This guide is designed for those of you who are new drivers in Winnipeg, or new to Winnipeg. Luckily for you, Winnipeg's urban planners have been working for years to ensure that the only way to get around most of the city is by car. Thus, your driving skills will come in handy in no time!
By following some or all of the steps listed below, you too can learn to drive like a Winnipegger. Whether you've just turned sixteen, or have moved here from a different city, province, or even country, I'll tell you how to own the road in the heart of the continent!
NOTE: with the exception of the first step and the final step, all of the items listed are in no particular order.
1. There are two classes of driver in this fine city: a) those who own cars; b) those who own minivans, trucks, or SUVs. If you all into the latter category (b), all of the following pointers are optional. Your vehicle is likely big enough that few obstacles pose a significant threat to your safety - or ability. Please proceed to the final step.
2. When changing lanes, simply change lanes. There's no need to signal, check your blind spot, or look for an opening. If you feel like it, do it!
3. Although we get to enjoy winter four to sixth months of the year, don't expect to expect snow. In other words, if it should happen that there is a significant accumulation of snow, you should be surprised, like your fellow Winnipeggers. So, those of you with some previous winter (those from the UK or the southern half of the US can ignore this) driving experience can toss that knowledge out the window with confidence! Pretend you've never experienced snow before!
4. Treat all road conditions the same, as along as you treat the roads as if they are dry and clear. This is true whether it's raining or it's snowing. Remember, always pretend that the roads are dry and clear!
5. Sometimes, there are many lines going in the same direction. Although in other jurisdictions the inside lane (left lane in Canada) would be considered the passing lane, this is not the case here. So, feel free to drive the same speed as the person in the lane next to you.
6. Although in other jurisdictions speed limits are considered by the layperson as the speed which you should strive for, this isn't the case in Winnipeg, especially if the speed is above 50km/h, with the exception of rush hour. Here, if the posted speed is above 50, make sure you don't exceed 50, regardless of how high that limit might be. Even if it says 70 or 80, don't feel you have to drive that fast within city limits. Chances are, no one knows what the speed limit is anyway.
7. If you are in a parking lot, back lane, or something comparable and you want to join a main road, don't wait for a big and clear opening to pull out, particularly if you're turning right. Rather, wait until you have a small opening and then pull out, being careful to drive as slowly as possible (regardless of conditions). If you do decide to speed up to match the flow of the traffic, take your time.
8. If you see a pedestrian, do what the British do and accelerate. You're sure to win a lot of friends if you manage to mow down a pedestrian (the enemy of the Winnipeg driver!). The same applies to cyclists.
9. You need only devote 5% of your attention to the road. Anything more than that is a felony. This doesn't mean you ought to be on the phone (most of us don't do this); simply, that you need not pay attention to the world around you.
10. Make sure to leave between two and five feet between your vehicle and the one in front of you, regardless of the conditions. If you leave any more, you're unlikely to be able to nudge the bumper in front of you - so that you know where you are on the road - in the event of a sudden stop. This is particularly true if you drive a large vehicle.
11. You ought to adopt one of two road personas: a) the overly cautious driver who will only pull out into oncoming traffic if there are no other vehicles in sight; b) the true Winnipeg driver, for whom stop signs are optional, signals are unnecessary, and an awareness of the traffic around them is a terribly unnecessary.
12. Stop signs are usually optional, regardless of whether there is oncoming traffic or not, especially if you have a large vehicle.
13. Red lights are merely a suggestion that you should stop, not a requirement, at least when the traffic light first changes to red.
14. No Right Turn signs do not apply to you.
15. Advanced Green for right turns are optional.
16. Beware of roundabouts. They are a product of some sort of socialist European invasion and should be avoided at all costs. The fact that they are like four-way stops but backwards, should tell you as much.
17. Don't pay attention to where you need to go. If you need to turn right at some point and you're in the right lane, don't feel the need to get into that right lane until the last possible moment.
18. Expect the roads to change direction, name, and so forth without warning, and drive accordingly. For example, even though Waverley continues to the right if you're heading in a southerly direction (south of Bishop Grandin), and has done for some months, expect it to change without warning, and so be sure to act surprised, and drive as such, as a result (in other words - stick to the left lane - then veer right suddenly in front of other drivers).
