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Examines three imperial cult institutions sponsored by the Roman province of Asia during the reigns of Augustus and Tiberius. These provincial imperial cult institutions are the temple of Rome and Augustus built at Pergamon (c.27 b.c.e.); the new provincial calendar proposed by the Roman proconsul Paullus Fabius Maximus around 9 b.c.e.; and the temple of Tiberius, Livia, and the Roman Senate at Smyrna (26 c.e.).

This chapter explores the dominant status of Hemingway's text for writing in English about events in postwar Asia Minor. It argues that the Smyrna Disaster is the first event in modern Greek history after the Greek War of Independence to gain a secure place in English literature and language thanks to Hemingway; the text that canonized it was Hemingway's “On the Quai at Smyrna”. In English, the phrase the Smyrna Disaster referred not simply to a historical event but also to a style of writing and a particular postwar perspective.

Chapter 5 proposes that (1) the idea of using the slogan of freedom came to the Romans during negotiations of the ambassadors from Lampsacus and Smyrna held with the Romans in the autumn of 197; (2) the slogan of freedom was originally included in the senatus consultum at the end of the Second Macedonian war, which Flamininus would largely repeat in his declaration the following year; and (3) protecting Greek freedom offered Rome a much better opportunity to have a say in Greek politics at a time when the Romans had no treaties with Greek cities, and many Greeks questioned the right of the Romans to interfere in Greek affairs. The surviving evidence allows us to see the war of words between the Romans and their opponents in Greece, which offers another parallel to political developments in pre-Roman Greece.

This chapter explores the performative context of the Hermias song, taking a dialectical approach to context both as a reflection of historical reality and as a projection of the poetic text itself. Reconstructions of the première of Aristotle’s song are examined, including Wilamowitz’ hypothesis that it was composed to be performed alongside a prose text by Callisthenes in honor of Hermiasat a commemorative ceremony for Hermias held by Aristotle and fellow philosophers and friends of the deceased. An extract of Callisthenes’ Hermias is examined and its possible generic status is explored in light of the variety of fourth-century prose forms. Although there is not sufficient evidence to prove or disprove Wilamowitz’ scenario, it is argued that the poem gives every sign of being an authentic work of Aristotle’s. The story of the song being put on trial is also found credible in its essence by drawing out its political implications for the 320s.

The author narrates Captain Richard's polite conduct towards him and presents an account of his voyage to Malta. He describes the island and the characters of the Governor, Admiral, Commander-in-chief, and Commissary-general. The author lands, and is hospitably entertained by all the public officers. He discovers a great affinity between the Maltese and Arabic languages, describes the invasion of Malta by the Turks, and comments on the climate of that island. The author re-embarks, on board the L'Heureuse, for Smyrna. The ship journeys into the port of Miletus, passes by Athens, and arrives at Smyrna. The author is well received by the Consul and visits Osman Aga. The ship leaves Smyrna and arrives at the Hellespont. The author describes the Sea of Marmora and narrates his arrival at the Dardanelles.

Achilles' almost consistent silence about his feelings for Briseis is investigated through the lens of the Hellenistic interpreters of Homer, who appear to downplay the few sentimental phrases Achilles utters about Briseis and magnifying her love for him. This perspective of the Hellenistic scholars is also reflected in Ovid's “Heroids” 3, where the loving Briseis is confronted with a completely chilly Achilles, and is later developed by other authors of Latin elegy, including Ovid himself, who create a full-love story of Achilles and Briseis. The rich iconography of this love story in the Imperial age is also investigated.

The contrast between Achilles and Thersites, who according to the “Aethiopis” charged Achilles with falling in love with the Amazon Penthesileia, is interpreted in light of its possible meta-literary implications; this contrast can be seen as a dialogic reaction of epic values to an erotic motif.

This chapter discusses Hermippus of Smyrna, who was considered as a relevant and respectable source for the history of the philosophers by Greek and Roman authors alike, and looks at his testimonium—as phrased in Origen— that seems to reveal an early version of the myth on the Jewish origin of Greek philosophy. It then examines Hermippus's biography of Pythagoras, and suggests that it may not have been written for the purpose of historical truth. The chapter further explains some points in the testimonium, as well as its connection to the fragment of Hermippus, in order to correctly assess the intent and the background of his reference to the Jews, and also identifies the three prohibitions and the influence of the Jews on Pythagoras.

