Journal articles on the topic 'Books Greece Athens'

Both the Bouras and Tsougarakis books are splendid introductions to their respective periods, Bouras on Middle Byzantine Athens, and the Tsougarakis-Lock edited volume on Frankish Greece. But the prices surely rule out owning a hard-copy of either book for almost all interested readers. At least Routledge offers a cheap online-version as a reasonable alternative access. Brill’s policy of matching online price to hard copy is quite unfathomable. Charalambos Bouras, who died in 2016 shortly before this volume on Athens appeared, was a giant in the field of Byzantine and Post-Byzantine Architecture, and this volume bears ample witness to his mastery of the monuments, and in particular of their historical context. It was first published by the Benaki Museum in 2010, but has been revised for this new Routledge edition. It is a fine accompaniment to his earlier excellent introduction to the architecture of Greece as a whole from Early Byzantine to the Early Modern era, published bilingually by the leading Athens publisher Melissa (Bouras 2006). This final work covers in immense detail the architectural record of Athens from the 6th through to the end of the 12th centuries AD, although very little indeed can be said of the first Byzantine period – the Early Byzantine, from the later 7th to the mid-9th centuries. At its core is a careful catalogue of some forty churches which can be assigned to the Middle Byzantine period (late 9th to the end of the 12th centuries).

The author is Professor of History of Modern Architecture at the Faculty of Architecture, University of Belgrade, received his M.Sc in architecture and town-planning in Belgrade and at the Athens Center of Ekistics, Athens, Greece, and his Ph. D at the Faculty of Architecture, University of Belgrade. He is the author of many books including Computer Atlas of Belgrade (Belgrade, 1976, second edition in Serbian and English as Research into the Urban Structure of Belgrade, Belgrade, 2002), Lessons of the Past (Belgrade, 1985), four volumes on the history of modern architecture in the world 1750 to present, Serbian 20th Century Architecture: From Historicisim to Second Modernism (Belgrade, 2003), and numerous articles published in scientific and professional journals. He has had one-man exhibitions of his experimental town-planning projects in Ljubljana (1977), Zagreb(1978), Belgrade (1978), Paris (1981), Dublin (1981), and at the Gallery of the Royal Institute of British Architects in London (1986). He has lectured at New York University, the Institute of Fine Arts (New York), Princeton University, Columbia University (New York), Ohio State University (Columbus), Athens Center of Ekistics, University of Cambridge (UK), and the Royal Institute of British Architects. The text that follows was one of several interviews of Dr Perovió with selected participants in the Delos Symposia (international meetings on boardship organized by the Athens Center of Ekistics, 1963-1972) first published in the journal Sinteza (Ljubljana) and later in a separate book entitled Dialogues with the Delians in both Serbian and English, Ljublijana, 1978.

Antoni Rubió i Lluch (1856-1937), the well-known Catalan scholar anddiplomat, became Professor of Literature in the University of Barcelona in1885 and President of the Institute of Catalan Studies in 1907. He devoted hislife in promoting Catalan studies and with his work he enlightened the periodof Catalan history and civilization in 14th century Greece. He has publishedmany books and articles on that subject and especially the publication ofdocuments concerning the Catalan Duchy of Athens [Diplomatari del'OrientCatalà (1301-1409), Barcelona 1947] is valuable. As President of the Instituteof Catalan Studies he succeeded in promoting the Catalan as official languagein Spain and abroad.

Antoni Rubió i Lluch (1856-1937) was professor in the University ofBarcelona and founder of the Institute of Catalan Studies. He had devoted hislife collecting material about the Catalans in Greece in the 14th century andhe has published several books and articles. His fundamental work was the«Diplomatari del Orient català», based on research on the Archives ofBarcelona, Venice, Vatican and Palermo, which sheds light on the Catalanperiod of Athens and its relations with the Kingdom of Aragon. His work isvery useful for scholars or anyone who wants to enrich his knowledge in thisarea. Furthermore he has translated Greek literature and his correspondencewith the authors is an important source of knowledge on that period.

Political decision-makers operate under a constant tension between bureaucratic autonomy on one hand and political control on the other. Extant scholarship rarely analyzes this tension beyond the context of modern states. However, three recent books show that it has a transhistorical relevance. Francis Fukuyama’s two volumes on The Origins of Political Order and Political Order and Political Decay analyze the various ways the tension has been addressed in the period before and after the French Revolution. In Democracy’s Slaves, Paulin Ismard documents that the tension was relevant even in the context of the direct democracy of Athens in the Classical period. Taking these three books as the point of departure, we show how politicians have attempted to balance autonomy and control in patrimonial, meritocratic, politicized, and neo-patrimonial types of administration.Fukuyama F (2012) The Origins of Political Order, vol. 1. London: Profile Books.Fukuyama F (2014) Political Order and Political Decay, vol. 2. London: Profile Books.Ismard P (2017) Democracy’s Slaves: A Political History of Ancient Greece. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

A wealth of data, providing both nuanced understanding and occasionally ‘white noise’Last year I referred to the ‘remarkable decade’ of archaeological investigation, the decade following the turn of the millennium, when Greece as a nation, and the city of Athens and Attica at large, prepared for the 2004 Olympic Games; when cities and countryside benefited in a variety of ways from the cumulative cultural investment of European Union, philanthropic and commercial funding to expand the scope of the country's heritage. New sites were investigated and new museums opened their doors, with a host of conservators and designers deployed to support them. That was before the economic downturn of 2008 and the consequent contraction of fieldwork, of professional and technical staff, and of research services in general.The fruits of the ‘remarkable decade’ are nevertheless continuing to appear in books and journals. Robert Pitt provided the first glimpse of these developments in his report on Athens and Attica (AR 57 [2010–2011] 31–48), drawing on the first fascicule of volumes 56–59 [2001–2004] of ADelt, to which archaeologists are required to report their work in the year in which it took place. ADelt is a necessarily cumbersome and slow publication, whose future is uncertain, as Cathy Morgan explained in her introduction to AG 2009–2010 (AR 56 [2009–2010] 1). The complexity of the process of collating, editing, and publishing archaeological work, of all periods, in a single book seems even less viable today as government budgets have become tightly constrained.

Aim: This historical medical literature review aims at understanding the evolution of the medical existence of oral cancer over times, particularly better comprehending if the apparent lower prevalence of this type of cancer in antiquity is a real value due to the absence of modern environmental and lifestyle factors or it is linked to a misinterpretation of ancient foreign terms found in ancient medical texts regarding oral neoplasms. Methods: The databases MedLne, PubMed, Web of Science, Elsevier’s EMBASE.com, Cochrane Review, National Library of Greece (Stavros Niarchos Foundation, Athens) and the Library of the School of Health Sciences of the National and Kapodistrian University of Athens (Greece) were extensively searched for relevant studies published during the past century on the history of oral cancer and its treatment from antiquity to modern times, in addition to the WHO website to analyse the latest epidemiological data. In addition, we included historical books on the topic of interest and original sources. Results: Historical references reveal that the cradle of the oral oncology was in ancient Egypt, the Asian continent and Greece and cancer management was confined to an approximate surgical practice, in order to remove abnormal masses and avoid bleeding with cauterization. In the Medieval Age, little progress occurred in medicine in general, oral cancers management included. It is only from the Renaissance to modern times that knowledge about its pathophysiological mechanisms and histopathology and its surgical and pharmacological treatment approaches became increasingly deep all over the world, evolving to the actual integrated treatment. Despite the abundant literature exploring oncology in past civilizations, the real prevalence of oral cancer in antiquity is much less known; but a literature analysis cannot exclude a consistent prevalence of this cancer in past populations, probably with a likely lower incidence than today, because many descriptions of its aggressiveness were found in ancient medical texts, but it is still difficult to be sure that each single description of oral masses could be associated to cancer, particularly for what concerns the period before the Middle Ages. Conclusions: Modern oncologists and oral surgeons must learn a lot from their historic counterparts in order to avoid past unsuccessful efforts to treatment oral malignancies. Several descriptions of oral cancers in the antiquity that we found let us think that this disease might be linked to mechanisms not strictly dependent on environmental risk factors, and this might guide future research on oral cavity treatments towards strategical cellular and molecular techniques.

The structure of nineteenth-century Greek households remains largely unknown. The handful of published articles and books based on quantitative analysis suggest the existence and persistence of many household forms among Greek populations. The most extensive study, and the only one dealing with an urban population, focuses on Athens. In The Making of the modern Greek family, Sant Cassia and Bada argue that an ‘urban model’ had emerged by the 1830s. Adopted from the nikokirei ‘upper-class’ group, households were characterized by equal partibility of parental property among sons and daughters, the generous endowment of daughters at marriage and ‘a tendency towards neolocality’ (the formation of an independent household on marriage). Gradually, this ‘Athenian model’ of property transmission and household organization ‘was legitimized by the church and by popular literature, and eventually became the cultural norm not merely for townspeople but for those in the countryside as well’. The authors are eager to point out that these ‘family forms and patterns of property transmission in Greece, especially in urban areas, are “new” rather than continuations of traditional rural patterns’, implying the ‘export’ of these new forms from the Athenian to other urban and rural populations.

This review commences with two important recent books on archaic Greek history. Hans van Wees sees fiscality as a main aspect of the development of Greek communities in the archaic period. He explores the trajectory of Greek, and more specifically Athenian, fiscality in the course of the archaic period from personal to institutional power, from informal to formal procedures, and from undifferentiated to specialized offices and activities. Van Wees argues convincingly that navies based on publicly built and funded triremes appeared from 530s onwards as a Greek reaction to the emergence of the Persian Empire; the resources for maintaining such navies revolutionized Greek fiscality. This means that the Athenian navy emerged decades before its traditional attribution to the Themistoclean programme of the 480s; but this revolution would have been impossible without the gradual transformation of Athenian fiscality in the previous decades from Solon onwards, as regards the delimitation of institutional and specialized fiscal offices, such as thenaukraroiandkolakretai, and the creation of formal procedures of taxation like theeisphora. This is a very important book that should have significant repercussions on the wider study of archaic Greece and Athenian history; but it also raises the major issue of the nature of our written sources for archaic Athens. While van Wees's use of the sources is plausible, there does not seem to be any wider principle of selection than what suits the argument (very sceptical on the tradition about Solon's fiscal measures, or Themistocles’ mines and navy policy; accepting of traditions about Hippias’ and Cleisthenes’ fiscal measures). We urgently need a focused methodological discussion of the full range of sources and the ways in which tradition, anachronism, ideology, and debate have shaped what we actually have.

This is the third in a series produced to publish a sequence of symposia in Athens that started in 2014 with ‘Cycladic Sculpture in Context’. Such ‘sculpture’ consists in all cases of figurines (rarely very large, although a few are more like statuettes or even, very rarely, something like life size). These figurines are almost entirely of stone, generally white marble, and belong to a well-known tradition that had its home in the EBA (Early Bronze Age) Cyclades, of which the ‘folded-arm figurine’ (FAF) is an internationally recognised type. Until recently, a large proportion of this class of material was represented by holdings in museum and private collections, generally the results of looting and often lacking even a claimed provenance. However, the momentous discoveries in excavations on Keros, a small island south-east of Naxos that was an early reported source of such material, have revolutionised our view of the whole class and the part they played in Cycladic EB culture. The lively debate on their interpretation and significance that followed the new discoveries led to the series of symposia in Athens, that was deliberately focused on the proportion of the material that could be given an archaeological context or at least a secure provenance. Previously published volumes have concerned the finds with provenances in the Cyclades and in Crete; this volume incorporates examples from the Greek mainland, other Aegean islands – mainly the Dodecanese, but there are examples from Skyros and Lesbos – and a solitary find from Miletus, seemingly ‘recontextualised’ in a phase succeeding the EBA.

