Serena Autiero (Editor), Matthew Adam Cobb (Editor) - Globalization and Transculturality From Antiquity To The Pre-Modern World-Routledge (2021)

Globalization and Transculturality
from Antiquity to the Pre-Modern

World
This book explores how globalization and transculturality are useful theo-
retical tools for studying pre-modern societies and their long-distance con-
nections. Among the themes explored are how these concepts can enhance
our understanding of trade networks, the spread of religions, the diffusion
of global fashions, the migration of technologies, public and private initia-
tives, and wider cultural changes.
In this book, archaeologists and ancient historians demonstrate how in
diverse contexts – from the Bronze Age to colonial times – humanity dis-
played an urge and an incredible capacity to connect with distant lands and
people. Adopting and modifying approaches originally developed for the
study of contemporary societies, it is possible to enhance our understanding
of the human past, not only in economic terms, but also the cultural signif-
icance of such interconnections.
This book provides both the wider public and the specialist reader with a
fresh point of view on global issues relating to the past; in turn, allowing us
to look anew at developments in the contemporary world. Its large chrono-
logical and geographical scope should prove appealing to those who want
more than mere Eurocentric history. Teachers and students of world history
and archaeology will find this book a useful resource.
Dr. Serena Autiero is a researcher at the Center for Religious Studies (CERES),
Ruhr-Universität Bochum and honorary professor of archaeology at the
Guangzhou Academy of Fine Arts. She is interested in cultural exchange in
Eurasia in antiquity, Silk Road studies, ancient globalizations, with a special
focus on the Indian Ocean World. She has authored a number of publications
in international journals and her monograph on early globalization in the
Western Indian Ocean will be published in Spring 2022.
Dr. Matthew A. Cobb is a lecturer in ancient history at the University of

Wales Trinity Saint David. His research focuses on Mediterranean integra-
tion into wider Indian Ocean networks of trade during Antiquity. Among
other publications, he is the author of Rome and the Indian Ocean Trade
from Augustus to the Early Third Century CE (2018) and the edited book,
The Indian Ocean Trade in Antiquity: Political, Cultural and Economic Im-
pacts (2019).
Globalization and
Transculturality from
Antiquity to the Pre-Modern
World
Edited by
Serena Autiero and
Matthew A. Cobb
First published 2022
by Routledge
2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN
and by Routledge
605 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10158
Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business
© 2022 selection and editorial matter, Serena Autiero and Matthew
A. Cobb; individual chapters, the contributors
The right of Serena Autiero and Matthew A. Cobb to be identified
as the authors of the editorial material, and of the authors for their
individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections
77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or
reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical,
or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including
photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or
retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers.
Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks
or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and
explanation without intent to infringe.
British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Autiero, Serena, editor. | Cobb, Matthew Adam, editor.
Title: Globalization and transculturality from antiquity to the pre-
modern world / edited by Serena Autiero and Matthew Adam Cobb.
Description: Abingdon, Oxon ; New York, NY : Routledge, 2022. |
Includes bibliographical references and index.
Identifiers: LCCN 2021014247 (print) | LCCN 2021014248 (ebook) |
ISBN 9780367560553 (hardback) | ISBN 9780367560577 (paperback) |
ISBN 9781003096269 (ebook)
Subjects: LCSH: History, Ancient—Research—Methodology. |
Archaeology—Methodology. | Civilization, Ancient—History. |
Globalization—History. | Cross-cultural studies. | Culture and
globalization.
Classification: LCC D56 .G55 2022 (print) |
LCC D56 (ebook) | DDC 930.072—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021014247
LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021014248
ISBN: 978-0-367-56055-3 (hbk)

ISBN: 978-0-367-56057-7 (pbk)
ISBN: 978-1-003-09626-9 (ebk)
DOI: 10.4324/9781003096269
Typeset in Times New Roman

by codeMantra
Contents
List of figures and table vii

List of contributors xi
Preface and acknowledgements xiii
Introduction: utilizing globalization and transculturality for

the study of the pre-modern world 1
SE R E NA AU T I E RO A N D M AT T H E W A . C OBB
SECTION I
Theory and methodology 17
1 From the field to the globe: the archaeology of globalization 19

SE R E NA AU T I E RO
2 Globalization, the highest stage of modernization? 36

DA R IO NA PP O
SECTION II
Bronze age globalization 55
3 Bronzization, the globalization of the Bronze Age in Afro-Eurasia 57

T I B OR-TA M Á S DA RÓ C Z I
4 Agencement, matter flows and itinerary of object in the

Bronze Age East Mediterranean: a new materialities approach
to globalization 81
L OU I SE S T E E L
5 Dragon divers and clamorous fishermen: Bronzization and

transcultural marine spaces in the Japanese archipelago 103
M A R K H U D S ON
vi Contents
SECTION III
Globalization in the early historic Indian Ocean 121
6 Archaeology of globalization: a retrospective view

of the Indian Ocean world and implications for the
present (500 BCE – 300 CE) 123
S U N I L GU P TA
7 Oikoumenisation and the Ptolemaic beginnings of the Indian

Ocean trade 144
T ROY W I L K I N S ON
8 Mediterranean goods in an Indian context: the use of

transcultural theory for the study of the ancient Indian
Ocean world 165
M AT T H E W A . C OBB
9 The Indian figurine from Pompeii as an emblem of East-West

trade in the Early Roman imperial era 183
L AU R A R . W E I N S T E I N
SECTION IV
Global studies in complex historical contexts 205
10 A universal dhamma: Buddhism and globalization at the time

of Aśoka (270–232 BCE) 207
SIGN E C OH E N
11 Globalization and Gandhāran art 226

A SH W I N I L A K SH M I NA R AYA NA N
12 Glocalization as a key to understanding cultural change in

São Paulo’s colonial ceramics 245
M A RC E L O ROL I M M A N F R I N I
Index 269
Figures and table
Figures
3.1 Diagrammatic representation of Core-Periphery/World
Systems model 59
Source: After Bintliff (1997): 18, fig. 11
3.2 Amber: sources, trade-routes, exchange networks and finds 61
Source: After Daróczi (2018a): 98, fig. 3
3.3 Glass: making/working sites and trade-routes during the
Bronze Age 63
Source: After Daróczi (2018b): 9, fig. 1
3.4 Reconstruction of a ‘hearth-cauldron’ (hearth-ring), from
Tószeg – Laposhalom, Carpathian Basin 65
Source: After Banner, Bóna and Márton (1959): fig. 41/1
3.5 Sites with decorated hearths from the Eastern
Carpathian Basin 66
Source: After Daróczi (2018a): 112, fig. 12
4.1 Map of East Mediterranean, showing key sites involved in
Late Bronze Age trade 81
Source: Author’s drawing
4.2 Map of Cyprus, showing location of Aredhiou Vouppes 86
4.3 Graph showing percentages of imported wares at Aredhiou 87
4.4 1: Drawing of Mycenaean stirrup jar: AV06-01-06;
2: Drawing of incised Minoan stirrup jar: AV06-01-01 88
4.5 1: Drawing of Levantine platter bowl bases: AV06-01-
08 and uncatalogued; 2: Drawing of Canaanite jar rim
sherd (uncatalogued); 3: Drawing of incised Canaanite jar
handle: AV06-01-03; 4: Drawing of Egyptian amphorae
rim sherds (uncatalogued) 91
5.1 Map of Japan and surrounding regions with sites discussed
in the text 103
viii Figures and table
5.2 Changes in numbers of shell middens in Chiba prefecture
from c. 9500 BCE to 1185 CE 105
5.3 Art from Bronze Age Japan. a: Inayoshi (Tottori);
b: Fugoppe cave (Hokkaido); c: Torifunezuka (Fukuoka);
d and e: Fugoppe cave 112
Source: Redrawn by the author from Hudson (1992) and
Segawa (2017)
6.1 Map of the Indian Ocean showing the maritime routes,
ports of trade and land routes 126
Source: Courtesy of Allahabad Museum; authors:
Sunil Kushwaha and Sunil Gupta
6.2 Gandharan sculpture of Buddha Maitreya, grey schist,
Taxila area, second century CE 130
Source: Courtesy of Allahabad Museum
6.3 Headless image of the Buddha dated to the second regnal
year of Kushan Emperor Kanishka found at the site of
Kausambhi, first century CE 131
6.4 Terracotta plaque depicting a Bacchanalian scene. From
Ahhichatra, Uttar Pradesh, second century BCE 132
6.5 A beautiful yakshi or semi-divine damsel sculpted at
Mathura, first to second century CE 133
9.1 Pompeii Indian figurine before and after restoration 184
Source: Left and right: courtesy of Ministero della
Cultura – Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli,
photo by Giorgio Albano; centre: Maiuri (1939): Tav. XLV, n.1
9.2 Pompeii Indian figurine plinth inscription 186
Source: Drawing and interpretive comments courtesy of
Serena Autiero, including graphic elaboration after Maiuri
(1939): 112
9.3 Ter statuette discovered by Lamture in the 1930s 189
Source: Courtesy of Lamture family; photographs
by the author
9.4 Map of the Satavahana Empire c. first century CE, and
points relevant to the research of the Indian/Pompeii statue 190
Source: Courtesy of John C. Huntington
9.5 Fragment of an ivory statuette from Bhokardan 191
Source: Graphic rendering by Jeffrey Everett after Deo
et al. (1974): fig. 39
9.6 Boat graffito from the south-west of the atrium in Room 5
of the House of the Indian Statuette 193
Source: Photo by the author, courtesy of Ministero
della Cultura – Parco Archeologico di Pompei. Graphic
rendering by Jeffrey Everett
Figures and table ix
10.1 The Mauryan Empire under Aśoka and sites of Aśokan
inscriptions 208
Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/
File:Maurya_Empire,_c.250_BCE_2.png
11.1 The Kuṣāṇa Empire at the time of Kanishka I (c. 127–150
CE) and the most important trade routes 226
Source: Author’s drawing, not to scale; based on
Asia Society 2020
11.2 Relief fragment of Devadatta killing the elephant,
Gogdara 231
Source: © Museo Nazionale d’Arte Orientale ‘G. Tucci’/
Museo delle Civiltà Inv. 2487; author’s drawing
11.3 Relief of Siddhārtha lifting the elephant, Saidu Sharif I,
first to the third century CE 232
11.4 Relief showing Siddhārtha lifting the elephant,
Andhanḍherī 233
Source: Author’s drawing based on PL 20.b Dani 1968–69
11.5 Relief of the nun Utpalavarṇā welcoming the Buddha 234
12.1 Maps showing the Bandeiras campaigns (A), the
municipality of São Paulo (B), and site locations (C) 248
Source: http://www.geocities.ws/bandeiras99/preacao.htm)
12.2 A: pot sherd from Pinheiros 2 with linear sectioning on the
fracture and traces of clay reinforcements (in the circle);
B: visible junction between sections in a fragment from
Pinheiros 2; C–G: most common decorations observed at
the three sites analysed 251
Source: Elaboration of author’s own pictures except H:
Souza (2015): 87, fig. 6.7
12.3 Diamond-shaped patterns found in several Brazilian
indigenous contexts (A to D) and amongst the Ovimbundu,
Angola (E); brushed patterns (F and G) and red engobe
(H and I) compared to indigenous practices 253
Source: Author’s elaboration upon Gaspar (2014): 137, fig.
72 (A); Kashimoto and Martins (2019): 70 (B) and 113 (F);
Ribeiro and Jácome (2014): fig. 5 (C); Tocchetto (1996b):
42, table 2 (D); Symanski (2010): 307, fig. 9 (E); Zuse (2009):
117, fig. 62 (H); and author’s pictures (G and I)
12.4 Series of comparisons: notched appliqués in Portugal and
Pinheiros 2 (A); handles from Portugal and Pinheiros 2 (B);
‘fish spine’ decorations and visible cording in Ovimbundu
pottery and Casa Bandeirista do Itaim Bibi (C); cording
from Rio Grande do Sul and Casa Bandeirista do Itaim
x Figures and table
Bibi (D); appliqués with incised crosses from the Bakongo
communities and Pinheiros 2 (E) 254
Source: Author’s elaboration upon Casimiro and Barros
(2012): 393, fig.1 (A, left); Cardoso and Batalha (2017): 163,
fig. 130 (B, left); Hauenstein (1964): 59, planche III (C, left);
Machado et al. (2008): 106, fig. 5 (D, left); Symanski (2010):
304, fig. 7 (E, left); author’s pictures on the right
12.5 Morphology of ceramic vessels in comparison 257
Source: Author’s elaboration upon Afonso (2016): 34, fig. 3
(4A); Henriques et al. (2019): 117, fig. 6 (2C and 5C); Sallum
and Noelli (2020): 19, fig. 5 (2A, 3A and 5A); Munsberg
(2018) (3B and 4B); Hauser and DeCorse (2003): 85, fig.
4 (1B and 5B); Souza (2015): 82, fig. 6.2 (2B); Casimiro
(2018): 174, fig. 5 (3C); Casimiro et al. (2018): 29, fig. 7 (4C);
Kashimoto and Martins (2019): 96 (1A); Silva and Ribeiro
(2006/2007): 87, fig. 11 (1C); and author’s pictures (1D to 5D)
Table
5.1 Some dichotomies between the Jōmon and Yayoi cultures 104
Source: Based on Mizoguchi (2012)
Contributors
Serena Autiero, Ruhr-Universität Bochum, Germany, and Guangzhou

