Arte rates reguntur: Nautical handbooks in antiquity?

Studies in History and Philosophy of Science 43 (2012) 270–283

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Arte rates reguntur: Nautical handbooks in antiquity? Boris Dunsch Philipps-Universität Marburg, Seminar für Klassische Philologie, Wilhelm-Röpke-Str. 6 D, D-35032 Marburg, Germany

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Article history: Available online 22 March 2012 Keywords: Nautical handbook Navigation Technical literature

a b s t r a c t Given the huge number of technical handbooks on multifarious subjects, ranging from astronomy and music to rhetoric, horticulture, and cooking, the absence of ancient nautical handbooks comes as a surprise. Such handbooks did exist in antiquity in some form, likely having been written in the period of the Hellenistic boom of technical texts, but disappearing at some later point, perhaps around the third or fourth century AD. This disappearance could be due to a number of reasons, suggesting that the tastes and needs of the audience(s) for nautical technai were changing. These nautical handbooks may have been superseded by more specialized works, such as treatises on astronomy and mathematics, geography and periploi, and naval tactics, which may have been regarded as being of greater use than an interdisciplinary book on sailing. From a purely aesthetic perspective, many readers will probably not feel inclined to bemoan the loss of all ancient handbooks on navigation, as they will have looked similar to the periploi, containing many imperatives, short main clauses in hypotaxis, and many numerals. Ó 2012 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.

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1. Introduction: the status quaestionis After Winston Churchill had received some treatment from his dentist, Wilfred Fish, he is reported to have written him a note saying: ‘‘I know you have written a book about dentures, but I think you should read one.”1 We have no knowledge of any technical manual on dentures or indeed dentistry as such from antiquity.2 However, there are numerous other specimens of treatises, textbooks, and manuals dealing with the most diverse of subjects that were written in Greek and Roman times. Usually, one does not feel the need to explain the absence of something, especially not of such things which one does not expect to find in a certain place, nor of such whose existence one is ignorant of anyway. In this paper, however, I would like to discuss such an apparent lacuna in the system of Greek and Roman technical handbook writing, a genre of non-fictional, specialist literature which is represented by a huge corpus of texts from very diverse backgrounds. Accordingly, these texts deal with a gamut of multifarious subjects, ranging from astronomy and music to rhetoric,

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E-mail address: [email protected] I owe this anecdote to Peter Woodward (St. Andrews). Hildebrandt (2006). Cf. the important cautioning remarks by Dover (1997, pp. 119–130).

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horticulture, and cooking. Considering the paramount importance of seafaring for ancient economy as well as for warfare, and further the virtually ubiquitous presence of maritime and nautical topics, imagery and themes in ancient literature from Homer to Byzantine times, the apparent absence of any kind of evidence for ancient nautical handbooks is striking. It is this lacuna in the system of ancient Fachbuch literature that I would like to examine in this paper. The context for this investigation is research for my Habilitationsschrift, which deals with nautical and maritime imagery in Augustan literature. Metaphors are notoriously difficult to pin down in any text, and particularly so in such written in a dead language like Latin.3 It is all the more important to familiarize oneself with the specialized terminology of the source domine used at the time when the texts one wants to study were produced. The study of this terminology, limited as it must be due to the fragmentary state of our evidence, provides part of the semantic background against which one might try and judge whether a word is used metaphorically or not.

B. Dunsch / Studies in History and Philosophy of Science 43 (2012) 270–283

Looking at the nautical terminology of the Romans—and, since they borrowed a considerable portion of it from the Greeks, also at the specialized vocabulary of the Greeks—one is impressed with the richness of the sermo nauticus, as it is called in Latin.4 As an example, one may just refer to the assortment of technical terms for various types of boats found in lists written by several Latin authors and particularly in a floor mosaic which was discovered in a Roman house in Africa (the Althiburus mosaic).5 It would appear quite natural to anyone today to expect that, apart from Nonius Marcellus’ and the other scholars’ lexicographic works, which were compiled out of antiquarian and linguistic interests, someone in antiquity should have written a specialist manual where all the terminology would be listed and explained, and along with it the practical knowledge which is necessary for successful seamanship—a book more or less like the one published for British sailors in 1974, Bonwick’s Seamanship Handbook for Basic Studies, to take just one example instead of many.6 Contrary to such expectations, one finds that in the most comprehensive works on nautical terminology and its applications, Saint-Denis (1935) and parts of Casson (1971, revised 1995), there is no indication that such nautical handbooks existed in antiquity.7 Looking further afield to the research conducted by Manfred Fuhrmann,8 to a monograph on specialist technological texts in GraecoRoman antiquity,9 and to a collection of papers on the use of technical terms in antiquity10, the result remains the same: it would appear that there simply were no technical texts, no technai or artes, no hypomnêmata or commentarii11 of (or similar to) the kind that I have described above.12 Moreover, in his excellent article ‘‘Fachliteratur” in Der Neue Pauly Klaus Sallmann does not mention nautical handbooks. In this article, Sallmann has drawn up a helpful subject tree. With diligence and attention to detail, he has managed to put onto one single page the outline of a system of ancient arts, sciences, and crafts from the earliest times, represented by the writings of the Ionian and Italiote (pre-Roman Greek-speaking) pre-Socratic philosophers up to the enkyklios paideia and artes liberales which, from its beginnings in Hellenistic times, was developed further in the course of the last century BC, then canonized in Late Antiquity, and has proved influential throughout the Middle Ages and into the first centuries of Early Modern Europe. All major arts and crafts are listed there, especially among the technai in the outer righthand column: strategy and siegecraft (poliorcetics), surgery, law, home economics, agriculture, architecture, engineering and construction. In the next column to the left, we find horsemanship, hunting, fishing, bird-catching, and even two disciplines marked with an asterisk (which means that according to Sallmann there are no actual traces of technical manuals in these fields): fencing and athletics.13 However, one particular discipline is absent— navigation. There is no mention of it, and it is not placed anywhere

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in Sallmann’s system, not even with an asterisk.14 Navigation, although an integral part of ancient life and of paramount importance to Greek and Roman economy,15 ubiquitous as a literary theme since Homer and until Byzantine times, with an innumerable host of nautical and maritime images in prose and poetry as well as depictions on all kinds of material ranging from vases to floor mosaics—of all ancient arts and crafts, navigation is absent from this system. I would like to argue that this absence is striking and needs to be addressed, since it appears from the ancient sources that navigation was not on one plane with, say shoe-making or pottery. It does probably not surprise us that the details of such mundane or banausic crafts were not regarded as worthy of being scripted. I will show later on that navigation constitutes a different case. At this point, it may be helpful to discuss what one might understand by ‘‘nautical handbook”. This is important, since those of us who have seen one may already have formed a pretty good general idea of what such a manual would have to be like, what its contents should be, and whose needs it should cater for. None of this, though, needs to conform with what Greeks or Romans might have expected from such a book. Therefore, it seems advisable to define the term in a broad fashion. Thus, a ‘‘nautical handbook” in this context may be defined as a book which provides helpful information to any qualified person intending to steer a ship of any size from port A to port B in such a way that the ship’s voyage can be conducted with maximum efficiency and safety, and in a technically appropriate manner. Such a handbook, then, may be expected to contain, for example, astronomical tables that help you to determine the position of your ship (i.e., some kind of nautical almanac), chapters on nautical astronomy, meteorology, navigation, nautical topography (catalogues of harbours etc.), coastal geography, weather signs, and the general management of a ship, the handling of its cargo, crew, and possible passengers. There are passages in various works of literature which point to these areas as being in the focus of the ancients in connection with the activity of a captain, helmsman, or pilot. It should also be noted that such texts have existed and been in use since Early Modern times, just to mention the Instrucción náutica by Diego García de Palacio (1587) as one example out of many. That manual covered the topics navigation, nautical astronomy (including the proper handling of nautical instruments) and cartography, weather signs, ship design and construction, rigging, sails and masts, qualities and assigned responsibilities of officers and crew, and naval tactics. Thus, in many ways, it comes close to Bonwick’s modern manual mentioned above.16 At this point, it should be mentioned that we have one class of texts, the so-called periploi (‘‘circumnavigations”) that were at least partly, as it seems, developed in close relation to the practical needs of seamanship. Much, yet not all, of ancient seafaring was based on coastal navigation. That is no wonder, especially if one

Krenkel (2003, p. 12). Althiburus is called Henshîr Medina today. A remarkable fact about the place is that it lies far inland and has never in history had any direct physical connection with the sea. A comparative table of the terminology was put together by Rodríguez-Pantoja (1975). A drawing of the vessels can be found e.g. in Meijer (1986, p. 223). 6 Bonwick (1974). 7 There is no indication of the existence of such manuals in Jal (1848) either. 8 Fuhrmann (1960). 9 Meißner (1999). 10 Fögen (2005). 11 On the terminology, cf. Bömer (1953). 12 My findings were confirmed by a letter from Manfred Fuhrmann (dated 18 August 2003) who assured me that, apart from the periploi (with which I will be dealing shortly), he knew nothing of such specialized nautical handbooks. In his view, the most important sources for this area of ancient life would probably be pictorial, like vase paintings and depictions on coins. 13 There is, however, a treatise Peri gymnastikês by Flavius Philostratus, from which I am going to quote later in this paper. 14 In a footnote to his subject tree, Sallmann raises the possibility that there existed in antiquity more technical manuals than we are told, naming as possible candidates handbooks for sculptors, musicians and craftsmen. Again, navigation is not mentioned. 15 See, for example, Finley (1973, pp. 126–129) and passim. 16 Unlike other such manuals published several decades earlier, the Instrucción náutica appears to have been ‘‘intended for a non-specialist audience and would not have attracted much interest from experienced shipwrights”, cf. Laanela (2008, p. 129). 5

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takes into consideration the visibility range from sea level in the Mediterranean.17 There is almost no sea passage from port A to port B which could not be brought about, even if perhaps rather slowly, by sailing along the coast or using islands or some landmarks as points of orientation. This does of course not mean that the ancients did not practise open sea sailing; actually, they did so to an amazing extent. But in this paper, I will not concern myself with the general history of ancient seafaring. Staying close to the coast had advantages, but it could also be dangerous, especially if one did not know exactly where one was going, as reefs, shoals, tides, currents, winds, and other factors of the marine environment could mean great potential harm to one’s vessel, crew, and goods or passengers. Moreover, as ancient merchants usually travelled from harbour to harbour, or at least from one safe anchoring place to the next, they had to plan their routes accordingly in advance; they needed to know at least roughly what to expect in the next harbour or around the next cape. Such lore was probably handed down and supplemented orally from very early times,18 and finally sedimented in a genre of technical handbooks called periploi, or sea captains’ guides to ports of call. The writers of this plain prose had clearly no literary aspirations, and the information given is structured in a rather monotonous, catalogue-like fashion that still betrays its oral ancestry. Oral sailing instructions went probably like: ‘‘Wait in A in the month of June till you have a NW breeze. Leave at 0500. Sail to B, arriving at 1200. Anchor. Wait for NE breeze, then sail for C at 0300 the next day.”19 The written instructions that are preserved from antiquity range from simple descriptions of coastlines and their particular features, in varying degrees of accuracy, with or without information about winds, bearings and distances, usually given in the fashion of a ‘‘day’s sail”, to quite elaborate guidebooks including many things of interest for merchants sailing the Mediterranean and the Pacific Ocean. These were, as we can safely assume, their most frequent users. Some of the periploi (or stadiasmoi, as they are called sometimes) even contain basic astronomical references. Yet, although upon closer inspection one can find many points of interest in these periploi, they are not technai in the same way in which, for example, Vitruvius’ work on architecture, Heron’s treatises on engineering, Columella’s On Agriculture or even Xenophon’s books on horsemanship could be classified as such. Moreover, what these guidebooks do is in the main to provide help with matters of maritime topography. Accordingly, they were actually used as sources by ancient writers on geography like Strabo and Ptolemy. For these reasons, I would like to leave the periplous genre on the side, at least for the time being. Scholars have, of course, already noticed the absence of nautical handbooks from the mass of texts that has come down on us from