The first Danish-Russian dictionary (Dansk-Russisk Ordbog) was published in Denmark in 1949. Author Ivan Stchelkunoff was born in Copenhagen to a family that moved from Russia. He received a good education, studied at the prestigious Metropolitan School, then at the University of Copenhagen, majoring in Latin, Greek and English. In 1901–1910 he was an Orthodox deacon in Athens. The years after returning to Denmark until 1917 were very successful. He was priest of the Imperial Diplomatic Mission of Russia, priest of the Alexander Nevsky Church in Copenhagen. He implemented several projects related to Russia. He published a book based on the history of Russia, Letters of Empress Catherine to the Dowager Queen Juliane Maria, a translation of I. S. Turgenev’s novel The Day Before, Russian Textbook for Beginners, Russian Commercial Correspondence, and two pocket dictionaries: Danish-Russian and Russian- Danish. In the early 1920s he moved from Copenhagen to Bornholm, where he became a teacher. He told about his life in the book Fifty years under the golden domes. Denmark, Greece, Russia. The publication of translations of L. N. Tolstoy’s novel Anna Karenina and two Ehrenburg books belongs to this period. In 1945, after the surrender of Germany, Soviet soldiers had to liberate the island due to the ridiculous orders of the German command. In 1945–1946, when they were on the island, Stchelkunoff was “an interpreter for Russian soldiers.” The Danish-Russian dictionary was created for a long time, from 1934 to 1946. In the preface, the author expresses gratitude to professor Holger Pedersen, who helped him. The dictionary was published in 1949 shortly after the adoption of changes in Danish spelling, but they could not be taken into account. Danish-Russian Dictionary is aimed at Danish users “who want to learn Russian, but it can be useful for Russians who want to get directly acquainted with Danish literature while reading.” Therefore, the author made do with minimal grammatical explanations. There are no lists of abbreviations and geographical names that are given in the corpus. The dictionary is satisfactory for this volume (about 30.000 words), although there are non-obvious lexemes for this pair of languages. In general, the dictionary can be assessed as reliable, conscientiously made and very timely appeared.

The common 4th century B.C. view according to which Homer was regarded as a poet and a wise man, the leading and most honorable, to the point of being considered “the educator of Greece” (Pl. Resp. 606e-607a), is strongly supported by the Pla-tonic dialogues. The works of Plato are the main available source to get to know not only the great pedagogical esteem for Homer, but also the several educational traditions that used or relied on Homeric poetry in Classical Athens. We are certainly used to thinking of Socrates as standing out for contesting or blaming such customs and methods provided by rhapsodes, sophists and common people (Pl. Resp.; Ion; Hp. mi.). But conversely, he is also often depicted quoting, alluding to or remaking on Homeric passages when presenting his own views. Socrates even claims to feel a certain friendship or reverence for the poet and declares to be charmed by contemplating things through him, whom he con-siders to be amongst the few deserving to be called “philosophers” (Pl. Resp. 595b; 607c-d; Phdr. 278b-279b). The puzzling twofold nature of the Socratic attitude towards Homer, coupled with the fact that Plato would become a figure as honored as the poet was, led ancient literary criticism to focus on the Platonic use and sharing of material and techniques proper to Homeric poetry. Works like those of Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Maximus of Tyre, Longinus and above all Proclus, not only pointed out the philosopher’s debt to the poet, but even consid-ered him to be an admirer of the Homeric genius unlike anyone else, and whose emulation basically attempted to reach and out-perform the pedagogical power that the legendary poet had (Dion. Hal. Pomp. I, 13; Max. Tyr. Or. 26; [Longinus]; Subl. XIII, 2-3; Procl., In R. VI, 163.13-164.7; 202.7-205.23). With an analogous spirit, studies of contemporary Platonists suggest that the dialogues were shaped using the Homeric text, especially the Odyssey, as a template, and making Socrates ap-pear as going through equivalent experiences to those of Odys-seus’ “νόστος”. With respect to Protagoras, previous attempts focused on explicit references to books X and XI, placing the dispute with the sophist and the events at Callias’ house in the symbolic context of Odysseus’ encounter with Circe and the fol-lowing journey into the underworld. I attempt to bring that read-ing one step further, paying special attention to the narrated character and the dramatic context for the singing of those epi-sodes and the parallel ones in Protagoras. In first place, I consider the whole dialogue refiguring the epi-sode in the Odyssey that works as a dramatic frame for the sing-ing of Odysseus’ past adventures, the arrival at Phaeacia and the reception at Alcinous’ court. I regard Odysseus’ need to sing the Apologue as a call for hospitality to secure a safe passage home, working as a pattern for Socrates’ need of a tale at his own ap-pearance in Athens to fulfill and secure a philosophical education in the city. In second place, I take into consideration the metanar-rative dimension of such remaking. Since Socrates’ narration comes in response to a certain “Ὁμήρου ἐπαινέτης”, a “praiser of Homer” (Pl. Prt. 309b1), as Odysseus’ Apologue is to Demo-docus the “ἀοιδὸς”, I examine how the dialogue could evince a dispute for pedagogical primacy amongst the different narratives and uses of poetry in Athens, a dispute that the Platonic narrative would attempt to surpass precisely by imitating Homer.

Cristina A. Bejan, Intellectuals and Fascism in Interwar Romania: The Criterion Association, Cham, Switzer land: Palgrave, 2019, 323 pp., €74.89 (hardback), ISBN 978-3-030-20164-7.Chiara Bonfiglioli, Women and Industry in the Balkans: The Rise and Fall of the Yugoslav Textile Sector, London: I. B. Tauris, 2020, 232 pp., £85 (hardback), ISBN: 978-1-78533-598-3.Aslı Davaz, Eşitsiz kız kardeşlik, uluslararası ve Ortadoğu kadın hareketleri, 1935 Kongresi ve Türk Kadın Birliği (Unequal sisterhood, international and Middle Eastern women’s movements, 1935 Congress and the Turkish Women’s Union), İstanbul: Türkiye İş Bankası, 2014, 892 pp., with an introduction by Yıldız Ecevit, pp. xxi–xxviii; preface by the author, pp. xxix–xlix, TL 42 (hardcover), ISBN: 978-605-332-296-2.Biljana Dojčinović and Ana Kolarić, eds., Feministički časopisi u Srbiji: Teorija, aktivizam i umetničke prakse u 1990-im i 2000-im (Feminist periodicals in Serbia: Theory, activism, and artistic practice in the 1990s and 2000s), Belgrade: Faculty of Philology, University of Belgrade, 2018, 370 pp., price not listed (paperback), ISBN: 978-86-6153-515-4.Melanie Ilic, ed., The Palgrave Handbook of Women and Gender in Twentieth-Century Russia and the Soviet Union, London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2018, 572 pp., $239 (e-book) ISBN: 978-1-137-54904-4; ISBN: 978-1-137-54905-1.Luciana M. Jinga, ed., The Other Half of Communism: Women’s Outlook, in History of Communism in Europe, vol. 8, Bucharest: Zeta Books, 2018, 348 pp., USD 40 (paperback), ISBN: 978-606-697-070-9.Teresa Kulawik and Zhanna Kravchenko, eds., Borderlands in European Gender Studies: Beyond the East-West Frontier, New York: Routledge, 2020, 264 pp., $140.00 (hardback), ISBN: 978-0-367-25896-2.Jill Massino, Ambiguous Transitions: Gender, the State, and Everyday Life in Socialist and Postsocialist Romania, New York: Berghahn Books, 2019, 466 pp., USD 122 (hardback), ISBN: 978-1-785-33598-3.Gergana Mircheva, (A)normalnost i dostap do publichnostta: Socialnoinstitucionalni prostranstva na biomedicinskite discursi v Bulgaria (1878–1939) ([Ab]normality and access to publicity: Social-institutional spaces of biomedicine discourses in Bulgaria [1878–1939]), Sofia: St. Kliment Ohridski University Press, 2018, 487 pp., BGN 16 (paperback), ISBN: 978-954-07-4474-2.Milutin A. Popović, Zatvorenice, album ženskog odeljenja Požarevačkog kaznenog zavoda sa statistikom (1898) (Prisoners, the album of the women’s section of Požarevac penitentiary with statistics, 1898), edited by Svetlana Tomić, Belgrade: Laguna , 2017, 333 pp., RSD 894 (paperback), ISBN: 978-86-521-2798-6.Irena Protassewicz, A Polish Woman’s Experience in World War II: Conflict, Deportation and Exile, edited by Hubert Zawadzki, with Meg Knott, translated by Hubert Zawadzki, London: Bloomsbury Academic, 2019, xxv pp. + 257 pp., £73.38 (hardback), ISBN: 978-1-3500-7992-2.Zilka Spahić Šiljak, ed., Bosanski labirint: Kultura, rod i liderstvo (Bosnian labyrinth: Culture, gender, and leadership), Sarajevo and Zagreb: TPO Fondacija and Buybook, 2019, xii + 213 pp., no price listed (paperback), ISBN: 978-9926-422-16-5.Gonda Van Steen, Adoption, Memory and Cold War Greece: Kid pro quo?, University of Michigan Press, 2019, 350 pp., $85.00 (hardback), ISBN: 978-0-472-13158-7.D imitra Vassiliadou, Ston tropiko tis grafi s: Oikogeneiakoi desmoi kai synaisthimata stin astiki Ellada (1850–1930) (The tropic of writing: Family ties and emotions in modern Greece [1850–1930]), Athens: Gutenberg, 2018, 291 pp., 16.00 € (paperback), ISBN: 978-960-01-1940-4.Radina Vučetić, Coca-Cola Socialism: Americanization of Yugoslav Culture in the Sixties, English translation by John K. Cox, Budapest: Central European University Press, 2018, 334 pp., €58.00 (paperback), ISBN: 978-963-386-200-1.Nancy M. Wingfield, The World of Prostitution in Late Imperial Austria, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017, xvi + 272 pp., $80 (hardback), ISBN: 978-0-19880-165-8.Anastasia Lakhtikova, Angela Brintlinger, and Irina Glushchenko, eds., Seasoned Socialism: Gender and Food in Late Soviet Everyday Life, Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2019, xix + 373 pp., $68.41(hardback), ISBN: 978-0-253-04095-4.

Book review: Alexander Lee, Humanism and Empire, The Imperial Ideal in Fourteenth-Century Italy (Oxford University Press: Oxford 2018). By Georgios Steiris, National and Kapodistrian University of Athens, Greece

This collective book is the result of a conference ‘Strategies of Remembrance in Greece under Rome,’ held at the Netherlands Institute at Athens in October 2016, and it stemmed from three research projects run in Germany and the Netherlands, in which the editors participated. It consists of 11 articles (two papers presented at the conference are not included in the volume), and geographically it is focused on the Roman province of Achaea.

