect this blend.
In th is se n s e , it is argued that the con cep t o f anger, for e x a m p le , ‘ is b oth m o ti
v a ted b y the hum an bod y and produced by a particular so c ia l and cu ltu ral e n v i
r o n m e n t’.44
If th e p h y s io lo g y o f the em otion is w hat m od erates the arb itrarin ess o f the
c o n c e p t, the reco g n itio n of the b io lo g ica l substrate m ore g e n e r a lly m a y fu n c tio n
a s a norm b asis, again st w h ich the intercultural d iffe re n c es can b e d e te cte d ; m o r e
s p e c ific a lly , the w a y s through w h ich cultures intervene in e m o tio n s by attributing
38 Wfcr/bicka 1999, 289

39 Wier/bicka uses the term ‘emotion’ in inverted commas because it is not a universal concept
as mentioned above.
40 Wier/bicka 1999. 294 298
41 Krtvecses and Palmer 1999 253; see also Kflvecses, Palmer, and Dirven 2002.
42 lut/ 1988
43 Wilte 2009, 73
44 Kovctses and Palmer 1999 238
The Emotion Seeks to Be Expressed; Thoughts from a Linguist’ s Point of View 439
m ea n in g to w h a t h a p p e n s in th e b o d y f o r th e ir o w n benefit. This is obvious not

only in the conceptualisation of Illongot lig et which is mentioned above. The
same cultural intervention for the community’s benefit can be seen in the Ifalulc
so n g ‘justified anger’, an emanation of a cooperative and nonaggressive life pat
tern, which has been developed in order to contribute to the community’s survival
from the dangers that threaten it (typhoons etc.).45 This stress on the community’s
needs for survival brings forth fundamental differences as to the way Western cul
ture and Ifaluk society treat emotions: the former places the individual in the cen
tre while the latter attributes social meaning in emotion. As Lutz says,
In talking about emotions, the Ifaluk treat them as fundamentally social phenomena
rather than, as in the case of American ethno-theory, as predominantly internal psy-
chophysiological events that are simply correlated with social events.46
One could see a series of cultural interventions with emotions being linked on the
- and this happens not only in the sphere of the so-
basis o f th e b o d ily e x p e r ie n c e
called ‘social emotions’, something which would be plausible. In the first place, a
culture can attribute a new content to a ‘biological’ emotion par excellence, such
as fear,47 maintaining however the threat as the common thread that connects the
more ‘biological’ aspects to the more culture-defined ones.48 Moreover, a basic
attribute of emotions, that of being experienced as inner states, does not seem to
hold in some cultures as in Fidjian Hindi, as the moods in this place seem to be
located in events themselves.49 How a culture evaluates an emotion and conse
quently which emotions are prioritised could be considered also as one of the cul
tural interventions: Jean Brigs for instance describes anger among the Utku Eski
mos as an inferior way of being, characteristic only of people such as children,
whites, and the mentally retarded,50 something which is in sharp contrast with the
Illongot lig e t , as mentioned above. Likewise, ‘in Tahiti anger plays a prominent
role in social cognition, whereas sadness and grievance are suppressed’.51 This
prioritisation is obviously interwoven with the shaping of a community’s more
general attitudes towards emotions.52 Furthemore, cultures differ as to how they
relate emotion with gender or status: to quote Wilce, ‘who has the right to speak
angrily? Who is stereotyped to speak emotionally?’53
One might think that the general characterisation of an emotion as ‘positive or
negative’ is also a cultural interv ention. This is a plausible idea if one takes into
consideration the difference between the Illongot lig et and the English a n g er or
45 Lutz 1988.
46 Lutz 1987,296.
47 LeDoux 1998, 129.
48 See the discussion of the fear of gods by A. Chaniotis in this volume (pp. 205-234).
49 Brenneis 1990.
50 Brigs 1970 (quoted in Kbvecses 1990, 25).
51 Foolen 2008, 377.
52 See e.g. Wierzbicka 1995. See also p. 151f. in this volume on Thucydides’ comments on the
different attitudes of Athenians and Spartans.
53 Wilce 2009, 77. See pp. 71 and 115-117 in this volume.
the M o d e m G reek 0vg6<; ( ‘a n g e r ’). T h e im p o r ta n c e o f liget fo r th e c o m m u n it y ’s

surv ival o b v io u s ly c la s s ifie s it in th e p o s itiv e e m o tio n s ; o n th e o th e r h an d , th e an
g e r o r th e O vpoi; are con stru ed a s n e g a tiv e e m o tio n s , a s is e v id e n t fr o m th e m e ta
p h o rs that both la n g u a g es u s e to d e n o te th e e m o t i o n ’s d o m in a n c e u p o n th e s e l f .54
D ir e c tly c o n n e c te d to th e ch a ra cterisa tio n o f an e m o tio n a s p o s it i v e o r n e g a t iv e is
w h e th e r th is em o tio n has to be c o n tr o lle d o r n o t - th is a s p e c t o f th e c o n c e p t u a lis a
tio n o f an e m o tio n is an im portant part o f th e p r o to ty p ic a l c o g n i t iv e m o d e l o f the
e m o tio n , at least for E n g lish from w h ic h K o v e c s e s d r a w s h is d a ta .55 In W e ster n
cu ltu re, o f co u r se , e m o tio n s h a v e b e e n c o n n e c t e d w ith s o m e t h in g th at h a s th e
p o w e r to tran scen d reason ta k in g its o w n c o u r s e , an d is th u s s o m e t h in g d a n g e r o u s
w h ic h m u st b e co n tro lled - a v ie w that c o m e s fr o m C a r te s ia n d u a lis m a n d has
b e e n d isp u ted b y n e u r o sc ie n tific p o in ts o f v ie w o p p o s in g th e id e a o f a p u re rea
so n , u n co n ta m in a ted by e m o tio n s .56 T h is c o u ld o f f e r a n e x p la n a t io n a s to w h y th e
co n tro l o f e m o tio n s is an in tegral part o f th e ir c o n c e p t u a lis a t io n , at le a s t o f th e
p u ta tiv e ly n e g a tiv e o n e s .57 H o w e v e r th is is n o t a d e q u a te a s a v a l id e x p la n a t io n for
a ll cu ltu res. O n e a n sw er m ig h t b e that th e s o - c a lle d n e g a t iv e e m o t i o n s ( fo r in
sta n ce fear or an g er), b y p la c in g the in d iv id u a l a t th e c e n tr e h a v e th e p o w e r to
threaten th e so c ia l c o h e s io n , and in th is s e n s e th e ir c o n tr o l is c r u c ia l.58 P o s it iv e
e m o tio n s are not o n ly n ot a threat but, it h a s b e e n a r g u e d , t h e y e it h e r b r o a d e n an
in d iv id u a l’s m o m en ta ry th o u g h t-a c tio n r ep er to ir e a n d b u ild th e in d iv id u a l’s p er
so n a l r e so u r ce s5960or th ey are a s s o c ia te d w ith s o c ia l b e n e f it s ( s o c i a b i li t y th at lea d s
to c o o p e ra tio n and m utu al h e lp ) an d w ith p o s it iv e e f f e c t s o n th e in d iv id u a l: p h y s i
ca l h ea lth , m ental h ealth , w ork , c re a tiv e th in k in g , s o c i a b i li t y , a n d a ltr u is m .6® T h is
s u g g e s tio n o f c o u rse n e e d s further in te r lin g u is tic in v e s t ig a t io n .
54 See for example 'I was seized by anger’ (Lakoff 1987, in collacoration with Kovecses) in
Tnglish, pt impure 0ogo<; (‘anger seized me’) in Modem Greek. In these utterances anger is
metaphonsed as an enemy that captures the Self, who is imaged to resist in the emotion
(Theodoropoulou 2004a, 390).
55 Kbvecses 1990, 184-186.
56 Damasio 1995 and 1999; LeDoux 1998.
57 See Theodoropoulou 2008a lor a critical comment to Kovecses 1990 based on modern Greek
data that both the prototypical cognitive model and the master metaphor of the emotion
tFMOTlos is fokcf; see Kbvecses 2000) applies to negative but not to positive emotions. It is
questionable whether this ‘tendency’ of the prototypical cognitive model proposed by
Kftvecses 1990 indicates an attitude that shows a preference to negative emotions and which
are the reasons of this preference in the Anglo-American culture.
58 for this issue see the chapter by Irene Salvo in this volume (pp. 235-266).
59 Fredrickson 2004
60 Sec Argyle 2001. 18 In this sense it would be interesting to see under what additional condi
tions the control of an emotion is built through language as well: for example, why joy, despi
te toeing a positive emotion, has a Control Stage in its cognitive model in fcinglish (Kbvecses
J990), which does nol hold lor Modern Greek7 In Modem Greek joy is concealed for social
reasons and for reasons of fear as well but there is no attempt to suppress it (Theodoro
poulou 2008a) Grit reason might be that some cultures allow the maintenance of pleasure
(individual; which is inherent in some emotions such as joy, despite the fact that their public
expression ha* to fie controlled
T h e a b o v e o b s e r v a tio n s h a v e n o oth er p u rp ose than to d en ote the com p lexity