19. If you're behind another driver at a stop sign, set of traffic lanes, or ramp onto another lane, be sure to honk at them if they don't pull out immediately, especially if they're waiting for a safe opportunity to do so.
20. If you've reached this stage - and you can master as many of these as you wish - then congratulations! You are now a true Winnipeg driver!
Tuesday, 19 March 2013
Monday, 11 March 2013
The E-Presence Grow-eth
To be as integrated in the wider world as I can be I'm working on boosting my e-presence.
You can find me at academia.edu here: http://uwinnipeg.academia.edu/ConorWhately
You can follow me (if you're not already) on Twitter here: @ConorWhately
You can find me at academia.edu here: http://uwinnipeg.academia.edu/ConorWhately
You can follow me (if you're not already) on Twitter here: @ConorWhately
Sunday, 10 March 2013
Situating Classical in World History
I just read a pedagogy-themed essay on world systems, history, and Greece and Rome ("Placing Greco-Roman History in World Historical Context", E. A. Pollard, Classical World 102, 1, 53-68). I'm also slowly working my way through Ian Morris' Why the West Rules. It's not that often that you find ancient historians dabbling in the worlds outside their frontiers. Pollard and Morris, in their own ways, make the case that this should happen more often. But, significant obstacles stand in the way of the situating of ancient history into the wider world.
It's not easy to manage in the classroom. If you have limited resources - many departments are quite small - you have to be quite selective with what you teach. In this country (Canada), at least, most ancient (read Classical) history is taught as part of a Classics programme. Though this isn't always the case, Classicists tend to prefer to stick to hardcore Classics stuff: classical Athens, late republican and early imperial Rome, myth, Greek, and Latin. This makes a lot of sense: the languages are fundamental, and a significant chunk of the best-known literature comes from those historical periods. Those Classicists who might call themselves historians (not to mention those who aren't) are often called upon to teach courses outside of their specialist interests. Courses might be cross-listed with other relevant departments, such as history departments, but those other departments have little or no say in whether a particular course is taught in a given year.
Despite these challenges - and this might surprise the lay-person - Classics has moved on. It's now peopled not only by elite men from Athens and Rome, but slaves from across the Mediterranean (and beyond), women, both rich and poor, and, occasionally, barbarians, not to mention children (among many others). Moreover, the chronological scope too has broadened. It might stretch back to the Bronze Age and the Minoan and Mycenaean cultures (the reality rather than the Homeric version), include the competing empires of the Hellenistic world, and extend into the second, third, or even fourth centuries AD/CE, not to mention to the provinces (post-colonialism).
The range of evidence that's deployed is much more diverse now too. Reading Sallust, Tacitus, Herodotus, and Thucydides won't suffice - or at least reading them in the traditional ways (reconstructing political and military history). Latin military diplomas as evidence of family life in the provinces, the small finds (hair pins) for the presence of women (possibly) in male spaces, and provincial art (long belittled as inferior) as a reflection of the melding of the melding of centre and periphery among many other things have gone quite a long way towards broadening our understanding of the ancient world.
There is hope, and this much more inclusive understanding of the ancient Mediterranean has worked its way into the course offerings at universities around the Western World. In mine, for example, you can now take courses on the use of space in antiquity, Roman Egypt, the ancient family, and Persians, all with a chronological scope that runs from ancient Knossos (the Heroic Age) to medieval Constantinople (Arab conquest). But, there's good reason to think that we've pushed the boundaries in our department as far as they're likely to go, at least for some time.
How can we go about situating Classical history into wider world history when it's already taken this long to incorporate what we have? And, what sort of courses would serve these purposes? One on ancient empires, for example? Or the different ways that cultures have described the past? But how would you teach these? It's hard enough offering team-taught courses with members of the same department. How would you manage with faculty working across departments? There's also the issue of teaching load: who would get credit? Plus, if these courses were to have any measurable impact I imagine they would have to be taught as often as possible. Could this be managed year after year? Plus, although this might benefit Classics, how would it benefit other departments? Why would they agree to this?
Then there's the publication side. It's all well and good for established scholars like Ian Morris and Walter Scheidel to publish studies that explore comparative world history at large and wealthy universities like Stanford. But what about the rest of us (young and at small universities)? Can young scholars of the ancient world eager for jobs, promotion, or tenure really expect to write these sorts of things when it's entirely possible that those who determine their fates might be loathe to give credit for work that discusses certain materials cursorily (the comparative material)?