This book proposes to examine how the development of the city is intrinsically connected with language interactions and social norms. How can one account for social behaviors in urban settings without explaining why such behaviors are specifically urban? The studies collected here aim at expounding how five cities – Rouen (France), Venice (Italy), Berlin (Germany), Athens (Greece), and Mons (Belgium) – are places of tension, conflict, and community sharing through the use of dialectal or sociolectal language varieties.

Objective. This descriptive study was undertaken to report the medications used by the athletes and officials of Team South Africa at the 2004 Olympic Games and to provide a model for the estimation of quantities to be used for planning support to future events. Setting. South African medical facility, 2004 Olympic Games, Athens, Greece. Methods. The names of the medications, including the dosage and quantity of medications dispensed, were recorded in the pharmacy stock control book at the South African medical facility, 2004 Olympic Games, Athens, Greece. Retrospective review of patient files and medical encounter forms was also undertaken to check against the pharmacy stock control book to ensure complete data capture of dispensed medications. Main outcome measures. Quantities of medications consumed during the observation period. The units of medication consumed per travelling team member were calculated by dividing the number of units (tablets, capsules, tubes, inhalers, bottles and ampoules) used during the trip by the total number of travelling team members. Results. Complete records of medications included in the travelling pharmacy are described. Quantities of medications included ranged from single units to 2 250 units and percentage use of various medications varied from 0% to 100% of stocks. Units per team member ranged from 0 to 9.43. Medications were consumed from all categories of agents. The most utilised agents included the analgesics, musculoskeletal and non-steroidal anti-inflammatory agents as well as certain vitamin and mineral supplements. Conclusions. This study describes the consumption of pharmacological agents by the athletes and officials of Team South Africa during the Athens 2004 Olympic Games. It also provides a model to assist with the estimation of quantities of medications to be included in the travelling pharmacy for future international multicoded sports events. South African Journal of Sports Medicine Vol. 20 (3) 2008: pp. 78-84

Objective. This descriptive study was undertaken to report the medications used by the athletes and officials of Team South Africa at the 2004 Olympic Games and to provide a model for the estimation of quantities to be used for planning support to future events. Setting. South African medical facility, 2004 Olympic Games, Athens, Greece. Methods. The names of the medications, including the dosage and quantity of medications dispensed, were recorded in the pharmacy stock control book at the South African medical facility, 2004 Olympic Games, Athens, Greece. Retrospective review of patient files and medical encounter forms was also undertaken to check against the pharmacy stock control book to ensure complete data capture of dispensed medications. Main outcome measures. Quantities of medications consumed during the observation period. The units of medication consumed per travelling team member were calculated by dividing the number of units (tablets, capsules, tubes, inhalers, bottles and ampoules) used during the trip by the total number of travelling team members. Results. Complete records of medications included in the travelling pharmacy are described. Quantities of medications included ranged from single units to 2 250 units and percentage use of various medications varied from 0% to 100% of stocks. Units per team member ranged from 0 to 9.43. Medications were consumed from all categories of agents. The most utilised agents included the analgesics, musculoskeletal and non-steroidal anti-inflammatory agents as well as certain vitamin and mineral supplements. Conclusions. This study describes the consumption of pharmacological agents by the athletes and officials of Team South Africa during the Athens 2004 Olympic Games. It also provides a model to assist with the estimation of quantities of medications to be included in the travelling pharmacy for future international multicoded sports events. South African Journal of Sports Medicine Vol. 20 (3) 2008: pp. 78-84

This article is a literature research on tolerance model through the exegesis of Areopagus sermon. Having known the exact model of tolerance, someone will be able to tolerate correctly. Given one source of intolerance is a misinterpretation of the teachings of the scriptures, this article invites the reader to examine the tolerance source from the interpretation of the Bible. This article focuses on two things: (1) the doctrine of a model of tolerance; and (2) the techniques of interpretation of Scripture in the Catholic religion exegetical analysis. For this purpose, the authors chose Areopagus sermon text mentioned in the book of Acts chapter 17 verse 22 to verse 34. By explaining the exegesis of those verses, this article aims to find a model precise tolerances. The text itself tells about the story of Paul’s sermon, a preacher of the early Christianity, brought before the Court Areopagus in Athens Greece. Based on the analysis of exegesis is known that the model of tolerance shown in this story is a model of tolerance active. Paul could communicate well with his audience coming from different social and cultural background. Apparently, he succeeded to deliver his ideas and teaching accurately by utilizing a good knowledge about the social and cultural situation of Athens. [Artikel ini merupakan penelitian literatur pada model toleransi melalui penafsiran dari khotbah Areopagus. Setelah diketahui model toleransi yang tepat, seseorang akan mampu bertoleransi dengan cara yang benar. Mengingat salah satu sumber intoleransi adalah salah tafsir ajaran kitab suci, artikel ini mengajak pembaca untuk meneliti sumber toleransi dari penafsiran Alkitab. Artikel ini berfokus pada dua hal: (1) doktrin model toleransi; dan (2) teknik penafsiran kitab suci dalam tradisi Katolik, yakni analisis eksegese. Untuk tujuan ini, penulis memilih teks khotbah Areopagus yang terdapat dalam Kitab Kisah Para Rasul Pasal 17 ayat 22 sampai ayat 34. Dengan menjelaskan penafsiran ayat-ayat, artikel ini bertujuan untuk menemukan model toleransi yang tepat. Teks itu sendiri menceritakan tentang kisah khotbah Paulus, seorang pengkhotbah dari Kekristenan awal, yang dibawa ke Mahkamah Areopagus di Athena Yunani. Berdasarkan analisis eksegese diketahui bahwa model toleransi yang ditunjukkan dalam cerita ini adalah model toleransi aktif. Paulus bisa berkomunikasi dengan baik dengan para pendengarnya yang berasal dari latar belakang sosial dan budaya yang berbeda. Rupanya, ia berhasil menyampaikan ide-ide dan ajarannya secara akurat dengan memanfaatkan pengetahuan yang baik tentang situasi sosial dan budaya dari Athena

The collection of papers Space and Time in Medi- terranean Prehistory is an outcome of the collabo- ration between Stella Souvatzi, who regularly writes on spatiality within social archaeological themes such as households, as in her recent book A Social Archaeology of Households in Neolithic Greece, and Athena Hadji, whose Berkeley PhD thesis was entitled on The Construction of Time in Aegean Archaeology. The editors invited researchers from a predominantly interpretative (post-processual) ar- chaeological tradition who deal with Mediterranean prehistory and included a few selected revised contributions to the similarly named session at the 16th Annual Meeting of the European Association of Archaeologists in the Hague. The collection of papers contains 15 chapters by archaeologists, anthropologists and an architect.

Perhaps more than any other dialogue, Plato's Laws demands a reading that is at once historical and philosophical. This text's conception of the ‘rule of law’ is best understood in its contemporary socio-political context; its philosophical discussion of this topic, in fact, can be firmly located in the political ideologies and institutions of fourth-century Greece. In this paper, I want to focus on the written lawcode created in the Laws in the context of the Athenian conception and practice of rule by written law. How are the Athenian laws authorized, disseminated, and implemented, and how does Plato's lawcode reflect and/or depart from this model? What is the status of the ‘text’ of each lawcode? How—and how well—do the citizens know the law? When and by whom can the lawcode be altered? Recent work on literacy and on rule by written law in fourth-century Athens invites a serious reconsideration of Plato's lawcode and the polity it is designed for. Certainly Plato's Laws is grounded in a serious meditation on Athenian legislative practices. But Plato adds a novel ingredient to his legislation—the ‘Egyptian’ practice of ‘doing things by the book’ exemplified by (among other things) the institution of laws which compel doctors to treat patients in strict accordance with venerable and, indeed, sacred medical texts. As I will argue, the ‘Egyptian’ medical and textual practices offer a model for the rule of law quite different from that found in Athens.

This is a particular book, written by a refugee of second generation from Aivalik, who dedicated his life to the history of his homeland (he has studied Aivalik from 1969 till his death in 2008). An electrical engineer and architect by profession, a ‘‘technician’ and not an academic or a professional writer’, as Psarros himself states (579), the author prepared a book free of the scientific constraints that sometimes academic writings possess. Although his focus was on topography, settlement evolution and architecture, the author was not afraid to enter into the field of history, and the information he includes from his numerous oral interviews enlivens the places the author describes. In fact, reading, or better, wandering through the book, one has the feeling that he meets Fotis Kontoglou’s ‘heroes’ of his Το Αϊβαλί η πατρίδα μου (Athens 1962).

In this article, George P. Pefanis discusses two major aspects of the ‘event’, as formed and developed in late Derridean philosophy – namely, the ‘possibility of the impossible’ and the ‘experience of perhaps’. These aspects are examined in order to reveal the potential for precariousness and uncertainty engendered by performance art, as in the case of the animal-event. With its increased degree of indeterminacy and its projected singular, here-and-now character, performance art could leave open the way to the ‘other’, the unpredictable, and the unexpected that is the ‘animal-event’, since an animal can never be fully controlled or have its behaviour predicted by the theatre mechanism. Two performances are taken as case studies to demonstrate this: the emblematic I Like America and America Likes Me by Joseph Beuys (René Block Gallery, New York, 1974), and Dragon Heads by Marina Abramović (Museum of Modern Art, Oxford, 1990). It is argued that both cases pose certain moral issues around the presence of animals on the stage. George P. Pefanis is Associate Professor in the Department of Theatre Studies at the National and Kapodistreian University of Athens, and also teaches theatre and cinema history at the Open University of Greece and Cyprus. His publications include Adventures of Representation: Scenes of Theory II, Spectres of Theatre: Scenes of Theory III (both 2013) and Theatre Adherents and Philosophers (Athens, 2016). In 2006, he received the award for best book in the study of theatre for The Kingdom of Eugena (2005).

Abstract In the Gennadius Library of the American School of Classical Studies at Athens, Greece, is a heretofore unknown large-format volume that contains many extra illustrations, original drawings, and proofs of plates for The Arabian Antiquities of Spain by James Cavanah Murphy (1760–1814). Based on research conducted between 1802 and 1809, The Arabian Antiquities of Spain features engravings of major monuments of Hispano-Islamic architecture, including the Alhambra, the Great Mosque at Cordoba, and the Generalife at Granada; the work was published posthumously in 1816. Since the Gennadius volume also includes sketches of Islamic monuments from Malaga, Seville, and Xeres, it appears that Murphy originally intended to publish a complete survey of Hispano-Islamic monuments in southern Spain. In the Gennadius volume, grangerized drawings are placed opposite published engravings for comparative purposes; the drawings include notes written by Murphy to the engravers, and several are hand-tinted, which reveal Murphy’s interest in polychromy. This article presents the newly discovered drawings in the Gennadius volume, which adds to our understanding of the monuments depicted in the published plates of Arabian Antiquities, and serves to position Murphy’s pioneering efforts in the context of architectural scholarship, chromolithography, and the book trade in the early nineteenth century.