o f th e in te r w e a v in g o f th e b io lo g ic a l and the so cio-cu ltu ral; m ainly that the uni
v e rsa l b io lo g ic a l b o d y w h ic h e x p e r ie n c e s the e m o tio n s is constructed culturally
th ro u g h m u ltip le cu ltu ral in te rv e n tio n s - and this is reflected in langu age. T his o f
c o u r s e is n o t s o m e t h in g n e w , i f o n e thinks first, that it is typical o f lan gu ages to
e n d u e a b o d ily o r g a n w ith v a r io u s s y m b o lism s w h ich have n oth in g to do with its
b io lo g ic a l fu n c tio n ; a n d s e c o n d , that it is alm ost a un iversal tactic o f languages
a n d c u ltu r e s to r efe r to v a r io u s parts o f the bod y in order to con cep tu alise the
m in d , a s w e ll a s th e e m o tio n s - a ta ctic that o b v io u sly is culturally determ ined.61
A lth o u g h th is cu ltu r a l p r o c e s s o f sh a p in g can n e g lec t the b io lo g y in so m e o f its
a s p e c ts , it is im p o r ta n t to n o te that it m a in ta in s so m eth in g from the universal sub
strate o f th e h u m a n b o d y an d th e c o g n itio n that d raw s from it:62 the ca se o f the
m e ta p h o r isa tio n o f a n g e r in C h in e s e h as b een e x te n siv e ly d iscu ssed in literature63
p r o v id in g s tr o n g e v id e n c e fo r th is th e sis, sin c e ‘the d ifferen t m ed ical “ id e o lo g y ”
and p h ilo s o p h y in C h in e s e c u ltu r e h a v e n o t had an y fundam ental in flu en ce on the
b a s ic c o n c e p tu a l m e ta p h o r s fo r e m o tio n s ’.64
H a v in g ta k e n in to c o n s id e r a tio n th e u n iversal substrate, the cultural w ealth
th at c a r v e s u p th e e m o tio n a l e x p e r ie n c e can stretch out in front o f him /her, g iv in g
a c c e s s b o th to e v e r y c u ltu r e ’s ‘e m o tio n a l u n iv er se ’ and the w a y s by w h ich em o
tio n s are c o n c e p t u a lis e d in it:65 la n g u a g e s d iffe r in the w a y s they categorise em o
tio n a l e x p e r ie n c e , in th e d is tin c tio n s that th e y im p o se up on it (for instance in the
n u m b e r o f th e w o r d s ) , an d in th e w a y s th e y lab el it.66 D e sp ite the ex isten ce o f uni
v e rsa l m e ta p h o r s la n g u a g e s a d d itio n a lly h a v e their o w n on es; for instance on ly
C h in e s e c o n c e p t u a lis e h a p p in e s s as flowers nv the heart.67 In every language the
w h o le g r id o f its r e s o u r c e s th at is u sed w ith regard to em o tio n s, ‘Gram m ar ...
p h r a s e o lo g y , d is c o u r s e stru ctu re, in to n a tio n , in terjection s, sw eat w ords, form s o f
a d d r e s s ’ a s w e l l a s ‘c u ltu r e s p e c if ic fa c ia l e x p r e s sio n s and b o d ily postures, g e s
tu r e s, a n d s o o n ’68 d if f e r s in u n iq u e w a y s , sk etc h in g out ‘the ten sion b etw een the
u n iv e r sa l a n d th e c u lt u r a l- s p e c if ic ’ .69 T h e la n g u a g es a lso ch an ge w ith respect to
th e m e a n s u s e d . T h e c h a n g e s in v o c a b u la r y are th e sp a ce w h ere cultural and so-
c io - h is t o r ic a l c h a n g e s are r e fle c te d . A c c o r d in g to A n na W ierzb ick a, for exam p le,
‘th e s h if t fr o m th e S h a k e sp e a r ia n wrath to m odem anger both reflects and con-
61 Sharifian, Dirven, Yu, and Niemeier 2008.

62 For the notion of ‘embodiment’, that is, the idea that cognition is mediated by the bodily ex
perience and that more abstract domains of cognition (e.g. thoughts, emotions, etc.) are based
on more concrete domains of experience (e.g. the human body) see Johnson 1987, Lakoff
1987, Lakoff ami Johnson 1999, Gibbs 2006. For a criticism with regard to how the contribu
tion of the socio-cultural factors to cognition has been neglected see Frank et al. 2008 and
Zlatev 1997 for the notion of ‘situated embodiment’
63 Yu 1998.
64 Dirven, Wolf, and Polznhagen 2007, 1211.
65 Wierzbicka 1999, 29.
66 Wierzbicka 1999, 24; see also Needham 1981, 99.
67 Yu 1995.
68 Wierzbicka 1999, 34.
69 Dirven, Wolf, and Polzenhagen 2007, 1217.
stitutes an aspect of the democratisation of society and the passing of the feudal
order'.70 As she says,
‘Emotion words’ such as anger reflect, and pass on, certain cultural models; and these mod
els, in turn, reflect and pass on values, preoccupations, and frames of reference of the society
(or speech community) within which they are evolved. They reflect its ‘habits of the heart’ ...
and the concomitant ‘habits of mind'.
On the other hand, Zoltan Kovecses also cites diachronic changes in the metapho-
risation of emotions:71 a transition from a metonymic into a metaphorical under
standing of emotions (more specifically concerning anger) in the USA in the 19th
century, possibly due to the influence of the classical-medieval notion of the four
humors from which the Anglo-American conceptualisation of anger derived.72 He
also cites changes in the ways that an emotion is metaphorised: e.g. the metapho-
risation of anger as heat did not remain constant during the history of English.
This indicates that not only do cultures draw selectively from the components of
the universal biological substrate but that a culture can draw different elements
from it in various historical periods for reasons that have to do with the surround
ing cultural context. According to Kovecses, languages differ in their cognitive
preferences as well, that is, whether they enhance metonymic (that is bodily) or
metaphorical reflections of the experience; this preference may reflect a culture’s
evaluative attitudes and possibly is determined by socio-historical factors.73
More generally, metaphor is brought forth as the socio-cultural topos par ex
cellence, inasmuch as the metaphorical conceptualisations are broadly determined
from a large number of factors, apart from the embodied experience and the cog
nitive processes. These include essentially the different experiences o f groups,
such as the physical environment, the social and the cultural context, and the com
municative setting, but also their differences in concerns and interests.74 Metaphor
is, thus, the space where both a culture’s historical memory75 and the subject’s
personal one are ‘registered’, a space where the meeting point of the socio-cultural
and the subjective is sketched out.
4 LANGUAGE AND EMOTION: UNVEILING EMOTIONS
If the human communication per se - linguistic or not - is embodied, that is, a liv
ing body is needed for it to become possible, the same holds true for emotion: this
too cannot exist without the body which experiences it.76 In this way the body be
70 Wier/htcka 1090, 321