Academy of Fine Arts, PRC
Matthew A. Cobb, University of Wales Trinity Saint David, Lampeter, UK
Signe Cohen, University of Missouri, USA
Tibor-Tamás Daróczi, Aarhus University, Denmark
Sunil Gupta, Allahabad Museum, India
Mark Hudson, Max Planck Institute for the Science of Human History,
Jena, Germany
Ashwini Lakshminarayanan, Sapienza University of Rome, Italy
Marcelo Rolim Manfrini, Museum of Archaeology and Ethnology, Univer-
sity of São Paulo, Brazil
Dario Nappo, Federico II University, Naples, Italy
Louise Steel, University of Wales Trinity Saint David, Lampeter, UK
Laura R. Weinstein, John Cabott University, Rome, Italy
Troy Wilkinson, University of Wales Trinity Saint David, Lampeter, UK
Preface and acknowledgements
This volume has its genesis in dialogues between the editors and various
contributors at the 25th Annual Meeting of the European Association
of Archaeologists in Bern (2019). Contrary to the inclement September
weather, the session on Globalization in Antiquity fostered many illuminat-
ing discussions on current theoretical approaches to the study of intercon-
nectivities in early human history. The present book explores these issues in
further depth, with papers from contributors who originally attended the
panel in Bern, as well as from specially invited contributors whose schol-
arship further expands the scope of this work. Following that kickstarter
meeting, we are grateful to the International Association for Mediterranean
and Oriental Studies (ISMEO) for financial assistance.
The editors would like to thank the contributors to this volume for their
work and intellectual engagement. For the editing process we are indebted
to several anonymous reviewers, whose comments and suggestions greatly
improved the book.
We are also extremely grateful to all those who assented and assisted in
the development of this volume, particularly for their Herculean efforts dur-
ing the challenging year that was 2020.
Introduction
Utilizing globalization and
transculturality for the study of the
pre-modern world
Serena Autiero and Matthew A. Cobb
Introduction
The last thirty-odd years have seen a rising interest in the interconnected
nature of the world we live in, especially as concepts like globalization have
seeped into the popular consciousness (notably from the 1990s).1 However,
as many historians and archaeologists have sought to demonstrate, complex
connectivities, that is to say sustained and significant links between peoples
across the globe, extend well back into human history. Such connectivities
had profound significance for various pre-modern societies, notably in terms
of habits, patterns of consumption, technological capabilities and their
sense of the world in which they lived. This last generation of scholarship
has seen a shift away from earlier concepts connected to world history, such
as ‘diffusion’, which saw the movement of ideas, goods and techniques as a
binary process of transmission from one culture to another culture (often
in unequal relationships).2 These ideas have largely been replaced by more
complex and multifaceted analyses surrounding the movement of goods,
mobility of peoples and transfer of knowledge; taking greater account of
acts of adoption, adaptation, amelioration, resistance, rejection and the
agency of the various actors involved. It is argued in the present book that
concepts connected to globalization and transculturality, in particular, are
useful analytical tools for investigating these phenomena.
The contributors to this volume provide a number of studies exploring the
value of globalization and transculturality for interpreting interconnections
in the past. Spanning from the Bronze Age to colonial times, these studies
consider the way in which these theories can enhance our analysis of trade
networks, the spread of global fashions (notably artistic forms) and religious
ideas, the migration of technologies and wider cultural changes (in both
practical and conceptual terms). It is asserted in the following chapters that
globalization and transculturality necessitate looking not only at economic
factors, such as long-distance trade, but the cultural significance of the flow
of ideas, people and objects. Transculturality helps us move away from a
distinct, enclosed and static notion of culture, while globalization (and glo-
calization) thinking also requires us to consider the local context within the
DOI: 10.4324/9781003096269-1
2 Serena Autiero and Matthew A. Cobb
frame of wider global networks. The aim of this volume is to add to these
theoretical debates, in particular providing space for issues and geographies
that do not fit into existing divisions of academia.
A further objective of this volume is to encourage collaborations between
historians and archaeologists for the study of globalization and transcul-
turality in the past. However, this is more than just the case of lauding var-
ied perspectives, but an appeal to avoid hard and fast borders between the
disciplines. The initial assumption that disciplines can be determined by the
evidence type – history univocally associated with texts and archaeology
with material culture – is challenged when going beyond the perceived bor-
der of a typical research area (e.g., the Indus Valley Civilization, the Roman
Empire, Ancient Egypt, Spanish colonization, etc.).
Moving to the realm of the global also challenges definitions such as
pre-history and history, and traditional chronological boundaries within
specific area studies. There are several examples of complex networks of
interaction involving literate and not-literate coeval societies. For example,
Southeast Asian polities at the turn of our era were an active part of a net-
work connecting China to South Asia and – through intermediaries – also
to the wider Mediterranean. But the earliest local written record in South-
east Asia is a set of 36 engravings in an Indian language, using a script from
Southern Vietnam and spanning from the late first or early second century
to the fifth century CE. Despite some controversial historical sources from
India and China, the absence of local written sources makes periodization
challenging and the label history problematic for this area. Thus, the tra-
dition of beginning ‘history’ with the appearance of written records is ren-
dered redundant, as are our locally determined chronologies, when dealing
with interconnected areas.
In the realm of studies of past globalization and transculturality, the ben-
efits of a disciplinary crossover are self-evident; as pointed out by Isayev,
history and archaeology have tested the permeability of their boundaries,
and now seem to be slowly shifting towards the centre.3 This crossover
opens new ways to answer key questions concerning the relationship of the
past to the present, a struggle shared among archaeology, history and allied
disciplines in the social sciences.
Globalization and transculturality: origins and

evolutions of the terms
Both globalization and transculturality can be traced back to the mid-
twentieth century. In the case of transculturality, the term was coined by
Fernando Ortiz in 1940 as part of his study of the complex transmutations
of culture in Cuba as a result of imperial and colonial legacies, and mi-
gration (forced and non-forced).4 With regard to the term globalization,
its exact origin is uncertain, though Osterhammel suggests it entered the
academic discourse from around the 1940s.5 It gained wider currency by
Introduction 3
the late twentieth century, often misguidedly being seen as a primarily mod-
ern phenomenon – the World Bank having suggested that the process started
from 1982.6 The related term glocalization (discussed further below) also
has a twentieth-century origin. Initially a Japanese term, dochakuka, which
can be traced back to the 1960s when it was used to describe the adaptation
of Christian practices, it was later modified in the 1980s as a marketing tool,
subsequently acquiring its anglicized form, glocalization, in 1990s.7
In the case of all of these terms, while they originated more than half-a-
century ago, it is largely in the last two to three decades that they have been
elucidated for academic discourse in the humanities and social sciences.
These developments reflect the fact that none of these terms has a singular,
standardized definition. Understandably, practitioners from different sub-
jects (history and archaeology included) have sought to adapt these terms
to their own disciplinary needs. This of course raises the spectre of miscom-
prehension, especially in an inter-disciplinary context. However, there are
some core elements in each of these terms which are easy enough to recog-
nize and, as long as clear definitions and parameters are set in a particular
study, this obstacle is surmountable.
For transculturality, the concept received renewed focus in the 1990s with
the work of Mary Louise Pratt and Wolfgang Welsch (publishing initially
in German, using the term transkulturalität).8 The key elements inherent to
this concept are the rejection of the idea that cultures can be clearly delim-
ited, have fixed boundaries, are static and relatively internally homogenous.
Instead, the emphasis is on the transitory, permeable and hybridizing nature
of culture.9 Initially, emphasis was placed on the ‘modern’ global circum-
stances that led to the breakdown of traditional cultural barriers and the
development of transculturality.10 However, a number of historians and ar-
chaeologists have successfully adapted the concept, demonstrating that it is
not a uniquely ‘late modern’ phenomenon.11 Cultures have never been static
(habits and meaning-making are ever-changing processes), and frequently
new ideas, practices and objects are adapted, adopted and modified in the
context of wider ‘global’ connectivity. Indeed, a transcultural perspective
helps archaeologists and historians avoid the pitfalls of creating the impres-
sion of long-term stability and continuity within particular regions and the
conflation of culture and nation-state; the latter can result from bounded
cultural entities being (inadvertently) studied within the confines of modern
nation-states (due to organization and funding practices in archaeological
research).12
Globalization, or rather the concepts connected to it, have also been uti-
lized for the study of the past. Critiques of globalization, notably from the
social sciences, initially attacked it for being a veiled form of westernization
(or ‘McDonaldization’); or as George Ritzer suggested, its negative, homog-
enizing form could be called ‘grobalization’ – the endless pursuit for growth,
often leading to the production of vacuous material goods and ‘cultural out-
put’.13 However, this characterization has since been challenged. The notion
that it is mainly concerned with processes of standardization and homoge-
nization (to the determinant of local variation) has largely fallen out of fa-
vour, – certainly among pre-modern archaeologists and historians – as has
the view that it is primarily a modern phenomenon.14 It has been noted that
while standardization, homogenization and forms of convergence are facets
of globalization, so are processes such as the re-embedding of local culture
(reinforcing purportedly traditional customs), and cultural heterogeneity
(the adaptations, modifications and transformations of products and prac-
tices from elsewhere to produce new outputs); both sides of globalization
occurring in tandem.15
These latter aspects can sometimes be placed under the rubric ‘glocal-
ization’. This concept emphasises how wider ‘global’ developments pene-
trate into the local (in the form of goods, ideas, technologies, etc.) which
become reformulated into something new and distinct, what Roudometof
describes as ‘a refraction of globalization through the local’.16 There is some
debate as to whether the glocalization should be seen as subordinate to, or
conceptually independent of, globalization.17 Either way, they are clearly
interrelated. Perhaps the latter takes a slightly more micro-focus, consider-
ing the impacts of wider cultural and economic phenomena on a particular
society or region (all the while keeping the global in mind). Arguably, in
certain pre-modern societies, it may sometimes be easier to identify specific
instances of glocal development, rather than the wider global processes in
which they develop;18 this happens because in wider areas and in the case of
transregional interactions, it is almost impossible to have access to the same
amount and quality of sources. Consequently, globalization can be seen in
the details and understood through a bottom-up approach.
Studies by archaeologists and historians that employ globalization and
glocalization thinking to examine pre-modern societies have increasingly
come to the fore.19 The use of these concepts as heuristic tools for analysing
the movement of goods, peoples and ideas, and the resultant societal im-
pacts that generated from these movements is, in some respects, straightfor-
ward. What is more contentious is the simultaneous use of globalization as a
label or descriptor for past phenomena;20 in part, because of the association
with modernity that the term can imply, despite the above noted attempts
to shed this baggage. This has led some to employ variant terms, which
allude to globalization but are reflective of particular historical, cultural or
geographic circumstance, such as Bronzization, Minoanization and Oikou-
menization.21 Perhaps a more fundamental issue is the question of whether
earlier globalization(s) (if one is willing to identify this phenomenon in the
past) can be framed in a sequential or progressive manner. That is to say,
whether one sees it as part of a trend leading to today’s current globaliza-
tion or if it should be seen as an individual instance of past globalization,
with its own cycle of development, apogee and decline.22 There are inherent
issues with both positions. The former position might appear to advocate
for a progressive view of history, with various stages leading to modernity;
Introduction 5
23
potentially ‘peopling’ earlier societies ‘with modern capitalists’, while the
latter position may (inadvertently) appear to present past instances of glo-
balization in an overly discrete manner, denying any potential for formative
or long-lasting influences on later historical developments. A more balanced
view, suggested by Hopkins, which alludes to ‘a set of overlapping sequences
(not stages)’ may be preferable.24
Intersections between globalization and transculturality

It can be argued that transculturality and globalization intersect, feeding
into each other. As has been noted, globalization is characterized by in-
creasing connectivity that facilitates the movement of goods, people and
ideas. But more fundamentally these movements and exchanges lead to
profound changes in various societies connected by these global networks
(economically, culturally, politically, psychologically, etc.). Sometimes these
movements and exchanges can lead to the widespread adoption of certain
practices, beliefs, patterns of consumption – these could be understood in
terms of standardization or homogenization. But at the same time, peoples
within various societies often responded by adaptation, amelioration and
resistance (in some cases leading to culturally heterogeneous outputs, or
potentially attempts to reinforce the purportedly traditional). In the pro-
cess, new forms, in terms of ideas, technologies and objects, could be gen-
erated, what can be classed as glocal outputs (neither exclusively ‘local’ nor
‘global’). In these contexts, when various societies are increasingly intercon-
nected, the porous, malleable and ever-shifting nature of culture becomes
even more evident. Here we can see clear processes of transculturation.
Transculturality is a ‘new-product’ in which ‘global’ and ‘local’ elements are
transformed and re-elaborated.
This is not to say that transculturality as a phenomenon is dependent
on globalization having occurred.25 Transculturality has its own autonomy,
it happens in a globalized context, but it is not exclusively dependent on
globalization; transcultural outputs also happen in instances of simple con-
nectivity not classifiable as forms of globalization. Indeed, most historical
societies have interacted with others over the short, medium and long dis-
tance, even if these interactions might not meet the threshold that some set
to identify past instances of globalization.26 These very processes of engage-
ment and exchange mean that a culture could never be static or hermetically
sealed. Indeed, it has become something of a truism to note that ‘entangled
cultural processes are so numerous that one can justifiably say that all cul-
tures are involved in one way or another, none is single and pure, all are
hybrid, heterogeneous.’27
Globalization should neither be seen as necessary for, or antithetical to,
transculturality.28 The latter view seems to be largely based on the notion
of a one-sided view of globalization which emphasises standardization
and homogenization to the exclusion of local or glocal variation, as well as
seeing it as a largely modern phenomenon. But, as we have noted, both of
these premises have been challenged. In any case, the concepts connected
to globalization offer useful tools of analysis, regardless of whether one also
wishes to apply the term to describe a particular set of historical develop-
ments in the past. As such, it is suggested here that both transculturality and
globalization can be productively utilized, either in isolation or in conjunc-
tion, for the study of global history.
Transculturality and globalization: relationships with other

theoretical models
Having suggested that transculturality and globalization (and glocaliza-
tion) thinking provide useful analytical concepts for the study of global
history, it is worth considering how they might complement, co-opt or be
challenged by alternative theories. The open nature of these concepts means
that it is easy enough to utilize other theories, models and methodologies
to help elucidate the nature of the movements of goods, peoples and ideas
taking place, with the concomitant cultural, economic, political and physio-
logical impacts on various societies. For example, it has been suggested that
network theory and entanglement are useful for thinking about the spatial
and temporal dimensions of past globalizations, allowing us to use data to
model these movements of objects and peoples.29 Similarly, it has been sug-
gested that globalization offers a useful overarching framework for material
studies or materiality (which is concerned with what objects do rather than
what they represent), particularly tracing objects in motion.30 Furthermore,
hybridity, which alludes to the fusion or blending of differently originated
cultural elements into new forms, ideas, objects and practices, has often
been seen as a facet of transculturality.31 Glocalization feeds into this, with
Roudometof noting that glocal fusions are qualitatively more specific, as
they contain a ‘local’ element (whereas technically something hybrid need
not contain specifically local influences).32
Transculturality and globalization may also be adopted as alterna-
tive models to some long-standing theories. For example, creolization
is intended to describe the phenomenon of the fusion of various distinct
cultural practices, particularly in the context of imperialism and colo-
nialism, where cultural elements from ‘native’ and ‘exploiter’ societies
become blended to form a new culture. However, as alluded to above,
this model might seem to imply overly static and clearly defined bounda-
ries between two distinct cultures (that then subsequently breakdown).33
Moreover, not all circumstances where we see the blending of different
‘cultural elements’ are done in contexts of exploitation and resistance, so
transculturality might seem to offer a more adaptable and neutral means
of exploring entanglements and the productions of new objects, ideas and
expressions of identity.34
Introduction 7
World Systems theory, which likewise has a strong emphasis on the dy-
namic of exploitation, might also be productively replaced by globalization
thinking for the study of global interconnectivity (in some, though by no
means all contexts). The former, with its focus on a core (or cores) extract-
ing surpluses (particularly raw materials) from a periphery (or peripheries),
has been critiqued (fairly or not) in recent years for its focus on economic
factors at the expense of cultural dynamics.35 It has particularly been crit-
icized for its apparent failure to consider the agency of those within the
periphery societies and why they engaged with the core(s).36 Globalization
and glocalization arguably provide more neutral means of addressing is-
sues such as local agency in the context of wider global processes and have
an inherent interest in cultural as well as economic changes resulting from
global connectivity.
Transcultural analysis versus perceptions of identity