I departed hospitable Athens on the first of February, the city of Pallas Athena glowing in the evening sun. My Greek Palace-servant Spiro had taken me to Piraeus in a Vienna-cart, where my numerous belongings were stored. It was the last minute to still be able to reach the ship, and steam could already be seen as we came closer to Piraeus. I am not the most punctual person, but when it is really necessary I can be on time. This time, however, it was a close call. Instead of being able to pack my own things, like other people of my standing, with my own hands or with my servants’, two of the most loveable and highly regarded people appeared on my threshold. The lady wore Turkish spectacles in front of her lovely eyes, the gentleman smiled warmly. And who were the lady and the gentleman? No less than His Royal Highness King George of Greece and his majesty's lovely Queen! “Mrs. Jerichau, you will not be ready, can we help? Here is a hairbrush and there is a silk ribbon you are forgetting, and your sketch book.” All this was put into the luggage, along with many pleasurable things “for the children.” These small things were later unpacked in Copenhagen with much enjoyment and laughter. At the same time, the carpenter was waiting who still had to box up my recently finished paintings. Truly, he had to wait, and Mrs. Jerichau tip-toed from the innermost rooms to the entrance hall, away from the swelling suitcases, which seemed to be filled up more and more as if by fairies, while the owner ran away from them towards the carpenter outside, and again away from the carpenter – a Greek who only poorly understood her, and who had even poorer understanding of how to pack pictures. Because he had not brought with him enough of the boards made in the King's palace, he had to make do with thin wooden bars such as one uses when sending chickens to the market. Out between the bars, the beautiful “Girl from Hymettus” and her companion, the “Shepherd on the Acropolis,” peeked. Finally, everything was ready, Mrs. Jerichau made as deep a curtsey as she was capable of, and thanked [her guests and helpers] from the bottom of her heart, but secretly did not believe that she would manage to reach the boat in time.

This article discusses the relationship between drama and performance, using the Derridean concept of ‘supplement’ in theatre, which exceeds polarities and attempts a more dialectic approach. A review of Marvin Carlson’s theories of illustration, separation, translation, and fulfilment is a starting point for a comprehensive analysis of the views that encourage the binary drama-performance. This is examined in combination with Diane Taylor’s distinction between the ‘archive’, which preserves and bears all the written culture, and the ‘repertory’, which contains the world of performance. The ‘supplement’ holds two meanings: as a supplement, an external addition-to, and as a complement, a supplement-of, that comes in to fill a gap. One example is used to present the relationship between archive, repertory, and supplement: Brecht’s The Downfall of the Egotist Johann Fatzer. Theatre can be thought of in formations of heteropoietic sequence, through chains of supplements, including the texts, the performances, the rehearsal devices, the publication context, and the director’s notebooks. George P. Pefanis is a Professor in the Department of Theatre Studies at the National and Kapodistrian University of Athens, and also teaches theatre and cinema history at the Open University of Greece and Cyprus. His publications include Adventures of Representation: Scenes of Theory II, Spectres of Theatre: Scenes of Theory III (both 2013), and Theatre Adherents and Philosophers (2016). In 2006, he received the award for the best book in the study of theatre for The Kingdom of Eugena (2005).

In their introduction to the recent excellent volume Plato & Hesiod, the editors G.R. Boys-Stones and J.H. Haubold observe that when we think about the problematic relationship between Plato and the poets, we tend to narrow this down to that between Plato and Homer. Hesiod is practically ignored. Unjustly so, the editors argue. Hesiod provides a good opportunity to start thinking more broadly about Plato's interaction with poets and poetry, not in the least because the ‘second poet’ of Greece represents a different type of poetry from Homer's heroic epics, that of didactic poetry. What goes for Plato and Hesiod goes for Proclus and Hesiod. Proclus (a.d. 410/12–85), the productive head of the Neoplatonic school in Athens, took a great interest in poetry to which he was far more positively disposed than Plato had ever been. He wrote, for example, two lengthy treatises in reaction to Socrates' devastating criticism of poetry in the Republic as part of his commentary on that work in which he tries to keep the poets within the Platonic pale. This intriguing aspect of Proclus' thought has, as one might expect, not failed to attract scholarly attention. In Proclus' case too, however, discussions tend to concentrate on his attitude towards Homer (one need only think here of Robert Lamberton's stimulating book Homer the Theologian). To some extent this is only to be expected, since much of the discussion in the Commentary on the Republic centres on passages from Homer. Proclus did not, however, disregard Hesiod: we still possess his scholia on the Works and Days, now available in a recent edition by Patrizia Marzillo.

500 respondents who are Ukrainian native speakers and 100 Modern Greek speakers participated in free word association test held in March and July, 2015 in Kyiv, Ukraine, and in Athens, Greece. The data were calculated as to the frequency of responses and composed a field of associations for each stimulus. The classification of associations to the word-stimuli “food products” was based on existing classifications and on the specific of the test material. In this paper, the authors discuss the syntagmatic type of associations expressed by adjectives that represent the objective characteristics of the product and form a phrase with a word-stimulus (Terekhova, 2000). They can be roughly divided into 2 groups of associating directions: features of product attributes (52 % of all syntagmatic associations in Ukrainian language (hereinafter – UL) and 41% in Modern Greek (hereinafter – MGL)) and feautures of stages that the product passes (UL – 41%, MGL – 48 %). Some differences in quantitative and qualitative aspects were found during the determination of associating directions within the syntagmatic type of associations: different percentage of responses in associating directions in quantitative aspect. As to the quality, the differences lay in determination of feature directions in the languages. Thus for the associative field of Modern Greek language, the reactions that characterize the form of the product have not been found at this stage yet. Асоціативний словник української рекламної лексики / уклад. Т. Ю. Ковалевська,Г. Д. Сологуб, О. Г. Ставченко. Одеса: Астропринт, 2001.Asotsiatyvnyi Slovnyk Ukrainskoyi Reklamnoyi Leksyky [Associative Dictionary ofUkrainian Advertising Vocabulary] (2001). T. Kovalevska. H. Sologub, O. Stavchenko,(eds.). Odesa: Astroprint. Бутенко Н. П. Словник асоціативних норм української мови. Львів: Вища школа,1979.Butenko, N. (1979). Slovnyk Asotsiatyvnykh Norm Ukrainskoyi Movy [Dictionary ofAssociative Norms of the Ukrainian Language]. Lviv: Vyshcha Shkola. Бутенко Н. П. Словник асоціативних означень іменників в українській мові. Львів:Вища школа, 1989.Butenko, N. (1989). Slovnyk Asotsiatyvnykh Oznachen Imennykiv v Ukrainskiy Movi[Dictionary of Associative Definitions of Nouns in the Ukrainian Language]. Lviv:Vyshcha shkola. Горошко Е. И. Интегративная модель свободного ассоциативного эксперимента. Х.;М.: РА-Каравелла, 2001.Goroshko, Ye. (2001). Integrativnaya Model Svobodnogo Assotsiativnogo Eksperimenta[Integrative Model of Free Associatiation Test]. Kharkiv; Moscow: Russian Academy ofSciences–Karavella. Мартінек С. В. Український асоціативний словник. Львів: Видавничий центр ЛНУімені Івана Франка, 2007.Martinek, S. (2007). Ukrainskyi Asotsiatyvnyi Slovnyk [Ukrainian Associative Dictionary].Lviv: Ivan Franko National University of Lviv. Марфіна Ж. В. Мовна асоціація як об’єкт наукового вивчення [Електронний ресурс].Режим доступу: http://www.vuzlib.com.ua/articles/book/4258.html.Marfina, Zh. Movna asotsiatsiia yak obiekt naukovoрo vyvchennia [Language associationas an object of scientific study]. Retrieved from:http://www.vuzlib.com.ua/articles/book/4258.html Патсис М. Специфика ассоциативного поля слова в греческом языке. Вопросыпсихолингвистики. 2004, №2. С. 91–97.Patsis, M. (2004). Specifika associativnogo polia slova v grecheskom yazyke [Specificityof the Associative Field of a Word in the Greek language]. Voprosy Psikholingvistiki, 2,91–97. Серкин В. П. Психосемантика [Електронний ресурс]. Режим доступу:http://stud.com.ua/43612/psihologiya/asotsiativni_eksperimenti#66Serkin V. Psykhosemantika [Psychosemantics]. Retrieved from: http://stud.com.ua/43612/psihologiya/asotsiativni_eksperimenti#66 Славянский ассоциативный словарь: русский, белорусский, болгарский, украинский /Под ред. Н. В. Уфимцевой, Г. А. Черкасовой, Ю. Н. Караулова, Е. Ф. Тарасова. М.,2004.Slavianskii Assotsiativnyi Slovar: Russkiy, Beloruskiy, Bolgarskiy, Ukrainskiy [SlavicAssociative Dictionary: Russian, Belarusian, Bulgarian, Ukrainian]. (2004).N. Ufimtseva, G. Cherkasovа, Yu. Karaulov, Ye. Tarasov, (eds.). Moscow. Терехова Д. І. Особливості сприйняття лексичної семантики слів (психолінгвістичний аспект). К.: Київський державний лінгвістичний університет, 2000.Terekhova D. (2000). Osoblyvosti Spryiniattia Leksychnoyi Semantyky Sliv(Psykholinhvistychnyi Aspekt) [Peculiarities of Perceiving Lexical Semantics of Words(Psycholinguistic Aspect)]. Кyiv: Kyiv State Linguistic University.

‘The primary object of a novelist is to please’, said Anthony Trollope, but he also wanted to show vice punished and virtue rewarded. More roundly, Somerset Maugham declared that pleasing is the sole purpose of art in general and of the novel in particular, although he granted that novels have been written for other reasons. Indeed, good novels usually embody a worldview, even if only an anarchic or atheist one, and the religious novel is not the only kind to have a dogma at its heart. There is the further issue of literary merit, which certain modern Catholic novelists such as Evelyn Waugh and Graham Greene have achieved, giving the lie to Newman’s assertion that in an English Protestant culture, a Catholic literature is impossible. But Newman and his fellow cardinal Wiseman both wrote novels; Wiseman’s novel, Fabiola, with its many translations, had an enthusiastic readership in the College of Cardinals, and was described by the archbishop of Milan as ‘a good book with the success of a bad one’. Victorian Ireland was a predominantly anglophone Catholic country, and despite poor literacy rates into the modern era, the three thousand novels in 1940 in the Dublin Central Catholic Library indicate a sizeable literary culture, comparable to the cultures of other Churches. The ‘literary canons’ who contributed to this literature around 1900 included the Irishman Canon Patrick Augustine Sheehan, the subject of this essay; another Irishman, Canon Joseph Guinan, who wrote eight novels on Irish rural life; Canon William Barry, the son of Irish immigrants in London, whose masterpiece was the best-selling feminist novel, The New Antigone; Henry E. Dennehy, commended by Margaret Maison in her classic study of the Victorian religious novel; and the prolific Monsignor Robert Hugh Benson, the convert son of an archbishop of Canterbury. Catholic writers were often ignored by the makers of the contemporary Irish literary revival, non-Catholics anxious to separate nationalism from Catholicism (sometimes by appealing to the nation’s pre-Christian past), but this Catholic subculture is now being studied.

This article refers to the knowledge provided to Secondary Special Education students, through school textbooks, distributed free of charge to students by the Greek Ministry of Education. It is noted that in Greece books are distributed free of charge in primary and secondary education. In more detail, the results of a survey conducted in all (9) of the Unified Special Vocational High Schools (special vocational secondary schools) of the Prefecture of Attica, in Athens, which bring together students of all social classes, are presented. This survey concerns 89 semi-structured interviews, in which the principals and vice-principals, teachers and special educational staff (psychologists, social workers, occupational therapists, speech therapists) working in these school structures, participated. We proceeded the study and analysis of the opinions of the participants of our sample, who expressed their opinions on the knowledge provided through the school textbooks distributed in the special secondary schools.