71 Kovecses 2005,178, 248 252.
72 tieeraert* and Grondelaers 1005.
73 Kovecses 2005, 257f.
74 KOvecve* 2005,231 246.
75 KOvecaes 2005,241
76 In the emotional process the main participants arc the brain and the body (i.e. changes in
physiology caused by changes in the Autonomous Nervous System). The brain processes are
comes the carrier o f the subjective and internal - experience of the emotion (as
the subject experiences different kinds of feelings during the emotional process).
At the same time, the body also becomes the bridge with the social, since part of
the bodily changes which take place is communicated, very often unconsciously:
the facial expressions, the voice, the postures, the gestures, etc., that accompany
the emotion - what is called its expressive component - ,77 ‘reveal me’, as Paul
Dumouchel says, ‘to the others and evidence my dependence on them’.78
The undertaking o f the project ‘The Social and Cultural Construction of Emo
tions: The Greek Paradigm’, of which this volume is a product, has itself to con
tend with the absence o f this constitutive component of the emotion, deciphering
not only the imprint o f a body that once upon a time made an engravement moti
vated by emotion but also its very content. ‘The principle medium for the study of
emotions in history ... is the text’, says Angelos Chaniotis (p. 14). This is a chal
lenge because the so-called paralinguistic features (voice tone, rhythm, etc.), the
main index o f the emotion in the chain of speech, are absent; and this is crucial
because they can have the power even to overturn the sentential content: ‘Feeling
is the expression with which the sentence is said’, Wittgenstein argues.79 Given
this lack, the recasting o f the context of situation on the basis of the evidence of
fered by the text - in combination with the knowledge of the socio-historical con
text - is the main pathway towards this particularly demanding task. And it is
such a task because there will never be evidence as to the subject’s immediate re
action to what arouses the emotion. What is offered instead is a reaction mediated
in multiple ways: by the chain o f the representations (such as the transition from
the oral to written speech), by the scribe’s hand, his idiolect and education, includ
ing the constraints imposed by the genre.
Thus, the role of the language as such is de facto reinforced in this undertak
ing. If the emotion accompanies language while it is uttered and if one banishes
the talking and feeling subject, then this raises an important issue as regards the
relationship between language and emotion; more specifically, it raises an issue
with regard to the possibility o f the emotion to be expressed - and not only de
scribed - through the abstract linguistic system. Edward Sapir’s point of view that
‘[emotions] are, strictly speaking, never absent from normal speech, but their ex
pression is not o f a truly linguistic nature’ is not made by chance.80 This point of
view seems justified in the first place, if one takes into consideration the design
features o f language. More specifically, firstly, that language as the only second
unconscious, while the character ot' the bodily changes is twofold: on the one hand internal'
private and conscious, on the other hand a large part of these changes is at the same time ex-
ternal/public. See Damasio 1999; LeDoux 1998; see also Damasio's tl999, 36) distinction
between private feelings as inwardly directed and public emotions as outwardly directed.
77 Argylle 2001,27.
78 Dumouchel 1999, 15. See also Damasio’s distinction between private feelings and public
emotions.
79 Wittgenstein 1960,41.
80 Sapir 1921, 38f.
signal system does not work on the basis of the Stimulus-Response schema81 - on
the contrary, emotions do operate on this basis, regardless of the nature of the
stimulus (things, a situation in the world, but also thoughts or other emotions as
well); secondly, that language analyses the dense experience, and the emotion
could be considered as such;82 third, that experience in general and emotion more
specifically is analogical, in the sense that there are no distinct boundaries in the
same experiential area83 - language on the other hand is digital, in the sense that
its units are discrete, and it does not allow fuzzy, intermediate nuances; finally,
and maybe this is the most crucial for the relationship between language and emo
tion, the fact that there is an experiential loss while speaking: language categorises
the experience since the meaning of a word is a generalised and abstract reflection
o f reality'.84 Through the processes of generalisation and abstraction the perceived,
concrete, and tangible thing is lost; it loses its particular characteristics that define
its uniqueness and it is replaced by a mental image, a representation, which cate
gorises things in a generalised and abstract way (cf. Hegel’s ’murder of the
thing’). This issue has been emphasised by a number of disciplines: according to
Daniel Stem, the entrance into language causes an - alienating - split in the way
we experience ourselves and the Self-Other relatedness: the self as experiencer
and the self as expressing him/herself linguistically’.85 Psychoanalysis also ex
presses the same point of view using other theoretical tools: according to Bernard
Golse the experiential loss is the result of the transition from one representational
system to the other.86 Andre Green states that the verbalisation of experience has
as a consequence the quantitative moderation of affect - due to the transition to
secondary processes.87
Although one may attempt to overcome this ‘inherent’ weakness of language
by resorting to the context of communication, the question remains as regards the
relationship between the emotional experience and the language. Whether one in
vestigates for example how the language is used strategically so as to achieve
something88 - even within the limits and the constraints imposed by genre89 - or
how emotion talk works in social life90 thequestionremains:from where doesthe
language, per se, draw the power to influenceothers’emotions,or direct themto
Hi This is the difference between the cry of pain and the word pain: the latter can be used with
out feeling pain, see Christidis 2007.
H2 l anguage separates, analyzes the dense experience evidence for this is the sentence, which
exists only in human language (Christidis 2007). When we perceive something we perceive it
holistically fthe entire thing); according to Hegel’s example we perceive a red apple all over
and as a whole both the object and its color. On the contrary, language analyzes this experi
ence it separates the object from its color: the apple is red
83 h g there is no point up to which we can distinguish between the great fear and horror.
HA Vygotsky 1902
HZ Stem 1985. 1621. and 174f.
*0 Golse 1999. I37f
87 Green 1973
HH See lor example <affi and Janney 1994
89 f or petitions for example see pp SI f , 54. 741., 7X3 85, and 317 .327 in this volume.
90 I g l ot/ 1988
The Emotion Seeks to Be Expressed: Thoughts from a Linguist's Point of View 445
the intended purpose, or trigger other emotion events in order to reach certain
goals?91 For in all cases the language is the main tool by which these aims are
achieved. The language - the linguistic system - is the arsenal from which every
use or practice draws. The question remains - possibly better articulated - even in
Zoltan Kovecses’ and Gary Palmer’s unexpected observation: ‘It is a peculiar fea
ture of emotion terms that they may accomplish both speech acts with a single ut
terance, both describing and expressing an emotion’.92 So if the abstract and gen
eralised emotion terms show this peculiarity, that of both description and ex
pression despite what has been said above, then the question of the relationship
between language and emotion is unavoidable: why especially in the case of emo
tion terms does there seem to be this cleavage that leaves room for the constitutive
distancing from the immediacy of the experience to break in?
The answer should respect the design and distinctive features of language as
well as the respective ones o f the emotions in order to investigate what happens at
their meeting. One crucial element that has to be taken into consideration in the
first place is that emotion precedes language phylogenetically and ontogeneti-
cally.93 As Joseph LeDoux says, ‘consciousness and ... natural language are new
kids in the evolutionary block’.94 And for Daniel Stem ‘early in life affects are
both the primary medium and the primary subject of communication’.95 This point
of view underlines the deeply socially embodied nature of affect and the perva
siveness o f intersubjectivity and interaffectivity in the relation with the other be
fore the emergence o f language. It must be noted, however, that this intersubjetive
and non linguistic dimension o f our relationship with the other does not vanish
with the entrance into language but it keeps on working simultaneously with the
linguistic communication.9697 So if the emotion is the primary medium of the
prelinguistic communication, a plausible question might be whether it is main
tained only as a paralinguistic and/or extralinguistic means of communication or if
in some way the emotional experience survives into the abstract symbolic lan
guage. In other words:
What happens when this which exists before language - the emotion - becomes language? Is
it lost forever as it gets represented, as it is transformed into a word? Or is it that something of
the primary experience remains preserved in some way? And if this is so, how does this get
preserved? In other words, which features of the experience remain, keeping a relationship -
97
even hidden- with the womb that gave birth to them?
91 Lutz 1987.
92 KOvecses and Palmer 1999, 239.
93 LeDoux 1998; Damasio 1999; Bloom 1993; Locke 1993.
94 LeDoux 1998, 7 1.
95 Stern 1985, 133; see also Trevarthen 1998.
96 Stern 1985, 174. On the neurobiological basis of intersubjectivity, and especially on the role
taken on by mirror neurons, see Rizzolati and Arbib 1498.
97 Theodoropoulou 2004a, 22.
Such questions draw from a long - interdisciplinary, non formal - tradition which
argues for continuity from the prelingustic phase to the linguistic one.98 Suffice it
to mention Charles S. Pierce, who maintained that symbolic semiosis, that is, lan
guage, originates in its pre-linguistic - experiential - components, the icon and the
index; in other words, the linguistic sign encapsulates its ‘pre-history’.99 Psycho
analysis also endorses the argument of continuity through its theoretical assump
tions; language is situated on one end of the continuum of primary and secondary
processes;100 it is part of the sequence of representations - of the thing and of the
word - , 101with the affect being an integral part of this sequence. In this line Julia
Kristeva adopts the distinction between the semiotic and the symbolic, corre
sponding to the pre-linguistic and the linguistic stage respectively.102 She argues
that the former is suppressed after the latter is established. Here, the idea of re
pression is useful because it points to the possibility of the ‘return of the re
pressed’ (in Kristeva’s case) or the emergence of the primary process in the sec
ondary one (in Freudian terms). Cognitive linguistics also stresses the role of the
pre-linguistic, pre-conceptual experience in the production of meaning, arguing
that the roots of meaning lie in pre-conceptual structures that are grounded in sen
sorimotor experience, perception, imagination, human physiology, and brain neu
ronal structure.103 In a sense, all these points of view, which are of different epis
temological origin, highlight - and restitute - the embodied character of language
and cognition.
5 THE MEANS OF LANGUAGE
Expressive interjections (the cry of pain, the Modem Greek \in \m x or the yuk of
disgust) admittedly have been considered as that part of the language that is clos
est to the experience - despite their partial linguistic shaping. This is so because
they are immediate reactions to a stimulus - a typical feature of the First signal
systems according to Pavlov’s distinction;104 they are indexes according to Char
les S. Peirce’s distinction being always tied to the here-and-now of the context. As
A.-F, Chnstidis says,
98 Theodoropoulou 2009.
99 Pierce 1978 See also Vygotsky’s 1962 distinction between complex and concept. See Chris-
tidis 2007 who adopts Pierce’s perspective arguing for a consideration of language as a mix
ture of the analogical and the digital. See also loannis Veloudis’ argument on the grounding
of the formal logit to the experience (Veloudis 2012).
100 frcud{191)j 1958.
101 f reud 11915] 1957; see also Green 1973 and 1997.
102 Kmtcva 1974
103 f, g l,akoff 1987; Lakoff and Johnson 1999.
104 Pavlov 1951,335 316.
The Emotion Seeks to Be Expressed. Thoughts from a Linguist’s Point of View 447
The ’cry' possesses no structured semantic content; it is amorphous and diffuse. It ‘means’ in
a holistic and not an analytical sense, and an affective dimension governs its diffuse, amor-
, * 105
phous content.
Ad Foolen calls them a ‘symptom’, a reflex, arguing that they show that the
speaker in the here-and-now has a specific emotion (for example disgust).105106
If the interjections lie in a borderline area of language, the poetic and the
magical language have been indicated as the genres par excellence through which
the overcoming of the symbolic propositional language is attempted in order for
the unmediated experiential immediacy to be highlighted:107 the tools of poetry,
‘the sound’ that ‘must be an Echo of the Sense’ according to Alexander Pope,108109
the domination of metaphor (see below), serve this purpose and acquire explosive
dimensions in the magical language.
The exclamatory, holophrastic character of magical language ... [with its] rythmic, hypnotic
repetition of syllables ... aims at undermining and dissolving the proposition, the basic struc
ture of symbolic language, through which is brought about the ‘removal from reality’ and the
entry into the ‘world of the abstract’.
109
No matter how one argues that the interjections belong to the limits of language,
or that magical language that seeks to dismantle the analyticity of language and to
return to the density of the experience is a marginal linguistic space, this does not
refute the fact that they are parts of language, that they draw from it. This is pre
cisely why they are evidence for the implicit dialectic that governs language as a
whole: as mixture of linguistic/pre- and proto-linguistic, language-cognition/ emo
tion or in Peircian terms as mixture of symbol/icon-index, its experiential prehis
tory echoes inside the freedom of symbol. The phonetic symbolism, the repeti
tions,110 in other words the iconic ways (i.e. iconicity: cf. below pp. 462f.), are
nothing more than movements so that something from this experiential prehistory,
something from the immediacy of the experience can be evoked.111
105 Christidis 2007, 28.

106 Foolen 2012, 350.
107 Werner and Kaplan 1963, 16, 35ff.; Christidis 2007, 61 f.
108 Jakobson 1981,44.
109 Christidis 2007, 62.
110 For examples of repetition see pp. 68, 108, 111,298f., 308, and 310 in this volume.
111 From the descriptive means of language the adjectives and the adverbs have been considered
as these forms of language that convey an evaluative attitude about something - this of course
within the limits imposed by literality. The role of connotation, which is the secondary mean
ing of a word, is more crucial since it is considered as that part of the meaning that evokes
feelings. Recently a discussion has been started concerning the expressive linguistic forms
and their connection to emotion, see Foolen 2012, 354. Note must be made of the difference
between this kind of research and the one examined in this paper, i.e. the detection of the ex
periential elements in emotion language.
5.1 Word and Literality: Forming the Formless
If on the one hand ‘language removes us from reality" to quote Pavlov,112*that is to

