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University of Southern California Dissertations and Theses
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Looking Greek: skin color and identity construction in Heliodorus’ Aethiopika
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Looking Greek: skin color and identity construction in Heliodorus’ Aethiopika
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Looking Greek: Skin Color and Identity Construction in Heliodorus’ Aethiopika by Charles Russell-Schlesinger A Dissertation Presented to the FACULTY OF THE USC GRADUATE SCHOOL UNIVERSITY OF SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA In Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY (CLASSICS) August 2023 ii Table of Contents Abstract……………………………………………………………………...……………………iii Chapter 1: From Homer to Xenophanes: Evidence for Race and Identity in Archaic Greek Literature………………………………………………………………………………………..…1 Chapter 2: The Classical Age and Beyond: Exploring Identity and Race……………………….33 Chapter 3: Novel Approaches to Identity in the Other Ideal Romances…………………………94 Chapter 4: Identity, Appearance, and Ambiguity in Heliodorus’ Aethiopika…………………..147 Bibliography……………………………………………………………………………………201 iii Abstract As the last and longest of the ideal Greek Romances, Heliodorus’ Aethiopika is an endlessly complex narrative that reflects the author’s deep interest in what it means to be a Greek in the fourth century C.E. By engaging with numerous intellectual figures from the Archaic Age all the way up to his fellow Greek novelists, Heliodorus crafts a narrative that presents a uniquely nuanced approach to situating Greekness within the Mediterranean world. To this, he also adds the specter of skin color, forcing his reader to contend with how physical, heritable characteristics might be used as indicators of group identity. Despite the long-held belief that authors of the time had no conception of race, Heliodorus’ novel forces us to reconsider this position. Furthermore, the cannibalistic nature of the novel encourages us to reexamine how his many predecessors understood such physical makers. 1 Chapter 1 From Homer to Xenophanes: Evidence for Race and Identity in Archaic Greek Literature Ancient novels, such as Heliodorus’ Aethiopica, are defined, at least in part, by their cannibalistic nature. It is because they draw from such a wide variety of sources that it is exceedingly challenging to pin down the exact origin of certain ideas that are found in the novels. Such is the case with the way skin color is deployed as a narrative device in the Aethiopica. At first glance it might seem as if Charikleia’s ivory-white skin, stained with a single black birthmark, functions merely as a means to bring about an ἀναγνώρισις (recognition) in the story’s conclusion much in the same way that Odysseus’ scar is the means by which Eurycleia recognizes the returning king of Ithaca. 1 A closer reading of the text as a whole, however, suggests that Charikleia’s skin color, and skin color in general, play a larger and more complex role in the novel. It appears to serve as a marker of individual and group identity. This would seem to contradict much of the prevailing scholarship on issues of identity which argues that skin color, or any other physical, heritable characteristic, was not a consideration in identity construction in the ancient world. 2 This begs the question, then, is Heliodorus’ treatment of skin color an anomaly or ought we to consider the possibility that we can trace the use of physical markers as indicators of identity to earlier periods of Greek history? Precisely because the novel borrows so widely and across so many genres, we ought to begin our investigation with a diverse group of texts from the Archaic period if we want to be best equipped to appreciate what 1 Homer, Odyssey, ed. P. von der Mühll (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1963), XIX.388-394. 2 George M. Fredrickson, Racism: A Short History (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2002), 17–18. 2 Heliodorus is doing in the Aethiopica. This will allow us to determine whether or not there are any discernible traces of value being placed on heritable, physical characteristics, such as skin color or hair quality, in earlier literature. The terms race, ethnicity, and racism are found throughout much of the scholarship about identity construction and, while this vocabulary is common, the ways in which it is deployed is not always uniform. For this reason, I think it is important to begin with the definitions upon which I am relying. Race, borrowing from Benjamin Isaac, refers not to a tribe or a nation of people with common ancestry but to a group of people who share a common physical trait (or traits) that distinguish them from other peoples. 3 Ethnicity, on the other hand, is a social construct based not on physical traits but cultural criteria. 4 While Jonathan Hall is quick to stress the futility of trying to assign a single set of practices that applies to defining every ethnic group, he points to some of the more commonly used ones such as common ancestral homeland, language, shared myths of descent, and religious practices. 5 Lastly, Isaac provides the following definition for racism, an attitude towards individuals and groups of peoples which posits a direct and linear connection between physical and mental qualities. It therefore attributes to those individuals and groups of peoples collective traits, physical, mental and moral, which are constant and unalterable by human will, because they are caused by hereditary factors or external influences, such as climate or geography. 6 Certainly, these are not the only ways in which these terms can be defined, and I do not mean to suggest that other definitions are not equally valid, I simply mean to set clear parameters to avoid confusion moving forward. With these definitions in mind, let us consider what the primary 3 Benjamin Isaac, The Invention of Racism in Classical Antiquity (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2004), 25–33. 4 Jonathan M. Hall, Ethnic Identity in Greek Antiquity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 2. 5 Hall, Ethnic Identity in Greek Antiquity, 19–26. 6 Benjamin Isaac, “Proto-Racism in Graeco-Roman Antiquity,” World Archaeology 38, no. 1 (March 2006): 34. 3 sources say about Greek identity and how those sources have been interpreted by various scholars. The scholarship on ancient ethnography is vast and it is not my intention to attempt to summarize all of it here. However, it will benefit the work that follows to understand, in brief, why Archaic literature is so often overlooked in discussions of the conception of identity, ethnic or otherwise, in the Greek world. While Edith Hall was, by no means, the first person to explore th subject of ancient ethnography, her work on Greek self-definition has served as a springboard for much of the more recent work on the subject of identity construction in the ancient Mediterranean. She explains, quite simply, that Greek writing about non-Greeks was, by and large, an exercise in self-definition. 7 Furthermore, she contends that such a concern arose “in specific historical circumstances during the early years of the fifth century BC, partly as a result of the combined Greek military efforts against the Persians.” 8 Thus, Greek interest in the discourse of identity was born not out of a curiosity about the Mediterranean world of which they were a part but out of a need for Greece to unite against a common enemy. As such, they relied more on an oppositional mode of identity formation, in which differences are used to individuate the in-group from others, than an aggregative mode, in which identity is formed via connections and similarities. 9 In this way, Greek ethnic identity starts being used as a code to understand the barbarian and vice versa. 10 Most scholars would argue, then, that before conflicts like the Persian 7 The work being done by Edith Hall has its roots in scholarship of the early twentieth century. Julius Jüthner, for example, was ahead of his time when he published his Hellenen und barbaren aus der geschichte des nationalbewusstseins in 1923. Also of significance is T.J. Haarhoff’s 1948 publication, The Stranger at the Gate: Aspects of Exclusiveness and Co-operation in Ancient Greece and Rome, with Some References to Modern Times. 8 Edith Hall, Inventing the Barbarian: Greek Self-Definition Through Tragedy (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1989), 1–2. 9 David G. Horrell, “‘Race’, ‘Nation’, ‘People’: Ethnic Identity-Construction in 1 Peter 2.9,” New Testament Studies 58, no. 1 (January 2012): 132–42. 10 Joseph E. Skinner, The Invention of Greek Ethnography: From Homer to Herodotus (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012), 49. 4 Wars, Greeks were largely untouched by interest in the foreign and this, then, is reflected in the ancient literature. 11 While it is perhaps true that “international” conflicts led to an increase in what Joseph Skinner calls the “self-conscious prose study of non-Greek peoples,” that does not mean that, prior to such conflicts, Greeks had zero interest in considering how they compared to other peoples. 12 Even Edith Hall herself asserts that “a clear sense of ethnicity does not necessitate the uniform sense of hostility toward all outsiders.” 13 Given such concessions, it seem fitting that we begin by reevaluating Archaic Age literature, unencumbered both by the belief that evidence of interest in identity construction must meet some arbitrary word count or demonstrate evidence of enmity between Greeks and non-Greeks. Because the general conceit among scholars is that the ancient Greeks did not employ physical characteristics as markers of identity and, furthermore, prior to the Classical Age they were not even concerned with defining their identity in an oppositional manner, this chapter seeks to demonstrate two things. First, that a closer reading of a few key texts reveals that Greek writers, such as Xenophanes of Colophon, whose work survives only in fragments, the anonymous author of the Periplus of Hanno, and even Homer, were, in fact, interested in this kind of identity construction in the Archaic Age. Furthermore, there is strong evidence that they did associate these ideas about identity with various physical characteristics. Beginning with the most recent text, the one in which the evidence is least contestable, we will work our way back in time and identify the various ways in which these authors wrote about identity and the ways in which their understanding of identity was connected to physical characteristics. 11 Hall, Inventing the Barbarian: Greek Self-Definition Through Tragedy, 6. 12 Joseph E. Skinner, The Invention of Greek Ethnography: From Homer to Herodotus (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012), 3. 13 Hall, Inventing the Barbarian: Greek Self-Definition Through Tragedy, 6. 5 Unlike the other texts that this chapter will consider, which survive in complete (or fairly complete) forms, the text of Xenophanes of Colophon survives for us only as a fragment preserved in book seven of the Stromata by Clement of Alexandra, a Christian theologian and philosopher who lived from 150 C.E. – 215 C.E. 14 It is important, however, that we are able to locate the following fragment not just in the Archaic Age but close to the threshold of the Classical Age if we have any hope of suggesting that it bridges the gap between the seeds of ideas in the Archaic period and the more well-formed ones that we will explore shortly from the Classical period. Xenophanes himself provides some help in dating his work because he reports, “ἤδη δ᾽ ἑπτά τ᾽ ἔασι καὶ ἑξήκοντ᾽ ἐνιαυτοὶ βληστρίζοντες ἐμὴν φροντίδ᾽ ἀν᾽ Ἑλλάδα γῆν: ἐκ γενετῆς δὲ τότ᾽ ἦσαν ἐείκοσι πέντε τε πρὸς τοῖς, εἴπερ ἐγὼ περὶ τῶνδ᾽ οἶδα λέγειν ἐτύμως” (and already for seven and sixty years I have been tossing my mind across the Greek land; and from birth then there were twenty and five years before these, if ever I know how to speak truthfully about these events). 15 In addition to revealing that he spent a good portion of his life traveling, a pursuit that would expose him to various ethnoi, this passage also suggests that he lived at least to the age of 93. Given the reports that he had interactions with the court of the Syracusan tyrant, Hieron, who ruled from 478-467 B.C.E, we are able, with a reasonable degree of certainty, to place his birth around 570-560 B.C.E. 16 Such a date “stands [Xenophanes] squarely among the new intellectuals of the sixth century.” 17 Furthermore, it also suggests that his work can both represent a culmination of ideas that preceded him concerning identity and serve as an inspiration for the ideas that were to come. 14 Denise Kimber Buell, Making Christians: Clement of Alexandria and the Rhetoric of Legitimacy (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1999), 10. 15 Xenophanes of Colophon, Xenophanes of Colophon: Fragments, trans. J.H. Lesher (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2001), frag. 8. 16 Xenophanes of Colophon, Xenophanes of Colophon: Fragments, 32–33. 17 Herbert Granger, “Poetry and Prose: Xenophanes of Colophon,” Transactions of the American Philological Association (1974-2014) 137, no. 2 (2007): 417. 6 As is often the case with fragments, one of the central challenges for modern readers is to determine the larger context in which it originally appeared. While Clement of Alexandria inserts this excerpt into a larger discussion about the nature of the divine, we cannot assume, simply, that this is a fair representation of the fragment’s original context. 18 Xenophanes writes, “Αἰθίοπές τε <θεοὺς σφετέρους> σιμοὺς μέλανάς τε /Θρῆικές τε γλαυκοὺς καὶ πυρρούς <φασι πέλεσθαι>” (and Ethiopians say their own gods are snub nosed and black and Thracians both blue-eyed and red-haired). 19 In this excerpt, Xenophanes describes the way in which the Ethiopians and the Thracians depict their individual gods, explaining that they render them is such a way so that their gods appear similar to themselves. This fragment is fascinating because it actually suggests that a variety of physical markers can stand as signifiers of identity. Xenophanes accomplishes this precisely because he includes more than one group in his discussion. It is not just that Thracians and their gods have red hair. It is that they do and the Ethiopians and their gods do not. Thus, it must be the case that red hair is something that is associated specifically with being from Thrace and not Ethiopia. Of greater significance to the larger project of this dissertation, though, is the description of the Ethiopians. By explaining that the Ethiopians depict their gods as they are, with black skin, he is acknowledging and endorsing the idea that skin color is a useful way to identify Ethiopian depictions of deities and, by extension, Ethiopians themselves. Xenophanes is not placing any sort of value judgment on these characteristics or associating them with cultural practices so it would be inappropriate to call this 18 The passage in the Stromata that preserves this fragment reads as follows: “but the Greeks assume their gods to be human in passions as they are human in shape; and, as each nation paints their shape after its own likeness (according to the saying by Xenophanes, the Ethiopians black with turned up nose, the Thracians with red hair and blue eyes), so each represents them as like itself in soul. For instance, the barbarians make them brutal and savage, the Greeks milder, but subject to passion. Hence the conceptions which the wicked form about God must naturally be bad, and those of the good must be excellent.” 19 Xenophanes of Colophon, Xenophanes of Colophon: Fragments, frag. 16. 7 racism. Nevertheless, it seems clear that by the end of the Archaic Age, at least, attention was being paid to what certain physical markers might represent. While this fragment, on its own, is worthy of our attention, there is a second one that a number of scholars, including Herbert Granger and Scott Aiken, suggest should be read as preceding this one. Not only does this additional fragment reinforce the idea that Xenophanes is engaging in a larger discussion about divinity, but it also helps us determine whether or not it was a novel idea to mark identity with heritable characteristics towards the end of the Archaic Age. In this fragment, Xenophanes explains. εἰ <δε> τοι <ἵπποι> ἔχον χέρας ἤ βόης ἠὲ λέοντες ἥ γράψαι χείρεσσι καὶ ἔργα τελεῖω ἅπερ ἄνδρες, ἵπποι μέν θ᾽ἵπποισι, βόες δέ τε βουσὶν ὁμοιάς και <κε> θεῶν ἰδέας ἔγραφον καὶ σώματ᾽ἐποίουν τοιαῦθ᾽ οἶόνπερ καὺτοὶ δέμας εἶχον ἔκαστοι but if horses or cows or lions had hands or could draw with their hands and accomplish works such as men do, horses would depict the appearance of the gods as similar to horses, and the cows as similar to cows, and they would make the bodies the same as the sort which each of them had. 20 When these two fragments are read together, Xenophanes message comes into sharper focus. He is not merely pointing out the peculiar ways in which various peoples depict their deities. Instead, Xenophanes is encouraging theological reform. 21 In these fragments, Xenophanes “discredits the anthropomorphic conceptions Greeks and barbarians have conceived of the divine nature” by pointing to the fact that they contradict one another in an effort to move away from an anthropomorphic sense of divinity. 22 Disputing such depictions of the divine does not make what Xenophanes claims in fragment sixteen any less significant though. On the face of it, quite the opposite is true. As Nagy points out, Xenophanes is part of a panhellenic movement working 20 Xenophanes of Colophon, Xenophanes of Colophon: Fragments, frag. 15. 21 Scott F. Aikin, “So What If Horses Would Draw Horse Gods?,” Sophia 55 (2016): 163. 22 Granger, “Poetry and Prose: Xenophanes of Colophon,” 418. 8 towards a universal and absolute truth. 23 Thus the fact that Xenophanes relies on the Ethiopians and their skin color as an example in this effort suggests that this was already a widely recognized mode of identifying Ethiopians by the time that Xenophanes composed these fragments. Furthermore, that the Greeks generally accepted that they and others tended to depict their gods in their own image and that this image changed drastically between ethnic groups is clear evidence that, by the end of the Archaic age, there was not only an interest in what distinguished various groups but that those distinctions could be generalized by physical markers. Moreover, because the evidence suggests that Xenophanes was not positing something new but instead clearly reacting to preconceived notions should encourage us to look to even earlier texts. The Periplus of Hanno, a translation of a Phoenician text originally inscribed on a tablet in front of a temple in Carthage, while not nearly as famous as Homer’s epic poems, serves as an important bridge between the fragment of Xenophanes and the Iliad and Odyssey. Despite the fact that the modern bibliography for the Periplus does not even fill a page, it has a great deal to offer when considering the role that physical characteristics might play in identity construction. The Periplus of Hanno describes a sea voyage to foreign locales. However, one should not expect the kind of high adventure found in epics such as the Odyssey. The author himself signals this distinction in the introduction to the text where he explains that “ἒδοξε Καρχηδονίοις Ἅννωνα πλεῖν ἔξω Στηλῶν/Ἡρακλείων καὶ πόλεις κτίζειν Λιβυφοινίκων” (it seemed appropriate to the Carthaginians that Hanno sail beyond the pillars of Heracles and found cities of the Phoenicianss). 24 Clearly, instead of a nostos tale, this text has more pragmatic and political 23 Greg Nagy, “Early Greek Views of Poets and Poetry,” in The Cambridge History of Literary Criticism: Volume 1: Classical Criticism (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989), 29–35. 24 Hanno, Periplus Hannonis, ed. K. Müller (Paris: Didot, 1965), §1.2-3. 9 aspirations. This changes the expectations for the kind of information that will be found within the text. “The…reader is not repelled by the appearance of those mythological and zoological monsters…[that] swarm the pages of so many comparable texts. [They] feel that what [they] are told are facts.” 25 This chief concern to provide an accurate account of the western coast of Africa, unfortunately, has led many scholars to focus their attention on the accuracy and usefulness of the Periplus of Hanno as a navigational aid. 26 It does not rate very highly in this regard but, after all, why should it? Philip Kaplan rightly argues that periplous such as this one “served not to share information about sailing routes and trading opportunities, but to assert, and contest, claims of dominion by the imperial powers of the Mediterranean and the Near East.” 27 Furthermore, as ancient readers of this text reveal, it was held as a trustworthy source of information for western Africa. Arrian, for example, discussing the reason for the conclusion of Nearchus’ naval endeavors, writes, Ἄννων δὲ ὁ Λίβυς ἐκ Καρχηδόνος ὁρμηθεὶς ὑπὲρ μὲν Ἡρακληίας στήλας ἐξέπλωσεν ἐς τὸν ἔξω πόντον, ἐν ἀριστερῇ τὴν Λιβύην ἔχων: καὶ ἔστε μὲν πρὸς ἀνίσχοντα ἥλιον ὁ πλόος αὐτῷ ἐγένετο τὰς πάσας πέντε καὶ τριήκοντα ἡμέρας: ὡς δὲ δὴ ἐς μεσαμβρίην ἐξετράπετο, πολλῇσιν ἀμηχανίῃσιν ἐνετύγχανεν ὕδατός τε ἀπορίῃ καὶ καύματι ἐπιφλέγοντι καὶ ῥύαξι πυρὸς ἐς τὸν πόντον ἐμβάλλουσιν moreover, Hanno the Libyan started out from Carthage and passed the pillars of Heracles and sailed into the outer Ocean, with Libya on his port side, and he sailed on towards the east, five-and-thirty days all told. But when at last he turned southward, he fell in with every sort of difficulty, want of water, blazing heat, and fiery streams running into the sea. 28 25 Jerker Blomqvist, The Date and Origin of the Greek Version of Hanno’s Periplus (Lund, Sweden: Liber Läromedel, 1979), 6. 26 P.E.H. Hair, “The ‘Periplus of Hanno’ in the History and Historiography of Black Africa,” History in Africa 14 (1987): 43. 27 Philip Kaplan, “The Function of the Early Periploi,” The Classical Bulletin 84, no. 2 (2008): 28. 28 Arrian, Indica, ed. A.G. Roos and G. Wirth (Leipzig: Teubner, 1885), §XLIII.11-12. 10 The reason that receptions of the text such as Arrian’s matter is because in what follows we are going to consider what the author of the Periplus says about people he alleges to have actually encountered, as opposed to Homer, who we will discuss shortly, who recounts the actions of people in the historic past but of whom he himself had no personal knowledge. Before looking at the text itself, we must pause briefly over the question of dating. This is due to the fact that a number of dates have been proposed for this text with some people locating the text as early as the seventh century B.C.E. Others, however, would like to position it closer to the Classical, or even post-Classical, Age. The question of where to locate the Periplus is further complicated because what survives is a Greek translation not the Punic original. It is not enough, therefore, to locate the Punic version of the text in the Archaic age. 29 After all, even if Punic text is Archaic, we cannot simply assume that the Greek text is, especially when we consider that there is little likelihood that the Greek represents a direct translation of the Punic original. 30 Because texts reflect their contemporary values, it is necessary to locate the Greek version in the Archaic age if we want to be able to use it as evidence for the role of physical characteristics as markers of identity. The Greek author of the translation of the Periplus is entirely absent from the text. There is no coda at the end where he identifies himself or even acknowledges that he is transcribing a Punic text into Greek. However, a stylistic analysis can provide some much-needed insight into 29 The debate over whether or not the Punic narrative is Archaic in origin essentially boils down to the question of whether or not the Carthaginians could have made such a journey at the time. While ancient sources such as Herodotus (Histories IV.42) and Strabo (Geographica II.3.4) attest to such journeys around Africa taking place toward the end of the Archaic age, Scholars such as Raymond Many argue that Carthaginians of the Archaic age simply did not have the naval capabilities to handle such a journey (“Le Périple d’Hannon Un Faux Célèbre Concernant Les Navigations Antiques,” Archeologica 37, p. 80). Duane Roller points out that this claim is fairly easily refuted by the archaeological record. Fragments of pottery suggest Carthaginian contact with the western coast of Africa as early as the late seventh/early sixth century B.C.E. (Through the Pillars of Herakles: Greco- Roman Exploration of the Atlantic, p. 32). 30 Blomqvist, The Date and Origin of the Greek Version of Hanno’s Periplus, 12. 11 where this text belongs chronologically. Scholars such as Aly have attempted to argue that the presence of aspects of the text which are not purely Attic mean the Greek translation must be post-Classical, in which case it would not be relevant to the current argument. 31 Jerker Blomqvist, however, explains that a lack of Attic purity does not in and of itself necessitate assigning a later date to the text. Furthermore, he emphasizes the fact that early Greek prose was heavily influenced by poetry. The Periplus, he concludes, shows ample evidence of poetic influence not only in the vocabulary that it employs but in its rhythmic echoes of epic poetry. Such evidence, Blomqvist concludes, allows us to safely consider not just the Punic original but the Greek translation as Archaic in origin. 32 With this in mind, let us turn to the text of the Periplus. While the text itself is quite brief, a close reading reveals a number of fascinating details about the ideas of otherness. Hanno makes a point of detailing, to various degrees of detail, the encounters he and his crew have with the inhabitants of the western coast of Africa and the various islands at which they lay anchor during his journey. In doing so, he demonstrates at least a passing interest in what scholars of classical ethnographic texts would identify as markers of ethnic identity. While the majority of encounters in this narrative are brief by necessity, the final and most famous one is far more fleshed out. This is Hanno’s encounter with the Gorillai. While there is a lot to unpack within this encounter as it relates to questions of identity and physical characteristics, it will be best to start by considering the episode in its entirety. Hanno describes arriving at an island and reports the following, …μεστὴ ἀνθρώπων ἀγρίων. Πολὺ δὲ πλείους ἦσαν γυναῖκες, δασεῖαι τοῖς σώμασιν· ἃς οἱ ἑρμηνέες ἐκάλουν Γορίλ- λας. Διώκοντες δὲ ἄνδρας μὲν συλλαβεῖν οὐκ ἠδυνή- 31 W. Aly, “Die Entdeckung Des Westens,” Hermes 62 (1927): 299–341, 485–89. 32 Blomqvist, The Date and Origin of the Greek Version of Hanno’s Periplus, 45–50. 12 θημεν, ἀλλὰ πάντες (μὲν) ἐξέφυγον, κρημνοβάται ὄντες καὶ τοῖς πέτροις ἀμυνόμενοι, γυναῖκας δὲ τρεῖς, αἳ δάκνουσαί τε καὶ σπαράττουσαι τοὺς ἄγοντας οὐκ ἤθελον ἕπεσθαι. Ἀποκτείναντες μέντοι αὐτὰς ἐξεδεί- ραμεν καὶ τὰς δορὰς ἐκομίσαμεν εἰς Καρχηδόνα. [it was] full of wild men. And there were very many women, they had hairy bodies who the interpreter called Gorillai. Having pursued them we were not able to take the men, for they all fled, being steep climbers and warding us off with rocks, but [we captured] three women, who both biting and scratching the leaders were unwilling to come. Thus, having killed them we skinned them and carried of the skins to Carthage. 33 The initial description of these peoples indicates that they are anthropoi agrioi (wild men). That Hanno explicitly marks them as anthropoi, human beings, may seem insignificant but the full implications of this assignation will reveal itself in due time. For the moment, it is enough to say that identifying the Gorillai as anthropoi makes the remainder of the episode particularly bizarre. Beyond their behavior or any other marker of ethnicity, this particular group of African inhabitants is very easily identified by one characteristic. They are “δασεῖαι τοῖς σώμασιν” (hairy on their bodies). The mention of this hair is different from the way that Xenophanes mentions the hair of Thracians. Here, hairiness is an object of fascination or curiosity. So much so that it causes Hanno and his men to resort to an act of supreme brutality. Having captured three of the females, he admits that, “ἀποκτείναντες μέντοι αὐτὰς ἐξεδεί/ραμεν καὶ τὰς δορὰς ἐκομίσαμεν εἰς Καρχηδόνα” (thus having killed them we skinned them and carried the skins off to Carthage). It is the hairiness of the Gorillai combined with the resulting actions by the Carthaginians that problematizes the idea that they are anthropoi. Were these wild and hairy folks actually human? It is on this point that so many scholars are at odds with one another. After all, what does it say about Hanno and his men (and Carthaginians, in general) if they killed and skinned humans as one might a trophy animal? 33 Hanno, Periplus Hannonis, §18. 13 The argument, weak as it may be, that these inhabitants are animals and not humans is based not just on their hairy appearance but also that the Lixitai, a group that Hanno encounters earlier on, identify them as Gorillai. This word will eventually become the English word gorilla, referring to a member of the great ape family. On its own, this does not prove that Hanno and his men were dealing with animals. After all, Ashford points out that “it is impossible to be sure if the gorillai should be identified as a forgotten breed of hominid or with the species later designated as such.” 34 However, in addition to their name, Oikonomides makes two points that he feels makes the case for Hanno, in this episode, encountering not humans but animals. First, he explains, [j]ust as a traveler today seeing a herd of wild elephants for the first time might be unable to distinguish between males and females, or might confuse the African elephants before him with the Indian elephants in the zoo at home, so these Carthaginians were probably unable to tell whether these strange hairy creatures were primitive humans or merely ‘humanlike,’ or to distinguish between the sexes… 35 While he does go onto concede that the Carthaginians could have discerned the gender after apprehending and killing the females, he argues that this conflicts with the earlier observation of the males fighting so hard and escaping capture. What this argument seems to lose sight of is that the Periplus is, at the end of the day, a narrative. As such, the rearrangement of details, including at what point certain information became available, could come down to mere artistic flourish. In addition, Oikonomides argues that these must be animals because the high level of culture that existed in Carthage would not permit such an act of violence against a human. 36 The problem with this is twofold. First, he may be influenced here by his own discomfort with the idea of 34 David Ashford, “Gorillas in the House of Light,” The Cambridge Quarterly 40, no. 3 (2011): 206. 35 Al. N. Oikonomides, Hanno the Carthaginian: Periplus or Circumnavigation [of Africa]: Greek Text with Facing English Translation, Commentary, Notes and Facsimile of Codex Palatinus Gr. 398 (Chicago: Ares Publishers Inc., 1970), 36. 36 Oikonomides, Hanno the Carthaginian, 36. 14 human skins being displayed as trophies. Second, and more importantly, this does not allow for the possibility that because of their physical/cultural differences with the Gorillai, the Carthaginians may not have considered them to be equals, despite being anthropoi. In order to understand the argument for why the Gorillai should be understood as humans, we must first consider the other encounters that Hanno describes. The Periplus is more concise in how it details Hanno’s other encounters. Nevertheless, these meetings play an important role in understanding the Gorillai episode. Hanno’s first major interaction with the inhabitants of the west African coast is with the Lixitai. These same Lixitai are the ones who provide the name Gorillai at the end of the text. Of these men, Hanno records, … παρὰ δ' αὐτὸν νομάδες ἄνθρωποι Λιξῖται βοσκήματ' ἔνεμον, παρ' οἷς ἐμείναμεν ἄχρι τινὸς, φίλοι γενόμενοι. and by [the river] nomadic men, the Lixitai, were grazing cattle, among whom we tarried for some time, becoming friends. 37 A few significant details are worth remarking upon here. First and foremost, these are certainly anthropoi. That this is also the word Hanno uses of the Gorillai suggests that not only are the Lixitai and Carthaginians of the same species, so too are the Gorillai. Additionally, we learn that these men, whom the Carthaginians are able to befriend, are distinct from them (and Greeks) in that they are nomadic. A further difference is revealed later when Hanno and his men are preparing to continue their journey. The leader details part of their preparations thusly, “λαβόντες δὲ παρ' αὐτῶν ἑρμηνέας” (taking interpreters from them). 38 Not only must there be a language barrier between the Carthaginians and the inhabitants of the western Africa but also the Lixitai, or at least some of them, are, at the very least, tri-lingual. 37 Hanno, Periplus Hannonis, §6.1-4. 38 Hanno, Periplus Hannonis, §8.1. 15 This productive meeting with the culturally distinct Lixitai is then followed by a very different kind of encounter. The next people that Hanno comes across are the Ethiopians. Unlike Xenophanes, Hanno does not mention them in order to make a point about religious practices though. Still residing among the Lixitai, Hanno, remarking upon other nearby inhabitants, records, “τούτων δὲ καθύπερθεν Αἰθίοπες ᾤκουν ἄξενοι,/γῆν νεμόμενοι θηριώδη, διειλημμένην ὄρεσι μεγάλοις” (and above them the inhospitable Ethiopians were living, inhabiting a land full of wild beasts, cut off by great mountains). 39 While the Lixitai are nomads, and the Carthaginians are city-dwellers, as is clear from the mission of the trip, the Ethiopians live in a settled but untamed land. This is suggested by the specific verb “ᾤκουν” which is used explicitly of colonized areas. 40 Therefore, at least in terms of habitation, we are dealing with three distinct groups. That these Ethiopians are explicitly axenoi, which contradicts the tradition that we will find in Homer in which the Ethiopians are a model of hospitality, is worth remarking upon as well. The precise implications are revealed later in the narrative when Hanno and his men depart from Kerne, ἣν πᾶσαν κατῴκουν Αἰθίοπες φεύγοντες ἡμᾶς καὶ οὐχ ὑπομένοντες· ἀσύ- νετα δ' ἐφθέγγοντο καὶ τοῖς μεθ' ἡμῶν Λιξίταις. which the Ethiopians entirely populated fleeing us and not waiting; and they spoke incomprehensibly to the Lixitai with us. 41 Thus, it is not merely that the Ethiopians did not befriend Hanno and his crew, they actively shunned them. They are, however, willing to communicate with the Lixitai. While the author does not provide the particular reason for the different treatment that the groups recieve, one could imagine that there was something about the Lixitai that made them more approachable 39 Hanno, Periplus Hannonis, §6.5-6. 40 Beekes s.v. οἶκος. 41 Hanno, Periplus Hannonis, §11.2-4. 16 than the Carthaginians. Although the text does not explicitly say what that might be, this interaction does suggest that there are degrees of difference. That is to say, in place of a strict binary opposition, Hanno is establishing that there is not a single, monolithic other and instead there are various others, some more similar to the Carthaginians and some less so. In this way, oppositional and aggregative modes of identity formation are working in tandem. Even in such a brief space, the narrator has clearly communicated that there are three ethnically distinct groups interacting with one another. Such details do not serve the mission of the text. As such, they must be understood as signaling an interest in observing and noting how the various communities in western Africa differ from the Carthaginians and one another. In addition to the groups that are specifically named, the Periplus also describes a handful of other peoples inhabiting western Africa who never receive any name. Despite the fact that they are unidentified, the means by which they are made unique are still worth considering. Approximately midway through the journey, having passed through the river Chretes, the Carthaginians arrive at a lake surrounded by mountains which was “μεστὰ ἀνθρώπων ἀγρίων, δέρματα θήρεια ἐνημμένων” (full of wild men, wearing animal hides). 42 While described quite succinctly, these anthropoi are still distinct both in their explicit description as agrioi, much like the Gorillai, as well as in the unique manner in which they clothe themselves. It must be emphasized, here, that this distinction is not only relative to the Carthaginians but to all the peoples encountered thus far. Later, having arrived at an island within the Horn of the West, Hanno recounts his crew’s night experience thusly, καὶ φωνὴν αὐλῶν ἠκούομεν κυμβάλων τε καὶ τυμπάνων πάταγον καὶ κραυγὴν μυρίαν. Φόβος οὖν ἔλαβεν ἡμᾶς, καὶ οἱ μάντεις ἐκέλευον ἐκλείπειν τὴν νῆσον 42 Hanno, Periplus Hannonis, §9.6. 17 And we heard the sound of pipes and cymbals and the crash of drums and a great shouting. So fear took us, and the prophets ordered us to leave the island. 43 What makes this method of marking this particular group of unnamed inhabitants unusual is that it relies on music. Generally speaking, music, and the arts as a whole, are a sign of culture and civilization. The adverse reaction the Carthaginians experience upon hearing it suggests that the culture is being performed incorrectly. Up until now, the various groups that Hanno and his men encountered have either been hospitable or inhospitable. Here, though, we see that Hanno is conceiving of good and bad cultures based on no interaction, no hostility, just perception. This kind of value judgement could, perhaps, be read as the seeds of the kind of ethnographic discourse that will become popular in texts of the Classical age and later. All of these encounters demonstrate a clear interest from the author in cataloguing the behaviors and customs of the peoples that he met on his travels in order to explain what made them distinct not only from his men but also each other. As such, they certainly demonstrate an interest in defining ethnic identity to a degree. With similar brevity, the author of the Periplus also signals an interest in using physical characteristics as a mode of indicating group identity. Following the encounter with the Lixitai, Hanno spots another group of inhabitants. Though he does not interact with them, he does provide the following description, “περὶ δὲ τὰ ὄρη κατοικεῖν/ἀνθρώπους ἀλλοιομόρφους, Τρωγλοδύτας” (and around the mountains strangely formed men live, cavemen). 44 Just like many of the previously cited examples of ethnographic interest, the author here is explicit that he is again discussing anthropoi when he assigns them the unique practice of living in caves. The difference is, instead of then singling them out with a geographical marker, this group is singled out by how they appear. They are troglodytes. By 43 Hanno, Periplus Hannonis, §14.7-10. 44 Hanno, Periplus Hannonis, §7.3-4. 18 positioning this group among the “various ethnics,” to borrow M.L. West’s expression, Hanno signals that this group should be treated similarly. Admittedly, this is a single and brief example. With this sustained interest in cataloguing anthropoi, Hanno takes no such similar interest in flora or fauna, in mind, let us now return to the question of whether or not the Gorillai are humans. For those who would like to argue that the Gorillai are humans, they can start with the name. As Hanno himself reports, this is not a Punic name but the name the translators give the hairy folk. In fact, it has been argued that it is related to gorku (and its dimunitive, gorel) which means man in Fulani, the language of one of the largest ethnic groups inhabiting western and central Africa. 45 While this is certainly an interesting point, on its own it is not much more compelling than the argument that the Gorillai are apes because of the connection to the English word. Moreover, it seems that arguments on either side of the question of whether the Gorillai were humans or animals are missing the more important issue. Their actual biology is far less significant than how Hanno and his men perceived them and hoped the readers would perceive them. To this point, there is one clue in the text, aside from the use of the word anthropoi, which is worth considering. What if the hairiness is not merely a physical indicator of identity but also the final step in a succession myth of sorts. If we recall the initial encounter with the Ethiopians, Hanno describes them as “γῆν νεμόμενοi θηριώδη” (inhabiting a land full of wild beasts). 46 Furthermore, we can recall the men who lived beyond the river Chretes, “ἀνθρώπων ἀγρίων, δέρματα θήρεια ἐνημμένων” (wild men wearing animal hides). 47 If we read the Gorillai as the third part of this triad, we get an image of increasingly wild peoples as Hanno’s journey 45 Ashford, “Gorillas in the House of Light,” 206. 46 Hanno, Periplus Hannonis, §7.2 47 Hanno, Periplus Hannonis, §9.6. 19 continues farther along the African coast. He goes from seeing people who live with beasts, to seeing people who wear beasts, to, finally, seeing people who resemble beasts. In other words, Hanno intentionally orders these encounters in order to paint the picture of a journey into deeper and deeper Africa. A journey that takes him farther from Carthage not just geographically but culturally as well. The Gorillai then mark the apex of this journey and, as such, are depicted as being the least human, where most human is Carthaginian. The skins he brings back then serve as proof of the devolution that exists at the boundaries of the Carthaginian world. A further clue that we are meant to understand the Gorillai as human lies in the way this episode has been echoed by later authors. There are a number of examples but for the purposes of this project, let us consider just one. Pomponius Mela was a first century C.E. Roman geographer. Like the Periplus of Hanno, Pomponius Mela’s work became a trusted resource for later geographers for as much as 1500 years. 48 As part of his description of the areas around the Persian Gulf, he writes, ab his quae diximus ad sinum Persicum, nisi ubi Chelonophagi morantur, deserta sunt. In ipso Carmanii <in> navigantium dextera positi sine veste ac fruge, sine pecore ac sedibus piscium cute se velant, carne vescuntur, praeter capita toto corpore hirsuti from these places, which we have described, to the Persian Gulf, except where the Tortoise-Eaters tarry, are deserted places. On the gulf itself the Carmani are located on the right side of those sailing in. They are without clothing and fruit, without flock or homes. They dress themselves in fish skins, they eat meat, and their whole bodies are covered in hair except for their heads. 49 Unlike the episode with the Gorillai, there is no question that human beings are being written about in this excerpt. There are a number of notable similarities between the way the Carmani are described here and the way the various peoples in Hanno’s Periplus are described. They are 48 George Kish, A Source Book in Geography, 3rd ed. (London: Thomas Tegg, 1824), 284. 49 Pomponius Mela, De Chorographia, ed. G. Ranstrand (Stockholm: Almquist & Wiksell, 1971), III.75. 20 nomadic, they are carnivores, and they wear only dead animal skins, fish as opposed to game in this case. Most importantly, though, they are almost entirely covered in hair. As with the Periplus, the actual biology is not of central importance. What matters is that centuries after Hanno wrote his narrative, non-fiction sources are continuing to report the existence of humans in Africa who are collectively unique because of their hairy bodies. If what we find in Xenophanes is a concise claim that different groups of people have different appearances that can be used to identify them, in Hanno we get a more sustained interest in what distinguishes different groups of people. This exploration may not be as neat or systematized as what Xenophanes presents but its focus on various behaviors does suggest an interest in documenting the various ethnic/cultural groups. Furthermore, the presence of some physical markers suggests that for Hanno, while appearance might not have been a surefire way to classify peoples, it was certainly a possibility. Turning our focus to even earlier texts will undoubtedly shed light on whether such interests are born from the Carthaginian original alone or if the already existed in the Greek world. The final texts that we will consider in this chapter are actually the earliest of the group, the epics of Homer. These poems are a logical place to end because the Iliad and Odyssey are among the most commonly cited texts by those trying to argue that concern for identity issues, let alone the use of physical markers to signal identity, did not exist in the pre-Classical world. 50 Homer is also a logical place to conclude from a purely chronological point. There was a time when the poems were dated close to the twelfth century B.C.E., around the same time as the Trojan war itself. 51 This means they would have predated the Archaic age. More recently, M.L. 50 Hall, Inventing the Barbarian: Greek Self-Definition Through Tragedy, 40. 51 M.L. West, The Making of the Iliad: Disquisition & Analytical Commentary (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), 14. 21 West, through a combined analysis of art and literature, establishes a terminus ante quem of 630 B.C.E. and, based on passages that suggest a familiarity with Hesiod, a terminus post quem of the seventh century B.C.E. 52 This situates the Homeric epics as the earliest of the texts considered here while still making them close enough contemporaries to trace back ideas about identity and physical markers. Before even considering what it is that the Homeric epics have to say about identity, we can begin to dismantle one of the more frequently given explanations for why these texts can be ignored in discussions of identity. The reason we are able to do this is because explanation relies solely on the absence of specific language as its proof. Scholars such as Edith Hall argue that the Homeric epics cannot possibly demonstrate an interest in considering Greek versus barbarian identity because the term barbarian does not appear in the poems even once. 53 Setting aside for a moment the fact that the Carians make such a claim tenuous at best, let us unpack this a bit. At its core, the Iliad is the story of the Greeks fighting the Trojans. Similarly, Herodotus’ Histories is the story of the Greeks fighting the Persians and Thucydides’ Histories is the story of the Delian league going to war with the Peloponnesian league. Both of these Classical age writers explicitly position the opposition of Ἕλληνες (Greeks) and the βάρβαροι (barbarians) at the beginning of their works. 54 No such explicit oppositional language exists in Homer in spite of this core similarity. For some, this is ample evidence that the Archaic Greeks had no interest in constructing their identity in response to otherness. In response to this, we must remember that the lack of terminology is not sufficient evidence for the lack of an idea. Additionally, and 52 West, The Making of the Iliad, 17. For a more in-depth discussion of West’s justification for his date range see pages 15-27. 53 Hall, Inventing the Barbarian: Greek Self-Definition Through Tragedy, 15. 54 Herodotus, Historiae, I.1; Thucydides, Historiae (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1942), I.1.2. 22 perhaps more significantly, a close reading of the Iliad demonstrates that to suggest a complete lack of this type of terminology is not entirely accurate. Although Hall is absolutely correct that at no point in the Iliad or Odyssey does Homer mention barbaroi or describe any character as barbarous, she fails to account for compounds of this word. Following the catalogue of ships, which we shall address shortly, Homer enumerates the various Trojan contingents in the catalogue of Trojans. 55 Within this brief list of the forces opposing the Greeks are the Carians, about whom Homer writes, “Νάστης αὖ Καρῶν ἡγήσατο βαρβαροφώνων (And Nastes led the barbarophonoi Carians). 56 This word, “βαρβαροφώνων,” which seems to originate with Homer, appears nowhere else in either poem and must mean that the Carians did not speak Greek. 57 It is significant that Homer uses it explicitly to mark a group on the Trojan side because, in suggesting that the Carian language is barbarous, for lack of a better word, it implicitly marks the Greek language, Homer’s language and the language of the readers, as the opposite. The prefix “βαρβαρ-” can, perhaps, be traced back to the Old Indic “balbalā” which connotes a stammer. 58 Julius Pokorny suggests it also carries the meaning of “childish” or “simple.” Thus, the language of the Carians is marked not just as non-Greek but also of poorer quality. While Joseph Skinner is probably correct that it would be anachronistic to look for the Greek versus barbarian dichotomy in either the Iliad or the Odyssey, this can be read at least as a seed of that idea. 59 In other words, Homer is drawing attention to the fact the Greeks are distinct from the Trojans, or at least their allies, the Carians, in terms of their superior language. It is true that cultural features such as language do not, in the end, define an ethnic 55 Homer, Iliad, ed. T.W. Allen (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1963), II.816-877. 56 Homer, Iliad, II.867. 57 G.S. Kirk, ed., The Iliad: A Commentary, vol. 1 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985), 260. 58 Manfred Mayrhofer, Etymologisches Wörterbuch Des Altindoarischen, vol. 2 (Heidelberg: C. Winter, 1996), 217–18. 59 Skinner, The Invention of Greek Ethnography: From Homer to Herodotus, 50. 23 group. That said, we do know that at least by the time of Herodotus, shared language was considered a force that united Greeks and distinguished them from non-Greeks. 60 So, at the very least, I think we must understand the deployment of this word here to signal not only an awareness of the types of things that distinguished the Greeks from non-Greeks but also an interest in highlighting such differences. The fact that it is done in passing should not diminish its significance. After all, what we are concerned with here is the development of ideas over time. This shows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Edith Hall was too sweeping with her claim that epic poems lack the narrative space for ethnographic discourse. 61 In fact, further evidence of this can be found in the passage that immediately precedes the list of Trojan forces. Another commonly cited portion of these epics that scholars have painted with too broad a brush when it comes to the issue of identity is the famous catalogue of ships that comes before the Trojan catalogue. 62 This catalogue, which comprises over 250 lines and identifies over thirty different contingents that sail to Troy, seems like it would be fertile ground for the poet to include characteristics that differentiate the various groups. The fact that Homer does not provide this information is read as evidence that defining ethnic identity was of no concern for the poet or his audience. While M.L. West does refer to the different groups named within the catalogue as “various ethnics,” the individuating details given are largely simple geographical identifiers such as Boeotian or Locrian and any more specific information is strictly about the leader of each ship. 63 This hardly meets the standards for the definition of ethnicity presented at the beginning of this chapter. Additionally, West points out that this list is not complete and some of the parties 60 Herodotus, Historiae, ed. PH.-E. Legrand (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1984), VIII.144. 61 Hall, Inventing the Barbarian: Greek Self-Definition Through Tragedy, 40. 62 Homer, Iliad, II.494-759. 63 West, The Making of the Iliad, 113. 24 it mentions never appear in the poem again. 