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antiquity. They have variously ascribed the lack of traces of nautical handbooks to one of two reasons. Either, according to some, there has actually never been such a subgenre of handbook literature in antiquity at all, or, according to others, there has been one, but its representatives were lost due to chance destruction. Recently, both positions have found prominent champions in the Italian scholars Pietro Janni and Stefano Medas. For the sake of clarification, let me summarize the two positions briefly. First, Janni’s position: Nautical Handbooks never existed in the first place, because for historical, social and cultural reasons navigation was no respected art in antiquity, so there was nothing to lose.20 This view is shared by other scholars in the field, namely Doris Meyer.21 However, Meyer’s claim that even primitive portolans and maps for purposes of practical orientation at sea are only known from Medieval times onwards needs modification. We do have the fragment of a map transmitted from antiquity and datable to about AD 200, the so-called ‘‘Shield of Dura Europos” (Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris, Suppl. graec. 1354, 2 No. 5), which was probably once part of an itinerarium maritimum.22 The fragment allows us to calculate the size of the original parchment sheet to about 90 x 60 cm. It shows a section of the coast of the Black Sea reaching from (P)an(ysos potamos), today the river Kamchia, via the Danoubis potamos (the mouth of the Danube) to Trape(zous)Arta (today the Strait of Kerch).23 According to Alfred Stückelberger, who has published a photo of the map, it also contained information about distances, but the Greek numbers are barely legible now. This map is certainly not very elaborate nor is it precise in the way we would expect today, but neither are most of the Medieval portolans. Burkhard Meißner, on the other hand, concedes that seafaring, like medicine, brought fourth what he calls ‘‘Erfahrungsliteratur” (technical texts based on empirical knowledge),24 but suggests by way of reference to Vegetius, a Late Antique author on military matters, that at least then naval affairs were not an area where much more could be gained even if the naval commanders or captains took up the study of technical texts. The other, more optimistic view might be summarized thus: Although most of the sailors’ specialist practical knowledge was transmitted orally, there are some references in ancient literature that may point to the existence of nautical technical texts. However, their use would be confined to specific circumstances, like naval warfare, long merchant voyages and expeditions. The main proponent of this position is Stefano Medas,25 but others were of the same opinion, most notably Moses Finley, who, however, is mistaken when he states that Vitruvius’ treatise on architecture is the only outstanding example of ancient technical texts to have come down to us;26 similarly, Eugène de Saint-Denis (1935) seems to have taken the view, at least by implication, that there must have been some genre of specialist technical texts dealing with all kinds of nautical matters.

Cf. McGrail (2001, p. 99, fig. 4.2). Cf. Nilsson (1905). 19 Throckmorton (1972, p. 78). 20 Janni (2002, p. 410): ‘‘[. . .] la marineria non conquistò mai nella cultura antica la considerazione di cui godettero l’agricoltura, la strategia o l’edilizia, ritenute attività degne di trattazione teorica, e oggetto di un’ampia letteratura. Profondi motivi storici, sociali e culturali (validi per i Greci non meno che per i Romani), fecero sì che una vera ‘letteratura tecnica’ dedicata alla nautica non si arrivasse mai.” 21 Cf. Meyer (1998, pp. 194f). 22 Stückelberger (1994, ill. 15). 23 Cf. Stückelberger (1994, p. 72). 24 Meißner (1999, p. 74 n. 184; 291). 25 Medas (2004, pp. 14f.): ‘‘Il motivo principale di questa carenza di documentazione va imputato al fatto che le regole dell’ars navigandi erano affidate alla memoria dei naviganti, cioè appartenevano fondamentalmente ad un bagaglio di conoscenze pratiche trasmesse oralmente e non codificate in forma scritta. In realtà, sulla base di alcuni riferimenti delle fonti, non si può escludere che esistesse anche una letteratura tecnica che, però, non si è conservata. Il suo impiego, in ogni caso, doveva essere destinato a circostanze specifiche, che richiedevano un livello di preparazione tecnica superiore, come possiamo ipotizzare, appunto, in rapporto all’ addestramento dei piloti militari, di quelli praticavano commercio a lungo raggio, seguendo rotte d’altura, o di quelli impegnati in spedizioni esplorative.” See also my review of this book: Dunsch (2006). 26 Finley (1973, p. 145): ‘‘Nothing I have been saying should be taken to deny the absence of experts and expertise in all fields that contributed to manufacture, engineering, food processing and navigation. There was extensive writing on these subjects in antiquity, nearly all of it now lost, with one outstanding exception, the De architectura of Vitruvius, written probably in the reign of Augustus, the standard work on the subject for the next 1500 years or so.” 18

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2. Sailors and landlubbers: the importance of nautical training So where does that leave us? From what has been said so far by the authorities in the field, it would seem that two points merit closer investigation. One is the question of possible hints in ancient literature that might allude to the existence of nautical handbooks. The other is to look into the realities and details of the training of sailors and nautical officers in antiquity, as far as it is possible to reconstruct these with the help of texts and other sources. Is it really true that all skills that pertain to seafaring were exclusively transmitted orally and then refined empirically through the practical experience gained by each individual skipper? To illustrate the latter question, which I am going to discuss presently, I would like to refer briefly to the biography of Lionel Casson. Blanche Brown tells us in her foreword to a collection of essays by Casson how he learned to sail: ‘‘When Jimmy [Casson’s nickname] was fourteen years old, he decided that he wanted to take up sailing. So he bought a small sloop called the Viking and a book called How to Sail. When he launched the Viking onto Long Island Sound, he was holding the main sheet in his right hand and the book in his left hand. Jimmy has always been a bookish person.”27 So, one could ask, were the Greeks and Romans who took out to sea perhaps also bookish people like Professor Casson, at least to a certain degree? A ship’s crew is not just like any other staff anywhere on land. All sailors aboard a ship need to perform certain tasks, each one in accordance with their specific posts and the knowledge and experience they possess. Moreover, any rational person (and certainly any businessman, ancient or modern) will apply a modified version of Occam’s razor to the manning of ships: Nautae non sunt multiplicandi praeter necessitatem—the fewer sailors you need to do a job on board, the better. It is also a matter of economy as well as safety not to keep anyone on board who cannot perform his duties properly and reliably, unless of course that person is a passenger. The only thing that passengers are expected to do is not to get in the sailors’ way. If the untrained try to interfere, chaos may ensue aboard. A text from Tacitus’ Annals (2.23.1-3) illustrates this quite well. The context is the Roman campaign against the Germans in AD 16 under the command of Iulius Germanicus Caesar, the elder brother of Claudius. The fleet, which transports part of the soldiers to their winter quarters, gets caught up in a violent autumnal storm and people on board are upset: Next, summer being already at its height, part of the army were sent back to winter quarters overland, while the majority embarked on the Ems and sailed with Germanicus down to the sea. At first only the sound of a thousand ships’ sails, and the motion of their oars, disturbed the calm. But then, from dense black clouds, descended a hailstorm. Squalls blew up from every side, and the rising waves destroyed visibility and upset steering. The troops, terrified and unfamiliar with the perils of the sea, impeded the professional sailors by getting in the way and offering unwanted help. Soon sea and sky were swept by a southerly gale—nourished by waterlogged Germany and its deep rivers and mighty clouds, and aggravated by the savage

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North Sea just beyond. The gale caught the ships and scattered them over the open sea or on to islands with sharp rocks and treacherous sunken shoals. (Transl. by M. Grant.)28 Professional sailors, characterized as prudentes by Tacitus, are the efficient deck hands and able seamen without whom there simply is no way of running a ship. To act efficiently, especially, as here, in an emergency situation, requires well-trained personnel with special skills; some kind of emergency routines will have been gone through at regular intervals. This holds true not only for the ship’s master and his officers, but also, as can be seen from this example, for the lower-ranking members of the crew. Well-meaning landlubbers, like the soldiers in our example, who just try to help may be a real danger to everyone in situations when the entire crew has to work under enormous pressure. The soldiers act intempestiue, at the wrong time, while they are terrified and untrained in seamanship, in particular ignorant of dangerous situations at sea and routine emergency procedures: casuum maris ignarus. In a way, a ship functions like an organism, where all parts of the body have to perform their specific duties to make the body work as a whole. Each part, like each sailor, performs his particular duties, the ones for which he is specialized. All actions are co-ordinated by the captain and, according to his orders, the officers who assist him in the routine of running the ship. This is the reason why, in the following text (Livy, 29.25.7-9), a Roman commander (Publius Cornelius Scipio) during the Second Punic War (218-201), more accurately in the year 204 BC, when the Romans crossed over to Africa, gave out the general order that while the troops were aboard the ships of the naval fleet, they would (a) have to stay quiet and not to interfere with the sailors’ business and (b) to actually obey the sailors’ orders. It is just unthinkable what would happen if the passengers took over the ship and tried to steer it, or even just tried to interfere with what the sailors are doing at any given time: When all were on board the ships, he [Scipio] sent skiffs round [the fleet] with orders that from each ship the helmsman, the ship-master and two decksoldiers should assemble in the square. When they were all assembled, Scipio asked if they had taken on board for men and animals water for as many days as there was corn. They replied that there was 45 days’ supply of water. He then gave orders that the soldiers must remain quiet, obeying the sailors and not getting in their way as they performed their tasks. (Transl. by B. Dunsch.)29 Usually, however, this special arrangement works well—and sailors and their passengers coexist without any problems. Yet, sometimes, especially in moments of great danger, passengers’ and sailors’ ideas of what to do may diverge. That was the case aboard a ship which carried Synesius of Cyrene (AD 370-413) from Alexandria to his home in Libya in AD 404. His letter (Letters 4, p. 641c Hercher) is full of rash and prejudiced judgements on professional sailors: Then Amarantus thunders out, ‘See what it is to be master of the art of navigation. I had long foreseen this storm, and that is why I sought the open. I can tack in now, since our sea room allows