It is argued here that the notions expressed by transculturality are reflective
of the way in cultural developments in various societies took place through-
out human history. However, it needs to be recognized that in many respects
this concept can appear alien to how individuals often conceptualise them-
selves and the societies in which they live (regardless of what the reality may
be). Fundamentally because individuals frequently construct their identity
based on their perception of shared habits and customs, such as language,
religious practices and dress.37 Additionally, this can also be influenced by
potential attachments to a specific geographic region (their ‘homeland’) and
their historical heritage (real and imagined).38 Furthermore, this construc-
tion of identity may be developed in contrast to the ‘other’; this opposition
potentially, though not always, seen in negative terms. This in no way un-
dermines the analytic value of transculturality for looking at cultural de-
velopments. For example, we can potentially identify an amalgam of ‘local’
and ‘global’ elements in the production of distinct classes of objects, which
we may then label as hybrid or glocal (e.g., figurines, pottery, bronzewares,
etc.). But we should recognize that the social actors using these items may
not have understood them in this way.
A further way to conceptualize this is to think of the participants in the
Indian Ocean trade operating from Egypt in the early centuries CE. The
unknown author of the mid-first century CE merchants’ guide to the ports
of the Indian Ocean – the Periplus Maris Erythraei – clearly had first-hand
experience (though he also drew on the accounts of sailors from other re-
gions) of travelling, principally in the Arabian Sea region.39 The account is
written in an unpolished form of koiné Greek by someone who was resident
in Egypt (a fact suggested by the reference in the text to the ‘trees we have in
Egypt’).40 Whether he regarded himself as Greek, Egyptian or neither is un-
known. But it is highly plausible that many of his contemporary merchants
and financiers operating from Alexandria saw themselves as Greeks.41 By
contrast Philostratus (early-third century CE), who wrote the Life of Apol-
lonius of Tyana and was aware of, but not directly involved in, this activity,
characterized those merchants operating from Egypt and sailing to India as
Egyptians (as opposed to the ‘Greeks’).42
Of course, identity (like culture) is not static and can be expressed dif-
ferently from context to context and in a multiplicity of ways. For exam-
ple, a number of Palmyrene merchants had established themselves in the
Koptos area of Egypt (a key emporion for those setting out and returning
from Red Sea ventures).43 They had evidently established a commercial
and social community and were operating in the Red Sea trade, as a bilin-
gual Greek-Palmyrene inscription makes clear.44 Thus we might note their
‘non-native’ geographic location, their capacity to operate and communi-
cate in this particular environment, and ability to expresses their identity in
multi-form ways.45 However, one suspects that if confronted with the ques-
tion of how they would identify themselves, they would not necessarily ex-
press it in fluid terms, but would likely regard themselves as quintessentially
Palmyrene.
All of this is to say that we should study past cultural developments
through a transcultural framework, recognizing that culture is frequently
porous, fluid, changing and hybridizing (glocalizing); rejecting any sense of
static cultural monoliths or ‘cultural containers’. However, it is important to
recognize that our source material, particularly the written evidence (liter-
ary, epigraphic, etc.), often reveals expressions of identity in delineated terms,
potentially defined by shared habits (like language and religious practices)
and a sense of the ‘other’ as distinct. Moreover, literary testimony originating
mostly in elite circles, such as poetry, history and court literature and official
legal documents, may often represent a form of identity that can be framed
by the needs of propaganda or a particular form of ‘accepted’ social coding.
These issues can also apply to visual culture (especially sculpture or numis-
matic iconography), a vital source of evidence for those studying pre-literate
societies. Indeed, this issue can be even more fraught when dealing largely
with material culture or artistic representations, since such social coding and
expressions of (dominant) identity might not be always so explicit. Thus it is
worth remaining cognizant of the likelihood that what we define as hybrid or
glocal material may not have originally been understood that way.
Structure of the book: the individual contributions

While some general characteristics of what constitutes transculturality, glo-
balization and glocalization have been laid out above, there is no attempt
to impose a particular orthodoxy, an exclusive definition. This book aims at
making a genuine theoretical exploration supported by diverse case studies
in order to add new perspectives and to catalyse future developments in his-
tory and archaeology. Our goal is to collect different voices and challenge
Introduction 9
the value of globalization and cognate theories for the study of the pre-
modern world.
Despite the wide range of topics and perspectives, broadly speaking, the
notion that culture is permeable, transitory and frequently changes in the
context of wider connectivity is a premise shared by many of the contribu-
tors to this volume. As is the view that some form of globalization and glo-
calization thinking (as analytical tools) can be fruitfully applied to the past.
Each chapter seeks to demonstrate how one or more of these concepts can
elucidate our understanding of the past. The authors have provided a range
of perspectives on the topic, from those that positively apply concepts from
globalization and transculturality to their study (see the chapters by Cobb
and Gupta), to those who prefer to employ variant case-specific terminology
like bronzization or oikoumenization (Daróczi and Wilkinson), and those
who have more sceptical views (Nappo).
This present chapter constitutes the Introductory part of the volume,
followed by four short sections which group chapters based on their geo-
historical focus or to thematic, theoretical and methodological approaches.
Section I: Theory and methodology

This section includes two chapters of theoretical interest. In the first chapter
Autiero questions whether the pairing of archaeology and globalization the-
ories in current studies qualifies for the definition of a new specialization or
even a new academic discipline. While in the second chapter of the section,
Nappo conversely presents a less optimistic view on the appropriateness of
using concepts developed to understand the modern world as interpretative
tool for the past; his discussion brings attention to the risks of using modern
categories to study antiquity.
Section II: The Bronze Age

The second section consists of three chapters that apply globalization the-
ories to the study of the Bronze Age. Daróczi and Hudson use the concepts
of Bronzization in two very different and distant contexts: Daróczi’s Afro-
Eurasia mostly focussed on Europe and the Mediterranean basin, while
Hudson focusses on the Japanese archipelago. Daróczi redefines bronze as
the transculture of Bronze Age Eurasia. Hudson, who discusses the globali-
zation of early fisheries, suggests a so-far unexplored participation of Yayoi
Japan in a Eurasian transculture. His thesis challenges the dominant themes
for Bronze Age Japan which argues for a transition from insularity to open-
ness. Steele explores the concept of agencement in the context of the Late
Bronze Age in the Eastern Mediterranean. This small but representative
selection has the merit – but also the responsibility – to reconcile different
facets of Bronze Age globalization studies, reflecting the overall aim of this
book to bridge fields which are only apparently distant.
Section III: The Early Historic Indian Ocean
Four chapters in section II, ‘Globalization in the Early Historic Indian
Ocean’ constitute the heftiest part of this volume, responding to the gen-
eral trend in archaeology and history that see this wide area in the centu-
ries around the turn of our era as a key example of ancient globalization.
Gupta’s chapter opens the section and amply contributes to the theoretical
discussion around an archaeology of globalization, culling case studies from
the prolific sub-field of Indian Ocean archaeology. In Chapter 7, Wilkin-
son highlights the advantages of using a time-space specific vocabulary to
describe phenomena related to globalizing trends; in particular the author
discusses the use of oikoumenization to refer to Ptolemaic transregional
connectivities. Cobb discusses the use of transcultural theory in the study
of foreign goods, using Mediterranean objects as a case study, but provid-
ing a wide methodological frame that is applicable to scholars working on
any specific geohistorical context. The section is concluded by Weinstein’s
contribution focussing on the Indian ivory statuette found in Pompeii. The
author offers new insights based on an approach aimed at surpassing the
boundary between Classics and South Asian Studies.
Section IV: Thematic case studies