64 In other words, the absence of more specific ethnographic detail cannot be explained by line or metrical constraints. It must be understood purely as authorial choice. This approach, however in treating the catalogue as a single chunk of text, fails to identify the significant details a closer reading will reveal. Much like the singular exception within the Trojan catalogue, there is a similar one here and that is the case of the Abantes, who Homer assigns a defining characteristic for the entire group. Unlike the Carians, the Abantes are singled out for reasons of physique. Without this case, the physical descriptions that Homer provides in the catalogue would be limited to the individual. Take for example, Ajax. Of this Locrian leader, Homer writes, Λοκρῶν δ᾽ ἡγεμόνευεν Ὀϊλῆος ταχὺς Αἴας μείων, οὔ τι τόσος γε ὅσος Τελαμώνιος Αἴας ἀλλὰ πολὺ μείων: ὀλίγος μὲν ἔην λινοθώρηξ, and Ajax the lesser, the swift son of Oïleus, was leading the Locrians, in no way as great as Telemonian Ajax but rather diminished; he was small and garbed in linen. 65 While Homer is clear that he is marking Locrian Ajax by his height, it is only in regard to Telamonian Ajax. In other words, this cannot be read as a statement about the height of all Locrians nor as an indication that height was a means by which Locrians were generally identified by other Greeks. The case of the Abantes, however, is noticeably different. Close on the heels of the Locrians, the Abantes are introduced, led by Elephenor. About these men, Homer writes, “τῷ δ᾽ ἅμ᾽ Ἄβαντες ἕποντο θοοὶ ὄπιθεν κομόωντες” (and the swift Abantes with their long hair at the back followed with [Elphenor]). 66 The poet is making the Abantes, as a group, identifiable by a particular physical characteristic, long hair. Now, we must tread carefully here. 64 Ibid. 65 Homer, Iliad. II.527-529. 66 Homer, Iliad, II.542. 25 Hair length itself is not a marker of ethnic identity. Furthermore, hair length is not a heritable characteristic in so far as most people can grow their hair long should they choose to do so. For this reason, this is not quite the same as when Xenophanes identifies Thracians by their hair color, which is genetic. Nevertheless, this does suggest that physical characteristics, even if they were simply ones that people could choose to adopt, were an acceptable way of signaling belonging to a group. Moreover, if we continue to pursue the way in which Homer treats characters’ hair, some interesting things will reveal themselves about the connection between physical characteristics and identity. Anyone who has read either poem will already be well-versed with the many formulaic epithets that Homer deploys throughout the epics. More often than not, these epithets focus on a unique physical aspect of a given character. Dawn, for instance, is often referred to as “ῥοδοδάκτυλος” (rosy-fingered). 67 Athena is introduced as “γλαυκῶπις” (grey-eyed) over fifty times in the Odyssey alone. 68 Some epithets, however, are shared by more than one character and that is precisely what we see with regards to long hair. In addition to the Abantes, Homer also marks the Achaeans similarly, writing “κομόωντες Ἀχαιοί” (long-haired Achaeans) 69 Additionally, he describes the Trojan Paris’ hair as follows, “ἀμφὶ δὲ χαῖται/ὤμοις ἀΐσσονται” (and his flowing hair flutters around his shoulders). 70 What is particularly interesting here is that long hair seems to mark characters on both the Greek and the Trojan side. Therefore, it cannot be signifying a specific ethnic group. It does, however, certainly stand as a signpost to mark a certain class of characters, heroes. 71 At the very least, it seems that within the Homeric epics 67 For examples, see Iliad I.458, VI.156, IX.669, XXIII.93, and XXIV.776 68 For examples, see Odyssey I.44, I.178, III.102, XV.265, and XX.44 69 Homer, Iliad, II.323. 70 Homer, Iliad, VI.509-510. 71 Lloyd Llewellyn-Jones, “Hair,” in The Homer Encyclopedia, vol. 2 (Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2011), 327. 26 there is evidence that physical markers were employed to mark off particular groups. If we continue to consider hair in these poems, we can develop these ideas even further. In addition to remarking on the length of individuals’ hair, Homer also remarks on its color, a heritable characteristic. One of the most common adjectives that Homer uses to indicate hair color across both poems is “ξανθός” (yellow). In fact, this word appears 23 times in the Iliad and nineteen times in the Odyssey. 72 In the majority of the instances in which this word appears, it is deployed in order to describe the hair of either Menelaos, Achilles, Odysseus, or groups of Greek warriors. What makes this even more meaningful is that it is never used of Trojan warriors. So, while Paris’ and Hector’s hair may have been long and flowing like the Greek heroes, it is described explicitly as “κυάνεαι” (dark) 73 While hair length may be something that can be controlled, hair color is certainly genetic (assuming it is not dyed). Homer and his audience must have understood that hair color was something that parents could pass down to their children through generations. Moreover, they could have observed that yellow different hair colors were more prevalent in some areas than others. As such, I propose reading Homer’s sweeping but precise statements about the quality of Greek hair versus non-Greek hair as evidence that at some level yellow color was understood by his readers as a particularly Greek trait. Although, much of our focus has been on the Iliad thus far, when considering the two poems, it stands to reason that the Odyssey, a poem that O.A.W. Dilke refers to as a sort of periplus, would be more fertile ground for ethnographic discourse. After all, this is a poem that is centered around “wanderings outside the Greek world.” 74 However, much in the same way that 72 Of these 42 instances of “ξανθός,” all but two of them refer to human hair. The two exceptions are Iliad IX.407 and XI.680. 73 Homer, Iliad, XXII.402. 74 O.A.W. Dilke, Greek and Roman Maps (Ithaca, New York: Cornell University Press, 1985), 131. 27 the Iliad lacks the extended excerpts about foreigners that one might think they would find in a war narrative when compared to those of the Classical and Hellenistic ages, the Odyssey does not, at first glance offer as much ethnographic discourse as one might expect in such a narrative. This is especially true in light of the poem’s opening which, describing Odysseus, claims that “πολλῶν δ᾽ ἀνθρώπων ἴδεν ἄστεα καὶ νόον ἔγνω” (he saw the townlands/and learned the minds of many distant men). 75 However, as has already been hinted at, perhaps the error lies in our expectations based on works born out of an entirely different set of circumstances. There is one example in the Odyssey that certainly qualifies as an ethnographic digression and that is the episode concerning Odysseus’ encounter with Polyphemus and the cyclopes. Having arrived among the Phaeacians, Odysseus is welcomed into the court of Alcinous. Following a series of games and a feast, Odysseus is compelled to tell the gathered banqueters of his travels. What follows, in books nine through twelve, are arguably some of the most memorable episodes of the entire poem, including Odysseus’ time with Circe, his journey to the underworld, and, of course, his encounter with the monstrous Cyclopes. Odysseus provides what turns out to be a fairly comprehensive description of these people to the Phaeacians. 76 The fact that Odysseus is the speaker here is key because as narrator, the views expressed are a direct reflection of his own identity. 77 Odysseus says, ἔνθεν δὲ προτέρω πλέομεν ἀκαχήμενοι ἦτορ: Κυκλώπων δ᾽ ἐς γαῖαν ὑπερφιάλων ἀθεμίστων ἱκόμεθ᾽, οἵ ῥα θεοῖσι πεποιθότες ἀθανάτοισιν οὔτε φυτεύουσιν χερσὶν φυτὸν οὔτ᾽ ἀρόωσιν, 75 Homer, Odyssey, I.3. 76 There has been much ink spilled since this poem’s composition concerning how truthful Odysseus is during his time as the internal narrator. The second century C.E. satirist Lucian, in his Verae Historiae, remarks “ἀρχηγὸς δὲ αὐτοῖς καὶ διδάσκαλος τῆς τοιαύτης βωμολοχίας ὁ τοῦ Ὁμήρου Ὀδυσσεύς” (Homer’s Odysseus is the originator and master of this sort of narrative mendacity) (VH I.3). Odysseus’ trustworthiness is not a concern for this discussion, though. Much like the author of the Periplus of Hanno, what matters is what Odysseus wanted his audience to understand, regardless of the truth value. 77 Mieke Bal, Narratology: Introduction to the Theory of Narrative, Second Edition (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1997), 19. 28 ἀλλὰ τά γ᾽ ἄσπαρτα καὶ ἀνήροτα πάντα φύονται, πυροὶ καὶ κριθαὶ ἠδ᾽ ἄμπελοι, αἵ τε φέρουσιν οἶνον ἐριστάφυλον, καί σφιν Διὸς ὄμβρος ἀέξει. τοῖσιν δ᾽ οὔτ᾽ ἀγοραὶ βουληφόροι οὔτε θέμιστες, ἀλλ᾽ οἵ γ᾽ ὑψηλῶν ὀρέων ναίουσι κάρηνα ἐν σπέσσι γλαφυροῖσι, θεμιστεύει δὲ ἕκαστος παίδων ἠδ᾽ ἀλόχων, οὐδ᾽ ἀλλήλων ἀλέγουσιν. and from there we sailed onward although we grieved in our hearts. And we arrived at the overbearing and lawless Cyclopes, who because they trust in the immortal gods neither nurture plants with their hands nor do they plough, but all these things come forth without planting and ploughing, wheat and barley and grapevines which bear wine made of fine grapes, and the rain of Zeus grows this for them. And for them there are neither counseling assemblies nor laws but instead they dwell upon the peaks of lofty mountains in hollow caves, and each one governs his own children and wives and they do not have a care for one another. 78 In providing such a description of Cyclopes, Odysseus addresses aspects of their laws (or lack thereof), religious practices, lifestyle, community organization, and family structure. While many of these aspects mark them as “uncivilized creatures, who constitute a possible threat to the hero and his companions,” Odysseus is also emphatic about their piety. 79 To this characterization, Odysseus adds the following additional information, οὐ γὰρ Κυκλώπεσσι νέες πάρα μιλτοπάρῃοι, οὐδ᾽ ἄνδρες νηῶν ἔνι τέκτονες, οἵ κε κάμοιεν νῆας ἐυσσέλμους, αἵ κεν τελέοιεν ἕκαστα ἄστε᾽ ἐπ᾽ ἀνθρώπων ἱκνεύμεναι, οἷά τε πολλὰ ἄνδρες ἐπ᾽ ἀλλήλους νηυσὶν περόωσι θάλασσαν: οἵ κέ σφιν καὶ νῆσον ἐυκτιμένην ἐκάμοντο. for the Cyclopes have at hand no ships with red cheeks, nor men who are workers on ships who could build well-decked ships, which should accomplish all tasks, arriving at the cities of men, as often as men sail the seas on ships to one another—builders who also could make the island nice to dwell in for them. 80 78 Homer, Odyssey, IX.105-115. 79 Pura Nieto Hernández, “Cyclopes,” in The Homer in Cyclopedia, vol. 1, 3 vols. (Oxford: Wiley- Blackwell, 2011), 186–87. 80 Homer, Odyssey, IX.125-130. 29 It is evident that not only are the Cyclopes unlike the Greeks in almost every aspect of their society but also that they shun engaging in commerce and traveling for the sake of visiting far off peoples. They are explicitly disinterested in such pursuits. Something he specifically mentions as something most men are wont to do. The sum of these descriptions is to cast the Cyclopes as wholly unlike the Achaeans or the Phaeacians. All the while though, the poem is very clear that they are still men, referring to them as anthropoi on more than one occasion. 81 Every detail that Odysseus provides serves not only to describe a whole group of people that he encountered but it is framed in such a way as to also define himself implicitly and his comrades. The Polyphemus episode takes things still a step further. Cyclopes have a long history in Greek literature and art. Homer was not the first to make mention of them. Throughout all the various places the Cyclopes appear, their most defining characteristic is, of course, their single eye. This tradition dates back to the Archaic age with Hesiod writing, γείνατο δ᾽ αὖ Κύκλωπας ὑπέρβιον ἦτορ ἔχοντας, Βρόντην τε Στερόπην τε καὶ Ἄργην ὀβριμόθυμον, οἳ Ζηνὶ βροντήν τε δόσαν τεῦξάν τε κεραυνόν and furthermore, she gave birth to the Cyclopes who had lawless hearts, both Brontes and Steropes and also strong spirited Arges, who gave to Zeus thunder and made the thunderbolt. And they were similar to gods in all other ways but only one eye was set in the middle of their foreheads. 82 While Homer himself never explicitly describes this aspect of their appearance, a case can still be made that in the episode with the Cyclopes, we have evidence for a heritable characteristic signaling ethnic identity. After all the word “κύκλωψ” literally means “round-eyed,” and Odysseus makes a point of referring to them thusly instead of assigning them a geographic name 81 Homer, Odyssey, IX.165-167 and IX.190-192. 82 Hesiod, Theogony, ed. M.L. West (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1966), 139-141. 30 such as Phaeacian. 83 Furthermore, in the entirety of the Odysseus’ narration of the blinding of Polyphemus, he only ever refers to the eye (ὀφθαλμός) in the singular. 84 If Polyphemus had two eyes, the fact that Odysseus stabbed one of them would not leave the Cyclops blind, it would leave him with depth perception problems. Thus, simple logic dictates that this reliance on solely the singular indicates that the Cyclopes only had one eye. The example of the Cyclopes may not be the most grounded in reality. Nevertheless, the Cyclopes stand as evidence that, at times at least, a shared, heritable characteristic can signify an entire ethnic group. As this discussion of Archaic texts began with the Ethiopians in Xenophanes, it seems only fitting that it should conclude with the Ethiopians in Homer. After all, this is the lone group that has been featured in all the texts that we have considered. Throughout both poems the characterization of the Ethiopians is more or less consistent. When first introduced, Homer calls them “ἀμύμονας Αἰθιοπῆας” (blameless Ethiopians). 85 As to what exactly makes them blameless, Homer makes clear at the end of the poem, writing, εἶμι γὰρ αὖτις ἐπ᾽ Ὠκεανοῖο ῥέεθρα Αἰθιόπων ἐς γαῖαν, ὅθι ῥέζουσ᾽ ἑκατόμβας ἀθανάτοις, ἵνα δὴ καὶ ἐγὼ μεταδαίσομαι ἱρῶν for I go again upon the streams of Oceanus into the land of the Ethiopians, where they are sacrificing hecatombs to the immortal gods so that I might share in that divine feast as well. 86 The Ethiopians primary role within both poems is to play host to feasts of the gods. 87 In this sense, Homer differentiates the Ethiopians from other characters by means of their piety. Now it must be acknowledged, that when these poems were composed, the term Ethiopian did not 83 LSJ s.v. κύκλωψ 84 Homer, Odyssey, IX.380-460. 85 Homer, Iliad, I.423. 86 Homer, Iliad, XXIII.205-207. 87 See also Odyssey 5.282-287. 31 correspond to the modern geographical Ethiopia but rather the people who lived on the very edges of the known world. 88 Nevertheless, it is clear from the O dy s s e y, that Homer did consider them a settled group, explaining that “Αἰθίοπας τοὶ διχθὰ δεδαίαται, ἔσχατοι ἀνδρῶν,/οἱ μὲν δυσομένου Ὑπερίονος οἱ δ᾽ ἀνιόντος” (the Ethiopians who dwell divided in two, the most distant of men, some dwelling where Hyperion sets and some where he rises). 89 Furthermore, while Homer never explicitly makes any claims about their appearance, Daniel Selden argues that “whether the compound originally meant “burnt-” or (much less likely) “bright-faced”…Greeks of the Archaic period used the epithet to designate people of darker skin tone.” 90 Thus, Homer, by placing these people at the boundaries of the world and naming the Ethiopian, makes an implicit claim that dark skin belongs to those outside of the central Mediterranean. That the Ethiopians in Homer associate most closely with the divine just serves to further amplify the otherness of these dark-skinned. The examination of these texts has revealed much concerning identity construction and physical characteristics in the Archaic age. Looking back to Homer from Xenophanes, we can see a clear interest from the Greeks in crafting oppositional identities. While the texts are not necessarily consistent in how those identities are crafted or what characteristics are most important to highlight, they all, to some degree or other, use the behavior of explicitly non-Greek groups to help define what it means to be Greek. Furthermore, it must be agreed that physical traits, at times, play a role in this. Certainly, by the time Xenophanes is writing, these traits are indisputably heritable, but even those physical characteristics that the earlier texts used, which were not heritable, still suggest an understanding that one could identify group membership 88 J.W. Gardner, “Blameless Ethiopians and Others,” Greece & Rome 24, no. 2 (October 1997): 185. 89 Homer, Odyssey, I.23-24. 90 Daniel L. Selden, “How the Ethiopian Changed His Skin,” Classical Antiquity 32, no. 2 (n.d.): 327–28. 32 based on the appearance of another, at least sometimes. In other words, the far more concrete ideas presented in Xenophanes represent an evolution of those that are found in Homer and further systematized in the Periplus of Hanno. As such, when we turn our attention to literature of the Classical age, we must view it not as the beginning of a brand-new conversation about identity but as a continuation of one that had been ongoing and that will adapt to the new social and political context of the time. 33 Chapter 2 The Classical Age and Beyond: Exploring Identity and Race The previous chapter worked to establish that not only is there substantial literary evidence that Greek intellectuals were curious about the constituent parts of group identity in the Archaic Age but also that those same thinkers were weighing the feasibility of heritable characteristics as a means to mark and distinguish these identities. Because most modern scholars agree that the Greek and barbarian dichotomy is well and truly present in the literature of the Classical Age and beyond, the aim of this chapter is different from that of the previous chapter. While this will not be an encyclopedic catalogue of every point of contact between identity and heritable characteristics in Classical Greek literature. Instead, what follows will present a targeted examination of the various discourses surrounding the aspects of identity and heritable characteristics that are most relevant to Heliodorus’ Aethiopika, as well as the other four ideal Greek romances. While Heliodorus’ novel is endlessly complex and addresses a myriad of issues, there are four topics of particular significance: ancestral homeland, language, barbaroi, and physical appearance. By pursuing these four topics, the following discussion hopes to lay a strong foundation that will enable us to understand two things: first, what kind of ideas were available for the authors of the five ideal Greek romances to draw upon and, second, what makes Heliodorus’ magnum opus so extraordinary within this discourse of race and identity. Before proceeding with the examination, though, let us address two issues regarding the organization of this chapter. It, perhaps, goes without saying that often the passages that we will 34 examine will touch on more than one of the aforementioned topics simultaneously. For the sake of clarity, an effort will be made to isolate the issues but in cases where that is not possible, the excerpts will be grouped into the section that is most relevant. 91 Additionally, in order to foreground these discussions, each section will be prefaced with a brief examination of these same issues in Heliodorus’ novel. While chapter four will provide a much deeper, analytical look at the Aethiopika, this overview aims to contextualize the texts that follow and elucidate why the specific texts and passages have been singled out. Ancestral Homeland Like nearly all of the other Greek novels (Daphnis and Chloe by Longus being the lone exception), a sea voyage that takes the young couple far from home and their struggle to return is central to the action of the Aethiopika. In light of this forced separation from one’s home, it should come as no surprise that questions surrounding the importance of one’s ancestral homeland are raised in the novel. Certainly, throughout Heliodorus’ novel, the author draws attention to the perceived value of the Greek homeland for its various residents. However, the author also seems to destabilize this position in a few ways and, in the novel’s conclusion, calls into question the entire idea of the importance of one’s homeland. Despite beginning his novel in Egypt, or perhaps as a result of that choice, Heliodorus establishes the implied value of having a legitimate claim to the Greek homeland early on in his narrative. While the ways in which he achieves this are varied, a particularly effective means of 91 Because the world of the ancient novel models itself on the Classical model and these are the texts which Heliodorus most often draws from, texts from the Classical Age will make up the core of our exploration. Later texts will also be considered though in order to show development of ideas or changes. 35 conveying this idea is through exploiting exile as an exceptionally pitiful form of punishment. Knemmon, the Greek captive that Charikleia and Theagenes meet in the bandit camp, for example, explains his presence in Egypt by telling the couple “κἀγὼ μὲν οὕτως ἐξηλαυνόμην ἑστίας τε πατρῴας καὶ τῆς ἐνεγκούσης” (and thus I was banished both from the familial hearth and my native land). 92 He makes this claim on the heels of narrating his life story, a story which is nearly indistinguishable from the plot of Euripides’ Hippolytus. As for the Phaedra character in Knemmon’s life, he continues, “τὴν δὲ εὐθὺς Ἐρινύες ἤλαυνον” (and straightaway the Furies chased after [Demainete]). 93 Heliodorus’ readers surely could not miss the parallel between this story and Euripides’ tragedy and, from this initial connection, the reference to “Ἐρινύες” (furies) would also bring to mind another famous play, Aeschylus’ Eumenides. By exploiting the tragic tradition in such an overt way, Heliodorus makes clear that being forced from a Greek home, in particular, is a cause for lamentations and rending of clothes. Of course, the cachet attached to claiming Greece as one’s homeland is made apparent in ways other than punitive. Evoking models found not only in Greek tragedies but also more traditional ethnographic digressions found in historiographic texts, Heliodorus exploits the specific citizenship claims made by various characters throughout his novel. Charikleia explains to Thyamis, “γένος μέν ἐσμεν Ἴωνες, Ἐφεσίων δὲ τὰ πρῶτα γεγονότες” (in regard to race, we are Ionians, having been born to Ephesian aristocracy and with both our parents alive). 94 Clearly, Charikleia is aware of the weight of this claim, even in a foreign land. While being from Greece is certainly valuable, Heliodorus adds more nuance to the picture and makes it clear that even within claims of Greekness, one can make stronger and weaker claims. Perhaps nowhere in the 92 Heliodorus, Héliodore: Les Éthiopiques (Théagene et Chariclée), ed. R.M. Rattenbury, T.W. Lumb, and J. Maillon (Paris: Les Belles Lettre, 1960), I.14. 93 Ibid. 94 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, I.22. 36 novel is this more evident than in the introduction of the Ainianes. When Knemon asks Charikles who these men are, he responds that “τὸ εὐγενέστατον καὶ ἀκριβῶς Ἑλληνικὸν ἀφ' Ἕλληνος τοῦ Δευκαλίωνος” (in respect to ancestry they are the most well-born and they are Hellenic in the most literal sense, descended from Hellen the son of Deukalion). 95 This is interesting because it underscores the fiction of the monolithic Hellenic identity. By this, I mean that Knemmon’s explanation that a group of people can be more Hellenic than others suggests that there is no such thing as one single Hellenic identity. While Greeks may ally themselves with one another when it is advantageous, they are still aware that different groups exist within the broad umbrella of “Greek” who possess distinct claims to Greekness. Greek characters are not the only ones within the novel to express interest in ancestral homeland, though. While Heliodorus does not focus as much attention on this question as it relates to non-Greeks, he does acknowledge it in a meaningful way. At the beginning of the eighth book of the novel, Heliodorus enters into what best might be described as a geographic digression about the city of Philai. Of the city, he writes, ταύτην ποτὲ φυγάδες Αἰγύπτιοι καταλαβόντες καὶ ἐνοικήσαντες ἀμφίβολον Αἰθίοψί τε καὶ Αἰγυπτίοις κατέστησαν, τῶν μὲν τοῖς καταρράκταις τὴν Αἰθιοπίαν ὁριζομένων, Αἰγυπτίων δὲ καὶ τὰς Φίλας κατὰ τὴν προενοίκησιν τῶν παρ' ἑαυτῶν φυγάδων ὡς ἂν δορυαλώτους ἑαυτοῖς προσνέμειν ἀξιούντων at one time exiles from Egypt seized this land and settled it. It was a matter of dispute between Ethiopians and Egyptians. The former argue that the border of Ethiopian is the cataract. The Egyptians, on the other hand, claimed that Philai was theirs by right because the exiles who originally occupied it amounted to an act of conquest. 96 95 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, II.34. 96 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, VIII.1. 37 This passage is worth considering because it suggests a certain universality to the value placed on not just one’s ancestral homeland but occupying that homeland. It is, in part, this acknowledgement of the universality that makes the ending of the novel so intriguing. The novel ends with Theagenes and Charikleia finding their happily ever after in Meroë, the Ethiopian capital. This stands in stark contrast to the other novels who present the journeys of the protagonists as being circular. A claim made early on in the novel makes this point of distinction all the more unusual. During Kalasiris’ retelling of the first time that Charikles and Theagenes met, he claims, “ οὐκ οἶδα…εἰ τοιούτους εἶδες οἵους αὐτοὺς κατ' ἐκείνην τὴν ἡμέραν ἡ Ἑλλάς τε καὶ ὁ ἥλιος ἐθεάσατο, οὕτω μὲν περιβλέπτους οὕτω δὲ εὐδαιμονιζομένους καὶ τὴν μὲν ἀνδράσι τὸν δὲ γυναιξὶν εὐχὴν γινομένους” (I do not know…if you have seen them in such a way as both Greece and the sun gazed upon them on that day, on the one hand they were so admired by all who saw them and on the other hand deemed blessed, both her as an object of desire for men and him for women). 97 This excerpt suggests that both Theagenes and Charikleia are at their best when they are “home” in Greece. If this is the case, though, how, then, can the ending of novel be a happy one? Of course, Charikleia is returned home. But if Ethiopia is her home, how could she be at her best in Greece? Likewise, Theagenes settling in Meroë suggests he is accepting a life where he will never achieve his full potential. Given these considerations, the mere fact that the ending is undoubtedly happy must call into question the relevance/value of ancestral homeland. While we will hold off from a deeper exploration of Heliodorus for the time being, what these examples do highlight is that the author was invested in exploring what ancestral homeland might mean. 97 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, III.4. 38 While there are traces of interest in ancestral homeland to be found in the literature of the Archaic age, it is during the Classical age when the examination of ancestral homeland as it might relate to identity begins in earnest. Near the end of the Classical Age, Aristotle, in his Politics, asserts “στασιωτικὸν δὲ καὶ τὸ μὴ ὁμόφυλον” (and there is civil strife when there is no shared descent). 98 With these words, Aristotle signals his firmly held belief that, for a society to be at peace, the members of that society must share an ancestral homeland. While some authors, like Aristotle, use words like “ὁμόφυλον” or “αὐτόχθων,” Jonathan Hall explains that we need not understand such wordage as meaning literally born from the land. 99 In the discussion that follows, we can understand such language more broadly where one comes from or even nativity. 100 As Nicole Loreaux explains, while “autochthony” might literally refer to one born from the soil, historians like Herodotus extend this relationship to refer to those who long have occupied any particular location, hence our use of ancestral homeland. 101 While there are a number of Classical texts we could start with in order to contextualize Heliodorus’ approach to ancestral homeland, Herodotus’ detailed account of the Persian Wars is the most appropriate. Not only do the Histories also represent an extended prose narrative but, also like Heliodorus’ Aethiopika, the Histories depict the interaction of Greeks with a variety of different peoples in the ancient Mediterranean. Historiography 98 Aristotle, Politics, ed. W.D. Ross (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1964), 1303a25. 99 Hall, Ethnic Identity in Greek Antiquity, 54. 100 Jan Maximillian Robitzsch, “Ethnic Identity and Its Political Consequences in the Menexenus,” in Speeches for the Dead: Essays on Plato’s Menexenus, ed. Harold Parker and Jan Maximillian Robitzsch (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2018), 157. 101 Nicole Loraux, Né de La Terre. Mythe et Politique à Athènes (Paris: Seuil, 1996), 15. 39 The question of ancestral homeland comes up multiple times in the Histories of Herodotus, but there are two incidents that are particularly relevant to the larger project of this dissertation. The first of these occurs in book five. Following an episode in which Alexander, the son of the Macedonian king Amyntas, kills the Persian envoys, Herodotus pauses over the question of whether or not these Macedonians are, in fact, Hellenes. Herodotus confirms that they are Hellenes and promises to provide his own reasons for this later in the narrative. For the time being, though, he supplies the following justification: Ἀλεξάνδρου γὰρ ἀεθλεύειν ἑλομένου καὶ καταβάντος ἐπ' αὐτὸ τοῦτο οἱ ἀντιθευσόμενοι Ἑλλήνων ἐξεῖργόν μιν, φάμενοι οὐ βαρβάρων ἀγωνιστέων εἶναι τὸν ἀγῶνα ἀλλὰ Ἑλλήνων. Ἀλέξανδρος δὲ ἐπειδὴ ἀπέδεξε ὡς εἴη Ἀργεῖος, ἐκρίθη τε εἶναι Ἕλλην καὶ ἀγωνιζόμενος στάδιονσυνεξέπιπτε τῷ πρώτῳ for when Alexander decided to compete and approached the contest for this reason, the Greeks who were competing in the race against him excluded him, saying that the competition was not for barbarians but for Greeks. But since Alexander showed that he was an Argive, it was decided that he was a Greek and, taking part in the competition, he ran the race for first place. 102 It has long been assumed by modern scholars that the Olympic games, as well as the other panhellenic games, excluded non-Greeks and this passage is often presented as the chief proof of this fact. 103 The belief was that, in order to participate in the games, one had to demonstrate Greekness via “polis citizenship, which…was a legal category for the ancient world.” 104 However, despite what this episode suggests, no such rule seems to be attested. 105 Nevertheless, at this point in history, the question of whether or not Macedonians were Greek was being disputed and Alexander’s desire to participating reflects an interest in being recognized as 102 Herodotus, Historiae, V.22.2. 103 N.B. Crowther, “Athlete and State: Qualifying for the Olympic Games in Ancient Greece,” Journal of Sports History 23 (1996): 38. 104 Sofie Remijsen, “Only Greeks at the Olympics? Reconsidering the Rule against Non-Greeks at ‘Panhellenic’ Games,” Classica et Mediaevalia 67 (2019): 4. 105 Remijsen, "Only Greeks at the Olympics," 1. 40 fundamentally Greek, as well as Herodotus’ interest in testing this idea. It is only after Alexander “ἀπέδεξε ὡς εἴη Ἀργεῖος” (showed that he was an Argive) that he is allowed to participate. While Herodotus is vague on how precisely Alexander proves his Greekness, the mere fact that he is allowed to compete makes it seem as though Herodotus intends for this passage to stand as a testament to Alexander’s Greekness. 106 Rosalind Thomas proposes that the evidence the authorities of the Olympic games used is the same evidence that Herodotus himself presents in his own pro-Macedonian speech later in the Histories, this evidence being the foundation myth of this dynasty. 107 Three books later, near the end of the eighth book, Herodotus explains, τοῦ δὲ Ἀλεξάνδρου τούτου ἕβδομος γενέτωρ Περδίκκης ἐστὶ ὁ κτησάμενος τῶν Μακεδόνων τὴντυραννίδα τρόπῳ τοιῷδε. Ἐξ Ἄργεος ἔφυγον ἐς Ἰλλυριοὺς τῶν Τημένου ἀπογόνων τρεῖς ἀδελφεοί… Ἀπὸ τούτου δὴ τοῦ Περδίκκεω Ἀλέξανδρος ὧδε ἐγένετο· Ἀμύντεω παῖς ἦν Ἀλέξανδρος, Ἀμύντης δὲ Ἀλκέτεω, Ἀλκέτεω δὲ πατὴρ ἦν Ἀέροπος, τοῦ δὲ Φίλιππος, Φιλίππου δὲ Ἀργαῖος, τοῦ δὲ Περδίκκης ὁ κτησάμενος τὴν ἀρχήν Perdiccas was the seventh ancestor of this Alexander, Perdiccas who acquired the tyranny of Macedonia in this way. Three brothers of the lineage of Temenus fled to Illyria from Argos …Indeed, Alexander was descended from this Perdiccas. Alexander was the son of Amyntas, and Amyntas was the son of Alcestes, and the father of Alcestes was Aeropus, and his father was Philip, and Philip’s father was Argaeus, and Perdiccas, who won the command, was his father. 108 In other words, the Olympic judges (and Herodotus himself) accept that Alexander is a Hellene because his ancestors are native Hellenes. What is intriguing about this proof of Greekness is that it explicitly ignores the three other requirements (language, religion, and customs) that Herodotus lists at VIII.144. 109 That the discrepancy is located so close to this list does make one wonder if Herodotus intended this speech to actually convince his readers of Alexander’s claim 106 Remijsen, "Only Greeks at the Olympics,"14. 107 Rosalind Thomas, “Ethnicity, Genealogy, and Hellenism in Herodotus,” in Herodotus: Volume 2 Herodotus and the World, ed. Rosaria Vignolo Munson (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013), 347. 108 Herodotus, Historiae, VIII.137-139. 109 Remijsen, “Only Greeks at the Olympics,” 14. 41 to Greekness, regardless of how the judges receive the proof. These passages reveal a couple of key points. First, it is clear that unquestionably there is value in being able to claim Greece as your ancestral homeland (this value is made tangible through the prize Alexander wins). Second, there does not seem to be any temporal bounds put on such claims. As such, claims to ancestral homeland can work as long as both parties agree they work. Later in the narrative, the concept of the ancestral homeland once again finds itself center stage. And, once again, it is a non-Greek character who is putting the issue to the test. In the seventh book of the Histories, Herodotus provides an account of the actions of King Xerxes before he sets out to make war on Hellas. Herodotus records that the king sent a herald to the Greeks who made the following proclamation, ἂνδρες Ἀργεῖοι, βασιλεὺς Ξέρξης τάδε ὑμῖν λέγει· ἡμεῖς νομίζομεν Πέρσην εἶναι ἀπ' οὗ ἡμεῖς γεγόναμεν, παῖδα Περσέος τοῦ Δανάης, γεγονότα ἐκ τῆς Κηφέος θυγατρὸς Ἀνδρομέδης. Οὕτω ἂν ὦν εἴημεν ὑμέτεροι ἀπόγονοι. Οὔτε ὦνἡμέας οἰκὸς ἐπὶ τοὺς ἡμετέρους προγόνους ἐκστρατεύεσθαι, οὔτε ὑμέας ἄλλοισι τιμωρέοντας ἡμῖν ἀντιξόους γίνεσθαι men of Argos, king Xerxes conveys these things to you. We consider that Perses, from whom we are descended, had as a father Perseus the son of Danaë and had as a mother Andromeda the daughter of Cepheus. The situation being thus, we are your countrymen. Neither should we march out in battle against the homeland of our ancestors nor should you all become hostile to us by lending aid to others. 110 This speech has much the same effect as the previously cited evidence that Herodotus gave for Alexander’s Hellenicity. As Rosalind Thomas explains, “in a speech designed to persuade Argos to remain neutral, the Persians claim that they believe their ancestor Perses was descended from Perseus, son of Danaë.” 111 What makes this claim so remarkable, though, is that it is coming from the Persians, the presumed enemy of the Greeks in this narrative. As such, it demonstrates that, at least for Herodotus, there is a certain universality to the idea of ancestral homeland as a 110 Herodotus, Historiae, VII.150.2. 111 Thomas, “Ethnicity, Genealogy, and Hellenism in Herodotus,” 349. 42 value and demonstrates that there is some common ground between the Greeks and the Persians. Of course, Herodotus was not the only historian to consider this issue. Thucydides, Herodotus’ rough contemporary, provides an interesting point of comparison in his history of the Peloponnesian War. Over the course of his text, he both reaffirms many of the ideas that Herodotus presents and, at the same time, offers a few alternatives, suggesting that even within the same genre, writers do not always arrive at a universal consensus. While ancestral homeland might seem like a surprising topic, at first glance, in a text about a war being fought between Greeks (as opposed to an international conflict like the Persian War), the very beginning of the work presents ancestral homeland as something that must be mediated. Thucydides writes in the archaeology (in this case, literally an account of ancient things), “αίνεται γὰρ ἡ νῦν Ἑλλὰς καλουμένη οὐ πάλαι βεβαίως οἰκουμένη, ἀλλὰ μεταναστάσεις τε οὖσαι τὰ πρότερα καὶ ῥᾳδίως ἕκαστοι τὴν ἑαυτῶν ἀπολείποντες βιαζόμενοι ὑπό τινων αἰεὶ πλειόνων” (for it is clear that the place now called Hellas was long ago not securely settled, but migrations were frequent and always several groups abandoned their home easily having been overpowered by some stronger group). 112 The assertion that there was a time “οὐ πάλαι” (not long ago) that Hellas was not permanently settled by any single group simultaneously emphasizes the instability of early Greek societies and suggests that claims to an ancestral homeland need not be as temporally distant as claims based on foundation myths suggest. 113 Furthermore, this passage draws a direct connection between weakness and constant migration because it is the people who are frequently moving and therefore uninterested in establishing a 112 Thucydides, Historiae, ed. H.S. Jones and J.E. Powell (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1942), I.2.1. 113 Edith Foster, Thucydides, Pericles, and Periclean Imperialism (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), 13. 43 firm foothold in a single location that are easily overpowered. 114 In making this connection explicit, he implicitly associates strength with a claim to ancestral homelands. As the archaeology continues, though, Thucydides adds some nuance to the idea of ancestral homeland that is absent form Herodotus’ Histories. After speaking more generally about Hellas, Thucydides turns his attention to Attica, in particular, and relates the following information, τὴν γοῦν Ἀττικὴν ἐκ τοῦ ἐπὶ πλεῖστον διὰ τὸ λεπτόγεων ἀστασίαστον οὖσαν ἄνθρωποι ᾤκουν οἱ αὐτοὶ αἰεί. [6] καὶ παράδειγμα τόδε τοῦ λόγου οὐκ ἐλάχιστόν ἐστι διὰ τὰς μετοικίας ἐς τὰ ἄλλα μὴ ὁμοίως αὐξηθῆναι: ἐκ γὰρ τῆς ἄλλης Ἑλλάδος οἱ πολέμῳ ἢ στάσει ἐκπίπτοντες παρ᾽ Ἀθηναίους οἱ δυνατώτατοι ὡς βέβαιον ὂν ἀνεχώρουν, καὶ πολῖται γιγνόμενοι εὐθὺς ἀπὸ παλαιοῦ μείζω ἔτι ἐποίησαν πλήθει ἀνθρώπων τὴν πόλιν, ὥστε καὶ ἐς Ἰωνίαν ὕστερον ὡς οὐχ ἱκανῆς οὔσης τῆς Ἀττικῆς ἀποικίας ἐξέπεμψαν then Attica because of its poor soil being free from faction from a remote time always was inhabited by the same men. And the proof of this argument is not the least because the migrations did not augment similarly in other parts; for from the rest of Hellas the most powerful people driven forth by war or strife resettled among the Athenians as a secure place and becoming citizens straight away made the city still greater than formerly by the quantity of men, so that even later they sent them into Ionia because Attica was not a big enough settlement. 115 In this passage, Thucydides asserts that Attica, out of all the parts of Hellas, had been permanently settled for the longest period of time. In doing so, Thucydides suggests that claims to an ancestral homeland, while not bound to a specific time frame, become stronger the older that they are. 116 Additionally, he is doing something far more interesting than that. By positioning Attica’s particular claim to its ancestral homeland in contrast to the claims made by other parts of Hellas, Thucydides makes room for not just national identity but also local 114 Ibid. 115 Thucydides, Historiae, I.2.5-6. 116 Thucydides highlights this point again, later in his History. In book six, describing the sixteenth year of the war when Athens decides to attack Sicily, again gives deference to older claims to ancestral homelands (VI.2.1- 2). 44 identity. This is an issue that will be positioned far more prominently in the ideal romances but, for the time being, it is enough to acknowledge that a focus on local identity as opposed to national identity weakens the legitimacy of the Greek monolith. Tragedy While historiographic texts certainly contribute a great deal to the discussions surrounding the importance of ancestral homeland, just as meaningful to this conversation are the works of the Greek tragedians. After all, as Edith Hall explains, it is in the Athenian tragedies of the fifth century B.C.E. where debates over identity and how it is defined truly find their foothold. 117 When it comes to the question of how ancestral homeland fits into this equation, it is with Aeschylus’ Suppliant Maidens where we can gain the most traction. This play, from the middle of the fifth century B.C.E., centers around the chorus of Danaids, who, having fled Egypt and the threat of forced marriage to their cousins, the sons of Aegyptus, are now seeking asylum from Pelasgus in Argos. As has been previously noted by Geoffrey Bakewell, despite being explicitly set in Argos, the themes of the play more accurately reflect democratic Athens, which, following the Persian Wars, would have had to deal with thousands of new residents from all over the Mediterranean. 118 As a result of this historical and social context, the question of one’s homeland is put front and center. Having arrived in Argos, the chorus of Danaids seek refuge based on the following claim, βραχὺς τορός θ᾽ ὁ μῦθος: Ἀργεῖαι γένος ἐξευχόμεσθα, σπέρματ᾽ εὐτέκνου βοός: καὶ ταῦτ᾽ ἀληθῆ πάντα προσφύσω λόγῳ. 117 Hall, Inventing the Barbarian: Greek Self-Definition Through Tragedy, 17. 118 Geoffrey W. Bakewell, Aeschylus’s Suppliant Women: The Tragedy of Immigration (Madison, WI: University of Wisconsin Press, 2013), 17. 45 our story is short and easily understood: we proclaim ourselves Argive by birth, the offspring of a cow that was blessed with many children and I will confirm all these things as true. 119 What follows in lines 291 through 324, then, is the Danaids explanation for how they claim Argos as their ancestral homeland. As Bakewell explains it, “the Danaids have reversed Io’s progress, migrating back from Egypt to Argos. And their ability to recount the particulars of her journey and to list her subsequent descendants convinces Pelasgus they are telling the truth.” 120 What makes this remarkable in light of the claims to ancestral homeland that we see in historiography is that here the claims are firmly planted in the mythological past. Yet, Aeschylus counts on his audience to accept this claim, just as Pelasgus himself does. Aeschylus is not the only tragedian to consider the value of ancestral homeland, though. Euripides also meditates on this issue in his play, Ion. Performed a few decades after Aeschylus’ Suppliant Women, in the late fifth century B.C.E., Euripides’ tragedy follows the eponymous Ion, the child of Creusa, as he attempts to uncover the truth of his origins. About one-third of the way through the play, Ion, who has been serving as an attendant at the Delphic temple of Apollo, meets his supposed father Xuthus. While Xuthus is eager for Ion to return to Athens with him, Ion is hesitant, explaining, εἶναί φασι τὰς αὐτόχθονας κλεινὰς Ἀθήνας οὐκ ἐπείσακτον γένος, ἵν᾽ ἐσπεσοῦμαι δύο νόσω κεκτημένος, πατρός τ᾽ ἐπακτοῦ καὐτὸς ὢν νοθαγενής. καὶ τοῦτ᾽ ἔχων τοὔνειδος, ἀσθενὴς μὲν ὤν — μηδὲν καὶ οὐδὲν ὢν κεκλήσομαι they say that the famous Athenians are autochthonous and are not an alien race so that I shall make an attack on them having obtained two diseases: both that my 119 Aeschylus, Suppliant Women, ed. G. Murray (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1960), 274-276. 120 Bakewell, Aeschylus’s Suppliant Women: The Tragedy of Immigration, 27. 46 father was foreign-born and that I myself am baseborn. And having this reproach, I am weak and I will be called nobody and nothing. 121 Ion’s concern stems from the fact that the Athenians’ claim of ancestral homeland is based upon an understanding of pure autochthony. However, his father is Peloponnesian and, as a result, he is unable to claim Athens as his ancestral homeland in this manner. This is immediately distinct from the view presented in Aeschylus’ tragedy, in which the Danaids, because one side of their family is Argive, are able to claim Argos as their own point of origin. This point of distinction suggests that Euripides is endorsing a far narrower view of the ancestral homeland. As Rebecca Kennedy explains, tensions surrounding the identity of Athenians is central to the Ion and “privileging indigenous inhabitants over immigrants appears vividly in Euripides’ play.” 122 Susan Lape develops this further, explaining that the Ion is a play that is focused on preserving this Athenian image of pure ancestry and “it did not matter that no single Athenian could trace his ancestry back to the beginning or that there was no complete genealogy available to corroborate the Athenian claim to autochthonous origins.” 123 But it is not just that this tragedy is narrowing the scope. It is presenting this narrow scope in order to open it up to debate. Jonah Radding explains, “the tragedy fuses two conflicting and ideologically loaded notions of Athenian identity: the myth of autochthony… and the idea that the Ionian Greeks shared an ethnic identity with the Athenians by virtue of their common descent from or association with Ion” 124 This makes for an interesting counterpoint to Aeschylus. It both reaffirms some of the 121 Euripides, Ion, ed. J. Diggle (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1981), 589-594. 122 Rebecca Futo Kennedy, “Airs, Waters, Metals, Earth: People and Environment in Archaic and Classical Greek Thought,” in The Routledge Handbook of Identity and the Environment in the Classical and Medieval Worlds, ed. Rebecca Futo Kennedy and Molly Jones-Lewis (New York: Routledge, 2016), 17-18. 123 Susan Lape, Race and Citizen Identity in the Classical Athenian Democracy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), 100–101. 124 Jonah Radding, “Paeanic Crises: Euripides’ Ion and the Failure to Perform Identity,” American Journal of Philology 138, no. 3 (Fall 2017): 393–94. 47 ideas within the Suppliant Maidens but also demonstrates that this was not something that all of the Greek world, or at least all of the Athenian world agreed on. Philosophy While discussions of ancestral homeland and the ways in which it relates to identity construction may have found their Classical origins in historiography and tragedy, these conversations were not limited to those two genres. Another place that the issue of ancestral homeland finds footing is in philosophical texts, a prime example of which is Plato’s Menexenus. The relevance of this particular Socratic dialogue makes sense given that it is centered around a mock funeral oration that counts as its chief inspiration Thucydides’ funeral oration of Pericles. In fact, the funeral oration that Socrates delivers in this dialogue is presented in the voice of Aspasia, the companion of Pericles, suggesting not only that Thucydides is his inspiration but that he wants his reader to be aware of this fact. As has been observed by numerous scholars, this dialogue is almost certainly intended to be a satire of the rhetoric of the time. As such, it can often be difficult to decide how seriously to take the claims made within the text. However, as Emerson Cerdas is quick to point out, any successful parody reveals the truth of what it is parodying (much in the same way Greek discussions of barbaroi reveal Greek attitudes of self). 125 In the passage that follows, Socrates, speaking as Aspasia, opines on claims of nobility, τῆς δ᾽ εὐγενείας πρῶτον ὑπῆρξε τοῖσδε ἡ τῶν προγόνων γένεσις οὐκ ἔπηλυς οὖσα, οὐδὲ τοὺς ἐκγόνους τούτους ἀποφηναμένη μετοικοῦντας ἐν τῇ χώρᾳ ἄλλοθεν σφῶν ἡκόντων, ἀλλ᾽ αὐτόχθονας καὶ τῷ ὄντι ἐν πατρίδι οἰκοῦντας καὶ ζῶντας, καὶ τρεφομένους οὐχ ὑπὸ μητρυιᾶς ὡς οἱ ἄλλοι, ἀλλ᾽ ὑπὸ μητρὸς τῆς χώρας ἐν ᾗ ᾤκουν, καὶ νῦν κεῖσθαι τελευτήσαντας ἐν οἰκείοις τόποις τῆς τεκούσης καὶ θρεψάσης καὶ ὑποδεξαμένης 125 Emerson Cerdas, “Platão. Menêxeno. Introdução, Tradução e Notas,” Archai 30 (2020): 3–4. 48 and about noble lineage, their first claim is that the origin of their forefathers is not foreign and did not declare the descendants of these men as settlers in this land from another place but autochthonous and living and dwelling in their true fatherland; and nourished not by a stepmother, just like others were, but by the motherland in which they lived. And now, at death, receives them to lie in the settled places where they were born and raised and welcomed. 126 In other words, the nobility of both Athenians and Athens itself stems directly from the fact that the inhabitants have always occupied the same geographical location. Such a claim falls more or less in line with the conventional beliefs of the fourth century B.C.E. 127 Despite this being the conventionally held belief, though, foreigners absolutely were among the ranks of the polis. As such, this claim cannot be true, or at least cannot be representative of the reality of Athens in Plato’s time. 128 Some read this, then, as an attack, of sorts, on the rhetoric surrounding democratic politics of the early fourth century B.C.E. 129 However, it seems to me that something more nuanced is going on. Through the Socratic mimesis of Aspasia’ funeral oration, Plato is able to simultaneously acknowledge the value his fellow Greeks place on claims to a shared ancestral homeland while, simultaneously, demonstrating to his reader the limitations of such claims when it comes to establishing a group identity. Hippocratic Corpus One final text that is worth considering as it relates to the question of ancestral homeland is the Pseudo-Hippocratic text Airs, Waters, Places. Dating to around 400 B.C.E., this medical 126 Plato, Menexenus, ed. J. Burnet (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1903), 237b-c. 127 Ekaterina V. Haskins, “Philosophy, Rhetoric, and Cultural Memory: Rereading Plato’s Menexenus and Isocrates Panegyricus,” Rhetoric Society Quarterly 35, no. 1 (2005): 29. 128 Robitzsch, “Ethnic Identity and Its Political Consequences in the Menexenus,” 159. 129 Haskins, “Philosophy, Rhetoric, and Cultural Memory: Rereading Plato’s Menexenus and Isocrates Panegyricus,” 30. 49 text promotes the theory of climatic determinism. A theory which argues that the natural features of places influence the physical and mental characteristics of inhabitants. 130 In Ps.-Hippocrates’ text, the reader is presented with a very different approach to ancestral homeland. Airs, Waters, Places is not concerned with how ancestral homeland pertains to claims of status or land ownership. Instead, the interest in ancestral homeland is a direct result of the author’s belief in climatic determinism, as he makes clear when he explains, “ὣστε, ἐς πόλιν ἐπειδὰν ἀφίκηταί τις ἧς ἄπειρός ἐστι, διαφροντίσαι χρὴ τὴν θέσιν αὐτέης, ὅκως κέεται καὶ πρὸς τὰ πνεύματα καὶ πρὸς τὰς ἀνατολὰς τοῦ ἡλίου” (so that when someone who is unfamiliar arrives in a city it is necessary that he consider how it is situated, how it lies relative both to the winds and the setting of the sun). 131 While Ps.-Hippocrates provides details for a variety of peoples, his chief interest is the comparison of Europeans and Asians. Often, Ps.-Hippocrates claims are explicitly about Asia, leaving his reader to infer information regarding Europe. For example, regarding Asia, he explains, “ἥ τε χώρη τῆς χώρης ἡμερωτέρη, καὶ τὰ ἤθεα τῶν ἀνθρώπων ἠπιώτερα καὶ εὐοργητότερα” (the land is gentler than the other land and the dispositions of the men are tamer and better tempered). 132 Later, Ps.-Hippocrates expounds further on the difference between Asia and Europe when he says, περὶ δὲ τῆς ἀθυμίης τῶν ἀνθρώπων καὶ τῆς ἀνανδρείης, ὅτι ἀπολεμώτεροί εἰσι τῶν Εὐρωπαίων οἱ Ἀσιηνοὶ, καὶ ἡμερώτεροι τὰ ἤθεα, αἱ ὧραι αἴτιαι μάλιστα, οὐ μεγάλας τὰς μεταβολὰς ποιεύμεναι, οὔτε ἐπὶ τὸ θερμὸν, οὔτε ἐπὶ τὸ ψυχρὸν, ἀλλὰ παραπλησίως and regarding the faintheartedness and cowardice of men, it is because And with regard to the pusillanimity and cowardice of the inhabitants, the principal reason the inhabitants of Asia are more unwarlike and of gentler disposition than the 130 Alison Bashford and Sarah W. Tracy, “Introduction: Modern Airs, Waters, and Places,” Bulletin of the History of Medicine 85, no. 4 (Winter 2012): 496. 