The elderly bishop Polycarp was invalided in the city of Smyrna on charges of refusal to sacrifice to the Roman gods around the year 155 c.e. Christian witnesses to Polycarp's execution wrote a letter reporting the event to their neighboring church in the city of Philomelium in Phrygia. A further explanatory scheme of the letter was the Smyrneans' use of familiar sensory impressions to articulate what had taken place. The witnesses told of Polycarp's arrest, his brief trial, and his execution in the public stadium of the city in the presence of the gathered populace. Their bishop's death was neither trivial nor a defeat. It has been a pure and holy sacrifice acceptable to God. Like the death of Jesus Christ to which to conform in style and manner, it heralded the promise of salvation and eternal life for all believers.

This chapter looks at a unique instance of the survival on a large scale of a type of everyday writing usually lost in its entirety, or at best preserved only in isolated places: the informal inscription, or graffito. It reports a remarkable discovery made in the winter of 2003 of a body of writing that stood in a public place and, in a sense, was written on stone, but which has little in common with most monumental epigraphy. The chapter notes that this find is the graffiti of the basement level of the basilica in the agora of Smyrna, modern Izmir. It further reports that the ground level of the basilica and the east and west ends of the basement level were excavated before the Second World War by Selâhattin Kantar, then director of the Izmir Museum, and Fritz Milner of the German Archaeological Institute, and published by Kantar after the war in collaboration with the German archaeologist Rudolf Naumann.

Beginning in the 1970s, local boosters in the U.S. South offered lucrative incentives to attract foreign manufacturing firms, who, in turn, promised to uplift working-class southerners’ lives and modernize benighted rural areas with state-of-the-art “greenfield” plants and cutting-edge production techniques. Led by Japanese and German automotive companies, such as Nissan Motors in Smyrna, Tennessee, these “transplants” initially recruited a select group of “chosen” workers, most of whom saw themselves as middle-class “technicians” rather than as proletarianized factory workers. Despite subjecting their assembly-line workers to physically demanding conditions, the transplants’ strategy of hiring “chosen” workers thwarted organized labor’s attempts to unionize their plants. By the twenty-first century, however, foreign-owned transplants have increasingly filled positions with lower-paid temporary workers hired from third-party contractors. These “permatemps” regularly face deteriorating work conditions while lacking the employment security, benefits, and job stability enjoyed by the “chosen” workers. In effect, the South’s foreign-owned transplants have created a three-tiered industrial workforce, with “chosen” workers at the top, followed by a frustrated pro-union proletariat in the middle, and a “precariat” composed of temporary workers at the bottom.

This chapter surveys the context of Irenaeus' theological activity by reviewing all the Christian teachers and communities in Rome during the first two centuries, paying special attention to how those who came to be regarded as heretics separated themselves from the larger Christian fellowship. It examines the details of Irenaeus' interventions in Rome, regards the Quartodeciman Controversy and the disciples of Valentinus, and demonstrates how through Irenaeus' work the initially fractionated communities in Rome coalesced into a united body, with a clear understanding of the structure and framework of Orthodoxy. It concludes by tracing his work to his background in Asia Minor, as a disciple of Polycarp of Smyrna, and the key theological ideas that he inherited from Polycarp and the circles around John the Evangelist; it suggests a timeline for his life and works.

Drawing on the previous chapters and on new evidence of the way Hyde Clarke straddled finance and science, this chapter provides a new narrative of the way the Anthropological Society was brought down after the famous letter published by Hyde Clarke in the Athenaeum, where he criticized vehemently the ASL’s accounts and governance. Hyde Clarke’s career from the railway boom in the 1840s to the Athenaeum episode in the Summer of 1868 (just a dozen weeks before the election that was to bring Gladstone to power following a Liberal landslide). Putting the conflict between Hyde Clarke and the leaders of the ASL in 1868 (including Bedford Pim) in parallel with the dispute that took place between Hyde Clarke and Bedford Pim in 1872 over a Honduras railway, the chapter underscores the complete identity that existed between the technique used by Clarke in 1868 to provoke a “run” of ASL fellows and the one he used to provoke a run on Honduras bondholders, the chapter suggests that the coming of the Anthropological Institute in 1871 can be likened to a hostile takeover raid by leaders of the Ethnological Society of London.