Aim: Investigating about the history of allergies and discovery of the histamine’s role in the immune response through historical references, starting with ancient anecdotes, analysing the first immunization attempts on animals to understand its importance as the anaphylaxis mediator. Moreover, we shortly resume the most recent discoveries on mast cell role in allergic diseases throughout the latest updates on its antibody-independent receptors. Methods: Publications, including reviews, treatment guidelines, historical and medical books, on the topic of interest were found on Medline, PubMed, Web of Knowledge, Web of Science, Google Scholar, Elsevier’s (EMBASE.comvarious internet museum archives. Texts from the National Library of Greece (Stavros Niarchos Foundation), from the School of Health Sciences of the National and Kapodistrian University of Athens (Greece). We selected key articles which could provide an historical and scientific insight into histamine molecule and its mechanism of action’s discovery starting with Egyptian, Greek and Chinese antiquity to end with the more recent pharmacological and molecular discoveries. Results: Allergic diseases were described by medicine since ancient times, without exactly understanding physio-pathologic mechanisms of immuno-mediated reactions and of their most important biochemical mediator, histamine. Researches on histamine and allergic mechanisms started at the beginning of the 20th century with the first experimental observations on animals of anaphylactic reactions. Histamine was then identified as their major mediator of many allergic diseases and anaphylaxis, but also of several physiologic body’s functions, and its four receptors were characterized. Modern researches focus their attention on the fundamental role of the antibody-independent receptors of mast cells in allergic mechanisms, such as MRGPRX2, ADGRE2 and IL-33 receptor. Conclusion: New research should investigate how to modulate immunity cells activity in order to better investigate possible multi-target therapies for host’s benefits in preclinical and clinical studies on allergic diseases in which mast cells play a major role.

Historical relevanc: Cannabis sativa L. (C. sativa) is a plant whose use as a therapeutic agent shares its origins with the first Far East’s human societies. Cannabis has been used not only for recreational purposes, but as a food to obtain textile fibers, to produce hemp paper, to treat many physical and mental disorders. Aim of the study: This review aims to provide a complete assessment of the deep knowledge of the cannabis psychoactive effects and medicinal properties in the course of history covering i.) the empirical use of the seeds and the inflorescences to treat many physical ailments by the ancient Oriental physicians ii.) the current use of cannabis as a therapeutic agent after the discovery of its key psychoactive constituent and the human endogenous endocannabinoid system. Methods: This study was performed through a detailed analysis of the studies on historical significance and medical applications of Cannabis sativa by using international scientific databases, historical and medical books, ancient Greek and Chinese manuscripts translations, library and statistical data from government reports and texts from the National Library of Greece (Stavros Niarchos Foundation), from the School of Health Sciences of the National and Kapodistrian University of Athens (Greece). We selected papers and texts focusing on a historical point of view about the medical importance of the plant and its applications for a therapeutic purpose in the past. Results and conclusion: Through a detailed analysis of the available resources about the origins of C. sativa we found that its use by ancient civilizations as a source of food and textile fibers dates back over 10,000 years, while its therapeutic applications have been improved over the centuries, from the ancient East medicine of the 2nd and 1st millennium B.C. to the more recent introduction in the Western world after the 1st century A.D. In the 20th and 21th centuries, Cannabis and its derivatives have been considered as a menace and banned throughout the world, but nowadays they are still the most widely consumed illicit drugs all over the world. Its legalization in some jurisdictions has been accompanied by new lines of research to investigate its possible applications for medical and therapeutic purposes.

Louis Markos holds a BA in English and History from Colgate University and an MA and PhD in English from the University of Michigan. He is a Professor of English and Scholar in Residence at Houston Baptist University, where he holds the Robert H. Ray Chair in Humanities and teaches courses on British Romantic and Victorian Poetry and Prose, the Greek and Roman Classics, C. S. Lewis, and J. R. R. Tolkien. He is the author of twenty books, including The Myth Made Fact: Reading Greek and Roman Mythology through Christian Eyes, Ancient Voices: An Insider’s Look at Classical Greece, On the Shoulders of Hobbits: The Road to Virtue with Tolkien and Lewis, Apologetics for the Twenty First Century, From Achilles to Christ: Why Christians Should Read the Pagan Classics, Lewis Agonistes: How C. S. Lewis can Train us to Wrestle with the Modern and Postmodern World, Atheism on Trial, and The Dreaming Stone and In the Shadow of Troy, children’s novels in which his kids become part of Greek Mythology and the Iliad and Odyssey. He has produced two lecture series on C. S. Lewis and literary theory with The Teaching Company/Great Courses, published 300 book chapters, essays, and reviews, given well over 300 public lectures in some two dozen states as well as Rome, Oxford, and British Columbia, and had his adaptations of The Iphigenia in Tauris of Euripides, The Helen of Euripides, and The Electra of Sophocles performed off-Broadway. He is committed to the concept of the Professor as Public Educator and believes that knowledge must not be walled up in the Academy but must be disseminated to all who have ears to hear. Visit his amazon author page at amazon.com/author/louismarkos In this interview he responds to questions about his latest book!

While a rich scholarly production has mapped the tropes of travel literature and the changes in the forms of travel heading toward the ruins of past civilizations in Italy, Greece and the Ottoman Empire, less attention has been given to the coterminous geography of production and distribution of print culture along a North-South axis that accompanied these travelers at a time when the practice of issuing unauthorized cheap reprints in the continent fueled a rhetoric of stigmatization of foreign products, which went counter to the imagined open horizons and transformative experiences of travel on the Grand Tour. An extensive recensio (review and comparison) of title-pages of the editions of publishers in ten countries, as well as a perusal of the detailed records of the Leipzig Book Fair in the period 1800–1860, enable us to adopt a synchronic development of several interconnected practices and national markets. The article shall focus on three publishers, Loescher in Turin, Wilberg in Athens, and Weiss in Istanbul, who were all connected to the Leipzig industry, in order to explore several topics: the shifting allegiance to liberalism among publishers on the move, the importance of non-hegemonic languages in this trade, and the changing roles of publishers and booksellers under the impact of the forces of incorporation within the book industry.

21 ноября 1924 г. Егише Чаренц из Батуми отправляется в международное путешествие на теплоходе «Буковина». За границей Чаренца воспринимают как символ СССР, как красного поэта. Первой его остановкой был Трабзон, где он написал поэму «Ленин и Али», основанную на полученных там впечатлениях. Затем следует Константинополь, где 19–22 декабря Чаренц написал поэму «Стамбол» и в том же месяце издал ее отдельной книгой. 9 января 1925 г. он уезжает из Стамбула в Афины. В начале февраля 1925 г. поэт покидает Грецию и через несколько дней он уже в Риме. По пути побывал на острове Капри в Неаполитанском заливе. В Риме Чаренц посещает Национальный музей, где встречается с известным деятелем дашнакской партии Вааном Навасардяном. В результате этой встречи родилось произведение Чаренца «Умерший господин или господин Умерший» и книга Ваана Навасардяна «Егише Чаренц. Воспоминания и размышления» (Каир, 1957). 4 марта 1925 г. Чаренц прибыл из Рима в Венецию, где находился около месяца. Здесь он посещает Мхитаристов, навещает Аветика Исаакяна. Из бесед с Исаакяном родилась поэма «Элегия, написанная в Венеции». Из Венеции Чаренц уезжает в Париж, где встречается с Костаном Заряном, Ервандом Кочаром, Ширванзаде, Гамликом Туманяном – сыном Ованеса Туманяна, студентом Сорбоннского университета и атташе советского посольства. В Париже Чаренц инициирует издание литературного журнала «Гек» («Руль») под своей редакцией. 9–11 апреля 1925 г. по дороге из Парижа в Берлин поэт написал стихотворение «Бельгия – Льеж (из путевой тетради)». Под влиянием трагической гибели Мясникяна Чаренц увековечил память о нем поэмой «Стена коммунаров в Париже», написанной в Берлине 12 апреля – 28 мая 1925 г. После путешествия продолжительностью семь месяцев и 10 дней Чаренц возвращается на родину и инициирует создание литературной группы «Ноябрь», которая должна была стать носителем и воплощением его новых идей. On November 21, 1924, Charents left Batumi for an international journey on the ship “Bukovina”. Abroad, Charents was perceived as a symbol of the USSR, as a red poet. His first stop was Trabzon, where he wrote the poem "Lenin and Alin" based on the impressions he got there. Then follows Constantinople where Charents wrote the poem “Stambol” from December 19 to 22 and in the same month, he published it in a separate booklet. On January 9, 1925, he left Istanbul for Athens. In early February of 1925, the poet left Greece and in a few days, he was already in Rome. On the way, he visited the island of Capri in the Bay of Naples. In Rome Charents visited the National Museum, where he met the famous political figure of the Dashnakcutyun party Vahan Navasardyan. The result of that meeting was the work “Deceased Lord or Lord Deceased” by Charents and the book written by Vahan Navasardyan “Eghishe Charents. Memories and Reflections” (Cairo, 1957). On March 4, 1925, Charents left Rome for Venice, where he stayed for about a month. In Venice, he visited the Mkhitaryan Congregation and went to see Avetik Isahakyan. From conversations with Isahakyan the poem "Elegy written in Venice" was born. Charents travelled from Venice to Paris, where he met Kostan Zaryan, Yervand Kochar, Shirvanzade, Hamlik Tumanyan-Hovhannes Tumanyan’s son, a student at Sorbonne University and attaché of the Soviet embassy. In Paris, he initiated the publication of a literary magazine “Ghek” (“The Wheel”) under his editorship. From April 9 to11, 1925, on the way from Paris to Berlin, the poet wrote the poem “Belgium - Liège (from a travel notebook)”. Under the influence of Myasnikyan’s tragic death, Charents immortalized his memory with the poem “The wall of Communards in Paris” written in Berlin from April 12 to May 28, 1925. After a journey of seven months and 10 days, Charent returned to his homeland and initiated establishment of a literary group “November”, which was supposed to become the bearer and embodiment of his new ideas.