Fact is, there are still many Classicists who are vehemently opposed to anything non-traditional. Although I'm employed, I sometimes wonder if my choice to focus my research on parts of the ancient world far removed from the centre was worth the risk (Procopius, late antiquity, the Roman military, Balkans). On the other hand, if things do have to change (and I haven't even discussed if they ought to), someone has to start somewhere.
It's not easy to manage in the classroom. If you have limited resources - many departments are quite small - you have to be quite selective with what you teach. In this country (Canada), at least, most ancient (read Classical) history is taught as part of a Classics programme. Though this isn't always the case, Classicists tend to prefer to stick to hardcore Classics stuff: classical Athens, late republican and early imperial Rome, myth, Greek, and Latin. This makes a lot of sense: the languages are fundamental, and a significant chunk of the best-known literature comes from those historical periods. Those Classicists who might call themselves historians (not to mention those who aren't) are often called upon to teach courses outside of their specialist interests. Courses might be cross-listed with other relevant departments, such as history departments, but those other departments have little or no say in whether a particular course is taught in a given year.
Despite these challenges - and this might surprise the lay-person - Classics has moved on. It's now peopled not only by elite men from Athens and Rome, but slaves from across the Mediterranean (and beyond), women, both rich and poor, and, occasionally, barbarians, not to mention children (among many others). Moreover, the chronological scope too has broadened. It might stretch back to the Bronze Age and the Minoan and Mycenaean cultures (the reality rather than the Homeric version), include the competing empires of the Hellenistic world, and extend into the second, third, or even fourth centuries AD/CE, not to mention to the provinces (post-colonialism).
The range of evidence that's deployed is much more diverse now too. Reading Sallust, Tacitus, Herodotus, and Thucydides won't suffice - or at least reading them in the traditional ways (reconstructing political and military history). Latin military diplomas as evidence of family life in the provinces, the small finds (hair pins) for the presence of women (possibly) in male spaces, and provincial art (long belittled as inferior) as a reflection of the melding of the melding of centre and periphery among many other things have gone quite a long way towards broadening our understanding of the ancient world.
There is hope, and this much more inclusive understanding of the ancient Mediterranean has worked its way into the course offerings at universities around the Western World. In mine, for example, you can now take courses on the use of space in antiquity, Roman Egypt, the ancient family, and Persians, all with a chronological scope that runs from ancient Knossos (the Heroic Age) to medieval Constantinople (Arab conquest). But, there's good reason to think that we've pushed the boundaries in our department as far as they're likely to go, at least for some time.
How can we go about situating Classical history into wider world history when it's already taken this long to incorporate what we have? And, what sort of courses would serve these purposes? One on ancient empires, for example? Or the different ways that cultures have described the past? But how would you teach these? It's hard enough offering team-taught courses with members of the same department. How would you manage with faculty working across departments? There's also the issue of teaching load: who would get credit? Plus, if these courses were to have any measurable impact I imagine they would have to be taught as often as possible. Could this be managed year after year? Plus, although this might benefit Classics, how would it benefit other departments? Why would they agree to this?
Then there's the publication side. It's all well and good for established scholars like Ian Morris and Walter Scheidel to publish studies that explore comparative world history at large and wealthy universities like Stanford. But what about the rest of us (young and at small universities)? Can young scholars of the ancient world eager for jobs, promotion, or tenure really expect to write these sorts of things when it's entirely possible that those who determine their fates might be loathe to give credit for work that discusses certain materials cursorily (the comparative material)?
Fact is, there are still many Classicists who are vehemently opposed to anything non-traditional. Although I'm employed, I sometimes wonder if my choice to focus my research on parts of the ancient world far removed from the centre was worth the risk (Procopius, late antiquity, the Roman military, Balkans). On the other hand, if things do have to change (and I haven't even discussed if they ought to), someone has to start somewhere.
Wednesday, 27 February 2013
Diurpaneus, Decebalus, Dacewho? Dacian Kings and Late Antique Historians
Among many other things, I'm in the process of converting my MA thesis from so many moons ago into a monograph. In this particular instance the topic is an old school military one: troop movements and dispositions in Roman Moesia/s. I've actually been working away on this for some time (2009 - immediately following the submission of the PhD), but other things have cropped up at various points, as they usually do. Well, I'm making a push to get the thing done (or close to) by the end of the summer. Much of the work's finished, and it's just a matter of tidying and updating, though there are a host of things I'll have to add.