say that it removes us from the immediacy o f the experience, because it functions
as a mediator between us and the object through its representation, on the other
hand it shapes the experience by analysing it, by making it a word or a sentence.
This is one of the most basic characteristics of the symbolic linguistic significa
tion and the subsequent arbitrariness o f the signifier and the signified by which it
is constitutively governed.1,3 However, the absolute nature o f the arbitrariness
seems to be moderated by identifying experiential elements in some - at least -
emotion terms, i.e. in the ‘core’ of abstraction and generalisation
An example: in Modern Greek the lexical field of the verbs o f fear is organ
ised around a prototypical one, (popapai ("I am afraid"), which displays the larg
est variety of nominal and sentential complements.114 These verbs form two inter
connected groups on the basis o f various criteria which will not be developed here
as they are not within the scope of this paper. These verbs are:
tpepb) /Tpo|jaC,co
'I am terrified/! am frightened/scared’115
«po{iduai cryxwvoiiai
] am afraid o f 'lam stressed’
ayiDvi co
‘I feel anxiety about’
avnaoxco
‘I worry’
Although ail these verbs share a semantic core, that is, the feeling about some
thing bad that is happening or may happen,116 it is interesting that they show a
gradation from the weakest to the strongest point. Yet, this gradation is deter
mined by the intensity of the emotional experience, that is, the analogical compo
nent of the emotion par excellence.117*So here, in the heart o f the linguistic cate
gorical distinctness, an experiential element is detected, which highlights the bod
ily basis of the emotion language and its categorisations. However, this very ele
ment is also the link with the deepest psychic layers: the intensity of the emotion
or ‘quantum of affect’ according to Freud is considered one o f the constituents of
the d riv e /1" within the limits of the body and the psyche. The grounding, there
fore, of the categorisation of the emotion terms in the analogical component of
intensity, which links the body with the psyche, might be an answer for the two-
112 Pavlov 195 1, 335f

j 13 Saussure J916
i 14 the<>doropouiou 2004a, 239 245.
1J5 I he translation of the terms has been made with the reservations about which Anna Wierz-
bidca warns us
i 16 See also Wiervbieka 1998
117 Lel/oux 199k, !9
11 ft freud 11915] 1957
The Emotion Seeks to Be Expressed: Thoughts from a Linguist’s Point o f View 449
foldedness of the emotion terms both to describe and express at the same time the
emotional experience, as mentioned above.119
5.2 The Syntax
The verb (po|3agai (‘l am afraid’) displays also a number of complements that
take the position o f a Noun Phrase (prototypically as object). I shall omit the in
termediate cases.
<t>oPdpai rr| y a ta (or to okot<x5\)
I ’m afraid o f the cat (or of the dark)
or a clause as object with three different kind of complementisers

(hopapai o n / pf|JT(o<; / pnv 5ev 0a epGei o Tidwrn;
/ am afraid that / lest John won 7 come
Two things must be noted here. First, the distinction on the syntactic level be
tween Noun Phrase-complement and clause-complement reflects the distinction
between multivalent and univalent mental representation:120 the multivalent men
tal representation includes, in a condensed way, several attributes, while the uni
valent mental representation includes only one. The multivalent mental represen
tation, because o f its undiversified character, has been connected to primary, more
holistic, ways o f reception and processing of the reality; that is, this is a represen
tation which is closer to the immediacy of the experience. Furthermore, since this
kind of representation uses condensation it can be connected to the primary proc
esses that work in the unconscious.121 On the contrary, the univalent representa
tion can be considered as a more elaborate and developmentally mature represen
tation, of a more cognitive character, since inferential processes of a different de
gree are involved: the clause-complements display an interaction between desire
and reality, expressing the subject’s greater or lesser certainty that what is feared
will happen (or what is desired will not happen): the utterance with oxi/ita*; means
that I have sound clues that what 1 want will not happen (or the inverse). The prjv-
utterance foregrounds mainly the subject’s desire, as the clues offered by the real
ity are weak, while the utterances with gf|irto<; stand in-between: lesser uncertainty
that what is feared will happen (or the inverse).
Second, what is interesting here is that the multivalent representation carries
the connotation that fear has to do with something the self might suffer because of
the object: / am afraid o f the cat means that the cat will do something to me: on
the contrary, the more elaborate and late developmentally univalent representation
has to do with the subject’s fear that a desire will not be fulfilled. In this sense
there is a metonymisation o f the se lf into its desire.
The point here is that the primary multivalent representation, connected to
some kind o f threat for the self, reflects what the emotion of fear ts on a neurobi-
119 Kovecses and Palmer 1999, 239.

120 Remk 1972.
121 Freud [1911] 1958.
ological level: it is the neuronal system that warns us about an impending danger
that threatens the (bodily) integrity of the self. On the other hand, the more elabo
rate univalent representation illustrates the subject’s actual interaction with the
reality focusing on the fulfillment or not of its desire. So, the syntax of <po|3dgai
( i am afraid') seems to portray the human being’s trajectory from a more primi
tive state of affairs, where surv ival (the self) in a holistic way is at stake, to the
formation of its desire and the negotiation of its fulfillment. I think it is no acci
dent that Lacan, arguing that the formation of desire is posterior to the need,122
connects it to the entrance into language: in this context this should be read as ‘the
entrance into the analytic language’.1"3
5.3 Metaphor and Metonymy: Body, Emotion, Cognition, Language
Metonymies: the return o f the body

Obv iously as a result of the bodily nature of the emotion, the languages possess a
large number of expressions that use some bodily or behavioral reaction of the
emotion to refer to it - for instance pc cXouae Kpuo<; ibpcbxaq (‘cold sweat swept
over me’) to refer to fear. These expressions are metonymies, as they are instan
tiations of the general metonymic principle effect for cause and more specifically
THE PHYSIOLOGICAL (OR BEHAVIORAL) REACTION STANDS FOR EMOTION:'24 e.g. the SWEATING
instead of the emotion of fear in pc eXoua£ Kpvog i5ptt>xa<; (‘cold sweat swept
over me’) or laughing instead of the emotion of joy in yzkovcav kou xa pouaxa-
Kia too (‘even his moustache was laughing’). Metonymies lie in-between the
body and language offering a primary representation of the diffuse and dense ex
perience of the emotion. In this sense metonymies are the cognitive and conse
quently linguistic space which is closer to the experience: as George Lakoff and
Mark Johnson say, the grounding of metonymic concepts is ‘in general more ob
vious than is the case with metaphorical concepts, since it involves physical or
causal association’.125 As regards this closeness to the experience, it is also no ac
cident that metonymies are, also, cognitive mechanisms by which a mental entity
is accessed through another one, as in the case of metaphor; the difference is that
in the metonymy the mapping takes place within the same conceptual domain
(emotion body) and not between two separate conceptual domains. They take on
a crucial role in the conceptualisation of the emotions because of their being close
to the experience; this is evidenced by the fact that they are the basis upon which
the cognitive model is built, highlighting the embodied character of the concept.
Moreover, this conceptual representation of the body provides the grounding of
some metaphors: lor example the central metaphor of anger, anger is hie heat of a
122 I.at an 1906.

123 I heodoropoulou 2M4a, 273 335.
124 JCdyetsck I990.
125 Lakoff and Johnson 19X0, 39
fluid in a container, is grounded by a bodily feature,126 the feeling of heat,127

which is caused by increased body temperature while experiencing anger.
Considering metonymy as regards literality (that is, the abstract and generali
sed word) it is interesting that ‘metonymy makes primary a domain that is secon
dary in the literal meaning’:128 in literality the body (and/or the behavior) is ‘fa
ded’ and what is highlighted is the emotion. Through metonymy the body is high
lighted, foregrounded, the emotion being backgrounded as the domain matrix.129
It is obvious therefore that the choice of a metonymic expression instead of literal
ity signals a more immediate expression of the emotion which refers to - and
evokes - the bodily basis of the experience.
Metaphor: experience, cognition and language

In the history of linguistic ideas metaphor is a much debated issue for which
multiple interpretations have been proposed. Many of these are riddled with
implicit attitudes of negation or splitting: on the one hand there have been approaches that
banished metaphor as the object of linguistic study; on the other hand, there have been
approaches that actually recognised metaphor as the object of linguistic study but they
identified it either with a violation of, or a deviation from, something normal - ‘normal’ being
in this case the ‘main’ body of language,
that is, literality; ‘... these points of view covered with their voice Nietzsche’s
thesis that metaphor is an integral part of language.’130
In the cognitive linguistics paradigm metaphor was feted to the forefront, lo
cated in thought and not in language:131 metaphor is considered to be conceptual,
a cognitive mechanism of understanding the abstract or the unknown through the
concrete or the known. This becomes possible through mappings from a source
domain (the known) to the target domain (the unknown). To take a well-known
example of a cross-linguistic metaphor, we talk about death in terms of departu
re,132 which instantiates the metaphorical mapping death is departure; through this
metaphor, we project the knowledge we have about (the known domain of) travel
to the unknown domain of death; for instance, we use words like etpuye (‘(s)he
left’), m e t (‘(s)he goes’), arcobrmriae (‘(s)he emigrated’), pExavdcxeooe (‘(s)he
migrated’) etc. when speaking about death in Modem Greek). The argument for
the conceptual nature of metaphor has been supported by experimental studies on
gestures while speaking, that is, on an extralinguistic field,133 and points of view
arguing for its neuronal grounding have also been proposed.134
126 Lakoff 1987, in collaboration with Kovecses; also in kOvecses 1990.

127 For the notion ‘metonymic conceptual motivation of metaphor’ see Barcelona 2000, 10.
128 Croft 1993,48.
130 Theodoropoulou 2004b, 141.
131 Lakoff and Johnson 1980; Johnson 1987; Lakoff 1987; Lakoff and Johnson 1999.
132 Lakoff and Turner 1989.
133 See for example Cienki and Muller 2008; for a summary of these studies that invesugate
mainly the metaphorisation of time through space see Nikiforidou 2012.
134 E.g. Lakoff 2008.
The emotions have been brought to the fore by the trend of cognitive lingui
stics as well. What was at stake is to prove that emotions are not just amorphous
feelings but on the contrary they have both conceptual content and structure.135
This trend, therefore, focused on the emotion concept, which is approached as a
cognitive/cultural model.136 Cognitive models are structures by which knowledge
is organised; in the case of the emotions, it is argued that the knowledge we have
about a specific emotion, that is, its cognitive model can be represented by a five-
stage prototypical cognitive model: we can think of it as a small narrative that
describes the whole process that an emotion undergoes, starting from stage 0: The
State of Emotional Calm, to stage 1: The Cause, to stage 2: The Emotion Exists,
to stage 3: Attempt at Control, to stage 4: Loss of Control, to stage 5: Action, and
finally the return to the emotional calmness. Furthermore, as the emotions were
considered abstract entities the metaphor has been indicated as a key component
in their conceptualisation, since it has been argued that a large part of the concept
is structured metaphorically: this is what explains the abundant use of metaphor in
discourse about emotions.137
Although the cognitive paradigm highlighted the cognitive aspect of meta
phor. the points of view that were proposed as regards the emotions have received
and are receiving a progressively escalating retort; this, if anything, creates path
ways so that the interweaving of emotion, body, cognition, and language can be
investigated; this discussion of course has consequences for the conception of
metaphor as well. In the first place, the more general attitude of approaching the
emotions as cognitive models has been criticised as an attitude that equates emo
tion with cognition, inasmuch as the focus is on the knowledge about the emo
tion;138 in other words, the conceptual knowledge (what a person ‘knows’ about
emotion) is chosen as the exclusive object of investigation while the core affect
(an ever-present, ever-changing, basic feeling state with both hedonic and arousal-
based properties) is not included.139This attitude has been repeatedly acutely criti
cised by some theorists working within the cognitive neuroscientific paradigm.140
As Joseph LeDoux has neatly put it, ‘instead of heating up cognition, this effort
has turned emotion cold - in cognitive models, emotions, filled with and ex
plained by thoughts, have been stripped by passion’.141 However, the adoption of
this attitude that equates emotion and cognition and fails to recognise their
initially separate nature is the main obstacle in the detection of the ways by which
emotion and cognition are interwoven.142 To recall LeDoux, ‘emotion and cogni-
135 Lakoff 1987,380.