131 Hippocrates, Airs, Waters, Places, ed. É. Littré (Paris: Baillière, 1961), §1. 132 Hippocrates, Airs, Waters, Places, §12. 50 Europeans is, the nature of the seasons, which do not undergo any great changes either to heat or cold, or the like. 133 In both of these examples, Ps.-Hippocrates draws a direct connection between the mild/stagnant climate of Asia and the softer nature of the people who inhabit those lands. It follows, then, that the varied climate of Europe is the cause of the sturdiness of Europeans. In other words, Europe (and Greece) produce stronger citizens than Asia. Based solely on these two examples, Ps.- Hippocrates appears to be is engaged in the same kind of pro-Greek homeland discourse that some of the other authors we have considered are. However, as is so often the case, it is not quite so simple. While it is true that, in the excerpts cited above, as well as numerous other examples that the author provides, homeland is credited with shaping inhabitants into the people that they are, he does not let the issue stand at that. If we turn our attention back to what he says about Asia, we can see that Ps.-Hippocrates adds an unexpected wrinkle, “τὸ δὲ ἀνδρεῖον καὶ τὸ ταλαίπωρον καὶ τὸ ἔμπονον καὶ τὸ θυμοειδὲς οὐκ ἂν dύναιτο ἐν τοιαύτῃ φύσει ἐγγίγνεσθαι οὔτε ὁμοφύλου οὔτε ἀλλοφύλου, ἀλλὰ τὴν ἡδονὴν ἀνάγκη κρατέειν” (bravery and hardiness and vehemence and passion are not able to be produced in such a nature neither for a native or a foreigner because pleasure reigns). 134 Unlike the other works that have been considered thus far, where characters seem to carry their homeland with them, in Ps.-Hippocrates imagining, one takes on the characteristics of whatever place they are occupying. Perhaps, then, it is not even appropriate to refer to “ancestral” homeland with Ps. Hippocrates. Instead, his interest seems to be just in geography and ancestral homeland does not even really exist for him. 133 Hippocrates, Airs, Waters, Places, §16. 134 Hippocrates, Airs, Waters, Places, §12. 51 While these examples represent only a small fraction of the discourse surrounding ancestral homeland in post-Archaic Age, they make clear that people involved in a variety of intellectual pursuits understood that the place from which one came could serve as a reflection of who they were. Furthermore, while they understood the political capital that could be gained by marshalling claims of homeland as a unifying force. In spite of this, though, there was also an awareness among these various intellectuals that the black and white way in which homeland could be mustered did not represent the full, lived truth of the issue. It is this ambiguity that will inform the novelists who cannibalize these works in the composition of their own narratives. Language In discussions of identity in the ancient world, language is nearly always included as a defining aspect of ethnic identity. Reaching at least as far back as Herodotus’ Histories and espoused in more modern works on identity such as Edith Hall’s Inventing the Barbarian: Greek Self-Definition through Tragedy (1989) and Jonathan Hall’s Hellenicity: Between Ethnicity and Culture (2002), “an essential marker of one’s group identity is the words used to communicate social realities.” 135 Or, as Jonathan Hall put it, “to find the language…of the barbarian desperately alien was to immediately define oneself as Greek.” 136 In a novel that is so concerned with identity and that features so much travel and, thus, interaction with a diverse set of non- Greek peoples, it follows that contact with foreign languages (and language barriers) is commonplace. While Heliodorus does emphasize the importance of speaking and understanding 135 Phillipe Chassy, “How Language Shapes Social Perception,” in Language and Identity: Discourse in the World, ed. David Evans (New York: Bloomsbury, 2015), 36. 136 Hall, Ethnic Identity in Greek Antiquity, 47. 52 Greek, he simultaneously creates a world in which Greek is not necessarily the language par excellence and highlights the value of being able to function in a multi-lingual society. As a novel written in Greek for a Greek audience, it should come as no surprise, perhaps, that Heliodorus is emphatic in demonstrating the value his characters place on speaking Greek. In a sense, the novel’s beginning is constructed so as to draw attention to this right away. Theagenes and Charikleia, stranded in Egypt, are almost immediately taken prisoner by a group of bandits and delivered to Thyamis’ camp. The bandit chief instructs his men to place the young lovers in the company of Knemmon. He makes this decree for the express purpose of giving them a fellow Hellene with which to converse because this will provide them with at least a modicum of comfort. 137 This moment underscores the value of knowing Greek in a number of ways. Not only is a fellow Greek speaker a source of relief for the protagonists but, beyond that, the fact that Thyamis, a non-Greek recognizes this speaks volumes. The bandit chief’s assumption that his captives will be made more comfortable by being in the company of a native Greek speaker suggests that there is an understanding of the value/superiority of Greek beyond the boundaries of Hellas. 138 It is not simply knowing Greek that Heliodorus, and his characters, value but knowing Greek well. Despite being a novel that features a multitude of languages, Greek is singled out in a slightly unexpected way. It is the only language which Heliodorus explicitly mentions as being spoken poorly. Early in the novel, Kalasiris, describing his first meeting with the as-yet unnamed Ethiopian Sisimithres, recounts “τι βούλεσθαι ἰδίᾳ φράζειν ἔλεγεν ἑλληνίζων οὐ βεβαίως” 137 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, I.7. 138 Elsewhere we see various non-Greek characters address Theagenes and Charikleia in Greek in order to gain their trust, such as Nausikles in V.8, or to create a sense of confidence, such as Hydaspes in IX.25. 53 (speaking Greek roughly, he said he wished to say something to me in private). 139 This is not an isolated incident either, the reader learns later that “συνιεῖσα γὰρ τὴν Ἑλλάδα γλῶτταν οὐκ ἐφθέγγετο” (for despite the fact that she understood it, Arsake could not speak the Greek tongue). 140 Arsake, then has an incomplete mastery of Greek. Likewise, Bagoas, when he tries to earn the trust of Theagenes and Charikleia, Heliodorus describes the attempt thusly, “ἀλλὰ ψελλιζόμενος τὴν Ἑλλάδα φωνὴν καὶ παράσημα τὰ πολλὰ ἐπισύρων” (but he spoke the Greek language falteringly and slurred his way through with many grammatical errors). 141 Two things are of note in these examples is two things. First, the novel establishes that a number of characters from a variety of backgrounds deem it worthwhile to learn Greek as a second language. Second, Heliodorus makes a point of describing their Greek abilities as poor. No other secondary language is described as such. This begs the question, then, is Heliodorus suggesting that Greek is such an important language that one can distinguish between good and bad speakers while other languages are of such low quality already that such distinctions either do not exist or do not matter? These examples, when taken on their own, could give the impression that one of Heliodorus’ projects is to elevate and reinforce the supremacy of the Greek language. However, much like his approach to ancestral homeland, here too things are not quite so simple. All of these previous moments are intertwined with others in which Greek is explicitly made a subordinate language. In the novel’s earliest moments, before making any mention of the bandits’ inability to communicate with their Greek captives, Heliodorus first puts his Greek protagonists at a disadvantage because they cannot speak the native language. 142 Thus, 139 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, II.30. 140 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, VII.19. 141 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, VIII.15. 142 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, I.4. 54 Heliodorus establishes that Greek, even perfect Greek, is not always the language of diplomacy. Not long after this moment, Heliodorus problematizes speaking solely Greek in a far more dangerous manner. Amidst the chaos of the raid on the bandit camp, Thyamis is driven to return to Charikleia so that he can kill her before his prize is seized by another. Heliodorus narrates the event as follows, “ἐμβοῶν τε μέγα καὶ πολλὰ αἰγυπτιάζων, αὐτοῦ που περὶ τὸ στόμιον ἐντυχών τινι Ἑλληνίδι τῇ γλώττῃ προςφθεγγομένῃ, ἀπὸ τῆς φωνῆς ἐπ' αὐτὴν χειραγωγηθεὶς ἐπιβάλλει τε τῇ κεφαλῇ τὴν λαιὰν χεῖρα καὶ διὰ τῶν στέρνων παρὰ τὸν μαζὸν ἐλαύνει τὸ ξίφος” ([Thyamis] shouting long and loud in the Egyptian tongue. Just by the entrance he came upon a woman who spoke to him in Greek. Guided to her by her voice, he seized her head in his left hand and drove his sword through her breast close to her bosom. With a last, piteous cry, the poor creature fell dead). 143 Beyond simply hindering one’s ability to communicate, in this moment it is the ability to speak Greek and Greek alone that is responsible for Thisbe’s death. Undoubtedly, had she understood Egyptian, she would have been spared. While the novel surely is not suggesting that you might die if you only speak Greek, it is, admittedly via reductio ad absurdum, questioning a worldview that cannot see beyond the need-to-know Greek alone. In the novels climactic final two books, Heliodorus returns to the question of whether or not Greek is the most important language but frames it in an intriguing way. As the plot works its way towards a harmonious conclusion, Heliodorus draws attention to the fact that, on more than one occasion, Hydaspes addresses Theagenes and/or Charikleia in Greek. 144 Despite being the king in Ethiopia, no mention is made of a poor quality of his Greek. Instead, the assumption must be made that he is able to switch between his native language and Greek with facility as the situation demands. Likewise, Sisimithres, whose Greek was, early on, explicitly marked as poor, 143 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, I.30. 144 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, IX.25 & X.31. 55 is described as speaking Greek (again no value judgement given) in order to shroud his meaning from the assembled Ethiopian masses. 145 Both Hydaspes’ and Sisimithres’ utterances help move the plot to its happy ending. As such, it is perhaps suggested that Greek is neither primary nor secondary and, instead, multilingualism is key. To push things a step further, then, if multilingualism is prized above simply knowing Greek, then perhaps language, as a key component of identity, is not as useful as some might suggest. Historiography As we did in our examination of ancestral homeland, let us begin our investigation of language with Herodotus’ Histories. While the centrality of language to identity formation is certainly present in a number of works, in the Histories Herodotus makes this connection explicit. 146 When the Athenians explain to the Lacedaemonians why they should not be concerned about Athens allying itself with Xerxes, they say they would not betray other Greeks because they share “ὅμαιμόν τε καὶ ὁμόγλωσσον (kinship and the same language). 147 As Thomas Figueira asserts, Herodotus is intentionally juxtaposing this idea of kinship, which we might align with the idea of ancestral homeland, with the idea of shared language. 148 In doing so, he establishes common language as a comparably significant aspect of group identity. This sort of centering of language, Munson explains, “entails a claim to the privileged status of utterances: for the Greeks, only Greek has meaning and what has meaning is Greek.” 149 While it would 145 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, X.9. 146 Hall, Inventing the Barbarian: Greek Self-Definition Through Tragedy, 177. 147 Herodotus, Historiae, VIII.144.2. 148 Thomas Figueira, “Language as a Marker of Ethnicity in Herodotus and Contemporaries,” in Ethnicity and Identity in Herodotus, ed. Thomas Figueira and Carmen Soares (London: Routledge, 2020), 43. 149 Rosaria Vignolo Munson, Black Doves Speak: Herodotus and the Languages of Barbarians (Washington, D.C.: Center for Hellenic Studies, 2005), 69. 56 certainly be an overstatement to suggest that Herodotus felt this strongly about Greek above all other languages, The various references to language in the Histories do suggest that the Greek language is given special position. While the Greek language may very well be privileged at points in Herodotus’ Histories, the author also takes care to make it evident to his readers’ that Greek is not the only language of value. In fact, throughout the Histories, Herodotus emphasizes that Greeks, and everyone else for that matter, exist in a multilingual world and, as a result, language becomes something that not only can unify people but also divide them throughout the Mediterranean. 150 Herodotus achieves this in a variety of ways but, perhaps, most effectively through the explicit references to translators throughout the narrative. Early on in the Histories, during a longer section detailing the dynasty of Psammetichos XXVI, Herodotus narrates how the Egyptian king created interpreters, “καὶ δὴ καὶ παῖδας παρέβαλε αὐτοῖσι Αἰγυπτίους τὴν Ἑλλάδα γλῶσσαν ἐκδιδάσκεσθαι. ἀπὸ δὲ τούτων ἐκμαθόντων τὴν γλῶσσαν οἱ νῦν ἑρμηνέες ἐν Αἰγύπτῳ γεγόνασι.” (and furthermore, he handed over to them Egyptian children to be taught the Greek tongue. The current interpreters in Egypt are descended from those who learned the language). 151 Likewise, Herodotus is explicit about Cambyses’ need for translators when dealing with the Ethiopians, “αὐτίκα μετεπέμπετο ἐξ Ἐλεφαντίνης πόλιος τῶν Ἰχθυοφάγων ἀνδρῶν τοὺς ἐπισταμένους τὴν Αἰθιοπίδα γλῶσσαν (from the city of Elephantine he immediately sent for the Fish-eaters who knew the Ethiopian language). 152 If we take the first example alone, an argument could be made that Greek is privileged in the sense that Egyptians are actively taking strides to learn Greek in order to communicate with them while the Greeks do not need to be concerned with learning 150 Munson, Black Doves Speak, 23. 151 Herodotus, Historiae, II.154.2. 152 Herodotus, Historiae, III.19.1. 57 Egyptian. In fact, Herodotus never overtly refers to the Greeks needing a translator. So, in this sense, Greek is a primary language. However, the second example paints a more nuanced picture. The world is truly multilingual and its inhabitants have a need to communicate with one another. It is the multilingualism of the world that Herodotus is chiefly concerned with. Perhaps the most surprising thing that Herodotus has to say about language appears in the very first book of his Histories. Considering how emphatic Herodotus is about the importance of ancestral homeland as well as how explicit he is about language’s role in identity construction, one might expect to find claims about the exceptional antiquity of the Attic language. Instead, prior to his history of Athens and the Peisistratids, Herodotus presents a very different narrative, ἦσαν οἱ Πελασγοὶ βάρβαρον γλῶσσαν ἱέντες. εἰ τοίνυν ἦν καὶ πᾶν τοιοῦτο τὸ Πελασγικόν, τὸ Ἀττικὸν ἔθνος ἐὸν Πελασγικὸν ἅμα τῇ μεταβολῇ τῇ ἐς Ἕλληνας καὶ τὴν γλῶσσαν μετέμαθε. καὶ γὰρ δὴ οὔτε οἱ Κρηστωνιῆται οὐδαμοῖσι τῶν νῦν σφέας περιοικεόντων εἰσὶ ὁμόγλωσσοι οὔτε οἱ Πλακιηνοί, σφίσι δὲ ὁμόγλωσσοι: δηλοῦσί τε ὅτι τὸν ἠνείκαντο γλώσσης χαρακτῆρα μεταβαίνοντες ἐς ταῦτα τὰ χωρία, τοῦτον ἔχουσι ἐν φυλακῇ. τὸ δὲ Ἑλληνικὸν γλώσσῃ μὲν ἐπείτε ἐγένετο αἰεί κοτε τῇ αὐτῇ διαχρᾶται, ὡς ἐμοὶ καταφαίνεται εἶναι: ἀποσχισθὲν μέντοι ἀπὸ τοῦ Πελασγικοῦ ἐόν ἀσθενές, ἀπό σμικροῦ τεο τὴν ἀρχὴν ὁρμώμενον αὔξηται ἐς πλῆθος τῶν ἐθνέων, Πελασγῶν μάλιστα προσκεχωρηκότων αὐτῷ καὶ ἄλλων ἐθνέων βαρβάρων συχνῶν. πρόσθε δὲ ὦν ἔμοιγε δοκέει οὐδὲ τὸ Πελασγικὸν ἔθνος, ἐὸν βάρβαρον, οὐδαμὰ μεγάλως αὐξηθῆναι the Pelasgians used to speak in a barbaric tongue. If, then, all the Pelasgians spoke in this way, then the Attic ethnos, being of Pelasgian blood, would have had to change its language at the same time it became part of the Hellenes. And indeed, neither the people of Creston nor the people of Placia have the same language which is not the language of their neighbors. And they reveal that they still produce the style of speech which they brought with them into these lands. But, as it seems to be clear to me, the Hellenic people have always used the very same language since the beginning. Yet, when they were separated from the Pelasgians, they were few in number, they have grown from a small number at the beginning to a plethora of nations, primarily because the Pelasgians and many other barbaric ethnoi joined themselves with them. Prior to that, as I believe, the Pelasgian people increased greatly in number nowhere while they had a foreign language. 153 153 Herodotus, Historiae, I.57-58. 58 This passage presents a number of intriguing ideas, the first of which is that the Greeks who considered themselves to have the strongest claims to ancestral homeland did not always speak Greek and they only truly became Hellenic when the united under a single language. 154 In fact, “Herodotus is….claiming rather assertively…that the Athenians once spoke a barbarian language and then later ‘became Greek.’” 155 As such, “the abstract notion of a single Greek ‘language,’ taken for granted in the discussion of the Hellenization of the Pelasgians…coexists with the reality of different Hellenic dialects.” 156 A few ideas are brought together through this excerpt. Broadly, the Hellenes are united by a shared language which seems to be an absolute proof to language’s role in identity construction. On top of that, Athenians are not native Greek speakers and, therefore, at least one aspect of Hellenic identity is adoptable. Lastly, this also demonstrates that cultural borrowing can be a good thing. Herodotus uses this passage to demonstrate that those who adopt Greek as a language are better and, therefore, the language itself is better. Old Comedy Turning away from historiographic texts, old comedy is a second important source for understanding the value of language in the context of identity construction. In this case, however, it is not the issue of Greeks being forced to interact with non-Greeks via interpreters or emissaries, an issue which can be boiled down to a question of linguistic boundaries. Instead, old comedy provides us with insight into dialect and register, “where, unlike prose genres and tragedy, variation of speech characterizes members of other cultures and ethnicities, and 154 David Asheri, Alan Lloyd, and Aldo Corcella, A Commentary on Herodotus Books I-IV, ed. Oswyn Murray and Alfonso Moreno, trans. Barbara Graziosi et al. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), 117. 155 Thomas, “Ethnicity, Genealogy, and Hellenism in Herodotus,” 352. 156 Munson, Black Doves Speak, 13. 59 linguistic divergence is put to good comic effect.” 157 Perhaps the strongest example of this is the case of the Scythian archer in Aristophanes’ Thesmophoriazousae. The Scythian archer, the law enforcement officer of the play, speaks a form of broken Greek which represents a simplified register. Usually, as Willi lays out, these registers are used by competent speakers of a language to address a non-native speaker. In the case of the Scythian archer, though, we are dealing a foreign character’s language who is broken and simplified. 158 This “garbled pidgin Greek,” as Austin and Olson refer to it, has a number of linguistic markers including but not limited to neglect of the initial aspiration in words, use of the unaspirated “τ” in place of “θ” (e.g. “ἐνταυτα” in place of ἐνταῦθα at line 1001), disregard for grammatical genders and verb endings (e.g. “τί λεγι” in place of “τί λέγεις” at line 1004), and omission of the final the “ν” and “ς” (e.g. “μαλλο” in place of μᾶλλον at line 1005). 159 While translators have employed a variety of techniques in order to render how they imagine this register would come through in English, we, of course, cannot know for certain how this would have fallen on Greek ears. What we can be certain of, though, is that it is the Scythian archer’s language that stands as an aural signal of his perceived incompetence and as a justification for his mistreatment by the other characters within the play who do speak Greek correctly. With this character, Aristophanes comedically brings to life some real concerns about how one’s ability (or inability, as the case may be) to communicate with a group of people can affect their inclusion with the group. Second Sophistic 157 Figueira, “Language as a Marker of Ethnicity in Herodotus and Contemporaries,” 48. 158 Andreas Willi, The Languages of Aristophanes: Aspects of Linguistic Variation in Classical Attic Greek (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), 198-199. 159 Aristophanes, Thesmophoriazusae, ed. Colin Austin and S. Douglas Olson (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004), 308-9. 60 The question of language and its role in identity construction is not settled in the Classical Age. We still find intellectuals grappling with what language means in the Imperial Age. In fact, language (and language purity) was a chief concern to the members of the intellectual movement referred to as the second sophistic. A prime example of this can be found in Philostratus’ Lives of the Sophists. Similar to what we saw in Aristophanes, Philostratus makes the quality of spoken Greek an issue of identity. For example, as part of his biographical narrative of Herodes Atticus, the longest of Lives, Philostratus relates a conflict between Herodes and the cynic Proteus. Philostratus recounts, “ἐπηκολούθει δὲ τῷ Ἡρώδῃ κακῶς ἀγορεύων αὐτὸν ἡμιβαρβάρῳ γλώττῃ: ἐπιστραφεὶς οὖν ὁ Ἡρώδης ‘ἔστω’, ἔφη ‘κακῶς με ἀγορεύεις πρὸς τί καὶ οὕτως’” ([Proteus] used to dog Herodes’ steps haranguing him in a half-barbarous tongue. So having turned around Herodes said, “you grievously insult me, so be it. But why with such poor language?”). 160 Unlike New Comedy where the effect is to produce laughter, here the same issue is presented more critically. It is as if Proteus’ bad Greek is a reflection not only of his own character but also the character of Herodes. To assign such power to language is a clear indication of Philostratus’ understanding of the Greek language of being of the utmost value to the self-fashioning of elite Greeks. 161 This example is not even the first time that Herodes makes an issue of the quality of language. In a famous scene in which Herodes is having a drink with his friend Favorinus, accompanied by his slave, Autolecythus, Philostratus writes, “ἦν δὲ οὗτος Ἰνδὸς μὲν καὶ ἱκανῶς μέλας, ἄθυρμα δὲ Ἡρώδου τε καὶ Φαβωρίνου, ξυμπίνοντας γὰρ αὐτοὺς διῆγεν 160 Flavius Philostratus, Vitae Sophistarum, ed. C.L. Kayser (Leipzig: Teubner, 1964), §563. 161 Semíramis Corsi Silva, “A Língua Grega Como Elemento Da Ordem Romana e de Integração Com Povos de Fora Da Administração Imperial Na Obra de Flávio Filóstrato,” História Unisinos 23, no. 1 (January 2019): 19. 61 ἐγκαταμιγνὺς Ἰνδικοῖς Ἀττικὰ καὶ πεπλανημένῃ τῇ γλώττῃ βαρβαρίζων” (this man, Autolecythus, was an Indian and completely black. He was the plaything of Herodes and Favorinus and when they were drinking together he would entertain them by intermingling Greek with Indian [words] and speaking faltering Greek with a stammering tongue). 162 In just 26 words, Philostratus manages to bring issues of culture and appearance together with language. As Stamenka Antonova explains, the mention of “barbarous speech” (γλώττῃ βαρβαρίζων) is connected with the pronunciation of Attic Greek, and it refers specifically to the foreign ethnicity and tongue of the Indian slave. The comical combination of Attic words and strange accent is mentioned by Philostratus as an illustration of interest of sophists, such as Herodes and Favorinus, with language, in addition to it being an indication of ethnic markers that are betrayed by his outward appearance and his mispronunciation of Greek language. 163 As such, this passage might reasonably appear in three sections of this chapter. However, it is most effective as a point of comparison with the previous example. The frustration that Herodes voices with Proteus is replaced by cruel mirth when the bad Greek is originating from a man who is both black and Indian. This would seem to suggest the way in which language informs identity is more complex than previously supposed. As such, Herodes Atticus is the perfect foil to such a moment, after all “[h]is affluence, his eloquence and his arrogance put him in a league of his own. He was therefore well placed to test the limits of conventional behaviour.” 164 Maude Gleason explains this by highlighting the dual nature of his person. On the one hand, his Greekness was exceedingly obvious in the ways that he traced his lineage and made claims of ancestral homeland. At the same time, his education was both Greek and Roman, his wife was 162 Philostratus, Vitae Sophistarum, §490. 163 Stamenka E. Antonova, Barbarian or Greek? The Charge of Barbarism and Early Christian Apologetics (Leiden: Brill, 2018), 112. 164 Maud Gleason, “Making Space for Bicultural Identity: Herodes Atticus Commemorates Regilla,” in Local Knowledge and Microidentites in the Imperial Greek World, ed. Tim Whitmarsh (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), 126. 62 part of the Roman Aristocracy, and he served a number of positions in the Roman government. 165 Philostratus uses Herodes as a nexus point, then, for the way various aspects of identity can converge and, at times, clash. In the case of language, Herodes’ different interactions reveal that language’s role in the construction of identity can be relative to other factors. While these various sources may not be united in how they understand language as a piece of group identity, they do all clearly agree that language is important. Furthermore, these examples highlight the ways in which Greeks positioned themselves in the world. Not only could language be used as a tool to help locate one’s place in social and economic hierarchies at home, but also it could help one understand how the group to which the belong is perceived but those around them. After all, the mere fact that non-native speakers would feel the need to make a concerted effort to communicate with the Greeks implicitly acknowledges the importance of interacting with Greeks. Simultaneously, the silence about Greeks making a similar effort suggests a sense of “Greek exceptionalism.” Barbarism Central to nearly all the scholarship on identity in the ancient world is the dichotomy between Greeks and the so-called barbaroi. Even when employing aggregative models of identity formation, there is an implicit oppositional element. After all, if a person is similar to one group for any particular reason, this reason will also make that person dissimilar to a different group. Heliodorus engages with both of these models in his novel. However, he also moves beyond a simple Greek versus barbarian paradigm and is concerned with providing an 165 Gleason, "Making Space for Bicultural Identity," 127-130. 63 increasingly nuanced view of identity. While he is absolutely engaged with the question of what makes a person “Greek,” he is equally concerned with similar questions regarding other ethnoi. This approach simultaneously reinforces the idea of Greeks versus a monolithic other and problematizes such a notion. Given the Classical models that all the Greek novels use for their world building, it is, in certain respects, expected that the idea of Greeks standing in opposition to a singular, monolithic barbarian is well established in Heliodorus’ Aethiopika. In fact, the author wastes no time in hitting on a number of the more popular stereotypes associated with barbaroi. When the bandits are introduced at the novel’s start, we learn that “εἰς τὸ κέρδος ἔβλεπον καὶ τὴν λείαν” (they still sought out easy profit and plunder) despite the unsettling scene that they stumbled upon. 166 Later, when the bandits’ camp is attacked, the narrator reveals their “true” nature, “δυσανάκλητον δὲ πρὸς ὅπερ ἂν ὁρμήσῃ τὸ βάρβαρον ἦθος· κἂν ἀπογνῷ τὴν ἑαυτοῦ σωτηρίαν, προαναιρεῖν ἅπαν τὸ φίλον εἴωθεν, ἤτοι συνέσεσθαι αὐτοῖς καὶ μετὰ θάνατον ἀπατώμενον ἢ χειρὸς πολεμίας καὶ ὕβρεως ἐξαιρούμενον” (the barbarian’s heart is hard to call back after it has been set into motion; and if he gives up any hope of preservation, he will first destroy whatever he is wont to love, truly deceiving himself into thinking he will be reunited with them after death or snatching it away from the hubristic enemy hand). 167 Of course, it is not just the narrator expressing these opinions. Thyamis tells his own men that “ἀλλὰ βίον ἀεὶ τὸν πόλεμον” (war always is a way of life for you). 168 Later, Knemmon, refers to the “φύσει τε ἀβέβαιον καὶ λῃστρικὸν καὶ δύσεριν τὸ ἦθος” (the heart of the pirate, both unreliable and quarrelsome by nature). 169 These examples are noteworthy for a couple of reasons. First, they reveal that these ideas about what defines a 166 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, I.1. 167 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, I.30. 168 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, I.29. 169 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, II.18. 64 barbaroi, greed, lack of restraint, violence, exist not just in the narrator’s world but also that of the characters. Likewise, the tendency to generalize about all foreigners instead of specifying Egyptians, say, is a trait of both the narrator’s world and the novel’s world. It would seem, however, that Heliodorus reinforces the concept of a monolith, at least in part, to bring such a model into question. No sooner is the reader introduced to the Greeks on the beach being set upon by bandits than a second group of bandits appears that frightens off the first. 170 In doing so, it is established that even among barbarians there are varying degrees of barbarism. Such a concept is further underscored at the camp of the second bandits. In reassuring Charikleia and Theagenes, Thyamis “ὁ δὲ ἐπηγγέλλετο καὶ θυμὸν ἔχειν ἀγαθὸν προὔτρεπεν, οὐ παντάπασι βάρβαρον εἶναι τὰ ἤθη τὸν λῄσταρχον ἐγγυώμενος, ἀλλ' ἔχειν τι καὶ ἥμερον γένος τε ὄντα τῶν ἐπὶ δόξης καὶ πρὸς ἀνάγκης τὸν παρόντα βίον ἑλόμενον” (he professed and persuaded them that the robber chief had a good heart, pledging that he was not entirely barbaric in respect to his nature but he had a civil side and belonged to a refined family and only out of necessity did he adopt his present way of life). 171 That Thyamis simultaneously is acknowledging his own barbarism and defending himself against potential claims of worse barbarism demonstrates that within the world of the novel, at least, there are shades of grey. It also makes the idea of a monolithic barbarian class particularly untenable. The novelist further destabilizes the idea of the monolithic barbarian by dedicating considerable time to individuating the various ethnoi encountered throughout the novel. This takes many forms. There are, of course, more straightforward ethnographic moments akin to those one might expect in historiography. For example, the debunking of various racial 170 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, I.3. 171 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, I.19. 65 stereotypes concerning Egyptians. 172 To be clear though, Heliodorus leans into stereotypes at times, as well. Merchants, the novel claims, are similar to Persians explicitly because of their greed. 173 In a similar vein, Egyptians are individuated due their nefarious use of magic. 174 These examples appear fairly straightforward. A more complex one comes in the form of Kalasiris’ claim about “τὴν Αἰγυπτίων σοφίαν προσθήκῃ τῆς Αἰθιόπων” (enhancing the wisdom of Egypt with that of Ethiopia). 175 What makes this example particularly interesting in the current discussion is the way in which it brings in the idea of multiculturalism. There is a long tradition in which certain aspects of Greek culture are attributed to Egypt. If Kalasiris’ claim is to be believed, then Greek’s cultural touchstones are not mere borrowings from Egypt but part of a multi-ethnic network of sharing which would only be possible if the monolithic other was a myth. While we have not even scratched the surface of what Heliodorus says about Greeks themselves, that is a topic we will revisit in a later chapter, these examples provide a good view of the conversations about otherness that interest the novelist. As has already been remarked, Greek writing about otherness is more often than not an exercise in self-definition. It follows, then, that what makes one a barbaroi is what makes them explicitly non-Greek. Edith Hall takes this point a step further and suggests that if all-non Greeks can populate a monolithic barbaroi then, logically, there must exist a monolithic Panhellenic identity. 176 It is undeniable that we will find ample evidence in the literary record for both a singular Greek and a singular barbarian identity. However, this only tells part of the story. As Joseph Skinner so convincingly argues, the modern classification of Greek and barbarian “elides 172 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, III.16. 173 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, V.12. 174 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, VI.14-15. 175 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, IV.12. 176 Hall, Inventing the Barbarian: Greek Self-Definition Through Tragedy, 1-2. 66 the many subtleties and nuances of more reflexive interests and concerns.” 177 In other words, the literary record shows that the discussion of Greeks and barbarians was often a discussion of specific Greeks (i.e. Athenians or Spartans) and specific groups of others (i.e. Persians or Egyptians). Often, and interestingly, these two approaches to otherness appear alongside one another in the same works of literature. Historiography Herodotus’ ethnographic exercise is chiefly concerned with depicting the other (or others) in order to help locate Greeks in the broader world. As such, there are not always going to be direct parallels between what Herodotus reports and what archaeological, epigraphic, or even non-Greek sources tell us about non-Greek communities. 178 Given this, and given that his work is about the Persian war, it might surprise a first-time reader to discover that so much attention is given over not to describing military stratagems and battle narratives, as is the case in Arrian’s Anabasis, but to ethnographic digressions. However, one must keep in mind that when Herodotus wrote this text the generic divisions between ethnography and historiography were not as well defined as they are today. 179 It also might be expected that Herodotus, who professes to recount “ἔργα μεγάλα τε καὶ θωμαστά, τὰ μὲν Ἕλλησι τὰ δὲ βαρβάροισι ἀποδεχθέντα” (both great and amazing deeds, some of which were accomplished by Greeks and others were accomplished by barbarians), would strive to construct a monolithic other to antagonize the 177 Skinner, The Invention of Greek Ethnography: From Homer to Herodotus, 243. 178 Skinner, The Invention of Greek Ethnography: From Homer to Herodotus, 49. 179 Tim Rood, “Herodotus and Foreign Lands,” in The Cambridge Companion to Herodotus, ed. Carolyn Dewald and John Marincola (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 291. 67 Greeks. 180 Instead, what we find are nuanced descriptions of a variety of peoples, including but not limited to the Persians. The Persians, first and foremost, are positioned, as all barbaroi are in this text, in terms of how they compare to the Greeks. At Herodotus’ disposal are all manners of customary practices. One of the most accessible for him and his reader is the religious habits of the Persians. Religion, beyond being a core component of group identity for Herodotus, would have been something imminently relatable to his audience. After all, for Greeks of the Classical Age, religion, for lack of a better word, was intertwined with all aspects of social and private life. Of the Persians, Herodotus writes, “Πέρσας δὲ οἶδα νόμοισι τοιοῖσιδε χρεωμένους, ἀγάλματα μὲν καὶ νηοὺς καὶ βωμοὺς οὐκ ἐν νόμῳ ποιευμένους ἱδρύεσθαι, ἀλλὰ καὶ τοῖσι ποιεῦσι μωρίην ἐπιφέρουσι, ὡς μὲν ἐμοὶ δοκέειν, ὅτι οὐκ ἀνθρωποφυέας ἐνόμισαν τοὺς θεοὺς κατά περ οἱ Ἕλληνες εἶναι” (I know that the Persians employ these customs. It is not in their habit to make and set up statues of the gods and temples and altars but they label those who do such things as foolish because, as it seems to me, they do not consider the gods to be like humans as the Greeks do). 181 Herodotus’ point with this observation is not to villainize the Persians. Instead, he is solely focused on demonstrating how the Persians are explicitly distinct from Greeks in a very fundamental way. Such moments of difference though, are contrasted by observations such as, “ξεινικὰ δὲ νόμαια Πέρσαι προσίενται ἀνδρῶν μάλιστα” (the Persians more than any other men are open to foreign customs). 182 This tendency serves not only a point of contrast with other barbaroi, such as Scythians and Egyptians, but it, in fact, aligns them with the Greeks. 183 As if to make sure his reader does not miss this, the prime example that Herodotus provides of custom 180 Herodotus, Historiae, I.1. 181 Herodotus, Historiae, I.131. 182 Herodotus, Historiae, I.135. 183 Asheri, Lloyd, and Corcella, A Commentary on Herodotus Books I-IV, 170. 68 borrowing is the custom of pederasty which the Persians get from the Greeks. However, it only aligns them with the Greeks to a certain extent. For, while the Persians do borrow some worthwhile things from foreigners, they are injudicious with their use of foreign nomoi, an extension of Persian extravagance, perhaps. So, even with the logical villain of the narrative, Herodotus is careful to frame their cultures of both different and similar. That is not to say, however, that Herodotus does not indulge in moments that rely more closely on the familiar tropes of monolithic barbarism. Characteristics such as effeminacy, luxury, and over-indulgence. But even when he does lean into these stereotypes, stereotypes that would have been common knowledge to his contemporaries, Herodotus is careful to “undercut…challenge…and subvert” them. 184 Let us take, as an example, the stereotype that barbaroi are overly indulgent when it comes to alcohol. Regarding the Persians’ drinking habits, Herodotus relates, οἴνῳ δὲ κάρτα προσκέαται, καί σφι οὐκ ἐμέσαι ἔξεστι, οὐκὶ οὐρῆσαι ἀντίον ἄλλου. ταῦτα μέν νυν οὕτω φυλάσσεται, μεθυσκόμενοι δὲ ἐώθασι βουλεύεσθαι τὰ σπουδαιέστατα τῶν πρηγμάτων: τὸ δ᾽ ἂν ἅδῃ σφι βουλευομένοισι, τοῦτο τῇ ὑστεραίῃ νήφουσι προτιθεῖ ὁ στέγαρχος, ἐν τοῦ ἂν ἐόντες βουλεύωνται, καὶ ἢν μὲν ἅδῃ καὶ νήφουσι, χρέωνται αὐτῷ, ἢν δὲμὴ ἅδῃ, μετιεῖσι. τὰ δ᾽ ἂν νήφοντες προβουλεύσωνται, μεθυσκόμενοι ἐπιδιαγινώσκουσι. they are overly attached to wine. It is forbidden for them to vomit nor may they urinate in the presence of another. Furthermore, it is customary for them to mull over the most serious issues when they are inebriated. And the things which they agree on in their debates are presented to them the next day when they are sober by the master of the house where they hold the deliberations. If, being sober, they still agree, the act on it. If not, they abandon it. If they discuss an issue when they are sober, they come to a decision about it when they are intoxicated. 185 This passage is really quite fascinating. On the surface, Herodotus is making a very simple claim about the Persians. They are prone to drink to the point that they are not even able to undertake 184 Michael Flower, “Herodotus and Persia,” in The Cambridge Companion to Herodotus, ed. Carolyn Dewald and John Marincola (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 275. 185 Herodotus, Historiae, I.133. 69 the most important matters of household and state administration without being under the influence of drink. At best, we might be tempted to call this functional alcoholism. But it is, I think, slightly more complicated than that. For one, the explicit prohibitions against vomiting and urination suggests that it was not a completely unrestrained practice. Furthermore, the way in which inebriation and sobriety are positioned not just as states of being but as tools of intellectual discourse reframes what one might be tempted to read as unbridled alcoholism as a methodical, if somewhat unconventional, approach to problem solving. Alongside such arguably negative characteristics, Herodotus also ascribes to the Persians indisputably positive ones. This tactic is similar to the simultaneous marks of differentiation and similarity he attributes to them. One defining characteristic of the Persians that marks them as an honorable people, according to Herodotus, is that “αἴσχιστον δὲ αὐτοῖσι τὸ ψεύδεσθαι νενόμισται, δεύτερα δὲ τὸ ὀφείλειν χρέος, πολλῶν μὲν καὶ ἄλλων εἵνεκα, μάλιστα δὲ ἀναγκαίην φασὶ εἶναι τὸν ὀφείλοντα καί τι ψεῦδος λέγειν” (and to them it is considered the most shameful thing is to tell a lie, and after that, to owe money, and, on account of many other things but especially this reason: they say that it is inevitable that one who is in dept also tells some lies). 186 That Herodotus defines Persian otherness in this way reflects his desire to ensure that his reader understands them as a people who, despite being the enemy of the Greeks in this war, are no “weak and despicable rulers of an evil empire.” 187 It is not just the Persians that Herodotus is invested in bringing to life for his reader as more than just “not Greek.” Another group of barbaroi that receives particular attention by the historian are the Egyptians. While the specific details provided about the Egyptians are fascinating in their own right, what makes considering the way in which Egyptian barbarism is defined within the Histories of 186 Herodotus, Historiae, I.138.1. 187 Flower, “Herodotus and Persia,” 275. 70 particular relevance to the current discussion is considering the definition stands against not only the Greeks but the Persians as well. An easy place to start, then, is with turning our attention to how Herodotus describes some of the Egyptian religious habits. Speaking broadly about the how they tend to worship, Herodotus relates, “δυώδεκά τε θεῶν ἐπωνυμίας ἔλεγον πρώτους Αἰγυπτίους νομίσαι καὶ Ἕλληνας παρὰ σφέων ἀναλαβεῖν, βωμούς τε καὶ ἀγάλματα καὶ νηοὺς θεοῖσι ἀπονεῖμαι σφέας πρώτους καὶ ζῷα ἐν λίθοισι ἐγγλύψαι” (additionally, they said that the Egyptians were the first to use the eponyms of the twelve gods and the Greeks borrowed the names from them. Furthermore, they were the first to assign altars and statues and temples to the gods and first carved figures into stone). 188 While the Persians are made distinct from the Greeks via religion, in the case of the Egyptians, the two peoples are drawn closer together. By this, I mean that it is the difference in religious practices that Herodotus uses as a tool to set Persians apart from Greeks. As a result, the similarity between Greeks and Egyptians in religious practices emphasizes a similarity of the two peoples. At the same time, the emphasis on the fact that the Greek’s borrowed religious practices from Egypt positions the peoples of Egypt as primary to the Greeks. Of course, being chronologically first does not equate to superiority. It also reinforces the similarity between Persians and Greeks when it comes to cultural borrowing. In doing so, Herodotus strengthens definitions of particular barbaroi while also dismantling the idea of the monolithic other. Tim Rood explains that these types of ethnographic moves do “far more than just underpin [Herodotus’] explanation of the cultural conflicts that culminate in the great Persian invasions.” 189 Rood continues that “Herodotus’ account of the earth’s extremities encourages readers or listeners to think through and question their own preconceptions...Greeks 188 Herodotus, Historiae, II.4.2. 189 Rood, “Herodotus and Foreign Lands,” 290. 71 are barbarians to Egyptians just as Egyptians are barbarians to Greeks” and so forth. 190 Especially given the social and historical context in which this text was composed, this is a fairly shocking world view to present to his reader. Doing so forces his reader to consider the ways in which the war with Persia itself might not be as simple as an us versus them conflict. Tragedy Greek tragedy is another indispensable source for our understanding of how Greek literature navigated questions surrounding the idea of the barbarian. After all, while ethnography may have been initially developed by the prose writers of the early Classical age, it is not until the tragedians of the fifth century that we find Greek writers actively engaging with their own myths through an ethnographic filter. 191 Furthermore, as Jonathan Hall explains, “the figure of the barbarian in attic tragedy articulates a discourse of alterity that invites self-speculation among the spectators as to the nature of Hellenicity.” 192 While there are a number of tragedies that are worthy of our consideration, after all, Greek tragedy of the Classical age is in many ways a response to the direct hostilities with Persia, let us stick with Aeschylus’ Suppliants for the sake of continuity. While perspectives on barbarity come from a variety of characters, the chorus of Danaids is the most sensible place to start. In Aeschylus’ tragedy, the female chorus is extremely vocal about their pursuers, the sons of Aegyptus. As a result of this, they say quite a good deal about Egyptians in general. For example, daughters of Danaus highlight the urgency of their plight by claiming, “ὡς καὶ ματαίων ἀνοσίων τε κνωδάλων/ἔχοντας ὀργάς, χρὴ φυλάσσεσθαι 190 Rood, "Herodotus and Foreign Lands," 298. 191 Hall, Inventing the Barbarian: Greek Self-Definition Through Tragedy, 40. 192 Jonathan M. Hall, Hellenicity: Between Ethnicity and Culture (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2002), 176. 72 τάχος” (since they possess the temperament of manic and impious beasts, it is necessary that we protect ourselves from them at once). 193 A little later, the chorus echoes this sentiment when they offer the following description of the sons of Aegyptus, “γένος γὰρ Αἰγύπτειον ὕβριν/δύσφορον ἀρσενογενὲς” (the men of the race of Aegyptus, insufferable in their laciviousness). 194 In each of these excerpts, the chorus is stressing the licentiousness of the sons of Aegyptus and, by association, Egyptians in general. This bestial image of Egyptians is a far cry from the one presented in Herodotus. This simply could be a matter of the two authors disagreeing on who or what the Egyptians are. A more likely explanation, I think, has to do with what otherness is in tragedy. As an “inherently panhellenic” artistic pursuit, the otherness is monolithic, as is the Greekness. 195 Therefore, the Egyptian identity of the pursuers can be read as a narrative necessity as opposed to Aeschylus attempting to single out Egyptians in particular. In other words, Aeschylus’ concern is to characterize non-Greeks in general as animalistic and Egyptians simply are collateral damage in this theatrical enterprise. The voice of the chorus, though, is not the only means by which Aeschylus explores otherness. Danaus, the father of the suppliant maidens, also speaks on the nature of the barbaroi in this play. Through the voice of this character, Aeschylus simultaneously reinforces some of the sentiments of the chorus while also adding additional nuance to his conception of Greeks and barbarians. As part of his explanation of how to appear as suppliants in Argos, Danaus instructs his daughters, πάντων δ᾽ ἀνάκτων τῶνδε κοινοβωμίαν σέβεσθ᾽: ἐν ἁγνῷ δ᾽ ἑσμὸς ὡς πελειάδων ἵζεσθε κίρκων τῶν ὁμοπτέρων φόβῳ, ἐχθρῶν ὁμαίμων καὶ μιαινόντων γένος. 193 Aeschylus, Suppliant Women, 762–63. 194 Aeschylus, Suppliant Women, 817–18. 195 Hall, Inventing the Barbarian: Greek Self-Definition Through Tragedy, 62. 73 give reverence to the shared altar of all these protecting powers; and take a seat on the hallowed ground like a flock of doves in fear of hawks, related but enemies and who would defile their own genos. 196 In this passage we once again find predatory, animalistic imagery similar to that used by the Danaids. Here the “κίρκος” (hawk) takes the place of the “κνώδαλον” (beast) but the effect is the same. However, it comes with a slight twist. Danaus equates each of his daughters, in the same breath, to a “πελειάς” (dove). While not a predatory animal, an animal nonetheless, suggesting a kind of kinship with the sons of Aegyptus, a kinship that Danaus is explicit about when he uses the word “γένος” (race). We know from our earlier examination of the question of ancestral homeland that the Danaids also have kinship with the citizens of Argos. Thus, Danaus’ proclamation firmly establishes not only the Egyptians as barbaric but the Danaids as occupying a intermediary space. Lynette Mitchell reads this as evidence of “the opening up of Athenian attitudes to the non-Greek world.” 197 In other words, while tragedy may have been born out of a conflict between Greeks and barbarians, in this play, at least, Aeschylus demonstrates an awareness that there is space in between those two monolithic categories. Philosophy Another important voice in the discussion of Greeks and Barbarians comes from the world of philosophy. Perhaps it comes as no surprise that Plato, whose Republic is so deeply invested in the construction of the ideal citizenry, is also interested in the question of what distinguishes Greeks and barbaroi. Plato’s Laws provides some insight into Plato’s answer to this question. The last and longest of Plato’s dialogues, and one of the few that does not include 196 Aeschylus, Suppliant Women, 222–25. 197 Mitchell, "Greeks, Barbarians and Aeschylus' Suppliants," 220. 74 Socrates as a speaker, takes place in Crete. Here, on a journey to the cave of Zeus, the three interlocutors, the Athenian stranger (perhaps serving as a stand-in for Aristotle), the Spartan, Megillos, and Cleineias of Crete, survey the varying successes and failures of different political constitutions through history. During the course of their discussion, the Athenian strangers asserts, πολλὰ δὲ λέγων ἄν τις τὰ τότε γενόμενα περὶ ἐκεῖνον τὸν πόλεμον, τῆς Ἑλλάδος οὐδαμῶς εὐσχήμονα ἂν κατηγοροῖ: οὐδ᾽ αὖ ἀμύνασθαι τήν γε Ἑλλάδα λέγων ὀρθῶς ἂν λέγοι, ἀλλ᾽ εἰ μὴ τό τε Ἀθηναίων καὶ τὸ Λακεδαιμονίων κοινῇ διανόημα ἤμυνεν τὴν ἐπιοῦσαν δουλείαν, σχεδὸν ἂν ἤδη πάντ᾽ ἦν μεμειγμένα τὰ τῶν Ἑλλήνων γένη ἐν ἀλλήλοις, καὶ βάρβαρα ἐν Ἕλλησι καὶ Ἑλληνικὰ ἐν βαρβάροις, καθάπερ ὧν Πέρσαι τυραννοῦσι τὰ νῦν διαπεφορημένα καὶ συμπεφορημένα κακῶς ἐσπαρμένα κατοικεῖται” But in discussing the many things that happened in that war, one would accuse Greece of things in no way honorable. One would not be speaking honestly to say that Greece defended herself, but if the shared intention of the Athenians and the Spartans had not warded off the impending enslavement, then already nearly all of the races of the Greeks would be mixed together, and barbarians confused with Greeks and Greeks confused with barbarians—just as those ruled but Persia are now either dispersed or jumbled together and living poorly. 198 What makes this excerpt so fascinating is not just that it reinforces the dichotomy between Greeks and barbarians but the particular way in which it frames the distinction. In place of texts like Herodotus, which distinguish Greeks and non-Greeks via a myriad of cultural differences, the Athenian stranger singles out the idea of, for lack of a better term, ethnic purity, the loss of which would have constituted a loss of identity. 199 In other words, what separates Greeks from non-Greeks (and elevates them) is the avoidance of mixed marriage. Although even that is an oversimplification. As Benjamin Isaac explains, this excerpt demonstrates “strong belief in the importance of social and ethnic separation, but also disapproval of mixed marriage between 198 Plato, Leges, ed. J. Burnet (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1967), III.692e-693a. 199 Isaac, The Invention of Racism in Classical Antiquity, 296. 75 Greeks and non-Greeks.” 