Brown (1984, p. 12). (1) Sed aestate iam adulta legionum aliae itinere terrestri in hibernacula remissae, plures Caesar classi impositas per flumen Amisiam Oceano inuexit. (2) ac primo placidum aequor mille nauium remis strepere aut uelis impelli; mox atro nubium globo effusa grando, simul uariis undique procellis incerti fluctus prospectum adimere, regimen impedire; milesque pauidus et casuum maris ignarus dum turbat nautas uel intempestiue iuuat, officia prudentium corrumpebat. (3) omne dehinc caelum et mare omne in austrum cessit, qui humidis Germaniae terris, profundis amnibus immenso nubium tractu ualidus et rigore uicini septentrionis horridior rapuit disiecitque naues in aperta Oceani aut insulas saxis abruptis uel per occulta uada infestas. 29 (7) Vt omnes iam in nauibus erant, scaphas circummisit ut ex omnibus nauibus gubernatoresque et magistri nauium et bini milites in forum conuenirent ad imperia accipienda. (8) Postquam conuenerunt, primum ab iis quaesiuit si aquam hominibus iumentisque in totidem dies quot frumentum imposuissent. (9) Vbi responderunt aquam dierum quinque et quadraginta in nauibus esse, tum edixit militibus ut silentium quieti nautis sine certamine ad ministeria exsequenda bene oboedientes praestarent. 28

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us to add to the length of our tack. But such a course as the one I have taken would not have been possible had we hugged the shore, for in that case the ship would have been dashed on the coast.’ (Trans. F. Meijer and O. van Nijf.)30 Synesius’ favourite target is the skipper himself, a man called Amarantus. When the passengers aboard realize that a storm is about to begin, they ask him to hug the shore, as they feel that it would be safer when the distance between them and the mainland is as short as possible. Amarantus does the exact opposite and, under the protests of many passengers, among them Synesius, he sails right out into the open. Later on, he explains what he has been doing and tells Synesius and the others that to be too close to the shore would have meant destruction for the ship, as the winds would have blown them onto the some shallows or reefs. Indeed, sailors and landlubbers live in worlds apart and react very differently to dangers they encounter at sea. For any general who needs to transport his troops across a channel or the open sea it is imparative to have a crew of trained and experienced sailors he can rely on. This is true even for Julius Caesar (The Civil War 1.58): The Massiliots themselves, relying on the speed of their ships and the skill of their helmsmen, slipped out of our way and absorbed our attacks, and so long as they had plenty of searoom they extended their line further and attempted either to surround us or to make attacks in groups against individual ships or, if they could, to break off our oars by passing close alongside; when they were obliged to come to closer quarters, they relied on the courage of the mountaineers instead of on the skill and tricks of the helmsmen. not only had less well-trained oarsmen and less skilled helmsmen, who had been hastily recruited from merchant ships and had not even had time to learn the terms for the pieces of tackle, but were handicapped by the slowness and weight of our ships, which had been constructed in a hurry from green timber and did not have the same capacity for speed. (Trans. J. M. Carter.)31 Caesar explains why the Romans ships operated less successfully than those of the Massiliots. These relied on the scientia gubernatorum, the skill of their helmsmen, while the Romans had rowers who were less exercitati and gubernatores who were less periti. In a fashion not untypical of his style, Caesar has both times used the mot juste. He calls the rowers lacking training (minus exercitatis remigibus) while he refers to the helmsmen as lacking experience (minusque peritis gubernatoribus) This encapsulates very nicely the idea that there is a difference in rank and also in training methods between ordinary sailors and naval officers. He adds that the crews had been transferred rather suddenly from merchant ships to the naval vessels on which they were serving now. These people, says Caesar, did not even know the vocabula armamentorum, the technical terms for the pieces of tackle, etc. This remark clearly shows that the ancients, at least by this time, were well aware of the fact that there was something like the sermo nauticus I have already mentioned, a specific nautical terminology, and that you needed to know it if you wanted to work efficiently aboard a ship.

This leads us to the question if there was some kind of particular training which could be administered to novice sailors. Obviously, the ones mentioned by Caesar were expected to learn the vocabula armamentorum at some point—it remains unclear whether simply on the job or from some instructor. It is also clear that the rowers would have to undergo some form of training, exercitium. How this might be achieved can be seen in a passage taken from Polybius (Histories 1.21.1-2). During the First Punic War (264-241 BC), more precisely in 260 BC, Lucius Cornelius Scipio Asina recruited men for the newly built Roman fleet. The new recruits had to be trained thoroughly and in as short a time as possible. So he ordered to build a mock trireme, and the apprentices were made to sit at the oars in the same order as they would later at sea. They were given clear and simple instructions as to rowing technique and were made accustomed to synchronize their movements with the commands of the boatswain: Those who recruited the crews began to teach them on land to pull an oar in the following way: they made the men sit at the oars on dry land in exactly the same order as the seats had on real ships. Stationing the boatswain in the middle, they trained them to lean back all at once when bringing their hands to their chests, and then to lean forward again as they pushed their hands forwards. They also trained them to begin and end their movements at the commands of the boatswain. (Trans. B. Dunsch.)32 It is clear from the text that this kind of training did not require written instructions. The way it worked was mimetic, almost like some kind of behaviourist conditioning, and the mode of instruction was definitely oral. This makes good sense. The less the rowers think for themselves and the more they are able just to row, the more efficiently the will act as a group. But there are the people who organize this kind of training and tell the boatswains what to do. These people are probably naval officers. Tantalizingly, we are not told anything about them in Polybius. Actually, there is no evidence that might help us to learn more about the methods by which sailors who aspired to the higher ranks were trained further. Certainly experience will also have played an important role, as the use of periti with gubernatores in the passage from Caesar’s Civil War suggests. 3. Nautical handbooks in antiquity? The problematic nature of the evidence Now that we have formed an idea about the professional status of sailors as experts in their own right, especially (but not exclusively) those serving in the navy, and have also assured us of the importance of organized training of naval recruits, we would actually come to the conclusion that manuals of any kind were not really necessary at all, and that Lionel Casson should just have asked an experienced skipper to teach him the skills he needed instead of keeping all to himself on his boat and putting all his trust in a beginner’s sailing manual. However, the second question that has to be tackled is whether there is really no evidence anywhere in ancient literature that nau-

30 jaὶ ὁ baqύrsomo1 Ἀlάqamso1 ‘‘soioῦsom” ἔug ‘‘sὸ matsίkkerhai sέvmῃ”, pqordέverhai cὰq aὐsὸ1 pάkai sὸm ἐj pekάcot1 ἄmelom jaὶ diὰ soῦso lesέxqo1 pkeῖm. jasiέmai cὰq mῦm ἐcjάqrio1, ἐmdidόmso1 soῦ diarsήlaso1 pqorsihέmai sῷ lήjei. soioῦsom dὲ eἶmai sὸm pkoῦm sὸm ἡlέseqom oὐj ἂm eἴ ce paqὰ sὰ1 ἀjsὰ1 ἐpkέolem pqoramapepkάrhai cὰq ἂm sῇ cῇ. 

31 Ipsi Massilienses et celeritate nauium et scientia gubernatorum confisi nostros eludebant impetusque eorum excipiebant et quoad licebat latiore uti spatio producta longius acie circumuenire nostros aut pluribus nauibus adoriri singulas aut remos transcurrentes detergere, si possunt, contendebant. cum propius erat necessario uentum, ab scientia gubernatorum atque artificiis ad uirtutem montanorum confugiebant. quom minus exercitatis remigibus minusque peritis gubernatoribus utebantur, qui repente ex onerariis nauibus erant producti nequedum etiam uocabulis armamentorum cognitis, tum etiam tarditate et grauitate nauium impediebantur; factae enim subito ex umida materia non eundem usum celeritatis habuerant. 32 (1) Oἱ dὲ sὰ pkgqώlasa rtmahqoίramse1 ἐdίdarjom ἐm sῇ cῇ jxpgkaseῖm sὸm sqόpom soῦsom· (2) jahίramse1 ἐpὶ sῶm eἰqeriῶm ἐm sῇ vέqrῳ soὺ1 ἄmdqa1 sὴm aὐsὴm ἔvomsa1 sάnim saῖ1 ἐp’ aὐsῶm sῶm pkoίxm jahέdqai1, lέrom d’ ἐm aὐsoῖ1 rsήramse1 sὸm jeketrsήm, ἅla pάmsa1 ἀmapίpseim ἐu’ aὑsoὺ1 ἄcomsa1 sὰ1 veῖqa1 jaὶ pάkim pqomeύeim ἐnxhoῦmsa1 saύsa1 rtmeίhifom ἄqverhaί se jaὶ kήceim sῶm jimήrexm pqὸ1 sὰ soῦ jeketrsoῦ paqaccέklasa.

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tical handbooks have ever existed. Dietrich Wachsmuth informs us that Athenaeus and Strabo33 mention several works that may qualify as nautical handbooks, namely (a) Pancrates’ Occupations at Sea, (b) Apollodorus’ On Ships, and (c) Apollonius’ On the Trireme. At Deipnosophists 7.283a, Athenaeus mentions the Occupations at Sea for the first time:

The last work listed by Wachsmuth is Apollonius’ On the Trireme. This, at least, sounds like a work dealing with matters more specifically connected with seafaring, though probably not in a practical, but rather in a learned manner. Apollonius, it seems, used citations from other authors to explain the use of a certain obscure technical term in seamanship (Athenaeus, Deipnosophists 3.97d):

Pancrates of Arcadia, in Occupations at Sea, as it is entitled, prefacing with the line, ‘‘The pompilo, which voyagers of the deep call the sacred fish,” relates that the pompilo is held in honour not only by Poseidon, but also by the gods who preside over Samothrace. (Trans. C. B. Gulick.)34

For myself, I know that a certain part of the trireme is called epinomis, according to citations given by Apollonius in his book On the Trireme. (Trans. C. B. Gulick.)38

At Deipnosophists 7.305c, Pancrates of Arcadia is mentioned again in connection with the same work: Pancrates of Arcadia, in Occupations at Sea, says that the thrush is called by many names: ‘To these we now add the wine-coloured thrush, which men of the rod call lizard and speckledbeauty, or pretty perch, fattest at the head.’ (Trans. C. B. Gulick.)35 A closer look at these testimonia results in disappointment. Pancrates’ Erga thalassia, or Occupations at Sea, are not, as one might have been led to believe under the impression of its title, some kind of manual dealing with the duties and routines of sailors at sea, but rather, a didactic poem about fish, fish-names and fish-lore. It is unlikely that it also treated matters of navigation at length or that it served as a nautical handbook, nor indeed, I think, as a handbook for fishermen. Likewise, Apollodorus’ On Ships turns out to be, as can be seen from the first quotation of this author (Strabo, Geography 1.2.24), a poem on the Homeric catalogue of ships in at least two volumes, so Apollodorus must have accumulated quite bit of material. It is aimed at a readership with antiquarian and mythological interests: And he thinks that the poet, ignorant of this fact, just as he was ignorant of those other matters which Apollodorus has mentioned in the second book of his work entitled On the Catalogue of Ships, told what was not true about the regions in question. (Trans. H. L. Jones.)36 The second quotation (Strabo, Geography 6.1.3) shows that he treated legendary eponymous founders of cities, a topic not at all uncommon in much of Greek mythography: Apollodorus, in his work On Ships, in mentioning Philoctetes, says that, according to some, when Philoctetes arrived at the territory of Croton, he colonised the promontory Crimissa, and the city Chone [. . .], and that some of his companions whom he had sent forth with Aegestes the Trojan to the region of Eryx in Sicily fortified Aegesta. (Trans. H. L. Jones.)37 33