Demonstrating increasing tenacity as he neared Atlanta, Johnston fell back from Kennesaw Mountain only a few miles to a prepared position at Smyrna Station. He held here a short while before falling back to his last position north of the last river protecting the city, constructing the Chattahoochee River Line. It possessed somewhat innovative features designed by artillery chief Francis Shoup and thus could be termed the Shoup Line. It was one of the few Confederate defences of the campaign constructed largely by slaves and impressed free blacks. Despite its strength, Johnston evacuated the Chattahoochee River Line on July 9 when Sherman crossed troops over the river miles upstream. Then Johnston concentrated on improving the Atlanta City Line, designed and constructed by Capt. Lemuel P. Grant for the past several months, as Sherman rested his troops for a full scale crossing of the Chattahoochee River.

Pergamum is unquestionably one of the most impressive archaeological sites in all of Turkey. Pergamum’s attractions are hard to surpass—the breathtaking view from its theater carved out of the side of the acropolis, the magnificent restored Temple of Trajan, the foundations of the Great Altar of Zeus, the ancient healing center of Asclepius, the Temple of Serapis (the Red Hall), and the archaeological museum. A visit to Pergamum should not be rushed. There is much here to reward the patient visitor who will explore the riches of this ancient city. The site of ancient Pergamum is scattered in and around the modern town of Bergama, located in the western part of Turkey, approximately 65 miles north of Izmir. According to ancient mythology, Pergamum was founded by Telephus, king of Asia Minor and the son of Hercules (and thus the grandson of Zeus). Archaeological evidence indicates that Pergamum was settled as early as the 8th century B.C.E. Xenophon, the Greek historian who was involved in a mercenary expedition against the Persians, mentions that in 399 B.C.E. he and his soldiers spent some time at Pergamum. Little is known about Pergamum until the Hellenistic period, when Pergamum and all of Asia Minor came under the control of Alexander the Great. After the death of Alexander in 323 B.C.E., Lysimachus, one of Alexander’s generals (the Diadochoi) involved in the struggle for Alexander’s kingdom, eventually gained control of all of Asia Minor. He deposited a considerable amount of wealth in the treasury of Pergamum and placed one of his officers, Philetaerus, in charge. Philetaerus eventually turned against Lysimachus. After Lysimachus’ death, Philetaerus (r. 281–263 B.C.E.) used the money to establish a principality, with Pergamum as its capital. Unmarried (and supposedly a eunuch due to an accident), Philetaerus adopted his nephew Eumenes I as his successor. Eumenes I (r. 263–241 B.C.E.) was successful in defeating the Seleucid king Antiochus I at Sardis and expanding the rule of Pergamum throughout the Caicus River valley and all the way to the Aegean Sea. Upon his death, he was succeeded by his adopted son Attalus I Soter (r. 241–197 B.C.E.).

Chapter I draws on Lucian’s Portraits to envision composite iconic figures that readers construct from other literary portraits. Ten “snapshots” provide raw material for such composite images of Pythagorean women. The snapshots are drawn from Pythagorean acousmata; Plato’s dialogues, and the writings of Aristoxenus, Dicaearchus, Neanthes, and Timaeus of Tauromenium. These extracts cited in the works of Imperial writers are shaped by several competing ideologies that cannot be reduced to a single originary account about historical Pythagorean women. Next to testimonies praising Pythagorean women’s aristocratic pedigrees and traditional virtues are found others asserting their achievements as philosophers. It is possible to arrange these literary portraits into different modern narratives, documenting either the exclusion of women from Greek philosophical history or their exclusion. But second-century CE testimonies reveal an ancient reading practice that favored a narrative of inclusion.

The pursuit of knowledge, cultural relations and diplomatic practice are discussed in this chapter in the context of the Treaty of Sèvres, the framing the League of Nations, and the role of early twentieth-century philanthropy and academia. The boundaries of where European and US scholars and businessmen penetrated Anatolia are defined as much by the lure of antiquity, recalling the vision of the Megali Idea, as by political posturing and economic gain embedded in the Wilsonian agenda. I trace the strategic diplomacy of the Archaeological Institute of America (AIA), Learned Societies, and two members of the Princeton Expedition to Sardis, Howard Crosby Butler and William Hepburn Buckler, during the 1919 Paris Peace Conference and the Turkish War of Independence. I argue that colonial networks writ large framed the nineteenth-century Western gaze of entitlement that underwrote duplicitous claims to Anatolian soil between 1919 and 1922.