200 Plato, clearly, recognizes the co-existence of both the monolithic Greek versus the monolithic other and the assorted local group identities that make up these macro ideas. Not only that, but he is also deeply invested in preserving both. Furthermore, because he presents these as being of equal importance, he suggests that the kind of alterity that separates Greeks and non-Greeks is the same kind of alterity that distinguishes Athenians from, say, Spartans. Hippocratic Corpus While not of much use in helping to understand the role that language plays in identity construction, Air, Waters, Places finds itself relevant again in our current discussion of barbarism. Ps.-Hippocrates does not demonstrate the same sort of interest in the comparison of Greeks and non-Greeks that some of these other intellectuals do. As a medical text, he is, at least in theory, focused on an objective presentation of facts. However, there are a few moments where he does consider cultural differences in a way that is distinct from his discussion of climatic determinism (which we considered above). Ps.-Hippocrates first hints at this distinction a little over halfway through the tract when he explains, “διὰ ταύτας ἐμοὶ δοκέει τὰς προφάσιας ἄναλκες εἶναι τὸ γένος τὸ Ἀσιηνόν· καὶ προσέτι διὰ τοὺς νόμους. Τῆς γὰρ Ἀσίης τὰ πολλὰ βασιλεύεται” (for these reasons, it appears to me, the Asiatic race is feeble, and further, owing to their laws; for monarchy prevails in the greater part of Asia) 201 In spite of his previously claims of nature being what dictates how people behave, here he makes room for customs to be responsible shaping peoples’ behavior. In this way, the internal logic of the tract, while not 200 Isaac, The Invention of Racism in Classical Antiquity,130. 201 Hippocrates, Airs, Waters, Places, §16. 76 completely contradicted, does begin to show some cracks. These cracks only grow toward the end of Airs, Waters, Places, when Ps.-Hippocrates expands his discussion to consider Europeans alongside of Asians. He writes, διὰ τοῦτό εἰσι μαχιμώτεροι οἱ τὴν Εὐρώπην οἰκέοντες, καὶ διὰ τοὺς νόμους, ὅτι οὐ βασιλεύονταιὥσπερ οἱ Ἀσιηνοί· ὅκου γὰρ βασιλεύονται, ἐκεῖ ἀνάγκη δειλοτάτους εἶναι· εἴρηται δέ μοι καὶ πρότερον. Αἱ γὰρ ψυχαὶ δεδούλωνται καὶ, οὐ βούλονται παρακινδυνεύειν ἑκόντες εἰκῆ ὑπὲρ ἀλλοτρίης δυνάμιος. Ὅσοι δὲ αὐτόνομοι, ὑπὲρ ἑωυτέων γὰρ τοὺς κινδύνους αἱρεῦνται καὶ οὐκ ἄλλων, προθυμεῦνται ἑκόντες καὶ ἐς τὸ δεινὸν ἔρχονται· τὰ γὰρ ἀριστεῖα τῆς νίκης αὐτοὶ φέρονται· οὕτως οἱ νόμοι οὐχ ἥκιστα τὴν εὐψυχίην ἐργάζονται. Τὸ μὲν οὖν ὅλον καὶ τὸ ἅπαν οὕτως ἔχει περί τε τῆς Εὐρώπης καὶ τῆς Ἀσίης on this account the inhabitants of Europe are than the Asiatics, and also owing to their institutions, because they are not governed by kings like the latter, for where men are governed by kings there they must be very cowardly, as I have stated before; for their souls are enslaved, and they will not willingly, or readily undergo dangers in order to promote the power of another; but those that are free undertake dangers on their own account, [p. 41]and not for the sake of others; they court hazard and go out to meet it, for they themselves bear off the rewards of victory, and thus their institutions contribute not a little to their courage. Such is the general character of Europe and Asia. 202 This further emphasizes the role customs (not homeland) play and further problematizes what he says about nature and homeland. This point becomes increasingly hard to reconcile with the theory of climatic determinism when one considers a claim that Ps.-Hippocrates makes earlier, ὥστε, καὶ εἴ τις φύσει πέφυκεν ἀνδρεῖος καὶ εὔψυχος, ἀποτρέπεσθαι τὴν γνώμην ἀπὸ τῶν νόμων. Μέγα δὲ τεκμήριον τουτέων· ὁκόσοι γὰρ ἐν τῇ Ἀσίῃ Ἕλληνες ἢ βάρβαροι μὴ δεσπόζονται, ἀλλ' αὐτόνομοί εἰσι καὶ ἑωυτέοισι ταλαιπωρεῦσιν, οὗτοι μαχιμώτατοί εἰσι πάντων thus, then, if anyone be naturally warlike and courageous, his disposition will be changed by the institutions. As a strong proof of all this, such Greeks or barbarians in Asia as are not under a despotic form of government, but are independent, and enjoy the fruits of their own labors, are of all others the most warlike. 203 202 Hippocrates, Airs, Waters, Places, §23. 203 Hippocrates, Airs, Waters, Places, §16. 77 Based on this, it would seem that there are cases where ancestral homeland can be superseded. By talking about the peoples of Asia and Europe together, he is clearly not interested in making one form of culture stronger than the other. As we saw at the end of our discussion of ancestral homeland, this claim seems to contradict what we have learned thus far in Airs, Waters, Places. In this excerpt, Ps.-Hippocrates appears to be claiming that institutions/customs can completely overcome the influence of ancestral homeland. If that is the case, though, then the importance of climatic determinism would need to be reevaluated. As we will see when we turn our attention to physical appearance, this is not the last time Ps.-Hippocrates is willingly contradictory in his own text. Oratory A genre that we have not yet considered in this chapter but one that is a significant voice in the discourse on alterity is oratory. Among the many noted orators of the Classical age, Demosthenes is of special relevance here. Composed in 341 B.C.E., Demosthenes’ Third Philippic was delivered during a time that had recently seen Philip II of Macedon marching against Thrace and threatening Athenian colonization efforts. The resulting conflict between Philip II and the Athenian general Diopeithes galvanized Demosthenes to deliver this speech, insisting that Philip II was at war with Athens because it was Philip who first violated the Peace of Philocrates, while Athens was simply acting to defend itself. This is not the first time that Demosthenes has made Philip II the subject of his oratorical brilliance. However, in the first Philippic, the Macedonian ruler and his allies were presented as objects of fear as opposed to figures deserving punishment, labeling them as “servants to the enemies of the state,” a sobriquet 78 that “became standard among the anti-Macedonians in Athens.” 204 In a particularly pointed assessment of Phillip’s character, Demosthenes declares, ἀλλ᾽ οὐχ ὑπὲρ Φιλίππου καὶ ὧν ἐκεῖνος πράττει νῦν, οὐχ οὕτως ἔχουσιν, οὐ μόνον οὐχ Ἕλληνος ὄντος οὐδὲ προσήκοντος οὐδὲν τοῖς Ἕλλησιν, ἀλλ᾽ οὐδὲ βαρβάρου ἐντεῦθεν ὅθεν καλὸν εἰπεῖν, ἀλλ᾽ ὀλέθρου Μακεδόνος, ὅθεν οὐδ᾽ ἀνδράποδον σπουδαῖον οὐδὲν ἦν πρότερον πρίασθαι but concerning Phillip and the things which that man does now, thus they do not take this attitude, he is not only not a Greek nor is he related to any Greeks but he is not even a barbaros from a place which we can speak well of. Instead, he is a Macedonian pest, from where it is not even possible presently to purchase a good slave. 205 This assessment is part of what Gottfried Mader describes as a “near-comic vilification” of Philip II. 206 By formulating his condemnation of Philip II in this manner, Demosthenes dismisses the Hellenicity that we saw Herodotus grant to the Macedonians on the basis of ancestral homeland earlier in this chapter. Furthermore, Demosthenes rejects the strict Greek versus barbarian dichotomy. Much like Aeschylus does so the Suppliants, Demosthenes allows space for distinct types of barbaroi, some who are less objectionable (presumably due to similarities with Greeks) and others, like the Macedonians, who are more objectionable. Some have read this passage as evidence of the doubts about the Hellenism of Macedonians. Scholars such as Hatzopoulos, would argue that we should understand “Demosthenes’ racist remarks…as anti-Macedonian propaganda.” 207 While it may not be possible to discern exactly how widespread these beliefs were, for some portion of the Greek world, at least, so-called “Macedonian Greeks” were not Greeks at all but barbaroi. 204 Judson Herrman, “Seeing Others as Athenians in Demosthenes’ Third Philippic,” in The Making of Identities in Athenian Oratory, ed. Jakub Filonik, Brenda Griffith-Williams, and Janek Kucharski (London: Routledge, 2019), 139. 205 Demosthenes, Philippica 3, ed. S.H. Butcher (Oxford, 1966), §31. 206 Gottfried Mader, “Literary Readings of Oratory,” in The Oxford Handbook of Demosthenes, ed. Gunther Martin (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2019), 22. 207 Edward M. Harris, “Speeches to the Assembly and in Public Prosecutions (Dem. 1-24),” in The Oxford Handbook of Demosthenes, ed. Gunther Martin (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2019), 382. 79 Clearly, the fascination with alterity not merely a Greek thing but is universal. Just as universal, is the understanding that the Greek versus barbarian monolith is of great use. While the examples that we have considered here demonstrate an understanding that no such monolith actually existed, the authors and playwrights and intellectuals do not actually abandon the idea. In fact, it might be more accurate to say that they cannot fully abandon it. This is not only because of the political value it continues to carry. It is also because, it allows the writer to simplify (or oversimplify as the case may be) issues for a wider audience. At the same time, as the various excerpts have demonstrated, these writers and composers do not feel so bound by the very monoliths that they are promoting that they are unable to contradict themselves. Thus, reinforcing its utility. Physical Markers Central to the argument that race (and therefore racism) did not exist in antiquity is the assertion that physical, heritable traits were not deployed in any sort of systematized way as a visual indicator of some, or all, of the previously discussed topics. In Heliodorus’ novel, this conceit is put under a spotlight. Of course, Charikleia’s porcelain skin not only sets the action of the novel in motion but also is the source of its happy resolution. Beyond this, Heliodorus speaks frequently and with specificity about the physical traits of various characters and groups within his novel. In doing so, he draws some very strong connections between particular physical traits, and here we refer chiefly to skin color, and ethnic identity. What is more, there are a number of moments in the novel which rely on preconceived notions about how skin color and identity are 80 usually connected in order to work. Thus, it may not be that he is creating a conversation about race but instead joining a preexisting one. While skin color is certainly not the only heritable characteristic associated with racial identity, it is the one that Heliodorus is most interested in. Thus, it is through skin color that he suggests connections between physical appearance and Greekness (as well as non-Greekness). Heliodorus sets an early precedent that a defining aspect of his two protagonists is their white beauty skin. When the bandits first lay their eyes upon Charikleia, for example, they judge that, “τὸ κάλλος τῆς κόρης θεσπέσιόν τι χρῆμα περισκοποῦντες ἱερά τινα ἢ ναοὺς πολυχρύσους ἀποσεσυλῆσθαι παρὰ τῶν ὁμοτέχνων ὑπελάμβανον” (considering the beauty of the girl to be something divine, they assumed that they had plundered some holy place of temple treasury). 208 Likewise, Theagenes is marked as white at the novel’s start, “ὀ δὲ τραύμασι μὲν κατῄκιστο καὶ μικρὸν ἀναφέρειν ὥσπερ ἐκ βαθέος ὕπνου τοῦ παρ' ὀλίγον θανάτου κατεφαίνετο, ἤνθει δὲ καὶ ἐν τούτοις ἀνδρείῳ τῷ κάλλει καὶ ἡ παρειὰ καταρρέοντι τῷ αἵματι φοινιττομένη λευκότητι πλέον ἀντέλαμπεν” (he was disfigured by wounds and he seemed to be barely conscious not far from death just as if from a heavy slumber, and even so his cheeks radiated with a bloom and manly beauty in them and becoming red with streaming blood radiated with whiteness all the more). 209 These are merely two examples of many scattered throughout the novel in which the white appearance of one or both of these characters is distinguished from that of the native inhabitants of the various African cities. It is true, the argument could be made that Heliodorus is interested simply in stressing the beauty of these two characters. However, this position becomes more challenging to maintain when one considers the novel’s conclusion. 208 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, I.7. 209 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, I.2. 81 Once the action relocates to Meroë, Heliodorus becomes far more explicit in expressing the idea that white skin identifies one as Greek. He achieves this by focalizing the appearance of Charikleia through the eyes of first Persinna and then Hydaspes. Upon seeing Charikleia (as an adult) for the first time, Persinna remarks, “ἲσως δέ που καὶ Ἑλληνίς ἐστιν ἡ ἀθλία· τὸ γὰρ πρόσωπον οὐκ Αἰγυπτίας” (but perhaps the pitiful girl is Greek? For her face is not that of an Egyptian girl). 210 Persinna explicitly confirms that physical features do (or at least can) denote one’s ethnic identity. Hydaspes, then, takes things one step further, claiming “πρὸς γὰρ τοῖς ἄλλοις καὶ χροιᾷ ξένῃ τῆς Αἰθιοπίδος λαμπρύνῃ” (all other things aside, your skin shines with a whiteness that is foreign to Ethiopian women). 211 From these two comments on Charikleia’s appearance, we can deduce that white skin, at least to some, is a definitive proof of Greekness. As was the case in the preceding discussion about barbarism, if white skin signifies Greekness, then black skin must signify the opposite. Of course, as it turns out and as the reader already knows, Charikleia is not Greek, but we will come to that. As intent as Heliodorus seems to be to establish heritable, physical markers as a tool to discern one’s identity, he seems equally committed to destabilizing the validity of such markers. Perhaps the most obvious way in which he goes about accomplishing this is through the character of Charikleia, herself. Throughout the novel, her whiteness has been used as proof not only of her Greekness but as a means to set her apart as the epitome of Greek beauty. Yet, not even midway through the novel, Persinna’s band reveals something surprising, ἐπειδὴ δέ σε λευκὴν ἀπέτεκον, ἀπρόσφυλον Αἰθιόπων χροιὰν ἀπαυγάζουσαν, ἐγὼ μὲν τὴν αἰτίανἐγνώριζον ὅτι μοι παρὰ τὴν ὁμιλίαν τὴν πρὸς τὸν ἄνδρα προσβλέψαι τὴν Ἀνδρομέδαν ἡ γραφὴ παρασχοῦσα καὶ πανταχόθεν ἐπιδείξασα γυμνὴν, ἄρτι γὰρ αὐτὴν ἀπὸ τῶν πετρῶν ὁ Περσεὺς κατῆγεν, ὁμοιοειδὲς ἐκείνῃ τὸ σπαρὲν οὐκ εὐτυχῶς ἐμόρφωσεν. Ἔγνων οὖν ἐμαυτήν τε ἀπαλλάξαι τοῦ μετ' αἰσχύνης θανάτου, πεπεισμένη τὴν σὴν χροιὰν μοιχείαν ἐμοὶ προσάψουσαν 210 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, X.7. 211 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, X.14. 82 and when I bore you white, gleaming white with skin foreign to Ethiopians, I knew the reason was that during the intimacy with my husband the painting presented me with the image of Andromeda at and depicted [her] bare in every way….therefore I understood that I would die a shameful death, because I persuaded myself that your color labeled me an adulterer. 212 This passage is of particular relevance because of the way it casts doubt upon the usefulness of physical markers in discerning identity. It does so by first acknowledging that, at least in the world of the novel, appearance is connected to where one is from. At the same time, though, it makes every instance in which Charikleia’s Greekness is established based on her appearance invalid and if it is invalid for a woman who is supposed to represent peak Greek beauty then it follows that it must be universally invalid. While this might be the most overt example, it is certainly not the only one. A more subtle instance, and one that perhaps foreshadows the information in Persinna’s band above, comes in the shape of the brief ekphrasis of Charikleia’s serpent jewelry. While nowhere near as detailed as the ekphrasis of the Pantarbe stone, this one is quite revealing, “οἱ δὲ ἦσαν τὴν μὲν ὕλην χρυσοῖ τὴν χροιὰν δὲ κυανοῖ, ὁ γὰρ χρυσὸς ὑπὸ τῆς τέχνης ἐμελαίνετο ἵνα τὸ τραχὺ καὶ μεταβάλλον τῆς φολίδος τῷ ξανθῷ τὸ μελανθὲς κραθὲν ἐπιδείξηται. (they were made of gold but the appeared to be dark in color, for the gold had been made black by artifice so that the roughness and the shifting of the scales reveal black mixed with gold underneath). 213 What is happening with the jewelry, the gold color being made to appear black, is the inverse of what happens with Charikleia in the sense that her skin which, by genetics, should be black appears gleaming white. Beyond this parallel, though, a broader point is suggested, appearances can be deceiving. 212 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, IV.8. 213 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, III.4. 83 Historiography Once again, Herodotus is the logical place to begin exploring the way in which physical characteristics were used as markers of identity in the Greek literary tradition of the Classical age and beyond. After all, Herodotus’ Histories, perhaps more than any of the other work discussed in this chapter, demonstrates an interest in the widest variety of peoples. As such, it is not just one group, say the Persians, that he is interested in positioning opposite the Greeks in his inquiry and this remains as true in his consideration of physical difference as it did in his consideration of language, for example. While skin color is certainly a topic that holds Herodotus’ interest throughout his text, there is a particular mention of physical difference that is worth considering first. As part of a larger ethnographic digression regarding the inhabitants of Scythia in book four, Herodotus singles out some groups, writing, “μελάγχλαινοι δὲ εἵματα μὲν μέλανα φορέουσι πάντες, ἐπ᾽ ὧν καὶ τὰς ἐπωνυμίας ἔχουσι, νόμοισι δὲ Σκυθικοῖσι χρέωνται. Βουδῖνοι δὲ ἔθνος ἐὸν μέγα καὶ πολλὸν γλαυκόν τε πᾶν ἰσχυρῶς ἐστι καὶ πυρρόν” (all the black cloaks wear black clothing, from which they derive their eponym, and they employ the customs of the Scythians. But the Budini are a great and populous ethnos. They all have very bright eyes and they are ruddy). 214 In this excerpt Herodotus introduces his reader to two groups. The so-called “μελάγχλαινοι” whose group identity is defined by the color of their garb are relevant because in them we see color, albeit assumed as opposed to heritable, defining a group of peoples. 215 The 214 Herodotus, Historiae, IV.107-108.1. 215 Herodotus is not the only historian to stress assumed physical characteristics as markers of identity. In the century after Herodotus, the historian Xenophon took a similar approach when discussing the Medes in his Cyropaedia, writing, “καὶ ὁρῶν δὴ αὐτὸν κεκοσμημένον καὶ ὀφθαλμῶν ὑπογραφῇ καὶ χρώματος ἐντρίψει καὶ κόμαις προσθέτοις, ἃ δὴ νόμιμα ἦν ἐν Μήδοις: ταῦτα γὰρ πάντα Μηδικά ἐστι, καὶ οἱ πορφυροῖ χιτῶνες καὶ οἱ κάνδυες καὶ οἱ στρεπτοὶ οἱ περὶ τῇ δέρῃ καὶ τὰ ψέλια τὰ περὶ ταῖς χερσίν (and then having seen that he was adorned 84 other people featured in this excerpt are the Budini. About them Herodotus only provides two details, both of which are concerned with shared, heritable characteristics. First, we learn that they all have bright eyes. Then, and perhaps more significantly, we learn that the entire “ἔθνος” is “πυρρόν” which here refers explicitly to skin color, as opposed to hair (which is how we saw it used in the fragment of Xenophanes). 216 Given this, whatever else might be said about these peoples, to Herodotus it is these particular shared characteristics that define them as a group. What makes this excerpt of singular interest, though, is the positioning of the Budini alongside the black cloaks. By placing these two instances of appearance being used to identify a group of people alongside each other, Herodotus suggests that they are equally valid. Another way of expressing this is that Herodotus seems to establish that while visual cues matter, he is not thinking about them in terms of heritable characteristics. This apparent lack of distinction between physical traits that are assumed and those which are inherited, though, appears to contradict an earlier claim that Herodotus makes about the inhabitants of India and those of Ethiopia in book three of the Histories. Of these peoples he writes, “ἡ γονὴ δὲ αὐτῶν, τὴν ἀπίενται ἐς τὰς γυναῖκας, οὐ κατά περ τῶν ἄλλων ἀνθρώπων ἐστὶ λευκή, ἀλλὰ μέλαινα κατά περ τὸ χρῶμα. τοιαύτην δὲ καὶ Αἰθίοπες ἀπίενται θορήν” (and the sperm of these people, which they discharge into their wives, is not white like the semen of other men, but it is black just like their skin. And Ethiopians discharge sperm such as this into the woman). 217 While not the focus of this passage, we would be remiss if we did not note that Herodotus is explicitly linking black skin to African peoples here. What is more interesting, both with with an outline under his eyes and with pigmented cosmetic and false hair, which indeed was the custom among the Medes; for all these things are Median and the purple robes and Median mantle and the bracelets around their arms, while among the Persians at home even now still have far plainer adornments and a simpler way of life) (I.3.2). 216 Asheri, Lloyd, and Corcella, A Commentary on Herodotus Books I-IV, 657. 217 Herodotus, Historiae, III.101.2. 85 though, is that Herodotus appears to focus that blackness around ideas of genetics, a belief that would later be criticized by Aristotle. 218 Tristan Samuels reads this surprising interest in genetics as evidence of Herodotus’ “anti-Black views” and argues that “the black semen stereotype certainly refers to all Black men. In other words, Indian, Aithiopian, and, by inference, Egyptian men have abnormal ejaculation and are hypersexual because they are Black.” 219 In place of this, I think a more likely explanation is that this lack of consistency when dealing with physical difference is representative of the fact that these ideas are still in development and Herodotus himself is not entirely sure how to understand the things that he is observing and being told. This position is supported by an earlier claim that Herodotus makes about the Ethiopians. While the above passage makes it clear that skin color is something that Herodotus and his contemporaries noticed as a marker of physical difference, it is not the only heritable characteristic that is employed. In the midst of his narrative of Cambyses interactions with the Ethiopians, Herodotus pauses to deliver a few remarks about the Ethiopians as a people. He remarks, “οἱ δὲ Αἰθίοπες οὗτοι… λέγονται εἶναι μέγιστοι καὶ κάλλιστοι ἀνθρώπων πάντων… τὸν ἂν τῶν ἀστῶν κρίνωσι μέγιστόν τε εἶναι καὶ κατὰ τὸ μέγαθος ἔχειν τὴν ἰσχύν, τοῦτον ἀξιοῦσι βασιλεύειν” (and these Ethiopians… are said to be the tallest and most beautiful of all men… they judge the man of the city who is tallest and has the greatest strength and they deem this man worth to be king). 220 This tradition of the Ethiopians being defined, at least in part, by their height and beauty also finds itself expressed in the mid-fourth century B.C.E. Periplus of Pseudo-Scylax. 221 Herodotus’ observation about Ethiopians suggests a couple of significant 218 Asheri, Lloyd, and Corcella, A Commentary on Herodotus Books I-IV, 498. 219 Tristan Samuels, “Herodotus and the Black Body: A Critical Race Theory Analysis,” Journal of Black Studies 46, no. 7 (2015): 735. 220 Herodotus, Historiae, III.20. 221 Scylax, Periegesus, ed. K. Müller (Paris: Didot, 1965), §112. 86 things. First, the complementary tone he takes certainly makes it hard to support such a broad claim about his “anti-Black” views, as Samuels might suggest. Second, though, is that by deploying these additional physical, heritable characteristics in addition, and prior, to the mention of skin color, we are forced to understand that, for Herodotus, skin color absolutely has meaning but the precise nature of that meaning is not always clear. Tragedy Turning our attention away from historiography and back to tragedy provides us with a rewarding interlocutor in the conversation about what physical attributes mean (or do not mean) in the construction of group identity. After all, in addition to the words of the playwright, the audience would also be confronted with visual representations of these physical markers. As Edith Hall understands it, it is on the Greek stage where this kind of difference gets uniquely problematized because it was Athenian citizens who were playing the roles and, as such, they were forced to physically embody this particular type of otherness. As a result, they were forced to think more critically about these differences. 222 Once again, it is Aeschylus’ Suppliant Maidens the provides a clear insight into this situation. On the surface the way skin color is deployed in this drama seems very straightforward. The Egyptians are the villains of the piece and time and time again attention is drawn to their appearance. Danaus, for example, refers to them as “μελαγχίμοις/γυίοισι” (black-limbed). 223 Perhaps more condemningly, the chorus curses them, bemoaning, ἐξῶλές ἐστι μάργον Αἰγύπτου γένος μάχης τ᾽ ἄπληστον: καὶ λέγω πρὸς εἰδότα. 222 Hall, Inventing the Barbarian: Greek Self-Definition Through Tragedy, 172. 223 Aeschylus, Suppliant Women, 719. 87 δοριπαγεῖς δ᾽ ἔχοντες κυανώπιδας νῆας ἔπλευσαν ὧδ᾽ ἐπιτυχεῖ κότῳ πολεῖ μελαγχίμῳ σὺν στρατῷ the lascivious genos of Aegyptus are detestable and crave battle, as I believe you are all too well aware of. They have sailed here on ships made of strong wood with dark prows and they are attended by a mighty black host. In their anger they have overtaken us. 224 Unlike in the case of Herodotus, it does seem that, here, Samuel’s “anti-Black” argument could find some legs. After all, the Egyptians are emphatically black and emphatically villainous. But even in this instance we must be careful. As Efimia Karakantza argues about this kind of language in the play, while there are certainly a number of negative connotations being suggested by blackness, to claim racial prejudice would be an overstatement. 225 The reason for this actual quite straightforward, it’s the eponymous suppliant maidens. Hippocratic Corpus As already explained, central to Ps.-Hippocrates theory of climatic determinism seeks to understand how the climate affects not only the mental disposition of peoples but also their physiques. As such, it makes sense that Airs, Waters, Places demonstrates a definite interest in attempting to understand how appearance might serve as an indicator of identity. Simultaneously, though, the text also reveals an astounding lack of consistency and clarity on this topic. Ps.-Hippocrates makes his interest in this issue clear as he transitions from the first half of his text which focuses more broadly on how various configurations of climate produce 224 Aeschylus, Suppliant Women, 741–45. 225 Efimia D. Karakantza, “Dark Skin and Dark Deeds: Danaids and Aigyptioi in a Culture of Light,” in Light and Darkness in Ancient Greek Myth and Religion, ed. Menelaos Christopoulos, Marion Meyer, and Olga Levaniouk (New York: Lexington Books, 2010), 14–16. 88 different types of bodies/minds to the second half which is more ethnically focused, “βούλομαι δὲ περὶ τῆς Ἀσίης καὶ τῆς Εὐρώπης δεῖξαι ὁκόσον διαφέρουσιν ἀλλήλων ἐς τὰ πάντα, καὶ περὶ τῶν ἐθνέων τῆς μορφῆς, ὅτι διαλλάσσει καὶ μηδὲν ἔοικεν ἀλλήλοισιν” (I wish to show, respecting Asia and Europe, how, in all respects, they differ from one another, and concerning the figure of the inhabitants, for they are different, and do not at all resemble one another). 226 While Ps.-Hippocrates is emphatic at the start of this section of the text that Asians and Europeans do not look alike, there is not any genetic component to his reasoning at this point. Instead, he is simply building off of his prior reasoning about how different winds, waters, and terrains can create different body types (things like distended bellies or lanky limbs). There are numerous examples that follow this claim but a particularly striking one concerns the Scythians, “πυρρὸν δὲ τὸ γένος ἐστὶ τὸ Σκυθικὸν διὰ τὸ ψύχος, οὐκ ἐπιγιγνομένου ὀξέως τοῦ ἡλίου· ὑπὸ δὲ τοῦ ψύχεος ἡ λευκότης ἐπικαίεται καὶ γίγνεται πυρρή” (the Scythian race are tawny from the cold, and not from the intense heat of the sun, for the whiteness of the skin is parched by the cold, and becomes tawny). 227 This connects the particular physical characteristic being “πυρρὸν,” interestingly the same word we saw in an earlier excerpt from Herodotus regarding the Budini, to a particular “γένος.” Implicit in how climate is used here, also, is that dark skin is connected to the opposite climate. So, Ps.-Hippocrates certainly considers physical appearance as a viable way to determine a person’s identity but he does not understand this marker as genetic. A separate example, however, suggests that maybe Ps.-Hippocrates is interested in pursuing the genetic angle. Perhaps the most well-known passage in Airs, Waters, Places concerns a particular group of people who Ps.-Hippocrates identifies as the Macrocephali, literally “the Big Heads.” As their 226 Hippocrates, Airs, Waters, Places, §12. 227 Hippocrates, Airs, Waters, Places, §20. 89 name suggests, they are distinct from other groups because of the size and shape of their head much in the same way the Cyclopes receive their name. Of course, at this point in Ps.- Hippocrates’ text, a group with a particular physical trait is nothing new. However, the way in which he explains their appearance adds a wrinkle to our understanding of Ps.-Hippocrates’ ideas. He writes, τουτέων γὰρ οὐκ ἔστιν ἄλλο ἔθνος ὁμοίως τὰς κεφαλὰς ἔχον οὐδέν. Τὴν μὲν γὰρ ἀρχὴν ὁ νόμος αἰτιώτατος ἐγένετο τοῦ μήκεος τῆς κεφαλῆς, νῦν δὲ καὶ ἡ φύσις ξυμβάλλεται τῷ νόμῳ· τοὺς γὰρ μακροτάτην ἔχοντας τὴν κεφαλὴν γενναιοτάτους ἡγέονται. Ἔχει δὲ περὶ νόμου ὧδε· τὸ παιδίον ὁκόταν γένηται τάχιστα, τὴν κεφαλὴν αὐτέου ἔτι ἁπαλὴν ἐοῦσαν, μαλακοῦ ἐόντος, ἀναπλήσσουσι τῇσι χερσὶ, καὶ ἀναγκάζουσιν ἐς τὸ μῆκος αὔξεσθαι, δεσμά τε προσφέροντες καὶ τεχνήματα ἐπιτήδεια, ὑφ' ὧν τὸ μὲν σφαιροειδὲς τῆς κεφαλῆς κακοῦται, τὸ δὲ μῆκος αὔξεται. Οὕτω τὴν ἀρχὴν ὁ νόμος κατειργάσατο, ὥστε ὑπὸ βίης τοιαύτην τὴν φύσιν γενέσθαι· τοῦ δὲ χρόνου προϊόντος, ἐν φύσει ἐγένετο, ὥστε τὸν νόμον μηκέτι ἀναγκάζειν there is no other race of men which have heads in the least resembling theirs. At first, usage was the principal cause of the length of their head, but now nature cooperates with usage. They think those the most noble who have the longest heads. It is thus with regard to the usage: immediately after the child is born, and while its head is still tender, they fashion it with their hands, and constrain it to assume a lengthened shape by applying bandages and other suitable contrivances whereby the spherical form of the head is destroyed, and it is made to increase in length. Thus, at first, usage operated, so that this constitution was the result of force: but, in the course of time, it was formed naturally; so that usage had nothing to do with it; 228 Here, Ps.-Hippocrates is arguing that two separate developmental stages took place in the history of the Macrocephali. At an earlier stage, their culture, presumably dictated by the climate they lived in, compelled them to lengthen the heads of their children. This fits neatly with what the author says elsewhere about climatic determinism. Where things get a bit messy, though, is in the second stage. As Ps.-Hippocrates explains, over time this practice became so ingrained that people were born with elongated heads and there was no need for the binding. In other words, it 228 Hippocrates, Airs, Waters, Places, §14. 90 became a heritable characteristic that identified them as belonging to a particular group. This seems to suggest that Ps.-Hippocrates understands that over enough time, biology can overtake the effects of climate. Against this passage, though, there is a second excerpt that we must consider. Inhabiting an area south of the Scythians, were a group that Ps.-Hippocrates identifies as the Saurumatae. Like the Macrocephali, this group engages in a particular act of body modification that makes at least some of their members easily identifiable on sight. Of this group, he writes, τὸν δεξιὸν δὲ μαζὸν οὐκ ἔχουσιν. Παιδίοισι γὰρ ἐοῦσιν ἔτι νηπίοισιν αἱ μητέρες χαλκεῖον τετεχνημένον ἐπ' αὐτέῳ τουτέῳ διάπυρον ποιέουσαι, πρὸς τὸν μαζὸν τιθέασι τὸν δεξιὸν, καὶ ἐπικαίεται, ὥστε τὴν αὔξησιν φθείρεσθαι, ἐς δὲ τὸν δεξιὸν ὦμον καὶ βραχίονα πᾶσαν τὴν ἰσχὺν καὶ τὸ πλῆθος ἐκδιδόναι they have no right breast; for while still of a tender age their mothers heat strongly a copper instrument constructed for this very purpose, and apply it to the right breast, which is burnt up, and its development being arrested, all the strength and fullness are determined to the right shoulder and arm. 229 While this practice only applies to women, it is otherwise very similar to how Ps.-Hippocrates describes the Macrocephali behaving, the Sauromatae affect a change in the bodies of their children in order to mark them going into adulthood. What makes this such a valuable comparative with the Macrocephali is that in this instance there is no suggestion that over time this practice becomes heritable. This creates a major inconsistency in Airs, Waters, Places that the author never reconciles. Philosophy 229 Hippocrates, Airs, Waters, Places, §17. 91 One final place we need to turn our attention is philosophy. While Aristotle delves deeply into ideas surrounding genetics and appearance in his Generation of Animals, there is another text that is more immediately relevant to the current discussion. That text is the Politics. Early in the first book, as Aristotle considers what makes a state good, the philosopher begins by examining its constituent parts. This leads him to begin thinking about individual households and those who make up the households, among whom he includes freemen, women, and slaves. For the current discussion, we will set Aristotle’s discussion of women aside. Women, as Michael Davis explains it, occupy an in between place within the household. They are not slaves but they are also not equal to freemen. Instead, they contain elements of both. 230 Remarking on what distinguishes freemen from slavish people, then, Aristotle argues, βούλεται μὲν οὖν ἡ φύσις καὶ τὰ σώματα διαφέροντα ποιεῖν τὰ τῶν ἐλευθέρων καὶ τῶν δούλων, τὰ μὲν ἰσχυρὰ πρὸς τὴν ἀναγκαίαν χρῆσιν, τὰ δ' ὀρθὰ καὶ ἄχρηστα πρὸς τὰς τοιαύτας ἐργασίας, ἀλλὰ χρήσιμα πρὸς πολιτικὸν βίον (οὗτος δὲ καὶ γίνεται διῃρημένος εἴς τε τὴν πολεμικὴν χρείαν καὶ τὴν εἰρηνικήν), συμβαίνει δὲ πολλάκις καὶ τοὐναντίον, τοὺς μὲν τὰ σώματα ἔχειν ἐλευθέρων τοὺς δὲ τὰς ψυχάς· ἐπεὶ τοῦτό γε φανερόν, ὡς εἰ τοσοῦτον γένοιντο διάφοροι τὸ σῶμα μόνον ὅσον αἱ τῶν θεῶν εἰκόνες, τοὺς ὑπολειπομένους πάντες φαῖεν ἂν ἀξίους εἶναι τούτοις δουλεύειν in fact, nature wants to make the bodies of both freemen and slaves different, making the latter strong for imposed labor and making the former upright and useless for such toils but suitable for political life (and this becomes divided into military endeavors and artistic ones). But often the opposite occurs, some have the bodies of freemen and others have the souls of freemen. Indeed, since this is clear, that if only some men were born remarkable in respect to their bodies, just as the images of the gods are, all would say that those who were inferior were deserving of being slaves to the superior men. 231 Aristotle does not go into much detail about how these bodies are different. He makes no mention of skin color or hair quality or any other physical characteristic that our other authors 230 Michael Davis, The Politics of Philosophy: A Commentary on Aristotle’s Politics (New York: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, Inc., 1996), 16. 231 Aristotle, Politics, 1254b27-36. 92 do. Yet, he is still emphatic that the bodies are physically distinct. However, Aristotle does not appear to be an adherent to climatic determinism so he cannot be suggesting a physical difference of the sort suggested by Ps.-Hippocrates. Moreover, Greeks sourced slaves not only from Asia, Turkey, and Balkans but also Greece itself. 232 So, even if Aristotle believed locations affected appearance, which he did not, slaves came from all different places including his own backyard so the physical difference cannot be of the sort that, say, Herodotus identified either. Going by Aristotle’s own words, the physical difference seems to boil down to possessing the strength to carry out the physical labor demanded of a slave and endure the punishments that might be doled out to a slave. Furthermore, he acknowledges that sometimes nature does not adhere to this rule which means, as Adriel Trott stresses, that the body alone is not enough to identify a slave, it is only the slave and mind in concert. 233 It would seem, then, that this passage which is so enticing on the surface as evidence for the role physical markers play in identity construction and the existence of race/racism in the ancient world, actually works as an argument against it. Across these many examples, it becomes evident that, in spite of the broad strokes many modern scholars want to paint with, ancient intellectuals of the Classical Age and beyond were, in fact, very intrigued by the idea that physical, heritable characteristics might be a way to signal group identity. What is also clear from these examples, though, is that they were not quite sure how this might work. As a result, we are left with the creative output of a diverse group of individuals, all of whom are attempting to test this idea in a variety of ways. While some are more straightforward in their effort to simply add value to physical characteristics, others seem 232 Niall McKeown, “Seeing Things: Examining the Body of the Slave in Greek Medicine,” Slavery & Abolition 23, no. 2 (2002): 29-30. 233 Adriel M. Trott, Aristotle on the Nature of Community (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013), 181. 93 to inherently understand how complex such an endeavor is. Others, still, make the ambitious move to draw a direct line between appearance and group genetics (for lack of a better word). While no consensus is reached (this is neither possible nor their goal), the ideas that their works disseminated into the Greek consciousness provide a strong foundation upon which the novelists can explore this topic further. Conclusion It was never the intention of this chapter to demonstrate that over the course of the Classical Age and beyond, Greek writers and thinkers came to a consensus about any of these topics, let alone how they interacted with one another. Instead, as these various examples demonstrated time and time again, there was a great deal of uncertainty surrounding the roles the ancestral homeland and language played, the idea of the barbarian, and how, if at all, appearance reflected these ideas. While the importance of these issues is unquestionable, nearly everything else does seem to be fair ground for debate among Greeks. Perhaps, it is precisely this lack of clarity that makes these topics so irresistible to Heliodorus, as well as the other novelists to varying degrees. After all, the novel is, as Mikhail Bakhtin posits, defined, at least in part, by the fact that it is continuously developing. 234 As such, Heliodorus would be drawn to ideas that have so clearly are open to interpretation and reinterpretation. 234 Mikhail Bakhtin, “Epic and Novel: Toward a Methodology for the Study of the Novel,” in The Dialogic Imagination: Four Essays, trans. Michael Holquist and Carl Emerson (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1982), 7. 94 Chapter 3: Novel Approaches to Identity in the Other Ideal Romances Chapter two established that, beginning in the Classical Age, authors maintained a sincere interest in the constituent parts of identity, even if this interest did not result in a codified understanding of these various elements. Additionally, the evidence suggests that the writers were aware that certain heritable characteristics could be used as markers for identity at times. However, the evidence simultaneously demonstrates that these same writers were far from arriving at a consensus on this last point. In this chapter we will turn our attention to Heliodorus’ fellow novelists: Chariton, Achilles Tatius, Longus, and Xenophon of Ephesus. Like Heliodorus’ Aethiopika, their novels tell the story of impossibly beautiful, young lovers who are forced to endure a number of trials and tribulations before being granted their happily ever after. Also, like Heliodorus, these authors are engaging with the same cannibalistic genre that relied not only on the many works considered in the previous chapter but many others as well. As such, it will be beneficial to our ultimate understanding of what makes Heliodorus’ literary project so special, if we can understand how his fellow novelists engaged with the issues of ancestral homeland, language, barbarism, and, ultimately, appearance. Before beginning our examination of the four ideal romances with which this chapter is concerned, let us pause for a moment and consider why these four novels are being treated separately from the texts of the previous chapter. Of course, there are some who would argue that using the term “novel” to describe the four texts in this chapter is, in itself, a problem because 95 novels are an invention of 18 th century English writers, such as Defoe and Fielding. 235 However, other scholars, Ian Watt among them, calls this restriction arbitrary. 236 Even though there is no equivalent word for novel in ancient Greek, for simplicity’s sake, in this chapter and the next, we will use the word novel for these texts. 237 Due to the cannibalistic nature of the novels, it was first necessary to consider how early forms of literature, such as historiography, tragedy, and philosophy, treated the issues of ancestral homeland, language, barbarism, and appearance. Grouping the novels with these other genres might have risked obscuring the influence of the other texts we have considered. 238 Additionally, as Goldhill argues, the only way to really appreciate the full impact of any one of these novels is to consider them all together. 239 In this way, the current chapter will prove essential to our ultimate study of the Aethiopika. We are treating these texts together not only because they are long prose narratives, there were a number of those composed throughout Greek literary history, some of which were considered in the previous chapter, but because they all fall into a single pattern. They all are set in the Classical age and focus on a pair of high-stationed lovers who encounter a series of mishaps, love-rivals, kidnapping by pirates, and shipwrecks for example, that put their faithfulness to each other to the test. 240 As such, they are all working within the same framework of reader expectations. By understanding the ways in which his predecessors deal with those expectations, we will have a solid foundation upon which to analyze the Aethiopika. 235 Susan A. Stephens and John J. Winkler, eds., Ancient Greek Novels: The Fragments (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1995), 3. 236 Ian Watt, The Rise of the Novel: Studies in Defoe, Richardson and Fielding (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1957), 9. 237 Simon Goldhill, “Genre,” in The Cambridge Companion to the Greek and Roman Novel, ed. Tim Whitmarsh (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008), 190. 238 Jason König, Greek Literature in the Roman Empire (London: Bristol Classical Press, 2009), 13-16. 239 Goldhill, “Genre,” 195. 240 Stephens and Winkler, Ancient Greek Novels: The Fragments, 4. It is because they do not fit this pattern that we are excluding from the current examination other extended prose narratives of the Imperial age such as Lucian’s Vera Historia and Philostratus’ Life of Apollonius of Tyana. 96 Chariton’s Chaereas and Callirhoe Estimated to have been written in the middle of the first century C.E., Chariton of Aphrodisias’ novel, Chaereas and Callirhoe, is widely considered to be the earliest of the five ideal Greek romances. 241 Set against the historical backdrop of ca 400 B.C.E., it tells the story of Chaereas and Callirhoe whose happy marriage is thwarted by jealous suitors, who convince Chaereas that Callirhoe has been unfaithful. As a result of this trick, Chaereas kicks her with such force that he believes he has killed her. Following her entombment, she is kidnapped by graverobbing pirates who sell her as a slave in Miletus. Chaereas, for his part, goes in search of her and is also captured. Following many trials and tribulations, culminating in a naval victory against the Persians, the couple are reunited. They return to Syracuse and live in joyful matrimony. While this novel addresses the issues ancestral homeland, language, barbarism, and appearance, it does so in its own unique way that does not seem particularly interested in establishing a connection between appearance and the various aspects of identity construction. Ancestral Homeland It is evident from the novel’s beginning that ancestral homeland and the claims that surround it are of keen interest to the author. While descent has long been an important tool for asserting one’s identity, Chariton’s novel demonstrates an approach that is unique among the other ideal romances, an approach that he hints at early on in the novel. The issue of ancestral homeland first arises in the novel when Callirhoe, thought dead by her family in Syracuse, is 241 B.P. Reardon, Collected Ancient Greek Novels (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2008), 17. 97 kidnapped from her tomb by a group of graverobbing pirates. As the gravity of her situation dawns upon her, Callirhoe laments, “σὺ μὲν…πάτερ, ἐν ταύτῃ τῇ θαλάσσῃ τριακοσίας ναῦς Ἀθηναίων κατεναυμάχησας, ἥρπασε δέ σου τὴν θυγατέρα κέλης μικρὸς καὶ οὐδέν μοι βοηθεῖς” (you, father, conquered three hundred Athenian ships in this very sea but a small ship carried off your daughter and you do not help me at all). 242 The basic premise of this claim is not surprising. After all, kidnapping is a certainly bad thing. What is startling, though, is the way in which Athens is featured in this lament. As the de facto center of the Hellenic world, the idea that being forced to live there is just as bad as being forced to live in Persia comes as a bit of a shock. Implicit in this claim, then, is the idea that Athens, despite being as much a part of Greece as Syracuse, is still not home. This is reenforced by what she continues to say, “ἐπὶ ξένην ἄγομαι γῆν αὶ δουλεύειν με δεῖ τὴν εὐγενῆ·τάχα δὲ ἀγοράσει τις τὴν Ἑρμοκράτους θυγατέρα δεσπότης Ἀθηναῖος. πόσῳ μοι κρεῖττον ἦν ἐν τάφῳ κεῖσθαι νεκράν” (I shall live in a foreign land and it is necessary that I, although born noble, be a slave. Perhaps some Athenian master will buy the daughter of Hermocrates in the market. It would be much better to lie dead in a tomb). 243 The conclusion that the reader is forced to draw from Callirhoe’s words is that, at least in the world of this novel, claims of ancestral homeland rely on a much more narrow, local definition of home: home is precisely where you are from. As Whitmarsh explains, this kind of localized vision of Greekness falls more in line with the Pausanian model as opposed to the Aristidean one. Aristides, in his Roman Oration, envisions a world where people are happy to surrender their local cultures in favor of a singular imperial identity. Meanwhile, Pausanias sees a Greek world filled with countless and varied cultures. Being drawn to this Pausanian model makes 242 Chariton Aphrodisiensis, De Callirhoe Narrationes Amatoriae, ed. Bryan P. Reardon (Leipzig: B.G. Teubner, 2004), I.11. 243 Chariton, Callirhoe, I.11. 98 sense for our author who might feel an increased awareness of localism as a reaction to the globalization that the Mediterranean was experiencing. 244 When considered together, these excerpts disrupt the idea of the Greek monolith, something also worth bearing in mind when we turn our attention to the idea of otherness. For the present discussion, though, the reader must wonder if Chariton is concerned with this localization of homeland as part of a broader program in which characters garner prestige through particular claims of descent, as some might suggest. 245 Along with this more hyper-localized version of ancestral homeland, Chariton also includes moments in which claims to ancestral homeland are anchored in a broader definition of homeland. A lament that comes later in the novel, this time directed toward Plangon, reveals that the type of local approach to homeland emphasized in the previous excerpts is not always necessary. As it turns out, sometimes merely being in Greece, even if it is not the part of Greece in which you were born, is sufficient. As Callirhoe continues her journey, which takes her farther and farther from her Syracusan home, against her will, she says, οὐκέτι γὰρ εἰς Ἰωνίαν με φυγαδεύεις. ξένην μέν, πλὴν Ἑλληνικὴν ἐδίδους γῆν, ὅπου μεγάλην εἶχον παραμυθίαν, ὅτι ‘θαλάσσῃ παρακάθημαι·’… Μίλητον ἀφείλω μου πάλιν, ὡς πρότερον Συρακούσας· ὑπὲρ τὸν Εὐφράτην ἀπάγομαι καὶ βαρβάροις ἐγκλείομαι μυχοῖς ἡ νησιῶτις, ὅπου μηκέτι θάλασσα for it is not now in Ionia you make me live in exile. Then you gave me a foreign land but at least a Greek one, where I could have great relief because was situated near the sea…This time you have separated me from Miletus, whereas before it was Syracuse; I, an island woman, am carried beyond the Euphrates and imprisoned in the depths of Barbarian lands where the sea is at a great distance. 246 244 Tim Whitmarsh, “Thinking Local,” in Local Knowledge and Microidentites in the Imperial Greek World, ed. Tim Whitmarsh (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), 1-2. 245 Christopher Jones, “Ancestry and Identity in the Roman Empire,” in Local Knowledge and Microidentites in the Imperial Greek World, ed. Tim Whitmarsh (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), 116. 246 Chariton, Callirhoe, V.1. 99 The sentiment that Callirhoe expresses here appears to contradict her lament at the beginning of the novel. In order to understand this, we might find it helpful to consider what Simon Goldhill writes about local identity. He argues that “[w]hen we look for local identity we have to consider against what identity that localness is being defined.” 247 In the initial lament, Athens was as unwelcome as Persia as a destination for Callirhoe because she had just been taken from her home. As such, everything that is not her actual home is “other” to her. Here, however, having long been deprived of her family, she recalibrates her expectations and desires. While elsewhere in Greece is clearly still not her most optimal homeland, as evidenced by the use of the word “ξένην,” it is still better than nothing as it, at least, shares cultural touchstones with her home in Syracuse (a point to which we will return). With these two distinct laments, Chariton establishes a two-tiered system of ancestral homeland which suggests a more nuanced interpretation of the idea than other authors might rely upon. Returning our attention to the first half of the novel, the significance of locality to the idea of ancestral homeland comes into sharper focus. Two passages in particular clarify for the reader what Chariton intends with his specific use of ancestral homeland. As Callirhoe is being conveyed to her next destination, she proclaims to herself, “‘ἰδοὺ’ φησὶν ‘ἄλλος τάφος, ἐν ᾧ Θήρων με κατέκλεισεν, ἐρημότερος ἐκείνου μᾶλλον· πατὴρ γάρ μοι ἂν ἐκεῖ προσῆλθε καὶ μήτηρ, καὶ Χαιρέας ἐπέσπεισε δακρύων· ᾐσθόμην ἂν καὶ τεθνεῶσα. τίνα δὲ ἐνταῦθα καλέσω γνωστόν?’” (“behold,” she said, “another tomb, in which Theron has enclosed me! It is rather more desolate than the first! For my father could have come to me there and my mother also, and Chaereas, weeping, would have poured out his offerings and, although I was dead, I would have 247 Simon Goldhill, “What Is Local Identity? The Politics of Cultural Mapping,” in Local Knowledge and Microidentites in the Imperial Greek World, ed. Tim Whitmarsh (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), 49. 100 felt their presence. But what acquaintance will I call on in this place?”). 248 Later, Callirhoe reiterates this sentiment as she laments the presumed fate of her unborn child, “πρὸ τοῦ γεννηθῆναι γέγονας ἐν τάφῳ, καὶ χερσὶ λῃστῶν παρεδόθης. εἰς ποῖον παρέρχῃ βίον; ἐπὶ ποίαις ἐλπίσι μέλλω σε κυοφορεῖν, ὀρφανὲ καὶ ἄπολι καὶ δοῦλε” (before you were born you were buried in a tomb and you were given into the hands of pirates. Into what sort of life are you coming? With what hope will I give birth to you, without parents and without a city and as a slave). 