Still, this is not the kind of manual that a skipper is likely to consult often, unless he is interested in the more recherché aspects of his profession. The passage shows further that specialist nautical terminology existed in Greek also, and that even the sophists at the banquet may not know much about these technical terms, apart from what they have read in the book of some Hellenistic armchair expert. To conclude this brief examination of Wachsmuth’s testimonia, one can safely say that none of them comes close to what we have been looking for. Two belong to totally different genres, namely didactic poetry (on fish) and mythography (on the catalogue of ships). Of the remaining one (Apollonius’ On the Trireme) we know just that it was at least partly concerned with questions of terminology. All in all, Wachsmuth’s texts do not fit the bill. So is there any other possible evidence? 4. Nautical handbooks—other testimonia 4.1. Thales, nautical astronomy Thales of Miletus is said to have written a Nautical Astronomy,39 and a passage from Apuleius’ Florida (18.15) allows us to get an idea of the possible contents of that work: astronomy and meteorology, in particular the winds, which are always important for sailors, and tempests (‘‘the rolling wonders of thunders”), and the movement of the planets and the tracks of the stars, important means of nocturnal navigation: Thales of Miletus [. . .], the first inventor of geometry among the Greeks, the most reliable investigator of nature and the most experienced observer of the stars, found very big things with the help of tiny lines: the revolution of times, the drift of the winds, the movement of the planets, the rolling wonders of thunders, the sloping tracks of the stars, the annual return of the sun, similarly the waxing of the new and the waning of the old and the obstacles of the eclipsing moon. (Trans. B. Dunsch.)40 However, the Nautical Astronomy was in verse (en epesi), as we know from an article on Thales in the Suda,41 and thus it belongs

Wachsmuth (1967, p. 293 n. 1221). Pacjqάsg1 d’ ὁ Ἀqjὰ1 ἐm soῖ1 Hakarrίoi1 Ἔqcoi1 ἐpicqauolέmoi1 pqoeipώm· polpίko1, ὃm jakέotrim ἁkίpkooi ἱeqὸm ἰvhύm, digceῖsai ὡ1 oὐ lόmom sῷ Poreidῶmi ὁ polpίko1 ἐrsὶ diὰ silῆ1, ἀkk’ ὅsi jaὶ soῖ1 sὴm Ralohqᾴjgm jasέvotri heoῖ1. 35 Pacjqάsg1 d’ ὁ Ἀqjὰ1 ἐm Ἔqcoi1 Hakassίoi1 sὴm jίvkgm pokkoῖ1 ὀmόlarί ugri jakeῖrhai·oἷ1 ἤdg jίvkgm oἰmώdea, sὴm jakalῆe1 raῦqom jijkήrjotri jaὶ aἰokίgm, ὀquίrjom, piόsasom jeuakῇ. 36 soῦso dὲ ἀcmooῦmsa sὸm poigsήm, ὥrpeq jaὶ sὰ ἄkka ὅra eἴqgjem Ἀpokkόdxqo1 ἐm sῷ peqὶ Neῶm jasakόcot detsέqῳ jasaweύrarhai sῶm sόpxm sὰ lὴ ὄmsa. 37 Ἀpokkόdxqo1 d’ ἐm soῖ1 peqὶ meῶm soῦ Uikojsήsot lmgrheὶ1 kέceim simά1 ugrim, ὡ1 eἰ1 sὴm jqosxmiᾶsim ἀuijόlemo1 Kqίlirram ἄjqam oἰjίrai jaὶ Xώmgm pόkim [...], paq’ aὐsoῦ dέ sime1 rsakέmse1 eἰ1 Rijekίam peqὶ Ἔqtja lesὰ Aἰcέrsot soῦ Tqxὸ1 Aἴcersam seivίraiem. 38 Ἐcὼ cὰq oἶda ἐpimolίda jakotlέmgm jaὶ lέqo1 si sῆ1 sqiήqot1, ὡ1 Ἀpokkώmio1 ἐm Tqigqijῷ paqasέheisai. 39 Simplicius, Commentary on Aristotle’s Physics p. 23, 29 Diels: kέcesai dὲ ἐm cqauaῖ1 lgdὲm jasakipeῖm pkὴm sῆ1 jakotlέmg1 Natsijῆ1 ἀrsqokocίa1. - He is said to have left nothing in writing, except for the so-called Nautical Astronomy. (trans. B. Dunsch) 40 Thales Milesius [. . .] geometriae penes Graios primus repertor et naturae rerum certissimus explorator et astrorum peritissimus contemplator—maximas res paruis lineis repperit: temproum ambitus, uentorum flatus, stellarum meatus, tonitruum sonora miracula, siderum obliqua curricula, solis annua reuerticula, itidem lunae uel nascentis incrementa uel senescentis dispendia uel delinquentis obstacula. 41 Suda H 17 (Adler =DK 11 A 2). There it is stated that Thales wrote peri meteôrôn en epesi, ‘‘on astronomical phenomena in hexameters”. Further to this, in Plutarch, De Pythiae oraculis 18, 402E (= DK 11 B 1) one of the interlocutors states that —in the distant past— philosophers like Orpheus, Hesiod, Parmenides, Empedocles, and Thales wrote ta dogmata kai tous logous in poetic form/in verse (en poiemasin) and that the same would be true for astronomy: Aristarchus, Timocharis, Aristyllus, and Hipparchus wrote katalogadên (in prose), whereas Eudoxus, Hesiod, and Thales used metre, if —says the interlocutor— Thales really is the author of the Astrologia attributed to him. 34

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to the genre of didactic poetry and is not a nautical handbook of the kind we are looking for, though it may have contained material that could have been used by anyone who wanted to compile such a manual. 4.2. Timosthenes of Rhodes, On Harbours Another interesting work in this context is Timosthenes of Rhodes’ On Harbours (Peri limenôn). This is partly because Timosthenes was, according to the sources, either admiral (nauarchos) or chief helmsman (archikybernêtês) of the fleet of Ptolemy II Philadelphus (285-246 BC), and therefore a man who probably knew what he was writing about, and partly because he was an educated and ambitious writer who even put his hand to the composition of some poetry. Yet, what we learn about this treatise is that is comprised ten books.42 It gave distances between ports of call43 and covered, though not comprehensively, the bigger part of the Mediterranean world. It is unlikely that a skipper would have used the ten volumes either aboard his ship or even on land while preparing his voyage. Such a bulky mass of data would rather be of interest for the geographers of Hellenistic and later times, and indeed, Eratosthenes is said to have used and even plagiarized from the admiral’s copious elucubrations. Our main source for this and all other pieces of information about Timosthenes, Marcianus’ Periplus of the Mare Internum (that is, of the Mediterranean; GGM 1.565-566) tells us further that he produced an abridged version in one book, perhaps this one being intended for a wider readership and to be put to more practical purposes: Timosthenes of Rhodes, chief helmsman of the second Ptolemy [. . .]. So, when most parts of the sea were still unexplored because the Romans had not yet conquered them, Timosthenes wrote books On Harbours and did not run through all the people who live with us round the Mediterranean. [. . .] However, of these ten books he produced an abridged version in one book; afterwards he compiled in just one other book a summary of the so-called stadiasmoi. (Trans. B. Dunsch.)44 It is unfortunate that we do not know much more about this work. Be that as it may, again on the available evidence one must come to the conclusion that Timosthenes’ work is actually some kind of periplus, a sea captains’ guide to ports of call, albeit a very comprehensive and elaborate one, containing details about distances, harbours, trading opportunities, dangerous shoals, the coastline etc. These periploi are quite interesting in their own right, but they are not technai in the sense envisaged in this paper. 4.3. Varro, Ephemeris navalis (The Sailor’s Calendar ?) After all these blind alleys—is there at least one single example of a nautical handbook in antiquity? There is. Its author is the most productive and versatile scholar that has ever been brought fourth by Rome, Marcus Terentius Varro. We only know very little about this particular book, and the little we do know has to be gleaned

from a passage in the Itinerarium Alexandri, an anonymous Greek narrative of the Persian expedition and other events in the life of Alexander the Great, a book of little literary merit that is dated to the fourth century, as it is dedicated to Constantius (AD 317361), the son of Constantine, on the occasion of his first war against the Persians (AD 338-350): Therefore if Terentius Varro once worked out that famous book called Ephemeris for Gnaeus Pompeius who was about to set out on a military campaign in Spain, so that for this man, who was about to tackle on a difficult task, it would be easy to know the movement of the sea, and so that he could—relying on his foreknowledge—seek or avoid all other atmospheric phenomena (...). (Trans. B. Dunsch.)45 The anonymous author compares himself with the exemplum of Varro, who had composed an Ephemeris for Pompey to accompany the general on his military campaign against the rebel Quintus Sertorius (AD 123-72) in Spain (AD 77-72/71). This book whose complete title was probably Ephemeris navalis contained information about specifically nautical matters, especially about manoeuvres at sea and how to use the winds, as we are told by the anonymous author of the Itinerarium Alexandri. We are fortunate to have one fragment of that work. It was quoted for its linguistic interest by Nonius Marcellus (De conpendiosa doctrina p. 71 M. = 99 L.); on the gender of autumnus: Neutro Varro Ephemeride Nauali: ‘‘The Etesian winds blew for a longer period and more copiously, and autumn had been windy.” (Trans. B. Dunsch.)46 This short bit of text was dismissed offhand by Richard Reitzenstein, who did not even quote it, as ‘‘nichtssagendes Fragment” (‘‘banal fragment ‘‘),47 but that is not true. On the contrary, we learn from it (a) the full title of the Ephemeris, (b) that the work really did treat winds, and (c) that the work treated not only the direct route by sea from Italy to Spain, as has sometimes been argued, but also wider issues of weather conditions in the Mediterranean. Knowledge of the Etesian winds mentioned by Varro is particularly important for sailing in the Aegean during the dog-days of the Mediterranean summer. They can blow violently from any direction between northwest and northeast, though they are most often conceived of as northeasterly winds. Their precise flow and direction depends on a number of topographic and atmospheric factors, but they are generally strong enough to cause considerable and potentially dangerous storms, so a sound knowledge of these winds is definitely required from anyone responsible for one or more ships in that region.48 It is, however, not quite clear how the material contained in the Ephemeris was actually arranged and presented. The use of the imperfect and pluperfect tense in the one fragment we have suggests some form of narrative, but that impression may be deceptive, as the book might have had some kind of isagogic character, especially if one considers the phrasing that is used in the Itinerarium Alexandri: ut eidem scire esset inclinationem oceani, that is, the nautical layman Pompey should be informed about matters of winds and tides. Taking the title ephemeris (‘‘day-book”) literally, one could be induced to expect some kind

42 Strabo, Geography 9.3.10: Tilorhέmg1, ὁ maύaqvo1 soῦ detsέqot Psokelaίot [. . .]soὺ1 kilέma1 rtmsάna1 ἐm dέja bίbkoi1.—Timosthenes, the admiral of the second Ptolemy, who [. . .] compiled The Harbours in ten books. (trans. H. L. Jones) 43 Pliny, Natural History 6.183. 44 Tilorhέmg1 ὁ Ῥόdiό1 [...], ἀqvijtbeqmήsg1 soῦ detsέqot Psokelaίot cecomὼ1 [...]Tilorhέmg1 lὲm cὰq, ἔsi sῶm pkeίrsxm sῆ1 hakάrrg1 ἀcmootlέmxm leqῶm sῷ Ῥxlaίot1 lgdέpx pokέlῳ jejqasgjέmai soύsxm peqὶ kilέmxm rtccqάwa1 bibkίa oὐ pᾶrim ἀjqibῶ1 ἐpenῆkhe soῖ1 sῇ jah’ ἡlᾶ1 paqoijoῦri hakάssῃ. [...] soύsxm dὲ sῶm iʹ bibkίxm ἐpisolὴm ἐm ἑmὶ pepoίgsai bibkίῳ· eἶs’ ἐm ἑsέqῳ pάkim ἑmὶ sῶm jakotlέmxm rsadiarlῶm ἐpidqolήm sima rtmέcqawem. 45 Itinerarium Alexandri 6, p. 442 Brenez (= p. 156 Müller = 3, p. 2 Volkm.): Igitur si Terentius Varro Gnaeo Pompeio olim per Hispanias militaturo librum illum Ephemeridos sub nomine laborauit, ut inhabiles res eidem gressuro scire esset ex facili inclinationem oceani, utque omnes reliquos motus aerios praescientiae fide peteret vel declinaret (...). 46 Etesiae diutius et uberius flabant et autumnum uentosum fuerat. 47 Reitzenstein (1885, p. 528). 48 On the importance of the Etesians, cf. Morton (2001, p. 48) and Casson (1995, p. 273).