IntroductionThe common origin of the adjective “corporeal” and the noun “corpse” in the Latin root corpus points to the value of mortuary practices for investigating how the human body is objectified. In post-mortem rituals, the body—formerly the manipulator of objects—becomes itself the object that is manipulated. Thus, these funerary rituals provide a type of double reflexivity, where the object and subject of manipulation can be used to reciprocally illuminate one another. To this extent, any consideration of corporeality can only benefit from a discussion of how the body is objectified through mortuary practices. This paper offers just such a discussion with respect to a selection of two contrasting mortuary practices, in the context of the prehistoric past and the Classical Era respectively. At the most general level, we are motivated by the same intellectual impulse that has stimulated expositions on corporeality, materiality, and incarnation in areas like phenomenology (Merleau-Ponty 77–234), Marxism (Adorno 112–119), gender studies (Grosz vii–xvi), history (Laqueur 193–244), and theology (Henry 33–53). That is to say, our goal is to show that the body, far from being a transparent frame through which we encounter the world, is in fact a locus where historical, social, cultural, and psychological forces intersect. On this view, “the body vanishes as a biological entity and becomes an infinitely malleable and highly unstable culturally constructed product” (Shilling 78). However, for all that the cited paradigms offer culturally situated appreciations of corporeality; our particular intellectual framework will be provided by cognitive science. Two reasons impel us towards this methodological choice.In the first instance, the study of ritual has, after several decades of stagnation, been rewarded—even revolutionised—by the application of insights from the new sciences of the mind (Whitehouse 1–12; McCauley and Lawson 1–37). Thus, there are good reasons to think that ritual treatments of the body will refract historical and social forces through empirically attested tendencies in human cognition. In the present connection, this means that knowledge of these tendencies will reward any attempt to theorise the objectification of the body in mortuary rituals.In the second instance, because beliefs concerning the afterlife can never be definitively judged to be true or false, they give free expression to tendencies in cognition that are otherwise constrained by the need to reflect external realities accurately. To this extent, they grant direct access to the intuitive ideas and biases that shape how we think about the world. Already, this idea has been exploited to good effect in areas like the cognitive anthropology of religion, which explores how counterfactual beings like ghosts, spirits, and gods conform to (and deviate from) pre-reflective cognitive patterns (Atran 83–112; Barrett and Keil 219–224; Barrett and Reed 252–255; Boyer 876–886). Necessarily, this implies that targeting post-mortem treatments of the body will offer unmediated access to some of the conceptual schemes that inform thinking about human corporeality.At a more detailed level, the specific methodology we propose to use will be provided by conceptual blending theory—a framework developed by Gilles Fauconnier, Mark Turner, and others to describe how structures from different areas of experience are creatively blended to form a new conceptual frame. In this system, a generic space provides the ground for coordinating two or more input spaces into a blended space that synthesises them into a single output. Here this would entail using natural or technological processes to structure mortuary practices in a way that satisfies various psychological needs.Take, for instance, W.B. Yeats’s famous claim that “Too long a sacrifice / Can make a stone of the heart” (“Easter 1916” in Yeats 57-8). Here, the poet exploits a generic space—that of everyday objects and the effort involved in manipulating them—to coordinate an organic input from that taxonomy (the heart) with an inorganic input (a stone) to create the blended idea that too energetic a pursuit of an abstract ideal turns a person into an unfeeling object (the heart-as-stone). Although this particular example corresponds to a familiar rhetorical figure (the metaphor), the value of conceptual blending theory is that it cuts across distinctions of genre, media, language, and discourse level to provide a versatile framework for expressing how one area of human experience is related to another.As indicated, we will exploit this versatility to investigate two ways of objectifying the body through the examination of two contrasting mortuary practices—cremation and inhumation—against different cultural horizons. The first of these is the conceptualisation of the body as an object of a technical process, where the post-mortem cremation of the corpse is analogically correlated with the metallurgical refining of ore into base metal. Our area of focus here will be Bronze Age cremation practices. The second conceptual scheme we will investigate focuses on treatments of the body as a vegetable object; here, the relevant analogy likens the inhumation of the corpse to the planting of a seed in the soil from which future growth will come. This discussion will centre on the Classical Era. Burning: The Body as Manufactured ObjectThe Early and Middle Bronze Age in Western Europe (2500-1200 BCE) represented a period of change in funerary practices relative to the preceding Neolithic, exemplified by a move away from the use of Megalithic monuments, a proliferation of grave goods, and an increase in the use of cremation (Barrett 38-9; Cooney and Grogan 105-121; Brück, Material Metaphors 308; Waddell, Bronze Age 141-149). Moreover, the Western European Bronze Age is characterised by a shift away from communal burial towards single interment (Barrett 32; Bradley 158-168). Equally, the Bronze Age in Western Europe provides us with evidence of an increased use of cist and pit cremation burials concentrated in low-lying areas (Woodman 254; Waddell, Prehistoric 16; Cooney and Grogan 105-121; Bettencourt 103). This greater preference for lower-lying location appears to reflect a distinctive change in comparison to the distribution patterns of the Neolithic burials; these are often located on prominent, visible aspects of a landscape (Cooney and Grogan 53-61). These new Bronze Age burial practices appear to reflect a distancing in relation to the territories of the “old ancestors” typified by Megalithic monuments (Bettencourt 101-103). Crucially, the Bronze Age archaeological record provides us with evidence that indicates that cremation was becoming the dominant form of deposition of human remains throughout Central and Western Europe (Sørensen and Rebay 59-60).The activities associated with Bronze Age cremations such as the burning of the body and the fragmentation of the remains have often been considered as corporeal equivalents (or expressions) of the activities involved in metal (bronze) production (Brück, Death 84-86; Sørensen and Rebay 60–1; Rebay-Salisbury, Cremations 66-67). There are unequivocal similarities between the practices of cremation and contemporary bronze production technologies—particularly as both processes involve the transformation of material through the application of fire at temperatures between 700 ºC to 1000 ºC (Musgrove 272-276; Walker et al. 132; de Becdelievre et al. 222-223).We assert that the technologies that define the European Bronze Age—those involved in alloying copper and tin to produce bronze—offered a new conceptual frame that enabled the body to be objectified in new ways. The fundamental idea explored here is that the displacement of inhumation by cremation in the European Bronze Age was motivated by a cognitive shift, where new smelting technologies provided novel conceptual metaphors for thinking about age-old problems concerning human mortality and post-mortem survival. The increased use of cremation in the European Bronze Age contrasts with the archaeological record of the Near Eastern—where, despite the earlier emergence of metallurgy (3300–3000 BCE), we do not see a notable proliferation in the use of cremation in this region. Thus, mortuary practices (i.e. cremation) provide us with an insight into how Western European Bronze Age cultures mediated the body through changes in technological objects and processes.In the terminology of conceptual blending, the generic space in question centres on the technical manipulation of the material world. The first input space is associated with the anxiety attending mortality—specifically, the cessation of personal identity and the extinction of interpersonal relationships. The second input space represents the technical knowledge associated with bronze production; in particular, the extraction of ore from source material and its mixing with other metals to form an alloy. The blended space coordinates these inputs to objectify the human body as an object that is ritually transformed into a new but more durable substance via the cremation process. In this contention we use the archaeological record to draw a conceptual parallel between the emergence of bronze production technology—centring on transition of naturally occurring material to a new subsistence (bronze)—and the transitional nature of the cremation process.In this theoretical framework, treating the body as a mixture of substances that can be reduced to its constituents and transformed through technologies of cremation enabled Western European Bronze Age society to intervene in the natural process of putrefaction and transform the organic matter into something more permanent. This transformative aspect of the cremation is seen in the evidence we have for secondary burial practices involving the curation and circulation of cremated bones of deceased members of a group (Brück, Death 87-93). This evidence allows us to assert that cremated human remains and objects were considered products of the same transformation into a more permanent state via burning, fragmentation, dispersal, and curation. Sofaer (62-69) states that the living body is regarded as a person, but as soon as the transition to death is made, the body becomes an object; this is an “ontological shift in the perception of the body that assumes a sudden change in its qualities” (62).Moreover, some authors have proposed that the exchange of fragmented human remains was central to mortuary practices and was central in establishing and maintaining social relations (Brück, Death 76-88). It is suggested that in the Early Bronze Age the perceptions of the human body mirrored the perceptions of objects associated with the arrival of the new bronze technology (Brück, Death 88-92). This idea is more pronounced if we consider the emergence of bronze technology as the beginning of a period of capital intensification of natural resources. Through this connection, the Bronze Age can be regarded as the point at which a particular natural resource—in this case, copper—went through myriad intensive manufacturing stages, which are still present today (intensive extraction, production/manufacturing, and distribution). Unlike stone tool production, bronze production had the addition of fire as the explicit method of transformation (Brück, Death 88-92). Thus, such views maintain that the transition achieved by cremation—i.e. reducing the human remains to objects or tokens that could be exchanged and curated relatively soon after the death of the individual—is equivalent to the framework of commodification connected with bronze production.A sample of cremated remains from Castlehyde in County Cork, Ireland, provides us with an example of a Bronze Age cremation burial in a Western European context (McCarthy). This is chosen because it is a typical example of a Bronze Age cremation burial in the context of Western Europe; also, one of the authors (MG) has first-hand experience in the analysis of its associated remains. The Castlehyde cremation burial consisted of a rectangular, stone-lined cist (McCarthy). The cist contained cremated, calcined human remains, with the fragments generally ranging from a greyish white to white in colour; this indicates that the bones were subject to a temperature range of 700-900ºC. The organic content of bone was destroyed during the cremation process, leaving only the inorganic matrix (brittle bone which is, often, described as metallic in consistency—e.g. Gejvall 470-475). There is evidence that remains may have been circulated in a manner akin to valuable metal objects. First of all, the absence of long bones indicates that there may have been a practice of removing salient remains as curatable records of ancestral ties. Secondly, remains show traces of metal staining from objects that are no longer extant, which suggests that graves were subject to secondary burial practices involving the removal of metal objects and/or human bone. To this extent, we can discern that human remains were being processed, curated, and circulated in a similar manner to metal objects.Thus, there are remarkable similarities between the treatment of the human body in cremation and bronze metal production technologies in the European Bronze Age. On the one hand, the parallel between smelting and cremation allowed death to be understood as a process of transformation in which the individual was removed from processes of organic decay. On the other hand, the circulation of the transformed remains conferred a type of post-mortem survival on the deceased. In this way, cremation practices may have enabled Bronze Age society to symbolically overcome the existential anxiety concerning the loss of personhood and the breaking of human relationships through death. In relation to the former point, the resurgence of cremation in nineteenth century Europe provides us with an example of how the disposal of a human body can be contextualised in relation to socio-technological advancements. The (re)emergence of cremation in this period reflects the post-Enlightenment shift from an understanding of the world through religious beliefs to the use of rational, scientific approaches to examine the natural world, including the human body (and death). The controlled use of fire in the cremation process, as well as the architecture of crematories, reflected the industrial context of the period (Rebay-Salisbury, Inhumation 16).With respect to the circulation of cremated remains, Smith suggests that Early Medieval Christian relics of individual bones or bone fragments reflect a reconceptualised continuation of pre-Christian practices (beginning in Christian areas of the Roman Empire). In this context, it is claimed, firstly, that the curation of bone relics and the use of mobile bone relics of important, saintly individuals provided an embodied connection between the sacred sphere and