249 Both of these passages help to clarify why it is that the author frames ancestral homeland as specific not just to one’s country of origin but to where one is actually from. For Chariton, as well as the characters in his novel, it is the ancestral aspect of ancestral homeland that holds the true value. As such, homeland becomes symbolic of one’s family and ancestry, not just things like customs and religious practices, which one could likely find outside of the city of their birth. Thus, to be deprived of homeland, as Callirhoe is at the start of the novel, is to be deprived of her family. This is why Athens is not an acceptable final destination for her, even if staying in Greece is better than going to Persia, for example. By being so emphatic about what homeland means so early on, Chariton accomplishes a couple of things. First, he establishes what a happy ending for our heroine must entail (ending up back in Syracuse, which she does). Second the connection he underscores between homeland and family (and from the female (birth giver) perspective/side) does suggest a genetic aspect to this part of identity. Language 248 Chariton, Callirhoe , I.14. 249 Chariton, Callirhoe, II.8. 101 While language is not a chief concern of this novel and explicit references to language are, by no means, abundant, which might come as a surprise in a narrative that features the amount of traveling that this novel contains, the author does acknowledge language a handful of times in meaningful ways. These excerpts will suggest that the author’s interest is not related to demonstrating that any one language is superior to other languages. Instead, Chariton uses these moments to establish the special role that language plays in the construction of individual and group identity as he understands it. The first time the issue of language is raised is when Mithridates, a Persian, decides that he wants to send a scout ahead of his party. He instructs Hyginus “ἐπειδὰν ἐν Πριήνῃ γένηται, τοὺς μὲν ἄλλους αὐτοῦ καταλιπεῖν, μόνον δὲ αὐτόν, ὡς Ἴωνα (καὶ γὰρ ἡλλήνιζε τὴν φωνήν) κατάσκοπον εἰς τὴν Μίλητον πορευθῆναι” (to abandon the others there in Priene and go all by himself into Miletus disguised as an Ionian (for he spoke the Greek language). 250 While the idea that possessing knowledge language, by itself, could serve as a sufficient disguise, might not meet our expectations of a conventional disguise, Susan Stephens argues that, in narratives such as this, “little or no distinction is drawn between a Greek born in Syria or Egypt and the native Syrian or Egyptian who may speak Greek.” 251 In this context, then, language is disguise enough and Hyginus has no need to modify his appearance or dress. I am tempted to agree with this argument but the way in which Stephens presents it buries the lede a bit. Another way of phrasing this point is that language is such a meaningful part of identity (perhaps the most meaningful) that appearance does not even need to come into play. This will be worth keeping in mind when the focus shifts to how appearance is employed throughout the novel. 250 Chariton, Callirhoe, IV.5. 251 Susan A. Stephens, “Cultural Identity,” in The Cambridge Companion to the Greek and Roman Novel, ed. Tim Whitmarsh (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008), 60. 102 The specter of language appears again in the fifth book of the novel, this time connected to the travails of Callirhoe. Once again, we find our heroine bemoaning her, admittedly dire, circumstances as she is ferried to yet another foreign locale. In this particular moment of hardship, the narrator finds cause to provide insight into Callirrhoe’s state of mind. He writes, Καλλιρόη μὲν γὰρ μέχρι Συρίας καὶ Κιλικίας κούφως ἔφερε τὴν ἀποδημίαν· καὶ γὰρ Ἑλλάδος ἤκουε φωνῆς καὶ θάλασσαν ἔβλεπε τὴν ἄγουσαν εἰς Συρακούσας· ὡς δ' ἧκεν ἐπὶ ποταμὸν Εὐφράτην, μεθ' ὃν ἤπειρός ἐστι μεγάλη, ἀφετήριον εἰς τὴν βασιλέως γῆν τὴν πολλήν, τότε ἤδη πόθος αὐτὴν ὑπεδύετο πατρίδος τε καὶ συγγενῶν <καὶ> ἀπόγνωσις τῆς εἰς τοὔμπαλιν ὑποστροφῆς for Callirhoe was easily enduring the journey as far as Syria and Cilicia; For she heard Greek being spoken and could see the sea that lead to Syracuse; but when she came upon the river Euphrates, beyond which there is a great expanse, the starting point of the vast land of the king, it was at that point that a longing for her homeland and her family took her over and she was despondent about ever returning. 252 What becomes abundantly clear from this excerpt is the specific comfort that Callirhoe receives from hearing her native language spoken. We should not, however, make the mistake that this passage also works to position Greek as superior to other languages. Here it is only superior in Callirhoe’s mind because it is her language. We could just as easily imagine her being a kidnapped native of Persia taking solace in hearing Persian despite being far from her home. While softening the stance of the previous example, in this excerpt we can see the connections the author draws between language, homeland, and family and how, through such connections, language is a vital part of the formation of group identity. One final excerpt in which the issue of language is raised comes towards the end of the novel. Chaereas and Polycharmus, who have been conscripted by the Persian army, attempt to desert the Persian company and join the opposing Egyptian forces. Almost immediately, they are 252 Chariton, Callirhoe, V.1. 103 captured and interrogated as if they might be spies. What saves them in this particularly precarious predicament is language, “ἔνθα καὶ παρεκινδύνευσαν, εἰ μὴ εἷς γέ τις Ἕλλην ἐκεῖ κατὰ τύχην εὑρεθεὶς συνῆκε τῆς φωνῆς” (and at the point they would have been in great danger had not a certain Greek been there by chance and understood their language). 253 A more careless reading of this passage might tempt one to suppose Chariton is elevating the status of the Greek language here, and we will certainly see this scene repurposed in later novels to such an effect. However, something different is happening. It is not that they know Greek that saves our protagonist and his friend. It is the fact that an Egyptian also knows Greek that delivers them from danger. In other words, far from elevating the status of one language over another, in this excerpt Chariton emphasizes the multilingual world in which this story takes place. If anything, then, it would not be knowing a certain language that would make someone superior but knowing many languages. In spite of all of the travelling that the main characters do outside of Greece, these examples are the only ones in which the author addresses language explicitly. This dearth of material for an author who is, otherwise, so interested in identity, suggests that Chariton does not consider language as central to group identity as many of his predecessors and contemporaries did. However, this does make a kind of sense. After all, as our exploration of ancestral homeland revealed, for Chariton identity is localized to individual cities as opposed to a specific country. As such, language would not be as much of a factor in crafting identity. Barbarism 253 Chariton, Callirhoe, VII.2. 104 Perhaps as a direct result of the historical setting of this novel, Chaereas and Callirhoe takes an extremely nuanced approach to its discussion of barbarism. Certainly, the author does present the kind of black and white Greek versus barbarian opposition that has come to be considered the norm by modern readers, despite evidence to the contrary (some of which was presented in the previous chapter). However, Chariton is careful to weave layers of refinement into this opposition throughout the novel. As a result, he captures a more “realistic” version of ancient world than the reductive Greek versus barbarian dichotomy allows for. Chariton’s novel presents a world in which, while Greeks and barbarians are certainly distinct, there is room for Greeks to be distinct from other Greeks and, likewise, barbarians to represent varying levels of otherness. If it is true that Greek writers chiefly pursue oppositional models of identity construction, and the evidence from the literature seems to support this, it only makes sense that Chariton does not make his first large-scale claim about what it is to be Greek, and, by extension, not Greek, until Callirhoe has been removed from her homeland. After the pirates anchor outside of Miletus, they end up selling Callirhoe to the estate of Dionysius, the richest man in Ionia and friend to the Persian king. In one of the many lamentations that Callirhoe makes, she beseeches Dionysius, “Διονύσιε (Ἕλλην γὰρ εἶ καὶ πόλεως φιλανθρώπου καὶ παιδείας μετείληφας μὴ γένῃ τοῖς τυμβωρύχοις ὅμοιος μηδὲ ἀποστερήσῃς με πατρίδος καὶ συγγενῶν” (Dionysius, for you are a Greek and belong to a benevolent city and you participate in that culture. Do not be like the grave robbers. Do not deprive me of my fatherland and family). 254 The way in which Callirhoe distinguishes between Greeks and non-Greeks in this instance is to be expected from a Greek 254 Chariton, Callirhoe, II.5. 105 author. Of course, Greeks are defined by their association with the πολις, especially in a story set in the Classical period. After all, it was Aristotle who famously explained that, “ὁ ἄνθρωπος φύσει πολιτικὸν ζῷον, καὶ ὁ ἄπολις διὰ φύσιν καὶ οὐ διὰ τύχην ἤτοι φαῦλός ἐστιν” (man is, by nature, a political creature and the man who does not belong to a polis by nature and not by chance is a bad man). 255 With these words, Aristotle cemented the defining “form of community life” for Greeks. 256 By explicitly marking Dionysius as a polis-dweller in her plea, Charikleia brings the words of Aristotle to the reader’s mind and, in doing so, suggests that not only are Greeks and barbaroi distinct in this particular way but this distinction marks Greeks as superior. As the story progresses, this hardline Greek versus barbarian opposition occasionally reappears, reminding the reader of the framework in which the author is working. Often, this is accomplished through passing references to various customs that mark the Greeks as distinct. For example, their burial practices make an appearance. 257 However, there is one reference to Greeks, especially as it relates to local identities, that we must pause over. Late in the novel, when Charikles has allied himself with the Egyptian king, he is tasked with assembling a fighting force. After enlisting Polycharmus to aid him, he seeks out other Greeks (Spartans, Corinthians, and other Peloponnesians) in the camp and enlists them with the following words, “ἂνδρες Ἕλληνες, ἐμοὶ τοῦ βασιλέως ἐξουσίαν παρασχόντος ἐπιλέξασθαι τῆς στρατιᾶς τοὺς ἀρίστους, εἱλόμην ὑμᾶς· καὶ γὰρ αὐτὸς Ἕλλην εἰμί, Συρακόσιος, γένος Δωριεύς. δεῖ δὲ ἡμᾶς μὴ μόνον εὐγενείᾳ τῶν ἄλλων ἀλλὰ καὶ ἀρετῇ διαφέρειν” (Greek men, because the king handed over to me the authority to select the best men in the army, I have chosen you; for I am Greek myself, a Syracusan, a Dorian by race. It is necessary that we surpass the others not only in nobility but 255 Aristotle, Politics, 1243a2-4. 256 Glanville Downey, “Aristotle on the Greek Polis: A Study of Problems and Methods,” Urbanism Past & Present 3 (Winter 1976-77): 21. 257 Chariton, Callirhoe, I.6. 106 also in excellence). 258 At first glance, this passage does precisely what one might expect, if one is assuming a Greek versus barbarian dichotomy in which the Greeks are, without question, the superior group. While this quote does represent that idea coming from one of our Greek protagonists, Tilg suggests that Chariton is not focused on Greece’s relative superiority to other nations. 259 Instead, I think we can read these passages about Greekness, especially this final passage about Greek unified superiority, as a way to frame everything that Chariton includes that subverts the expectation about how Greeks will be presented. Scattered throughout this novel are a number of references to Greeks and Hellenic culture, in general, that deviate from the image of Greeks that the previous excerpts have established. Some of these moments are fairly minor and one could even be excused for passing them by. For example, on more than one occasion, Callirhoe, our Greek protagonist is referred to as “ξένη” (foreign). 260 Elsewhere, Athenians, as well as Greeks in general, are distinguished from all the other peoples of the world by their inquisitiveness. 261 A more explicitly negative description of the Greeks comes from Artaxates, when he asserts “Ἕλληνες δέ εἰσι μικραίτιοι καὶ λάλοι” (Greeks are easily provoked and gossip too much). 262 These various examples allow the author to stress a couple of things. First, that being different is a matter of perspective. In this way, the Greek world is decentered. Additionally, assigning to the Greeks negative characteristics, even if they are not the most cardinal of sins, allows the Greek reader to see their behavior through the eyes of barbaroi, further decentering Greekness and, thus, destabilizing the whole idea of Greeks versus barbarians. 258 Chariton, Callirhoe, VII.3. 259 Stefan Tilg, Chariton of Aphrodisias and the Invention of the Greek Love Novel (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 291–92. 260 Chariton, Callirhoe, II.4 and II.5, e.g. 261 Chariton, Callirhoe, IV.5. 262 Chariton, Callirhoe, VI.6. 107 As is the case when it comes to Greeks, when it comes to the barbaroi, Chariton largely paints with broad strokes. Beginning early in the novel, he is careful to highlight some of the more common stereotypes about non-Greeks. One of those stereotypes, the fascination with luxury and material goods, is established first when Theron and his men discover Callirhoe in her tomb after her Scheintod. Chariton relates that, “οὗτος τῇ ἐκκομιδῇ παρατυχὼν ἐπωφθάλμισε τῷ χρυσῷ καὶ νύκτωρ κατακλινεὶς οὐκ ἐκοιμᾶτο λέγων πρὸς ἑαυτὸν” ([Theron] was near the burial and he fixed his gaze upon the gold and, when he laid down at night, he could not fall asleep because he was obsessing over it). 263 So as to not have his reader understand this obsession with wealth as defining only pirates, he later describes villa of Dionysus, saying, “ἦν γὰρ εἰς ὑποδοχὴν τοῦ Περσῶν βασιλέως παρεσκευασμένη” (it was outfitted for entertaining the King of Persia). 264 When read together, it becomes evident that the love of wealth is not a result of one’s bearing but of one’s otherness. King or thief, it is the non-Greekness that instills this over- emphasis on luxury. Of course, this is not the only negative stereotype that is attached to barbaroi in the Greek imagination, as the previous chapter demonstrated. Another aspect of the “typical” barbarian that Chariton is quick to draw his reader’s attention to is their lasciviousness. At times, he does so more indirectly. For example, when Theron sets out to find his allies, we are told that he searches, explicitly “ἐν πορνείοις…δ' ἐν καπηλείοις” (in brothels and in taverns). 265 Other times, he is more overt, such as when he asserts that “φύσει δέ ἐστι τὸ βάρβαρον γυναιμανές” (it is in the nature of a barbarian to be overly fond of women). 266 As Saundra Shwartz points out, these are the kinds of negative elements that readers would expect an author 263 Chariton, Callirhoe, I.7. 264 Chariton, Callirhoe, I.13. 265 Chariton, Callirhoe, I.7. 266 Chariton, Callirhoe, V.2. 108 to highlight in this type of story. 267 However, there is a third stereotype that Chariton draws on that is, at least on its surface, a bit dissonant and that is the practice of genuflection, or proskynesis. A number of times throughout the novel, non-Greek characters are depicted bending the knee to their superiors. 268 While perhaps not as obviously negative as these other characteristics, the history that proskynesis has in the Greek imagination, one thinks of Callisthenes and the page conspiracy in the various biographies of Alexander the Great (Plutarch §53-55, Arrian 4.10-4.14.4), for example, reminds us that this practice, as well, has negative connotations. In the case of these narratives, far from being considered a simple sign of respect, Alexander’s Greek subjects considered it a “visible mark of ‘oriental servility.” 269 With all of these stereotypes that Chariton draws the readers’ attention to, the effect is the same, to construct an image of the stereotypically wicked barbarian. However, as was the case with the Greeks, his purpose in doing so is not to reenforce the monolith but to demonstrate its shortcomings. In spite of these broad strokes, the author does make room for nuance amongst his barbaric characters as well and, in doing so, reminds his readers that nobody is entirely other if each person’s alterity is marked in distinct ways. Graham Anderson, for his part, would point to scenes like the one in VI.7 which, in the place of highlighting the servile nature of barbaroi, draw our attention to their nobility. 270 Elsewhere, differences amongst the barbaroi are underscored in a scene in which Theron considers his various allies, “Ζηνοφάνης ὁ Θούριος; 267 Saundra Schwartz, “Rome in the Greek Novel? Images and Ideas of Empire in Chariton’s Persia,” Arethusa 36 (2003): 378. 268 Mithridates in V.2, the Persian women in V.3, and Artaxates in VI.7 are just three examples. 269 Pierre Briant and Amelie Kuhrt, Alexander the Great and His Empire (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2010), 124. 270 Graham Anderson, “Chariton: Individuality and Stereotype,” in A Companion to the Ancient Novel, ed. Edmund P. Cueva and Shannon N. Byrne (Hoboken, NJ: John Wiley & Sons, 2014), 22. 109 συνετὸς μὲν ἀλλὰ δειλός. Μένων ὁ Μεσσήνιος; τολμηρὸς μὲν ἀλλὰ Προδότης” (Zenophanes of Thurii? Intelligent but cowardly. Menon of Messana? Daring but traitorous). 271 While we cannot be certain of Chariton’s intent here, it is worth noting a couple things. First, Chariton does not make a habit of always introducing characters with their nationality. Second, these characters never are mentioned again in the narrative. As such, it is hard not to read this list as reflecting upon not only the individuals but also the places from which they come. Passages such as this point to an overall interest the author has in providing his readers with glimpses of local identities, both Greek and non-Greek. 272 And in doing so, Chariton demonstrates that the monolithic “other” does not exist, just as the monolithic Greek does not. To this point, Chariton also creates spaces of commonality between the Greeks and the barbaroi. For example, in book six, Artaxates says to the king, “εὕρηται…φάρμακον, βασιλεῦ, καὶ παρ' Ἕλλησι καὶ βαρβάροις, τοῦτο ὅπερ ζητεῖς. Φάρμακον γὰρ ἕτερον Ἔρωτος οὐδέν ἐστι πλὴν αὐτὸς ὁ ἐρώμενος” (it has been discovered, your majesty, both by Greeks and by barbarians, this remedy which you seek. For the one remedy of love is nothing less than the beloved himself). 273 When these examples are all considered together, Chariton’s intention reveals itself. He does reenforce the idea of the dichotomy between a Greek monolith and a barbarian one but he does so in order reveal the imperfections of that model. While it may indeed be useful from a political standpoint, Chariton is well aware, and wants to make sure his readers are equally aware, that the reality of the situation is far more complex. 271 Chariton, Callirhoe, I.7. 272 Sophie Lalanne, “‘A Mirror Carried along a High Road’?: Reflections on (and of) Society in the Greek Novel,” in Cultural Crossroads in the Ancient Novel, ed. Marília P. Futre Pinheiro, David Konstan, and Bruce Duncan Macqueen (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2017), 95. 273 Chariton, Callirhoe VI.3. 110 Appearance Given that one of the defining characteristics, if not the defining characteristic, of the ancient novels is the beautiful couple, it makes sense that Chariton makes physical appearance an area of concern in this story. Specifically, he does not waste any time in drawing the reader’s attention to the appearance of the protagonists. When the reader meets Callirhoe in the very first section of the very first book, they learn “ἦν γὰρ τὸ κάλλος οὐκ ἀνθρώπινον ἀλλὰ θεῖον, οὐδὲ Νηρηΐδος ἢ Νύμφης τῶν ὀρειῶν ἀλλ' αὐτῆς Ἀφροδίτης Παρθέν̣ο̣υ” (for her beauty was not human but divine and it was not the beauty of a nereid or a nymph of the mountains but of maiden Aphrodite herself). 274 While the use of beauty as a sign of divinity has a long history in Greek literature, in this, our first novel, the author’s “insistence on the sight of Callirhoe as something ‘supernatural, miraculous or divine’ far outstrips any of the other extant romances.” 275 But, while we know that she is very beautiful, Chariton is initially coy as to what that beauty actually looks like. As Temmerman explains, marking her as “καλλός” is a “physiognomical ‘template’ that is not filled with concrete information…and it is “precisely the absence of any ‘real’ physical characteristics is in itself another tertium comparationis which assimilates our heroine with Helen.” 276 This is certainly a tempting interpretation and one that jibes with what we know of the novels’ interest in cannibalizing ancient models. In fact, it is not until the next book that the reader actually gains insight into what this beauty is. Chariton writes, ἐνδεδυμένης αὐτῆς θαυμάζουσαι τὸ πρόσωπον ὡς θεῖον, καὶ μᾶλλον ἀποδυσαμένης κατεπλάγησαν ὡς ὅλην πρόσωπον δοκοῦσαι ἰδεῖν· ὁ χρὼς γὰρ λευκὸς ἔστιλψεν εὐθὺς μαρμαρυγῇ τινι ὅμοιον ἀπολάμπων· τρυφερὰ δὲ σάρξ, 274 Chariton, Callirhoe, I.1. 275 Froma Zeitlin, “Religion,” in The Cambridge Companion to the Greek and Roman Novel, ed. Tim Whitmarsh (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008), 100. 276 K. de Temmerman, “Blushing Beauty: Characterizing Blushes in Chariton’s ‘Callirhoe,’” Mnemosyne 60, no. 2 (2007): 241-242. 111 ὥστε δεδοικέναι μὴ καὶ ἡ τῶν δακτύλων ἐπαφὴ μέγα τραῦμα ποιήσῃ they marveled at her countenance as if it were divine when [Callirhoe] was dressed and, when she disrobed, they were utterly awestruck so that her face went entirely from their thoughts. For her skin glinted white, shining just like some sparkling substance; her flesh was delicate so that you feared lest even the touch of your fingers would cause a great wound. 277 It is significant to note that before finally revealing what Callirhoe looks like, Chariton first reminds the reader of the fact that Callirhoe’s appearance likens her to the divine. In doing so, he adds further weight to the fact that her beauty is defined by its unmarred whiteness. It is this explicit connection between beauty and divine that suggests that her beauty is an “index of her character.” 278 So, while it is not possible, at this point at least, to suggest that Chariton is drawing a connection between appearance and identity nor can it even be said that Callirhoe’s whiteness is a heritable characteristic, certainly Chariton establishes that appearance does carry value and white skin is the most valuable appearance one can possess. The description that Chariton provides of Chaereas is largely similar to Callirhoe. Also, similar to Callirhoe, Chaereas’ beauty is established right away. Chariton reports that “Χαιρέας γάρ τις ἦν μειράκιον εὒ μορφον, πάντων ὑπερέχον, οἷον Ἀχιλ̣λέα καὶ Νιρέα καὶ Ἱππόλυτον καὶ Ἀλκιβιάδην πλάσται τε καὶ γραφεῖς ἀπο δεικνύουσι” (for there was a certain young man, Chaereas, surpassing all in beauty, just like Achilles and Nireus and Hippolytus and Alcibiades, as both sculptors and painters depict them). 279 The elevation of Chaereas’ appearance to that of mythological figures can be read as on par with the divine appearance of Callirhoe. He then continues, “στίλβων ὥσπερ ἀστήρ· ἐπήνθει γὰρ αὐτοῦ τῷ λαμπρῷ τοῦ προ σώπου τὸ ἐρύθημ̣α 277 Chariton, Callirhoe, II.2. 278 de Temmerman, “Blushing Beauty: Characterizing Blushes in Chariton’s ‘Callirhoe,’” 239. 279 Chariton, Callirhoe, I.1. 112 τῆς παλαίστρας ὥσπερ ἀργύρῳ χρυσός” ([Chaereas] was shining just as a star, for the flush of exercise blossoms on his bright face just as gold on silver). 280 Like Callirhoe, this beauty, beauty which Jason König argues is a sign of his good breeding, is explicitly white. 281 Still, though, there is nothing in these descriptions, beyond the fact that they are Greek characters, that connects appearance to identity. In other words, at the novel’s start, while Chariton is clear to establish white skin as the epitome of beauty, it would be too much of a leap to assume that white skin also marks someone as explicitly Greek, even though these characters are both Greek themselves. Having established that they are beautiful, something that is typical of the ancient novel, Chariton also demonstrates what this beauty means. He goes about this in two main ways that, while distinct, work in concert with one another. The first way in which Chariton attaches meaning to the physical appearance of the protagonists is by drawing connections between their appearance and social class. For example, while the pirates are contemplating selling Callirhoe, one of them objects, saying, “ὅτι ‘δούλην’ ἐροῦμεν; τίς αὐτὴν ἰδὼν τούτῳ πιστεύσει” (shall we proclaim her to be a slave? Who will believe that after they see her). 282 This sentiment is echoed later by Dionysius who, assessing Callirhoe’s appearance, claims, “ἀδύνατον…καλὸν εἶναι σῶμα μὴ πεφυκὸς ἐλεύθερον” (it is not possible for the body of a person not born free to be beautiful). 283 What Chariton makes clear, then, is that the appearances of the protagonists mark them as freeborn. In other words, their beauty which has its foundation in their white skin 280 Ibid. 281 Jason König, “Body and Text,” in The Cambridge Companion to the Greek and Roman Novel, ed. Tim Whitmarsh (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008), 128. 282 Chariton, Callirhoe, I.10. 283 Chariton, Callirhoe, II.1. 113 dictates station. While this is not the same thing as race, as it has been defined, physical markers do serve as proof of some sort of identity. It is not until later in the novel, when Callirhoe falls into the clutches of Persians, that ethnic identity and appearance are drawn together. Chariton accomplishes this through an informal beauty pageant between Callirhoe and the leading women of Persia. When Callirhoe first arrives, concern arises that her physical appearance will put the Persian women to shame. To allay these fears, the queen assures them that “ἡ Περσὶς ἀποσβέσει τὴν ξένην (the Persian woman will outshine that foreign woman). 284 On its own, this claim suggests that Persian beauty differs from Greek beauty. Now, it must be acknowledged that what defines Persian beauty is unclear and, as a result, this might not be a reference to heritable characteristics like skin color but instead to things like clothing or jewelry. This ambiguity, however, is cleared up when the beauty contest actually takes place, ἐξέλαμψε δὲ τὸ Καλλιρόης πρόσωπον, καὶ μαρμαρυγὴ κατέσχε τὰς ἁπάντων ὄψεις, ὥσπερ ἐν νυκτὶ βαθείᾳ πολλοῦ φωτὸς αἰφνίδιον φανέντος…συνῆκε δὲ καὶ ἡ Ῥοδογούνη τῆς ἥττης, καὶ μήτε ἀπελθεῖν δυναμένη μήτε βλέπεσθαι θέλουσα ὑπέδυ τὴν σκηνὴν μετὰ τῆς Καλλιρόης, παραδοῦσα αὑτὴν τῷ κρείττονι φέρειν the countenance of Callirhoe shone forth and a gleaming transfixed the gaze of all, just as if bright light suddenly shone forth in the deep night…and even Rhodogune understood she was inferior and, neither being able to leave nor wishing to be seen, she entered the cabin with Callirhoe, surrendering herself to her better. 285 While there are still no specific details given about what Persian beauty amounts to, one thing is clear here, the Greek beauty is quite specifically Callirhoe’s radiant, white skin color and this skin color triumphs over the beauty of the barbarai. 286 Even if he never calls the Persians black, 284 Chariton, Callirhoe, V.3. 285 Ibid. 286 Anderson, “Chariton: Individuality and Stereotype,” 20. 114 the fact that Callirhoe literally outshines them suggests their skin is not the pure white that hers is. While the above passage is the closest Chariton comes to associating appearance with anything close to ethnic or racial identity, there is one comment earlier in the novel that does seem to recognize the role that genetics play in heritable characteristics. When Callirhoe discovers that she is pregnant, she is immediately burdened with a new concern. Not only does she continue to worry about her own well-being, but she now also has her unborn child to worry about. The way in which she expresses this concern is particularly interesting given this dissertation’s focus. She laments, “ἀνὴρ δὲ γενόμενος γνωρισθήσῃ ῥᾳδίως ὑπὸ τῶν συγγενῶν· πέπεισμαι γὰρ ὅτι ὅμοιόν σε τέξομαι τῷ πατρί· καὶ αταπλεύσεις λαμπρῶς ἐπὶ τριήρους Μιλησίας” (having reached manhood, you will be recognized easily by your family. For I am confident that I will give birth to you with the likeness of your father and you will sail triumphantly homeward in a Milesian warship). 287 In this passage, it is made abundantly clear that there is an understanding that children resemble their parents. In other words, heritable characteristics are a signpost of family. However, if the reader reconsiders this passage with the beauty competition in mind, a competition which relies on people from different communities having distinct appearances, than this excerpt takes on new meaning. No longer is it simply about children looking like their parents but, since Chariton has already established a strong connection between ancestral homeland and one’s family, it could also be about children looking like where they are from. Unfortunately, Chariton does not pursue this idea elsewhere in the novel so one cannot be certain. However, it is just possible that this might represent the beginning of racial thinking within the ancient novel. 287 Chariton, Callirhoe, II.1. 115 As the preceding exploration has demonstrated, questions about identity permeate many aspects of his novel. While presenting a clear-cut definition of identity or attaching these identities to physical, heritable characteristics might not be Chariton’s chief focus in the construction of this narrative, it is clear that it is an issue that resonates with him. Furthermore, the way in which he stresses the importance of local identity and works to subvert the Greek versus barbarian monolith suggests that Chariton is less interested in what it means to be “Greek” in the Imperial age and more interested in what it means to be a citizen of a given town which is part of a massive and expanding empire. Achilles Tatius’ Leucippe and Cleitophon Composed by the Alexandrian author, Achilles Tatius, Leucippe and Cleitophon has been called, by some scholars, “the most real” of the ideal Greek romances. 288 Based in part on the internal evidence of a striking similarity between the herdsmen of this novel and a report from Dio Cassius, this novel is dated to the latter half of the second century C.E. 289 In place of an unnamed third person narrator, the majority of this story is narrated by Cleitophon, one of the story’s protagonists. As in Chariton’s novel, Achilles Tatius’ young couple’s road to a happily- ever-after is beset with a number of obstacles, starting when they are shipwrecked during their attempt to elope, leaving them stranded in Egypt. What follows is a tale of bandits, Scheintode, separation, and further travels to Alexandria and Ephesus before the young lovers finally are reunited and married in Leucippe’s native Byzantium. Within this novel, aspects of identity are 288 Kathryn S. Chew, “Achilles Tatius, Sophistic Master of Novelistic Conventions,” in A Companion to the Ancient Novel, ed. Edmund P. Cueva and Shannon N. Byrne (Hoboken, NJ: John Wiley & Sons, 2014), 61–62. 289 Chew, "Achilles Tatius, Sophistic Master of Novelistic Conventions," 64. 116 deployed throughout the narrative as a tool to heighten the emotional impact (especially pity and despair). Ancestral homeland and language matter because they emphasize what the main characters are missing. Likewise, barbarism and appearance are deployed to make the villains more frightening and the protagonists more sympathetic. Ancestral Homeland While this novel does not demonstrate the same level of interest in ancestral homeland as Chariton’s did, what it does say is worth taking note of because it simultaneously acknowledges the more traditional view of ancestral homeland and distinguishes itself from the ideas presented in Chariton in order to say something that seems, perhaps, more appropriate for a modern Greek world. Of course, these distinguishing features only stand out because Achilles Tatius incorporates them into the more standard elements of discussions of ancestral homeland. For example, the use of one’s place of birth as a point of pride and social capital is still clearly employed by the characters of this novel. Leucippe, for instance, makes herself known later in the novel by proclaiming, “στρατηγοῦ θυγάτηρ εἰμὶ Βυζαντίων, πρώτου Τυρίωνγυνή· οὔκ εἰμι Θετταλή· οὐ καλοῦμαι Λάκαινα. ὕβρις αὕτη ἐστὶ πειρατική· λελῄστευμαι καὶ τοὔνομα. ἀνήρ μοι Κλειτοφῶν, πατρὶς Βυζάντιον, Σώστρατος πατήρ, μήτηρ Πάνθεια” (I am the daughter of a Byzantine general, and I am the wife of one Tyre’s leading men. I am not Thessalian and I am not called Lakaina. This is an outrage imposed by pirates. I was stolen and so was my name. Cleitophon is my husband, Byzantium is my homeland. Sostratus is my father and Panthea is my mother). 290 In a very straightforward manner, here, Leucippe draws a direct line between her 290 Achilles Tatius, Leucippe et Clitophon, ed. E. Vilborg (Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell, 1955), VI.16. 117 place of birth, her ancestry, and her personal identity. Where she came from is an integral part of who she is. Leucippe is not alone in this kind of thinking, either. Sostratos, as just one other example, hangs his identity, at least in part, on being born in Byzantium. 291 Claims of this sort alone do not set Achilles Tatius apart from his contemporaries. However, they do help in highlighting the ideas that do individuate him elsewhere in the novel. Of particular interest in understanding how Achilles Tatius sets his use of ancestral homeland apart from the way the other novelists use it are two passages. Intriguingly, neither of these passages deal with any specific characters in the novel but, instead, are located in sections one might identify as ethnographic digressions on local flora and fauna. The first of these is the explanation that the general, Charmides, gives to Cleitophon about the sacred Phoenix. Among the details provided, Charmides says, “Φοῖνιξ μὲν ὁ ὄρνις ὄνομα, τὸ δὲ γένος Αἰθίοψ… μερίζονται δὲ αὐτοῦ Αἰθίοπες μὲν τὴν ζωήν, Αἰγύπτιοι δὲ τὴν τελευτήν” (by name, the bird is Phoenician but by race it is Ethiopian…and the Ethiopians have possession of its life but the Egyptians have possession of its death). 292 While this passage does, on the one hand, reinforce the idea that one’s homeland is important, it also complicates the issue. After all, two geographically distinct places attach significance to the animal (admittedly at different stages of life). If what is true for the animal is also true for humans then the importance of returning to one’s place of origin, something so central to Chariton’s novel, can be called into question, at least within the world of this novel. Further complexity is added when Charmides educates Cleitophon on a certain flower in the next book. While there could be some ambiguity about how much of a connection ought to be drawn between what is appropriate for plants/animals and what is appropriate for humans in 291 Tatius, Leucippe et Clitophon, VIII.4. 292 Tatius, Leucippe et Clitophon, III.25. 118 the last passage. In what follows, no such ambiguity exists. It is quite apparent that Achilles Tatius intends for his reader to connect what Charmides has to say about this plant with how certain people behave. Charmides explains, γίνεται δὲ παρὰ τοῖς Ἕλλησιν ἄνθος Αἰθίοπος χροιᾶς· ἔστι δὲ παρ' Ἰνδοῖς οὐκ ἄνθος ἀλλὰ πέταλον, οἷα παρ' ἡμῖν τὰ πέταλα τῶν φυτῶν· ὃ μὲν κλέπτον τὴν πνοὴν καὶ τὴν ὀδμὴν οὐκ ἐπιδείκνυται· ἢ γὰρ ἀλαζονεύεσθαι πρὸς τοὺς εἰδότας ὀκνεῖ τὴν ἡδονὴν ἢ τοῖς πολίταις φθονεῖ· ἂν δὲ τῆς γῆς μικρὸν ἐξοικήσῃ καὶ ὑπερ βῇ τοὺς ὅρους, ἀνοίγει τῆς κλοπῆς τὴν ἡδονὴν καὶ ἄνθος ἀντὶ φύλλου γίνεται καὶ τὴν ὀδμὴν ἐνδύεται and among the Greeks there is a flower of Ethiopian color. And among Indians it is not a blossom but a shrub akin to the leafy bushes amongst our people. It keeps secret its fragrance and hides its aroma. For either it hesitates to boast before those who already know it or it resents its fellow citizens. But as soon as it removes itself from its land a little and crosses the border, it reveals its hidden delight and it flowers over the leaf and emits its aroma. 293 While there is certainly something to be said about the way color is deployed in this explanation, I think the passage is more relevant for the current discussion of ancestral homeland. In this excerpt, the flower being described is granted “anthropomorphic agency” that lets us understand it as a meditation on people as well. This is achieved, in part, as Amy Koenig explains “by a pun on the ‘black’ (μέλαν) and the ‘white’ (λεύκος) part of [Leukippe’s] name.” 294 A straightforward reading of this passage, one that relies on the clear contrast being drawn between Greece and East, would be to understand that Achilles Tatius is arguing that, just like the plant “born” in the east only flowers once it arrives in Greece, so the people do as well. 295 Undoubtedly, such a positioning of Greece above the East could be part of what’s going on. However, when read alongside the phoenix passage, it is possible that Achilles Tatius is arguing for something a bit 293 Tatius, Leucippe et Clitophon, IV.5. 294 Amy Koenig, “The Fragrance of the Rose: An Image of the Voice in Achilles Tatius,” in Voice and Voices in Antiquity: Orality and Literacy in Teh Ancient World, ed. Niall W. Slater, vol. 11 (Leiden: Brill, 2017), 426. 295 John Hilton, “The Analgesic Elephant and the Black Rose of India (Achilles Tatius 4.2-5),” Mnemosyne 72 (2019): 576-577. 119 more unexpected. It is possible that we are meant to understand the black rose of India as a broader assertion that some people only flourish upon leaving their ancestral homeland. This does not take anything away from the value of where a person was born. Instead, it advocates for the value of lived experiences which, in some cases, necessitate travelling outside of what is familiar. Reading this key passage in this way provides an enormous aid in understanding the novel’s conclusion. Traditionally, the ideal romances represent a mostly circular journey. The protagonists begin in Hellas, endure hardships in the larger ancient world, and then return to their home. Longus’ Daphnis and Chloe does not follow this formula due to the restrictions of its own narrative, but, for the other novels in this chapter, this is more or less representative of their structure. And, at first glance, Achilles Tatius’ novel is no different. He writes, νεὼς ἐπιβάντες καὶ οὐρίῳ χρησάμενοι πνεύματι κατήραμεν εἰς τὸ Βυζάντιον, κἀκεῖ τοὺς πολυεύκτους ἐπιτελέσαντες γάμους ἀπεδημήσαμεν εἰς τὴν Τύρον. δύο δὲ ὕστερον ἡμερῶν τοῦ Καλλισθένους ἐλθόντες εὕρομεν τὸν πατέρα μέλλοντα θύειν τοὺς γάμους τῆς ἀδελφῆς εἰς τὴν ὑστεραίαν. παρῆμεν οὖν ὡς καὶ συνθύσοντες αὐτῷ καὶ εὐξόμενοι τοῖς θεοῖς τούς τε ἐμοὺς καὶ τοὺς ἐκείνου γάμους σὺν ἀγαθαῖς φυλαχθῆναι τύχαις. καὶ διεγνώκαμεν ἐν τῇ Τύρῳ παραχειμάσαντες διελθεῖν εἰς τὸ Βυζάντιον having embarked on a ship and sailing with a favorable wind, we put into port in Byzantium and, having celebrated our long-desired wedding there, we set sail for Tyre. Having arrived two days after Kallisthenes, we discovered my father intending to celebrate the wedding of my sister on the next day. We attended the ceremony, sacrificing along with him and praying to the gods to protect both my marriage and theirs with good fortune. We stayed in Tyre for the winter and then travelled to Byzantium. 296 While the author makes clear that the couple does return home to finally get married and reunite with their parents and participate in their local customs, which one can only enjoy at home, his final words position our protagonists on the cusp of another journey. In other words, they are 296 Tatius, Leucippe et Clitophon, VIII.19. 120 about to set out from home anew. While it is true that this journey is meant to be from one of their family’s homes to the other, we must remember how the novel opens. At its beginning, Cleitophon, our narrator and the novel’s protagonist, is in Sidon. As Elizabeth Bearden points out, unless we are meant to assume that the narrator is not Cleitophon but instead Melite, something that very few scholars, outside of a single Renaissance reader, are prepared to do, then we must assume that the traditional happy ending, married and at home, is not what our protagonists actually achieve. 297 However, if the reader recalls the passages about the phoenix and the black rose of India, then they need to presume anything nefarious has occurred. Instead, this ending may just further the argument that while ancestral homeland remains an important part of one’s identity one need not, and perhaps should not, remain tethered to it in order to live one’s best life. Language The issue of language is only raised one time in the novel but what the author does have to say about language in this singular instance is quite revealing. After finding themselves captured by Egyptian bandits, Leucippe and Cleitophon are filled with distress. Of course, this is an understandable emotion given the predicament they find themselves in. However, it is the way in which he frames his lament that comes as a bit of a shock. In detailing their misfortunes, he says, νῦν δὲ καὶ παραδεδώκατε ἡμᾶς λῃσταῖς Αἰγυπτίοις, ἵνα μηδὲ ἐλέους τύχωμεν. λῃστὴν μὲν γὰρ Ἕλληνα καὶ φωνὴ κατέκλασε καὶ δέησις ἐμάλαξεν· ὁ γὰρ λόγος πολλάκις τὸν ἔλεον προξενεῖ· τὸ γὰρ πονοῦν τῆς ψυχῆς ἡ γλῶττα πρὸς ἱκετηρίαν 297 Elizabeth B. Bearden, The Emblematics of the Self: Ekphrasis and Identity in Renaissance Imitations of Greek Romance (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2012), 50-52. 121 διακονουμένη τῆς τῶν ἀκουόντων ψυχῆς ἡμεροῖ τὸ θυμούμενον. νῦν δὲ ποίᾳ μὲν φωνῇ δεηθῶμεν; τίνας δὲ ὅρκους προτείνωμεν; κἂν Σειρήνων τις γένηται πιθανώτερος, ὁ ἀνδροφόνος οὐκ ἀκούει. μόνοις ἱκετεύειν με δεῖ τοῖς νεύμασι καὶ τὴν δέησιν δηλοῦν ταῖς χειρονομίαις. ὢ τῶν ἀτυχημάτων· ἤδη τὸν θρῆνον ὀρχήσομαι and now you have handed us over to Egyptian bandits so that we not even experience compassion. For our speech and entreaty impressed upon a Greek bandit could soften him. For the speech often affect compassion. For the tongue, as go-between of the soul, serving for the suppliant tames the angry spirit of the one listening. But now what speech do we require? What particular oaths can we extend? If there was a more credible one of the Sirens, the man killers would still not listen. And it is necessary that I make supplication with gestures alone and the make my entreaty clear with hand motions. O great misfortunes! Already I mime the misfortune. 298 There is a great deal to unpack in this passage. The primary point, and this is one that is echoed in other novels, is that the ability to communicate is a great source of comfort. While the language Cleitophon wishes to be able to communicate in is Greek, this in itself does not privilege Greek over Egyptian (or any other language). One could argue that mere fact that the Egyptian speakers are the bandits do suggest a lower status to that language, but this is problematized by Cleitophon’s own mention of hypothetical Greek bandits. This leads to a second point and that is the explicit disadvantages of monolingualism. Seeing as this is the only explicit mention of language, we must be careful to about leaning too much into this point but, at the very least, this does suggest that the characters live in a multilingual world where advantage is given to those who prepare themselves. The final thing worth noting in all of this is that there is no sense that language as an indicator of identity beyond the simple fact that Greeks speak Greek and Egyptians do not and nor do Greeks speak Egyptian. Perhaps, the decentering of language from identity makes sense, though, if we are correct in how we understand ancestral homeland in this novel. 298 Tatius, Leucippe et Clitophon, III.10. 122 Barbarism In spite of the relative paucity of excerpts that focus on the subjects of ancestral homeland and language, this novel does offer a fairly nuanced approach to distinguish various groups of barbaroi from one another. This effort demonstrates a commitment to the deconstruction of the idea of the monolithic barbarian, even if that intention may not be clear right away. Some initial remarks can be read as generalizing and propping up the idea of the monolithic barbarian. For example, “βαρβάροις δέ, ὡς ἔοικεν, οὐχ ἱκανὴ πρὸς Ἀφροδίτην μία γυνή, μάλισθ' ὅταν αὐτῷ καιρὸς διδῷ πρὸς ὕβριν τρυφᾶν” (but, as it seems, a single wife is not enough for the sexual appetite of barbarians, particularly when the situation arises to him for wanton licentiousness). 299 Thersandros, the Ephesian, echoes this sentiment later in the novel when he cannot believe that Leucippe has maintained her virginity. He exclaims, “παρθένος …ὢ τόλμης καὶ γέλωτος· παρθένος τοσούτοις συννυκτερεύσασα πειραταῖς; εὐνοῦχοί σοι γεγόνασιν οἱ λῃσταί; φιλοσόφων ἦν τὸ πειρατήριον; οὐδεὶς ἐν αὐτοῖς εἶχεν ὀφθαλμούς;” (a virgin…ridiculous impudence! A virgin having passed the night with such brigands? Did the pirates become eunuchs for you? Was the pirate’s nest a place of philosophy? Did no one among them have eyes?). 300 Leucippe’s response to this, takes a more general association between barbaroi and rapaciousness and focuses it. In reply, she says, “Λευκίππη παρθένος μετὰ βουκόλους, παρθένος καὶ μετὰ Χαιρέαν, παρθένος καὶ μετὰ Σωσθένην.’ ἀλλὰ μέτρια ταῦτα· τὸ δὲ μεῖζον ἐγκώμιον·‘Καὶ μετὰ Θέρσανδρον παρθένος, τὸν καὶ λῃστῶν ἀσελγέστερον· ἂν ὑβρίσαι μὴ δυνηθῇ, καὶ φονεύει” (Leukippe was a virgin after the herdsmen and a virgin after Chaireas, 299 Tatius, Leucippe et Clitophon, V.5. 300 Tatius, Leucippe et Clitophon, VI.21. 123 and even a virgin after Sosthenes. But these claims are reasonable. The greater encomium is ‘[Leukippe was] a virgin even after Thersandros, a more licentious man than any pirate. He kills those he cannot have his way with’). 301 In this moment, the lasciviousness of all barbaroi is placed squarely on the shoulders of Thersandros and, by extension, Ephesians. It is this characteristic (or, perhaps more fairly, the particular expression of this characteristic) that distinguishes Ephesians from run-of-the-mill barbaroi. The Egyptians also receive special attention from Achilles Tatius. In this case, though, more than one defining characteristic is underscored. Although not unique to this story, the issue of magic as it relates to Egypt is raised. Tim Whitmarsh is quick to point out that, in general, the magic of Egypt is something that is, at best, morally dubious. 302 The evidence in Achilles Tatius, however, seems to suggest that this novel does not take this view. For example, in book three the question is raised as to whether or not Menelaos is a μάγος. 303 There is nothing in this question that hints at nefarious intent. At most, Menelaos’ possible association with magic, as a Greco- Egyptian, helps blur the lines surrounding his identity and emphasize that he is not just Greek. 304 Elsewhere in the novel, the reader does get to “see” Egyptian magic actually performed when Leucippe mutters “δύο ἐπᾴσασαν ῥήματα· διδαχθῆναι γὰρ αὐτὴν ὑπό τινος Αἰγυπτίας εἰς πληγὰς σφηκῶν καὶ μελιττῶν” (a two-line incantation that was taught to her by some Egyptian woman as a cure for the stings of wasps and bees). 305 Here, far from being sinister, Egyptian magic has positive connotations. To balance the scales, though, Achilles Tatius also classifies the Egyptians in another manner. Speaking of the people in general, our narrator asserts, “ἀνὴρ γὰρ Αἰγύπτιος 301 Tatius, Leucippe et Clitophon, VI.22. 302 Achilles Tatius, Leucippe and Clitophon: Books I-II, ed. Tim Whitmarsh (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2020), 200. 303 Tatius, Leucippe et Clitophon, III.2. 304 Stephens, “Cultural Identity,” 63. 305 Tatius, Leucippe et Clitophon, II.7. 124 καὶ τὸ δειλόν, ὅπου φοβεῖται, δεδούλωται, καὶ τὸ μάχιμον, ἐν οἷς θαρρεῖ, παρώξυνται· ἀμφότερα δὲ οὐ κατὰ μέτρον, ἀλλὰ τὸ μὲν ἀσθενέστερον δυστυχεῖ, τὸ δὲ προπετέστερον κρατεῖ” (for an Egyptian man is a slave to cowardice when he is afraid but in moments of courage he is impelled by a warlike nature. Both reactions are not measured. They are despondent in moments of weakness and reckless in moments of strength). 306 This claim is not as damning, though, as it may first seem. It is not that Egyptians are, by nature, cowards, instead, they are defined by emotional extremes in general. In this way, just as lasciviousness is the mark of the Ephesians, these characteristics distinguish the Egyptians from other groups. Not satisfied to fixate only on the peoples who populate the world outside of Greece, Achilles Tatius also turns his attention inward towards those who occupy Hellas. Of course, since any act of definition of others is itself an act of self-definition, breaking down the Greek monolith alongside the barbaroi makes perfect sense. Achilles Tatius does this quite early in the novel through Kallisthenes, who is so intrigued by the reported beauty of Leucippe that he seeks to kidnap her. Such a plan is explained in the following way, “νόμου γὰρὄντος Βυζαντίοις, εἴ τις ἁρπάσας παρθένον φθάσας ποιήσειε γυναῖκα, γάμον ἔχειν τὴν ζημίαν” (with it being the custom of Byzantium, if someone kidnapped a maiden and made her his wife before being apprehended, the wedding is the penalty). 307 Interestingly, while there is evidence for marriage via abduction in the Greek world at large, mainly from the world of rhetorical training and declamation, there is no record of such a law existing in Byzantium specifically. 308 However, because he specifies this practice as only belonging to Byzantium, Achilles Tatius makes explicit that this is a world in which “‘Greek’ covered more than one social, political or ethnic reality.” 309 Furthermore, the 306 Tatius, Leucippe et Clitophon, IV.14. 307 Tatius, Leucippe et Clitophon, II.13. 308 Tatius, Leucippe and Clitophon: Books I-II, 214. 309 Stephens, “Cultural Identity,” 59. 125 author is careful to give Kallisthenes and the victim of his kidnapping a happy ending at the novel’s conclusion. By doing this, Achilles Tatius makes it clear that the behavior of Kallisthenes (and Byzantines in general) should not be equated with the lasciviousness of the Ephesians or the kind of kidnapping and forced marriages that various barbaroi attempt in this novel and others. While these examples represent only a sampling, it should be clear that Achilles Tatius is not only deeply concerned with the Greek versus barbaroi dichotomy but also invested in showing it to be more nuanced than the phrase “Greek versus barbaroi” initially suggests. Appearance Throughout this novel, the physical attributes of the characters are given special attention. Whether or not this is in order for the author to make some claim associated to race, though, remains to be seen. To be sure, Achilles Tatius, on more than one occasion, emphasizes the importance and even the power of appearance. This special value of beauty is emphasized early in the novel when Kleinias explains to Charikles that, “μέγιστον γάρ ἐστιν ἐφόδιον εἰς πειθὼ συνεχὴς πρὸς ἐρωμένην ὁμιλία. ὀφθαλμὸς γὰρ φιλίας πρόξενος” (the greatest aid in persuading is continuous association with the beloved. For the eyes are the patrons of love). 310 Later, the narrator asserts that, “αἰδὼς διὰ τῶν ὀμμάτων εἰσρέουσα” (shame comes in through the eyes). 311 As Whitmarsh explains, here “[s]hame is presented as an affliction of the eyes.” 312 More than that, though, when taken alongside the previous quotation, it is clear that, within the world of this 310 Tatius, Leucippe et Clitophon, I.9. 311 Tatius, Leucippe et Clitophon, II.29. 312 Tatius, Leucippe and Clitophon: Books I-II, 242. 126 novel at least, appearance plays a major role in manipulating human emotions. While this says nothing of how appearance might be related to identity, it is still worth holding this idea in mind as we turn to the particular descriptions that Achilles Tatius assigns to his characters. From the novel’s very beginning, physical appearance takes center stage, hinting at Achilles Tatius’ “overall obsession with visuality.” 313 Before the main narrative has a chance even to commence, the reader is presented with an ekphrasis, the one which sets the story in motion, depicting maidens dancing in a meadow and bull in the ocean with another maiden sailing towards Crete. The maidens are described as follows, “κόμαι κατὰ τῶν ὤμων λελυμέναι … τὸ πρόσωπον ὠχραί” (their hair flowed freely below their shoulders…their faces were white). 