The main topic that I've been grappling with today is what to do with a certain Diurpaneus, the esteemed Dacian king. Okay, maybe not terribly esteemed, but a Dacian king nonetheless! Well, perhaps he's not even that. Perhaps he's just a manuscript typo from long ago. The much more famous Dacian king is Decebalus, the famed foe of Trajan, one of Rome's greatest emperors. Trajan fought him twice in the early 100s, and by the end of the second war the Dacians had been defeated so soundly that Decebalus committed suicide. There's even an image of him from Trajan's column, just about to kill himself as the Romans close in (image from Wikipedia):
Of course, the sculptors didn't actually show the death itself, something (the moment of death or act of killing) Roman and Greek art, in my experience, tends to shy away from. Rather interestingly, however, we know the name of the soldier, from the 7th Claudian Legion, who brought Decebalus' head to Trajan, Tiberius Claudius Maximus, because he boasted about it in an inscription from Philippi in Greece (Speidel 1970, Campbell 1994: 32-33).
Anyway, this same Decebalus is often equated with the aforementioned Diurpaneus (Fear 2010: 341, n. 340), whom Orosius (7.10.4) and Jordanes (Get. 13.77 - Dorpaneus) said led the Dacian army into Moesia in the 80s during the reign of Domitian. Fair enough assumption, no? Decebalus is much more famous, and could easily have lived well into his 50s or 60s, especially since he was a powerful king. In other words, he could easily have fought against Rome in the 80s and again in the 100s. At the same time, Diurpaneus, or Dorpaneus, looks a lot like Decebalus. They both start with a D, have As, Es, and a P and B respectively, which could easily get conflated. Plus, as we all know, late Roman historians, chroniclers in particular, were quacks who were generally prone to mistakes. These are the reasons, so far as I can tell, that this usually happens. But, is this right?
Orosius (7.10.3) says he gets his information from Tacitus, whose Annals and Histories, as they survive, don't include material beyond about 69 - the Agricola is another story. Although we're all well aware now of the artistry (ie. rhetoric) of Tacitus, he's still usually considered to be one of the most reliable of Roman historians. Could he have got this wrong? Seems unlikely to me. Plus, I see no reason to question Orosius on this point. He essentially does what Evagrius (4.19) later did for Procopius: he says something like, "Tacitus said this, and much better than I ever could, so I don't need to go into detail". Why shouldn't we take Orosius at his word when we've got what seems to be independent confirmation in the account of Jordanes, who doesn't name Tacitus but who is likely using him as well?
Then there's the name. To my mind Decebalus bears little resemblance to Diurpaneus. Dorpaneus and Diurpaneus? Sure - easy enough to see how a scribe could conflate those, but the other way around? Moreover, if an unknowing medieval scribe was working late at night, hunched over a parchment at candle light painstakingly making a copy of, say, Jordanes' Getica and came across a peculiar and unfamiliar name, like Diurpaneus, and decided to "correct" what he read wouldn't it have made more sense to replace the Diurpaneus with Decebalus, than the other way around?
Basically, what I'm saying is that Diurpaneus deserves some credit for being a successful Dacian king in the 80s. The Dacians caused Domitian no small amount of trouble during the decade; for they slaughtered a Roman army or two. The name shouldn't be conflated with Decebalus, a distinct and more famous king. Finally, late Roman historians, and chroniclers in particular (see Scott 2012 - and Croke 2002 for that matter), deserve more credit, especially in the absence of independent evidence that suggest otherwise.
The main topic that I've been grappling with today is what to do with a certain Diurpaneus, the esteemed Dacian king. Okay, maybe not terribly esteemed, but a Dacian king nonetheless! Well, perhaps he's not even that. Perhaps he's just a manuscript typo from long ago. The much more famous Dacian king is Decebalus, the famed foe of Trajan, one of Rome's greatest emperors. Trajan fought him twice in the early 100s, and by the end of the second war the Dacians had been defeated so soundly that Decebalus committed suicide. There's even an image of him from Trajan's column, just about to kill himself as the Romans close in (image from Wikipedia):
Of course, the sculptors didn't actually show the death itself, something (the moment of death or act of killing) Roman and Greek art, in my experience, tends to shy away from. Rather interestingly, however, we know the name of the soldier, from the 7th Claudian Legion, who brought Decebalus' head to Trajan, Tiberius Claudius Maximus, because he boasted about it in an inscription from Philippi in Greece (Speidel 1970, Campbell 1994: 32-33).