139 See Kcivecses 1990.
137 K6vecses 1990
138 1heodoropoulou 2004a and 2 0 12a
139 1or these distinctions see l.indquist 2009.
140 IxiXmx 1998, Itamasio 1999
141 Ultoux 1998,38.
142 fheodoropouiou 2012a, 100
The Emotion Seeks to Be Expressed; Thoughts from a Linguist's P o in t of View 451
tion are best thought of as separate but interacting mental functions mediated by
separate but interacting brain systems’.143
Furthermore, there have been objections concerning the function of metaphor
as a mechanism of understanding the ‘unfamiliar’ on the basis of the ‘familiar’,
since cases have been identified where both the source and the target domains
were equally familiar and understood.144 The abstractness of the emotions has also
been called into question; this has consequences for the argument of the meta
phorical structuring of the emotion concepts and consequently of their broad use
in the emotion discourse - these points of view do not ignore the metaphor’s con
tribution to the enrichment of the conceptual content.145 As Ad Foolen says:
But is it really the case, that we need these figures of speech to talk about emotions because,
due to their abstractness, we don’t have direct language for the emotions? Don’t we have
nouns, like fear, hate, love, etc., and verbs and prepositions to conceptualize emotional proc
esses? So why use the figurative ways of talking about emotions? ... Without denying the role
o f figurative speech in the conceptualization of emotions, I would like to stress its expressive
function here ...I461478
This view raises the issue of the distinctive function both of literality and meta
phor and essentially zooms into the language, reintroducing at the same time the
issue of the function of metaphor as regards emotion. In other words: what are the
metaphorical mappings all about if the emotions are not so abstract and if the
metaphorical mappings are not the key part in conceptualisation of emotions? Ac
cording to Foolen it is
the need o f expressivity. Emotions are typically not a neutral topic of conversation. When we
talk about emotions, in particular when we talk about our own emotions that we have felt in
critical situations, we are emotionally involved, and this stimulates the use of expressive Ian-
147
guage.
For Lynn Cameron,

Affect is fundamental to why and how people use metaphor ... This being so, the affective
cannot be ju st added on to the conceptual but should be seen as a driving force in the use and
148
evolution o f metaphors through real-time talk.
Through these points of view emotion seems to acquire its own status in the cour
se of its investigation, since it is no longer equated to cognition, and it is brought
out as the very factor that drives the use of metaphorical languge.
The ascertainment that emotion mobilises metaphorical language does not
adequately define the relationship - better, the interweaving - of language and
emotion. It might be useful here to introduce to the discussion views that locate
metaphor in language arguing that pre-conceptual, pre-linguistic elements of ex
143 LeDoux 1998, 69.

144 Grady 2007; as regards the emotions see Theodoropoulou 2012b.
145 Foolen 2012; Crawford 2000; Barsalou and Wiemer-Hastings 2005; Haser 2005.
146 Foolen 2012,357, 360.
147 Foolen 2012,360.
148 Cameron 2008, 13.
perience are brought forth, ‘come back’ through metaphor. The common ground
of these approaches is sensation, feeling, emotion/affect: Paul Ricoeur speaks
about ‘transfer des sentiments';149 Ivan Fonagy about the ‘creation of a new term
based on sensations';150 Hannah Arendt maintains that ‘metaphor “gives back” to
the word its “sensory substructure'” ;151 finally, A.-F. Christidis argues that ‘meta
phor is the best testimony of warmth, deictic warmth, which permeates the appar
ently “cold” generalisations and abstractions that compose the symbol - human
language'. In this sense metaphor is a central part of language ‘which completes
linguistic semiosis’ through its ‘opposition with the analytic, discrete’ aspect of
language.1' 2
Based on the above, an additional criticism on the theory of conceptual meta
phor has been that it neglects the role of language in the metaphorical process
since the role it assigns to language is to perform what cognition dictates.153 But
what happens when the same conceptual domain is instantiated by several words?
The theory does not recognise for example some difference between the instantia
tions of the same mapping such as \i' ekicloe 0op6<; (‘anger caught me’) and pe
tcupieye 0opo<; (‘anger possessed me’). In the second one, the intensity, the
analogical and bodily component of emotion, is one of the factors that make the
difference: and this difference is highlighted, evoked, through the word. Neither
does this theory recognise some difference between (s)he le ft.... (s)he goes, (s)he
emigrated, (s)he migrated etc. that instantiate the metaphorical mapping d eath is
d epa rtu re , which was mentioned above. However, the empirical analysis of two
women’s discourse in mourning154 showed the twofold aspect of metaphor: as a

cognitive mechanism, it structures the experience; as instantiation, as language, it
fills with ‘passion’ the ‘cold’ metaphorical mappings according to Joseph Le-
Doux's phrase, bringing forth the multiplicity of the experiences connected to the
other’s death: absence, separation, denial of the fact of death in the first place, the
direct or indirect speaker’s involvement, etc. At the same time, the choice of
metaphor instead of literalily as well as the choice of one of the instantiations of
the same mapping is an instance of subjectivity, while the utterance (s)he died in
forms in the first place, the metaphor brings forth how the subject experiences the
fact of the death. On the other hand, it is the choice of the word (for example (s)he
left ), and the word alone and not the metaphorical mapping - which evidences
the degree of the speaker’s involvement with the dead person.
The view that metaphor, as language, evokes experiential elements is further
supported through its investigation while interacting with metonymy, the other
cognitive mechanism which is at work in emotion language. Maybe because in the
Cognitive Models approach metonymies have been considered to be conductors of
14V JOoeur 1075 41.

150 H jt i u g y 1V91,200
15 j Arendt W 2 IV
152 r hriMidih 2007 17,41
153 Theodofopoulinj 2004a 154
154 Th«>doropou!ou 200Kb
information about the bodily symptoms while experiencing an emotion,155 insuffi

cient attention was paid to a pattern which is pervasive in the language of the
emotions, although this has been discussed in relation to other conceptual do
mains:156 the fact that a metaphor occurs within the metonymy. The interesting
clue is that in this case there is a double ‘cognitivisation’, in the sense that there is
recourse to two cognitive mechanisms, both of which use mappings (see above
pp. 451 f.). Therefore, the question is: why especially in the case o f the emotions is
this double ‘cognitivisation’157 needed? The analysis of such expressions - for ex
ample Kovxe\|/e va arcaaei r\ icapSid poo ano xr\ xapa poo (‘my heart almost
broke out of joy’) and pe eAouoe Kpoo<; tbpcbtou; (‘cold sweat swept over me’) - 158
shows that in the pattern ‘metaphor within metonymy’ a ‘division of labour’ takes
place: metonymy perspectivises a body part or a behavioral reaction, while meta
phor highlights experiential elements of the emotion, for example the intensity.
Since the former is clearly a cognitive process and the latter brings forth elements
of the emotion per se such as the intensity, it can be argued safely that in this pat
tern the interaction between cognition and emotion as it is reflected in language
becomes evident.159160
This case at the same time indicates metaphor as a flexible cognitive mecha
nism which at some times organises the experience by structuring it (as for exam
ple in the metaphorisation of the time in terms of space), while at other times it
evokes elements of the experience (as in the case of emotions).
But this flexibity o f metaphor might be one of the keys that might solve the riddle of its func
tion. Indeed, metaphor is transition (understanding) from the abstract to the concrete in the
case o f metaphorisation o f time through space; but in this case metaphor serves cognitive
purposes, in the sense that time - as not directly understood - needs to be externally
grounded. ... On the other hand, the primary need with regard to emotion is not a cognitive
one, it is its expression: just as time is extralinguisticaliy structured metaphorically, so the
emotion is extralinguistically expressed - through the body. By manifesting ike If into lan
guage, the emotion could not bypass this constitutitive characteristic of its own.
‘Metaphorical language may make it possible for people to convey what would
otherwise be difficult or impossible to express (emphasis added)’, Andrew Ortony
and Lynn Fainsilber argue,162 underlining especially this ‘inadequacy’ in the case
of very strong emotions. This sensitive observation is here to reinforce what is ar
gued concerning the expressivity of metaphor. Its importance is that metaphor is
indicated as that part of language which has the power to ‘cure’ the difficulty or the
‘insufficiency’ of another part of language, that of literality. This power can only
155 Theodoropoulou 2004a, 377; 2008c, 172.