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of calendar, diary or journal, as they were, for example, compiled by army officers,49 or some kind of almanac or short treatise, a use of the word that is peculiar to Latin.50 The libri navales which are mentioned by Vegetius—we will look at that passage soon—are usually thought to be identical with the Ephemeris, but for no good reason if one goes strictly by wording of both titles. It would seem clear that a work like the Ephemeris could not be generated from nothing. Varro must have had sources, since at that time he was probably still merely a learned armchair expert who would not write from personal experience, though in 67 BC he served as legatus under Pompey with distinction in the war against the pirates and was awarded the corona navalis. Still, for the Ephemeris he would probably have used other authors—among them perhaps Poseidonius, other Hellenistic scholars, but perhaps also some now lost periploi. Other titles by Varro that are in some way related to navigation include De ora maritima, De litoralibus, De aestuariis, and De mensuris. It is possible that De litoralibus, which dealt with coastlines, and De aestuariis, which was about tides, were simply parts of De ora maritima (‘‘On the Coastline”), as Elizabeth Rawson suggested.51 At any rate, the titles document an above average interest of Varro in nautical matters, and it is to be regretted that we do not have more of any of these works, except for some fragments from De ora maritima. That treatise would appear to have been arranged more systematically than the Ephemeris. At least that is what one can deduce from a quotation given in the Servian commentary on the Aeneid (Servius auctus, Commentary on the Aeneid 1.112 [= fr. 5 Salvadore]; on the gender of uadum): ‘‘Varro in the first book On the coastline: If the ground is not far beneath the highest water level, it is called shoal.” (Trans. B. Dunsch.)52 Again, as in the case of the quotation from the Ephemeris, the text is quoted for its linguistic interest, a procedure that assures a certain randomness of the sample we have before us. In this particular case, Varro gives a definition of the word uadus, ‘shoal’ (usually a neuter, vadum, in Classical Latin), a definition one would reasonably expect in the first book of a work called De ora maritima, and probably in one of the earlier chapters of such a work. So what we have here would appear to be a scientific and systematic treatise if not of everything that a skipper might need to know, still more organized and on a higher theoretical level than any known periplus. It is possible that the passages in Seneca’s Naturales quaestiones which mention Varro in connection with a systematization of the winds (Seneca, Naturales quaestiones 5.16.3-4; on the arrangement of the winds in the wind rose) might be ascribed to De ora maritima.53 At least they also testify to Varro’s interests in this particular area of science: Some authors make them [the winds] twelve. For they divide the four parts of the sky into three sectors each and give each single [main] wind two assistants [‘vice-prefects’]. In this way Varro, a thorough man, orders them, and not without reason. [. . .] Varro also uses this name [uulturnus for eurus, a wind from the southeast]. (Trans. B. Dunsch.)54

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5. Orality versus literacy in professional seamanship A look at the most important testimonia to the existence of nautical handbooks in antiquity has left us with the impression that such manuals might have existed. We know of at least one work which was written for the practical needs of a military commander and probably introductory in character. Although this treatise was composed ad personam, it experienced at least some kind of wider circulation from late Republican times to the early fourth century AD when it was used by Nonius Marcellus. Now if such a sub-genre of technical texts existed, and I suppose in view of what we have read so far one might justifiably claim that it did, then the next question which inevitably arises and needs to be addressed is: Why was it lost? The second part of this paper will be dedicated to the search of an answer to this problem. As we have seen in the case of the training of rowers in the First Punic War, some of the knowledge that is required by the sailor’s profession can be transmitted orally, and even more basically by showing rather than telling. Actually, it has been argued by theorists of the history of science, that this is even true for at least a certain part of the knowledge of natural scientist in our own age and time. Thomas Kuhn, for example, refers to what he calls a ‘paradigm’ in science not only as a full set of rules which could be communicated to everyone, but observes that much of a scientist’s success depends also on ‘‘tacit” or ‘‘personal” knowledge that is acquired through practice and that cannot be articulated explicitly.”55 This idea is similar to what Plato says in Politicus 296e-297a where he observes that a kybernêtês would not put his experience down in writing, but rather offer it orally, that is, offer himself as an expert: Just as a steersman, always watching out for what is to the benefit of the ship and the sailors, preserves his fellow-sailors not by putting things down in writing but offering his expertise as law, so too in this same manner a constitution would be correct, would it not, if it issued from those who are able to rule in this way, offering the strength of their expertise as more powerful than the laws? (Trans. C. J. Rowe.)56 To this we can compare a remark made by the Old Oligarch in his work on the Constitution of the Athenians (1.19-20), who says that good helmsmen are produced by thorough experience (di’ empeirian) and diligence (dia meletên), and that in such a way they would learn the nautical terminology as well as everything else: A man who often sails aboard a ship necessarily takes a rudder in his hand, he himself and his servant, and learns the nautical terminology. Good helmsmen are also brought fourth through knowledge gained empirically on the voyages and through exercise. They have exercised themselves partly in the steering of a [smaller] vessel, partly in that of a freighter [merchant ship], partly they got from there to stand on triremes; the

Cf. Ath. 10.434b, Plut. Alex. 23, Arr. Anab. 7.25.1 (Alexander the Great); Plut. Caes. 22 (Caesar). Plin. Nat. 28.160; Juv. 6.574. 51 Rawson (1985, p. 265). 52 Varro de ora maritima libro I: ‘si ab aqua summa non alte est terra dicitur uadus’. 53 This has recently been done by Salvadore (1999, pp. 48-52). 54 Quidam illos duodecim faciunt. quattuor enim caeli partes in ternas diuidunt et singulis uentis binos subpraefectos dant. hac arte Varro, uir diligens, illos ordinat, nec sine causa. [. . .] Varro quoque hoc nomen usurpat [uulturnus for eurus]. 55 Kuhn (1970, p. 44 n.1), with reference to Polanyi (1958). 56 ὥrpeq ὁ jtbeqmήsg1, sὸ sῆ1 meὼ1 jaὶ matsῶm rtluέqom paqautkάssxm, oὐ cqάllasa siheὶ1 ἀkkὰ sὴm sέvmgm mόlom paqevόlemo1, rῴfei soὺ1 rtmmaύsa1 oὕsx jaὶ jasὰ sὸm aὐsὸm sqόpom soῦsom paqὰ sῶm oὕsx1 ἄqveim dtmalέmxm ὀqhὴ cίmois’ ἂm pokiseίa, sὴm sῆ1 sέvmg1 ῥώlgm sῶm mόlxm paqevolέmxm jqeίssx; 50

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masses, however, know how to row as soon as they are aboard a ship, as they have had exercise in all their life. (Trans. B. Dunsch.)57 The text distinguishes, however, between kybernêtai and the nautical ‘masses’ who work as simple rowers. All they need to know is how to row, and they have been practising that skill all their lives. Plutarch, in his essay on Old Men in Public Affairs (mor. 790 DE) argues that, just like old politicians are much more experienced in the business of politics and their services should therefore be preferred to those offered by young ones fresh out of Business School, an experienced sea-captain worth his salt has not learnt his art from books on navigation (grammata kybernêtika), but through years of experience, dealing with all possible kinds of adversities that can befall people at sea: Treatises on navigation do not make ship-captains of men who have not often stood upon the stern and been spectators of the struggles against wind and wave and wintry night, When yearning for the twin Tyndaridae / Doth strike the sailor driven o’er the sea; and can a youngster manage a state rightly and persuade an assembly or a senate after reading a book or writing in the Lyceum a school exercise about political science, if he has not stood many a time by the driver’s rein or the pilot’s steeringoar, learning this way and that with the politicians and generals as they contend with the aid of their experiences and their fortunes, thus amid dangers and troubles acquiring the knowledge they need? (Trans. H. N. Fowler.)58 If we were optimistic, we could take this mention of ‘‘books on navigation” as proof—against the testimonies of Plato and the Old Oligarch—that such writings did exist, at least in Imperial times, for what sense would it make for Plutarch to refer to them otherwise? Yet, considering its context, the comparison appears to be polemical, and it is at least possible that the expression grammata kybernêtika is meant to be an oxymoron, and to sound almost as nonsensical as ‘‘A Treatise on How to Walk on Foot”. Therefore, this text cannot be regarded as absolutely unambiguous, and has to be discounted for methodological reasons. There is a similar passage in Polybius (Histories 12.25 d 5-6), interestingly also in a polemical context: Yet when you make them [experts in theoretical medicine] confront reality by entrusting a patient to them you find them just as incapable of being of any service as those who have never read a single medical treatise. [. . .] For really they are just like pilots who steer by book. (Trans. W. R. Paton.)59 The historian criticizes the methods of some of his colleagues by comparing them first to the members of a Medical School that concerns itself mainly with the study of the theory of disease. These experts in theoretical medicine are then compared to people who steer a ship by book (ek bybliou). Again, the polemical context in

which this is uttered makes it impossible to exclude oxymoronic intentions.60 Some lines in Aristophanes’ Knights (541-544) seem to point to a gradual promotion in rank of deck officers commensurate with their growing experience and responsibility. First, they act as pêdaliouchos (roughly equivalent to quartermaster), then as prôireus (bow officer and assistant to the helsman), and finally as kybernêtês (helmsman): That is what keeps our port frightened; in addition, he would tell himself in view of this / that before being a pilot, he must first know how to work the rudder, / and then to keep watch at the prow and gauge the winds, / and that only then he would be able to command his vessel. (Trans. B. Dunsch.)61 To conclude this section, I would like to quote a passage from Seneca’s Letters to Lucilius which allows a glimpse at how some nautical training might have been conducted. From what is said here, it would seem that even higher ranking sailors and officers, like someone aspiring to be promoted to the rank of gubernator—and, as we have just seen in Aristophanes, it is unlikely that anyone would be made a helmsman straight away—will undergo some training that is dominated by what one might call a ‘hands on’ approach. The anaphoric use of deictic sic and a series of imperatives (moue, summitte, utere, resiste, uindica) are signs of primary orality which Seneca may merely report here (Letters 95.7): If other arts, one says, are satisfied with [giving] instructions, then wisdom will also be content [with giving instructions]; for it is also an art, [the art] of living. Now a helmsman is trained by someone who says [to him]: Move the helm like this, lower the sails like this, use a favourable breeze like this, withstand an unfavourable one like this, take advantage of a doubtful and indifferent one like this. (Trans. B. Dunsch.)62 One result of the scrutiny of the texts in this section is that at least part of the nautical training was sometimes conducted orally and by physical demonstration. There are indications, though, that textbooks may also have played a role. One should perhaps not attach too much importance to the statements made by Plato and the Old Oligarch that helmsmen never put down anything about their experiences in writing. In fact, there is one unambiguous piece of evidence to the contrary. In Marcianus’ Periplus, from which I have already quoted, we are told that a kybernêtês named Sosandros wrote ta kata tên Indikên,63 probably some kind of periplus. It is hard to say anything about its contents apart from that, since this is the only time that this work is referred to in antiquity. What we do learn, however, is that at least one helmsman did write about his experiences, and I see no reason why others could not have done so, too. Yet, allowance has to be made for one other way in which seamanship was certainly also taught in antiquity: inside the family, from father to son, as can be seen, for example, in a passage taken from Claudian’s Panegyric on the Fourth Consulate of Honorius where