314 If we assume, and I do not think it is a huge leap to do so, that the maidens in the painting are meant to be viewed as beautiful, then we can take this ekphrasis to signal that white skin is the standard of beauty. However, whether this is in general or only for a specific group remains unclear. This assumption seems to pan out as our protagonist, Leucippe, is introduced, “καταστράπτει μουvτοὺς ὀφθαλμοὺς τῷ προσώπῳ…κόμη ξανθή, τὸ ξανθὸν οὖλον· ὀφρὺς μέλαινα, τὸ μέλαν ἄκρατον· λευκὴ παρειά, τὸ λευκὸν εἰς μέσον ἐφοινίσσετο καὶ ἐμιμεῖτο πορφύραν, εἰς οἵαν τὸν ἐλέφαντα Λυδία βάπτει γυνή” (her face flashed like lightning before my eyes…blond hair, curly and yellow, black eyebrows, pure black, white cheeks, a white that glowed red in the middle and mimicked the crimson which Lydian women dip on ivory). 315 It is clear, then, that white skin, among other features, is a mark of beauty. However, these features should not be read, according to Whitmarsh, as marks of ethnic identity but instead as markers of 313 Catherine Connors, “Politics and Spectacles,” in The Cambridge Companion to the Greek and Roman Novel, ed. Tim Whitmarsh (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008), 169. 314 Tatius, Leucippe et Clitophon, I.1. 315 Tatius, Leucippe et Clitophon, I.4. 127 class. 316 While it is tempting to read this passage as relating to race or ethnic identity, especially given the scope of this project, there are a couple of moments later in the novel that suggest Whitmarsh is correct in his assessment. This first moment comes shortly on the heels of the initial description of Leucippe’s appearance. As the first book of the novel draws to a close, Cleitophon is in conversation with Satyros. The focus of this conversation are the carious beautiful things that exist in the world of nature, from plants to birds to rivers. At the end of this exchange, Cleitophon describes his experience gazing Leucippe. About her beauty, he relates, τὸ γὰρ τοῦ σώματος κάλλος αὐτῆς πρὸς τὰ τοῦ λειμῶνος ἤριζεν ἄνθη. ναρκίσσου μὲν τὸ πρόσωπον ἔστιλβε χροιάν, ῥόδον δὲ ἀνέτελλεν ἐκ τῆς παρειᾶς, ἴον δὲ ἡ τῶν ὀφθαλμῶν ἐμάρμαιρεν αὐγή, αἱ δὲ κόμαι βοστρυχούμεναι μᾶλλον εἱλίττοντο κιττοῦ· τοιοῦτος ἦν Λευκίππης ἐπὶ τῶν προσώπων ὁ λειμών for the beauty of her body rivaled the flowers in the meadow. Her face the beauty of her body challenged the flowers of the field: her face shines like the narcissus, and rose arises on her cheek. The light of her eyes flashed like violets. Her hair was rather more curled than ivy. Such was the meadow upon the face of Leucippe. 317 This passage represents the beginning of a trend of associating appearance with nature imagery. The repetition of this tactic throughout the novel is an effective way of tying appearance not to a specific place but the world at large. In other words, because Achilles Tatius compares her physical attributes to nature, nature that exists in the world at large, as opposed to, say, a Greek goddess, he avoids encouraging his reader to think of these physical attributes as belonging to a specific group of people. Instead, her beauty belongs to all of nature. The description of the Ephesian Melite, an antagonist in this story, further emphasizes that this beauty standard is not 316 Tatius, Leucippe and Clitophon: Books I-II, 139. 317 Tatius, Leucippe et Clitophon, I.19. 128 fixed to a specific geographic location. When the narrator catches sight of her, he describes her in the following manner, “ἦν δὲ τῷ ὄντι καλή, καὶ γάλακτι μὲν ἂν εἶπες τὸ πρόσωπον αὐτῆς κεχρῖσθαι, ῥόδον δὲ ἐμπεφυτεῦσθαι ταῖς παρειαῖς. ἐμάρμαιρεν αὐτῆς τὸ βλέμμα μαρμαρυγὴν Ἀφροδίσιον· κόμη πολλὴ καὶ βαθεῖα καὶ κατάχρυσος τῇ χροιᾷ, ὥστε ἔδοξα οὐκ ἀηδῶς ἰδεῖν τὴν γυναῖκα” ([Melite] was truly beautiful, her face, you would have said, was anointed with milk, her skin you would have said was bathed in milk and from her cheeks roses sprung. Her glance flashed with gleaming love. Her hair was thick and long and lightly golden in color with the result that I must admit she was not unpleasant to behold). 318 When read together, these two passages make one thing abundantly clear. Beauty standards in the world of this novel are universal. Leucippe is not beautiful because her features reflect something Greek about her but because they reflect the natural world. That an antagonist can also possess this beauty reminds the reader of this fact. While Achilles Tatius is frequently explicit about white being the marker of beauty, he only once draws a connection between dark skin and, not ugliness exactly, but certainly negative connotations. It is this singular moment that Achilles Tatius also does suggest an association between geographical location and appearance and the implications of this are quite meaningful for this current project. While describing his trip along the Nile to Alexandria, the narrator describes encountering hostile forces, who are described as follows, καὶ ἅμα πλήρης ἦν ἡ γῆ φοβερῶν καὶ ἀγρίων ἀνθρώπων· μεγάλοι μὲν πάντες, μέλανες δὲ τὴν χροιάν (οὐ κατὰ τὴν τῶν Ἰνδῶν τὴν ἄκρατον, ἀλλ' οἷος ἂν γένοιτο νόθος Αἰθίοψ), ψιλοὶ τὰς κεφαλάς, λεπτοὶ τοὺς πόδας, τὸ σῶμα παχεῖς· ἐβαρβάριζον δὲ πάντες and, all of a sudden, the land was filled with frightening and wild men. They were all large and black of skin (not the deep black associated with Indians but of the 318 Tatius, Leucippe et Clitophon, V.13. 129 sort of the baseborn Ethiopian), bare headed, light on their feet, and stout of body. They were all behaving as barbarians. 319 In spite of this passage’s brevity, Achilles Tatius manages to convey a lot in these forty or so words. The central thesis is that there is a correlation between a frightening appearance and having black skin. The point that might get overlooked, and it is an important one as well, is that “black” is not a monolith, as is clear given that the narrator distinguishes between the black color of the skin of Indians and the black color of the skin of Ethiopians. However, skin color here, and the differences between them, are not genetic. As such, we cannot attribute it to some sort of racial thinking on the part of the author. For he explains in the next book, “Ἰνδῶν γὰρ ἡ γῆ Γείτων ἡλίου· πρῶτοι γὰρ ἀνατέλλοντα τὸν θεὸν ὁρῶσιν Ἰνδοί, καὶ αὐτοῖς θερμότερον τὸ φῶς ἐπικάθηται, καὶ τηρεῖ τὸ σῶμα τοῦ πυρὸς τὴν βαφήν” (for the land of the Indians is close to the sun. The are the first to see the ascending god and the light shines more warmly upon them and their bodies retain the coloring caused by this fire). 320 It would seem that Achilles Tatius is channeling the same sort of environmental determinism that we can trace back to the ideas espoused in Ps.-Hippocrates Airs, Waters, Places. This, though, should not necessarily come as a surprise given how rooted in nature appearance is throughout the novel. Like Chariton before him, Achilles Tatius demonstrates a clear interest in many of the elements of identity as well as how physical appearance should be “read.” However, as this exploration shows, he does not seem to be intent on assembling a cohesive view of group identity and how it is formed. Instead, these constituent parts are useful tools for his narrative goals. Those goals, however, are not centered on defining Greekness. 319 Tatius, Leucippe et Clitophon, III.9. 320 Tatius, Leucippe et Clitophon, IV.5. 130 Longus’ Daphnis and Chloe An extremely close contemporary of Achilles Tatius’ Leucippe and Cleitophon, Longus’ novel, Daphnis and Chloe takes place during an unspecified pre-second century C.E. past. 321 This novel represents, perhaps, the greatest and most obvious departure from the formula followed by the other ideal romances. Eschewing the sweeping tales of travel, an element that the other “ideal novels make…an essential part of the narrative”, the entirety of the action of this story takes place on Lesbos. 322 Further distinguishing itself from the novels in this chapter, Longus’ protagonists are introduced as abandoned infants who are each adopted by a herdsman and his wife. While they are eventually revealed to be the children of nobility, their presumed humble origin sets this novel apart at its onset. The story then proceeds along similar lines as the other novels, even if travel never occurs. The couple still finds roadblocks on their path to matrimony. However, because narrative does not see the characters depart from Lesbos, the dangers of travel and pirates are replaced by more localized threats. This novel, although fully aware of the normal tropes, rejects the majority of them, replacing an exploration of Greek versus barbarian with one of rural versus urban and physical markers indicating one’s position in that matrix. Ancestral Homeland 321 Juan Pablo Sánchez Hernández, “Νεανίσκοι: The Privileged Youth of Lesbos in Longus’ Daphnis and Chloe,” Materiali e Discussioni per l’analisis Dei Testi Classici 74 (2015): 181. 322 Thomas Hägg, “The Ideal Greek Novel from a Biographical Perspective,” in Fiction on the Fringe: Novelistic Writing in the Post-Classical Age, ed. Grammatiki A. Karla (Leiden: Brill, 2009), 91. 131 As we will see also in our appraisal of language and barbarism within Daphnis and Chloe, the idea of ancestral homeland does not receive much explicit attention, especially compared with the other novels, by virtue of the fact that the protagonists never leave home. As a result, the characters do not make claims about where they are from or show favor to those who are their countrymen. However, as Sophie Lalanne points out, depictions of the world at large are not exclusive to the great civilizations of the world, they also include the local communities outside of those civilizations. 323 Elsewhere, she elaborates on this, building on Arnold van Gennep’s ideas surrounding rites of passage, she explains that, “ces rites de passages prennent la forme d'un passage matériel qui consiste le plus souvent à traverser une porte, une rivière, un lieu ou une frontière” (these rites of passage take the form of a material passage which most often consists of crossing a door, a river, a place or a border). 324 If we consider the narrative through this lens, two brief but meaningful moments that may, at first, not seem to speak to the idea of ancestral homeland, stand out. Early in the novel, following her kidnapping by the neighboring Methymnaeans, Chloe laments, “Χλόη δὲ λοιπὸν πόλιν οἰκήσει” (Chloe will live the rest of her life in the city). 325 In framing her kidnapping in this manner, Chloe, and the novel as a whole, establish an opposition between the town and the countryside, similar to what we might expect in bucolic poetry, that replaces the more traditional Greece and the East. 326 Then, in the novels concluding moments, the author writes, “συνθέμενοι πάλιν εἰς τὸν ἀγρὸν ἤλαυνον· ἐδεήθησαν γὰρ τοῦτο Δάφνις καὶ Χλόη, μὴ φέροντες τὴν ἐν ἄστει διατριβήν” (having agreed they drove back into the country. For Daphnis and Chloe had begged for this, being unable to endure the 323 Lalanne, “‘A Mirror Carried along a High Road’?: Reflections on (and of) Society in the Greek Novel,” 95. 324 Sophie Lalanne, Une Éducation Grecque: Rites de Passage et Construction Des Genres Dans Le Roman Grec Ancien (Paris: Découverte, 2006), 101. 325 Longus, Daphnis and Chloe, ed. M.D. Reeve (Leipzig: Teubner, 1982), II.22. 326 Suzanne Saïd, “Rural Society in the Greek Novel, or The Country Seen from the Town,” in Oxford Readings in The Greek Novel, ed. Simon Swain (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999), 98. 132 way of life in town). 327 Clearly, as Ewen Bowie asserts, being forced to live in the city and be away from the country is a metaphorical death sentence (in spite of the fact that the town is more or less as Greek as the country). 328 In place of ancestral homeland, the concern in this novel is one of urban versus pastoral with pastoral being the clearly preferred locale for the two protagonists. In subverting our expectations when it comes to ancestral homeland, the author could be suggesting something about a return to “simpler times” or perhaps is trying to evoke a sort of locus amoenus. This rural versus urban in the case of homeland will continue to be helpful as we turn toward the other characteristics. Language When it comes to the way in which language is deployed within this novel, the setting of the narrative leaves us, once again, with a dearth of evidence to analyze. After all, the novel never leaves the Greek speaking world and, as a result, no non-Greek speaking characters are introduced. On the one hand, a reader could take this simply at face value and understand that, of course, language is not an issue in a novel which features no travel and instead takes as its setting the world of bucolic Greek poetry. However, given how self-aware the novels are of the conventions of the genre and the expectations of the reader, I would argue that another interpretation of the complete absence of references to language presents itself. Given how central language is to the Greek conception of identity, not only in the novels but also throughout the history of Greek literature, by avoiding attributing even a dialectical difference to the Greek spoken by the city-dwelling Methymnaeans, Longus emphasizes the idea that the big difference 327 Longus, Daphnis and Chloe, 1982, IV.37. 328 Longus, Daphnis and Chloe, ed. Ewen Bowie (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2019), 196. 133 between Daphnis and Chloe and their antagonists is the city itself (and the various machinations associated with city living). Thus, Longus continues to establish that, in his novel, the Greek versus barbaroi dichotomy that is so central to other stories has been replaced by a conflict between country-dwellers and urbanites. Barbarism Despite there being no barbaroi, in the traditional sense, in this novel, Longus does provide a few suitable stand-ins that continue to strengthen the sense that, in a bucolic setting, townsfolk can be as much barbaroi as the Persians to fifth-century Athenians. Suzanne Saïd argues that “[i]n the Greek novel as much as in reality towns were safe and civilized places opposed to a countryside which formed a zone of insecurity and savagery.” 329 This, however, seems far from the case for Daphnis in Chloe. Instead, as Tim Whitmarsh explains, the juxtaposition of city and country seems more focused on highlighting the differences in education and class. 330 And to this end, the Methymnaeans, the would-be kidnappers of Chloe and raiders of the countryside, do indeed highlight this but, perhaps, not in the way that is expected. For, in this novel, it is the “high-class,” educated, wealthy individuals who fulfill the role of barbaroi. The goal, however, is not to demonize these types of people unilaterally but instead to use them to reinforce the division between rural and urban. For, if we accept that the countryside represents “the indulgence of urban nostalgia for a world of bucolic simplicity” then we can understand that it is not that people in the towns are bad but that they are unable to 329 Saïd, “Rural Society in the Greek Novel, or The Country Seen from the Town,” 86. 330 Tim Whitmarsh, “Class,” in The Cambridge Companion to the Greek and Roman Novel, ed. Tim Whitmarsh (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008), 79. 134 behave appropriately in the country and thus disrupt its equilibrium. 331 Hernandez explains this when he argues that they are trying to reproduce a manufactured experience which exists in the gymnasium but, in the end, they are nothing but consumers who cannot help but exploit the pastoral life of Daphnis and Chloe. 332 To reinforce this point, we are even given the character of Dorcon. While Dorcon is also a country dweller, it is clear that he is not the same as Daphnis and Chloe, a fact that the author will vehemently reinforce in his physical description, which we will consider shortly. In fact, as J.R. Morgan points out, Dorcon is not a name that can be found in any of the extant pastoral literature. 333 As such, he is already marked as an outsider of the community to which Daphnis and Chloe belong before we even consider his behavior, behavior which confirms his position of “other,” barbaros, within his community. After setting eyes upon Chloe, Dorcon is quick to fall under her spell (a common theme in all of the novels). Longus details Dorcon’s approach to “courting” Chloe, saying that the man “ἔγνω κατεργάσασθαι δώροις ἢ βίᾳ” (made up his mind to subdue her by gifts or by force). 334 This rapacious behavior is the same type of behavior that we have seen associated with non-Greeks both in other novels and earlier literature. If we understand that this is a way in which the author further marks country versus city as the “new” Greek versus barbaroi, then Dorcon’s eventual death makes more sense, he has to be eliminated from the story because his violence towards Chloe proves that he does not belong in the country. 335 In a sense, the character of Dorcon serves to validate the larger idea presented by the Methymnaeans. Urban and pastoral zones should not mix and 331 J.R. Morgan, “Daphnis and Chloe: Love’s Own Sweet Story,” in Greek Fiction: The Greek Novel in Context, ed. J.R. Morgan and Richard Stoneman (London: Routledge, 1994), 65. 332 Hernández, " Νεανίσκοι," 187-188. 333 Longus, Daphnis and Chloe, ed. J.R. Morgan (Oxford: Oxbow Books, 2004), 163. 334 Longus, Daphnis and Chloe, 1982, I.15. 335 Morgan, “Daphnis and Chloe: Love’s Own Sweet Story,” 72. 135 because Dorcon cannot truly occupy either, he must be removed. When one looks at things this way, even though Longus is not discussing Greeks and barbarians, he does seem to align himself with the monolithic Greek and other in a way that none of the other novelists do. Appearance While Longus might not remark at length, or at all, about the previous topics, he does have a good deal to say about physical appearance. Of course, at this point in our examination of ancient fiction, this cannot come as a surprise. Detailed descriptions of the appearance of both protagonists are provided early in book one of the novel. Longus first describes Daphnis as having “κόμη μέλαινα καὶ πολλή, τὸ δὲ σῶμα ἐπίκαυτον ἡλίῳ” (hair that was black and thick and a body made tan by the sun). 336 While this might not be physical description readers have come to expect to when it comes to ideal Greek beauty, the explicit reference to the sun associates his beauty was his pastoral life spent working outdoors, he is tanned by the sun (but not in the same way as Ethiopians are). Furthermore, despite its deviation from reader expectations, there can be no doubt that Daphnis is meant to be beautiful. Afterall, Longus continues, “ἐδόκει δὲ τῇ Χλόῃ θεωμένῃ καλὸς ὁ Δάφνις” (Daphnis seemed beautiful to Chloe, who was gazing upon him). 337 Chloe’s description, on the other hand, does satisfy reader expectations. We learn that, “τὴν κόμην αὐτῆς ἐθαύμασεν ὅτι ξανθή, καὶ τοὺς ὀφθαλμοὺς ὅτι μεγάλοι καθάπερ βοός, καὶ τὸ πρόσωπον ὅτι λευκότερον ἀληθῶς καὶ τοῦ τῶν αἰγῶν γάλακτος” (he marveled at [Chloe’s] hair that was golden, and her eyes that were big like a cow’s. and her face that was truly even more 336 Longus, Daphnis and Chloe, 1982, I.13. 337 Ibid. 136 white than the milk of a goat). 338 Emphasizing the whiteness of her skin, perhaps in contrast to Daphnis’ darker complexion, Longus adds later that, “τὸ σῶμα λευκὸν καὶ καθαρὸν ὑπὸ κάλλους καὶ οὐδὲν λουτρῶν ἐς κάλλος δεόμενον” (her body was white and pure because of its beauty and needed no bathing for beauty). 339 J.R. Morgan helps us understand the discrepancy between the beauty standards between the two protagonists, something that is far less pronounced, if present at all, in the other novels, by explaining that in this bucolic setting the pale skin which is a mark of beauty for women is effeminate for men. 340 While Morgan is no doubt correct in his analysis, I would suggest things are not quite so simple in the case Daphnis and Chloe. This complexity comes into focus when we consider the physical description of Dorcon that Longus supplies. As we have already seen in the previous section, Dorcon, while residing outside of the town like Daphnis and Chloe, does not exhibit the same sort of pastoral innocence that the two young lovers do. While his behavior is one way in which his distinction from Daphnis and Chloe is represented, his appearance is another. In his competition with Daphnis for Chloe’s affection, he argues, “καὶ λευκός εἰμι ὡς γάλα, καὶ πυρρὸς ὡς θέρος μέλλον ἀμᾶσθαι…Οὗτος δέ ἐστι μικρὸς καὶ ἀγένειος ὡς γυνή, καὶ μέλας ὡς λύκος” (I am white as milk and my hair is tawny as a summer crop ready to be harvested…but this man is short and beardless just like a woman and he is dark like a wolf). 341 Ewen Bowie astutely points out that Dorcon’s whiteness is surprising given that he is a goatherd. 342 However, this seems to be precisely the point. While Dorcon’s assessment of Daphnis is that Daphnis is the feminine one, within the world of this novel, it is 338 Longus, Daphnis and Chloe, 1982, I.17. 339 Longus, Daphnis and Chloe, 1982, I.32. 340 Longus, Daphnis and Chloe, 2004, 166. 341 Longus, Daphnis and Chloe, 1982, I.16. 342 Longus, Daphnis and Chloe, 2004, 165. 137 Dorcon who more closely resembles the epitome of feminine beauty, Chloe. Daphnis himself argues this point when he responds, “ἀγένειός εἰμι, καὶ γὰρ ὁ Διόνυσος· μέλας, καὶ γὰρ ὁ ὑάκινθος· ἀλλὰ κρείττων καὶ ὁ Διόνυσος Σατύρων <καὶ> ὁ ὑάκινθος κρίνων. Οὗτος δὲ καὶ πυρρὸς ὡς ἀλώπηξ καὶ προγένειος ὡς τράγος καὶ λευκὸς ὡς ἐξ ἄστεος γυνή” (I am beardless but so is Dionysus. I am dark but so is the hyacinth. But Dionysus is better than the satyrs and the hyacinth is superior to lilies. And this man is red-haired like a fox and bearded like a goat and hs the white skin of a woman from the city). 343 It would seem, then, that Daphnis’ darkness is precisely what marks him as a man who belongs to the rustic world. 344 Meanwhile, the pale skin that Dorcon is so proud of actually reveals him to be more suited to the world of luxury, femininity , and the town. 345 What Longus has done through these descriptions of three of the principal characters is to use appearance to mark a completely different kind of identity. In place of being a potential signifier of ethnicity or race, appearance is deployed to define one’s place in the rural and urban zones. As this examination has demonstrated, Longus’ Daphnis and Chloe is a novel that on the surface, largely does not share the interest with identity that the other ideal romances do. However, a closer examination of the text reveals that this is not quite the case. While the author might not be interested in identity as it relates to the Mediterranean world at large, he is deeply concerned with socio-economic identity. He exploits the form of the novel and his readers’ well- established expectations and transforms a story about globe-trotting and coming home into one about rejecting big-city life for a more peaceful, rustic one. 343 Longus, Daphnis and Chloe, 1982, I.16. 344 Longus, Daphnis and Chloe, 2019, 131. 345 Longus, Daphnis and Chloe, 1982, 130. This beauty is also associated with youth as we see in the description of Eros (II.4) and Tityrus (II.32). 138 Xenophon of Ephesus’ Ephesiaca While many people, academics and laypeople alike, hold the fourth of the ideal romances in low regard, they are wrong to do so. As David Konstan argues, “[t]he novel is not only good fun, it is also very cleverly constructed, and subtly examines the erotic conventions that underpin the genre as a whole,” so to simply cast it aside would be a mistake. 346 Like the other ideal romances before it, Xenophon’s story is centered around two Greek youths who represent the epitome of Greek beauty, Habrocomes and Anthia. Following a quick marriage, the pair are captured by pirates while they are enroute to Egypt and are taken to Tyre. In Tyre, the beauty of the couple continues to cause them problems as they become the objects of infatuation for a number of the characters that they encounter. Eventually, this leads to the young lovers being separated and Anthia finds herself in Tarsus after she suffers a second shipwreck enroute to Cilicia. As the story continues the couple experiences further travels, taking them as far afield as Ethiopia and they suffer additional hardships, such as being forced to work as a prostitute before they are eventually reunited in Rhodes. As the story ends, the couple sets sail for their home in Ephesus. As the plot might suggest, this is a text deeply invested in barbarians. Both from an outsider and insider perspective. Notably, though, there is little, if any, interest in the various specific aspects of identity. The nebulous result could, perhaps, be read as further evidence that this is an epitome of a deeper text. Furthermore, while physical appearance is referenced, it is in such a minor way that it is most likely just a nod to generic expectations and certainly not as an ethnic marker. 346 David Konstan, “Xenophon of Ephesus: Eros and Narrative in the Novel,” in Greek Fiction: The Greek Novel in Context, ed. J.R. Morgan and Richard Stoneman (London: Routledge, 1994), 49. 139 Ancestral Homeland Unlike the geographically limited scope of the Longus’ novel, Xenophon of Ephesus’ narrative represents the broader Mediterranean world which the reader would expect from the genre. Through both the travels and the travails of Habrocomes and Anthia, Xenophon presents a fairly normative view of the importance of ancestral homeland in the Greek imagination. At the onset of the couple’s troubles, for instance, they invoke their homeland and family as a source of comfort. 347 Later, after the couple has become separated, Anthia laments, “τοὐντεῦθεν δὲ ἐπὶ Ἰνδοὺς ἔρχομαι, μακρὰν μὲν τῆς Ἐφεσίων γῆς, μακρὰν δὲ τῶν Ἁβροκόμου λειψάνων” (and from there I will make my way to India, far from the land of the Ephesians and, at the same time, far from the remains of Habrocomes). 348 Just as the other novelists have demonstrated in their own works, a strong connection exists between where one is from geographically and one’s family, suggesting homeland is about more than just familiar surroundings. It is this homeland that is also instrumental to their happily ever after at VI.15. It is not only the protagonists who rely upon homeland though. Aegialeus, the old fisherman that Habrocomes encounters, identifies himself to the hero in a manner that makes his homeland a central issue, “ἐγὼ… οὔτε Σικελιώτης οὐδὲ ἐπιχώριος, ἀλλὰ Σπαρτιάτης Λακεδαιμόνιος τῶν τὰ πρῶτα ἐκεῖ δυναμένων” (I am neither a Sicilian Greek nor a native but I am a Spartan from Lacedaemon, belonging to one of the leading families there). 349 What makes this particular claim of ancestral homeland unique among the other ones in the Ephesiaca is that this is the only instance in which a value judgement is implied by the claim. In other words, Aegialeus’ claim suggests that he is superior by virtue of the fact 347 Xenophon of Ephesus, Ephesiaca, ed. G. Dalmeyda (Paris: Les Belles Lettre, 1962), II.1. 348 Xenophon of Ephesus, Ephesiaca, IV.3. 349 Xenophon of Ephesus, Ephesiaca, V.2. 140 that he is a Spartan by birth. While nothing in any of the claims about ancestral homeland within the Ephesiaca should be startling to readers of the other novels, what is of note is that the only characters who do weaponize ancestral homeland in this romance are the ones who are Greek. By virtue of this fact, the author suggests that ancestral homeland is a concern only for Greeks. As to whether this is because barbaroi do not care about such things or because Greek ancestral homeland is the only type that matters in the author’s view, Xenophon does not provide further illumination. Language Despite how extensively the main characters travel over the course of the narrative and Xenophon’s obvious interest in barbaroi, the issue of language and language confusion is almost entirely absent from this novel. For example, at no point is a character’s progress impeded because they cannot communicate in a local language. In fact, the author never even explicitly mentions that barbaroi do not speak Greek. The closest this novel comes to addressing the issue of languages is when the reader learns “ὁ Ἱππόθοος ἐμπείρως εἶχε τῆς Καππαδοκῶν φωνῆς, καὶ αὐτῷ πάντες ὡς οἰκείῳ προσεφέροντο” (Hippothous had experience with the Cappadocian language and all the people addressed him as if he were a native). 350 Despite Cappadocia being once an area controlled by Hittites, by the time that this novel was composed Greek had long been the lingua franca of the area. 351 Thus, an excerpt that at first glance might seem to suggest a connection between language and looking like you belong, is instead, at most, an 350 Xenophon of Ephesus, Ephesiaca, III.1. 351 Claude Brixhe, “Interactions between Greek and Phrygian under the Roman Empire,” in Bilingualism in Ancient Society: Language Contact and the Written Text, ed. J.N. Adams, Mark Janse, and Simon Swain (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), 266. 141 acknowledgement of various Greek dialects. This silence regarding any other languages throughout the novel, in spite of all the traveling and interactions with a variety of ethnoi, suggests one of two things. Either multilingualism was so pervasive that the author saw no need to ever explicitly state that his characters could easily communicate with one another, doubtful given the previously cited passage, as well as the evidence in the other novels, or the author did not consider language a significant marker of identity. If this is the case, then it would make Xenophon unique in how he understood the composition of group identity and the role that language played in this composition. Barbarism Xenophon’s novel features a variety of characters who fall under the umbrella of barbaroi. When it comes to defining what precisely marks one as a barbaros, as opposed to a Greek, Xenophon takes a fairly methodical approach. Barbaroi are introduced into the novel by means of a group of pirates, an appropriate group to begin the discussion since pirates “represent an extreme distance from recommended society.” 352 Xenophon writes, ἒτυχον μὲν ἐν Ῥόδῳ πειραταὶ παρορμοῦντες αὐτοῖς, Φοίνικες τὸ γένος, ἐν τριήρει μεγάλῃ· παρώρμουν δὲ ὡς φορτίον ἔχοντες καὶ πολλοὶ καὶ γεννικοί. Οὗτοι καταμεμαθήκεσαν <ἐν> τῇ νηὶ ὅτι χρυσὸς καὶ ἄργυρος καὶ ἀνδράποδα πολλὰ καὶ τίμια. Διέγνωσαν οὖν ἐπιθέμενοι τοὺς μὲν ἀντιμαχομένους ἀποκτιννύειν in Rhodes there happen to be pirates, Phoenicians by race, anchored nearby them in a large trireme. They were acting as if they, being both numerous and noble, had a cargo. These men had observed that gold and silver and many slaves of great value were on the ship. Thus, they decided to attack the ship and kill any who resisted. 353 352 Ken Dowden, “‘But There Is a Difference in the Ends...’: Brigands and Teleology in the Ancient Novel,” in The Construction of the Real and Ideal in the Ancient Novel, ed. Michael Paschalis and Stelios Panayotakis (Groningen: Barkhuis Publishing, 2013), 49. 353 Xenophon of Ephesus, Ephesiaca, I.13 . 142 While this is certainly “barbaric” behavior, as any reader of the Greek novels would clearly recognize it, the word “βάρβαρος” is not actually applied to these men until the second book. 354 It is on the heels of this that Xenophon begins to cover the classic traits associated with others, such as greed and a proclivity for violence. Their violent nature, in particular, is further emphasized through the description of the brigands’ preferred method of sacrifice, “τὸ μέλλον ἱερεῖον θύεσθαι, εἴτε ἄνθρωπος εἴτε βόσκημα εἴη, κρεμάσαντες ἐκ δένδρου καὶ διαστάντες ἠκόντιζον” (To sacrifice the victim in the usual manner, they were hanging it, either it was a man or a beast, from a tree and then standing at a distance they hurled javelins at it). 355 The very idea that these people perform human sacrifices marks them as not Greek. Already it is well established in Greek literature that this is not something that Greeks do. Furthermore, once the reader moves beyond the initial shock of this revelation, the particular way in which this sacrifice plays out marks these barbaroi as particularly violent and cruel. That they would not simply kill their sacrifice victims but instead prefer to make a game of target practice out of the ritual is beyond the pale. This goes beyond simply “stressing the difference between Greeks and barbarians.” 356 Such extreme behavior goes so far as to test what it is to be Greek. 357 While most of the ways in which barbarians appear in this novel are as groups, there is one particularly interesting instance of barbarism being located in a single character, Manto. Manto is a non-Greek and, as a result, the Greek characters associate her with violence. Rhode, for example, “πάνυ δὲ ἐδεδοίκει τῆς βαρβάρου τὴν ὀργήν” (exceptionally feared the anger of the 354 Xenophon of Ephesus, Ephesiaca, II.2. 355 Xenophon of Ephesus, Ephesiaca, II.13. 356 J.R. Morgan, “Xenophon of Ephesus,” in Narrators, Narratees, and Narratives in Ancient Greek Literature: Studies in Ancient Greek Narrative, ed. Irene J.F. de Jong, René Nünlist, and Angus Bowie (Leiden: Brill, 2004), 490. 357 Stephens, “Cultural Identity,” 62. 143 barbarian girl). 358 Habrocomes echoes this sentiment in a more detailed manner shortly after this, “Ἀπειλείτω νῦν, εἰ θέλει, Μαντὼ ξίφη καὶ βρόχους καὶ πῦρ καὶ πάντα ὅσα δύναται σῶμα ἀναγκάσαι οἰκέτου· οὐ γὰρ ἄν ποτε πεισθείην ἑκὼν Ἀνθίαν ἀδικῆσαι (now if she wishes, let Manto threaten the sword and noose and the pyre and whatever other things she is able to force upon the body of a houseslave). 359 Manto is the daughter of Aspyrtos, who, despite being a pirate leader, is “represented as a typical landed aristocrat, and the pornoboskos in Tarentum.” 360 As such, Manto herself also belongs to the upper class of Tarentum. By ascribing such behavior to her, Xenophon makes it explicit that barbaric behavior is the exclusive domain of the lower classes. What is more, Manto herself exclaims, “ἴσθι μὲν οἰκέτις οὖσα ἐμή, ἴσθι δὲ ὀργῆς πειρασομένη βαρβάρου καὶ ἠδικημένης” (you know that you will suffer the anger of a barbarian woman if I am wronged). 361 In doing so, she not only self-identifies as an “other” but also owns the violence associated with otherness. By making one of his non-Greek characters speak in this manner, Xenophon further centers Greekness. In spite of these comments about barbaroi, Xenophon does not explicitly discuss Greekness. It is only through oppositional modes of identity construction that the reader can gain an understanding of how the author perceives what it means to be Greek. Appearance 358 Xenophon of Ephesus, Ephesiaca, II.3. 359 Xenophon of Ephesus, Ephesiaca, II.4. 360 Jean Alvares, “The Drama of Hippothous in Xenophon of Ephesus’ ‘Ephesiaca,’” The Classical Journal 90, no. 4 (May 1995): 397n.19. 361 Xenophon of Ephesus, Ephesiaca, II.3. 144 Like the rest of the topics that Xenophon covers in the Ephesiaca, he speaks with more brevity than his contemporary novelists on the topic of appearance. Both Habrocomes and Anthia, as the protagonists of an ancient Greek novel, conform to the physical specifications that readers have come to expect from that role. No doubt is left about their beauty from the novel’s very beginning. Of Habrocomes, the reader is told “κάλλους οὔτε ἐν Ἰωνίᾳ οὔτε ἐν ἄλλῃ γῇ πρότερον γενομένου” (his beauty is surpassed neither in Ionia nor in any other land). 362 Likewise, Anthia’s appearance is described as being so exceptional that some mistake her for a goddess, “ἦν δὲ τὸ κάλλος τῆς Ἀνθίας οἷον θαυμάσαι καὶ πολὺ τὰς ἄλλας ὑπερεβάλλετο παρθένους… κόμη ξανθή, ἡ πολλὴ καθειμένη, ὀλίγη πεπλεγμένη” (the beauty of Anthia was such to cause wonder and it far outstripped the other maidens …she had golden hair, most of it hung loose with a little of it braided). 363 While these two Greeks are clearly exceptionally beautiful, Xenophon does not provide much more detail. Serving as a counterpoint to this young couple is the physical description of one of the antagonists, “ὁ ἔξαρχος Κόρυμβος ἐκαλεῖτο, νεανίας ὀφθῆναι μέγας, φοβερὸς τὸ βλέμμα· κόμη ἦν αὐτῷ αὐχμηρὰ καθειμένη” (the leader was called Corymbus, a tall young man to behold with a frightful look. His hair was unkempt and overgrown.). 364 What is most interesting when we compare these various descriptions is that, while the beauty of the protagonists and the repulsiveness of the antagonist is explicit, there is no mention of complexion like we saw in the other novels. While it could be argued that perhaps the author felt no need to be explicit due to the formulaic nature of this aspect of the ideal romances, that is impossible to test. Instead, we should focus on the information that Xenophon is explicit 362 Xenophon of Ephesus, Ephesiaca, I.1. This point is further emphasized by what follows: “ὅπου γὰρ Ἁβροκόμηςὀφθείη, οὔτε ἄγαλμα καλὸν κατεφαίνετο οὔτε εἰκὼν ἐπῃνεῖτο” (For when Habracomes appeared, no one admired any statue or praised any picture) (I.1). 363 Xenophon of Ephesus, Ephesiaca, I.2. Other passages that highlight the beauty of the couple include I.12, II.8, and III.3. 364 Xenophon of Ephesus, Ephesiaca, I.13. 145 about. In this case, it is the hair of the protagonists and antagonist that he draws his reader’s attention to. Like skin color, hair quality is a heritable characteristic and, in this novel, that is the characteristic which serves a marker of good or evil. Therefore, while Xenophon is doing something slightly unexpected, it is not entirely different from what the reader has come to expect. Given the above passages, the question that remains is whether or not a physical trait defines identity in any sense. While the author never addresses this directly, there are two moments which present conflicting answers to the question. In book three, Anthia, in the midst of her travails, encounters Eudoxus who is meant to be a source of comfort. The reason given is as follows, “ἀλλ' οὐδὲν ἧττον ἔχαιρεν αὐτῷ ἡ Ἀνθία, ἀναμιμνῃσκομένη τῶν οἴκοι” (But Anthia was no less pleased with him because he reminded her of her oikos). 365 While a bit more vague than we might like, the idea that a stranger could remind her of home might suggest that it is his appearance that is reminiscent of the appearance of the people from her oikos. A second claim, however, contradicts this, “ἔφασκε δὲ Αἰγυπτία εἶναι ἐπιχώριος, καὶ τὸ ὄνομα Μεμφῖτις” (claimed to be a native of Egypt and named Memphitis). 366 In order for this claim to be plausible, Egyptian natives must appear similar to Greeks. If this is the case, then physical characteristics cannot have any value as a marker of identity. Appearance hear is barely mentioned aside from beauty versus fearsome looking. Thus, it would seem the author is not particularly interested in connecting any of his previous discussion to heritable characteristics. While Xenophanes’ novel may be an entertaining tail, there is no denying that the author demonstrates far less interest in how identity is constructed and construed than the other novelists. In fact, the short shrift that he gives to these topics suggest that he is only engaging 365 Xenophon of Ephesus, Ephesiaca, Ephesiaca, III.4. 366 Xenophon of Ephesus, Ephesiaca, IV.5. 146 with them because he feels compelled to because it is what the genre demands. This does not make his novel inherently weaker. Instead, it suggests that his interests simply lie elsewhere. Conclusion As this examination has revealed, identity is an important theme in the ancient novel. However, much like the authors whose work the novelists cannibalized in the composition of the ideal romances, the novelists did not arrive at any sort of consensus on how to understand the issues of ancestral homeland, language, barbarism, and skin color on their own, much less how these issues interacted with one another. Of course, this was never the goal. Our exploration of these texts, predecessors of the Aethiopika, was meant to establish two things. First, that the conversations surrounding identity (and particularly how heritable characteristics might play a role) have only grown and become more nuanced since the classical age. Second, the use of the same tropes by these novelists in their individual attempts to distinguish themselves and say something unique about identity suggests that during the time when these works of literature were produced, there were some beliefs about ancestral homeland, language, barbarism, and physical appearance that were held by the literate public. It is these beliefs that make the four ideal romances we have considered work. This is the intellectual environment out of which Heliodorus’ own novel will emerge. 147 Chapter 4: Identity, Appearance, and Ambiguity in Heliodorus’ Aethiopika In the previous three chapters, we examined a wide variety of texts ranging from some of the earliest pieces of Archaic Age epic poetry up to the Imperial fictions composed by Heliodorus’ fellow novelists. While this has made for a valuable examination in its own right, to be certain, it has all been in service of the work of this final chapter. Heliodorus’ Aethiopika, like all the other ideal romances, is a cannibalistic endeavor and, as the latest of the five ideal romances, it works in dialogue not only with the ideas present in the Archaic and Classical corpus (chapters one and two) but also those in the earlier Greek novels (chapter three). Because of this, it is necessary to have a comprehensive understanding of what came before the Aethiopika as it relates to discussions surrounding identity and heritable, physical markers if we hope to fully come to grips with what Heliodorus presents in his novel. In what follows, we will consider how the Aethiopika addresses those same issues of ancestral homeland, language, barbarism, and, lastly, appearance. While his novel is far more complex than the other four and this results in a less clear division at times between these categories, this approach will allow us to see most clearly how remarkably Heliodorus approaches to identity, appearance, and their intersection. Ancestral Homeland As we saw repeatedly, not just in the other novels but in most of the Greek literature this project has considered, a central tool to actively establishing identity is proactively to make 148 claims about one’s ancestral homeland. In the case of Heliodorus’ Aethiopika, however, we find that such claims are fairly rare. This is somewhat surprising when we remind ourselves that by the time Heliodorus was writing, identity was, as Jonathan Hall has written, “not a ‘natural’ fact of life; it [was] something that need[ed] to be actively proclaimed, reclaimed, and disclaimed.” 367 In a story in which the main characters do so much traveling and so frequently find themselves in alien environments, one might expect them to try to leverage their homeland and contest claims surrounding ancestral homeland more often than they actually do. In fact, there are only three moments within the narrative in which a character makes a claim of belonging to a specific ancestral homeland. This first occurs in book one when Charikleia and Theagenes are brought before Thyamis in the bandit camp. Charikleia explains, “γένος μέν ἐσμεν Ἴωνες, Ἐφεσίων δὲ τὰ πρῶτα γεγονότες καὶ ἀμφιθαλεῖς ὄντες” (in regards to race, we are Ionians, having been born to Ephesian aristocracy and both of our parents are still alive). 368 Given that the heroine of the novel is meant to act as the “unofficial queen or symbol of [the place],” this should be a powerful claim. 369 There is just one problem, though: it is a lie, even if Charikleia does not realize it at the time. The other example of a character making a claim about a Greek ancestral homeland comes from Arsake’s attendant, Kybele. In attempt to curry favor with Theagenes, she tells him, “εἰμὶ γάρ τοι καὶ αὐτὴ τὸ γένος Ἑλληνὶς καὶ Λεσβία τὴν πόλιν” (for I myself am a Hellene by birth and Lesbos was my city). 370 While this claim is true, it does not have the desired effect of identifying her as an ally to Theagenes. With these claims of ancestral homeland, Heliodorus drops a hint to his unsuspecting reader about the unusual way in which such claims 367 Hall, Ethnic Identity in Greek Antiquity, 182. 368 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, I.22. 369 Gareth Schmeling, “Myths of Person and Place: The Search for a Model for the Ancient Greek Novel,” in The Ancient Novel and Beyond, ed. Stelios Panayotakis, Maaike Zimmerman, and Wytse Keulen (Leiden: Brill, 2003), 430. 370 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, VII.12. 149 will be treated in his novel. A Greek reader would expect the claims of Greek ancestral homeland to be the ones that carry the most weight. However, by having the initial claim of Greek ancestral homeland be a falsehood and the second one be ineffective, Heliodorus prepares the reader to understand that such claims are not so simple in his novel. The third and final claim of ancestral homeland made within the narrative is uttered, again, by Charikleia. This time, she makes her claim in an effort to avoid being made a sacrificial victim in Ethiopia. She pleads with Hydaspes saying, “οὐ γὰρ ἐγχώριος μόνον ἀλλὰ καὶ γένους τοῦ βασιλείου τὰ πρῶτα καὶ ἐγγύτατα” (for not only am I a native but I am chiefly of the royal race and most closely related). 371 It is this third claim that is unique in that it is both true and effective. It might seem odd that only a non-Greek claim of ancestral homeland would satisfy both of these categories since it does, to a certain extent, decenter Greece but, as we shall see, this actually falls in line with the complex message about identity that Heliodorus is intent on communicating. There is one final claim about ancestral homeland to consider but this one comes outside of the main narrative and the very end of the novel. Taking the form of a sphragis, the author provides his name and place of birth in the last lines of the tenth book. Although there has been some question as to whether or not this sphragis was part of the original text or was, in fact, a later addition by a scribe or scholiast, Ian Repath argues convincingly that it was indeed part of the original. 372 The sphragis reads, “τοιόνδε πέρας ἔσχε τὸ σύνταγμα τῶν περὶ Θεαγένην καὶ 371 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, X.12. 372 Ian Repath, “Sphragis 2: The Limits of Reality and the End of the Novel (10.41.3-4),” in Reading Heliodorus’ Aethiopika, ed. Ian Repath and Tim Whitmarsh (Ofxord: Oxford University Press, 2022), 258-260. Repath cites a few pieces of evidence. He argues that the intertextual relationship with authorial statements in some of the other novels combined with its placement at the end of the text (instead of in the beginning) and how these facts contribute to our understanding of the author’s intent. On top of this, Repath also points to the various manuscripts that exist, some of which feature additional lines after this sphragis. He makes the point that the manuscript copyists would not include the colophon if it were not genuine. The additional lines that they do add are there way of commenting on the text. 150 Χαρίκλειαν Αἰθιοπικῶν· ὃ συνέταξεν ἀνὴρ Φοῖνιξ Ἐμισηνός, τῶν ἀφ' Ἡλίου γένος, Θεοδοσίου παῖς Ἡλιόδωρος” (the story of the Aethiopika about Theagenes and Charikleia ends in this way; the man who composed it was Heliodorus the son of Theodosius, a Phoenician of Emesa, descended from the sun). 373 As this sphragis reveals, the author is decidedly not a Greek, at least not by birth. Tim Whitmarsh argues that we should feel no hesitation in reading this claim as truthful. 374 If Whitmarsh is correct, among other things, this would make Heliodorus the first person to describe themselves as Phoenician in recorded history. 375 Ultimately, though, I am not sure it matters whether or not the sphragis is historically accurate. What matters is that Heliodorus made the conscious decision to locate himself outside of mainland Greece, marking him as a “culture Greek” at most. 376 That the author himself makes a claim of ancestral homeland, alone, is enough to suggest ancestral homeland and the claims connected to it are important to the novel. Furthermore, when taken with the claims of ancestral homeland within the novel, we can expect that a closer examination of all that Heliodorus has to say about the topic is less Hellenocentric than one might expect from an ideal Greek romance. While some of what Heliodorus has to say about ancestral homeland falls neatly in line with the ideas presented by the other Greek novelists, there are also some noticeable differences in his approach. Ultimately, his stance on the value of ancestral homeland ends up being a great deal more ambiguous. An ambiguity that will only make sense when considered alongside what the novel says about language, barbarism, and, ultimately, appearance. 373 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, X.41. 374 Tim Whitmarsh, “Sphragis I: To Infinity and Beyond (10.41.4),” in Reading Heliodorus’ Aethiopika, ed. Ian Repath and Tim Whitmarsh (Ofxord: Oxford University Press, 2022), 249. 375 Josephine Quinn, In Search of the Phoenicians (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2017), 135. 376 Repath, “Sphragis 2: The Limits of Reality and the End of the Novel (10.41.3-4),” 260. 151 The importance of ancestral homeland to the characters who inhabit the world of the Aethiopika is established early on. While Heliodorus does employ many of the same strategies as his fellow novelists when it comes to demonstrating the value of ancestral homeland, his initial approach is markedly different in that he does not begin with the protagonists (or their families) as was the case in Chariton’s Chaereas and Callirhoe and Achilles Tatius’ Leucippe and Cleitophon. Based on the previous novels, the reader might expect the Aethiopika to open with a statement like, “τὴν ἐκ μέσης τῆς Ἑλλάδος ἐπ' ἐσχάτοις γῆς Αἰγύπτου” (out of the very center of Greece into the furthest parts of Egypt). 377 Or perhaps something like, “ἥκεις ἑτέραν καθ' ἡμῶνσκηνὴν Ἀττικὴν καὶ ἐν Αἰγύπτῳ τραγῳδήσουσα” (you have come upon another Attic scene about us and tragic performance in Egypt). 378 Both of these claims reinforce the idea that Greece is the center of the world of the novel and places like Egypt exist only on the periphery. While these claims are eventually made, they are not the first that address one’s homeland. In fact, Heliodorus first considers ancestral homeland from the point of view of non- Greeks. This moment happens quickly, and it could be missed easily, but one should not overlook it because it will end up informing this novel’s overall stance on ancestral homeland. After being captured by the second band of boukoloi, Charikleia and Theagenes are taken back to the bandit camp as prisoners. In his description of this new location, our narrator states, “καί πού τις Βουκόλος ἀνὴρ ἐτέχθη τε ἐν τῇ λίμνῃ καὶ τροφὸν ἔσχε ταύτην καὶ πατρίδα τὴν λίμνην ἐνόμισεν” (and near the lake some herdsmen were born and were raised in this place and considered the lake their homeland). 379 There are any number of words that Heliodorus could have used. He chooses to use “πατρίδα” (from πατρίς) which carries the idea of not just home 377 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, II.8. 378 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, II.11. 379 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, I.6. 152 but, specifically, “ancestral homeland.” 380 This suggests that the boukoloi had a similar attachment to this camp that the Athenians did, say, in the Histories of Herodotus. By foregrounding his entire exploration of why homeland might be an important aspect of identity in this manner, Heliodorus accomplishes a couple of things. First, he makes it clear that homeland is not a matter of literal autochthony, being born from the earth, but instead one of historic occupation. 381 Additionally, he establishes that ancestral homeland is universally important and not just a Greek value. Of course, it is not only the barbaroi for whom homeland is important and, lest the reader get that impression, Heliodorus underscores the significance of ancestral dwelling for Greeks not long after the previous scene. Once Charikleia and Theagenes arrive at the bandit camp of Thyamis as prisoners, modern narrative expectations might lead the reader to expect them to be locked in a cell or stored with the rest of the bounty or, perhaps, have the man forced into military service while the woman is forced into marriage with one of her captors. However, Thyamis takes a different approach. Instead, we learn that “καὶ αὐτὸς μεταλαβών, τοὺς μὲν νέους Ἕλληνί τινι παραδίδωσι νεανίσκῳ” (Thyamis himself having received them, entrusted the young couple to a certain Greek youth). 