Anyway, this same Decebalus is often equated with the aforementioned Diurpaneus (Fear 2010: 341, n. 340), whom Orosius (7.10.4) and Jordanes (Get. 13.77 - Dorpaneus) said led the Dacian army into Moesia in the 80s during the reign of Domitian. Fair enough assumption, no? Decebalus is much more famous, and could easily have lived well into his 50s or 60s, especially since he was a powerful king. In other words, he could easily have fought against Rome in the 80s and again in the 100s. At the same time, Diurpaneus, or Dorpaneus, looks a lot like Decebalus. They both start with a D, have As, Es, and a P and B respectively, which could easily get conflated. Plus, as we all know, late Roman historians, chroniclers in particular, were quacks who were generally prone to mistakes. These are the reasons, so far as I can tell, that this usually happens. But, is this right?
Orosius (7.10.3) says he gets his information from Tacitus, whose Annals and Histories, as they survive, don't include material beyond about 69 - the Agricola is another story. Although we're all well aware now of the artistry (ie. rhetoric) of Tacitus, he's still usually considered to be one of the most reliable of Roman historians. Could he have got this wrong? Seems unlikely to me. Plus, I see no reason to question Orosius on this point. He essentially does what Evagrius (4.19) later did for Procopius: he says something like, "Tacitus said this, and much better than I ever could, so I don't need to go into detail". Why shouldn't we take Orosius at his word when we've got what seems to be independent confirmation in the account of Jordanes, who doesn't name Tacitus but who is likely using him as well?
Then there's the name. To my mind Decebalus bears little resemblance to Diurpaneus. Dorpaneus and Diurpaneus? Sure - easy enough to see how a scribe could conflate those, but the other way around? Moreover, if an unknowing medieval scribe was working late at night, hunched over a parchment at candle light painstakingly making a copy of, say, Jordanes' Getica and came across a peculiar and unfamiliar name, like Diurpaneus, and decided to "correct" what he read wouldn't it have made more sense to replace the Diurpaneus with Decebalus, than the other way around?
Basically, what I'm saying is that Diurpaneus deserves some credit for being a successful Dacian king in the 80s. The Dacians caused Domitian no small amount of trouble during the decade; for they slaughtered a Roman army or two. The name shouldn't be conflated with Decebalus, a distinct and more famous king. Finally, late Roman historians, and chroniclers in particular (see Scott 2012 - and Croke 2002 for that matter), deserve more credit, especially in the absence of independent evidence that suggest otherwise.
Tuesday, 19 February 2013
Classics in 30 Minutes or Less
Tomorrow morning (January 20th) I'm giving a lecture to high school students (aka, potential customers, er, UofW students) and possibly a few odd parents at the UofW on behalf of our department. Why me? I volunteered because I hadn't done it before and felt it was my turn to give it a go. In other words, it's part of the job.
The lecture itself is about 30 minutes (maybe closer to 25 with time left for questions and for the attendees to fill out a questionnaire). The topic? Well, Classics: what it is, who are we, and what we do.
How do you fit the wide world of Classics into 25 minutes or less? I'm not sure. If you teach in a smaller (though growing) department like mine you tend to be something of a jack of all trades, ready and able to teach a host of different aspects of the subject. On the other hand, the fact remains that there are always some areas you're much more comfortable with than others. I tend to prefer Roman stuff to Greek stuff with some exceptions (I'll take Greek myth over Roman myth and Greek historiography over Latin, for example), and later Roman history to the earlier stuff, again with exceptions (love the Punic wars and Roman imperialism in the mid Republic).
Still, if you're trying to be representative of the field certain things get sacrificed. So, the late antique world gets the shaft, though I managed to squeeze in Justinian and Procopius.
The other problem is unity: an introduction could easily descend into a random collection of widely disconnected facts, which doesn't do me and wouldn't do them any good.