the earthly world; and secondly, that the use of individual bones or fragments of bone made the Christian message something portable, which could be used to reinforce individual or collective adherence to Christianity (Smith 143-167). Using the example of the Christian bone relics, we can thus propose that the curation and circulation of Bronze Age cremated material may have served a role similar to tools for focusing religiously oriented cognition. Burying: The Body as a Vegetable ObjectGiven that the designation “the Classical Era” nominates the entirety of the Graeco-Roman world (including the Near East and North Africa) from about 800 BCE to 600 CE, there were obviously no mortuary practices common to all cultures. Nevertheless, in both classical Greece and Rome, we have examples of periods when either cremation or inhumation was the principal funerary custom (Rebay-Salisbury, Inhumation 19-21).For instance, the ancient Homeric texts inform us that the ancient Greeks believed that “the spirit of the departed was sentient and still in the world of the living as long as the flesh was in existence […] and would rather have the body devoured by purifying fire than by dogs or worms” (Mylonas 484). However, the primary sources and archaeological record indicate that cremation practices declined in Athens circa 400 BCE (Rebay-Salisbury, Inhumation 20). With respect to the Roman Empire, scholarly opinion argues that inhumation was the dominant funerary rite in the eastern part of the Empire (Rebay-Salisbury, Inhumation 17-21; Morris 52). Complementing this, the archaeological and historical record indicates that inhumation became the primary rite throughout the Roman Empire in the first century CE. Inhumation was considered to be an essential rite in the context of an emerging belief that a peaceful afterlife was reflected by a peaceful burial in which bodily integrity was maintained (Rebay-Salisbury, Inhumation 19-21; Morris 52; Toynbee 41). The question that this poses is how these beliefs were framed in the broader discourses of Classical culture.In this regard, our claim is that the growth in inhumation was driven (at least in part) by the spread of a conceptual scheme, implicit in Greek fertility myths that objectify the body as a seed. The conceptual logic here is that the post-mortem continuation of personal identity is (symbolically) achieved by objectifying the body as a vegetable object that will re-grow from its own physical remains. Although the dominant metaphor here is vegetable, there is no doubt that the motivating concern of this mythological fabulation is human mortality. As Jon Davies notes, “the myths of Hades, Persephone and Demeter, of Orpheus and Eurydice, of Adonis and Aphrodite, of Selene and Endymion, of Herakles and Dionysus, are myths of death and rebirth, of journeys into and out of the underworld, of transactions and transformations between gods and humans” (128). Thus, such myths reveal important patterns in how the post-mortem fate of the body was conceptualised.In the terminology of mental mapping, the generic space relevant to inhumation contains knowledge pertaining to folk biology—specifically, pre-theoretical ideas concerning regeneration, survival, and mortality. The first input space attaches to human mortality; it departs from the anxiety associated with the seeming cessation of personal identity and dissolution of kin relationships subsequent to death. The second input space is the subset of knowledge concerning vegetable life, and how the immersion of seeds in the soil produces a new generation of plants with the passage of time. The blended space combines the two input spaces by way of the funerary script, which involves depositing the body in the soil with a view to securing its eventual rebirth by analogy with the sprouting of a planted seed.As indicated, the most important illustration of this conceptual pattern can be found in the fertility myths of ancient Greece. The Homeric Hymns, in particular, provide a number of narratives that trace out correspondences between vegetation cycles, human mortality, and inhumation, which inform ritual practice (Frazer 223–404; Carney 355–65; Sowa 121–44). The Homeric Hymn to Demeter, for instance, charts how Persephone is abducted by Hades, god of the dead, and taken to his underground kingdom. While searching for her missing daughter, Demeter, goddess of fertility, neglects the earth, causing widespread devastation. Matters are resolved when Zeus intervenes to restore Persephone to Demeter. However, having ingested part of Hades’s kingdom (a pomegranate seed), Persephone is obliged to spend half the year below ground with her captor and the other half above ground with her mother.The objectification of Persephone as both a seed and a corpse in this narrative is clearly signalled by her seasonal inhumation in Hades’ chthonic realm, which is at once both the soil and the grave. And, just as the planting of seeds in autumn ensures rebirth in spring, Persephone’s seasonal passage from the Kingdom of the Dead nominates the individual human life as just one season in an endless cycle of death and rebirth. A further signifying element is added by the ingestion of the pomegranate seed. This is evocative of her being inseminated by Hades; thus, the coordination of vegetation cycles with life and death is correlated with secondary transition—that from childhood to adulthood (Kerényi 119–183).In the examples given, we can see how the Homeric Hymn objectifies both the mortal and sexual destiny of the body in terms of thresholds derived from the vegetable world. Moreover, this mapping is not merely an intellectual exercise. Its emotional and social appeal is visible in the fact that the Eleusinian mysteries—which offered the ritual homologue to the Homeric Hymn to Demeter—persisted from the Mycenaean period to 396 CE, one of the longest recorded durations for any ritual (Ferguson 254–9; Cosmopoulos 1–24). In sum, then, classical myth provided a precedent for treating the body as a vegetable object—most often, a seed—that would, in turn, have driven the move towards inhumation as an important mortuary practice. The result is to create a ritual form that makes key aspects of human experience intelligible by connecting them with cyclical processes like the seasons of the year, the harvesting of crops, and the intergenerational oscillation between the roles of parent and child. Indeed, this pattern remains visible in the germination metaphors and burial practices of contemporary religions such as Christianity, which draw heavily on the symbolism associated with mystery cults like that at Eleusis (Nock 177–213).ConclusionWe acknowledge that our examples offer a limited reflection of the ethnographic and archaeological data, and that they need to be expanded to a much greater degree if they are to be more than merely suggestive. Nevertheless, suggestiveness has its value, too, and we submit that the speculations explored here may well offer a useful starting point for a larger survey. In particular, they showcase how a recurring existential anxiety concerning death—involving the fear of loss of personal identity and kinship relations—is addressed by different ways of objectifying the body. Given that the body is not reducible to the objects with which it is identified, these objectifications can never be entirely successful in negotiating the boundary between life and death. In the words of Jon Davies, “there is simply no let-up in the efforts by human beings to transcend this boundary, no matter how poignantly each failure seemed to reinforce it” (128). For this reason, we can expect that the record will be replete with conceptual and cognitive schemes that mediate the experience of death.At a more general level, it should also be clear that our understanding of human corporeality is rewarded by the study of mortuary practices. 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Photograph by Gonzalo Echeverria (2010)“I must plunge again and again in the water of doubt” (Wittgenstein 1e). The Holy Grail in the phenomenology of religion (and, to a lesser extent, the sociology of religion) is a definition of religion that actually works, but, so far, this seems to have been elusive. Classical definitions of religion—substantive (e.g. Tylor) and functionalist (e.g. Durkheim)—fail, in part because they attempt to be in three places at once, as it were: they attempt to distinguish religion from non-religion; they attempt to capture what religions have in common; and they attempt to grasp the “heart”, or “core”, of religion. Consequently, family resemblance definitions of religion replace certainty and precision for its own sake with a more pragmatic and heuristic approach, embracing doubt and putting forward definitions that give us a better understanding (Verstehen) of religion. In this paper, I summarise some “new” definitions of religion that take this approach, before proposing and defending another one, defining religion as non-propositional and “apophatic”, thus accepting that doubt is central to religion itself, as well as to the analysis of religion.The question of how to define religion has had real significance in a number of court cases round the world, and therefore it does have an impact on people’s lives. In Germany, for example, the courts ruled that Scientology was not a religion, but a business, much to the displeasure of the Church of Scientology (Aldridge 15). In the United States, some advocates of Transcendental Meditation (TM) argued that TM was not a religion and could therefore be taught in public schools without violating the establishment clause in the constitution—the separation of church and state. The courts in New Jersey, and federal courts, ruled against them. They ruled that TM was a religion (Barker 146). There are other cases that I could cite, but the point of this is simply to establish that the question has a practical importance, so we should move on.In the classical sociology of religion, there are a number of definitions of religion that are quite well known. Edward Tylor (424) defined religion as a belief in spiritual beings. This definition does not meet with widespread acceptance, the notable exception being Melford Spiro, who proposed in 1966 that religion was “an institution consisting of culturally patterned interaction with culturally postulated super-human beings” (Spiro 96, see also 91ff), and who has bravely stuck to that definition ever since. The major problem is that this definition excludes Buddhism, which most people do regard as a religion, although some people try to get round the problem by claiming that Buddhism is not really a religion, but more of a philosophy. But this is cheating, really, because a definition of religion must be descriptive as well as prescriptive; that is, it must apply to entities that are commonly recognised as religions. Durkheim, in The Elementary Forms of Religious Life, proposed that religion had two key characteristics, a separation of the sacred from the profane, and a gathering together of people in some sort of institution or community, such as a church (Durkheim 38, 44). However, religions often reject a separation of the sacred from the profane. Most Muslims and many Calvinist Christians, for example, would insist strongly that everything—including the ostensibly profane—is equally subject to the sovereignty of God. Also, some religions are more oriented to a guru-pupil kind of relationship, rather than a church community.Weber tried to argue that religion should only be defined at the end of a long process of historical and empirical study. He is often criticised for this, although there probably is some wisdom in his argument. However, there seems to be an implicit definition of religion as theodicy, accounting for the existence of evil and the existence of suffering. But is this really the central concern of all religions?Clarke and Byrne, in their book Religion Defined and Explained, construct a typology of definitions, which I think is quite helpful. Broadly speaking, there are two types of classical definition. Firstly, there are substantive definitions (6), such as Tylor’s and Spiro’s, which posit some sort of common “property” that religions “have”—“inside” them, as it were. Secondly, functionalist definitions (Clarke and Byrne 7), such as Durkheim’s, define religion primarily in terms of its social function. What matters, as far as a definition of religion is concerned, is not what you believe, but why you believe it.However, these classical definitions do not really work. I think this is because they try to do too many things. For a strict definition of religion to work, it needs to tell us (i) what religions have in common, (ii) what distinguishes religion on the one hand from non-religion, or everything that is not religion, on the other, and (iii) it needs to tell us something important about religion, what is at the core of religion. This means that a definition of religion has to be in three places at once, so to speak. Furthermore, a definition of religion has to be based on extant religions, but it also needs to have some sort of quasi-predictive capacity, the sort of thing that can be used in a court case regarding, for example, Scientology or Transcendental Meditation.It may be possible to resolve the latter problem by a gradual process of adjustment, a sort of hermeneutic circle of basing a definition on extant religions and applying it to new ones. But what about the other problem, the one of being in three places at once?Another type identified by Clarke and Byrne, in their typology of definitions, is the “family resemblance” definition (11-16). This derives from the later Wittgenstein. The “family resemblance” definition of religion is based on the idea that religions commonly share a number of features, but that no one religion has all of them. For example, there are religious beliefs, doctrines and mythos—or stories and parables. There are rituals and moral codes, institutions and clergy, prayers, spiritual emotions and experiences, etc. This approach is of course less precise than older substantive and functional definitions, but it also avoids some of the problems associated with them.It does so by rethinking the point of defining religion. Instead of being precise and rigorous for the sake of it, it tries to tell us something, to be “productive”, to help us understand religion better. It eschews certainty and embraces doubt. Its insights could be applied to some schools of philosophy (e.g. Heideggerian) and practical spirituality, because it does not focus on what is distinctive about religion. Rather, it focuses on the core of religion, and, secondarily, on what religions have in common. The family resemblance approach has led to a number of “new” definitions (post-Durkheim definitions) being proposed, all of which define religion in a less rigorous, but, I