156 Goossens 1940. Goossens (1990) argues that this patern is a random one. when its existence
is not called into question (see Ruiz de Mendoza 2000).
157 Theodoropoulou 2008c, 172; 2012, 161.
158 See Theodoropoulou 2012a, 161 and 2012b, 178f. respectively.
160 This has been proved by experimental researches on gestures; see note 133.
161 Theodoropoulou 2012b, 180.
162 Ortony and Eainsilber 1989, 181.
derive from the metaphor's property to evoke experiences: the metaphor by drawing
from the experience brings us back to a non-linguistic space, to the space of sensa
tion, of feelings, resupplying thus the subject with the immediacy that has been lost
due to the processes of abstraction and generalisation. It is no accident that the very
achievement of language, the categorical distinctness, falls apart in the case of very
strong emotions, to which Ortony and Fainsilber refer. To what kind of emotion,
for example, does the metaphor within the metonymy in gov KorcriKav xa nobm
(‘my feet were cut off) correspond? To great fear, terror, or fright? Metaphor dif
fuses what language could delineate through its categories. And maybe this is the
safest ev idence for the argument of the return to the pre- or non linguistic experi
ence - a kind of ‘return of the repressed’ to recall Julia Kristeva. Or, to recall an
old attribute assigned to emotions, the return to the space of passion, that is, where
the orderliness of language seems distant. Metaphor ‘reaches down below the level
of propositions into the massive embodied dimension of our being’,163 Mark John
son says.
But this embodied dimension of our being is multidimensional...
Metaphor within metonymy: The emergence o f the psychological body

The human body is not only biology, and what is reflected in language is not sim
ply biology structured by cognition (cf. metonymy). There is proof of this in what
is mentioned above, that it is almost a universal tactic of the cultures to endue ei
ther the body or some of its parts with functions that are far away from their bio
logical function. The fact that some cultural investments of the body derive from
theories or beliefs that become commonly accepted is indicative of the human be
ing’s need to give meaning to what happens in his/her body. This subject’s psy
chological relationship with his/her body, in the sense that the body is invested
with various meanings in addition to its biological function, is recognised by sev
eral disciplines. James Averill argues that ‘our body is as much substance as sym
bol and that the folk conception of the body is imbued with meanings, which have
nothing to do with the physiological functions of a bodily organ’.164 Shaun Galla
gher, in an attempt to connect phenomenology and cognitive science, makes a dis
tinction between the pre-conscious body schema, which serves as a backdrop of
intentionality, and the body image, which is ‘a (sometimes conscious) system of
perceptions, attitudes, beliefs and dispositions pertaining to one’s own body’.165
Psychoanalysis also highlights the ‘subjective’ aspect of the body by introducing
the distinction between body schema, that is, the non-representable biological
body, and unconscious body image, that is, a representable body, which can be an
object of symbolisation and susceptible to fantasy.166
163 Johnson m i, J05

164 Avcrill 1990, f|7
165 higher 2005, 37.
166 Doltol9K4 See also Md-mugall 19X1 It is important that lor both of them the em ergence of
psychological body is connected to metaphor. Especially for McDougall (1 9 8 1 ,5 7 ) this proc
ess is inseparably connected to affect
The Emotion Seeks to Be Expressed: Thoughts from a Linguist's Point of View 457
As mentioned above, metaphor is the space of cultural investments of the

body. But the same holds true for the psychological body: metaphor within me
tonymy is the space where the subject’s unconscious meanings are brought forth
through the emergence of prelinguistic experiences. This argument is based on the
analysis of idiomatic expressions of fear and mainly of the role played by the
metaphors within the metonymies.167 In this analysis the role that a word -with its
connotations - takes on, while instantiating a metaphorical mapping, is crucial, on
the basis of what has been argued above. The neuroscientific evidence concerning
the neuronal system of fear, that is, what ‘objectively’ happens in the body, will
be used here as a comparative basis so that the unconscious meanings - by which
the body is invested while experiencing this emotion - can be highlighted. These
idiomatic expressions are presented according to the physiological and behavioral
responses of the emotion of fear, as the Cognitive Model approach defines. After
the Modem Greek expression, I present a literal translation and, whenever possi
ble, an equivalent expression in English:
A. Bodily responses
1. INABILITY TO MOVE
mpeAuoa cauo tov tpoPo poo: T was paralyzed with fear.’
xov eida futpoGid poo r a t KOKaAojoa: ‘I saw him before me and I was turned
into bones.’
pou KOTtrjKav xa jtoSia: ‘my legs were cut off;’
English equivalent: ‘I was rooted to the spot.’
2 . INABILITY TO BREATHE
pou KOjrqKe r) avaca/r) avarcvor|: ‘my breath was cut off.’
English equivalent: ‘I gasped with fear.’
3 . INABILITY TO SPEAK
pou KOTiriKe rj piAid: ‘my speech was cut off.’
English equivalent: ‘1 was struck dumb.’
4 . INABILITY TO THINK
xpeAdGqm ano xqv aytovia pou: ‘1 went crazy from anxiety.’
xa ’x ao a arco xr|v xpopapa pou: ‘I lost it from fright.’
English equivalent: ‘1 was out of my mind with fear.’
5 . PHYSICAL AGITATION
xov ei8a pupoaxa pou Kai apxiaa va xpepco/xai p’ eniaae xpepouXo: ‘l saw
him before me and l started shaking/trembling possessed me.’
xpepei oav xo tpdAWxo PoupXo: ‘(s)he trembles like a leaf/like a rush’.
English equivalent: ‘to have the jitters’.
6 . SW EA TIN G
poAu; xov d 5 a va piAaei exai, p ’ EKoye (xpua;) iSptoxai;: ‘when 1saw him talk
ing like that, (cold) sweat cut me.’
167 See Theodoropoulou 2004a. For such an analysis of the idiomatic expressions of happiness
see Theodoropoulou 2012a.
fi e X o o c re K p o o c ibpcoT a*;: ‘( c o ld ) s w e a t g a v e m e a s h o w e r /s w e p t o v e r m e . ’
E n g lis h e q u iv a le n t: ‘th e r e w e r e s w e a t b e a d s o n m y f o r e h e a d .’
7. BLOOD LEAVES THE FACE
too etna ta vea Kai exa<ye T0 XP®H« T o o / m i e K o y e t o xptopa t o o : ‘I told him
the news, and he lost his colour/his colour was cut off.’
m viaoe: ‘(s)he turned to cloth.’
tov e \ 5 a K a i e ix e y iv e i a a v to K ep i: ‘I s a w h im , a n d h e h a d b e c o m e lik e w a x . ’
E n g lis h e q u iv a le n t: ‘h is f a c e b la n c h e d w ith f e a r .’
8. DROP IN BODY TEMPERATURE
nayaxya, poXi^ dicouoa Ta vea: ‘I was frozen, when I heard the news’.
naytooe to aip a poo: ‘my blood froze.’
poo KOTtqKe to aipa: ‘my blood was cut off.’
E n g lis h e q u iv a le n t: ‘I w a s f ro z e n in m y b o o ts / in m y t r a c k s . ’
9. NERVOUSNESS IN THE STOMACH
ojpiX TTpce to c tT o p d x 1 p o o : ‘m y s to m a c h w a s g r i p p e d .’
E n g lis h e q u iv a le n t: ‘a f e a r g r ip p e d m e in th e s t o m a c h .’
10. ATTACK OF THE (MAIN) BODY PARTS/FUNCTIONS
p o o ’K o y e c tt) xoA .q: ‘y o u c u t m y b ile .’
poo 'o jia o ^ tt| xoA.q: ‘you broke my bile.’
poo Kotrrpcav ra qjtaxa: ‘my liver was cut off.’
poo Kojrrpce to aipa: ‘my blood was cut off.’
I 1 . INCREASE IN HEART RATE
K o v r e y e v a c m a a e t q x a p b i a p o o a 7 t’ t o v <p6fk) p o o : ‘m y h e a r t a l m o s t b r o k e
w ith f e a r .’
E n g lis h e q u iv a le n t: ‘m y h e a r t p o u n d e d w ith f e a r .’
12. LOSS OF THE SPHINCTER CONTROL
X e o iq ic a /K « T o o p q f rq ic a a n ’ t o v <p6(3o p o o : i s h it/p is s e d o n m y s e l f w i t h f e a r . ’
T a 't c a v a e n a v to p o o : i d id it o n m y s e l f .’
T a fK/jiiot: ‘( s ) h e f a r te d o n th e m ’.
ek /m loi pcvT & ;: ‘(s )h e f a r te d m in t.’
p o o jcq y e v ri! a c c o m p a n ie d b y a s p e c if ic g e s tu r e : ‘ f o r m e , it w e n t l i k e t h a t . ’
E n g lis h e q u iv a le n t: ‘I w a s s c a r e d s h itle s s ’.
13 HAIR RISES UP
t a a i c o u a a k u i p o o a q K aiO q K e q T p i'x a (K ayiceA ,o): ‘ 1 h e a r d t h is , a n d m y h a i r r o s e
( lik e b a r s ) .’
E n g lis h e q u iv a le n t: ‘th is m a d e m y h a ir s ta n d o n e n d ’.
B B e h a v io r a l r e a c tio n s
14. h . i o h t
T o f f U / b m u nuhiu ‘( s ) h e p u t it in th e fe e t.
t f i v t /jfiy o : ‘( s )h e b e c a m e a j a c k r a b b i t . ’
E n g lis h e q u iv a le n t. ‘1 to o k to rriy h e e l s .’
15. WITHDRAWAL
Xootpaê: ‘(s)he recoiled, (s)he shrunk’.
paêotqKe axq ycovta too: ‘(s)he curled up in his comer.’
C. NO QUALIFICATION
16. t o v e(5a pTcpoaxa poo Kai xa xpeiaaxqKa: ‘I saw him face to face and I
needed it. ’
English equivalent: ‘I saw him face to face and I found myself in a state of need’.
Firstly, it must be said that from a neuroscientific perspective the (conscious) feel
ing of fear constitutes the orchestration of a deeper brain system which functions
unconsciously and warns the subject about an impending danger, aiming at the
survival of the species.168 According to Joseph LeDoux the reactions which are
assigned to fear are: apart from a) urinating and defecation pointed by Darwin as a
reaction common to man and animal (see 12 above), b) immobility (freezing) (see
1, 2, 3, and 8), c) withdrawal (avoiding the danger or escaping from it; see 14 and
15), d) defensive aggression, e) submission. At the same time bodily responses
take place: tachycardia (see 11 above), stomach tension (see 9), sweat (see 6),
cold feet; all these prepare the organism to cope with the impending danger. Two
points must be noted here: first, that languages choose selectively from the bio
logical substrate which bodily or behavioral reactions to codify; for example the
bodily reaction of cold feet is codified in English but not in Modem Greek; and
second, that Modem Greek codifies the dimension of passivity from the overall
spectrum of responses connected with fear. In this sense Modem Greek brings
forth what the Subject suffers from when (s)he is dominated by fear - the empha
sis is put on the body. The only ‘active’ expression is that of flight (see 14).169
Tuming now to the metaphors within the metonymies and taking into account
the connotations of the words that instantiate the metaphorical mappings, in the
first place one can easily observe that the connotations of death are obvious: im
mobility, the cold feeling, the cessation of respiration, the colour of a dead face. In
this sense, part of these expressions refers directly to the relation between fear and
death as it is evidenced at a neuronal level. On the other hand, when the human
body is illustrated as a living body, it is illustrated in a state of emergency: as a
helpless human being, in a situation of need (see 16 above), having lost all the
crucial and indispensable ‘protective weapons’ in order to cope with this urgent
situation: language, control of the sphincters, more generally the control of his en
tire body - all these that make the human being a rational being. All these illustra
tions of loss can only bring to mind a return to a period of time when no language
existed and the human being had no control; a return to a period, also, when the
human being experienced his/her own body as a fragmented body - an experience
so painful that it returns in dreams, free associations and ‘in images of castration,
168 LeDoux 1998, 128; Damasio 1999.