382 Yes, this is an act of kindness, but the question may well be asked, what does this have to do with ancestral homeland? Jonathan Hall succinctly explains in Ethnic Identity in Greek Antiquity that membership in a community is most firmly rooted in shared ancestral origins. 383 So, while not as explicit perhaps, as the case with the barbaroi is, the fact that Thyamis correctly surmises that his Greek prisoners will feel less despair if they are in the company of another Greek, even if they do not know him, makes 380 LSJ s.v. πατρίς (A). 381 Hall, Ethnic Identity in Greek Antiquity, 53-55. 382 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, I.7. 383 Hall, Ethnic Identity in Greek Antiquity, 36-45. 153 evident the fact that for Greeks, just as for barbaroi, ancestral homeland is a matter of importance. Beyond just demonstrating that both Greeks and non-Greeks care about ancestral homeland, this excerpt also begins to explain why. If the above passages make it evident that ancestral homeland is significant to the characters in the story, the reasons for that significance are, at best, only hinted at by the last passage. Heliodorus more fully develops what makes homeland so important elsewhere in his novel. The value is most efficiently expressed by Kalasiris when he reads the band that Persinna left with Charikleia, “γένος…καὶ ἔθνος τὸ σὸν καὶ τύχην φράζει” ([the band] explains your birth and ethnos and your fate). 384 Birth (ancestral homeland), it would seem, is inextricably tied to one’s past, present, and future. To a certain degree, it is who you are. This is an idea that Heliodorus tests in two distinct episodes in his novel, once in the first book and once in the tenth and final book. In book one, we find Thyamis enamored of Charikleia and intent on marrying her. As a delay tactic and in order to uphold her oath to Theagenes, Charikleia suggests to Thyamis that “βέλτιον μὲν γὰρ εἰς Μέμφιν, ὅταν καὶ τὴν τιμὴν ἀνακτήσῃ τῆς προφητείας· οὕτως ἂν ὁ γάμος εὐθυμότερον ἄγοιτο νίκῃ συναπτόμενος καὶ ἐπὶ κατορθουμένοις τελούμενος” (certainly it would be better in Memphis, when you have regained the due regard of your rightful office; in this manner the marriage would be celebrated more cheerfully because it would be compounded with your victory and completed with successes). 385 At the heart of this argument is the claim that marriage would be best back in his home and this is because it is in his home where he himself is best because he is surrounded by his community. Because the marriage never occurs, we do not learn if this is true. However, the argument is enough to convince Thyamis to delay the wedding, demonstrating that Charikleia’s suggestion was in line with how he 384 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, IV.11. 385 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, I.22. 154 understood the value of ancestral homeland. Heliodorus, then, bookends his novel with a second episode in book ten. After finally arriving at the court of Hydaspes and Persinna in Meroë, Theagenes and Charikleia once again find themselves in danger, this time of being used as human sacrifices, as is the custom in Meroë (a point to which we will return later). While debating their legal rights with the gymnosophist Sisimithres, Hydaspes asserts, “πρὸς τοὺς ἐγχωρίους…καὶ οὐ τοὺς ξένους δικάζειν ὑμᾶς τοῖς βασιλεύουσιν ὁ νόμος ἐφίησι” (the law permits you to judge…cases between royalty and natives but not foreigners). 386 While marriage certainly has legal ramifications and unites not just two people but their families as well, this claim makes the connection between ancestral homeland and community even stronger. The legal ramifications being suggested by Hydaspes means that people who share ancestral homeland are not just united by shared beliefs but by certain enforceable rules and legal rights. As such, this makes the idea far more tangible. What is so curious about both of these examples, and they are the only two of this type, is that they both relate to non-Greek claims of homeland. Emma Dench asserts, in her contribution to The Oxford Handbook of the Second Sophistic, that the Greek novels are primarily about an exploration of the limits of Greekness. 387 It is quite interesting, then, when it comes to homeland, Greekness is not the focus. There is almost the sense that Heliodorus is intentionally subverting the readers’ expectations. He does not change what it is that homeland provides but he does shift the frame of reference away from the, usually central, Greece. While the previous examples highlight what homeland offers those who can make legitimate claims to it, Heliodorus has another tool at his disposal to draw attention to the value 386 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, X.10. 387 Emma Dench, “Ethnicity, Culture, and Identity,” in The Oxford Handbook of the Second Sophistic, ed. Daniel S. Richter and William A. Johnson (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017), 103. 155 of ancestral homeland to the characters within his novel. While it was through the non-Greek characters that Heliodorus emphasizes what is to be gained through affiliation with an ancestral homeland, it is through his Greek characters that he draws attention to the despair of losing one’s homeland, which is the other side of the coin. Knemmon, the Greek captive who Charikleia and Theagenes are put in the company of at Thyamis’ camp, broaches this topic in the conclusion of his personal Hippolytus-story. Instead of plummeting to his death off of a cliff, he reveals that he was exiled from Greece, only for his father to suffer the same fate when he learns that his wife had deceived him. 388 This is not the sort of philosophical exile that the likes of Plutarch and Favorinus embarked upon in order to better understand their place in the oikoumenê, though. 389 Instead, this deprivation of ancestral homeland through exile is purely punitive. Heliodorus makes this evident time and time again throughout the narrative. For example, while bemoaning their fate, Charikleia laments, “οὐδὲ ἱκανά σοι πρὸς τιμωρίαν τὰ παρελθόντα, στέρησις τῶν οἰκείων καὶ καταποντιστῶν ἅλωσις καὶ θαλασσῶν μυρίος κίνδυνος καὶ λῃστῶν ἐπὶ γῆς ἤδη Δευτέρα σύλληψις καὶ πικρότερα τῶν ἐν πείρᾳ τὰ προσδοκώμενα” (are the things we have endured not enough for you as regards to punishment, loss of our homes and capture by pirates and myriad dangers of the seas and still a second capture by herdsmen on land and a future more bitter than the past). 390 This understanding of exile is, then, reiterated by Theagenes in the fifth book, κερδήσωμεν ἄλην ἀνήνυτον καὶ πλάνητα βίον καὶ τὴν ἐπάλληλον τοῦ δαίμονος καθ' ἡμῶν πομπείαν. Οὐχ ὁρᾷς ὡς φυγαῖς ἐπισυνάπτειν πειρατήρια καὶ τοῖς ἐκ θαλάττης ἀτόποις τὰ ἐκ γῆς φιλοτιμεῖται χαλεπώτερα, πολέμους ἄρτι λῃσταῖς μετ' ὀλίγον; Αἰχμαλώτους μικρῷ πρόσθεν εἶχεν, ἐρήμους αὖθις ἀπέδειξεν· ἀπαλλαγὴν καὶ φυγὴν ἐλευθέραν ὑπέθετο καὶ τοὺς ἀναιρήσοντας ἐπέστησε, τοιοῦτον παίζει κ αθ' ἡμῶν πόλεμον ὥσπερ σκηνὴν τὰ ἡμέτερα καὶ δρᾶμα πεποιημένος 388 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, I.14. 389 Daniel S. Richter, “Cosmopolitanism,” in The Oxford Handbook of the Second Sophistic, ed. Daniel S. Richter and William A. Johnson (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017), 94. 390 Heliodorus, Aethiopika,, I.8. 156 let us reap endless wandering and a life of vagrancy and one punishment after another heaped upon us by the gods. Do you not see how pirates are added to flights and after the monstrous things on the sea more difficult things are contended with on land, soon after the pirates there will be wars? Recently it held us as prisoners of war, then it rendered us abandoned; it presented deliverance and free escape and it has brought in men to kill us, it plays such a war against us just as if making a staged performance out of our misfortunes. 391 In both of these pitiable passages, our heroes list a number of misfortunes that they have suffered over the course of their journey. While one might presume that things like capture by pirates and encountering monstrous things at sea, things that present the risk of immediate, physical harm, might be our lovers’ chief concern, they are not. Instead, as both these passages demonstrate, it is the deprivation of homeland that receives pride of place as the most unjust torment visited upon them. 392 By emphasizing the negatives associated with not having access to one’s ancestral homeland through his Greek characters, Heliodorus continues to reinforce the universality of ancestral homeland while at the same time subverting our expectations about who receives active benefit from it in the novel because, at no point in this story, do we see a Greek character enjoying the benefits of being in their homeland. The closest we come to something like that is during one of this novel’s many secondary narratives. While listening to Kalasiris’ story about his time with Theagenes and Charikleia, Knemmon recognizes his new friends based on Kalasiris’ description. In response to this recognition, Kalasiris proclaims, “οὐκ οἶδα…εἰ τοιούτους εἶδες οἵους αὐτοὺς κατ' ἐκείνην τὴν ἡμέραν ἡ Ἑλλάς τε καὶ ὁ ἥλιος ἐθεάσατο, οὕτω μὲν περιβλέπτους οὕτω δὲ εὐδαιμονιζομένους 391 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, V.6. 392 Interestingly, Persinna, the Ethiopian queen, also emphasizes the pain of being deprived of ancestral homeland by pairing it with similar misfortunes. She takes pity on Charikleia, saying αἰχμαλωσία καὶ πόλεμος καὶ τοσοῦτος τῆς ἐνεγκούσης ἐξοικισμὸς ἀνέγκλητον ποιεῖ τὴν προαίρεσιν” (“Let her be convicted but ultimately spared.” said Persinna, “Captivity, war, and exile so far removed from one’s home make for indisputable penalty”) (X.7). 157 καὶ τὴν μὲν ἀνδράσι τὸν δὲ γυναιξὶν εὐχὴν γινομένους” (I do not know…if you have seen them in such a way as both Greece and the sun gazed upon them on that day, on the one hand they were so admired by all who saw them and on the other hand deemed blessed, both her as an object of desire for men and him for women). 393 At first reading, it might seem like we are finally getting an example of how Greeks draw a benefit from their homeland. After all, if Theagenes and Charikleia look best when in Greece, it would mean Greeks benefit from being in their homeland. However, as the reader will learn shortly, Charikleia is not Greek but, in fact, Ethiopian. Therefore, in place of defining the Greek benefit of homeland, Heliodorus actually problematizes the entire idea of ancestral homeland. In fact, I think we can take this a step further. Heliodorus actually invites his reader to question the legitimacy of ancestral homeland as an idea as it relates to identity construction. It is true that all the Greek novels present a model of the world that does not align with the reality encountered by the readers of the novels. 394 Given this, perhaps we should not be surprised that Heliodorus opens the idea of ancestral homeland up to scrutiny. Sylvia Montiglio reads the novel’s conclusion as Theagenes choosing love over homeland, which could be read as a demotion of ancestral homeland but there is another moment which questions the reality of homeland more explicitly. 395 While sailing with the merchants, Charikleia catches the eyes of a certain Tyrrhenos who asks Charikles for permission to marry his adopted daughter. This leads to the following exhange, “ὡς οὐκ ἄν ποτέ τῳ χώραν ἄλλην οἰκοῦντι καὶ ἔθνος ὃ τοσοῦτον κεχώρισται τῆς Αἰγυπτίων ἐκδοῦναι τὸ θυγάτριον αἱρησομένου…ἔθνος δὲ καὶ πατρίδα τὴν 393 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, III.4. 394 Schmeling, “Myths of Person and Place: The Search for a Model for the Ancient Greek Novel,” 432. 395 Sylvia Montiglio, “Wandering, Love, and Home in Apollonius of Rhodes’ Argonautica and Heliodorus’ Aethiopica,” in The Epic Journey in Greek and Roman Literature, ed. Thomas Biggs and Jessica Blum (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2019), 91. 158 ὑμετέραν ἀλλάξομαι” (“I would never choose to give my daughter to someone belonging to another people so distant from Egypt”…[Tyrrhenos]: “I will change my people and adopt your fatherland). 396 Tyrrhenos is not proposing simply relocating, as one might for a new career, he is saying he will adopt a new ancestral homeland. In the strictest sense this should not be possible since, by definition, ancestral homeland is where your ancestors are from. When we read this alongside the passages previously cited, the picture of ancestral homeland that Heliodorus leaves us with is, in a sense, ambiguous. While it does have value in his novel, the people who benefit from that value are largely non-Greek and, furthermore, this last passage forces us to ask if we should be attaching the value that we do to it. Language Perhaps more than any other of the ideal Greek romances, Heliodorus’ Aethiopika makes an issue of language. If we look at the particular ways in which language gets deployed throughout this narrative, it becomes clear that language abounds in this narrative explicitly because Heliodorus has a greater interest in exploring precisely how language intersects with other aspects of identity. This is not to say that Heliodorus does not cover similar ground as his contemporaries, exploring how language defines identity and how it can be used as cultural capital, for instance. However, the area of language that seems to fascinate Heliodorus the most, and which is most relevant to the current project, is multilingualism and how language barriers affect his characters’ ability to navigate the world of his novel more or less effectively. However, 396 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, V.19. 159 before turning to this more complex issue, let us begin with some of the more seemingly simple claims surrounding language that Heliodorus makes in the Aethiopika. From the previous chapters, we have seen time and time again how language can be used as a tool to express identity. We also know, from philologists, that language is essential to maintaining the various elements that define specific groups of people, not only Greeks but all the peoples of the Mediterranean world. In other words, language is needed to make people who they are. 397 It is this most elementary level of language association that Heliodorus introduces in the first book of his novel. When Charikleia and Theagenes first make the acquaintance of Knemmon in Thyamis’ camp they are thrilled to find out he is Greek. As the narrator relates, “‘Ἕλλην; ὦ θεοί’ ἐπεβόησαν ὑφ’ ἡδονῆς ἅμα οἱ ξένοι. ‘Ἕλλην ὡς ἀληθῶς τὸ γένος καὶ τὴν φωνήν’” (“Greek? O gods!” the foreigners cried out together in joy. “Truly a Greek both in respect to race and speech”). 398 What makes this outburst so worthy of our attention is the way in which our protagonists bind together language and country of origin. As Rosaria Munson explains, “the mother tongue is central to the construction of the speaker’s linguistic identity. The mother tongue is itself a ‘claim’ about national, ethnic, or religious identity (or any combination of the three).” 399 In this way, Heliodorus lays this basic framework for what language early on in his novel, at its most essential level, does: it signals the group to which you belong. He makes a point of establishing the rules early because it gives him more space to play with and subvert them. Also, of note from this example, is that, similar to the way he treated ancestral homeland from a non-Greek perspective first, language within the novel places Greek 397 Hall, Ethnic Identity in Greek Antiquity, 8. 398 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, I.8. 399 Munson, Black Doves Speak, 185. 160 in a subservient position at first in that it is literally the language of prisoners while Egyptian is the language of the captors. The second major episode in which language appears as an explicit marker of identity occurs in the fifth book of the novel, after the truth of Chariklea’s birth has been revealed to both the reader and to Charikleia herself. At this point in the narrative, Theagenes and Charikleia are preparing to continue their journey in disguise when they are once again set upon by a hostile band. Their captors are not pirates this time but a group led by Mitranes, who is the commander of the guard of the Egyptian satrap, Oroondates. Nausikles, who had paid for Mitranes to help him rescue the already-dead Thisbe, his beloved but also the woman who had a hand in Knemmon’s fate, recognized Charikleia and attempted to save her in the following manner, καὶ τῇ Χαρικλείᾳ Θίσβην ὁμολογεῖν ἑαυτὴν εἰ βούλοιτο σῴζεσθαι παρεκελεύετο, ἠρέμα καὶ ἑλληνιστὶ παραφθεγγόμενος ὡς ἂν λανθάνοι τοὺς παρόντας· καὶ τοῦ σοφίςματος ἔτυχεν· ἡ γὰρ δὴ Χαρίκλεια γλώσσης τε ἑλληνίδος αἰσθομένη καί τι καὶ συνοῖσον ἀνύεσθαι πρὸς τοῦ ἀνδρὸς στοχαζομένη [Nausikles] advised Charikleia to pretend to be Thisbe if she wished to be saved, speaking to her quietly in Greek so that he could escape the notice of those nearby; and Charikleia, hearing him speak Greek and guessed she could gain some advantage from the man. 400 On the one hand, this passage could be read as an example of language barriers. After all, Nausikles does make a conscious and explicit choice to speak in Greek to convey a secret plan. However, there are other moments, elsewhere in this novel, which we will consider later to better understand how language barriers work. For the time being, it is the second half of this excerpt that is most intriguing. True, Nausikles’ decision to speak Greek in this moment emphasizes that “[l]anguage choice…is often bound up with the identity which a person is seeking to project on a particular occasion,” further stressing the idea that language equals identity at a very basic 400 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, V.8. 161 level. 401 However, it is Charikleia’s response to hearing Greek that I want to draw our attention to here. Despite the fact that she does not know Nausikles and that her recent travails have probably made her acutely cautious, it is enough for her to hear him speak Greek for her to trust him. As such, this moment demonstrates that shared language is an extremely effective too for fostering relationships between strangers. 402 Curiously, especially in light of our discussion of ancestral homeland, while there are additional moments where language indicates identity, it is only in the case of Greek. No characters have been immediately marked as Persian or Egyptian because of their language alone. A second aspect of language which Heliodorus considers, as do his contemporaries, is the ways in which language can act as capital, much in the same way we have seen claims of ancestral homeland used at times. While it is true that one could argue that all of the examples of language in Heliodorus that have already been considered also demonstrate that language has value, the following examples are the ones that do not fit neatly into the other categories that this section will explore. Early in the novel, after the raid on the bandit camp, Charikleia, Theagenes, and Knemmon are plotting their escape when the bandit Thermouthis allies himself with them. While debating what plan of action would be best, Theagenes turns to Thermouthis and says, “ἄρχε βουλῆς· τόπων τε γὰρ τῶν τῇδε καὶ φωνῶν ἔμπειρος” (show your plan, for you are knowledgeable both of the geography of this place and the language). 403 As David Evans explains so succinctly, there is a pretty clear hierarchy of languages in which some languages are more highly valued than others. 404 Furthermore, dating back to the Classical Age, Greeks 401 J.N. Adams and Simon Swain, “Introduction,” in Bilingualism in Ancient Society: Language Context and the Written Text, ed. J.N. Adams, Mark Janse, and Simon Swain (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), 2. 402 Munson, Black Doves Speak, 185. 403 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, II.17. 404 David Evans, “The Identities of Language,” in Language and Identity: Discourse in the World, ed. David Evans (New York: Bloomsbury, 2015), 30. 162 justified their superiority over others on the basis of, among other things, language. 405 Thus, it is remarkable that the first instance of language being discussed in a hierarchical manner it is Egyptian, and not Greek, that is positioned at the top of the food chain, even if the value is directly attributed to the situation in which they find themselves. Heliodorus, in a sense, is mirroring his approach to language on the approach he took to ancestral homeland. But it is not only Egyptian which is treated as a valuable commodity within the novel. Later, in book five, we see the power of the spoken word in a different, almost magical (real magic will come shortly), light. After one of this novel’s many thrilling battles, Theagenes finds himself alone fighting Peloros. Charikleia, unable to physically aid her beloved “λόγον ἐπίκουρον τῷ Θεαγένει ἐτόξευσεν” (sent forth her voice as an ally to Theagenes) and we learn that “ἰσχὺν αὐτῷ καὶ θάρσος τῆς φωνῆς διακονούσης” (her voice instilled strength and bravery in him). 406 If Rosaria Munson, in her discussion of Herodotus, is correct that Greeks engaged in a type of linguistic ethnocentrism which instilled value in their utterances purely because they were made in Greek, than this episode takes that to an extreme. 407 While it is true that the fact that these words come from his beloved surely play a role as well, Heliodorus’ emphasis on the φωνή of the λόγος reified Munson’s point and underscores the superiority the Greek language enjoys in the wake of the second sophistic. 408 When read in tandem, these excerpts highlight the universal, at least in the world of the novel, understanding that the spoken word has power. It can elevate a person’s status or even reinvigorate the listener. This, of course, presumes a proficiency in said language. Something that not every character within the Aethiopika possesses. 405 Munson, Black Doves Speak, 8. 406 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, V.32. 407 Munson, Black Doves Speak, 69. 408 Simon Swain, Hellenism and Empire: Language, Classicism, and Power in the Greek World, AD 50- 250 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1996), 28. 163 One final aspect of language that we should consider before turning our attention to Heliodorus’ exploration of multilingualism and language barriers, is the quality of language in the Aethiopika, meaning the quality of the language spoken and not the quality of Heliodorus’ written Greek. By quality of language, I mean examining the moments in which Heliodorus draws our attention to language users who do not have a mastery of the language and are marked as poor communicators. While this is certainly closely related to language barriers and multilingualism, I think it will prove useful to look at three moments, in particular, on their own. The first of these occurs in one of the novel’s many embedded narratives in which we learn how Charikles became Charikleia’s adoptive father. In a flashback within a flashback, Charikles tells Kalasiris that, “ἀνήρ τις πρόσεισι τὰ μὲν ἄλλα σεμνὸς ἰδεῖν καὶ ἀγχίνοιαν ἀπὸ τοῦ βλέμματος ἐμφανίζων ἄρτι μὲν τὸν ἔφηβον παραλλάξας τὴν χροιὰν δὲ ἀκριβῶς μέλας καί μεἠσπάζετο καί τι βούλεσθαι ἰδίᾳ φράζειν ἔλεγεν ἑλληνίζων οὐ βεβαίως” (a certain man was at hand, particularly stately in appearance and exuding shrewdness from his expression, having only recently surpassed youth, and his skin was acutely black and he was greeting me and, speaking Greek roughly, was saying he wished to say something to me in private). 409 We will revisit this passage for what it says about appearance later in this chapter but for now it is sufficient to note that this explicitly non-Greek character, we later learn this is Sisimithres, speaks Greek but does so poorly. One way to read this is that Heliodorus is employing bad Greek as a way to suggest a character’s cultural shortcomings. After all, this was exactly how we saw “bad” Greek being used in Greek comedy. However, the fact that this character turns out to be a gymnosophist complicates things because gymnosophists, as the novel’s conclusion demonstrates, were held in high regard. A second, parallel episode occurs towards the end of the novel’s eighth book. While 409 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, II.20. 164 Theagenes is being held captive by Arsake, he is visited by Bagoas, who wishes to have some words with him. In narrating this encounter, Heliodorus writes, “ταῦτ' ἔλεγεν ὁ Βαγώας …ἀλλὰ ψελλιζόμενος τὴν Ἑλλάδα φωνὴν καὶ παράσημα τὰ πολλὰ ἐπισύρων” (Bagoas was saying these things…but he spoke the Greek language falteringly and slurred his way through many grammatical errors). 410 These are the only two instances in a novel filled with language interactions with non-native speakers in which the author acknowledges the quality of the spoken language. Given the obsession, at the time among, elites with linguistic style and Attic purity, it perhaps should not surprise us that both of these are concerned with spoken Greek. 411 Furthermore, the fact that it only happens with Greek could suggest that there is something special about the Greek language, a quality it possesses that other languages do not. After all, if Greek is the only language that actively can be spoken poorly it follows that other languages cannot be spoken well. While, realistically, this is not the case. That Heliodorus suggests it, might be his way of indicating that Greek is the only language he holds in high enough regard to care how it is being spoken. Likewise, it might suggest that Heliodorus simply does not respect other languages enough to care how they are being spoken. This would certainly seem to suggest a move by Heliodorus to privilege Greek over other languages. As with so many other things in this novel, though, it is never as straightforward as it might initially appear. While it is true that no other language is explicitly described as being spoken well or poorly, Heliodorus does include a small detail about a written language in the fourth book of the Aethiopika. Before actually providing a translation of the band which reveals the truth of Charikleia’s birth, Heliodorus first describes it and, in doing so, pays special attention to the script. It would be enough to say the band was embroidered with Ethiopian to 410 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, VIII.15. 411 Swain, Hellenism and Empire: Language, Classicism, and Power in the Greek World, AD 50-250, 27. 165 explain why Charikleia had not read it yet. However, Heliodorus takes it a step further and explains that “τὴν ταινίαν γράμμασιν Αἰθιοπικοῖς οὐ δημοτικοῖς ἀλλὰ βασιλικοῖς ἐστιγμένην, ἃ δὴ τοῖς Αἰγυπτίων ἱερατικοῖς καλουμένοις ὡμοίωται” (the band was embroidered with Ethiopian words not in the demotic style but the royal one, which is quite similar to the so-called sacerdotal style of Egyptians). 412 It would seem, then, that Greek is not as unique as it may have first seemed. While it would be impossible to make a direct comparison between varying qualities of spoken language and varying scripts of a written language, it is interesting that the only script that gets special attention is not Greek and yet the Aethiopika itself is a written, not oral, artifact. By and large, the aspect of language that is of the greatest interest to Heliodorus is the way in which language barriers affect the characters in his novel. It was remarked in the last chapter how surprising it was that this did not seem to be a larger issue in the other novels given how much international travel takes place in three of the other the ideal romances. In the Aethiopika, however, Heliodorus provides nuanced insight into what happens both when characters cannot communicate with one another and the value that lies in knowing multiple languages. When it comes to Greek being incomprehensible, Heliodorus paints a very specific picture. Although these moments are not numerous, perhaps because Greek had, by this point, spread through Egypt (as well as the near East) as a result of Greece’s history of conquest, two early examples, which build upon one another, illustrate for his reader precisely what is at stake when Greek cannot be understood. 413 After they are first captured, Heliodorus describes Charikleia pleading with the their captors but, as the narrator explains, “ἡ μὲν ταῦτα 412 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, IV.8. 413 Adams and Swain, “Introduction,” 12. 166 ἐπετραγῴδει, οἱ δὲ οὐδὲν συνιέναι τῶν λεγομένων ἔχοντες” (Charikleia was lamenting these things but the bandits were not able to understand any of the things she said). 414 Beyond establishing that Greek is not the lingua franca of this world, this exchange (or failure to exchange as the case may be) suggests that when Greeks are unable to make themselves understood they might find themselves in danger. This theoretical danger is then made all too real a few chapters later. During the raid on the bandit camp, Thyamis sets off to kill Charikleia before anyone else can claim her, “ἐμβοῶν τε μέγα καὶ πολλὰ αἰγυπτιάζων, αὐτοῦ που περὶ τὸ στόμιον ἐντυχών τινι Ἑλληνίδι τῇ γλώττῃ προςφθεγγομένῃ, ἀπὸ τῆς φωνῆς ἐπ' αὐτὴν χειραγωγηθεὶς ἐπιβάλλει τε τῇ κεφαλῇ τὴν λαιὰν χεῖρα καὶ διὰ τῶνστέρνων παρὰ τὸν μαζὸν ἐλαύνει τὸ ξίφος” ([Thyamis] shouting long and loud in the Egyptian tongue. Just by the entrance he came upon a woman who spoke to him in Greek. Guided to her by her voice, he seized her head in his left hand and drove his sword through her breast close to her bosom. With a last, piteous cry, the poor creature fell dead). 415 Had Thisbe’s Greek been understood, her death might have been prevented. However, because Thyamis could only hear Greek but not understand it, she found herself in mortal peril. What makes these two moments so curious is that, far from placing Greek speakers on some kind of pedestal, they punish the Greek speaker precisely because they speak Greek. Meanwhile, the people who fail to understand the Greek are left with no negative repercussions. Although, it perhaps may be more accurate to say that they are punished for knowing only Greek. Of course, for a multilingual world to function, there must be people who are multilingual. After all, contact between languages was a part of nearly every aspect of life in the 414 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, I.3. 415 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, I.30. 167 ancient world. 416 What makes Heliodorus’ multilingual characters so very interesting is that they are nearly exclusively non-Greek. One way to read this would be as proof that Greek must be superior because everyone else has to learn that language while the Greeks do not need to be bothered. However, if we examine the instances in which Heliodorus highlights multilingualism, such an interpretation becomes untenable. Probably the most obvious display of multilingualism in the entirety of the Aethiopika is when Kalasiris translates Persinna’s band and reveals Charikleia’s true origins. 417 It is only because there is a multilingual character among them that the protagonists are able to learn the truth. Furthermore, it is only because there is a multilingual character that the novel is able to achieve its major plot twist (the fact that Charikleia is not actually a Greek) and set up the novel’s stunning conclusion. While this might be the most obvious moment of multilingualism, it is certainly not the only one. There are a few others we must consider. Later in the novel, as part of the siege of Syene narrative, multilingualism once again becomes a topic of concern. While this passage does not involve our main characters in an active role nor does it affect the plot in a particularly meaningful sense, it does provide us with perhaps the best understanding of what multilingualism means to the world at large. After the Ethiopian forces overpowered their foes, they inspect those that they defeated. Among them, the Ethiopians come across Bagoas, as well as Theagenes and Charikleia, who were, at this point, all prisoners of the Persians. In an attempt to better understand the situation, Heliodorus details the following move by the Ethiopians, Αἰγύπτιόν τε ἀπὸ σφῶν ἕνα τε καὶ περσίζοντα τὴν φωνὴν εἰς τὴν πεῦσιν καθέντες ὡς ἢ ἀμφοτέρων ἢ θατέρου πάντως συνήσοντας. Οἱ γὰρ ὀπτῆρές τε καὶ σκοποὶ λεγομένων τε καὶ πραττομένων ἀποσταλέντες ὁμογλώσσους τε καὶ ὁμοφώνους τοῖς τε ἐγχωρίοις καὶ πολεμίοις ἐπάγεσθαι ὑπὸ τῆς χρείας ἐδιδάχθησαν 416 Adams and Swain, “Introduction,” 1. 417 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, IV.8. 168 . and they sent in one Egyptian from their group who could hiss the language for information, hoping that they would understand one or another of the languages if not both entirely. For both the scouts and the spies are sent after what is being said and done and they have been taught but experience to bring people who speak the same languages and dialects of the natives and the enemies. 418 What this passage makes so unmistakably clear to the reader is that the ability to communicate in multiple languages is essential to successfully navigating the world at large. If you personally do not possess this skill set, then you are going to have to employ those who do. Perhaps no character better embodies this than Sisimithres. Throughout the novel, he modulates his language to suit not only his surroundings but also his goals. In book five, for example, Heliodorus writes, “ὁ Σισιμίθρης, οὐχ ἑλληνίζων ἀλλ' ὥστε καὶ πάντας ἐπαΐειν αἰθιοπίζων” (Sisimrithres, not speaking Greek anymore but Ethiopian instead so that all could understand him). 419 But then, in book ten, “καὶ ὁ Σισιμίθρης … ἀπεκρίνατο, ἑλληνίζων ὥστε μὴ τὸ πλῆθος ἐπαΐειν” (and Sisimithres answered, speaking in Greek so that the crowd could not understand him). 420 In advocating for a more multilingual world, Heliodorus, to a certain degree, advocates for a world in which language is a less prominent aspect of identity. This is not to say, as the prior examples demonstrate, that language has nothing to do with identity. But, should readers take a lesson from the novel and immerse themselves in languages outside of their native tongue, the logical result will be that, at some point, language will eventually become a less effective tool to discern an individual’s identity. Barbarism 418 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, VIII.17. 419 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, V.39. 420 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, X.9. 169 The discussion about barbarism that Heliodorus engages in within his Aethiopika mirrors the approach that the other novelists take in many respects. While the moments in his novel in which Greek identity and barbarian identity are brought into contact (and often conflict) with one another are the most compelling to read, much can also be gleaned from examining the numerous passages in which Heliodorus addresses issues of identity in an isolated fashion, meaning speaking solely to Greek or barbarian identity. 421 While all of these moments are intertwined throughout the novel, it will be most productive, I think, to first familiarize ourselves with how Heliodorus establishes Greek identity, then barbarian identity next, and, lastly, how the two interact, leading up to the novels thrilling conclusion. Before that, though, we must consider the novel’s opening, which is intended to prepare the reader for some of the more subversive moves that Heliodorus makes later on in the novel. The Aethiopika opens not in Greece, as so many of the novels do, but in Egypt and, what is more, it opens through the eyes of Egyptians. Thus, the readers are immediately forced to see the world from the Egyptian perspective. 422 This decentering of Greekness is emphasized again in this book when Charikleia is referred to as “τὴν κόρην ταυτηνὶ τὴν ξένην” (this foreign girl). 423 An astute reader will take this mode of introducing the plot as a clue that Heliodorus is not necessarily interested in working with a generic Greek versus/over barbarian dichotomy. This initial focalization should also hint at the fact that Heliodorus is far more interested in exploring the barbaroi and how they interact with Greeks rather than Greeks themselves. However, he does set aside some space to explore Greekness in and of itself. What is especially 421 Of course, as we have remarked elsewhere, when one speaks of one identity they implicitly defining oppositional ones. 422 Giuseppe Zanetto, “Intertextuality and Intervisuality in Heliodorus,” Prometheus 44 (2018): 209. 423 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, I.19. 170 surprising about these moments, given the complexity and nuance of the novel as a whole, is the broad strokes Heliodorus uses to paint his Greek characters in this novel, especially compared to the likes of Achilles Tatius who is so keen on exploring micro-identities or Longus who is hyper- focused on creating dividing lines between various socioeconomic classes of Greeks. At the most basic level, Heliodorus uses Arsake’s perception of Greek culture to set a baseline for how Greek culture is perceived in the world of the novel. Kybele tells us that Arsake is “φιλέλληνά” (a lover of Greek things). 424 In other word, Greek culture represents that which should be admired. Of course, in and of itself, this is not particularly revealing and, in this episode, neither Kybele nor Arsake herself elaborate on what makes Greek culture so estimable. We will have to look elsewhere in the novel and at interactions with different characters in order to come to grips with why Arsake, among others, deem Greek culture an object of admiration. When it comes to elaborating on the specific elements that make up Greek culture within the world of this novel, there is a dearth of evidence. Outside of scenes of the Greek legal system or burial practices, there is not a whole lot to go on as far as what makes something Greek. In spite of this, Heliodorus still manages to craft a clear image of what characteristics are associated with Greek culture. The first of these comes in the second book during Heliodorus’ explanation of how Charikleia initially came into the care of Charikles. He relates that Sisimithres approached him in Egypt and said, “πιστεύω δε σε πάντα ἐμπεδώσειν τὰ ὡμιλημένα τοῖς τε ὅρκοις ἀποθαρσῶν καὶ τὸν σὸν τρόπον ἐκ πολλῶν τῶν ἡμερῶν ὧν ἐνθάδε διάγεις Ἑλληνικὸν ὄντα τῷ ὄντι περιειργασμένος” (I trust that you will uphold all the things agreed upon both being confident in your oaths and having thoroughly investigated your manner for many days during which you continue to prove yourself to be a true Greek). 425 As Sisimithres clearly states, the 424 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, VII.12. 425 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, II.31. 171 entire reason that he trusts this person, a person he has never met, is because he is Greek in his “τροπός,” which here means customs and can be read in the same way that we have read “νόμος” in other texts. 426 While this might not tell us anything about Greek habits or practices, it does underscore that a main tenet of Greekness is trustworthiness. This, at least partially, explains why characters in the novel value Greekness so highly, while at the same time remain aggressively vague about the actual practices that make up the culture. Two additional association with Greekness that get emphasized throughout this novel are that Greek culture is inherently wise and is, somehow, divinely sanctioned. This is made most explicit in the fourth book when Kalasiris is arranging for Theagenes and Charikleia to run off together. While trying to book them passage away from Charikles’ household, he comes upon Phoenician sailors, who appear to be a solution to his problem. Upon making his request, one of the Phoenician offers the following response, “εἰ γὰρ βουληθείης…ἀγαθὸν οὐδὲν ἀπεῖναι νομιοῦμεν ἀνδρὶ σοφῷ τε καὶ Ἕλληνι καὶ ὡς δίδωσιν ἡ πεῖρα συμβάλλειν τάχα που καὶ θεοῖς κεχαρισμένῳ συνόντες.” (if you will consent to come with us…then we shall think our happiness complete, for we shall have the company of a man who is wise, a Greek, and also, perhaps, to judge from our short acquaintance, a favorite of the gods). 427 Not only does this response to Kalasiris’ request reinforce the idea that there is an inherent goodness in being Greek but it also provides reasons for this that are distinct from the previous passage. He specifically draws attention to “σοφός” and “κεχαρισμένος θεοῖς” and ties it to his interlocutor’s Greekness. According to the Phoenician’s, Greekness is not just goodness but wisdom and, furthermore, divinely authorized. This is a particularly intriguing claim and one that Heliodorus has fun with at the end of the novel. When Hydaspes receives Charikleia and Theagenes as sacrifices-to-be, 426 LSJ s.v. τροπός (III) and νόμος (I). 427 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, IV.16. 172 he exclaims, “εὖ γε ἡ Ἑλλὰς…τά τε ἄλλα καλοὺς κἀγαθοὺς φέρουσα καὶ γνήσια ἡμῖν καὶ εὐσύμβολα εἰς τὰς ἐπινικίους θυσίας τὰ ἱερεῖα παρασχοῦσα” (well done indeed, Greece…bearing kaloi kagathoi sons and handing over to us lawfully begotten and auspicious offerings for the victory sacrifices). 428 If it were not such a serious predicament that our protagonists find themselves in, this would almost be amusing. Hydaspes reaffirms the divine authorization of Greeks but this time it is as victims not victors (which might be more expected). Even if we set this aside for the moment, we will return to the sacrifice issue shortly, the way in which Heliodorus defines Greekness is odd in how generic the definition is. While other novels seem interested in striking down the monolith, Heliodorus seems to reinforce the idea of a Greek monolith. Unlike his approach to defining Greekness, Heliodorus’ discussion of what it means to be a barbaros is more detailed and nuanced. Of course, one could argue that this detail can be applied to our understanding of Greeks as well since, from the time of Classical tragedy, barbarians have represented the opposite of Greeks and thus each detail about what defines a barbarian implies a detail about Greeks. 429 As the examples that follow will demonstrate, much of what Heliodorus has to say about what it means to be a barbaros hinges on his deployment of stereotypes, which, while a useful tool for establishing cultural hierarchies, should not be read as evidence of historical fact. 430 The first of these characteristics that Heliodorus zeroes in on is the idea that barbaroi are obsessed with material possessions. This is established at the novel’s very beginning when the first group of barbaroi, admittedly bandits, come upon the scene of slaughter 428 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, IX.2. 429 Edith Hall, Inventing the Barbarian: Greek Self-Definition Through Tragedy (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1989), 160-5. 430 Skinner, The Invention of Greek Ethnography: From Homer to Herodotus, 116. 173 on the beach, a scene which would frighten most people of. And yet, as Heliodorus relates, “ἀλλὰ καίπερ τὸ γεγονὸς ὅτι ποτέ ἐστιν ἀποροῦντες εἰς τὸ κέρδος ἔβλεπον καὶτὴν λείαν· ἑαυτοὺςοὖν νικητὰς ἀποδείξαντες ὥρμησαν” (but even though [the boukoloi] were at a total loss as to what the situation was, they were intent on profit and plunder; so they rushed upon the scene having proclaimed themselves the victors). 431 Clearly, for the herdsmen, who fall under the umbrella of barbaroi, the chance for wealth far outweighs any physical concerns. And, lest the reader misinterpret this as a characterization of this particular group of bandits, Heliodorus has a second, different bandit group arrive on their heels. This group, while they are puzzled over the scene and the violence they observe, also “πρὸς τὴν διαρπαγὴν καὶ ταῦτα σπεύδοντες” (are eager to get on with the plundering). 432 Were it to be left at these two examples alone, one could mistakenly associate greed not with ethnicity but social class or profession. However, as the novel continues, Heliodorus clarifies his vision. First, in the fifth book, Nausikles makes the seemingly off-hand remark, “πάντως δὲ ἐννοεῖς ὡς τὸ Περσικὸν καὶ τὸ ἐμπορικὸν ἐν ἴσῳ φιλοπλούσιον” (you totally understand that, just like a Persian, the merchant is equally fond of money). 433 So, now it is Egyptian bandits and Persians who can be marked by their greed. Heliodorus continues to develop this idea all the way into the final books of his novel. When Theagenes and Charikleia are captured by the Ethiopians, “ἐπιστείλας καὶ τὰ δεσμά τε ἀμείβειν καὶ χρυσᾶ ἐπιβάλλειν· ὅσα γὰρ σίδηρος παρ' ἄλλοις εἰς τὰς χρείας, ταῦτα παρ' Αἰθίοψιν ὁ χρυσὸς νομίζεται” ([Hydaspes] also commanded that their chains were to be exchanged and they were to be placed in golden fetters, for while iron is customary for other peoples, gold is the custom for Ethiopia). 434 While this is not as explicit as the other examples cited, it is impossible 431 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, I.1. 432 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, I.3. 433 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, V.12. 434 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, IX.1. 174 to read this preference for golden chains as anything other than a nod to an Ethiopian proclivity for material wealth. We can discern this because the choice of gold is purely aesthetic. Gold is the most malleable of all metals. Therefore, the Ethiopians are not using it as a material to construct chains for pragmatic reasons. They use it because they have a love of gold which is so strong that it outweighs common sense. While he may take his time establishing the universality of this aspect of barbarism, it does eventually become apparent that Heliodorus means for his reader to associate greed with all non-Greeks, regardless of their social standing. On this characteristic alone, it would seem that Heliodorus is well on his way to establishing a barbarian monolith to stand against his Greek one. A second, classic aspect of barbarism that Heliodorus works to draw the reader’s attention to is their lack of restraint, a deficit that so often will result in acts of violence. Much like his approach to highlighting the greed that barbaroi are afflicted with, he makes an issue of the lack of restraint early in the novel and, again, he starts with the boukoloi. When Thyamis’ camp is beset with attackers and it looks like defeat is certain, Thyamis’ first instinct is to return to the cave in which he had sequestered Charikleia and kill her lest anyone else claim her. 435 While this might seem like an odd strategy to the reader, Heliodorus explains his reasoning in the following manner, “δυσανάκλητον δὲ πρὸς ὅπερ ἂν ὁρμήσῃ τὸ βάρβαρον ἦθος· κἂν ἀπογνῷ τὴν ἑαυτοῦ σωτηρίαν, προαναιρεῖν ἅπαν τὸ φίλον εἴωθεν, ἤτοι συνέσεσθαι αὐτοῖς καὶ μετὰ θάνατον ἀπατώμενον ἢ χειρὸς πολεμίας καὶ ὕβρεως ἐξαιρούμενον” (the barbarians heart is hard to call back after it has been set into motion; and if he gives up any hope of preservation, he will 435 This behavior seems to contradict the assessment of Thyamis’ character by Knemmon at Aeth.I.19: “ὁ δὲ ἐπηγγέλλετο καὶ θυμὸν ἔχειν ἀγαθὸν προὔτρεπεν, οὐ παντάπασι βάρβαρον εἶναι τὰ ἤθη τὸν λῄσταρχον ἐγγυώμενος, ἀλλ' ἔχειν τι καὶ ἥμερον γένος τε ὄντα τῶν ἐπὶ δόξης καὶ πρὸς ἀνάγκης τὸν παρόντα βίον ἑλόμενον”(he professed and persuaded them that the robber chief had a good heart, pledging that he was not entirely barbaric in respect to his nature but he had a civil side and belonged to a refined family and only out of necessity did he adopt his present way of life). 175 first destroy whatever he is wont to love, truly deceiving himself into thinking he will be reunited with them after death or snatching it away from the hubristic enemy hand). 436 What Heliodorus is describing here is a state of mind that cares more about destruction than salvation and we know we are meant to read this as a negative trait from his use of the verb “ἀπατάω,” which, in the passive is used to illustrate not a trick played on another but self-deception. 437 While this may be the belief system of the barbaroi, it is not one we are meant to adopt or even respect. 438 Again, similar to our reading of barbaric greed, Heliodorus includes additional examples elsewhere in his novel to make it clear that this is not a characteristic only of criminals. For example, a later remark about Arsake, a woman who is “περσὶς τὸ γένος” (Persian by birth) directly ties this behavior to aristocratic barbaroi, as well. Theagenes is warned, “εὐλαβήθητι καὶ μῆνιν ἐρωτικὴν φύλαξαι καὶ τὸ ἐκ τῆς ὑπεροψίας νεμεσητόν” (beware her lover’s rage and guard against retribution from one you have scorned). 439 As Froma Zeitlin so clearly lays out, Arsake’s “intellectual skills are typical of royalty” and she is meant to be representative of the Persian court as a whole. 440 This is important because it makes it evident that, like greed, this lack of restraint is the dominion of all barbaroi and not just Egyptians and/or criminals. In both his assessment of barbaric greed and barbaric lack of restraint, Heliodorus is noticeably unnuanced. While many novels sought to individualize various ethnoi it almost seems, from the passages considered thus far, as if Heliodorus is intentionally theorizing a monolithic barbaroi to stand against the “Greeks.” 436 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, I.30. 437 LSJ. s.v. ἀπατάω 438 This point is reiterated again in Aeth. II.17:Ἄλλως τε γὰρ ἄπιστον τὸ βουκόλων γένος καὶ νῦν πλέον ὅτε τοῦ καταστέλλοντος τὴν γνώμην πρὸς τὸ σωφρονέστερον ἄρχοντος ἀμοιροῦσιν” (Besides the boukoloi are a treacherous race and especially now when they no longer benefit from their leader who inclined them toward more prudent behavior). 439 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, VII.20. 440 Zeitlin, "Enter Arsace and Her Entourage," 187-189. 176 One aspect of barbarism to which Heliodorus does apply nuance and attempt to create dividing lines is magic. Perhaps more than any other novel, magic is a factor in the plot of the Aethiopika. 441 Sometimes this magic is located in objects such as the fire-retarding pantarbe stone (VIII.11) and the magical grate which serves as an Ethiopian test of chastity (X.8). While these objects are fascinating in their own right, for the purpose of the current project, we will focus our attention not on magical objects but on performers (and performances) of magic. Broadly speaking, we can divide the types of magic performed into wicked magic and good magic. While this wicked magic is not common in the novel, when it does appear, it is quite the sight to behold, as Charikleia can attest. The Aethiopika’s most startling depiction of wicked magic takes place in Egypt and Heliodorus is explicit in guiding his reader’s viewing of the episode. He introduces the magical performance by establishing Charikleia as the person through whose eyes the event is focalized, “ἡ Χαρίκλεια δὲ ὑπὸ τῶν συνεχόντων φροντισμάτων διαγρυπνοῦσα σκηνῆς τινος οὐκ εὐαγοῦς μὲν ταῖς δὲ Αἰγυπτίαις ἐπιχωριαζούσης θεωρὸς ἐγίνετο” (and Charikleia, being kept awake by persistent worries, became a spectator of a certain scene which, although it was foul, was a customary for Egyptian women). 442 Not only does Heliodorus mark the type of magic that we are about to see as strictly Egyptian, he uses the phrase “οὐκ εὐαγής” (foul) in order to alert the reader to the fact that this will be some sort of perverse ritual behavior. 443 Heliodorus then continues by providing a fairly complete description of an Egyptian necromancy ritual. The conclusion of which goes as follows, εἶτα πέμμα στεάτινον εἰς ἀνδρὸς μίμημα πεπλασμένον δάφνῃ καὶ μαράθῳ καταστέψασα εἰς τὸν βόθρον ἐνέβαλλεν. Ἐφ' ἅπασι δὲ ξίφος ἀνελομένη καὶ πρὸς τὸ ἐνθουσιῶδες σοβηθεῖσα καὶ πολλὰ πρὸς τὴν σεληναίαν βαρβάροις τε καὶ 441 Meriel Jones, “The Wisdom of Egypt: Base and Heavenly Magic in Heliodoros’ Aithiopika,” Ancient Narrative 4 (2005): 79. 442 Heliodorus, Aethiopika,, VI.14. 443 In fact, a book before this event even occurs, another character alludes in a much more generic way to this kind of behavior, perhaps as a sort of foregrounding. 