57 ἀmάcjg cὰq ἄmhqxpom pokkάji1 pkέomsa jώpgm kabeῖm jaὶ aὐsὸm jaὶ sὸm oἰjέsgm, jaὶ ὀmόlasa laheῖm sὰ ἐm sῇ matsijῇ· jaὶ jtbeqmῆsai ἀcahoὶ cίcmomsai di’ ἐlpeiqίam se sῶm pkόxm jaὶ diὰ lekέsgm· ἐlekέsgram dὲ oἳ lὲm pkoῖom jtbeqmῶmse1, oἳ dὲ ὁkjάda, oἳ d’ ἐmseῦhem ἐpὶ sqiήqeri jasέrsgram· oἱ dὲ pokkoὶ ἐkaύmeim eὐhέx1 oἷoί se eἰrbάmse1 eἰ1 maῦ1, ἅse ἐm pamsὶ sῷ bίῳ pqolelekesgjόse1. 58 ἢ pkoίxm lὲm ἄqvomsa1 oὐ poieῖ cqάllasa jtbeqmgsijὰ lὴ pokkάji1 cemolέmot1 ἐm pqύlmῃ heasὰ1 sῶm pqὸ1 jῦla jaὶ pmeῦla jaὶ mύjsa veilέqiom ἀcώmxm, ὅse Ttmdaqidᾶm ἀdekuῶm ἅkiom maύsam pόho1 bάkkei, pόkim dὲ lesaveiqίrarhai jaὶ peῖrai dῆlom ἢ botkὴm dύmais’ ἂm ὀqhῶ1 mέo1 ἀmacmoὺ1 bίbkom ἢ rvokὴm peqὶ pokiseίa1 ἐm Ktjeίῳ cqawάlemo1, ἂm lὴ paq’ ἡmίam jaὶ paq’ oἴaja pokkάji1 rsὰ1 dglacxcῶm jaὶ rsqasgcῶm ἀcxmifolέmxm ἐlpeiqίai1 ἅla jaὶ sύvai1 rtmapojkίmxm ἐp’ ἀluόseqa, lesὰ jimdύmxm jaὶ pqaclάsxm kάbῃ sὴm lάhgrim; 59 Oὓ1 ὅsam ἐpὶ sὴm ἀkήheiam ἀpacacὼm ἄqqxrsom ἐcveiqίrῃ1, soroῦsom ἀpέvomse1 eὑqίrjomsai sῆ1 vqeίa1 ὅrom oἱ lgdὲm ἀmecmxjόse1 ἁpkῶ1 ἰasqijὸm ὑpόlmgla· [...] eἰrὶ cὰq ἀkghῶ1 ὅloioi soῖ1 ἐj btbkίot jtbeqmῶrim. 60 Walbank (1967), p. 390, is right in taking the phrase soῖ1 ἐj btbkίot jtbeqmῶrim as a reference to sailing proper, and not figuratively as ‘governing a state’. 61 saῦs’ ὀqqxdῶm diέsqibem ἀeί, jaὶ pqὸ1 soύsoirim ἔuarjem ἐqέsgm vqῆmai pqῶsa cemέrhai pqὶm pgdakίoi1 ἐpiveiqeῖm, jᾆs’ ἐmseῦhem pqῳqaseῦrai jaὶ soὺ1 ἀmέlot1 diahqῆrai, jᾆsa jtbeqmᾶm aὐsὸm ἑatsῷ. 62 Si aliae, inquit, artes contentae sunt praeceptis, contenta erit et sapientia; nam et haec ars, uitae est. atqui gubernatorem facit ille qui praecipti: sic moue gubernaculum, sic uela summitte, sic secundo uento utere, sic aduerso resiste, sic dubium communemque uindica. 63 Marc. Peripl. Mar. Int., GGM 1.565.29-30.

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the author praises Honorius’ father who instructed his son justly (lines 419-427): These precepts the father imparted : in the same way 420 an aged ship’s master, whom winter with its shifting squalls has often tested, now worn-out by sea-faring and old age, hands over the watery reins of his ship to his son and teaches him the dangers and skills: by what star the hand may be guided; by what use of the rudder the waves may be cheated; 425 what is the sign of storms; what treacherous promise the clear sky holds; what the setting sun reveals; what wind it is that disfigures the moon so that the face she holds up is pale and angry. (Trans. W. Barr.)64

The subjects taught by the helmsman to his son can be regarded as an interesting curriculum of nautical skills and knowledge, comprising astronomy (sidere in line 424), navigational manoeuvres (quo . . . moderamine, 424) in difficult sea (fluctus, 424), weather signs (nota nimborum and fraus infida sereni, 425), and astronomical signs (sol occiduus, 426, and decolor Cynthia, 427) and the influence of the winds (saucia uento . . . Cynthia, 426f.). This passage shows another possible way of transmitting specialized nautical knowledge: orally from father to son. Although one can assume that quite a few of the helmsmen were trained to walk in their fathers’ footsteps in such a way, this would certainly not be the case for the training of all helmsmen, especially not those serving in the navy rather than working privately on merchant ships. However, the question that still remains to be answered is: Why do we have no surviving books on navigation like the ones on agriculture by Cato, Varro, Columella, and Palladius? One possible avenue of investigation is to look at the position of navigation within the ancient system of the arts and sciences. 6. On the fringe of the arts: the status of the ars gubernandi There are authors in antiquity who would call into question the status of the ars gubernatoria as a proper science, for example Cicero in De finibus bomorum et malorum 1.42: We esteem the art of medicine not for its interest as a science but for its conduciveness to health; the art of navigation is commended for its practical and not its scientific value, because it conveys the rules for sailing a ship with success. So also Wisdom, which must be considered as the art of living, if it effected no result would not be desired; but as it is, it is desired, because

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it is the artificer that procures and produces pleasure. (Trans. H. Rackham.)65 In what actually amounts to a paradox, Cicero states that the art of navigation, the art of the helmsman, ars gubernatoria . . . non arte laudatur, is not praised for its artfulness, but for its practical value. In other words, to know something about navigation is not conceived of as something that is valuable in its own right, something that can be studied just for the sake of studying l’art pour l’art, but only as a means to achieve something else, namely a safe crossing. Conversely, the behaviour of helmsmen in public is not like that of people who are conscious of their important status. This point is made in Plato’s Gorgias through the powerful and almost moving image of a kybernêtês who has just saved the lives of hundreds of people by managing a safe passage across the Mediterranean and is now walking up and down his ship in port quite unpretentiously, probably checking the hull for damages or seaweeds. Those who will have depended for their very lives on his art, the kybernêtikê technê, do not take an interest in him as soon as the ship lies safely anchored at port. This is well observed and true to life (Plato, Gorgias 511c-e): SO. But now, my best friend, do you think there is anything grand in the accomplishment of swimming? KAL. No, in truth, not I. SO. Yet, you know, that too saves men from death, when they have got into a plight of the kind in which that accomplishment is needed. But if this seems to you too small a thing, I will tell you of a more important one, the art of piloting, which saves not only our lives but also our bodies and our goods from extreme perils [. . .] And at the same time it is plain-fashioned and orderly, not giving itself grand airs in a pretence of performing some transcendent feat [. . .]. The actual possessor of the art, after performing all this, goes ashore and strolls on the quay by his vessel’s side, with an unobtrusive demeanour. (Trans. W. R. M. Lamb.)66 In his treatise on military tactics, Vegetius refers explicitly to the gubernatores after he has mentioned Vergil’s Georgics and Varro’s libri navales as sources for nautical knowledge, more precisely for birds and fish as weather signs.67 The next sentence is textually somewhat unclear because of a number of variant readings; I follow the text of Alf Önnerfors’ Teubner edition (Vegetius, Handbook of Tactics 4.41.6-7):68 Some things are clarified through the observation of birds, some through that of fish; Vergil describes this in a nearly divine spirit in his Georgics and Varro sets it out thoroughly in his Books on Seafaring. The helmsmen claim to know this, but only to that extent to which experience has taught them; no higher education has improved them. (Trans. B. Dunsch.)69 If the text as printed is correct, Vegetius seems to be excluding the helmsmen of his time from those people who might be expected to

64 Haec genitor praecepta dabat: uelut ille carinae 420 longaeuus rector, uariis quem saepe procellis explorauit hiems, ponto iam fessus et annis aequoreas alni nato commendat habenas et casus artesque docet : quo dextra regatur sidere; quo fluctus possit moderamine falli; 425 quae nota nimborum; quae fraus infida sereni; quid sol occiduus prodat; quo saucia uento decolor iratos attollat Cynthia uultus. 65 Ut enim medicorum scientiam non ipsius artis sed bonae ualetudinis causa probamus, et gubernatoris ars, quia bene nauigandi rationem habet, utilitate, non arte laudatur, sic sapientia, quae ars uiuendi putanda est, non expeteretur, si nihil efficeret; nunc expetitur quod est tamquam artifex conquirendae et comparandae uoluptatis. 66 RX. Tί dέ, ὦ bέksirse; ἦ jaὶ ἡ soῦ meῖm ἐpirsήlg relmή sί1 roi dojeῖ eἶmai; KAK. Mὰ Dί’ oὐj ἔloice. RX. Kaὶ lὴm rῴfei ce jaὶ aὕsg ἐj hamάsot soὺ1 ἀmhqώpot1, ὅsam eἴ1 si soioῦsom ἐlpέrxrim oὗ deῖ saύsg1 sῆ1 ἐpirsήlg1. eἰ d’ aὕsg roi dojeῖ rlijqὰ eἶmai, ἐcώ roi leίfx saύsg1 ἐqῶ, sὴm jtbeqmgsijήm, ἣ oὐ lόmom sὰ1 wtvὰ1 rῴfei, ἀkkὰ jaὶ sὰ rώlasa jaὶ sὰ vqήlasa ἐj sῶm ἐrvάsxm jimdύmxm [...]. jaὶ aὕsg lὲm pqorersaklέmg ἐrsὶm jaὶ jorlίa, jaὶ oὐ relmύmesai ἐrvglasirlέmg ὡ1 ὑpeqήuamόm si diapqassolέmg [...]. jaὶ aὐsὸ1 ὁ ἔvxm sὴm sέvmgm jaὶ saῦsa diapqanάlemo1 ἐjbὰ1 paqὰ sὴm hάkassam jaὶ sὴm maῦm peqipaseῖ ἐm lesqίῳ rvήlasi. 67 Cf. Verg. G. 1.360-364. 68 Önnerfors (1995, pp. 252f.) (see also the discussion of the text in the critical apparatus). 69 (6) Aliquanta ab auibus, aliquanta significantur a piscibus, quae Vergilius in Georgicis diuino paene conprehendit ingenio et Varro in libris naualibus diligenter excolit. (7) Haec gubernatores sese scire profitentur, sed eatenus, quatenus eos peritiae usus instituit, non altior doctrina firmauit. ________________________________________________________________________ sese coni. We.: si se (sise) esbcf (si scire se f ): se FPTadg: si e peritiae FLPcorrQsb: periciam ef: imperiti(a)e (-cie; in- HM) codd. rell. et edd. firmauit Acorr: firmabit A1BGHMg: formauit T