169 One must notice the cultural intervention with the emotion in (1 U above where there is an
assault on bodily organs that is not evidenced by neuroscientific literature. In this particular
case it is about ancient beliefs concerning the assault of bodily organs by the emotion: the
liver as the seat o f the emotions and the bile as the seat of the negative emotions specifically.
mutilation, partition ... that haunt human fantasy’, says Jacques Lacan.170 The
emergence of the fragmented body cannot be ‘read’ only through the connota
tions. It can also be deciphered if someone notices that only in the case of fear the
human body is imaged in such a fragmentary way. For no other metaphorisation
of emotion evokes so many body parts.171172This point must also be connected with
the persistent use of the verb Kopto (‘to cut’; see 1, 2, 3, 6, 7, 8, and 10 above),
which is an issue brought forth only by the choice of the word.
Consequently, the kind of passivity imaged by these expressions brings forth
what the Subject underwent when it stayed there, close to the threat of death - the
fourth reaction mentioned by LeDoux above. These expressions ‘speak’ about the
force of the experience facing an ‘extreme’ threat - such a strong experience that
the Subject ‘felt so helpless to the point of losing instantly all the characteristics
which constituted his Ego and which allowed his painful fantasies to come to sur
face’. So,
it is the Subject that speaks through language, in a state of an active and agonising interaction
with reality. And what is said is not subjective, it is inter-subjective. It is the meeting point of
,. . . 172
our subjectivities.
So. as a conclusion, the word while instantiating a metaphorical mapping is the

space where the psychological body emerges, investing the bodily feelings with
intersubjective meanings - intersubjective being ‘that which separates and simul
taneously is shared, that which co-articulates two or more subjectivities’.173 If, as
Zoltan Kovecses proposes, the collective unconscious (that is, the historical mem
ory of a society) is ‘embodied in language’,174175
there is no reason not to think that the historical memory of the subject is also embodied the
re. Metaphor with its power to structure, to express and to evoke experiences (pre-linguistic
or not) is a privileged means to express them.
6 LANGUAGE AND EMOTION

EXPRESSION AND CULTURAL INTERVENTION
Let me start this final section with an a posteriori awareness. An analytical and
deep synthesis was necessary in order to detect the indissoluble connection of the
metaphor with the emotional experience. This does not only have to do with the
fact that metaphor was always a kind of puzzle for linguists and philosophers of
language. It also has to do with the fact that the registration of experience in lan
170 Eacwi [1937] 1966, 104.

171 The same hold* true in English. As Kdvecses (1990, 70) notes, compared to other emotions
Tear is an emotion that appears to be characterizable for the most part by a rich system of its
physiological and behavioral reactions’.
172 1bcodoropoulou 2004a, 415.
173 Ciccone 2006,29
174 KOvecic* 2005, 241.
175 Theodoropoulou 2012a, 177
guage does not easily disclose itself. This is not only an issue of an epistemologi
cal character, in the sense that interdisciplinary evidence is necessary for such an
undertaking; it is closely linked to the fact that, as language has been considered a
tool of communication, the emphasis has been on the information carried by it.
But this stance has staved off the fact that the subject strives to break the barrier
instituted by the processes of abstraction and generalisation and express
him/herself through this deeply and inherently social tool which is the language.
And metaphor is the locus of this striving par excellence. It is no accident that
some points of view which argue for the connection of the so-called figurativeness
with the emotion have been put forth recently within the cognitive linguistics
paradigm.176
It is this inherent social nature of language that renders it one of the grounds
for the cultural intervention with emotion; to put it differently: one of the grounds
where every culture tries to break in and model emotion for its own profit. But
what must be broken into has to do with the human being’s basic constitutive
elements acquired in the course of evolution such as survival skills. Emotion, be
ing a basic gear of the human being during evolution, is ‘written’ on the body.
That is because emotion unavoidably seeks to be expressed. One aspect of this
expression is definitely connected to subjectivity; the other one is connected to the
others who receive this expression and are influenced by it in many ways. A rea
son for this impact has to do with the intersubjective nature of the emotional expe
rience: whether it is expressed verbally or bodily, implicitly or explicitly, emo
tional communication has in its roots the primary intersubjective emotional inter
action with the other as well as the intersubjective - that is, common - experi
ences that implicitly connect the subject with the others. Maybe that is the reason
why emotional expression has such an impact on the other, its roots being in a
place where there was no language capable of creating a distance from the imme
diacy of the experience.
Thus, if the ‘ancient drama’ is played on the level of the expression of the
emotion, then arguably the means a culture uses to channel or to control the ex
pression of the emotion might be a characteristic feature of this culture. In other
words: what characterises a particular culture might be the striving and the ten
sion between the cultural, which institutes, and the subjective, which tries to be
expressed - very possibly this striving and tension vary in the passage of history.
If this is so, then language constitutes one of the grounds where this tension can
be detected.
So, the issues that have been raised above could illuminate some aspects of
the material which is presented in this volume. Although they have to do with the
language in its abstract dimension, i.e. the linguistic system, their contribution to
this discussion is that they bring the arsenal of language to the table. Thus, this
can be used as a basis to detect, through the uses of language, the choices made -
both cultural and subjective. In this sense, the following questions that arise from
what has been said above might become the guiding tool for the detection ot the
176 E.g. Foolen 2012; see also Dirven 1993.

