Persian ‘Snap’: Iranian Dancers in Gandhāra

2019 ◽  
pp. 71-86
Author(s):  
Ciro Lo Muzio

A series of reliefs from ancient Gandhāra (Peshawar Valley and neighbouring areas, North Pakistan) show dancers in Iranian (sometimes Hellenistic) attire accompanied by musical instruments of western (Near Eastern, Iranian, Greek) origins. A distinctive trait of these figures is the fact that each of them joins his/her hands to produce a snap (the ‘Persian snap’), meant to mark the time. The Gandharan reliefs are the starting point of an overview of the iconographic evidence of similar dance scenes in diverse artistic traditions (first and foremost, in Classical vase painting and Hellenistic terracottas), in which Iranian-garbed dancers, captured in postures closely comparable to those witnessed in Gandhāra, perform the ‘Persian snap’ which, however, had never been recognised as such in previous studies.

2019 ◽  
Vol 70 (2) ◽  
pp. 154-166
Author(s):  
Richard Pleijel

In this paper, the translation of the Biblical Hebrew word nephesh is discussed in light of new research. The starting point for the paper is a 1976 article in The Bible Translator that discusses the translation of nephesh based on the idea that it is a monistic entity referring to human beings as such. It is shown that this view was most representative for the exegetical consensus of the time of the article. However, a fair amount of new research points out new directions for interpreting nephesh as an entity or essence that was perceived as being separable from the body. This is also confirmed by research on cognate ancient Near Eastern concepts. It is argued that this should affect our way of translating the word nephesh.


Author(s):  
Jerome F. D. Creach

“Violence in the Old Testament” may refer generally to the Old Testament’s descriptions of God or human beings killing, destroying, and doing physical harm. As part of the activity of God, violence may include the results of divine judgment, such as God’s destruction of “all flesh” in the flood story (Gen. 6:13) or God raining fire and brimstone on Sodom and Gomorrah (Gen. 19:24–25). The expression may also include God’s prescription for and approval of wars such as the conquest of Canaan (Josh. 1–12). Some passages seem to suggest that God is harsh and vindictive and especially belligerent toward non-Israelites (see Exod. 12:29–32; Nahum and Obadiah), though the Old Testament also reports God lashing out against rebellious Israelites as well (Exod. 32:25–29, 35; Josh. 7). Christians have wrestled with divine violence in the Old Testament at least since the 2nd century ce, when Marcion led a movement to reject the Old Testament and the Old Testament God. The movement was substantial enough that key church leaders such as Irenaeus and Tertullian worked to suppress it. In the modern era interpreters have taken up the problem with new vigor and have treated it from fresh perspectives. Some attribute the Old Testament’s accounts of God destroying and killing to the brutality of the society that produced it, but they believe modern people are able to see the matter more clearly. They find support for this view in the apparent acceptance of cruel practices of war by Old Testament authors (Num. 21:1–3; Judg. 1:4–7; 1 Sam. 15). Within this way of reading is also a feminist critique that sees in the Old Testament a general disregard for women, illustrated by some passages that present sexual abuse as well as general subordination of women to men with no explicit judgment on such atrocities (Judg. 19; Ezek. 16, 23). Assessment of the significance of records of or calls for violent acts in the Old Testament are difficult, however, because of the complex literary and canonical context in which such passages appear and because of the incongruity between ancient Israelite culture and the culture(s) of readers today. Studies that compare the Old Testament presentation of violence with that of contemporary ancient Near Eastern nations offer potentially more controlled results. Comparative studies alone, however, cannot account for the multiple layers of tradition that often make up Old Testament references to violence. That is, while Assyrian and Babylonian records of warfare presumably describe what Mesopotamian kings actually did in battle, the Old Testament often reports wars and military conflicts, and the aspirations of the leaders of Judah, from the perspective of a defeated people. Thus, even Judah’s desire to defend itself militarily morphed into an expression of hope in God. Given the complexity of the development of the Old Testament canon, a fruitful and ultimately more accurate way of treating the subject is to determine how ancient Israelites thought about violence and how the subject then affected the overall shape of the Old Testament. A logical starting point in this endeavor is the Hebrew word ḥāmas. This term connotes rebellion against God that results in bloodshed and disorder and a general undoing of God’s intentions for creation. Thus, violence appears to intrude on God’s world, and God acts destructively only to counteract human violence. For example, in Gen. 6:11–13 human violence ruined the earth and thus prompted God to bring the flood as a corrective measure. This way of understanding violence in the Old Testament seems to identify the Old Testament’s own concern of violence and presses a distinction between divine destruction and judgment and human violence. Despite this potentially helpful approach to violence in the Old Testament, many problems persist. One problem is the violent acts that religious zeal prompts. Old Testament characters like Phinehas (Num. 25), Elijah (1 Kgs. 18:39–40; 2 Kgs. 1), and Elisha (2 Kgs. 2:23–25; 9) killed, ordered killing, or participated in killing in order to purify the religious faith and practices of the Israelites. Nevertheless, most texts that contain problems like this also contain complementary or self-corrective passages that give another perspective. The complexity of the material with regard to violence makes it possible to argue that the Old Testament opposes violence and that the ultimate goal, and divine intention, is peace.