The final section of this volume includes three chapters illustrating specific
case studies in historical contexts. By chance, two of the three are dedicated
to the Indian subcontinent, with Cohen and Lakshminarayan’s contribu-
tions offering a globalization-oriented interpretation to crucial materials,
respectively Aśhoka’s inscriptions and Gandharan sculpture. Manfrini’s
closing chapter focusses on São Paulo’s colonial ceramics as seen through
the lenses of glocalization; besides its intrinsic significance and value, Man-
frini’s chapter also serves to demonstrate what this volume is about, namely
the many possibilities offered by globalization and transculturality theories
to historical and archaeological studies, and their manifold applications in
extremely diverse contexts.
Final thoughts
The variety of contributions to this volume provides an overview of what
can be done with globalization and related theories – such as transcultural-
ity and glocalization – in different sub-fields of history and archaeology. We
also believe that an unbiased understanding of transregional connectivities
requires scholars to surpass the boundaries of their specializations. The
chapters collected here open a window on this wide array of ongoing stud-
ies, allowing scholars to look beyond their own field. This volume is both an
invitation and an opportunity for those interested in pre-modern globali-
zation to explore the many possibilities offered by this research approach.
Introduction 11
Notes
1 Conrad (2016): 93.
2 Maran (2019): 52.
3 Isayev (2006).
4 Ortiz’s (1940) study was initially published in Spanish as Contrapunteo cubano
del tabaco y el azúcar.
5 Osterhammel (2011): 89.
6 Hopkins (2010): 26.
7 Pitts (2008): 494; Nederveen Pieterse (2009): 52; Dessì (2013): 150 n. 2; Roudome-
tof (2016): 2–3, 24.
8 See Pratt (2007) [originally published 1992]; and Welsch (1992a) and (1992b),
among other works. For an overview of the development and use of transcul-
turality, see Abu-Er-Rub et al. (2019b).
9 For further discussion see Welsch (1999) and (2001); Abu-Er-Rub et al. (2019a).
10 This can be seen in some of Welsch’s discourses, although he also conceded the
potential for earlier historical applications of this concept. See also Bergmann
(2004).
11 See, for example, Hitchcock and Maier (2013); Kellner (2019b); Autiero (2017)
and (2019); Cobb and Mitchell (2019).
12 Maran (2019): 53.
13 Ritzer (2003).
14 Hodos (2017b): 3–4; Conrad (2016): 95–97.
15 On the various concepts or hallmarks associated with globalization and their
adaptation by archaeologist and historians, see Justin Jennings (2011) and Pitts
and Versluys (2015b).
16 For different conceptualizations of the glocal and glocalization, see Robertson
(1995); Ritzer (2003): 193; Stek (2014): 39; Roudometof (2016): 79.
17 On the former view, see Robertson (1992); Ritzer (2003); on the latter, see
Roudometof (2016).
18 See Cobb (forthcoming).
19 See, among others, Hopkins (2002) and (2010); Hingley (2005) and (2014);
Jennings (2011); Pitts and Versluys 2015a; Hodos (2017a).
20 On the potential for this term to be both a tool for analysis and a label that can
be applied to historic phenomena, see Pitts (2020). This is also the case with
transculturality, which can be both intended as a theoretical term and historical
phenomenon – Abu-Er-Rub et al. (2019): xxiii.
21 For Bronzization, see Vandkilde (2016) and (2017). For Minoanization, see
Knappett (2017). For Oikoumenization, see Seland (2008). Also Wilkinson’s
chapter in this volume. For a critique of the latter term, see Hodos (2014).
22 For the lineal or progressive view, see Rossi (2008). For the cyclic view, see
Jennings (2011) and (2017).
23 Jennings (2011): 12. For a further critique see Pitts and Versluys (2015b): 13.
24 Hopkins (2010): 26.
25 Although Welsch, who understood transculturality as a particularly late mod-
ern phenomenon, drew connections with it. See Welsch (1999) and (2001).
26 As noted, various criteria or hallmarks have been established as facets of globali-
zation. Jennings (2017) has argued that eight hallmarks – ‘Time-Space Compres-
sion’, ‘Deterritorialisation’, ‘Standardization’, ‘Unevenness’, ‘Homogenization’,
‘Heterogeneity’, ‘Re-embedding of local culture’ and ‘Vulnerability’ – need to be
present to identify a past occurrence.
27 Michaels (2019): 9.
28 Abu-Er-Rub et al. have suggested that there cannot be any intrinsic connection
between globalization and transculturality, due to the latter also being a feature
of pre- and proto-historical societies. (2019): xxvi. Of course, this might seem
to imply that globalization is a modern phenomenon, which, as has been sug-
gested, is a problematic notion.
29 See Knappett (2017).
30 Van Oyen and Pitts (2017): 16–17.
31 For a brief overview of hybridity, see Hodos (2017b): 5–6. Abu-Er-Rub et al.
(2019): xxvi, note how entanglement, exchange, porosity and hybridization are
‘instrumental parts of the ongoing definition and development of cultures.’
32 Roudometof (2016): 14–15.
33 On creolization see Hodos (2017b): 5; and Roudometof (2016): 13–14.
34 See Cobb’s chapter, this volume.
35 For an overview of these critiques, see Cobb (forthcoming).
36 Woolf (1990): 55; Pitts (2008): 493; Pitts and Versluys (2015b): 8–10. For a counter
assertion that more recent World Systems Theory has sought to address these
issues, see Beaujard (2019): vol. II, 657–660.
37 For further discussion on the distinction between culture and ethnicity, see
Cobb’s chapter this volume.
38 For example, Maran notes how various Mycenaean communities distinguished
between local and non-local, the latter often being identified by a toponym con-
necting them to a particular polity – Maran (2019): 57.
39 On this figure and this document, see De Romanis (2016).
40 Periplus Maris Erythraei 29.9.27, trans. from Casson (1989); see also Casson
(1989): 7–10.
41 For an overview of those involved in the Roman Red Sea branch of the Indian
Ocean trade during the early centuries CE, see Cobb (2018): 62–77.
42 Philostratus Vita Apollonii 3.32.1–2, 3.35.1–2.
43 OGIS 132 = Pan du désert 86; OGIS 674 = IGRR I. 1183; P. Vindob. G 40822
recto, col. 2.4–9; Strabo Geography 17.1.45; Pliny Natural History 6.26.102–103.
44 I. Portes 103 = AE 1912, 55 no. 171. For an overview of Palmyrene participation
in the Red Sea branch of the Indian Ocean trade during the early centuries CE,
see Cobb (2020).
45 Possibly some Palmyrenes may have adopted (additional), non-Palmyrene
names. Perhaps to suit the context in which they were operating. For example,
a fragmentary text was found at the praesidium of Didymoi, a small fort on
the Koptos-Berenike route, which records the names of soldiers belonging to a
Palmyrene ([Παλ]μυρηνοί) military unit. The texts dates to roughly the end of
the second to beginning of the third century CE. As Cuvigny (2012): 135–136,
has observed, only two Semitic names were recorded, along with five typically
Egyptian names. Thus raising the question, did some of these Palmyrene adopt
Egyptian names as part of their service?
Bibliography
Abu-Er-Rub, Laila, Christiane Brosius, Sebastian Meurer, Diamantis Panagiot-
opoulos, and Susan Richter (eds.), 2019a: Engaging Transculturality: Concepts,
Key Terms, Case Studies. London: Routledge.
opoulos, and Susan Richter (eds.), 2019b: ‘Introduction: Engaging Transcultural-
ity’, in Abu-Er-Rub et al. 2019a: xxiii–xliv.
Autiero, Serena. 2017: ‘Bes figurines from Roman Egypt as agents of transcultura-
tion in the Indian Ocean’, Thiasos 6: 79–89.
Autiero, Serena. 2019: ‘Iconography as Agent of Cultural Globalization – Bronze
Figurines from South Arabia’, in Andrea Manzo, Chiara Zazzaro and Diana J.
Introduction 13
De Falco (eds.), Stories of Globalisation: The Red Sea and the Persian Gulf from
Late Prehistory to Early Modernity. Selected Papers of Red Sea Project VII,
408–442. Leiden: Brill.
Beaujard, Philippe. 2019. The Worlds of the Indian Ocean: A Global History, Vols. I
and II. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Bergmann, Sigurd. 2004: ‘Transculturality and tradition – renewing the continuous
in late modernity’, Studia Theologica 58: 140–156.
Casson, Lionel. 1989: [Translation and Commentary of] Periplus Maris Erythraei.
Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.
Cobb, Matthew A. 2018: Rome and the Indian Ocean Trade from Augustus to the
Early Third Century CE. Leiden: Brill.
Cobb, Matthew A. 2020: ‘Palmyrene merchants and the Red Sea trade’, in Michael
Sommer (ed.), Inter du Imperia: Palmyra between East and West, 65–83. Stuttgart:
Franz Steiner Verlag.
Cobb, Matthew A. Forthcoming: ‘From Bronzization to “World System”:
Globalization and Glocalization across the Globe (2000 BCE – 1500 CE)’, in Vic-
tor Roudometof and Ugo Dessì (eds.), Handbook of Culture and Globalization.
Cheltenham, UK and Northampton, MA: Edward Elgar Publishing.
Cobb, Matthew A. and Fiona Mitchell. 2019: ‘Eros at Junnar: reconsidering a piece
of Graeco-Roman art’, Greece & Rome 66(2): 203–226.
Conrad, Sebastian. 2016: What is Global History? Princeton, NJ: Princeton Univer-
sity Press.
Cuvigny, Hélène. 2012: ‘Petits documents administratifs comptables et juridiques’,
in Hélène Cuvigny (ed.), Didymoi une garnison romaine dans le désert oriental
d’Égypte II. Les textes, 117–178. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale.
Dessì, Ugo. 2013: Japanese Religions and Globalization. London and New York:
Routledge.
De Romanis, Federico. 2016: ‘An Exceptional Survivor and Its Submerged
Background: The Periplus Maris Erythraei and the Indian Ocean Travelogue
Tradition’, in Giulio Colesanti and Laura Lulli (eds.), Submerged Literature in
Ancient Greek Culture, Volume 2, 97–110. Berlin: De Gruyter.
Hingley, Richard. 2005: Globalizing Roman Culture: Unity, Diversity and Empire.
London and New York: Routledge.
Hingley, Richard. 2014: ‘Struggling with a Roman inheritance. A response to
Versluys’, Archaeological Dialogues 21(1): 20–24.
Hitchcock, Louise A. and Aren M. Maier. 2013: ‘Beyond Creolization and Hybrid-
ity: Entangled and Transcultural Identities in Philistia’, in W. Paul van Pelt (ed.),
Archaeology and Cultural Mixture: Creolization, Hybridity and Mestizaje, 51–73.
Cambridge: Archaeological Review from Cambridge.
Hodos, Tamar. 2014: ‘Stage settings for a connected scene: globalization and
material-culture studies in the early first-millennium B.C.E. Mediterranean’,
Archaeological Dialogues 21(1): 24–30.
Hodos, Tamar. (ed.), 2017a: The Routledge Handbook of Archaeology and Globaliza-
tion. London and New York: Routledge.
Hodos, Tamar. 2017b: ‘Globalization: Some Basics. An Introduction to The
Routledge Handbook of Archaeology and Globalization’, in Hodos 2017a: 3–11.
Hopkins, A.G. 2002: ‘Introduction: Globalization – an Agenda for Historians’, in
A.G. Hopkins (ed.), Globalization in World History, 1–10. London: Pimlico.
Hopkins, A.G. 2010: ‘The Historiography of Globalization and the Globalization of
Regionalism’, Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient 53(1/2): 19–36.
Isayev, Elena. 2006: ‘Archaeology ≠ object as history ≠ text: nudging the special
relationship into the post-ironic’, World Archaeology 38(4): 599–610.
Kellner, Birgit (ed.), 2019a: Buddhism and the Dynamics of Transculturality. Berlin
and Boston: De Gruyter.
Kellner, Birgit (ed.), 2019b: ‘Introduction’, in Kellner 2019a: 1–13.
Knappett, Carl. 2017: ‘Globalization, Connectivities and Networks’, in Hodos
2017a: 29–41.
Maran, Joseph. 2019: ‘Not “Cultures”, but Culture! The Need for a Transcultural
Perspective in Archaeology’, in Abu-Er-Rub et al. 2019a: 51–64.
Michaels, Axel. 2019: ‘Cultural Hybridity and Transculturality’, in Abu-Er-Rub
et al. 2019a: 3–14.
Miksic, John N. 2003: ‘Introduction: The Beginning of Trade in Ancient Southeast
Asia: The Role of Oc Eo and the Lower Mekong River’, in James C.M. Khoo (ed.),
Art & Archaeology of Fu Nan: Pre-Khmer Kingdom of the Lower Mekong Valley,
1–34. Bangkok: Orchid Press.
Nederveen Pieterse, Jan. 2009: Globalization and Culture: Global Mélange. Lanham,
MD: Rowman & Littlefield.
Ortiz, Fernando. 1940: Contrapunteo cubano del tabaco y el azúcar. Havana: Jesús
Montero.
Osterhammel, Jürgen. 2011: ‘Globalizations’, in Jerry H. Bentley (ed.), The Oxford
Handbook of World History, 89–104. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Pitts, Martin. 2008: ‘Globalizing the local in Roman Britain: an anthropological
approach to social change’, Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 27: 493–506.
Pitts, Martin. 2020: ‘Globalization, Consumption, and Objects in the Roman
World: New Perspectives and Opportunities’, in Vladimir Mihajlović and Marko
A. Janković (eds.), Pervading Empire: Relationality and Diversity in the Roman
Provinces, 155–166. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag.
Pitts, Martin and Miguel J. Versluys (eds.), 2015a: Globalisation and the Roman
World: World History, Connectivity and Material Culture. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press.
Pitts, Martin and Miguel J. Versluys (eds.), 2015b: ‘Globalisation and the Roman
World: Perspectives and Opportunities’, in Pitts and Versluys 2015a: 3–31.
Pratt, Mary L. 2007[1992]: Imperial Eyes: Travel Writing and Transculturation, 2nd
edition. London and New York: Routledge.
Ritzer, George. 2003: ‘Rethinking globalization: glocalization/grobalization and
something/nothing’, Sociological Theory 21(3): 193–209.
Robertson, Roland. 1992: Globalization: Social Theory and Global Culture. London:
Sage.
Robertson, Roland. 1995: ‘Glocalization: Time-Space and Homogeneity-
Heterogeneity’, in Mike Featherstone, Scott Lash and Roland Robertson (eds.),
Global Modernities, 25–44. London: Sage.
Rossi, Ino. 2008: ‘Globalization as an Historical and Dialectical Process’, in Ino
Rossi (ed.), Frontiers of Globalization Research: Theoretical and Methodological
Approaches, 27–63. New York: Springer.
Roudometof, Victor. 2016: Glocalization: A Critical Introduction. London and New
York: Routledge.
Seland, Eivind H. 2008: ‘The Indian Ocean and the globalisation of the ancient
world’, Ancient West & East 7: 67–79.
Introduction 15
Stek, Tesse D. 2014: ‘Roman imperialism, globalization and Romanization in early
Roman Italy: research questions in archaeology and ancient history’, Archaeolog-
ical Dialogues 21(1): 30–40.
Vandkilde, Helle. 2014: ‘Breakthrough of the Nordic Bronze Age: transcultural
warriorhood and a Carpathian crossroad in the sixteenth century BC’, European
Journal of Archaeology 17(4): 602–633.
Vandkilde, Helle. 2016: ‘Bronzization: the Bronze Age as pre-modern globalization’,
Praehistorische Zeitschrift 91(1): 103–123.
Vandkilde, Helle. 2017: ‘Small, medium and large: globalization perspectives on the
Afro-Eurasian Bronze Age’, in Hodos 2017a: 509–521.
Van Oyen, Astrid and Martin Pitts. 2017: ‘What did objects do in the Roman world?
Beyond representation’, in Astrid Van Oyen and Martin Pitts (eds.), Materialising
Roman Histories, 3–19. Oxford and Philadelphia: Oxbow Books.
Welsch, Wolfgang. 1992a: ‘Transkulturalität – Lebensformen nach der Auflösung
der Kulturen’, Information Philosophie 2: 5–20.
Welsch, Wolfgang. 1992b: ‘Subjektsein heute. Zum Zusammenhang von Subjektivi-
tät, Pluralität und Transversalität’, Studia Philosophica 51: 153–182.
Welsch, Wolfgang. 1999: ‘Transculturality – the puzzling form of cultures today’,
Spaces of Culture: City, Nation, World 13(7): 194–213.
Welsch, Wolfgang. 2001: ‘Transculturality: the changing form of cultures today’,
Filozofski Vestnik 22(2): 59–86.
Woolf, Greg. 1990: ‘World-systems analysis and the Roman empire’, Journal of
Roman Archaeology 3: 44–58.
Section I
Theory and methodology

1 From the field to the globe
The archaeology of globalization
Serena Autiero
Introduction
Recent research makes it clear that globalization studies have much to con-
tribute to our understanding of the ancient world; however, what is less clear
is the nature of the relation between archaeologists and the other disciplines
from which they heavily borrow in order to improve their research; for ex-
ample, archaeologists and historians often tend to borrow theoretical ideas
developed in the social sciences. Archaeology is by nature an interdisci-
plinary venture, since it integrates specializations from different fields to
draw its conclusions; this ranges from the specialist techniques and methods
drawn from the sciences (e.g., physics, chemistry, geology), to cooperation
with, for example, fieldwork and material culture specialists. Many joint
ventures were born out of specific new needs (e.g., tracking the exact source
of materials, or having a precise date determined on scientific ground, or
handling a large amount of data), leading to the foundation of new branches
of archaeology; over time these new disciplinary hybrids either gained insti-
tutional recognition (being taught in universities or represented by special-
ists’ associations) or alternatively, dropped out of use.
This chapter starts with an overview of the now long-standing pairing of
archaeology and globalization studies, and how the latter fits into the study
of the ancient world. The unevenness of the archaeological record (both in
terms of geographic and chronological coverage) makes attempts to employ
quantitative methods for assessing globalization in the past problematic;
whereas exploring specific cultural phenomena related to globalization al-
lows us to look at the archaeological record in more complex ways. Glocal-
ization and transculturality are very potent tools for the study of ancient
material culture that can be connected to long distance exchange; it is now
clear, indeed, that studying the ancient world in compartments results in a
biased understanding.
The adaptation of globalization theories in archaeology represents the
latest attempts at analysing connectivity and networks, moving away from
older, now heavily critiqued concepts such as influence. Globalization theo-
ries in archaeology are used, indeed, to analyse the reception and adaptation
DOI: 10.4324/9781003096269-3
20 Serena Autiero
of alien artefacts, ideas, and behaviours in a recipient culture. This is par-
ticularly relevant in the field of material culture studies, in those circum-
stances when, until recently, scholars used the concept of influence. This
concept was implicitly derogatory toward recipient cultures, since it often
came with connotations of a stronger culture influencing a weaker one.1 For
example, concepts such as Hellenization and Romanization are based on
such an assumption, and they have recently been criticized or at least prob-
lematized in favour of a more nuanced understanding of such interactions.2
The fundamental input that globalization studies provides to archaeol-
ogy is first and foremost a virtuous example of interdisciplinarity; however
recent developments in this field create a fertile environment in which schol-
ars can specialize in the study of ancient globalizations in archaeology, or
what I propose to call the ‘archaeology of globalization’.
The aim of this chapter is to enquire into the role and relevance of an
archaeology of globalization in current scholarship, analysing the possible
shift from interdisciplinarity toward disciplinarity, in an attempt to answer
the following fundamental question: ‘Does an archaeology of globalization
exist?’
Globalization studies and the antiquity

In current archaeological research, more and more often the word ‘globaliza-
tion’ is used to address specific cultural phenomena linked to long-distance
connectivities; this trend confirms that the idea of isolated ‘archaeological
cultures’ is a thing of the past. Archaeology fully embraced the idea of inter-
connection as it is so dramatically visible in the contemporary world.
Speaking about globalization in the past requires a certain degree of un-
derstanding of globalization as it was first theorized in and for the capital-
istic world. Looking at the historical roots of globalization, it is clear that
economists and social scientists initially debated this phenomenon in terms
of the contemporary world. However, their studies paved the way for history
and archaeology to demonstrate that globalization cannot be considered
an innovation of the capitalist system. Until the 1990s, globalization theory
was deeply imbibed by capitalist consumer culture proper to the contem-
porary world, and, therefore, using it for historical considerations was very
challenging and challenged; in the last two decades a growing amount of
theory on globalization and culture allowed for a deeper understanding of
globalization in antiquity. One of the main hurdles for historicizing globali-
zation is surpassing the concept of cultural homogenization catalysed by
fast media and high-speed travels that often corresponds to the collective
understanding of globalization tout court.
Globalization is a potent theoretical framework for understanding con-
nectivities, it allows a better comprehension of social interconnections and
of the cultural outputs of complex networks.3 The use of globalization the-
ory and related concepts in the study of the pre-modern world is based on
From the field to the globe 21
the acknowledgment that complex connectivities and networks also existed
in the past, and that the idea of cultures as islands with clearly discernible
borders is untenable.4
Defining globalization in brief is a challenging task since there is no agree-
ment among scholars; Al-Rodhan and Stoudmann give a broad definition
of globalization as ‘a process that encompasses the causes, course, and
consequences of transnational and transcultural integration of human and
non-human activities’;5 these scholars focus, therefore, on the entanglement
of geographic and cultural dimensions of globalization. Economists tend to
define globalization through some of the conditions it enables, such as the
existence of global trade, the impact of productions on trade partners and
price convergence.6 However, this point of view is difficult to adapt to the
information available in archaeological contexts where findings are dictated
by accident and mere luck, and research is utterly uneven in geographical
coverage because of the unevenness of sites excavated or quality of the exca-
vations in certain regions. In addition, the extent of preservation, publication
and accessibility of materials, as well as environmental conditions, affect the
conservation of finds. The reconstruction of trade networks, for example,
is possible when a sufficient number of sources on transactions are avail-
able, and cannot be based only on archaeological data, since many trades
included plenty of perishable materials that did not leave any trace for the
modern archaeologist.7 Besides these difficulties dictated by the nature of
archaeological findings, archaeological research has a different history and
different paths of development in the various areas of the world. Research
started at different times and with different theoretical approaches, method-
ologies, technologies, and means, leading to different results that need to be
questioned before being accepted by modern scholarship. The simple track-
and-trace of archaeological findings, backed by biased and uneven written
sources, cannot establish a reliable base to determine globalization through
quantitative criteria – as would be favoured by an approach hinged too
strictly on modern economics – while potentially still highlighting a surge in
long-distance connections and interactions. This argument strongly suggests
looking for definitions of globalization built around its cultural aspects in or-
der to find one that is suited for historical and archaeological considerations.
In regard to archaeology and history, indeed, both economic and cultural
dynamics should be considered in relation to globalization thinking.
John Tomlinson, in his book Globalization and Culture, defines – briefly
but effectively – globalization as ‘complex connectivities’;8 he argues that
intense connectivities between people across physical and cultural bor-
ders, creating a network of interaction and interdependency (exchange of
goods, information, technologies, ideas, etc.), trigger cultural transforma-
tion. Robertson effectively defines globalization as a form of connectivity,
specifying that globalization is a process by which the world increasingly
becomes seen as one place and the ways in which we are made conscious of
that process.9 On a similar note, Hodos more recently defines globalization
22 Serena Autiero
as those processes of increasing connectivities that unfold and manifest as
social awareness of those connectivities, making clear that it is more than
just complex connectivities.10
Among the many definitions of globalization, we find two recurring char-
acteristics: time-space compression and global consciousness. If the idea of
time-space compression is devoid of period-specific traits, using the term
global in historical periods implies a contextualization at the specific level of
geographical knowledge of the time. Projecting the term globalization onto
the past, therefore, requires adapting our understanding of the term globe
to mean the ‘the world as known then’. Some scholars in this regard suggest
a chronological classification of subsequent globalizations.11 Clearly ‘glo-
balization’ identifies a phenomenon which occurs on different scales over
different periods of time; this means that talking about globalization always
demands period-specific explanations. Today, as in the past, globalization
promotes uniformity as well as fragmentation, it is an unpredictable pro-
cess that doesn’t follow any inner universal logic. Its geographical scope can
vary just as its chronological scope.
The level of long-distance interactions across regions have risen and
fallen over the centuries triggering cultural transformation. Globalization
described as complex connectivities and subsequent cultural transforma-
tion is not a concept limited to our contemporary world; such a definition
can also be adapted to ancient periods. Since globalization cannot be simply
equated to long distance interaction, scholars needed to outline appropriate
criteria to qualify a period of intense interregional connectivity as one of
globalization.12 Jennings argued that demonstrating a correlation between
the increased exchange (in terms of trade and travels) and the formation
of a global culture is a fruitful way of identifying early globalizations; but
what is a ‘global culture’? In his Globalizations and the Ancient World, Jen-
nings identifies eight general trends that create a global culture and thus the
means to pinpoint if globalization has occurred in a specific era: 1) time-
space compression; 2) de-territorialization; 3) standardization; 4) uneven-
ness; 5) cultural homogenization; 6) cultural heterogeneity; 7) re-embedding
local culture; 8) vulnerability.13 While recommending that all eight trends
be present during a period of globalization, Jennings also explains that they
can be pervasive at different scales, allowing ample variability. Globaliza-
tion, indeed, appears as a recurring phenomenon in the social and cultural
history of humanity; ample variability in modality and scale depends on
time and place. Accepting this view means acknowledging the significance
of ancient history – and history in general – to contemporary society.
Glocalization, transculturality and material culture

