Elkins & Evans, ed., Concordia Disciplinarum: essays on ancient coinage, history, and archaeology in honor of William E. Metcalf, 2018
Greek deploys multiple means of writing numbers, either as words, or else in numerals, using one ... more Greek deploys multiple means of writing numbers, either as words, or else in numerals, using one or another of several numerical systems. When writing compound numbers, any language has two choices: either ascending order, or else descending order. Greek literary texts before ca. 325, especially those in verse, mostly deploy the Greek “verbal” system for recording numbers, and mostly record compound numbers in ascending order. On the other hand, there is some evidence from Greek literary texts that compound numbers written in descending order had been calculated using numerals. The evidence of early inscriptions tends to confirm that descending-ordered compound numbers were written in numerals. For several centuries after ca. 325, there are few extant Greek prose texts, and the Greek pattern of writing numbers has not been deeply studied. Coins provide a uniquely precise way to study the Greek deployment of numerals and the writing of compound numerals. The evidence of late Classical and Hellenistic coins with engraved compound numerals shows the gradual spread of the alphabetic numeral system from the mid-third to the mid-first century. Port cities played a leading role in this spread, so that, as in earlier work, the extent to which compound numerals are written in descending order serves as a marker of “commercial” numeracy.
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Because I argue for a long and continuous evolution, this chapter begins at a very early date, indeed; and evidence from prehistoric cultures, as well as from Egypt and Mesopotamia in eras long before Homer, will be important. We do not have access to the theories and models of those prehistoric cultures, and we have only minimal access to the theories and models of the Egyptian and Mesopotamian practitioners. Nevertheless, the techniques being developed display a focus on certain goals and follow specific evolutionary paths. Those goals and paths in turn inform our understanding of the models we do have from early Greek thinkers. The structure of the chapter represents that, as follows: sec. 1, Fire; sec. 2, Colors; sec. 3, Ceramics; sec. 4, Fermentation; sec. 5, Fusible Stone; sec. 6, Artificial Stone; and sec. 7, Theories and Models. (I have advocated this interpretation in Keyser 1990; see also Irby-Massie and Keyser, 2002, chap. 9, introduction ; and Lambert 2005.) The account is roughly in chronological order, with geographical details, because it refers to specific data, but nothing depends on the particular dates or locales used: rather, they emphasize the depth of time and diversity of locale.
To cover the wide range of cultures and practices, a capacious definition of alchemy is implicitly at play in this chapter. What later became more precise and focused remains here a collection of related practices and goals, elements from which were later compounded and fused into what became known as “alchemy.” is chapter thus deals with what can validly be called the prehistory of the ancient Greek science of materials, their properties, and transformation. ose elements were, as far as we can now tell, rst compounded into the Greek art of alchemy by Bolos, on whom see Fraser, chap. D7, this volume, “Alchemy.”
Because I argue for a long and continuous evolution, this chapter begins at a very early date, indeed; and evidence from prehistoric cultures, as well as from Egypt and Mesopotamia in eras long before Homer, will be important. We do not have access to the theories and models of those prehistoric cultures, and we have only minimal access to the theories and models of the Egyptian and Mesopotamian practitioners. Nevertheless, the techniques being developed display a focus on certain goals and follow specific evolutionary paths. Those goals and paths in turn inform our understanding of the models we do have from early Greek thinkers. The structure of the chapter represents that, as follows: sec. 1, Fire; sec. 2, Colors; sec. 3, Ceramics; sec. 4, Fermentation; sec. 5, Fusible Stone; sec. 6, Artificial Stone; and sec. 7, Theories and Models. (I have advocated this interpretation in Keyser 1990; see also Irby-Massie and Keyser, 2002, chap. 9, introduction ; and Lambert 2005.) The account is roughly in chronological order, with geographical details, because it refers to specific data, but nothing depends on the particular dates or locales used: rather, they emphasize the depth of time and diversity of locale.
To cover the wide range of cultures and practices, a capacious definition of alchemy is implicitly at play in this chapter. What later became more precise and focused remains here a collection of related practices and goals, elements from which were later compounded and fused into what became known as “alchemy.” is chapter thus deals with what can validly be called the prehistory of the ancient Greek science of materials, their properties, and transformation. ose elements were, as far as we can now tell, rst compounded into the Greek art of alchemy by Bolos, on whom see Fraser, chap. D7, this volume, “Alchemy.”
The Handbook comprises five sections, each with a specific focus on ancient science and medicine. The second section covers the early Greek era, up through Plato and the mid-fourth century bce. The third section covers the long Hellenistic era, from Aristotle through the end of the Roman Republic, acknowledging that the political shift does not mark a sharp intellectual break. The fourth section covers the Roman era from the late Republic through the transition to Late Antiquity. The final section covers the era of Late Antiquity, including the early Byzantine centuries. The Handbook provides through each of its approximately four dozen essays, a synthesis and synopsis of the concepts and models of the various ancient natural sciences, covering the early Greek era through the fall of the Roman Republic, including essays that explore topics such as music theory, ancient philosophers, astrology, and alchemy.
The Oxford Handbook of Science and Medicine in the Classical World guides the reader to further exploration of the concepts and models of the ancient sciences, how they evolved and changed over time, and how they relate to one another and to their antecedents. There are a total of four dozen or so topical essays in the five sections, each of which takes as its focus the primary texts, explaining what is now known as well as indicating what future generations of scholars may come to know. Contributors suggest the ranges of scholarly disagreements and have been free to advocate their own positions. Readers are led into further literature (both primary and secondary) through the comprehensive and extensive bibliographies provided with each chapter.
Additional features include a Glossary, Gazetteer, and Time-Line. The Glossary explains many Greek (or Latin) terms difficult to translate, whilst the Gazetteer describes the many locales from which scientists came. The Time-Line shows the rapid rise in the practice of science in the 5th century BCE and rapid decline after Hadrian, due to the centralization of Roman power, with consequent loss of a context within which science could flourish.
Those whose occupation it is to study histories of sciences begin, like Aristotle, with wonder: “What could they mean by that?” Some of those studies consider the sciences of people from long ago, whereas others consider the sciences of more recent people but from cultures different from those of the student. Participants in such efforts mostly know to expect a conceptual chasm and yet hope to cross it. Moreover, even when studying sciences within one’s home culture, there are arresting moments of defamiliarization and dizzying chasms open before our footsteps. Conversely, philosophers and theologians have often made hegemonic claims for their approach, arrogating titles such as “Queen of the Sciences”. What then to say when a diverse tribe of scholars sets out to explore “Science in the Forest, Science in the Past”, as presented in a special issue of HAU?
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From that point of view, the puzzle of the early Lydian and Greek coins struck in electrum becomes more manageable. Wallace (1987) argues that these coins were made in order to standardize the value of native electrum of varying gold content, but that theory presumes that the refining of pure gold from electrum was unknown or unavailable in Lydia. Techniques of altering and de silvering electrum had been known for more than a millennium, though, and were almost certainly practiced in Lydia; some early electrum coins were, in fact, struck from artificial electrum. The latter point can be established because native electrum nearly always contains small but significant amounts of elements other than gold and silver, which can be measured and used as a diagnostic "fingerprint."
The use of "prompt-gamma neutron activation analysis" (PGNAA) is the best available means of making these measurements.