My solution, then, is to frame my lecture around the theme of a TV show, and "Ancients Behaving Badly" in particular. I've taken a host of famous characters and persons from the Classical world and will share some of the "bad" things that they've done. The individuals I've chosen are (among others) Zeus (cheating husband), Apollo (failing lover), Agamemnon (daughter killer), Achilles (ancient soldier par excellence), the tyrannicides (Aristogeiton and Harmodius - tyrants removed due to a love-triangle), Alexander (violent drunk), Ovid (shameful ladies' man), Caligula (horse lover), Nero (mother killer), the Pompeians (several individuals then - riotous and writers of obscene graffiti), Caracalla (brother killer), and Justinian (he of the floating head).
Is it the best list? Perhaps not, and it's not likely to please everyone. But, fingers crossed, it will please enough of them tomorrow.
The lecture itself is about 30 minutes (maybe closer to 25 with time left for questions and for the attendees to fill out a questionnaire). The topic? Well, Classics: what it is, who are we, and what we do.
How do you fit the wide world of Classics into 25 minutes or less? I'm not sure. If you teach in a smaller (though growing) department like mine you tend to be something of a jack of all trades, ready and able to teach a host of different aspects of the subject. On the other hand, the fact remains that there are always some areas you're much more comfortable with than others. I tend to prefer Roman stuff to Greek stuff with some exceptions (I'll take Greek myth over Roman myth and Greek historiography over Latin, for example), and later Roman history to the earlier stuff, again with exceptions (love the Punic wars and Roman imperialism in the mid Republic).
Still, if you're trying to be representative of the field certain things get sacrificed. So, the late antique world gets the shaft, though I managed to squeeze in Justinian and Procopius.
The other problem is unity: an introduction could easily descend into a random collection of widely disconnected facts, which doesn't do me and wouldn't do them any good.
My solution, then, is to frame my lecture around the theme of a TV show, and "Ancients Behaving Badly" in particular. I've taken a host of famous characters and persons from the Classical world and will share some of the "bad" things that they've done. The individuals I've chosen are (among others) Zeus (cheating husband), Apollo (failing lover), Agamemnon (daughter killer), Achilles (ancient soldier par excellence), the tyrannicides (Aristogeiton and Harmodius - tyrants removed due to a love-triangle), Alexander (violent drunk), Ovid (shameful ladies' man), Caligula (horse lover), Nero (mother killer), the Pompeians (several individuals then - riotous and writers of obscene graffiti), Caracalla (brother killer), and Justinian (he of the floating head).
Is it the best list? Perhaps not, and it's not likely to please everyone. But, fingers crossed, it will please enough of them tomorrow.
Monday, 18 February 2013
Ancient Soldiers and Equipment from Bulgaria
Okay, so this post is less of a discussion of ancient stuff and more of a photo essay. And by photo essay it's less of an essay and more of a collection or catalogue of photos.
Here are some photos I took while in Bulgaria in early September (2012) for Limes XXII. As you can see there's a mixture of cavalry masks (for cermonies, etc.), some tombstone friezes with soldiers (sans equipment), and a host of helmets and weapons, both Roman and otherwise (Greek?, etc.). If I can ever think of anything useful to say (or something resembling something useful) then I'll discuss some of these and turn this into an actual essay of sorts. It would help if I can find something about these about these. Later, I'll also add some photos of fortifications.
I should also add that in May I'm planning on a trip to the UK. I'll bring along a camera and if I make it to Vindolanda and Hadrian's Wall, as I hope to, I'll take more pictures and post them. And then discuss. Or maybe just describe. Or just post.
Anyway, enjoy!
Here are some photos I took while in Bulgaria in early September (2012) for Limes XXII. As you can see there's a mixture of cavalry masks (for cermonies, etc.), some tombstone friezes with soldiers (sans equipment), and a host of helmets and weapons, both Roman and otherwise (Greek?, etc.). If I can ever think of anything useful to say (or something resembling something useful) then I'll discuss some of these and turn this into an actual essay of sorts. It would help if I can find something about these about these. Later, I'll also add some photos of fortifications.
I should also add that in May I'm planning on a trip to the UK. I'll bring along a camera and if I make it to Vindolanda and Hadrian's Wall, as I hope to, I'll take more pictures and post them. And then discuss. Or maybe just describe. Or just post.
Anyway, enjoy!