The theoretical discourse about globalization and archaeology is now-
adays at a stage of maturity; however, its application to archaeological
practice is still experimental and not unequivocally accepted and applied.
When dealing with issues of globalization, archaeology focusses on mate-
rial exchange and connectivity, mostly looking for the material traces of
interregional contacts. However, looking exclusively at foreign pieces of
material culture in an archaeological context is a limited approach; recent
research shows that the effects of ancient globalization are not confined to
material exchange, but they modify, transform, and stimulate change in
local material culture by means of ‘soft-exchange’. This definition is used
to indicate transmission of knowledge, ideas, beliefs – groupable under
the label ‘culture’ – that is not always visible in a tangible and measurable
material exchange. In archaeological contexts, findings can be accidental
and depend on the perishability of materials, however, even if signposts of
material exchange are lost or missing, material culture can tell stories of
globalization. Therefore, it is important for the archaeologist to focus on
the effects of globalization on material culture, selecting the best theoret-
ical tools and concepts among the many models proposed so far in order
to pursue a better understanding of globalized material culture. First and
foremost, discussing globalization in the past requires the abandonment
of the idea that its main consequence is cultural homogenization; globali-
zation indeed also stimulates differentiation, and boosts the creation of
new local cultural expressions shaped by long distance connectivities. Ar-
chaeology looks at material culture and such expressions of cultural inter-
connections can be identified in material culture, and can, therefore, be
identified by the work of archaeologists.
Among the many concepts that spread from globalization theories, two
are of particular interest for the archaeologist: glocalization and transcul-
turality. Concepts such as influence, acculturation, and hybridization have
been proposed as interpretative patterns for cultural interactions; however,
they all retain ‘container-thinking’. This can imply linear relations between
cultural blocks that suggest situations of unbalanced power. As a result,
these concepts have been criticized in recent literature.14
Going back to Jennings’ eight hallmarks of globalization, it is clear
that some of them already include the concepts of glocalization and
transculturality.
As already stated, a reconstruction of ancient globalization based on ac-
tual proofs of exchange and interaction on a large (utopianly global) scale is
an impossible task, since findings can be accidental and the concentration
of archaeological works dramatically varies in different areas of the world.
Nevertheless, proofs of globalization also hide in isolated archaeological
contexts, where it is possible to find indications of globalization in the evalu-
ation of the impact of foreign elements on local culture, in the identification
of alien elements, and from the study of possible transcultural elements in
the local material culture. Phenomena that can be identified as related to
globalization may indeed be also very local. Globalization is a useful tool
for the study of local societies in the past, providing a key to the under-
standing of long distance connectivities and their cultural impact on those
24 Serena Autiero
societies or social groups; such cultural responses to globalization at a local
level are manifestations of glocalization.
Glocalization is an umbrella term encompassing seemingly opposite and
complementary trends of globalization. The neologism ‘glocalization’ is
constructed by fusing global and local, and it gained increasing popular-
ity since 1990 across a variety of disciplines and fields.15 The term glocal
appeared where phenomena connected to this key concept were already ac-
knowledged and represented under labels such as hybridity, creolization,
métissage, and fusion; all of these concepts highlight the inevitable inter-
action between global and local in a variety of fields. According to Robert-
son, globalization includes glocalization as a constituent part, in his words
‘The global is not in and of itself counterposed to the local. Rather, what
is often referred to as the local is essentially included within the global.’16
Starting in the 1990s, glocalization gained momentum in the social sciences
and economics, especially since it is very significant for a micromarketing
business approach based on the tailoring and targeted advertising of goods
to differentiated markets;17 however, its applications to archaeology are still
limited.18 The relationship between global and local is not a fixed one and it
is not measurable once and for all; this relationship changes both geograph-
ically and across history. Fluctuations in the global, local and glocal point
to fluctuating levels of interaction among human communities. Therefore,
glocalization finds a place in archaeological research since it aims at under-
standing human interactions over time. Glocalization provides an analyt-
ical perspective to understand the interactions between globalization and
localization, but it is not a conclusive theory explaining the mechanisms
behind these processes.19
At the level of material culture (from single artefacts to architectural ele-
ments to iconographic solutions), glocalizing processes – depending on and
revealing globalization – find expression in the adoption, adaptation and
re-interpretation of foreign items, in full or in single components; drawing
from transcultural theory such phenomena provide interesting avenues for
analysis.20 The use of transcultural theories for the study of material culture
in contexts of long distance connectivities is a recent approach. Nonethe-
less, it has proved successful especially in the context of the Indian Ocean
exchange network.21
Transculturality is intended as those cultural conditions characterized by
permeation and intermingling; the concept of transculturality overlaps with
some elements already highlighted for the concept of glocalization; trans-
culturality indeed goes beyond globalization and localization, covering
global and local following the logic of transculturation intended as the pro-
cess behind transculturality.22 Transculturation has been the first among
the words related to the phenomenon of transculturality to enter the social
sciences; this neologism was first applied in relation to Cuba in the 1947
book Contrapunteo cubano del tabaco y el azúcar written by the historian
and criminologist Fernando Ortiz.23 Ortiz characterized transculturation
as ‘The product of a meeting between an existing culture or subculture and
a migrant culture, recently arrived, which transforms the two and creates
in the process a neoculture, which is also subject to transculturation […]’.24
Transculturation has a connotation of ongoing process that does not consist
merely in an acquisition of cultural traits from another culture, but involves
a modification of the recipient culture; this process reflects on material cul-
ture, therefore the related phenomenon of transculturality has a use in ar-
chaeology as an interpretative tool in contexts affected by globalization.
Transculturality allows the identification of globalization (by means of its
effects) in a specific geohistorical context, while permitting us to look at
the effects of known globalizations on material culture in a new way that
goes beyond the simple track and trace of foreign artefacts. The concept of
transculturality is based on the principle that a single society for maturity
requires interaction and dialogue with other societies; such a concept is con-
sidered appropriate to most societies today, but cannot be relegated to our
contemporary experience of the world.25 The study of cultural interactions
in antiquity strongly supports this point of view, since many examples of
complex interactions are before our very eyes. Transculturality is in no way
completely new historically.26
Glocalization and transculturality overlap in many instances, however
the latter offers a more specific interpretative key for material culture, going
beyond the concept of the ‘mix’ of global and local and focussing on the
neo-culture derived from intense connectivity. Transculturality has been
intended also as hierarchically subordinated to globalization. However, in-
stances of transculturality may also be attested to in the contexts of simple
connectivity with only two actors and without an established network or
networks of connections; therefore transculturality is a cultural phenome-
non not necessarily linked to fully developed globalization and it can also
happen in non-global contexts with limited connectivity.
In general, the focus on glocalization and transculturality as heuristic
tools for the study of the social and cultural effect of globalization (at a time
when it is impossible to clearly reconstruct the geo-economic reach of glo-
balization) makes particularly visible the benefits of globalization studies to
the discipline of archaeology. These tools add to the understanding of iden-
tity and material agency,27 open a window on the possible discrepancy of
uses of an object (or other piece of material culture) in the original culture if
compared to the newly assigned use and value in the receiving culture. From
the point of view of economic history, this also means that globalization
helps the archaeologist in the difficult task of understanding the assigned
value of imported goods, going past the outdated assumption that foreign,
exotic and luxury form an indissoluble triad.
An archaeology of globalization?
Globalization theories have the potential to bridge the global and the local
in material culture analysis; research in the last decades makes clear that
the words archaeology and globalization have a right to co-exist within the
26 Serena Autiero
same sentence.28 Nevertheless, this chapter intends to go a step further from
the side-by-side juxtaposition of archaeology and globalization. Indeed, al-
ready in the title, I use the formula archaeology of globalization. Despite the
bold use of this definition, there are still some fundamental questions that
need to be addressed to confirm its validity. Does an archaeology of globali-
zation really exist as a discipline? Does it deserve academic attention as it
is? Or does it just work as an ancillary discourse to historical archaeology?
It is not possible to fully answer these questions (whether the archaeology
of globalization should be recognized as a new discipline or not) in what re-
mains of this chapter, but some explorative discussion is offered in the hope
of igniting further debate, of establishing the relevance of these questions
and of providing new insights and a novel viewpoint on recent developments
in archaeology. At first glance there are pros and cons of recognizing the ar-
chaeology of globalization as an autonomous entity in current scholarship.
The main advantage is the possibility of developing an arena for discussion
that goes beyond area and time-specific sub-fields, bringing together schol-
ars and exploring issues collectively, that might otherwise risk being rele-
gated to sub-disciplinary areas of archaeology (and potentially overlooked);
conversely, the first disadvantage is that multiplying and dividing is never
a good idea since it can lead to extreme specialization and fragmentation,
lowering the possibilities of exchange. Apparently, pros and cons are just
two sides of the same coin.
The precise phrasing ‘archaeology of globalization’ appears to be a heav-
ily underused expression as witnessed by its extreme scarcity on the main
search engine results,29 and it appears as simply referring to the origin of
contemporary globalization as represented by the first port facilities ena-
bling the use of containers in the 1960s or to colonial imperialism as the root
of capitalistic globalization.30 Searching ‘archaeology of globalization’ on
the main search engines directly results in archaeology and globalization;
while the ‘and’ indicates the coupling of two different disciplines, implying
that archaeologists apply globalization studies to their specific areas/sites/
artefacts, the ‘of’ variant refers to a specific area of research of archaeology,
assumed to have its own theoretical and methodological approaches.
In the previous paragraph, I used the word discipline, commonly used to
denote a particular area of knowledge in relation to an institutional/organ-
izational context; it is commonly accepted, indeed, that what distinguishes
discipline from related terms such as field, domain or topic is their institu-
tional and organizational features.31 Does the archaeology of globalization
qualify as an emergent academic discipline? This question is not easy to
answer and requires further clarification on the concept of discipline and
other related terms. Moreover, the different branches of archaeology would
be better identified as sub-disciplines, archaeology as a whole being the dis-
cipline stricto sensu (as history, history of art, or biology); however, the dif-
ferent branches of archaeology have a degree of academic and institutional
independence so distinct that there is no mistake in using discipline tout
court to indicate each of them (e.g., prehistoric archaeology, classical ar-
chaeology, IT archaeology, etc.).
Academia uses several concepts for defining research areas including,
among others, discipline, field, domain, topic and specialty; delineating
borders for different areas of research is not an exact science since groups
and categories are continuously evolving and respond to ever-changing
epistemological needs. Disciplines play a central role in structuring and
organizing knowledge, however, as they are generally intended nowadays,
disciplines are rather recent inventions, a little more than hundred years old,
reflecting the need to classify knowledge in order to make it manageable.32
As will be further stressed in the following pages, disciplines are not static,
they correspond to a historical-specific organization of knowledge that is
bound to evolve and change.
Scholars in every field use the word discipline quite loosely, relying on
broad definitions, if relying on definitions at all; this paragraph builds on
an ongoing discussion on how academic disciplines should be defined and
distinguished from fields, domains or topics in order to ignite and contrib-
ute to the debate on the role of the archaeology of globalization in current
research.33
‘Discipline’ is defined very broadly by the Oxford English Dictionary as
‘a branch of learning or scholarly instruction.’ In an excellent attempt at
providing a better definition of what characterizes an academic discipline,
Krishnan identifies six attributes.34 According to him disciplines must have:
(1) a particular object of research, (2) a body of accumulated specialist
knowledge referring to their object of research, (3) theories and concepts
that can organize knowledge effectively, (4) specific terminologies or tech-
nical language, (5) developed particular research methods, (6) some institu-
tional manifestation in the form of subject taught at universities, respective
academic departments and professional organizations.
When analysing how Krishnan’s criteria apply to the archaeology of
globalization, the sixth requirement is the most problematic since what is
missing is precisely a consistent institutional manifestation. The archaeol-
ogy of globalization exists in academia in the research agenda of several
archaeologists working on extremely diverse topics, and, consequently, it
is infiltrating into university courses. Hammarfelt points out that an addi-
tional characteristic necessary to define a discipline as such might be that it
has control over specific channels for disseminating its knowledge (journals,
book series and conferences);35 also in this additional characteristic – falling
into the realm of institutionalization – we identify a gap.
At the moment, the archaeological study of early forms of globalization
appears as an interdisciplinary enterprise, and there is no clear path for any
scholar willing to spend their time and energy researching and teaching an
archaeology of globalization separated from areas and time specializations.
Multiplying and dividing is never good but at the same time having a de-
fined discipline helps in assembling scholars with the same interests, even if
28 Serena Autiero
applied to very diverse contexts. Does the desire to build a home for the work
that we have been doing require the creation of something new? What would
it mean for those of us involved in paired research on archaeology and glo-
balization to gather around some new structures (being an annual confer-
ence, a journal, or an academic course)? Despite interdisciplinary studies on
archaeology and globalization forming an established approach to the un-
derstanding of early societies, the archaeology of globalization – intended
as an independent research area surpassing chronological and geographi-
cal borders – is still in a phase of extreme immaturity. The main obstacle
for an archaeologist to embrace the archaeology of globalization as elective
specialization is the customary area separation built on geographical and
chronological divides; the point is that in current archaeology the possibil-
ity of an archaeologist specializing on the theoretical and methodological
tools necessary to understand early globalizations is still not contemplated.
Such specialists are not required to be the polymaths of archaeologies, they
are not supposed to be multi-area specialists; an archaeology of globaliza-
tion means a clear specialization on how early globalization manifests in
material culture, and how to recognize contexts of globalization through
tools such as glocalization and transculturality. Archaeology in general is
a team effort, many different specializations – ranging from scientific to
historical and cultural approaches – concur to archaeological research.
Therefore, what is suggested here is that in this team effort a specialized ar-
chaeology of globalization has become a growing necessity; especially given
the personal efforts expended by a growing number of scholars to expand
their expertise by diving into socio-economic and cultural theories of (capi-
talistic) globalization. Disciplines are born and die: new disciplines are born
when they simplify knowledge and when they answer new epistemological
questions; they die when they are of not use anymore. Disciplines are not
stable and static bodies. They are in constant change and have a dynamic
behaviour following changes within a society. Pushed by new instances, dis-
ciplines evolve and modify their basis, theories, methodologies; they can
converge into new more encompassing disciplines or become differentiated
into new branches.
I am aware that the preceding discussion does not answer the question
whether the archaeology of globalization should be a new discipline or not.
I consider this a very first step toward the understanding of disciplinary bor-
ders within the new paths of archaeology in the twenty-first century. At this
stage of the debate, the archaeology of globalization can be considered as a
well defined research area. While it is too early to establish if it deserves any
form of institutionalization, I suggest that the work of scholars exploring
the historical and archaeological roots of globalization and the validity of
the theoretical tools derived from globalization studies for the understand-
ing of antiquity are paving the way towards a possible institutionalization.
The body of knowledge and the new skills gathered in the last few decades
also contribute to the formation of new specialized professionals in the field
of archaeology marking a clear didactic potential for the archaeology of
globalization.
Disciplinarity or interdisciplinarity?
Establishing the archaeology of globalization as a new discipline could be
deemed as necessary if we consider that, despite repeated calls for interdis-
ciplinarity, disciplinary identity remains strong in academia; the archaeol-
ogy of globalization surpasses disciplinary boundaries on multiple levels.
At the first and most visible level – what we can call the macro-level – is the
use of notions, theories and methodologies borrowed and assimilated from
economics, sociology, anthropology and history. At the second level – the
micro-level – the archaeology of globalization crosses the boundaries be-
tween different ‘archaeologies’. The archaeologists working on early glo-
balizations by definition jump in time and space, they must be able to detect
global phenomena in unfamiliar contexts.
In current research, interdisciplinarity means innovation, therefore many
founding institutions strongly encourage it. However, there is currently no
universally accepted definition of what being ‘interdisciplinary’ entails and
there is no clear distinction from different concepts such as multidisciplinar-
ity, crossdisciplinarity, and so on.36 The problem of any kind of interdisci-
plinary research, as stated before, is that the disciplinary identity remains a
heavy burden on scholars’ shoulders; also the champions of the postdiscipli-
nary paradigms, such as Gibbons still acknowledge the stability and long-
term duration on disciplinary structures.37 Hammarfelt highlights how in
interdisciplinary gatherings, the participants still refer to their ‘parent’ dis-
cipline to state their ‘disciplinary identity’.38
Interdisciplinarity of any kind also comes with its own risks; indeed,
scholars who cross boundaries and ‘leave their tribe’ might find themselves
expelled from their ‘academic home’ and become ‘intellectually homeless’.39
Marilyn Strathern further elaborates this tendency saying that ‘one knows
one is in an interdisciplinary context if there is resistance to what one is do-
ing’.40 Consequently, it is much more convenient for scholars to crystallize
into a discipline and allow it to prosper developing a strong disciplinary
identity; this is particularly true for weak disciplines (weak because new, or
underfunded, or striving for any other reason).41 The establishment of a new
discipline requires the initiative of courageous scholars ready to take the
risk of failure and academic homelessness; creating a new discipline starts
off as an interdisciplinary venture that combines elements from a parent
discipline with new insights.42
The archaeology of globalization is not at a stage of maturity that allows
us to consider it as an autonomous discipline in the realm of archaeology;
there are not fully committed ‘pioneers’ or established projects to back the
ambition for academic recognition. However, it is undeniable that some-
thing happened in the archaeological field in the last couple of decades that
30 Serena Autiero
pushed scholars to embrace an interdisciplinary approach to the study of
ancient connectivities. The first approach used by archaeologists dealing
with globalizations is of a crossdisciplinary nature. They borrow knowl-
edge and methods at the risk of being perceived as imperialistic while using
knowledge belonging to other domains; another risk is dilettantism, since
without a proper disciplinary preparation there is the risk of improper use
of knowledge and methods from other fields.43 Nevertheless, the interdis-
ciplinary approach of the archaeology of globalization is not limited to
crossdisciplinarity anymore; indeed, works such as Jennings’ Globalization
and the Ancient World, operate a synthesis of concepts that are finally co-
herently integrated in the archaeological research even if they originate in
other disciplines.44 Going beyond crossdisciplinarity also means surpassing
the risk of self-perception as imposter or as presumptuously attempting to
appropriate other disciplines in a polymath delirium; this risk is much bet-
ter described by the following words:
The angel I hear – who sounds more like the bank robot reciting my in-
adequate balance than any imaginable angel – scornfully inflates my at-
tempts to use the insights of other disciplines as polymath grandeur …
the fear that I can’t possibly know anything about economics or govern-
ment because a whole department in the next building really knows the
subject is paralyzing and unproductive.45
The archaeologist of globalization needs to navigate interdisciplinarity,