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have had some form of higher education (altior doctrina). On the contrary, what the gubernatores know, they know by experience (peritiae usus), not by studying Varro’s libri navales or Vergil’s didactic poetry. So there certainly was a trend among some people in antiquity to regard the ars gubernatoria as an artless art, and any higher education of a navigator would appear as incongruent to them as a doctorate in barbering would appear to us. Others held less uncompromising views. Arguably the most interesting of these is Flavius Philostratus (around AD 200) who groups navigation together with some other arts. In the first text, his Life of Apollonius, Philostratus first defines what he takes to be the ‘‘wise” arts (sophas scil. technas), poetry, music and astronomy (there is a hint at what is later to become the liberal arts in this particular grouping of the disciplines). Then he moves on to the arts of the sophist and the public orator, explicitly excluding the attorney at bar. Thirdly and last, he mentions the ‘‘not just so wise” arts (hyposophous), among which he reckons painting, sculpting, navigation, and agriculture (provided that the practitioners of the latter art concern themselves with astronomical calculations of the seasons); Philostratus, Life of Apollonius 8.7.125-130: And by liberal arts I mean poetry, music, astronomy, the art of the sophist and of the orator, the merely forensic kinds excepted; and by the arts which border upon liberal I mean those of the painter, modeller, sculptor, navigator, agriculturist, in case the latter waits upon the seasons; for these arts are not very inferior to the liberal professions. (Trans. F. C. Conybeare.)70 The second text, taken from Philostratus’ treatise On Gymnastics, gives an even more detailed explanation of why he regards navigation as a ‘‘sub-liberal” art (Philostratus, On Gymnastics p. 261, 1-2 Kayser): Let us regard on the one hand, for example, the following disciplines as sophia [‘‘science”]: philosophy, artful public speech, the practice of poetry, music and geometry, and, by Zeus, of astronomy, as long as it is not overdone. The ordering of an army, on the other hand, is also sophia, and so are the following: the whole of medicine and painting and modelling and the various kinds of sculpting, stone-cutting, and metal engraving. To the crafts, however, may be conceded artfulness [technê], insofar as some tool and instrument are produced with it, yet sophia [systematic knowledge] may only be attributed to those disciplines which I named before. I will except navigation from the crafts, since it touches on the understanding of the stars and the winds and unknown things [tôn adêlôn]. (Trans. B. Dunsch.)71 This time he divides the disciplines into sophia (‘‘science”) on the one hand, which includes philosophy, oratory, poetry, music, geometry and astronomy, and adds also military tactics, medicine, painting, modelling and several others which are concerned with stonecutting and metal engraving, and on the other the banausoi, a term which he does not define more closely. Then he explicitly pleads for

the exclusion of navigation from the banausic crafts, as navigators would need an understanding of the stars and winds and unknown things—in other words, astronomy, meteorology and either the reading of signs in nature or geography and ethnography, depending on what one takes tôn adêlôn to mean. What could be the reason why there is such an uneasiness about the systemic status of navigation? To answer this question, it might help to look at a passage from the pseudo-Platonic Epinomis (976a), where it is argued that navigation, which is here paired off with medicine, is not a proper science, as both disciplines rely on doxa, and not on epistêmê to achieve their results: What men call the art of healing must also, I take it, be described as a means of defence against all the depredations with which climates attack the constitutions of living creatures by untimely heat and cold and all such evils. None of these remedies confers reputation for the truest wisdom; for they are not reduced to rule, and are carried to and fro by opinion and conjecture. We will also call ships’ captains and sailors defenders, and let no one try to move us by proclaiming any of all these to be wise. For not one of them can understand the anger or kindness of the winds, a knowledge desirable for all navigation. (Trans. J. Harward.)72 Moreover, they lack a set of definite and unshakable rules. In a word, they are less scientific because they are empirical. They do not look at the idea of the winds, but have to deal with real winds. Moreover, they always react to the winds, as they cannot really always forsee them. Like rhetoric, which is, by the way, the main topic in the wider context around this passage, says the author of the Epinomis, navigation and medicine are ‘‘boethetic” in character, that is, they are ancillary to other humans’ activities. Again, the underlying concept seems to be that you would not practise either of the two disciplines for its own sake, but just as a means to achieve an end. In other words, these disciplines ‘‘have no secure scientific foundation, since they deal empirically with the incalculable.”73 That is also the tenor of what Aristotle says about people who are children of Fortune (Eudemian Ethics 1247a 3-7): For although they lack understanding, they get many things right which are governed by chance, some again succeed in areas where technê [specialist knowledge] is required, yet chance is nonetheless also strongly involved, as for example in warfare and navigation. (Trans. B. Dunsch.)74 Although they lack real insight (they are aphrones), they manage to get many things right. As an illustration of this, Aristotle refers to warfare and navigation as disciplines where technê may play a great role, but tychê is also strongly involved. I would suggest that it is exactly this kind of in-betweenness of the ars gubernatoria that made it awkward for the ancients to pigeonhole this particular art, especially in Later Antiquity when the arts became more and more canonized within a less and less flexible system of the artes liberales.75 Viewed from a certain angle, navigation was definitely one of the

70 jakῶ dὲ rouὰ1 lὲm poigsijὴm lotrijὴm ἀrsqomolίam, rouirsὰ1 jaὶ sῶm ῥgsόqxm soὺ1 lὴ ἀcoqaίot1, ὑporόuot1 dὲ fxcqauίam pkarsijὴm ἀcaklasopoioὺ1 jtbeqmήsa1 cexqcoύ1, ἢm saῖ1 ὥqai1 ἕpxmsai, jaὶ cὰq aἵde aἱ sέvmai rouίa1 oὐ pokὺ keίpomsai. 71 Rouίam ἡcώleha jaὶ sὰ soiaῦsa lέm, oἷom uikorouῆrai jaὶ eἰpeῖm rὺm sέvmῃ, poigsijῆ1 se ἅwarhai jaὶ lotrijῆ1 jaὶ cexlesqίa1, jaί, mὴ Dίa, ἀrsqomolίa1, ὁpόrg lὴ peqissή· rouίa dὲ jaὶ sὸ jorlῆrai rsqasiάm, jaὶ ἔsi sὰ soiaῦsa, ἰasqijὴ pᾶra jaὶ fxcqauίa jaὶ pkάrsai jaὶ ἀcaklάsxm eἴdg jaὶ joῖkoi kίhoi jaὶ joῖko1 rίdgqo1. bάmatroi dὲ ὁpόrai, dedόrhx lὲm aὐsaῖ1 sέvmg, jah’ ἣm ὄqcamόm si jaὶ rjeῦo1 ὀqhῶ1 ἀposekerhήresai, rouίa dὲ ἐ1 ἐjeίma1 ἀpojeίrhx lόma1, ἃ1 eἶpom. ἐnaiqῶ jtbeqmήsgm sῶm bamaύrxm, ἐpeidὴ ἄrsqxm se rtmίgrim jaὶ ἀmέlxm jaὶ sῶm ἀdήkxm ἅpsesai. 72 ἣm dὲ jakoῦrim lὲm ἰasqijήm, boήheia dέ pot jaὶ aὕsg rvedὸm ὅrxm wύvei jaὶ jaύlasi ἀjaίqῳ jaὶ pᾶri soῖ1 soioύsoi1 kgίfomsai sὴm sῶm fῴxm uύrim. eὐdόjilom dὲ oὐdὲm soύsxm eἰ1 rouίam sὴm ἀkghersάsgm· ἄlesqa cὰq dόnai1 uoqeῖsai sopafόlema. boghoὺ1 dέ pot jaὶ soὺ1 jtbeqmήsa1 ἅla jaὶ soὺ1 maύsa1 ἐqoῦlem, jaὶ soύsxm ἄmdqa rouὸm lgdέma si1 ἡlᾶ1 paqalthoύlemo1 ἐn ἁpάmsxm diaccekkέsx· oὐ cὰq ἂm eἰdeίg si1 pmeύlaso1 ὀqcὴm oὐdὲ uikίam, ὃ pqoruikὲ1 ἁpάrῃ jtbeqmgsijῇ. 73

Dodds (1959, p. 347). ἄuqome1 cὰq ὄmse1 jasoqhoῦri pokkά, ἐm oἷ1 ἡ sύvg jtqίa· ἔsi dὲ jaὶ ἐm oἷ1 sέvmg ἐrsί, pokὺ lέmsoi jaὶ sύvg1 ἐmtpάqvei, oἷom ἐm rsqasgcίᾳ jaὶ jtbeqmgsijῇ. 75 See Kühne (1997). 74

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quaestus sordidi et inliberales that Cicero mentions in De officiis (though without particular reference to navigation) or the artes vulgares et sordidae, as Seneca called them once.76 From another point of view, however, being a helmsman required a certain set of skills that could be regarded as sufficiently erudite to merit the inclusion in a higher stratum of the arts and sciences. Interestingly, this peculiar status of navigation is probably one of the reasons why it was classified along with seven other disciplines as a so-called ‘‘mechanic art” in the Middle Ages.77 The other mechanic arts are weaving, armouring, agriculture, hunting, medicine, and—drama. On the other hand, the helmsman or ship’s navigator is still seen as a person whose work requires him to have a certain well-defined set of skills and nautical knowledge. That is the reason why he, as is stated in a passage of Varro’s work On the Latin Language (9.6), has a claim to absolute obedience as long as he is at the helm of a ship: As a helmsman ought to obey reason, and each one in the ship ought to obey the helmsman, so the people ought to obey reason, and we individuals ought to obey the people. (Trans. R. Kent.)78 Incidentally, it is implied in this passage that the knowledge of the helmsman is one that is—on a larger scale—equivalent to reason itself. Moreover, in Vegetius’ Handbook of Tactics (4.38.1-4) great emphasis is put on the fact that, in order to be able to predict the development of weather on sea, any person in charge needs to have a solid grasp of naturalis philosophia: Anyone sailing with an armed navy needs to anticipate storm signs. For warships have often been damaged more seriously through storms and squalls than by an enemy attack; all skills of natural science have to be employed in this area, because the nature of the winds and weather conditions can be deduced from the way the sky is. Cruel as the sea is, just as caution preserves the circumspect, carelessness destroys the negligent. Therefore the art of navigation first of all needs to look at the number and names of the winds. (Trans. B. Dunsch.)79 The ars navigandi, as he calls it, requires first and foremost a careful study of the winds, their names and their number. Again, statements like this reinforce the impression that navigation occupied a status in-between a ‘‘true” ars—like the artes liberales—and a mere craft or skill, like pottery. 7. A handbook de re nautica: some speculations Another very important question that anyone who claims that nautical handbooks existed in antiquity will have to answer is: What kind of information would you expect to find in such manuals? In other words, if you were asked to reconstruct the contents of such a work, what would they actually be? As long as one cannot come up with a list of possible subject matter, the argument remains incomplete. What can be said here must perforce be brief. Taking e.g. the chapters of Vegetius’ book on military tactis and an Arabic treatise on seafaring which is dated to the first half of the sixteenth cen-

