November 27, 2005
Openness, Secrecy, Authorship: Technical Arts and the Culture of Knowledge from Antiquity to the Renaissance
Long, Pamela O. Openness, Secrecy, Authorship: Technical Arts and the Culture of Knowledge from Antiquity to the Renaissance. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins UP, 2001.
In this book-length work, Long examines attitudes regarding ownership and secrecy within craft and technical traditions. Her study covers a remarkable breadth of time, from ancient Greece to the Renaissance. For the purposes of my project, I am primarily concerned with the first two chapters, which deal with antiquity.
Chapter One, “Ancient Traditions of Techne and Praxis,” begins with an overview of the Greek handbook tradition. Technical manuals were devised not only for speaking, but also for technical pursuits such as agriculture and engineering. (She also makes note of the assertion that the Sophists distributed written versions of their lessons.) Military technology was incorporated into the academic canon in the 4th century BCE. A remarkable policy of openness drove the production of these works: knowledge was to be shared, and earlier knowledge was to be improved upon. Philo, in the introduction to his military manuals, claims he won’t use old authors unless their works prove effective; rather, he will contribute his own knowledge (27). The Ptolemies, however, did value ‘old authors’ and went to great lengths to preserve their works in the Alexandrian Library. A special value was placed on the original of any text, and they developed a policy of removing all books from ships, copying them, and returning the copies to the owners. The same dubious exchange was executed with the Athenians (27-28).
The Romans also pursued a policy of openness, as demonstrated by Vitruvius in the de Architectura. In it, he says that “his own reputation will rest on his knowledge as revealed through authorship rather than on the construction of buildings” (32). He also pays homage to past authors whose work his own work builds upon. He makes a distinction between placing one’s name on a book written by another and compiling other’s ideas; the first is theft, and the latter is not. Long writes that this reverent attitude toward previous authors was characteristic of the Romans, and that authorship was to some extent a civic duty, since “authorship in the encyclopedia was intrinsically related to the civic orientation of elites within the empire” (38).
Most importantly for my project, she describes several differences between contemporary and ancient concepts of intellectual property. Distribution of books was beyond the author’s control, and there was no way to limit copies or protect the content. After the initial distribution, excerpts often appeared in anthologies, and the excerpts might or might not be faithful reproductions of the original content. There is no mention of intellectual property in either Greek or Roman law, but plagiarism and theft are often mentioned in the texts of both countries. Accusations of plagiarism most often concerned the attribution of books, not the copying of bits of texts. Compilation of works for encyclopedias or anthologies was not necessarily frowned upon (43).
The second chapter is devoted to “Secrecy and Esoteric Knowledge” in late antiquity. It covers the development of mystery religions/cults and the attendance rise of magical crafts. These crafts involved complex recipes and processes, and the texts containing them were most often accompanied by admonitions to maintain the secrecy of the material. The most extensive collection of magical texts, it appears, was the Greek Magical Papyri, which were the “working papers of a practicing magician” (48). The Leyden and Stockholm Papyri, which deal exclusively with alchemy, appear to be related to these Greek texts, as evidenced by the ink and handwriting. All of these contained craft secrets: “Evidence of secrecy suggests a kind of craft secrecy that kept knowledge of magical practices and recipes carefully concealed from the vulgar crowd” (51). Additionally, these texts represent a shift from the public, civic craft and technology texts of ancient Greece and Rome to a new, private secret notion of ownership. These groups continued the Roman admiration for past traditions and authors, particularly within the tradition of alchemy.
November 15, 2005
Literature and Literacy in Ancient Greece II: Caging the Muses
Davison, J.A. “Literature and Literacy in Ancient Greece II: Caging the Muses.” Phoenix 16.4 (Winter 1962). 219-233.
In this subsequent essay, Davison traces the rise of bookselling and collecting. He finds the earliest reference to a bookselling quarter in Aristophanes’ Birds from 414, and notes that bookselling became an export industry by the end of that century (219). Of course, private book collectors also began to develop their personal libraries around this time, and the libraries of Euripedes, Euthydemus, and Eucleides were apparently notable. A predictable second-hand book trade also existed, as did dealers in rare books (221).
In the fourth century, books became more commonplace, and so did the literary critic. Multiple editions of works abounded, produced with the cooperations of rhapsodes. Discrepancies were rife between the editions (most notably those of Homer), and it wasn't until much later that the critics managed to wrangle them into something approaching a definitive edition. By the middle of the second century BC, Greeks had begun to develop a true literary culture, one sufficient to be passed on to the Romans.
Most importantly for my larger project, Davison briefly examines the implications that the rise of the book had for intellectual property and publication. While our ideas of “publication” don’t map onto the sort of publication that was possible then, we do begin to see page layout begin to be considered, as well as basic usability. Authors were still not conscious of the need to create works of standard length, but the physical producers of work were beginning to standardize their trade (232). The author says “there is no suggestion that I can find of any idea that an author might have had any property in his writings or of anything like a law of copyright,“ and he doubts that they would have accepted money for their works either, given Plato’s admonitions against accepting money for teaching (232).
November 14, 2005
Literature and Literacy in Ancient Greece
Davison, J.A. “Literature and Literacy in Ancient Greece.” Phoenix 16.3 (Autumn 1962). 141-156.