aim to bridge disciplines and sub-disciplines relying on confrontation, col-
laboration and teamwork with area-specialists; only in this way will the
archaeologist of globalization pursue their goals of a better, unbiased un-
derstanding of human history.
Conclusion
This chapter puts forward some issues experienced by archaeologists while
working as pioneers in the interdisciplinary or neo-disciplinary field of the
archaeology of globalization; whether it is more appropriate to use the at-
tribute interdisciplinary or neo-disciplinary is still too early to say.
Universities around the world are more and more offering courses on
World Archaeology, mostly as a general introduction to the different area-
specialties. Yet no course on Archaeology of Globalization exists, to my
knowledge. Part of this chapter revolves around the question: is the ar-
chaeology of globalization mature enough to deserve its own teachings?
As an academic discipline the archaeology of globalization could figure
in the group of theoretical, methodological and technical disciplines that
are an integral part in the formation of future archaeologists. Contempo-
rary challenges inevitably affect the way we look at and understand our
past; therefore, it is completely natural to see old disciplines evolve, mature
and develop into new specializations. If these new specializations nurture
knowledge in that specific field for a consistent amount of time, then they
deserve institutionalization. Recent developments in the study of the past
make clear that archaeology students would benefit from a specific forma-
tion on early globalizations and on the theories and methodologies behind
their study. More and more institutions invite scholars to hold seminars and
lectures on topics related to the archaeology of globalization, such as glo-
calization and transculturality, making clear that current academia necessi-
tates this new set of knowledge.
Today, as in the past, globalization promotes uniformity as well as frag-
mentation, it is an unpredictable process that does not follow any inner uni-
versal logic. Its geographical scope can vary just as its chronological scope.
The level of long-distance interaction across regions has risen and fallen
over the centuries.
In order to define a period as a period of globalization it should meet two
criteria:46
a It should be triggered by a surge in long-distance connections.

b It should experience the specific cultural changes associated with a
global culture; I would rephrase this as experiencing transculturality as
cultural manifestation of global interactions.
The archaeology of globalization provides us with fresh opportunities to