hope, more imaginative and heuristic way.Let me provide a few examples, starting with two contrasting ones. Peter Berger in the late 1960s defined religion as “the audacious attempt to conceive of the entire universe as humanly significant”(37), which implies a consciousness of an anthropocentric sacred cosmos. Later, Alain Touraine said that religion is “the apprehension of human destiny, existence, and death”(213–4), that is, an awareness of human limitations, including doubt. Berger emphasises the high place for human beings in religion, and even a sort of affected certainty, while Touraine emphasises our place as doubters on the periphery, but it seems that religion exists within a tension between these two opposites, and, in a sense, encompasses them both.Richard Holloway, former Bishop of Edinburgh in the Scottish Episcopal Church and arch-nemesis of the conservative Anglicans, such as those from Sydney, defines religion as like good poetry, not bad science. It is easy to understand that he is criticising those who see religion, particularly Christianity, as centrally opposed to Darwin and evolution. Holloway is clearly saying that those people have missed the point of their own faith. By “good poetry”, he is pointing to the significance of storytelling rather than dogma, and an open-ended discussion of ultimate questions that resists the temptation to end with “the moral of the story”. In science (at least before quantum physics), there is no room for doubt, but that is not the case with poetry.John Caputo, in a very energetic book called On Religion, proposes what is probably the boldest of the “new” definitions. He defines religion as “the love of God” (1). Note the contrast with Tylor and Spiro. Caputo does not say “belief in God”; he says “the love of God”. You might ask how you can love someone you don’t believe in, but, in a sense, this paradox is the whole point. When Caputo says “God”, he is not necessarily talking in the usual theistic or even theological terms. By “God”, he means the impossible made possible (10). So a religious person, for Caputo, is an “unhinged lover” (13) who loves the impossible made possible, and the opposite is a “loveless lout” who is only concerned with the latest stock market figures (2–3). In this sense of religious, a committed atheist can be religious and a devout Catholic or Muslim or Hindu can be utterly irreligious (2–3). Doubt can encompass faith and faith can encompass doubt. This is the impossible made possible. Caputo’s approach here has something in common with Nietzsche and especially Kierkegaard, to whom I shall return later.I would like to propose another definition of religion, within the spirit of these “new” definitions of religion that I have been discussing. Religion, at its core, I suggest, is non-propositional and apophatic. When I say that religion is non-propositional, I mean that religion will often enact certain rituals, or tell certain stories, or posit faith in someone, and that propositional statements of doctrine are merely reflections or approximations of this non-propositional core. Faith in God is not a proposition. The Eucharist is not a proposition. Prayer is not, at its core, a proposition. Pilgrimage is not a proposition. And it is these sorts of things that, I suggest, form the core of religion. Propositions are what happen when theologians and academics get their hands on religion, they try to intellectualise it so that it can be made to fit within their area of expertise—our area of expertise. But, that is not where it belongs. Propositions about rituals impose a certainty on them, whereas the ritual itself allows for courage in the face of doubt. The Maundy Thursday service in Western Christianity includes the stripping of the altar to the accompaniment of Psalm 22 (“My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken me”), ending the service without a dismissal (Latin missa, the origin of the English “mass”) and with the church in darkness. Doubt, confusion, and bewilderment are the heart and soul of this ritual, not orthodox faith as defined propositionally.That said, religion does often involve believing, of some kind (though it is not usually as central as in Christianity). So I say that religion is non-propositional and apophatic. The word “apophatic”, though not the concept, has its roots in Greek Orthodox theology, where St Gregory Palamas argues that any statement about God—and particularly about God’s essence as opposed to God’s energies—must be paradoxical, emphasising God’s otherness, and apophatic, emphasising God’s essential incomprehensibility (Armstrong 393). To make an apophatic statement is to make a negative statement—instead of saying God is king, lord, father, or whatever, we say God is not. Even the most devout believer will recognise a sense in which God is not a king, or a lord, or a father. They will say that God is much greater than any of these things. The Muslim will say “Allahu Akhbar”, which means God is greater, greater than any human description. Even the statement “God exists” is seen to be well short of the mark. Even that is human language, which is why the Cappadocian fathers (Saints Basil the Great, Gregory of Nyssa, and Gregory Naziansus) said that they believed in God, while refusing to say that God exists.So to say that religion is at its core non-propositional is to say that religious beliefs are at their core apophatic. The idea of apophasis is that by a process of constant negation you are led into silence, into a recognition that there is nothing more that can be said. St Thomas Aquinas says that the more things we negate about God, the more we say “God is not…”, the closer we get to what God is (139). Doubt therefore brings us closer to the object of religion than any putative certainties.Apophasis does not only apply to Christianity. I have already indicated that it applies also to Islam, and the statement that God is greater. In Islam, God is said to have 99 names—or at least 99 that have been revealed to human beings. Many of these names are apophatic. Names like The Hidden carry an obviously negative meaning in English, while, etymologically, “the Holy” (al-quddu-s) means “beyond imperfection”, which is a negation of a negation. As-salaam, the All-Peaceful, means beyond disharmony, or disequilibrium, or strife, and, according to Murata and Chittick (65–6), “The Glorified” (as-subbuh) means beyond understanding.In non-theistic religions too, an apophatic way of believing can be found. Key Buddhist concepts include sunyata, emptiness, or the Void, and anatta, meaning no self, the belief or realisation that the Self is illusory. Ask what they believe in instead of the Self and you are likely to be told that you are missing the point, like the Zen pupil who confused the pointing finger with the moon. In the Zen koans, apophasis plays a major part. One well-known koan is “What is the sound of one hand clapping?” Any logical answers will be dismissed, like Thomas Aquinas’s statements about God, until the pupil gets beyond logic and achieves satori, or enlightenment. Probably the most used koan is Mu—Master Joshu is asked if a dog has Buddha-nature and replies Mu, meaning “no” or “nothing”. This is within the context of the principle that everything has Buddha-nature, so it is not logical. But this apophatic process can lead to enlightenment, something better than logic. By plunging again and again in the water of doubt, to use Wittgenstein’s words, we gain something better than certainty.So not only is apophasis present in a range of different religions—and I have given just a few examples—but it is also central to the development of religion in the Axial Age, Karl Jaspers’s term for the period from about 800-200 BCE when the main religious traditions of the world began—monotheism in Israel (which also developed into Christianity and Islam), Hinduism and Buddhism in India, Confucianism and Taoism in China, and philosophical rationalism in Greece. In the early Hindu traditions, there seems to have been a sort of ritualised debate called the Brahmodya, which would proceed through negation and end in silence. Not the silence of someone admitting defeat at the hands of the other, but the silence of recognising that the truth lay beyond them (Armstrong 24).In later Hinduism, apophatic thought is developed quite extensively. This culminates in the idea of Brahman, the One God who is Formless, beyond all form and all description. As such, all representations of Brahman are equally false and therefore all representations are equally true—hence the preponderance of gods and idols on the surface of Hinduism. There is also the development of the idea of Atman, the universal Self, and the Buddhist concept anatta, which I mentioned, is rendered anatman in Sanskrit, literally no Atman, no Self. But in advaita Hinduism there is the idea that Brahman and Atman are the same, or, more accurately, they are not two—hence advaita, meaning “not two”. This is negation, or apophasis. In some forms of present-day Hinduism, such as the International Society for Krishna Consciousness (commonly known as the Hare Krishnas), advaita is rejected. Sometimes this is characterised as dualism with respect to Brahman and Atman, but it is really the negation of non-dualism, or an apophatic negation of the negation.Even in early Hinduism, there is a sort of Brahmodya recounted in the Rig Veda (Armstrong 24–5), the oldest extant religious scripture in the world that is still in use as a religious scripture. So here we are at the beginning of Axial Age religion, and we read this account of creation:Then was not non-existent nor existent: there was no realm of air, no sky beyond it.Death was not then, nor was there aught immortal.Darkness there was: at first concealed in darkness this All was indiscriminated chaos.All that existed then was void and form less.Sages who searched with their heart's thought discovered the existent's kinship in the non-existent.Who verily knows and who can here declare it, whence it was born and whence comes this creation?The Gods are later than this world's production. Who knows then whence it first came into being?He, the first origin of this creation, whether he formed it all or did not form it,Whose eye controls this world in highest heaven, he verily knows it, or perhaps he knows not.(Rig Veda Book 10, Hymn 129, abridged)And it would seem that this is the sort of thought that spread throughout the world as a result of the Axial Age and the later spread of Axial and post-Axial religions.I could provide examples from other religious traditions. Taoism probably has the best examples, though they are harder to relate to the traditions that are more familiar in the West. “The way that is spoken is not the Way” is the most anglicised translation of the opening of the Tao Te Ching. In Sikhism, God’s formlessness and essential unknowability mean that God can only be known “by the Guru’s grace”, to quote the opening hymn of the Guru Granth Sahib.Before I conclude, however, I would like to anticipate two criticisms. First, this may only be applicable to the religions of the Axial Age and their successors, beginning with Hinduism and Buddhism, Taoism and Confucianism, and early Jewish monotheism, followed by Jainism, Christianity, Islam and so on. I would like to find examples of apophasis at the core of other traditions, including Indigenous Australian and Native American ones, for example, but that is work still to be done. Focusing on the Axial Age does historicise the argument, however, at least in contrast with a more universal concept of religion that runs the risk of falling into the ahistorical homo religiosus idea that humans are universally and even naturally religious. Second, this apophatic definition looks a bit elitist, defining religion in terms that are relevant to theologians and “religious virtuosi” (to use Weber’s term), but what about the ordinary believers, pew-fillers, temple-goers? In response to such criticism, one may reply that there is an apophatic strand in what Niebuhr called the religions of the disinherited. In Asia, devotion to the Buddha Amida is particularly popular among the poor, and this involves a transformation of the idea of anatta—no Self—into an external agency, a Buddha who is “without measure”, in terms of in-finite light and in-finite life. These are apophatic concepts. In the Christian New Testament, we are told that God “has chosen the foolish things of this world to shame the wise, the weak to shame the strong…, the things that are not to shame the things that are” (1 Corinthians 1:27). The things that are not are the apophatic, and these are allied with the foolish and the weak, not the educated and the powerful.One major reason for emphasising the role of apophasis in religious thought is to break away from the idea that the core of religion is an ethical one. This is argued by a number of “liberal religious” thinkers in different religious traditions. I appreciate their reasons, and I am reluctant to ally myself with their opponents, who include the more fundamentalist types as well as some vocal critics of religion like Dawkins and Hitchens. However, I said that I would return to Kierkegaard, and the reason is this. Kierkegaard distinguishes between the aesthetic, the ethical and the religious. Of course, religion has an aesthetic and an ethical dimension, and in some religions these dimensions are particularly important, but that does not make them central to religion as such. Kierkegaard regarded the religious sphere as radically different from the aesthetic or even the ethical, hence his treatment of the story of Abraham going to Mount Moriah to sacrifice his son, in obedience to God’s command. His son was not killed in the end, but Abraham was ready to do the deed. This is not ethical. This is fundamentally and scandalously unethical. Yet it is religious, not because it is unethical and scandalous, but because it pushes us to the limits of our understanding, through the waters of doubt, and then beyond.Were I attempting to criticise religion, I would say it should not go there, that, to misquote Wittgenstein, the limits of my understanding are the limits of my world, whereof we cannot understand thereof we must remain silent. Were I attempting to defend religion, I would say that this is its genius, that it can push back the limits of understanding. I do not believe in value-neutral sociology, but, in this case, I am attempting neither. ReferencesAldridge, Alan. Religion in the Contemporary World. Cambridge: Polity, 2000.Aquinas, Thomas. “Summa of Christian Teaching”. An Aquinas Reader. ed. Mary Clarke. New York: Doubleday, 1972.Armstrong, Karen. The Great Transformation. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2006.Barker, Eileen. New Religious Movements: a Practical Introduction. London: HMSO, 1989.Berger, Peter. 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