Davison begins this two-part essay by clarifying his interests: “‘What makes authors tick?’ and ‘How do authors eat?’“ For these frank, simple questions, and for his conversational style, I’ve developed a special affection for his work.
His discussion of the importance of oral memory is much the same as Havelock’s much later work, although Havelock cites him only once in passing in The Muse Learns to Write. He discusses the use of storage language (without using precisely that term) as a ritualized, narrative practice, most often in the form of song (145) and in competitions (153). A fair amount of space is devoted to the fourth canon, particularly as a support for improvisation. Interestingly, he notes that the Muses often appear as “the guardians of factual tradition, the divine record office as it were to which the poet can appeal for information on matters outside his own knowledge” (145). The Muses are not always to depended on, though: “not all the Muses are as honest as she who visited Demodocus; Hesiod’s Muses put the telling of lies like to truth first among the things which they know, and only tell true tales when they feel like it” (146). Thus, Muses are not a reliable substitute for memory.
He also makes the point that writing a book or copying another’s work was not equivalent with preparing it for publication in the 8th century BC (149). Writing technologies were expensive (a papyrus cost 2 drachmas in the 5th century BC) and mass reproduction was nearly impossible. Copies were necessarily limited: the author himself, and his representatives might have copies. The fact that copies were offered as dowry points to a sense of absolute ownership in copies, if not in the content (151). “Such stories suggest that the author was confident that there was no other copy of the poem in existence, and that the exclusive right of recitation thus conferred might prove ... valuable” (151).
Unlike Havelock, he supposes that the transition from oral to literate culture took place in the course of a generation. In the process of tracing the rise of the alphabet and literacy in attic Greece, Davison makes an interesting observation: just because people are fully literate does not necessarily mean they spend much time reading, or that it is a preferred means of transmitting information or entertainment. He claims that most Athenians were not ‘great readers’s, preferring to get their content aurally much current audiences prefer radio or podcasts. While the alphabet was demonstrably in use by the end of the eighth century BC, reading as pasttime does not appear until the last quarter of the fifth century (143). He sees the first record of reading for leisure and respite in Euripides’ Erechtheus, which tells of a soldier coming home from war and sitting down to read a book. When such men are many, publication and the bookselling trade can begin to flourish.
November 11, 2005
Did Demosthenes Publish His Deliberative Speeches?
Trevett, Jeremy. “Did Demosthenes Publish His Deliberative Speeches?” Hermes 124 (1996): 425-441.
Trevett refutes previous scholarship on the matter, building a point-by-point case that Demosthenes’ deliberative speeches were never published by Demosthenes during the era they were performed. He notes that the only direct evidence that they were circulated comes from Plutarch’s report of a statement made by Hermippos, who said that Aision had said that they were circulated. (426). Since this is no more than hearsay, it does not constitute proof. Trevett follows this opening salvo with the following points:
- The speeches were never revised after delivery. The historical events described are somewhat subjective, he says, and the Olynthian attack described in IV does not necessarily refer to Philip’s attack in 349 (427). In other speeches, Demosthenes alludes to sections of information that do not appear in the text; Trevett argues that these gaps are due to a much later editor, not to any revision on the part of the original author.
- Claims that the speeches were too generalized to have been delivered as they stand are not cogent. This stance ignored the possibility that proposed motions were not always incorporated into the speeches (431). Supporters of other speakers sometimes made proposals that the speaker advocated, and we can’t be sure that this wasn’t also the case with Demosthenes. The fact that his speeches don’t always introduce a motion doesn’t mean there wasn’t one. Additionally, his failure to clarify the context within the speeches indicates that they were intended only for delivery rather than publication, since a live audience does not need to be informed of their context (432). His failure to name other politicians does not point to publication, since he could have improvised at any point during the delivery of the speech.
- Deliberative speeches were not generally circulated. Athenian politicians did not generally circulate this type of speech, so if Demosthenes did it would have been a departure from the mores of the day. Additionally, “the nature of democratic politics did not encourage a politician to communicate his views by means of pamphlets” (434). The potential audience for a speech in the Assembly was much greater than any audience that could be reached through pamphlets. Finally, publishing one’s views made it more difficult for a politician to change his mind later.
- He was known for writing his speeches out, as evidenced by his exchange with Pytheas. Pytheas’ suggestion that Demosthenes’ talks “reeked of the lamp” suggests that his extensive use of writing was unusual (436). However, the nature of political debate makes it very difficult to stick to a written speech. Trevett argues that we must assume the final, spoken product was much more extemporaneous. If we had access to these preperatory notes, we would have a much better idea about what sort of revision took place and how fully elaborated the work was.
- Writing a speech out and circulating it are two different things. One is not necessarily linked to the other. These drafts were left to dust after their delivery, as in the case of the 65 Prooemia, which are planned introductions for an extemporaneous body. If these were not prepared as word-for-word documents, then they were not intended for publication. Some of them also re-use earlier material. If the speeches were commonly circulated, then this auto-plagiarism would have been much more difficult to countenance (429).
Of course, we can never really know how much revision took place or what the actual, live content of a speech was. In spite of these limitations, Trevett makes some interesting points about the distinct publishing practices concerning different speech genres (forensic and epideictic: yes. deliberative: no). This gives us a slightly different look into the scriptural economy of the time. Further, it suggests that a proprietary construction of authorship might have existed since there was a market for something like a pamphlet entitled On The False Embassy by Aeschines.