re-examine the past with new lenses and allows us to discover phenomena
previously obscured. Globalization in the past – as still today – does not
need to be global, there is a pattern of interactions that identify globaliza-
tion processes.
The archaeology of globalization should focus on the role of material
culture as trigger for cultural change in a context of long-distance con-
nectivity. Time-space compression and global consciousness (whatever the
perception of the world in a historical moment) are indeed such kinds of
cultural change. There is a more than abundant theoretical literature on
the topic of globalization and on its historicity, besides specific archaeo-
logical works. Therefore, there is space for the building of a subject. Recent
volumes –such as this one – present several case studies showing applica-
tions of the body of theories and methods. The Archaeology of Globaliza-
tion, therefore, has a theory, a methodology and applications, confirming
its existence as dignified field of study. Will it jump forward into the realm
of an academic discipline? The answer to this question will come in the
next few years.
In conclusion, this chapter shows that the use of globalization theories
for archaeology is at a stage of maturity, but the archaeology of globaliza-
tion still has potential as a growing discipline. Several case studies in re-
cent years confirm that there is a common approach – the archaeology of
globalization – that can be applied to very diverse contexts;47 the coexist-
ence of these disparate topics under the same umbrella shows that there is a
common disciplinary basis that goes beyond geohistorical specializations.
32 Serena Autiero
Acknowledgements
The project ‘中国国家社科基金青年项目“汉唐时期岭南与南亚的物质文化交
流研究 – Study on the Material Culture Exchanges between South China
and South Asia from the Han to the Tang Dynasty periods’ leading to this
chapter has received funding from the National Science Foundation of
China (Grant No. 19CZS064).
I am grateful to Professor Miguel John Versluys and Dr. Matthew A.
Cobb for kindly looking through drafts of this chapter and for their valua-
ble advice. Of course, all opinions and errors remain my own.
Notes
1 Autiero (2017): 86.
2 Hodos (2014); Versluys (2014); Sommer (2012).
3 Knappett (2017): 30.
4 Extremely valid arguments supporting the cause for a use of globalization the-
ory in the study of the antiquity/pre-modern world, including additional litera-
ture, can be found in Pitts and Versluys (2015): 3–31.
5 Al-Rodhan and Stoudmann (2006): 5.
6 Nederveen Pieterse (2015): 230.
7 Perishable materials such as textiles, while heavily underrepresented in the ar-
chaeological record, could be quite significant; for example, see Seland’s (2016)
use of network theory to analyse the textile trade mentioned in the Periplus
Maris Erythraei.
8 Tomlinson (1999): 2.
9 Robertson (1992): 8; Robertson (2017): 54.
10 Hodos (2017): 4.
11 For example, Hopkins (2002): 3–9 distinguishes archaic globalization (pre-1600
AD), later proto-globalization (1600–1800 AD), modern globalization (from
1800–1950 AD) and post-colonial globalization (from the 1950s onwards).
12 Jennings (2017): 12.
13 Jennings (2011): 122–141.
14 For ‘influence’ see the Introduction to this chapter; against ‘container-thinking’,
especially regarding the concept of ‘acculturation’ see Versluys (2015): 144–146;
for ‘hybridity’ see Hodos (2017): 5.
15 For an overview of the story of the term glocalization see Roudometof (2016): 1–4.
16 Robertson (1995): 32.
17 Robertson (1995): 28; also cited in Hodos (2017): 6.
18 For example, Riedel (2018).
19 Berrett et al. (2018): 15.
20 For transcultural theory and its applications to material culture studies see
Cobb in this volume.
21 For example see my works on terracotta and bronze figurines (Autiero (2015),
(2017) and (2019).
22 Welsch (1999): 212.
23 Ortiz (1947). For further discussion of how this concept has been recently taken
up and used by archaeologists and historians, see in this volume Autiero and
Cobb: 4, and Cobb, n. 7.
24 Ortiz (2002)[1947]: 98.
25 Welsch (1999): 194.
26 Welsch (1999): 199.
27 A genuine archaeological perspective looks at objects as ‘actans’, meaning that –
while acknowledging the indissoluble bond between goods and people using
them (infusing them with their ideas and meanings) – archaeology focusses on
material culture looking at its active role as catalysts for cultural change. Mate-
rial culture behaves as actant (through its own agency) in combination to human
agency to shape society and culture; this means that objects are not only a result
of cultural change, but they contribute to ignite those processes of change in
an active role (Versluys (2017): 77)). In the case of diasporas of objects – as in
globalized contexts – their material agency plays a fundamental role in the pro-
cesses of cultural change comprised under the label of transculturality.
28 The sodality of archaeology and globalization is epitomized by the Routledge
Handbook of Archaeology and Globalization with several case studies from ex-
tremely diverse geographical and chronological frames (Hodos (2017)).
29 For example, no instances of the exact phrasing ‘archaeology of globalization’
appear on the first ten pages of results on Google Search on 7 September 2020.
30 Respectively Graves-Brown (2013) and Nawaz (2006).
31 Hammarfelt (2020).
32 Klein (1996): 6; also cited in Hammarfelt (2020).
33 This paper must be read keeping in mind that it is based on the acknowledge-
ment of a fundamental dichotomy between ‘archaeology and globalization’ and
‘archaeology of globalization’.
34 Krishnan (2009): 10.
35 Hammarfelt (2018): 198.
36 Krishnan (2009b): 2.
37 Gibbons et al. (2001)[1994]: 149.
38 Hammerfelt (2020).
39 Krishnan (2009a): 23. A famous professor once told me, using a Dutch way of
saying, that my research on Indian Ocean globalization ‘falls between the boat
and the dock’ referring to the difficulties of finding a home for my studies in
current academic departments; that informal conversation still is the best rep-
resentation of disciplinary homelessness for archaeologists crossing departmen-
tal borders.
40 Strathern (2005): 130.
41 Krishnan (2009a): 24.
42 Krishnan (2009a): 34.
43 For a general introduction to different interdisciplinary approaches please refer
to Krishnan (2009b).
44 Jennings (2011).
45 Baker (1997): 59, cited in Krishnan (2009b): 45.
46 Jennings (2017): 14.
47 Several chapters in this volume also concur to confirm this statement (see, for
example, chapters 3, 4, 8, 12).
Bibliography
Al-Rodhan, Nayef R.F. and Gérard Stoudmann. 2006: Definitions of Globalization:
A Comprehensive Overview and a Proposed Definition. Geneva: Geneva Centre for
Security Policy.
Autiero, Serena. 2015: ‘Terracotta Figurines from Egypt as Agents of Cultural
Globalization’, in Massimiliano Pinarello, Justin Yoo, Jason Lundock and Carl
Walsh (eds.), Current Research in Egyptology 2014 – Ancient Egypt in a Global
World, 90–99. Oxford: Oxbow Books.
34 Serena Autiero
Autiero, Serena. 2019: ‘Iconography as Agent of Cultural Globalization – Bronze
Figurines from South Arabia’, in Andrea Manzo, Chiara Zazzaro and Diana
Joyce De Falco (eds.), Stories of Globalisation: The Red Sea and the Persian Gulf
from Late Prehistory to Early Modernity. Selected Papers of Red Sea Project VII,
408–442. Leiden: Brill.
Baker, Vaughan. 1997: ‘The Perils and Promises of Interdisciplinarity in the Hu-
manities’, in Lewis Pyenson (ed.), Disciplines and Interdisciplinarity in the New
Century. Lafayette: The University of Southwestern Louisiana Press.
Barrett, James H., Roland Robertson, Victor Roudometof, Noel Salazar and Susan
Sherratt . 2018): ‘Discussion: interdisciplinary perspectives on glocalization’, Ar-
chaeological Review from Cambridge, 33(1), 11–32.
Gibbons, Michael, Camille Limoges, Helga Nowotny, Simon Schwartzman, Peter
Scott and Martin Trow. 2001 [1994]: The New Production of Knowledge/The Dy-
namics of Science and Research in Contemporary Societies. London: Sage.
Graves-Brown, Paul. 2013: ‘The box and the Encinal Terminal: an archaeology of
globalization’, Post-Medieval Archaeology 47(1): 252–259.
Hammarfelt, Björn. 2018: ‘What is a Discipline? The Conceptualization of Research
Areas and their Operationalization in Bibliometric Research’, in Rodrigo Costas,
Thomas Franssen and Alfredo Yegros-Yegros (eds.), STI 2018 Conference Pro-
ceedings. Proceedings of the 23rd International Conference on Science and Tech-
nology Indicators. Leiden: Centre for Science and Technology Studies (CWTS),
Leiden University. Available at https://hdl.handle.net/1887/64521
Hammarfelt, Björn. 2020. ‘Discipline’. Knowledge Organization 47(3): 244–256. Also
available in Birger Hjørland and Claudio Gnoli (eds.), ISKO Encyclopedia of
Knowledge Organization, at https://www.isko.org/cyclo/discipline
material- culture studies in the early first-millennium B.C.E. Mediterranean’, Ar-
chaeological Dialogues 21(1): 24–30.
Hodos, Tamar. (ed.), 2017: The Routledge Handbook of Archaeology and Globaliza-
Hopkins, Andrew G. 2002: Globalization in World History. London: Pimlico.
Jennings, Justin. 2011: Globalizations and the Ancient World. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press.
Jennings, Justin. 2017 ‘Distinguishing Past Globalizations’, in Hodos (2017): 12–28.
Klein, Julie T. 1996: Crossing Boundaries: Knowledge, Disciplinaries, and Interdisci-
plinarities. Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press.
Knappett, Carl. 2017: ‘Globalization, Connectivities and Networks – An Archaeo-
logical Perspective’, in Hodos 2017: 29–41.
Krishnan, Armin. 2009a: ‘What are academic disciplines?’, NCRM Working Pa-
per Series 03/09. Retrieved from: http://eprints.ncrm.ac.uk/783/1/what_are_aca-
demic_disciplines.pdf
Krishnan, Armin. 2019b: ‘Five strategies for practising interdisciplinarity’, NCRM
Working Paper Series 02/09. Retrieved from: http://eprints.ncrm.ac.uk/782/1/
strategies_for_practising_interdisciplinarity.pdf
Nawaz, Rafida. 2006: ‘Archaeology of Globalization: A Discourse of Neo-
Imperialism’. Unpublished PhD Dissertation, Bahauddin Zakriya University
Multan http://prr.hec.gov.pk/jspui/handle/123456789/1897
Nederveen Pieterse, Jan. 2015: Globalization and Culture. Malden, MA: Rowman &
Littlefield.
Ortiz, Fernando. 2002[1947]: Contrapunteo cubano del tabaco y el azúcar. Madrid:
Cátedra. [English edition, 1995: Cuban Counterpoint: Tobacco and Sugar]. Dur-
ham, NC: Duke University Press].
Pitts, Martin and Miguel J. Versluys, 2015: ‘Globalisation and the Roman World’,
in Martin Pitts and Miguel J. Versluys (eds.), Globalisation and the Roman World:
World History, Connectivity and Material Culture, 3–31. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press.
Riedel, Stephan. 2018: ‘Commagenian glocalization and the matter of perception –
an innovative royal portrait from Samosata’, Istanbuler Mitteilungen 68: 87–142.
Robertson, Roland. 1992: Globalization: Social Theory and Global Culture. London
and Newbury Park, CA: Sage.
Heterogeneity’, in Mike Featherstone, Scott Lash and Roland Robertson (eds.),
Global Modernities, 25–44. London: Sage.
Robertson, Robbie. 2017: ‘Globalization Thinking and the Past’, in Hodos 2017:
54–65.
York: Routledge.
Seland, Eivind H. 2016: ‘Here, There and Everywhere: A Network Approach
to Textile Trade in the Periplus Maris Erythraei’, in Kerstin Droß-Krüpe and
Marie-Louise Nosch (eds.), Textiles, Trade and Theories – From the Ancient Near
East to the Mediterranean, 211–219. Münster: Ugarit-Verlag.
Sommer, Michael. 2012: ‘Heart of darkness? Post-colonial theory and the transfor-
mation of the Mediterranean’, Ancient West & East 11: 235–245.
Strathern, Marilyn. 2005: ‘Anthropology and interdisciplinarity’, Arts and Humani-
ties in Higher Education 4(2): 125–135.
Tomlinson, John. 1999: Globalization and Culture. Chicago: University of Chicago
Press.
Versluys, Miguel J. 2014: ‘Understanding objects in motion: an archaeological dia-
logue on Romanization’, Archaeological Dialogues 21(1): 1–20.
Versluys, Miguel J. 2015: ‘Roman Visual Material Culture as Globalising Koine’, in
Pitts and Versluys 2015: 141–174.
Versluys, Miguel J. 2017: ‘Exploring Aegyptiaca and their material agency through-
out global history’, in Hodos 2017: 74–89.
Welsch, Wolfgang. 1999: ‘Transculturality – The Puzzling Form of Cultures To-
day’, in Mike Featherstone and Scott Lash (eds.), Spaces of Culture: City, Nation,
World, 194–213. London: Sage. Full text available at: http://www2.uni-jena.de/
welsch/.
2 Globalization, the highest stage
of modernization?
Dario Nappo
Introduction
The word ‘globalization’ has long been in our daily vocabulary and is a term
that is nowadays widely used to define certain characteristics of the modern
world. At the same time, it is difficult to find a univocal definition of it, and
for most of its users, it would probably be problematic to explain precisely
what it means.1 Such an uncertain, blurry meaning makes globalization a
challenging and controversial word to use, even in the context of modern
society, for which the concept was designed in the first place. The matter has
already been the subject of analysis in the Introduction to this volume, so I
will try to avoid needless repetition, as far as possible.
If we want to venture to use the concept outside its original environment,
for example, to understand ancient pre-modern societies, our task definitely
becomes even more complex. In this chapter, I will try to test the applicabil-
ity of the concept to Antiquity in general terms. Being more familiar with
the ancient Roman history, occasional references to actual phenomena will
come from that context, but the aim of this work is rather a theoretical ver-
ification of the suitability of globalization to the ancient context and of its
collocation in the wider historical debate.
At the outset, it is important to stress that it is more than sensible to
question the applicability of globalization to the ancient world, since no
pre-modern societies ever developed a term equivalent to it. Moreover, and
more importantly, the word was first developed precisely to describe a phe-
nomenon deemed peculiar to the modern (as opposed to the ancient) world
and to mark the distinction between what was perceived as ‘modern’ and
everything that had preceded modernity.
Leaving aside for the moment whether or not such a claim of novelty was
right, we must acknowledge that trying to apply the concept of globalization
to antiquity is not a straightforward process.
A recent and essential milestone for the study of globalization theory ap-
plied to the ancient world has been the volume Globalisation and the Roman
World, edited by Martin Pitts and Miguel J. Versluys (2015). The volume
gave a boost to a new debate on the matter that has in fact progressed
DOI: 10.4324/9781003096269-4
The highest stage of modernization? 37
greatly since its publication. In the volume, the editors assert: ‘We believe
globalisation theory has the potential to add significantly to several crucial
debates in Roman archaeology and history’.2 However enthusiastic about
this methodology, the authors are fully aware of the conceptual problems
connected to the use of such a category for a world that never defined itself
as ‘globalized’ or anything even close to it.3 There are several preliminary
issues on the matter which it is necessary to address before engaging in any
specific discussion about globalization and antiquity.
Globalization, a controversial concept

First of all, it is important to recognise that globalization is not a neutral
word and therefore it describes no neutral process.4 It is a buzzword, or
‘catchword of the day’, which embraces a number of intertwined processes
and concepts;5 it is also a polarizing word, since its applicability to all peri-
ods of the history of mankind is still an object of debate.6
Globalization as such is a recent concept, and although some scholars
date it from the 1970s, it gained recognition in the 1980s and more so in the
1990s, as an effect of the new post-Cold War scenario, along with the hope
for a unified peaceful world that would replace the previously hostility-
driven one.7 Globalization has an important quantitative element and a
multi-dimensional nature: it is a process that transforms economic, polit-
ical, social and cultural relationships across different regions, increasing
the speed of change and circulation of information. As for this quantitative
element, there is no doubt: modern globalization has no equal in the history
of mankind. The question arises when one considers the qualitative element
of globalization, or in other terms: did a slower and less deep globalization
exist even before the modern age? This is a matter on which historians have
not yet reached an agreement.8
Actually, as Hopkins aptly observed almost 20 years ago, the impact
of historians in the debate around the origin and usability of the concept
of globalization was very limited until the beginning of the new millen-
nium, because of ‘the dominant tradition of writing history within national
boundaries [that] has contributed to this omission by limiting the number of
historians who engage with supra-national issues’.9
Since Hopkins’ remarks, historians have started to address the problem in
a more serious way, as a rapid look at the available scholarship on the matter
would show. In the context of ancient historical scholarship, a pivotal role
was played by Horden and Purcell’s book The Corrupting Sea, which at the
very end of last century set the standard interpretative scheme for the com-
plex Mediterranean connectivity in classical times.10 Since then, the studies
on connectivity first, and globalization later, have gained momentum, but
scholars still seem to wrestle with very basic definitions and theories.
In order to understand the conundrums of the applicability of globaliza-
tion to antiquity, it is essential to put such debate in its proper context. In
38 Dario Nappo
fact, the dispute on globalization can be best interpreted as a part of a wider
discussion on the difference between antiquity and modernity, which has
become very popular in the last few decades, along with the multiplication
of scholarly works on global history and theories of the empires.11
Layers of globalization
Globalization is a process that encompasses different aspects of human
interaction: cultural, economic, social and political dynamics are all af-
fected by the effects of globalization. Still, the first element to catch the at-
tention of scholars was the dramatic change in the economic performance
that originated with the beginning of the contemporary age (from the eight-
eenth century onwards). For this reason, one prominent line of interpreta-
tion of globalization has put it in the context of the industrial revolution
and the rise of the capitalist society, therefore framing it in primarily eco-
nomic terms as a product of the process of capitalist accumulation.12 The
economic interpretation of globalization can be dated back to Karl Marx
himself, and it sees globalization as an outcome of socio-economic change
and not as an agent of such a change. From this perspective, globalization
can be used as a tool to read society and to see the actual socio-economic
phenomena that shape it.
An oft-quoted passage from Marx’s The Manifesto of the Communist
Party (1848), co-authored with Friedrich Engels, gives us a vivid representa-
tion of the changes that the two philosophers were recognizing as happen-
ing around them:
The bourgeoisie has through its exploitation of the world market

given a cosmopolitan character to production and consumption in
every country. To the great chagrin of Reactionists, it has drawn from
under the feet of industry the national ground on which it stood. All
old-established national industries have been destroyed or are daily
being destroyed. They are dislodged by new industries, whose intro-
duction becomes a life and death question for all civilised nations, by
industries that no longer work up indigenous raw material, but raw
material drawn from the remotest zones; industries whose products
are consumed, not only at home, but in every quarter of the globe. In
place of the old wants, satisfied by the production of the country, we
find new wants, requiring for their satisfaction the products of dis-
tant lands and climes. In place of the old local and national seclusion
and self-sufficiency, we have intercourse in every direction, universal
inter- dependence of nations.13
Marx (and Engels) first suggested a connection between globalization and

economic development, which is still an important part of the scholarship
on the matter.14 It is not by chance that one of the greatest theoreticians of
World Systems Theory, Wallerstein, was a neo-Marxist.15 As we will see,
economics are a central element of our investigation on globalization. The
economic boost began with the industrial revolution brought about, as a
consequence, a dramatic change in the complexity of technology available
to us. In turn, this had a significant consequence on the way we live and per-
ceive the world, which has become smaller and more integrated. The geogra-
pher David Harvey has called this phenomenon ‘time-space compression’:
a connection of increased economic development, faster way of travelling,
faster means of communication, that makes our ability to move and search
the world greatly superior to at any other age of humanity.16
Despite the apparent confusion between economics, geography and time,
modern economic theory can help us summarize this complex bundle of in-
tertwined factors. In one concept, we can say that globalization has greatly
reduced transaction costs. Transaction costs is a concept deeply entangled
with what is known as the New Institutional Economics (NIE) theoretical
framework. Here, it is important to stress that using the theoretical tools of
NIE is not a neutral action, for the methodological and even ideological im-
plications that this theory carries along.17 This is not the place to go through
the complexities of the use of NIE as a theoretical framework, so I will try
to explain how and why I see it appropriate to make use of the transaction
costs element.18
The basic definition is Coase’s: the cost of using the price mechanism.19
Some earlier studies focused on concrete opportunity costs, while a more
modern tradition has seen transaction costs as arising from the cost of in-
formation.20 Coase later returned on the importance of transaction costs in
trading activities, stating:
if the costs of making an exchange are greater than the gains which
that exchange would bring, that exchange would not take place and the
greater production that would flow from specialization would not be
realised. In this way transaction costs affect not only contractual ar-
rangements but also what goods and services are produced.21
Douglas North has notoriously built on the concept, constructing the the-
oretical framework of the NIE, assessing that transaction costs are a key to
understanding why some countries are rich and some others are poor.
The costliness of information is the key to the costs of transacting,

which consist of the costs of measuring the valuable attributes of what
is being exchanged and the costs of protecting rights and policing and
enforcing agreements. These measurement and enforcement costs are
the sources of social, political, and economic institutions.22
North’s definition widens the spectrum of transaction costs, giving them a

new meaning ‘the costs of running an economic system’. This view implies
40 Dario Nappo
that all transactions have to be necessarily regulated by some institutional
agreements or rules, and therefore that every set of rules or institutions is fit
to cope with a particular set of transaction costs.
For the sake of argument, let us suppose that a transactional cost is any
kind of cost we need to face in order to acquire the necessary information to
carry out our business. This information might concern the quantity of the
item we want to trade, or its propriety, or its fair price, or its actual quality,
and so on.23
There is no complete agreement on whether the concept of transaction
costs should be applied to the study of the ancient world without any further
theoretical scrutiny,24 and I would not personally share the view embed-
ded in the NIE theoretical framework, that trade is a pervasive activity in
any economic system, including the ancient ones.25 In any case, it seems
legitimate to recognize that some of the fundamental features of transac-
tion costs can sensibly be applied to the study of the ancient economy.26
As pointed out by Kehoe, Ratzan and Yiftach, these are: 1. Information
(intended in general terms) is not free; 2. The goods exchanged are alterable
and variable in quality; 3. A plurality of partners must seek (and be known
to seek) to extract value from opposite parties in exchanges while simulta-
neously seeking (and be known to be seeking) to protect or retain value they
themselves control.27
Real-time information, connectivity, faster means of travelling, all con-
tribute to the dramatic reduction of transaction costs, which has a primary
(but not exclusive) economic impact.
The point here is to try to understand whether something comparable has
ever happened to the Roman world. Indeed, there are parallels to the awe
expressed by Marx when explaining how the world around him was rapidly
turning into something new and unlike anything else.
The most famous was the Greek-speaking rhetorician, Aelius Aristides,
who lived in the second century CE under the rule of the Antonines. In his
famous Oration to Rome, he declared:
The city appears a kind of common emporium of the world. Cargoes