2014 ◽  
Vol 22 (1) ◽  
pp. 116-128
Author(s):  
Irene J.F. de Jong

In the first chapter of his celebratedMimesis(1946) Auerbach discussed a specimen of Ancient Greek literature (Homer) both as the starting point of a European literary history of realism and as a comparandum to biblical storytelling. Both lines of approach have recently been given new impetuses. On the one hand there is Martin West'sThe East Face of Helicon,1which does not merely compare early Greek literature and Near Eastern literature but describes the former as largely a product of the latter. On the other hand there is the series Studies in ancient Greek narrative, edited by Irene J.F. de Jong, which describes the early development of – what will become quintessential – European storytelling devices in Ancient Greek literature. Both scholarly projects, independently, have put the same urgent question on the agenda: how exactly are we to evaluate resemblances between ancient Greek literature and contemporary Near Eastern literature and later European literature. Can we speak of some form of historical connection, i.e. one literature taking over devices and motifs from another literature, or should we rather think in terms of typological resemblances, i.e. of the same narrative universals being employed at different places and at different times? Or is there some middle way to be found in the recent cognitive turn of comparative literature? Despite the methodological problems involved, investigating the history of European literature is an extremely rewarding task. The project of Europe as an economical and political unity has at the moment reached a critical phase. Literary scholars can contribute to this issue by showing the cultural unity of Europe, a mission that is just as urgent as it was in 1946, when Auerbach published hisMimesis.


2014 ◽  
Vol 2 (1) ◽  
pp. 50-67 ◽  
Author(s):  
Fábio Vergara Cerqueira

Abstract The paper deals with the representation of musical instruments on Apulian pottery. I shall sketch a general account of the red-figured pottery produced in Apulia and its development between the late fifth and the early third centuries, discussing the iconographical trends in its different phases. Secondly, I shall offer a brief survey of the musical instruments: the instruments belonging to Greek tradition (lyra, kithara, aulos) as well as those belonging to local tradition (rectangular cithara, rectangular sistrum), and those that result from local developments of instruments received from the Greek continental tradition (tympanon, pektis). Morphological and contextual analysis of the representation of such instruments will allow us to sustain our inferences about the intercultural processes of hybridization between local, Greek and oriental organological traditions, pointing to a scenario of multiple and negotiated identities in the colonial world of Magna Graecia.


Author(s):  
Jill Marcum

Although classical education is waning and general historical knowledge is at its nadir, many ancient fables are still widely known and commonly cited in spoken language. For example, Aesop’s fable The Boy Who Cried Wolf has resulted in the phrase “crying wolf,” which—even today—is a cultural shorthand for expressing the idea of raising a false alarm. The successful communication of this idea, however, rests on culture: the shared understanding of the wolf as dangerous. If we thought of wolves as we do pet dogs, the reference would be lost.Fables constitute a subgenre of ancient Near Eastern ‘wisdom literature;’ they are short narratives utilizing anthropomorphized animals to impart conventional wisdom. Like proverbs, fables “belong to the speech of everyday life” (Alster 1997). Perhaps for this reason, they were among the first compositions that young scribes learned to write in ancient Mesopotamia. Sumerian fables are attested as early as the mid-third millennium BCE. Much like written language itself, fables traffic in tradition and “habitual connection” (Peirce 1885) in order to convey their meaning. This meaning is so strong that it can be carried even via elliptical (truncated) renderings, as in the example of “crying wolf.” This shorthand is possible, in part, because animals are not just things themselves, they are loaded with symbolic meanings that are imparted in fables via their role, their actions, and the words they speak. In fables, animals are characters, and these characterizations can reveal the context and values of the culture that created them.As Falkowitz (1980) notes, consistently and extensively employed animal images can become culturally ingrained as rhetorical topoi: the fox is cunning, the bee is busy. The meaning in these images” is derived from their characteristics, which fables can uniquely elucidate for us. Through the understanding that fables provide, we can more successfully “read” both the elliptical references to animals in proverbs and in images. Moreover, understanding animals in this way can provide us a method to access the contexts and values of ancient Mesopotamians without privileging our contemporary, Western symbolic or ethical norms.I will provide an overview of the small corpus of available Sumerian fables and analysis of the roles of the animals characterized within them. These will be linked to Sumerian proverbs and compared to ancient Greek fables to form a starting point for conceptualizing fauna in the ancient world.