177 ξενίζουσι τὴν ἀκοὴν ὀνόμασι κατευξαμένη τὸν βραχίονα ἐντεμοῦσακαὶ δάφνης ἀκρέμονι τοῦ αἵματος ἀποψήσασα τὴν πυρκαϊὰν ἐπεψέκαζεν then into the pit she threw a cake made of spelt having been molded into the shape of a man decked with a garland of bay and fennel. Finally, having raised a sword and driven toward ecstasy invoked the moon with names both barbarous and foreign to the ear and made a cut on her arm and smeared the blood onto a bough of bay and sprinkled it on the pyre. 444 The violence of the rite marks it as viscerally abhorrent and, if that were not enough, Heliodorus hammers the point home one final time. Horrific as it might seem to the reader, the rite is a success and the woman’s son comes back to life. Instead of being happy to see his mother, he admonishs her, saying, “εγὼ μὲν…σοῦ τὰ πρῶτα ἐφειδόμην, ὦ μῆτερ, καὶ παρανομοῦσαν εἰς τὴν ἀνθρωπείαν φύσινκαὶ τοὺς ἐκ μοιρῶν θεσμοὺς ἐκβιαζομένην καὶ τὰ ἀκίνητα μαγγανείαις κινοῦσαν ἠνειχόμην” (up until this point I have taken mercy on you, o mother, having transgressed both against the human nature and having disregarded those things handed down by the fate, having regularly endeavored to move that which cannot be moved with black magic). 445 Through the resurrected son, Heliodorus highlights the immorality of the mother’s actions and points to the miserable fate that awaits those who practice such magic. 446 In this episode, Heliodorus makes it clear what wicked magic entails. It is an act that defies the natural and divine order of things. Furthermore, the setting of this necromancy ritual seems to firmly associate evil magic with Egypt. If this is the case, then some cracks in the idea of a barbarian monolith begin to appear, cracks which Heliodorus could deepen with his discussion of good magic. As repulsive as the prior scene might have been to Greek sensibilities, it is actually not the first time that magic is performed in the novel. All the way back in the second book, after 444 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, VI.14. 445 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, VI.15. 446 Jones, “The Wisdom of Egypt: Base and Heavenly Magic in Heliodoros’ Aithiopika,” 83–84. 178 Charikleia had been struck by love “sickness” for Theagenes, Charikles seeks out a magical cure for her. Approaching his friend Kalasiris, he implores him, “σοφίαν τινὰ καὶ ἴυγγα κίνησον ἐπ' αὐτὴν Αἰγυπτίαν” (use your magic and cast an Egyptian spell on her). 447 Much like the last scene, Heliodorus explicitly marks magic as an Egyptian characteristic. However, in this scenario it is a force of good, at least in the mind of Charikles. How can this be though if Heliodorus was so emphatic about Egypt being home to wretched sorcery? Helpfully, Kalasiris himself provides an explanation in a lengthy speech, from which I have excerpted the relevant material, ἐτεκμαιρόμην γὰρ ὅτι με παρὰ τὸ συμπόσιον Αἰγύπτιον καὶ προφήτην ἀκηκοὼς ἥκει συνεργὸν πρὸς τὸν ἔρωτα ληψόμενος, πάσχων οἶμαι τὸ τῶν πολλῶν πάθος οἳ τὴν Αἰγυπτίων σοφίαν μίαν καὶ τὴν αὐτὴν ἠπάτηνται κακῶς εἰδότες. Ἡ μὲν γάρ τις ἐστὶ δημώδης καὶ ὡς ἄν τις εἴποι χαμαὶ ἐρχομένη, εἰδώλων θεράπαινα καὶ περὶ σώματα νεκρῶν εἰλουμένη, βοτάναις προστετηκυῖα καὶ ἐπῳδαῖς ἐπανέχουσα, πρὸς οὐδὲν ἀγαθὸν τέλος οὔτε αὐτὴ προϊοῦσα οὔτε τοὺς χρωμένους φέρουσα, ἀλλ' αὐτὴ περὶ αὑτὴν τὰ πολλὰ πταίουσα λυπρὰ δέ τινα καὶ γλίσχρα ἔστιν ὅτε κατορθοῦσα, φαντασίας τῶν μὴ ὄντων ὡς ὄντων καὶ ἀποτυχίας τῶν ἐλπιζομένων, πράξεων ἀθεμίτων εὑρέτις καὶ ἡδονῶν ἀκολάςτων ὑπηρέτις. Ἡ δὲ ἑτέρα, τέκνον, ἡ ἀληθῶς σοφία, ἧς αὕτη παρωνύμως ἐνοθεύθη, ἣν ἱερεῖς καὶ προφητικὸν γένος ἐκ νέων ἀσκοῦμεν, ἄνω πρὸς τὰ οὐράνια βλέπει, θεῶν συνόμιλος καὶ φύσεως κρειττόνων μέτοχος, ἄστρων κίνησιν ἐρευνῶσα καὶμελλόντων πρόγνωσιν κερδα ουσα, τῶν μὲν γηΐνων τούτων κακῶν ἀποστατοῦσα πάντα δὲ πρὸςτὸ καλὸν καὶ ὅτι ἀνθρώποις ὠφέλιμον ἐπιτηδεύουσα for I reasoned that because he heard at the party that I was Egyptian and a high priest he was there to initiate me as an accomplice in love, suffering, I suppose, under the misapprehension of many, namely that they are mistaken, understanding poorly, that the wisdom of Egypt is one and the same. In fact, there is a certain type that is demotic and, one could say, goes on the ground, an attendant of phantoms and huddling about the bodies of the dead, engrossed by herbs and contented with spells, it neither goes to any good end nor does it useful to practitioners, but more often than not it causes harm unto itself and is wretched and importunate when it succeeds, the not real appearing as if they are real and failures of hopes, an inventor of lawless deeds and attendant of unbridled pleasures. But there is another kind, child, the true wisdom, of which the first kind is a corrupt derivative, which the holy and prophetic race practice from youth, it looks upwards towards the heavens, residing amongst the gods and partakes of a more powerful nature, it explores the motion of the stars and derives 447 Heliodorus, Héliodore: Les Éthiopiques (Théagene et Chariclée), II.33. 179 foreknowledge of things destined to come, it stands apart from these evil earthly things but pursues what is good and helpful to mankind. 448 As Meriel Jones explains, Kalasiris makes this speech in the hopes of “dissociat[ing] himself from low rank magic.” 449 If Kalasiris is speaking truthfully then Egypt should just be associated with magic in general and the divide between bad and good would not be an ethnic issue but one of gender or, perhaps, some other category. Such a schema would certainly not be out of line with Greek thinking about various forms of identity to be sure. However, when we get to Kalasiris’ actual “performance” of magic, things get even muddier. He himself, serving as the narrator at this point in the novel, relates, “ἒγνων οὖν καιρὸν εἶναι τερατεύεσθαι πρὸς αὐτὸν καὶ μαντεύεσθαι δῆθεν ἅπερ ἐγίνωσκον…καὶ ἐπιστήσας ὀλίγον καὶ ψήφους τινὰς οὐδὲν καταριθμούσας ἐπὶ δακτύλων συντιθεὶς τήν τε κόμην διασείσας καὶ τοὺς κατόχους μιμούμενος” (I perceived that it was critical to talk marvels to him and to divine what I already had come to know…And having paused briefly and I counted some numbers meaninglessly upon my fingers and I tossed my hair violently about and I made a show of being possessed). 450 By his own admission, then, he is a fraud, at least in this instance (which is the only one that we have). This episode accomplishes a couple of things. It does, on the one hand, remove the sense of nuance from the barbarian monolith that the previous attributes helped establish. On the other hand, within the character of Kalasiris, it creates an individual sense of ambiguity. He is, everywhere else in this novel an example of a “good barbarian.” However, with this performance of magic he also reveals himself to be a fraud, suggesting that he cannot escape his stereotypical, ethnic identity on some level. Through this one episode, then, Heliodorus suggests that no one person can be reduced just to the group they belong to, which, itself, attacks the idea of the monolith. 448 Heliodorus, III.16. 449 Jones, “The Wisdom of Egypt: Base and Heavenly Magic in Heliodoros’ Aithiopika,” 80. 450 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, III.17. 180 This, I think, also explains why Heliodorus is so insistent on the monolith model in this particular category. Playing with monolithic identities in this way, though, does mark Heliodorus’ approach as ahistorical. When John Hilton discusses the Greek literature that was produced during the Roman Empire, he argues that “[t]he old distinction between Hellene and barbarian was increasingly being eroded.” 451 The other novels certainly seem to fit into this mold and, so, Heliodorus feels like a step backwards in this regard. If we turn our attention to the moments where the Greek and barbarian dichotomy is tested, it seems as though he is largely interested in maintaining this status quo as well. For example, the generic animosity between the two groups is exemplified at the novel’s beginning when Charikleia reassures Theagenes by saying, “πῶς οὖν οὐκ ἂν εἴης ἄτοπος εἰ τὸν βάρβαρόν με τοῦ Ἕλληνος, τὸν λῃστὴν τοῦ ἐρωμένου πιστεύοις ἐπίπροσθενἄγειν” (it would, I suppose, be out of place if you believed that I would prefer a barbarian over a Greek, a pirate over my beloved). 452 Elsewhere, this sentiment is reiterated in the tablet found alongside Thisbe’s body in the cave, “μόνον ὑπὸ σὲ γενοίμην εἰ καὶ τεθνάναι δέοι· βέλτιον γὰρ ὑπὸ χειρῶν ἀνῃρῆσθαι τῶν σῶν καὶ κηδείας μεταλαβεῖν Ἑλληνικῆς ἢ θανάτου βαρυτέραν ζωὴν καὶ φίλτρον βαρβαρικὸν ἔχθρας ἀνιαρότερον τὴν Ἀττικὴν ἀνέχεσθαι” (I would be yours alone, even if it means I must die; for it is better to die by your hands and have a Greek funeral than to suffer a life more grim than death and barbaric love which is more grievous to me as an Athenian than hatred). 453 It is clear from both these examples that the Greek characters prefer the company of Greek characters and the enjoyment of Greek 451 John L. Hilton, “Nomos, Physis, and Ethnicity in the Emperor Julian’s Interpretation of the Tower of Babel Story,” Classical World 111, no. 4 (2019): 526. 452 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, I.25. 453 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, II.10. 181 customs, so much so that they find death preferable to a relationship with a barbarian. Clearly, then, the Greek versus barbarian dichotomy is strongly engrained in Heliodorus’ characters. Likewise, Heliodorus also uses the topic of greed/luxury to reinforce the Greek and barbarian monoliths through moments of direct interaction. The most explicit instance of this occurs in the seventh book when Theagenes has been conscripted into service of the court of Arsake. While Arsake’s ultimate goal is claim Theagenes as a lover or husband, she does not hesitate to find other ways to force him to be in her presence while he continues to reject her advances. At Arsake’s behest, “καὶ ἐσθῆτα Περσικὴν τῶν πολυτελῶν ἀποστειλάσης ταύτην τε μετημφιέννυτο καὶ στρεπτοῖς τε χρυσοῖς καὶ περιαυχενίοις λιθοκολλήτοις ἑκών τε τὸ μέρος καὶ ἄκων ἐκοσμεῖτο” ([Theagenes] changed into the sumptuous Persian apparel she had sent him and, with a mixture of delight and disgust, bedecked himself with bangles of gold and collars studded with precious gems). 454 While this may be the typical garb of the Persian court, it is unusual, not to mention uncomfortable, for Theagenes. More than that though, it is unpleasant for him. Theagenes himself makes this clear when he beseeches her, “ὑπηρετοῦντά με μόνον ἀμφιέννυσθαι ταύτῃ τῇ στολῇ κέλευσον” (command me to wear these clothes only when I am waiting on you). 455 What we see play out here, then is the clashing of the Greek and barbarian monolith when it comes to wealth and luxury. Such repeated insistence on the monolith though, serves a unique purpose. It will force the reader to be more attentive to the instances in which the monolith is challenged. While these kinds of moves seem to be the most common for Heliodorus throughout the novel, there are a few moments where he does complicate the Greek and barbarian interactions. And perhaps this begins to explain why he was so insistent on the monolithic identities in the 454 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, VII.27. 455 Ibid. 182 first place. After all, by reaffirming such an idea, it becomes all the more powerful when he contradicts it. While there are not many moments of contradiction throughout the novel, a couple of important ones are worth considering. One episode that is particularly relevant to this question is when Theagenes and Charikles are weighing the trustworthiness of their new friend Knemmon. While they want to trust him, Theagenes makes the following cautionary remark to Charikleia, “φιλάνθρωπος μὲν γάρ ἐστι περὶ ἡμᾶς καὶ Ἕλλην, ἀλλ' αἰχμάλωτος καὶ τῷ κρατοῦντι πλέον, ἂν οὕτω τύχῃ, χαριούμενος” (for, on the one hand, he has been a friend to us and is Greek but he is a prisoner and if chance permits he will beg the favor of his captor). 456 Based on what we have considered elsewhere in this chapter, the mere Greekness of the Knemmon should be enough the ally him with the protagonists. However, Theagenes is clearly concerned that his time with the Egyptians will have compromised him. If being Greek or being a barbaroi is a set condition, this should not cause a concern. The fact that it is, should raise an eyebrow because clearly Knemmon’s status as slave threatens his Greekness. This is relying on the idea, dating back to the fifth century B.C.E., that free is synonymous with Greekness and slavishness is synonymous with the barbaroi. 457 By including small moments such as this peppered into a text that spends a great deal of time reinforcing the idea that there exists distinct Greek and barbaric monoliths that stand in opposition to one another, Heliodorus sets his reader up to grapple with the novel’s final moments. The last issue which we must consider when it comes to the Greek and barbarian paradigm, and this is the last episode of the novel, is that of human sacrifice. Yes, this practice does individuate the Ethiopians from other barbaroi within the novel, but its inclusion does something far more significant. Even when this practice is introduced, it is a controversial one. 456 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, I.26. 457 Hall, Inventing the Barbarian: Greek Self-Definition Through Tragedy, 13. 183 While Charikleia and Theagenes, as prisoners of war, are destined to be made sacrificial victims, Sisimithres voices his disdain, on behalf of all the gymnosophists, for the practice. He states, ἀλλ' ἡμεῖς μὲν εἰς τὸν νεὼν μεταστησόμεθα, θυσίαν οὕτως ἔκθεσμον τὴν δι' ἀνθρώπων οὔτε αὐτοὶ δοκιμάζοντες οὔτε προσίεσθαι τὸ θεῖον νομίζοντες …Σὺ δὲ ἐπιμένων (ἐπάναγκες γὰρ βασιλεῖ καὶ ἄκριτον ἔστιν ὅτε πλήθους ὁρμὴν θεραπεύειν) ἐπιτέλει τὴν οὐκ εὐαγῆ μὲν ταύτην θυσίαν διὰ δὲ τὸ προκατειληφὸςτοῦ Αἰθιοπικοῦ νόμου πάτριον ἀπαραίτητον but we will withdraw into the temple, since we neither approve thusly the sacrifice made lawless through humans nor do we consider that the god is pleased by it…but you remain (for it is necessary for the king to do this service which is rash when the mob compels him) and complete this polluted sacrifice but is compulsory part of Ethiopian law. 458 Beyond John Michael Archer’s claim that the performance of human sacrifice mars the reputation of Ethiopia, a culture often valorized in Greek literature, this practice marks Ethiopia as the ultimate barbarian. 459 It is not the fact that the Ethiopians practice human sacrifice that is so interesting though. It is how the practice is finally abandoned that matters here. Despite their wise men’s obvious objections to the practice, it does not become a thing of the past until Theagenes and Charikleia get married. 460 To put it another way, the words of Sisimithres alone are not enough to compel Hydaspes to abolish this practice. It takes the presence of Theagenes and Charikles. While this might visually look as though Greek, white saviors have shown the Ethiopians the error of their ways, the truth is that it is a marriage between a Greek, Theagenes, and a barbarian, Charikleia, that brought this practice to an end. In many ways, this is the culmination of all that Heliodorus has done to establish and examine Greek and barbarian identity throughout his novel. By having such a barbaric practice ended not by the intervention of the monolithically good Greeks but by the union of Greek and Ethiopian, the novel “questions 458 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, X.9. 459 John Michael Archer, Old Worlds: Egypt, Southwest Asia, India, and Russia in Early Modern English Writing (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2001), 35. 460 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, X.40. 184 [the] idealizing model at the same time that it also seems to reinforce [it].” 461 While Heliodorus works very hard to create an ambiguous picture of ancestral homeland and language in this novel, he is much less so when it comes to “Greeks” or “barbarians,” which is not to say he does not question these ideas. What we will see when we turn to appearance, though, is that being less ambiguous about these ideas enriches the way he deals with appearance. Appearance More so than any of the other Greek novelists, Heliodorus demonstrates an interest in heritable, physical characteristics and how, if at all, they relate to identity. Chief of all, he is concerned with the role skin color plays in how his characters are perceived. In fact, it could be said that his novel only works if skin color is understood as a marker of identity. Over the course of this lengthy narrative, Heliodorus invests considerable effort into not only explicitly marking and reinforcing the skin color of various individuals but also fitting these characters into various categories. However, like so much of his novel, things are not as simple as they appear. As we shall see in what follows, Heliodorus is interested in far more than creating racial categories, a feat that in and of itself would make him a bit of a trailblazer according to most scholars on the history of race. A careful reading of how Heliodorus treats individual skin colors, when coupled with the novel’s book four twist and its conclusion, reveals that Heliodorus actually creates an extremely complex model for reading skin color in his novel. One that, when combined with the way he understands things like ancestral homeland, language, and barbarism, demands that his readers reevaluate the world around them. 461 Susan A. Stephens, “Fictions of Cultural Authority,” in The Romance Between Greece and the East, ed. Tim Whitmarsh and Stuart Thomson (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013), 101. 185 The Aethiopika provides excellent insight into developing ideas about skin color and its role in perceptions of identity precisely because the novel explicitly places skin color at the center of the narrative. After all, this is the story of Charikleia, who, despite being born to black, Ethiopian parents, is largely assumed to be Greek because of her white skin. Before we actually look at how skin color is deployed throughout the novel, it will be beneficial to look at how Charikleia’s origins are finally revealed. Interestingly, while Heliodorus gives his reader a number of reasons to assume that she is white from the start of the novel, including the use of language associated with light and radiance, he does not explicitly call her skin white until he problematizes it. Upon the band that Persinna leaves with her daughter is a description of the circumstances surrounding Charikleia’s birth, ἐπειδὴ δέ σε λευκὴν ἀπέτεκον, ἀπρόσφυλον Αἰθιόπων χροιὰν ἀπαυγάζουσαν, ἐγὼ μὲν τὴν αἰτίαν ἐγνώριζον ὅτι μοι παρὰ τὴν ὁμιλίαν τὴν πρὸς τὸν ἄνδρα προσβλέψαι τὴν Ἀνδρομέδαν ἡ γραφὴ παρασχοῦσα καὶ πανταχόθεν ἐπιδείξασα γυμνὴν…Ἔγνων οὖν ἐμαυτήν τε ἀπαλλάξαι τοῦ μετ' αἰσχύνης θανάτου, πεπεισμένη τὴν σὴν χροιὰν μοιχείαν ἐμοὶ προσάψουσαν and when I bore you white, gleaming white with skin foreign to Ethiopians, I knew the reason was that during the intimacy with my husband the painting presented me with the image of Andromeda at and depicted [her] bare in every way…. therefore I understood that I would die a shameful death, because I persuaded myself that your color labeled me an adulterer… 462 This passage does far more than serve the purely descriptive function of explicitly marking Charikleia as white, while also establishing the blackness of Ethiopians. 463 It also reveals that both the reader and the certain characters within the narrative they have been misled about Charikleia’s Greekness, a point to which we will return. 464 What is most essential to understand 462 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, IV.8. 463 While Snowden, among others, has suggested that “Ethiopians were the yardstick by which antiquity measured colored peoples” and therefore the mere identification of someone as an Ethiopian suggests blackness (Blacks in Antiquity, p. 2), for the purpose of this paper I am focusing exclusively on words of “color.” 464 David Konstan, “Travel In Heliodorus: Homecoming or Voyage to a Promise Land,” Classica, Sāo Paulo 17/18, no. 17/19 (2004/2005): 188. 186 at this point is what this passage says about how characters within the novel understand skin color as it relates to birth. That Andromeda is the divine figure in question here is especially interesting considering that Heliodorus, himself, names her as a founding divinity of Ethiopia (X.6). This would make it seem like she should have black skin herself. Elizabeth McGrath, in her study of Andromeda, contends that figures, such as Andromeda, representing female beauty in western art are frequently depicted to represent the white, European ideal. 465 Philostratus the Elder (190 C.E. – 230 C.E.), for example, refers to her as “λευκή ἐν Αἰθιωπίᾳ” (white, although from Ethiopia). 466 However, there is also ample evidence in the Classical tradition that Andromeda was considered black. The Roman poet, Ovid (43 B.C.E. – 17/18 C.E.), in his Ars Amatoria, writes, “alba decent fuscas; albis, Cepheï placebas:/sic tibi vistitae pressa Seriphos erat” (white clothing is becoming on black women; you were pleasing, in white, Andromeda. Seriphos was ruled by you dressed in such a way). 467 Furthermore, Ovid’s black Andromeda was not marked in a derogatory way by Ovid’s commentators. 468 In spite of the lack of consistency concerning Andromeda’s appearance in the literary record, McGrath argues that Heliodorus simply takes Andromeda’s whiteness for granted, suggesting that he was, in all likelihood, influenced by images of Andromeda that he had seen. 469 Setting aside the fact that black marble certainly exists so we should not assume that statues that Heliodorus might have seen were carved of white stone, there is a bigger issue with 465 Elizabeth McGrath, “The Black Andromeda,” Journal of Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 55 (1992): 7. 466 Philostratus Major, Imagines, ed. O. Benndorf and K. Schenkl (London: William Heinemann LTD, 1931), I.129. 467 Publius Ovidius Naso, Ars Amatoria, ed. H. Mozley and P. Goold (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2009), III.191-192. Ovid reaffirms this description elsewhere, including in his Heroides where he wrote, “candida si non sum, placuit Cepheia Perseo/Andromede, patriae fusca colore suae” (if I am not white, Andromeda pleased Perseus, duark with the color of her father’s land) (Heroides XV.35-36). 468 McGrath, “The Black Andromeda,” 11. 469 McGrath, "The Black Andromeda," 2-3. 187 this claim. Arguing that Heliodorus simply assumed Andromeda was white would mean that “the racial identity of the mythological figure had been glossed over and treated as a minor, negligible, or ignored detail.” 470 As we have reiterated numerous times throughout this project, the ancient novel is a cannibalistic by nature and the novelists are very intentional in how their choices play with the literary traditions from which the borrow. As such, it seems evident that, far from assuming Andromeda’s whiteness, Heliodorus specifically names her because of the uncertainty surrounding her appearance. It is the disagreement in the sources about how she appeared that makes her the ideal mythological figure to affect Charikleia’s albino birth. Persinna’s fear is that Hydaspes will not believe he has sired a white child. She blames the “abnormal” birth on an incident of maternal impression. 471 Albinism and albino births to black-skinned parents are not unheard of in ancient literature but they are exclusively treated as “wonders” often caused by divine intervention (marking it as supernatural). 472 This concern over the oddness of the birth hints at an understanding of genetics. Hydaspes, himself reinforces this with two separate outbursts in book ten. When confronted with his daughter he first argues, “χροιᾷ ξένῃ τῆς Αἰθιοπίδος λαμπρύνῃ (you shine radiantly with skin quite foreign to an Ethiopian woman). 473 When Charikleia insists that she is telling the truth, he doubles down, asking “λευκὴν γὰρ πῶς ἂν Αἰθίοπες ἀμφότεροι παρὰ τὸ εἰκὸς ἐτεκνώσαμεν;” (for how could we, being both Ethiopian, give birth to a white child against all odds?). 474 This basic understanding of genetics and heritable traits is, of course, necessary for Charikleia’s true 470 Patricia Simons, “Race Matters: Black Andromeda in the Renaissance and in Contemporary Whitewashing,” Notes in the History of Art 41, no. 3 (Spring 2022): 168. 471 Sarah Olsen, “Maculate Conception: Sexual Ideology and Creative Authority in Heliodorus’ Aethiopica,” American Journal of Philology 133, no. 2 (Summer 2012): 301. 472 John L. Hilton, “Albinism in the Ancient Mediterranean World,” Journal for the Study of Religion 34, no. 1 (2021): 7-14. For other authors who treat this subject, see Pomponius Mela’s Geog. I.23, Ptolemy’s Geog. IV.6.17, or Pliny the Elder’s Natural History V.8.43. 473 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, X.14. 474 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, X.14. 188 identity to be disputable. Furthermore, by being explicit about it, Heliodorus enables himself to simultaneously treat skin color as a fact of life and question it. Although it is impossible to discuss any single skin color in a vacuum since, for it to have meaning, it has to be relative to something else, as best as possible we will proceed by treating each skin color on its own before looking at a couple of moments of interaction. White skin is routinely referenced throughout this novel, most often when it comes to our two protagonists, and it is universally presented as a positive physical trait. Perhaps surprisingly, though, Charikleia, the first character that we see through the bandits’ eyes at the novel’s start is not explicitly identified as white. Instead, the bandits see her as “ἀμήχανόν τι κάλλος καὶ θεὸς εἶναι ἀναπείθουσα” (some inexplicable beauty and convincing them that she was divine). 475 In fact, as Rosa Andújar points out, “Heliodorus often avoids direct description of Charikleia…the author instead conveys her beauty through the reaction of a third party.” 476 The first character to be marked as explicitly white is Theagenes, whom Heliodorus describes in the following manner, “ὀ δὲ τραύμασι μὲν κατῄκιστο καὶ μικρὸν ἀναφέρειν ὥσπερ ἐκ βαθέος ὕπνου τοῦ παρ' ὀλίγον θανάτου κατεφαίνετο, ἤνθει δὲ καὶ ἐν τούτοις ἀνδρείῳ τῷ κάλλει καὶ ἡ παρειὰ καταρρέοντι τῷ αἵματι φοινιττομένη λευκότητι πλέον ἀντέλαμπεν” (he was disfigured by wounds and he seemed to be barely conscious not far from death just as if from a heavy slumber, and even so his cheeks radiated with a bloom and manly beauty in them and becoming red with streaming blood radiated with whiteness all the more). 477 The emphasis on the white skin, focalized through the eyes of the bandits, as well as the closely associated attention to the beauty of youth and 475 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, I.2. 476 Rosa M. Andújar, “Charicleia the Martyr: Heliodorus and Early Christian Narrative,” in The Ancient Novel and Early Christian and Jewish Narrative: Fictional Intersections (Groningen: Barkhuis Publishing, 2012), 145. 477 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, I.2. 189 manliness, is initially surprising given the horrific surroundings. However, the manner in which the white characters are able to capture so completely the bandits’ attention suggests that there is a special quality to white skin. Contrary to what James H. Dee asserts about Greek perception of skin color, what we actually see here is the beginning of an ongoing effort establish whiteness as a token for certain positive values within the novel. 478 Thus, it is not just that being white is being not black. 479 Instead to be white is to suggest possessing certain positive qualities, similar to Heliodorus’ explanation of what Greekness implies. As the novel continues, Heliodorus is persistent in reaffirming the beauty and whiteness of his protagonists. While he has a number of strategies that he employs to do so, among them just calling their skin white, he often relies on more or less formulaic imagery related to radiance. This is not gendered, either. He applies this imagery to both of his protagonists. Of Theagenes, he says, “οὐ γὰρ μικρῷ τῷ μέσῳ τοὺς ἄλλους τῷ κάλλει κατήστραπτεν” (in respect to his beauty he dazzled like lightning by not a little less than all others). 480 Similarly, when mentioning Charikleia, he uses such language to describe her as “φαιδρῷ τῷ προσώπῳ” (with a radiant face). 481 It is this language, that of bright light, that Heliodorus insists upon that continues to not just mark them as white but mark beauty as white. This continuous reassertion of their appearance is reminiscent of the way ethnic identity, as we have seen, was continuously proclaimed and reasserted. 482 Along with these positive references to white skin, Heliodorus further reinforces this idea with repeated instances of characters spoiling their whiteness to make themselves pitiable. This is first introduced in Knemmon’s story when he explains that his father 478 James H. Dee, “Black Odysseus, White Caesar: When Did White People Become White,” The Classical Journal 99, no. 2 (December 2003-January 2004): 163–64. 479 Judith Perkins, “An Ancient ‘Passing’ Novel: Heliodorus’ Aithiopika,” Arethusa 32, no. 2 (Spring 1999): 200. 480 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, VII.10. 481 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, X.7. 482 Hall, Ethnic Identity in Greek Antiquity, 182. 190 appeared in court, “τῆς κεφαλῆς κόνιν καταχεάμενος” (having poured dirt over his face), in order for the jury to feel sorry for him. 483 This act is made all the more explicit when Charikles employs a similar strategy, “ἀθρόον ἐκίνει τὸ πλῆθος καὶ μόνον ὀφθείς, ἐσθῆτά [τε] μέλαιναν ἀμπεχόμενος, καὶ κόνιν τοῦ τε προσώπου καὶ τῆς κεφαλῆς καταχεάμενος τοιάδε ἔλεγεν” (he moved the crowd all at once to tears just by being seen, wrapped in a black robes and having poured dirt on his face and head). 484 While these are only two examples, Charikleia herself changes her appearance similarly in VI.11, the meaning should be clear. The destruction of their white skin is a physical manifestation of their lowered state. As such, it bolsters the positive associations with white skin. While the above examples certainly emphasize the positive associations with white skin in the world of the Aethiopika they do not go so far as to suggest this physical feature is a marker of a particular identity, beyond the fact that the characters identified at white are ones the reader considers Greek. Instead, they merely reflect an aesthetic preference. However, by being so emphatic about this throughout the novel, it allows Heliodorus to draw his connections between white skin and identity in some fairly nuanced ways. For example, when Kalasiris describes Theagenes and Charikleia to Knemmon, he marks the couples as “τοῖς καλοῖς τε καὶ ἀγαθοῖς” (noble and good). 485 This expression, dating back at least to Herodotus, is inseparable from Athenian aristocratic ideals. 486 But because their whiteness has already been so emphasized, it is impossible to not associate their specific kind of beauty with a very old form of Greekness. 483 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, I.13. 484 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, IV.19. 485 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, II.23. 486 Katrina Cawthorn, Becoming: Female: The Male Body in Greek Tragedy (London: Duckworth, 2008), 76. 191 Neither Heliodorus nor the Greek characters that he creates ever come right out and openly proclaim that white skin represents Greekness, but he hints at it often through the ways various characters interact. Perhaps the cleverest instance of this occurs before the previously cited passage when Charikleia and Theagenes are first captured by the bandits. At this point in the narrative, not only has Heliodorus emphasized the whiteness of the protagonists, but he has also confirmed the blackness of the bandits, a point to which we will return to shortly. As Charikleia and Theagenes are led on, they are allowed to travel on horseback while their captor walks. In describing the scene, Heliodorus reports, “δουλεύειν ὁ ἄρχων ἐφαίνετο καὶ ὑπηρετεῖσθαι ὁ κρατῶν τοῖς ἑαλωκόσιν ᾑρεῖτο. Οὕτως εὐγενείας ἔμφασις καὶ κάλλους ὄψις καὶ λῃστρικὸν ἦθος οἶδεν ὑποτάττειν καὶ κρατεῖν καὶ τῶν αὐχμηροτέρων δύναται” (the commander seemed to be playing the slave and the victor is chosen to minister to the ones who were seized. Thus, the appearance of good birth and the aspect of beauty may subdue the behavior of a brigand and overpower the uncivilized.). 487 At first blush, this seems to say something about social class but nothing about ethnic identity. However, if we remember the connection that Greeks saw between freedom and Greekness and slavishness and barbarism, then the picture gets a bit more interesting because this apparent claim about social hierarchy now becomes an allusion to the ethnic identity of the players involved. Furthermore, the way in which this passage associates white skin with Greek identity also associates both of those characteristics with superiority over non-white and non-Greek peoples. Perhaps the closest a Greek character comes to openly calling white skin a Greek characteristic occurs during the flashback narrative in which Charikles explains how he became Charikleia’s adoptive father. By Charikles own admission, the reader learns that he actual took 487 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, I.4. 192 Charikleia from another caretaker, later identified as the gymnosophist Sisimithres, whom he encountered whilst in Egypt. While he does not go into many details about her youth, Charikles provides the following summary, ἔστι τὰ μὲν ἄλλα καὶ εὐχῆς κρείττων, οὕτω τάχιστα μὲν τὴν Ἑλλάδα γλῶτταν εἵλκυσε τάχιστα δὲ εἰς ἀκμὴν καθάπερ ἔρνος τι τῶν εὐθαλῶν ἀνέδραμεν· ὡραιότητι δὲ σώματος οὕτω δὴ τὰς πάσας ὑπερβέβληκεν ὥστε πᾶς ὀφθαλμὸς Ἑλληνικός τε καὶ ξένος ἐπ' αὐτὴν φέρεται καὶ ὅπου δὴ φαινομένη ναῶν ἢ Δρόμων ἢ ἀγορῶν καθάπερ ἀρχέτυπον ἄγαλμα πᾶσαν ὄψιν καὶ διάνοιαν ἐφ' ἑαυτὴν ἐπιστρέφει. Οἶσθά που πάντως, ὦ μητέριον, ὃν λέγω· οὐ γὰρ μικρῷ τῷ μέσῳ τοὺς ἄλλους τῷ κάλλει κατήστραπτεν οὔθ'ὥστε καὶ ἄγροικόν τινα λαθεῖν καὶ τῶν καλῶν ἀνέραστον, μή τί γε δὴ σὲ καὶ τὴν σὴν πολυπειρίαν in respect to all other things she is better than I could have prayed, she picked up the Greek language so quickly and like some sprout of a blossoming plant she flowered into youth. Thus, in the beauty of her body she surpassed all other girls so that all eyes both of Greeks and foreigners turned toward her and wherever she was seen, in temples or racecourses or marketplaces she draws attention to herself like a statue of ideal beauty. 488 What Heliodorus achieves in this passage, through Charikles, is to weave together Charikleia’s beauty and her mastery of Greek language and Greek comportment. That her white beauty is marked as ideal pushes the ideas of the previous passages even further. Yes, Greekness and white skin go hand-in-hand and yes, this seemingly explicit Greek beauty is the ideal beauty, not just for Greeks but for everyone. That Heliodorus is so emphatic here is noteworthy, as well, because this passage, in particular problematizes the whole notion of white skin and Greekness being connected. While the reader does not know it yet, as the first passage of this section explains, Charikleia is in fact Ethiopian by birth. So, if anything, her skin color is a misdirect. As we have seen already and shall continue to see, though, this is precisely the kind of complication that Heliodorus is so keen to pursue. 488 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, II.33. 193 Like white skin, black skin is also referenced frequently throughout this novel. Given the Greek penchant for binary oppositions and what has already been observed about the use of white skin in the Aethiopika, it should come as no surprise that Heliodorus often fosters negative associations with black skin. In a move that encourages the reader to draw comparisons between white skin and black skin, Heliodorus provides his first explicit mention of black skin immediately after singing the praises of his white protagonists. After beginning the novel by looking through the eyes of the bandits, Heliodorus quickly shifts the reader’s perspective to that of his heroine, ἰδοῦσα αὖθις ἐπένευσε, πρὸς μὲν τὸ ἄηθες τῆς χροιᾶς καὶ τὸ λῃστρικὸν τῆς ὄψεως ἐν ὅπλοις δεικνυμένης οὐδὲ κατὰ μικρὸν ἐκπλαγεῖσα, … Ὡς δὲ παραμείψαντες οἱ λῃσταὶ κατὰ πρόσωπον ἔστησαν καί τι καὶ μέλλειν ἐπιχειρεῖν ἐῴκεσαν, αὖθις ἡ παῖς ἀνένευσε, καὶμέλανας ἰδοῦσα τὴν χροιὰν καὶ τὴν ὄψιν αὐχμηρούς and seeing them she looked down again, not even a little astonished by the strange color of their skin and robber-like display of the armed men...the bandits, having moved around, stood before her and it seemed as if they were about to attempt something when the young girl again raised her head and saw the men with skin and face the color of dirt. 489 That natives of Egypt have black skin is not particularly noteworthy in and of itself. 490 What is of note, though, are the characteristics tied to blackness in this initial encounter, specifically its alterity and its association with “λῃστρικὸν” and “αὐχμηρος.” 491 This is a far stronger claim about identity than the initial mention of white skin. Here black skin is immediately tied to being both explicitly not Greek and also with looking like a thief. Thus, it appears that Heliodorus uses the opening of his novel to set up a white and black dichotomy that falls in line with the Greek 489 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, I.2-3. 490 Alan Cameron, “Black and White: A Note on Ancient Nicknames,” The American Journal of Philology 119, no. 1 (Spring 1998): 113. 491 This word is used again in the very next section as a way to contrast the appearance of the bandits with Charikleia’s beauty. 194 versus Barbarian dichotomy he is also busy fostering throughout this novel. 492 If we abandoned our examination at this point, we might mistakenly understand the black skin was solely an Egyptian trait and white skin a Greek one. While such a simplistic world view might make for an easier reading of the text, Heliodorus has far bigger plans. As our study of various texts throughout this project have demonstrated, Ethiopia, among all the places of Asia and Africa, often held the strongest association with dark skin. 493 This is an association the Heliodorus seems keen to uphold in his novel for a number of reasons, chief among them being that his story’s dramatic twist largely hinges on it. While Heliodorus could simply explain that Ethiopians have black skin, as so many of the other writers that we have considered do, he chooses to identify their appearance in a manner that is more revealing of how the appearance of Ethiopians fits into the large world of the Aethiopika. In narrating the siege of Syene, Heliodorus relates the following episode, “ὁ δὲ Βαγώας καὶ τὸ ἄλλο ἱππικὸν ὑπό τε τῆς ἀπροσδοκήτου βοῆς πτοίας ἐμπέπληστο καὶ ἀπὸ τῆς χροιᾶς Αἰθίοπας εἶναι τοὺς φανέντας γνωρίσαντες καὶ τὸ πλῆθος ὡς ἀπρόςμαχον ἰδόντες… πρὸς φυγὴν ὥρμησαν” (Bagoas and the rest of the cavalry were quite filled with abject fear by the unexpected uproar and recognized that the mob seemed to be Ethiopians based on the color of their skin. Seeing them was too much [for the Persians]…and they set to flight). 494 In this moment, we see one character with black skin identifying a second character with black skin as an “other” relative to himself. What is 492 Theagenes’ and Charikleia’s Greekness is confirmed in I.8. While it is true that Charikleia is in fact Ethiopian, she is, nevertheless, perceived as Greek throughout the novel so the reaction of characters to her whiteness still works to reinforce certain values while, simultaneously, the readers’ knowledge of her true identity further subverts/problematizes things. 493 Simons, “Race Matters: Black Andromeda in the Renaissance and in Contemporary Whitewashing,” 166. 494 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, VIII.16. 195 more, this new shade of black skin is a source of terror. 495 Beyond stressing the extraordinary blackness of Ethiopians, this representation of a multiplicity of blackness simultaneously reinforces the idea that skin color might serve as a means of identifying group identity while also problematizing the simple white versus black dichotomy that the Greek self-identification as white seems to insist upon. Much in the same way that we have already seen in our examination of language and barbarism within this novel, it is in the moments when white skin and black skin interact with one another that Heliodorus reveals the most. One of the more effective tropes that Heliodorus deploys in order to vivify the interaction of peoples of differing appearances is the image of light and shadow, a useful one giving the universality of it. 496 This is best exemplified during the capture of Theagenes and Charikleia by Mitranes and his men, τῶν δὲ ἐπελθόντων ἐπανετείναντο μέν τινες ὡς πατάξοντες· ὡς δ' ἐπιβλέψαντες οἱ νέοι κατηύγασαν τοὺς ἐπιφερομένους ὤκλαζεν αὐτοῖς ὁ θυμὸς καὶ παρεῖντο αἱ δεξιαί, τοὺς γὰρ καλοὺς καὶ βάρβαροι χεῖρες ὡς ἔοικε δυσωποῦνται καὶ πρὸς τὴν ἐράσμιον θέαν καὶ ἀπρόσφυλος ὀφθαλμὸς ἡμεροῦται some of the men rushing upon them brandished their arms as if to strike but when the young couple looked upon them, they blinded those attacking and the attackers’ anger abated and their right arms fell to their sides, for even barbarian hands, as it seems, are overpowered by the beautiful couple and the foreign eye is civilized by the lovely sight. 497 495 Elsewhere, black skin is associated with danger and death when Kybele poisons herself and we learn that “χροιὰ μελαίνουσα” (her skin became black) in death (Aeth. VIII.8) and later when Theagenes associates a prophecy about Ethiopia as a reference to the underworld (Aeth. VIII.11). 496 This type of imagery is already plentiful when Heliodorus is emphasizing the whiteness of certain characters. For example, when Charikleia is hidden away in a cave he describes that as “τὸ φαιδρότατον τῶν ἐν ἀνθρώποις Χαρίκλειαν νυκτὶ” (mankind’s brightest jewel [being given] to darkest night) (Aeth. I.29). Likewise, Theagenes’ beauty is elevated when Heliodorus describes Charikleia seeing him in the following manner: “ἦν δὲ τὸ μέλημα τὸ ἐμὸν Θεαγένης – ἅπας ἐπέςτρεψεν, ὥστε ἔδοξας ἂν ὑπ' ἀστραπῆς τὸ φαινόμενον πρότερον ἅπαν ἠμαυρῶ σθαι” (my beloved Theagenes; it was as if a flash of lightning had cast all they had seen before into darkness, so radiant he was in our eyes) (Aeth. III.3). 497 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, V.7. 196 The imagery is clear here, it is the explicit whiteness of these two which stays the arms of the attackers. What is more, Heliodorus identifies them as ἀπρόσφυλοι, a word borrowed from Herodotus meaning something like “not belonging to the same tribe.” 498 It seems, based on this passage, that Heliodorus is advocating for a fairly straightforward binary in which white, Greek skin is superior to the non-Greek, dark skin. Furthermore, this idea appears to get additional support when Charikleia is brought before Arsake. Heliodorus explains, “εὐγενοῦς γὰρ ἤθους καὶ ὄψεως καὶ βάρβαρον γένος οἶκτος εἰσέρχεται” (for compassion toward a well-born disposition and appearance enters the mind even of the barbarian race). 499 Once again, it is explicitly the white skin of the (assumed) Greek that overcomes the rage of the non-Greek. However, this falls apart when we remember that Charikleia is not Greek. Something that can be hard to keep track of as the characters within the novel who do not know her secret continue to treat her as a Greek because of her appearance and Heliodorus does not insist upon reminding the reader of this fact in the same way he reminds the reader of her whiteness. With these things in mind, let us turn once again to the novel’s conclusion. As we know, when Charikleia finally returns home to her parents, it is not a joyful reunion initially. When she and Theagenes reach Ethiopia, it is as prisoners of war. Their troubles are further exacerbated when they are selected as the human sacrifices to the moon and the sun, a ritual that was part of the conventional victory celebration in Meroë. Charikleia is able to save herself by proving her true identity, as previously discussed. Theagenes, however, is still slated for death despite his bond with Charikleia. Following debate as well as physical contests, Theagenes is, at last, saved from his initial fate and married to Charikleia. This marriage marks not only a happy ending for our two protagonists but also the end of the practice of human sacrifice in Meroë. Heliodorus 498 LSJ s.v. ἀπρόσφυλος 499 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, VIII.9. 197 makes clear that Sisimithres has long objected to this practice. 500 Yet, despite the high regard in which he is held as a gymnosophist, the sacrifices continued. The fact that it is not until the arrival of two white figures that human sacrifice is finally abandoned for good could have the effect of painting Charikleia and Theagenes as white (Greek) saviors correcting the barbaric practices of the Ethiopians. This of course, is immediately problematized by the fact that Charikleia is, herself, an Ethiopian, as we have previously discussed in our examination of barbarism. Things are further complicated by the final moments of the novel when Charikles acknowledges the fulfillment of an oft-repeated prophecy, ἵζεσθ᾽ἠλὶου πρὸς χθόνα κυανέην, τῆ περ ἀριστοβίων μέγ᾽ἀέθλιον ἐξάψονται λευκὸν ἐπὶ κροτάφων στέμμα μελαινομένων you will come to the dark black land of the sun, where they will bestow the great prize of those living their best life, a white crown upon temples grown black. 501 This must refer to the explicitly white Charikleia and Theagenes. The verb “μελαίνω” quite literally means “to grow black.” 502 Margaret Doody has gone so far as to suggest that at the end of the novel Charikleia and Theagenes turn black. 503 While Tim Whitmarsh is not quite as insistent on this fact, he does leave open the possibility as well. 504 It is generally the case that the saviors exert a civilizing force upon the people they have come to “save” which, if anything, makes the saved more like the saviors. At the end of the Aethiopika the opposite seems to occur. Even if we are not supposed to take this transformation literally, and I am not convinced that we are given that we have already witnessed plenty of magic during Theagenes’ and Charikleia’s 500 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, X.39. 501 Heliodorus, Aethiopika, X.41. 502 LSV s.v μελαίνω (A.II) 503 Margaret Anne Doody, The True Story of the Novel (New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 1996), 105. 504 Tim Whitmarsh, Greek Literature and the Roman Empire: The Politics of Imitation (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), 84. 198 journey, it does beg the question “what does skin color mean?” It seems clear that Heliodorus goes out of his way to establish black and white skin as symbols for different, and often opposing, qualities while, at the same time, he presents characters who defy our expectations (of course, it is by defying our expectations that Heliodorus both reinforces and problematizes the role of skin color). So, by concluding his novel in the way that he does, it seems that Heliodorus is both acknowledging that skin color means something and also is questioning the validity, or at least the limits, of that meaning. Conclusion While one may not need to possess a deep familiarity with the breadth of writing on issues surrounding identity and appearance throughout Greek history in order to appreciate that it is a subject of intense interest to Heliodorus, it is only with an appreciation of the history and evolution of Greek thinking on the subject that one can truly grasp what Heliodorus achieves in this novel. While the other ideal romances are interested in identity in their own right, Heliodorus is obsessed with it and this obsession provides us with invaluable insight into how identity and its relation to physical, heritable characteristics was perceived in the fourth century C.E. As this chapter has demonstrated, Heliodorus creates a great deal of intentional ambiguity surrounding the value and the validity surrounding claims of ancestral homeland and language as well as the very idea of barbarism. Borrowing from the uncertainty expressed in earlier texts about how to best treat such topics, he has crafted, within the world of his novel, a forum in which these issues can be confronted and reassessed. Moreover, the specific care that he devotes to establishing for his reader the more traditional Hellenocentric modes of understanding 199 ancestral homeland, language, and barbarism before subverting them and casting their legitimacy into doubt suggests that, by the time Heliodorus writes his novels, these ideas had become more crystalized. As such, it seems that he is not engaging in the same kind of exploration that earlier authors were but instead is using that model to suggest the mainline mode of thinking about such things is flawed. To all of this, Heliodorus attaches the specter of skin color. As he does with the other topics considered in this chapter, Heliodorus takes a two-pronged approach to dealing with skin color and how it might be a way by which identity can be expressed. He goes to great pains to include a number of moments which conform to the idea that white skin is something both admirable and possessed by the Greeks while darker skin is a mark of those inhabiting the barbarous lands. Yet at the same time, he weaves in a number of moments that demonstrate that these rules are not as set in stone as they might seem. Perhaps none more effective than the novel’s ambiguous conclusion in which Heliodorus intentionally employs language which suggests the characters’ skin color actually changes. All of this, of course, is centered around the novel’s twist, in which the heroine, who so often stands as a paragon of white, Greek excellence, is revealed to be, in fact, Ethiopian. This revelation forces the reader not only to reevaluate their assumptions in the first half of the novel but turn a keener eye to the behavior of characters towards one another in the novel’s second half. While these accomplishments represent, on their own, a staggering literary achievement. The success of Heliodorus’ Aethiopika, in fact, reveals something more. Much in the same way that the twist of his novel only works if certain basic beliefs and assumptions are held not only by the characters. So too is his novel only enthralling if his readers hold similar beliefs about things like ancestral homeland, language, barbarism, and physical appearance. In other words, in 200 order for Heliodorus to write his novel as he did, he needed the appropriate social climate to exist. A climate in which a plurality of the literate, Greek world perceived a connection between their physical appearance and the central position of their language and culture in the Mediterranean at large. 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Abstract (if available)
Abstract
As the last and longest of the ideal Greek Romances, Heliodorus’ Aethiopika is an endlessly complex narrative that reflects the author’s deep interest in what it means to be a Greek in the fourth century C.E. By engaging with numerous intellectual figures from the Archaic Age all the way up to his fellow Greek novelists, Heliodorus crafts a narrative that presents a uniquely nuanced approach to situating Greekness within the Mediterranean world. To this, he also adds the specter of skin color, forcing his reader to contend with how physical, heritable characteristics might be used as indicators of group identity. Despite the long-held belief that authors of the time had no conception of race, Heliodorus’ novel forces us to reconsider this position. Furthermore, the cannibalistic nature of the novel encourages us to reexamine how his many predecessors understood such physical makers.
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Russell-Schlesinger, Charles
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Looking Greek: skin color and identity construction in Heliodorus’ Aethiopika
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Classics
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Aethiopika
ancient novel
Greek novel
Heliodorus