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tury, it seems that the themes which interest a sea captain are as follows: both the Roman and the Arabic author mention the winds and their directions, safe seasons for maritime travel and nautical astronomy. Other topics mentioned by at least one of them are materials used for shipbuilding, the measurement of distances, tides, routes and coasts, and emergency procedures. In addition, Vegetius mentions some topics peculiar to naval warfare. It stands to reason that these or similar topics would also, at least partly have been dealt with by authors of artes gubernatoriae (Handbook of Tactics 4.31-46; only chapter headings are given): XXXI. Precepts of naval warfare (PRAECEPTA BELLI NAVALIS). XXXII. The titles of the officers in charge of the fleet (NOMINA IVDICVM QVI PRAEERANT CLASSI). XXXIII. Whence ships are called liburnae (VNDE APPELLENTVR LIBVRNAE). XXXIV. With what diligence liburnae are built (QVA DILIGENTIA FABRICENTVR LIBVRNAE). XXXV. The astronomical observations according to which timber ought to be cut (QVA OBSERVATIONE SIT CAEDENDA MATERIES). XXXVI. In what month the beams ought to be cut (QVO MENSE CAEDENDAE SINT TRABES). XXXVII. About the size of the liburnae (DE MODO LIBVRNARVM). XXXVIII. The Names and number of the winds (NOMINA VENTORVM ET NVMERVS). XXXVIIII. In which months it is safer to sail (QVIBVS MENSIBVS TVTIVS NAVIGETVR). XL. How the storm signs ought to be observed astronomically (QVEMADMODVM TEMPESTATVM OBSERVANDA SINT SIGNA). XLI. On weather signs (DE PROGNOSTICIS). XLII. On estuaries, that is, concerning the tide (DE AESTVARIIS, HOC EST DE RHEUMATE). XLIII. On knowledge of places, or on the oarsmen (DE LOCORVM NOTITIA SIVE REMIGIBVS). XLIIII. On naval weapons and hurling machines (DE TELIS TORMENTISQVE NAVALIBVS). XLV. How ambushes are arranged in naval warfare (QVEMADMODVM NAVALI BELLO COLLOCENTVR INSIDIAE). XLVI. What is to be done when a naval battle is begun in an open engagement (QVID FIAT CVM APERTO MARTE BELLVM NAVALE COMMITTITVR). Interestingly, similar topics have found their way into nautical manuals that were compiled much later and also in other cultural environments, so that one begins to wonder about possible lines of continuity along which such handbook knowledge might have been handed down from antiquity, cf. e.g. the aforementioned work by Sidi Ali (d. 1562), the Kitab al-Muhit:80 1. Orientation, Measurement of the Celestial Sphere, Distances and Heights of Stars. 2. Chronology, the Solar ad Lunar Year, Calendar Reform. 3. Uses of the Compass. 4. The Indian Coastline. 5. The Setting and Rising of the Stars. 6. The Polar Height of all Important Harbours and Islands in the Indian Ocean.

Cic., De off. 1.150; Sen., Ep. 88.21. Cf. Lindgren (1992, pp. 66f). 78 Vt rationi optemperare debet gubernator, gubernatori unus quisque in naui, si populus rationi, nos singuli populo. 79 (1) Qui cum exercitu armatis classibus uehitur, turbium signa debet ante praenoscere. (2) Procellis namque et fluctibus liburnae grauius quam ui hostium saepe perierunt, in qua parte naturalis philosophiae tota est adhibenda sollertia, quia uentorum tempestatumque caelesti ratione natura colligitur. (3) Et pro acerbitate pelagi, sicut prouidos cautela tutatur, ita neglegentes exstinguit incuria. (4) Igitur uentorum numerum atque uocabula ars nauigandi primum debet inspicere. On Vegetius and weather prediction, see Taub (2011). 80 Cf. Sezgin (2000, p. 159f). 77

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7. 8. 9. 10.

On the Measurement of Distances between Places. The Winds, their Kinds and Dates. Sea Routes. Emergency Measures in Case of Hurricanes.

8. Conclusion: love and the sea I would like to conclude this paper with a look at the first few lines of the first book of Ovid’s didactic poem On the Art of Love (Ars amatoria). The poet announces that he is going to communicate to his readers—that is, to all those among the Romans who are yet unaware of the ars amandi—the knowledge that is required to be a successful lover. It should be noted that the reference is specifically to readers, and not to an audience, as can be seen from the expressions hoc legat and lecto carmine in line 2. Moreover, Ovid claims that the person who has read his poem will be a doctus amator, one who knows the ars amandi. In the following two lines, the Art of Love is paradoxically compared with two others, that of steering a ship and that of driving a chariot. Obviously, a navigator will need some special knowledge and skills, and so will a charioteer. It is equally obvious that people who would like to become navigators or charioteers will need some kind of specialised instruction. However, it is much less evident that someone intending to become a lover should need similar training. Still, Ovid outrageously insists that Love is just as much a teachable subject as are seafaring and chariot racing. In other words, he claims that his poem belongs to the didactic genre. A strong link between the various parts of his argument is established by the repetition of the word ars in lines 1-4, especially its anaphoric use in lines 3 and 4. The argument is one from analogy, linking the first two propositions to the third. Since ships and chariots have to be steered skilfully, so has Love. I have taken the motto of my paper (arte rates reguntur) from this passage, and I would like to explain why I have chosen the reading reguntur that is offered by a considerable number of manuscripts instead of moventur, which has also good manuscript backing. It is not the movement (moventur) which is important here, but the steering (reguntur) of the ship or chariot respectively. Both chariots and ships will move (or be moved) somehow anyway under the influence of the physical forces to which they are submitted—what makes a ship or a chariot useful to us is the fact that we have learnt to steer their movements. For this reason and for some others with which I have dealt with in detail elsewhere,81 I follow Michael von Albrecht in reading reguntur against most modern editors,82 a form also supported by a considerable part of the manuscript tradition. In addition, the close link between lines 3 and 4 would be reinforced by the verbal echo reguntur—regendus, while it would be unbalanced by the contrasting expressions mouentur—regendus. Both sail and rudder (ueloque . . . remoque) are not just means of making the ship move, but more importantly of manipulating the vessel in order to give that movement a certain direction. This is also true for Love. People fall in love anyway—what is important though is to give that emotion a certain direction, and that is precisely where skill comes into play: arte regendus Amor. Ovid claims that he has produced a manual teaching its readers the art of love, just as others have written technai on navigation and charioteering. In the light of the arguments that have been discussed in this paper, Ovid’s witty introduction to his own didactic work may be taken as yet another implicit hint at the existence of a sub-genre of nautical handbooks in antiquity. Again, of course, the context is not entirely serious, and we might as well be looking at an oxy-

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Cf. Dunsch (2007). Cf. von Albrecht (1992, p. 165).

moron again, especially since, as far as I know, there were no manuals on chariot-racing in antiquity. Balancing all the evidence, I think one can conclude that Stefano Medas and the other scholars I mentioned are right in claiming that nautical handbooks did in fact exist in antiquity in some form. It is reasonable to assume that they came into existence in the period of the Hellenistic boom of technical texts, but that they vanished again at some later point, perhaps around the third or fourth century AD, either because those going to sea did not feel that they really needed them, or because those who found such manuals entertaining, that is those who did not go to sea but like to read about seafaring, turned to more ‘reputable’ pastimes, like reading books on agriculture, or perhaps because the nautical technai were superseded by more specialized works that were already in use, like treatises on astronomy and mathematics, geography and periploi, and naval tactics, which, taken together, were considered to be of more use than an interdisciplinary book on sailing. From a purely aesthetic perspective, many will probably not feel inclined to bemoan the loss of all ancient handbooks on navigation, as these will have looked somewhat similar to periploi, containing many imperatives, short main clauses in hypotaxis, and many numerals. Acknowledgements This study is dedicated to the memory of Manfred Fuhrmann (1929–2005), whose work on ancient technical texts has been groundbreaking. I am much indebted to him for his help at an early stage of my research and his kind encouragement to pursue my question further. I presented my ideas at research seminars in St Andrews and Edinburgh in February/March 2006. My thanks go to Douglas Cairns, Andrew Erskine, Stephen Halliwell, Harry Hine, and Ulrike Roth for stimulating contributions. The late Sir Kenneth Dover kindly discussed my ideas with me over a cup of tea at his house and provided me with a valuable reference to Thucydides. I owe a particular debt of gratitude to Sabine Föllinger (Marburg) who read the entire manuscript and encouraged me to publish it. I am also much obliged to Liba Taub (Cambridge/Berlin) and Katharina Fischer for their editorial help and kind patience. References Albrecht, M. v. (Ed.). (1992). Publius Ovidius Naso. Ars amatoria—Liebeskunst. Lateinisch/Deutsch. Stuttgart: Reclam. Bömer, F. (1953). Der commentarius. Zur Vorgeschichte und literarischen Form der Schriften Caesars. Hermes, 81, 210–250. Bonwick, G. J. (1974). Seamanship handbook for basic studies. London: Stanford Maritime. Brenez, I. (2003). Julius Valérius et le corpus alexandrin du IVe siècle: présentation et traduction, suivies d’une étude de synthése (Ph.D. dissertation). Metz: Université Paul Verlaine. Brown, B. R. (1984). Foreword. In L. Casson (Ed.), Ancient trade and society (pp. 9–13). Detroit: Wayne State University Press. Casson, L. (1995). Ships and seamanship in the ancient world. Baltimore/London: Johns Hopkins University Press. de Saint-Denis, E. (1935). Le rôle de la mer dans la poésie latine. Paris: Klincksieck. Dodds, E. R. (1959). Plato: Gorgias. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Dover, K. (1997). The evolution of Greek prose style. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Dunsch, B. (2006). Review of Medas (2004). Bryn Mawr Classical Review 2006.08.53. Dunsch, B. (2007). Regere oder movere? Textkritische und exegetische Untersuchungen zu Ovid, Ars amatoria 1, 1–10. Hermes, 135, 314–333. Finley, M. I. (1973). The ancient economy. Berkeley & Los Angeles: University of California Press. Fögen, Th. (Ed.). (2005). Antike Fachtexte. Ancient technical texts. Berlin & New York: De Gruyter. Fuhrmann, M. (1960). Das systematische Lehrbuch: Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der Wissenschaften in der Antike. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht.

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