Thursday, 14 February 2013
First, this lovely photo: a student of mine (with a colleague in the background) found himself wearing some Roman military garb a few days ago and I snatched this picture of him with the menacing expression. Really, all teaching should be experiential of this sort. Why?
I think there's some sort of unsung rule that us academic historian/classicist/byzantinist types ought to steer clear of the reenactment business. The serious work involves the pouring over of texts or the painstaking uncovering and collating of material remains. Trying to recreate this stuff? Poppycock!
But some do try to keep an open mind. Schwartz's book, Reinstating the Hoplite (2009 - http://bmcr.brynmawr.edu/2011/2011-02-23.html), incorporates some modern comparisons with Danish police. Someone even experimented with what was feasible with battle exhortations - Hansen, the arch-nemesis of Pritchett in the battle exhortation debate, maybe (? I can't remember). If you haven't given it a shot, however, I'll admit that it's hard to appreciate the value that reenactment (and the like) exercises can have.
Well, when another (mature) student showed up in my colleague(Matt Gibbs)'s office with a trunk full of Roman armour and then set about dressing another student Andrew (above), our volunteer, certain things started to make a lot of sense about the practicalities of combat.
I'll confess that I've never really given much thought to Roman armour. This despite the fact that I've spent no small amount of time taking a look at all sorts of sculptural friezes with well armoured Roman soldiers, including those famous ones on Trajan's Column (http://cheiron.mcmaster.ca/~trajan/). Not all of those are armoured - and some have speculated that this has more to do with different types of soldiers than anything. Though even with this things get muddled - are those not heavily armoured depicted necessarily auxiliaries? What of those men standing around Trajan when he's giving an exhortation? Are they auxiliaries? If they are legionaries does this lend credence to the fictional speeches in historiography view?
Anyway, back to the issue at hand. Quite a few soldiers on the column have the sort of equipment that Andrew's wearing above (lorica segmentata), and that we usually find on Roman soldiers in movies like Gladiator. On Trajan's Column, some are fighting (the testudo scene for example), while others are marching (those crossing the boat-bridge). Does this mean that we should assume that legionaries were always wearing this sort of stuff?
Well, we could look for some comparative evidence from other sculptural friezes. I took a bunch of photos of Roman soldiers from tombstone reliefs when I was at the most recent Limes Congress (XXII - http://www.limes2012.naim.bg/) in Ruse, Bulgaria. Here are a couple of highlights:
I'd hoped that I had some with heavy armour on, but no dice. The fact that these soldiers on the friezes that I took pictures of are on horseback, and that they hail from a provincial context, does suggest that these are auxiliaries. So, these pictures are perhaps less helpful.
But, all's not lost, and here's where the reenactment business kicks in. When I picked up the armour, whether the lorica or chainmail (which was also available), I was surprised - especially with the chainmail - at just how heavy it was. The heaviness of the armour got me thinking about all those slaves that Roth argued, some time ago (Historia 1994), were attached to each legion (bringing the total from around 5200 soldiers on paper to close to 6600 men in each legion). I was convinced anyway, but am even more so now. Holding that armour - and trying to put the stuff on in the first place - made me realize just how much easier it is to have those slaves around. The soldiers could have used that help to put the damn stuff on, and if they could swing it to carry their armour and equipment when marching great distances. And, if your common legionary couldn't swing it I at least think that officers could have swung it.
The firsthand (so to speak) experience also helps to illustrate the difficulty in orchestrating a major military campaign, and how impressive the Romans were for being able to do this with such success for so long. It also strengthens my belief that Justinian's reconquest campaigns (discussed in an earlier blog) were, as I argued, fairly substantial efforts, despite the seemingly paltry numbers reported by Procopius. The sixth century empire, for all its wealth up until the plague struck, lacked the logistical support of the army of the Principate and couldn't hope to carry on a major expedition 100s or 1000s of miles away from home anywhere near as effectively as its predecessor with anywhere near the same number of men and gear. Rather, we should be impressed that they were able to carry it off in the first place, for all the trouble it caused them.
So, with this new-found appreciation for reenactment stuff (less useful when thinking about historiography and more useful when thinking about military stuff) I think I'll be taking a hard look at what some practical exercises can tell me about the Roman military that the textual, epigraphical, and papyrological material can't. I'm also thinking that I need to get me a Roman legionary's battle-outfit! But, I might still aim for that elusive Storm Trooper's costume first.
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