interweaving and the tension between the cultural and the subjective: who is
speaking? Is it the subject, trying to express what (s)he feels, or the culture, speci
fying what and how to feel it ? And what is the means of this discourse? Is it liter-
ality. which creates and keeps a distance from the immediacy of the experience, or
is it metaphor or metonymy in the subject’s attempt to find a way to express it?
Does the body exist or is it faded by literality? And what about texts? Is there a
possibility that some genres function in favour of culture, while some others allow
fissures so that the emotion is expressed? Answers to questions like these can re
veal folded facets of the interweaving of the subjective and the cultural but can
also be used as the basis for the comparative examination of older and later phases
of a particular culture - the conceptualisation of the emotion being part of it.
The texts in this volume offer a variety of indications of this interweaving,
highlighting, one could say, the domination of the cultural. And this is not without
surprises in the first place. For one would expect that since the written text by
definition eliminates what the subject can express through bodily - non linguistic
- means, this would impose a further push towards an exclusive expression by
language in the absence of the other means. Given also both the present day dis
cussion concerning the abundant use of metaphor in emotion discourse as well as
the previous analysis, one would expect to find an excess of figurative speech. But
this is not the case, something which, due to the breadth of the material, questions
the cognitive linguistics’ argument concerning the dominant role of metaphor in
the conceptualisation of the emotions. And it is not the case because the texts
(whether funerary stelai or different kinds of requests or yet texts that regulate dif
ferent kinds of relations) despite their different functionality largely contain in
formation, which leaves little room for an immediate expression of the emotion:
informativity de facto favours literality. Therefore, one has no other way to ex
press emotion than to resort to the ‘legal’ means of literality: adjectives and ad
verbs that denote an evaluative attitude, words with a strong connotation. How
ever, the attempt to break in the distancing from the experience - to which literal-
ity is connected takes place in the field of iconicity - linguistic or not: exclama
tions. reiterations, alliterations on the one hand and iconic signs engraved in the
steles on the other (see pp. 237f. in this volume), as well as gestures and bodily
movements registered in the texts (see pp. 81-85 in this volume).177 With all these
the subject tries to break the barrier of literality and bring to the surface, to ex
press, something from his/her emotional experience.
11 the de facto imposed literality is the barrier to the immediacy of the expres
sion of the experience, the use of the formulaic language and the standardisation
imposed by some genres could be considered as the very factors of cultural inter
vention since they channel in predetermined ways the subject’s linguistic expres-
177 Detailed narration of tire facts could he considered as a kind of iconicity, inasmuch as the de
tailed n-pn'srniaiion of the facts functions like the sequences of a film which narrates. It is in
this sense that the detailed narration of a fact puts the receiver as a viewer in the situation, as
if he had seen what was going on with his/her own eyes and had the time to develop the emo
tion for the provocation of empathy sec pp 102 114 in this volume.
The Emotion Seeks to Be Expressed: Thoughts from a l inguist’s Point of View 463
sion - and his/her identity, one could say.'78 So, where can the subject that strives
to be expressed be detected? It is through the deviations from these standards that
the subject is speaking (see p. 66 in this volume). It is the subject who by saying
‘You must know that I do not view the sun, because you are out of my view; for I
have no sun but you’179 raises above the norm so as (s)he can express him/herself:
and it is not by chance that (s)he does it by using a metaphor. One could of course
object here that the letters, as the space of the interpersonal, plausibly offer an ex
pedient ground for the expression of subjectivity and therefore favour immediacy.
What could be stronger evidence for this privileged status of letters - as compared
with the other genres - than the quote ‘and you sent me letters that could move a
stone, that is how much your words have moved me’?180
Yet, how could one explain the deviation from the formulaic language in the
public prayer for justice from Alexandria in Egypt, which is analyzed by Irene
Salvo (pp. 245-249 in this volume)? How could one explain the presence of five
metaphors181 in that part o f the stele where the dead wife is supposed to be talk
ing, which is in sharp contrast with the husband’s literal discourse - a discourse of
recognition and promise? As Salvo says, it is the husband who talks all over the
surface o f the stele. But why resort to the other and not take full responsibility of
178 It is interesting that the formulaic language also exists in the case of acclamations, where a
collective feeling, ‘a we-feeling’ to quote Christina Kuhn (p. 300 in this volume), is ex
pressed. This by itself could be an indication for the manipulation of this collective emotional
expression. O f course, one could bring as an objection that a Teady-made’ language would
facilitate this collective expression. However, this issue must be approached by taking into
account the other characteristics of acclamations as well. All these refer to characteristics of
the early non linguistic communication as well as the first stages of language acquisition: in
the first place the dominant participation of the body, the shouting as an immediate reaction,
the predomination o f rhythm - a basic characteristic of the early intersubjective and interaf-
fective interactions between the mother and the infant - as well as of that of prosody; finally
the simplicity o f the syntactic constructions, something which is characteristic of the language
acquisition o f a two-year old child. One could see in all these manifestations a 'regression’ to
primary ways of communication - linguistic or not - , something which could be considered
as the very factor o f the emotional intensification, which Kuhn refers to. On the other hand if
people regress - unconsciously - to such early stages o f existence, the reactions may become
uncontrolled and thus dangerous. So, it could be considered that the formulaic language (unc
tions as a 'r o o f which by shaping the diffuse emotion w ith the labels of the language chan
nels this emotional expansion. This hypothesis o f course needs further investigation.
179 P.Oxy. XLI! 3059 (Oxyrhynchus, second century CE); see pp. 66f. in this volume.
180 P.Oxy. Ill 528 (Oxyrhynchus, second century CE): i«xi ercegydi; pot eiuoToXa^ Svvageva*
XiOov a ak eG aai, outo*; oi koyot aou KeMvqicdv ge; emphasis added. See p. 85 in this vol
ume.
181 'Wrecked foreign woman’ (rf|V vauayov aOXiav £evqv), ‘the fruits of life’ (piotou tcapnov),
’my man, w ith him I was one soul’ (ou yoxb pi« ujrqpxe poi cruv dvSpi), ‘sweet life’ (fJiios
yXvtax;), ‘the life proceeds without breaks’ (dOpauotov (3iov). One should also notice two
other culturally determined metaphors (‘great abyss of Hades and the doors of darkness';
A8ou geyav tauGgtova teat atauou juAus) as well as the two metonymies (Med against m>
body or my life’; egou; onXavxvoiaw i) (3t<g ). The metaphor of love 'with him I was one
soul’ is much discussed in the literature; see kovecses 1990, and for critical comments
Theodoropoulou 2004a.
his own emotions since the same person is capable of taking the responsibility of
his promise? Is it the woman who is entitled - or allowed? - to express her pain
publicly and directly or is it the foreigner? Is the immediacy of the expression,
therefore, an issue of gender or ethnicity? And if it is so what kind of cultural
evaluations can this contrast reveal? Furthermore: if it is the husband who at
tempts to express indirectly the immediacy of his own emotions, is this a unique
case or is it something that heralds a change towards more freedom in the expres
sions of the emotions?
Questions as such are put by the presence of metaphor; in other words they
derive from the linguistic evidence. The linguistic evidence, though, does not suf
fice for a full approach of the interweaving of the cultural and the subjective; the
knowledge of the socio-historical context is needed to get more definite answers.
The linguistic evidence does not suffice because every language - despite the hu
man being's biological predisposition for it - is a cultural creation, it is part of the
culture and as such it cannot explain the culture’s overall manifestations. Fur
thermore, because no matter how much a language has the power to ‘evoke expe
rience that transcends words’ and this ‘is perhaps the highest tribute to the power
of language’,182 language does not suffice to subdue the impetus o f that which
flows from the depths of the body when the emotion is strong. Or, to recall
Freud,183 it does not suffice to discharge it. Language may be a means of dis
charge184 but this does not mean that the entrance into language amounts to the
breaking away of the bodily means of discharge. As evidence for this shortcoming
of language to dissolve the strong emotions - the language itself and nothing else
but language - is the fact that cultures do not confine themselves to the verbal dis
charge but they create compensative practices for the negative emotions, such as
rituals, in which the language is only a part of them. For cultures aim at control
ling, at channeling this discharge, i.e. the expression of the emotion. It is not by
chance that a large part of the texts in this volume deals with the outcome of the
emotions, in other words, with the actions dictated by the emotion; that is, with
the space where the emotion ceases to be mainly internal and becomes mainly ex
ternal, to recall Antonio Damasio’s distinctions.185 This is the reason why the dis
play of the emotions is so much culturally defined.
However, because the emotion is internal in the first place and presupposes a
subject who experiences it, there is always the interweaving and the tension be
tween the cultural and the subjective. The linguistic deviations from the linguistic
norms imposed by the culture are evidence for this. But these are the very ones
which also make the quote ‘you sent me letters that could move a stone, that is
how much your words have moved me’186 sound so timeless ...
182 Stern 1985, 176.

183 See Freud (1895] 1966 for the notion of discharge; Sharpe 1950, 157.
184 Sharpe 1950, 157.
185 Damasio 1999, 36.
186 See Briten’s (I998> notion of ‘e-motion’, a complex consisting of motion and emotion; see
also Zlatcv et at. 2012 for the tendency of many languages to denote affective processes on
the basis o f expressions originally denoting physical motion.
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HABES

Heidelberger Althistorische Beitrage und Epigraphische Studien

Herausgegeben von Angelos Chaniotis und Christian Witschel.

Beirat: Francois Berard (Lyon), Anthony R. Birley (Vindolanda/

Edited by Angelos Chaniotis

Franz Steiner Verlag

Bibliografische Information der Deutschen Nationalbibliothek:

Dieses Werk einschliefilich aller seiner Teile ist urheberrechtlich geschiitzt.

Part One: Sources................................................................................................ 37

Emotions and papyri: insights into the theatre of human experience

Moving stones: the study of emotions in Greek inscriptions.............................. 91

Emotions and archaeologicalsources: a methodological introduction................. 131

Part Two: Emotions in the interaction between mortals and gods.....................175

Dream, narrative, and the construction of hope in the ‘healing miracles’

Constructing the fear of gods: Epigraphic evidence from sanctuaries

Sweet revenge: emotional factors in ‘prayers for justice’ ..................................235

Isis aretalogies, initiations, and emotions: the Isis aretalogies

Part Three: Emotions in the public space.............................................................293

Emotionality in the political culture of the Graeco-Roman East:

A glimpse into the world of petitions: the case of Aurelia Artemis

Make or break decisions: the archaeology of allegiance in Ephesos.................... 329

Part Four: Emotions in interprersonal communication.......................................... 357

‘He is a liar, a bounder, and a cad’: the arousal of hostile emotions

‘Reasons to be cheerful’: conflicting emotions in the Drunken

The emotion seeks to be expressed: thoughts from a linguist’s

List of Contributors, 489

‘Do I exist? you ask, and then ‘you do not ’

The tombs and the ruins,

Translated by Angelos Chaniotis

Oxford, September 2012

attempts to introduce emotions to historical research, it is since the 80s that an

3K F g., on the impact of technology on fear see Kerner 1997.

A modem text, written by a journalist, may exemplify the problems ancient

2 READING TEXTS, UNDERSTANDING THE DISPLAY OF EMOTIONS

4 1 Study of the correspondence and the affair: ()/ment 1997.

47 On the concept o f ‘emotional episode' see p. 157 in this volume.

49 Strongman 2003, 141.

3 EXPANDING THE SOURCE MATERIAL

because o f the very diverse content o f papyri (e.g., wet-nursing contracts,

4 STUDYING EMOTIONS. UNDERSTANDING TEXTS AND IMAGES:

in courtroom speeches is that the arousal o f emotions exploits a certain value

Megara in the 2012 production of Euripides’ Herakles!’’ can be understood as an

AlthotY, G. (19%) Empdrung, Zerknirschung. ‘Emotionen’ in der otYentlichen Kommunikation

61 Aquila Theatre. Euripides’ Herakles; translated by Peter Meineck, directed bv Desiree

Lewis, M. and L. M. Haviland (eds.) (1993), Handbook o f Emotions, New York.

Insights into the Theatre o f Human Experience in Antiquity

2 DIVERSE GENRES, DIVERSE EMOTIONAL REPRESENTATIONS

Understandably, the nature of a source influences the presence and representation

21 P.CollYoutie 11 92 (Antinoopolis, 596 CE): (kivkopevTi dvakuTpwoaoQou xr|v eghv Karano-

30 B G U 1 326 (Karanis. 189-194 CE). Cf. Rowlandson 1998, no. 139.

39 Montevecchi 1935, 105.

2.2 Divorce Documents

Divorce documents52 or petitions that request a divorce are uniquely preserved in

52 Bagnall 1987; Rupprecht 1998, 69f., Yiftach-Firanko 2001.

2.3 Oracle and Dream Accounts

61 Rupprecht 1998, 71.

66 P Tebl II 284 (70 BCL). Cf. White 1986, 99.

2.4 Private Letters and Petitions

76 Danetrios, De etocutione 227. In Trapp 2003, 180f.

3.1 Can We Discern ‘Emotional Periods’ in Papyri?

85 Bagnall and Cribiore 2006,16.

94 Kovelman 1991, 148; and 141 f.

responsible for the miseries inflicted on the villagers of Antinoopolis.107 In

Herakleides, a Greek and a visitor in Krokodilopolis, petitions the king because he

As we mentioned above, the composition of papyri was often done by profes

The unanimous display of gratitude motivated the benefactor to make a sponta

by educated individuals, familiar with rhetorical and poetic techniques of persua