2021 ◽  
Vol 66 (2) ◽  
pp. 201-228
Author(s):  
Katarzyna Doliwa

Abstract The subject of the article is the concept of a universal language and a reflection on its importance for law. The starting point is a presentation of the history of the concept of a common language for all mankind, a concept that has always accompanied man – it is present in the Bible, in the ancient writings of Near Eastern peoples, it was alive in the Middle Ages and during the Renaissance, and it experienced its particular heyday – among other reasons because of the gradual abandonment of Latin as the language of science – in the seventeenth century, an age that was reformist by definition. Since its inception, the concept of a universal language has been inextricably linked with the idea of world peace and universal happiness for all people. It is significant that in most universal language designs, regardless of the era, there were, to a greater or lesser extent, references to the utility of such languages for law. The author, tracing the development of the concept of a universal language, focuses on its fullest contemporary development: Esperanto. Esperanto, like previous universal language designs, places particular emphasis on ideas linked to the concept of a universal language, especially the idea of peaceful coexistence and understanding between peoples. In this context, it is reasonable to ask what role Esperanto can play in the development of certain branches of law, especially international law. Given the position of English as the language of legal acts of international importance, the answer to this question is currently not clear.


2020 ◽  
Vol 38 (English Version) ◽  
pp. 217-234
Author(s):  
Edyta Chlebowska

The article discusses the relationship between Cyprian Norwid and the circle of Polish painters gathered around Juliusz Kossak’s Paris studio in the mid-nineteenth century. The starting point is Kossak’s humorous drawing titled Orkiestra artystów [An Orchestra of Artists], which portrays Norwid with his back turned to the viewer and a lyre at his side, depicted among other painters, members of the orchestra, who are playing various musical instruments. On the basis of this composition, which illustrates an anecdote from the life of the exile community of Polish artists, and drawing on other accounts from the period, the article outlines the social situation of the painters, placing Norwid against this background. Emphasising the community of emigration experiences, it is thus also possible to indicate the distinctness of Norwid’s situation, resulting both from his personal traits and the profile of his work, which combines literature and fine arts and is strongly rooted in theoretical reflection.


Maska ◽  
2016 ◽  
Vol 31 (179) ◽  
pp. 92-99
Author(s):  
Peter Kus

The starting point for the author’s reflection on sound animation is the Egyptian statue of Memnon, the stone that sang at dawn; at first sight, this appears to be an oxymoron, for stone is an allegory of the inanimate, and yet immortal, while voice is the exact opposite, the fleeting sign of life. This opposition has triggered thinking about the life of stone and about the question of whether stone – not unlike musical instruments – has its own soul or if another life sounds through it. The author touches upon cosmological theories and world mythologies, which describe the world and its origin with musical metaphors, as well as the superstring theory in contemporary physics, according to which the vibrations of superstrings determine the properties of particles and forces in nature. Oscillation, then, is an innate property of all things; hence, man is not only a constructor and animator, but must also listen to things and become an echo of their own sounds. In this relationship, the author finds the line separating classical, mainly industrial, instruments from original musical instruments that originate from the “animation” of materials: in the first case, it is the musician who expresses him- or herself, while in the latter case, it is the object that does so; the former instruments are played by musicians, the latter are animated by them. The writer is the author of musical puppet plays in which set design elements, props and puppets enable visual and theatrical expressiveness as well as the performance of music; therefore, his performances are an indivisible blend of puppet animation and music concerts.


1987 ◽  
Vol 107 ◽  
pp. 106-130 ◽  
Author(s):  
Richard Seaford

Wedding ritual in tragedy tends to be subverted. In explaining and arguing for this generalisation I hope also to shed new light on some of the passages deployed.My starting point is the actual wedding ceremony. How did the Athenians of the classical period imagine that it was celebrated? Our evidence derives largely from contemporary drama and vase-painting. The picture presented by this evidence coheres very well in certain respects with that derived from other periods and places: Sappho, Catullus' imitation of the Greek, the lexicographers, and so on. For example, one important element that is found in the Attic and the non-Attic evidence alike is the ambiguity, for the bride, of the transition. The abrupt passage to her new life contains both negative and positive elements. On the one hand it is like the yoking of an animal or the plucking of a flower. It means isolation, separation from her friends and parents. It is an occasion of resentment and anxiety, comparable to death.


Author(s):  
L.R. Wallenberg ◽  
J.-O. Bovin ◽  
G. Schmid

Metallic clusters are interesting from various points of view, e.g. as a mean of spreading expensive catalysts on a support, or following heterogeneous and homogeneous catalytic events. It is also possible to study nucleation and growth mechanisms for crystals with the cluster as known starting point.Gold-clusters containing 55 atoms were manufactured by reducing (C6H5)3PAuCl with B2H6 in benzene. The chemical composition was found to be Au9.2[P(C6H5)3]2Cl. Molecular-weight determination by means of an ultracentrifuge gave the formula Au55[P(C6H5)3]Cl6 A model was proposed from Mössbauer spectra by Schmid et al. with cubic close-packing of the 55 gold atoms in a cubeoctahedron as shown in Fig 1. The cluster is almost completely isolated from the surroundings by the twelve triphenylphosphane groups situated in each corner, and the chlorine atoms on the centre of the 3x3 square surfaces. This gives four groups of gold atoms, depending on the different types of surrounding.


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