from India and, if you will, even Arabia the Blessed, one can see in
such numbers as to surmise that in those lands the trees will have been
stripped bare and that inhabitants of those lands, if they need anything,
must come here and beg for a share of their own. Your farmlands are
Egypt, Sicily and all of cultivated Africa.28
This passage has been quoted many times, not only in reference to glo-
balization. More recently, Pitts and Versluys in their already cited book,
commented that, on the grounds of Aristides’ words: ‘there clearly was an
idea of living in a novel punctuation of connectivity: … (Romans) perceived
their world as quintessentially globalised’.29 Such a reading seems to infer
much more of what Aristides actually meant, and the conclusions appear
far-fetched.30
I would instead like to stress that Aristides’ comments are not so far
from Marx’s, as they both underline the same changes. Rome could drag
resources from all over the world, which was then its own garden. We could
argue that such an attitude qualifies as imperialist, rather than globalizing,
but this would open a discussion for which there is no scope within this
chapter to address.31
However, the impressionistic view of Pitts and Versluys is also shared by
some modern scholars. To give just one such example, Witcher has stated:
If an empire spanning parts of Europe, Africa and Asia and character-

ized by the mass production, exchange and consumption of a shared
material culture does not qualify as a form of globalization, then it is
improbable that any other pre-industrial example qualifies either.32
Apart from being a rather weak argument, the statement hardly responds
to the main question here: was there an ancient globalization? Witcher can
only reply that the Roman Empire achieved something more than any other
pre-modern empire, and that if it was not globalized, then no one else was.
But we are still left wondering: was it or was it not?
The problem with formulations like Witcher’s is that they try to present
an allegedly self-evident truth, while at best they are impressive comments,
providing no explanation whatsoever of the phenomenon with which they
engage. Also, this view of the Roman Empire has a noble ancestor in one of
the most prominent historians of antiquity, namely Rostovtzeff, who noto-
riously believed the ancient world to be fully comparable in economic terms
to the modern, but only the scale of their economic performances differed.33
Rostovtzeff held it true that Rome had created a worldwide society of ho-
mologation and culture, and that its economic development had reached
impressive levels, being a proper anticipation of the modern world and its
economic system. It follows that, since the modern and the ancient economic
structure are the same, also the process that led to develop both was identi-
cal. Rostovtzeff’s ideas rested on his unmatchable knowledge of the archaeo-
logical evidence available at his time, but they were also greatly influenced by
his own personal life and political view. Since that time, they have garnered
many followers, including in more recent scholarship; this conceptual view-
point should always be kept in mind, when approaching his works.34
Although it is indeed true that the Roman Empire experienced a level of
cultural and economic integration unknown to all preceding ancient soci-
eties, and that travels between the different regions of the Empire became
easier and more comfortable, this is not really sufficient to apply the defini-
tion of globalization.35
Antiquity vs modernity
An important element that (I hope) has emerged clearly from what has been
discussed so far is that the central point around which all this debate is
42 Dario Nappo
constructed is the alleged gap between antiquity and modernity. In other
terms, once again, is it anachronistic to apply the category of globalization
to antiquity, because of the unbridgeable differences between our age and
the premodern past?
Put in such terms, the question is essentially the same as that which un-
derpinned an earlier ‘great debate’, lasting now almost a century and half,
known as the ‘primitivist vs modernist dispute’. It is a quarrel about the
nature of the ancient economy that many scholars have recently rushed to
define as resolved, expressing the wish to ‘move on’ to new theories and
models.36 A quick look at virtually every single book published on the an-
cient economy in the last twenty years demonstrates quite the opposite; the
debate is still alive, although it is necessary to clarify its terms. Again, in this
case, there is no space to fully describe the terms of the debate; I will only
highlight a few crucial passages, which I deem necessary in order to under-
stand the present discussion.
In the year 1893, the German economist Karl Bücher claimed that the
ancient economy was very different from, and much less advanced, than the
modern, capitalist market economy.37 Bücher saw the ancient economy as
based largely on agriculture, characterized by domestic production mainly
oriented to subsistence. Trade and exchange had only a limited impact on
the economy, while most of the transfer of wealth happened through either
gift or war. Capital, as an element of production, was not present, and la-
bour was divided only to a minimum extent, insufficient to create modern
industry. Bücher called his economic model oikos, from the ancient Greek
word for ‘household’.
Bücher’s views were poorly received within the field of classics. In 1895,
the German ancient historian Eduard Meyer replied to Bücher, putting
forward his personal, and opposing, view of the ancient economy.38 First,
Meyer stressed the evolution of the Greek economy, from the time of Homer
to the Hellenistic age. He then affirmed a modernizing depiction of the an-
tique economy, emphasizing its basically modern and capitalist nature – the
role of trade and money – adding that it was characterized by an industrial
type of production and division of labour. Meyer finally dismissed Bücher’s
view, defining it as ‘primitivism’. And so, by contrast, Meyer came to be
considered the father of the modernists.
The controversy was to continue well beyond the lifespan of the two op-
ponents. It is certainly worth highlighting the important role also played
in this case by the works of Rostovtzeff 39 in assisting the modernist view
to gain the upper hand at the beginning of the twentieth century. Conse-
quently, Karl Polanyi40 and Max Weber41 re-fuelled the debate, giving new
theoretical tools to the primitivist side. In particular, Polanyi developed his
famous theory of the ‘embedded economy’, which refers to the degree to
which economic activity is constrained by non-economic institutions, along
with the substantivist approach to the study of ancient pre-modern soci-
eties and economies.42 On the other side, Weber stressed the importance
of comparative history and made some important clarifications of Bücher’s
model, claiming that he did not try to classify the ancient economy as a
primitive stage of human existence; rather, that Bücher wanted to criticize
the attitude of classical economists that caused them to reduce every possi-
ble economic phenomenon to only one unifying theory. For this reason, he
tried to identify the structure peculiar to each historical society and epoch.43
The views of Weber and, to a minor extent, Polanyi, are at the base of
the theoretical thinking of one of the greatest figures of ancient economic
history, Moses Finley.44 Despite the many criticisms that his work has re-
ceived,45 his role in shaping contemporary views on the ancient economy
can hardly be overestimated. According to his pupil Keith Hopkins, Finley
created a ‘new orthodoxy’ in his field.46
For years, Finley’s view of the ancient economy dominated the debate
with his theoretical conceptualization of it that was solid and internally
extremely coherent. For Finley, the ancient economy was to be considered
alongside other pre-industrial economies. He stressed the distance between
antiquity and modernity, drawing upon the work of both Polanyi and We-
ber. Like them (and like Bücher) he was against the use of conceptual cate-
gories derived from classical and neoclassical economies. In Finley’s view,
the pre-modern world is characterized by immobilism and the repetition
of economic schemes,47 while the contemporary world is characterized by
dynamism, growth, and potential.48
Both Meyer and Rostovtzeff deemed antiquity and modernity to be on
the same level of economic development. The only distinction between the
two ages was in the scale of development: a quantitative, not a qualitative
difference. In this regard, they obliterated the transformation from one
world to the other. Finley entered into the debate to mark the unbridgeable
difference between modernity and antiquity: his aim was to describe the
features of the ancient economy in a more realistic way, but in doing so he
ended up emphasizing the uniqueness of the contemporary western econ-
omy instead.49 In this regard, primitivism has the same flaw as modernism:
it views the western capitalist economy as the highest point of human eco-
nomic evolution, to which any other economic system must be compared,
in order to assess its level of development.50 Such an attitude flattens to mo-
dernity the historical horizon of our investigation, giving a special status of
comparative point to modernity itself.
If we want to get rid of the constraints of this modernocentric view, we
need to look for new tools to interpret the past, which is precisely what I am
going to do in the last part of this chapter.
A Gramscian perspective on globalization

In order to gain a satisfactory interpretation of the ancient evidence, we
need to make conscious use of the models and tools that history has devised
to interpret data.51
44 Dario Nappo
I propose here to make use of some of the historical categories devised by
the Italian politician and philosopher Antonio Gramsci.52
Gramsci was a prominent politician in Italy at the beginning of the twen-
tieth century, and one of the founders of the Italian Communist Party in
1921. He was a refined intellectual and had a solid historical background,
along with a good knowledge of the basic works of Marx, available at the
time. In particular, Gramsci had learned Marx’s lesson on structure and su-
perstructure, but he had also absorbed the further contributions from Lenin
on the topic, and finally greatly expanded the possibilities deriving from this
methodological approach to interpreting the historical flow.53
There is no space here to analyse in detail the complexity of the central
concepts of Marxian theory, but I will try to briefly summarize the main
points. According to Marx, the economic structure of a society is the whole
set of its production relations, that is, the relations of its effective power over
persons and productive forces.54 It is more complex to define what super-
structure was for Marx, since he did not provide a clear-cut definition of it.
In the Preface to A Contribution to the Critique of Political Economy he pro-
vides some hints that can be summarized as follows: superstructure is a set
of non-economic institutions, notably the legal system and the state, whose
character is largely explained by the nature of the economic structure.55 In
the same work, Marx also describes both structure and superstructure as
concurrent in creating an ökonomische Gesellschaftformation (‘economic
formation of the society’).56 This concept was later reprised by Lenin, who
in 1894 harshly polemicized against some Marxist interpretations of his
time, especially popular in the context of the Second International, which in
Marx’s view tended to reduce the role played by the superstructure.57 Lenin
reaffirmed that Marx’s ökonomische Gesellschaftformation was a commun-
ion of the superstructure and structure, and that it was the key to under-
standing every moment of both continuity and discontinuity in the historical
process.58 The theorizing of Marx and Lenin is the ground upon which
Gramsci’s thought is laid down. Gramsci clearly states that Marxism cannot
exclude the superstructure from his view of history, because otherwise the
comprehension of the historical process is incomplete.59
In contrast with the deterministic interpretations of Marx’s thought,
Gramsci makes it very clear that superstructures are not mere appearances
and history can only be understood by analysing the ‘intertwining’ of struc-
ture and superstructure.60
Here we have the introduction of a fundamental concept, the ‘historical
bloc’, which sheds light on Gramsci’s theory of history. It has been noted
that ‘the concept of the historical bloc (enables us) to reach an understand-
ing of the dialectical unity of infrastructure and superstructures, the pas-
sage from the economic to the political moment and, therefore, the birth of
the historical movement’.61 It derives that we can separate the two moments
for analytical reasons, as a practical canon of research, but once we want to
reconstruct the full spectrum of history, we must find a way to bring them
together again. This remark goes against the excess of economism displayed
by some Marxist scholars.62
The theory of the historical bloc allows Gramsci to make infrastructure
and superstructure one body, but with components which can be analysed
separately. However, it is also true that Gramsci emphasizes the infra-
structural element.63 The attention to the superstructural moment allows
Gramsci to widen the analysis of society, avoiding the shortcomings of
the economicist interpretations of Marx.64 One more central element of
Gramsci’s analysis is the concept of hegemony, deriving directly from the
previous analysis.65 In every society, the dominant social cluster uses the
superstructure to control the structure. In other words, the dominant elites
use politics, culture and social relationship to captivate the lower social
clusters and force them to accept an economic structure designed to fa-
vour the elites. This creates an allegiance between rival social clusters, who
co-operate to maintain the status quo, in favour of only one cluster. This is
achieved not through coercion, but through cultural hegemony: the ruling
class makes the inferior classes believe that the society is organized in the
best possible manner to benefit everyone. I think that this theoretical back-
ground can be a perfect tool to analyse Roman society, for the purposes of
this paper.
This is why we need to apply the lessons of Gramsci. By means of a cul-
tural hegemony it is possible to shape a world in which the dominant classes
do not need to force the lower classes to play along. Instead, dominant
classes convince their inferiors that they can be an active part of the new
society.
Having said that, how does this theory apply to the ancient world? I do
not think that its main applicability is on globalization theory in itself, but
rather on its conundrums. In fact, reflecting on the shortcomings of globali-
zation theory can help us to reach a better understanding of the complex
societies of the ancient world.
The starting point is to identify which social cluster was controlling the
economic structure. The answer does not require much thought: it was the
land-owners, who possessed the main source of wealth and the political
influence.
These were the original dominant groups. In the case of Roman society,
they were the senatorial elites. As the conquest proceeded, first in Italy and
then in the Mediterranean, the ruling clusters were able to co-opt some of
their old enemies into their rule. Local elites were offered a ‘choice’ between
continuing to oppose the Empire or to partake of its benefits, by entering
into the political system.66 This means, according to the Gramscian scheme,
using politics, part of the superstructure, to legitimate the economic struc-
ture, designed to maintain the hegemony of specific clusters of the society.
As noted before, this scheme has to be read not as a moment-by-moment
description of different historical phases, but as a part-by-part analysis of a
complex reality, what Gramsci called the historical bloc.
46 Dario Nappo
This system of co-option was indeed very efficient, in both ways. On one
side, it guaranteed the creation of a centuries-long Roman rule over the
Mediterranean, while on the other it is indeed true that the involvement of
former hostile peoples and alien populations into the management of the
Empire has no match in the history of premodern societies.67
Conclusions
To summarize, I would like to begin with a preliminary statement. A glo-
balization model, albeit any shortcomings it may have, has proved useful to
further stimulate an ever-interesting debate on the differences between an-
tiquity and modernity, a debate to which this article hopes to have provided
a modest contribution.68 As is often the case, consideration of a modern
phenomenon can help us focus on the past from angles and perspectives
different from the usual ones. In this respect, it is enough to ponder the
number of publications that have appeared on the subject in the last ten or
fifteen years, to realize that this contribution has been important. Here I
will summarize three points which I think are the most central for the work
I have carried out:
1 Globalization is a concept designed to describe the novelty of the con-

temporary world, but if appropriately adapted, it can certainly help us
ask unconventional questions about the past.
2 The debate on globalization can be usefully read in the context of the
much wider discussion on the comparability of antiquity and moder-
nity. Here I make a comparison with the dispute between primitivists
and modernists, which I think makes a very good parallel.
3 From the first two points derives the third and most important to me.
Since we want to use globalization to investigate antiquity and since
the term globalization was created to describe a supposedly unique
feature of the modern world, we must avoid at all costs a modernizing
use of globalization. The example is again the debate on primitivism
and modernism. As stated above, the most hampering shortcoming of
both positions is that they start from recognizing (however implicitly)
a superiority of the modern age, which has a unique feature (capital-
ism, globalization) compared to all previous ages. Once this uniqueness
is acknowledged, the past is investigated to look for a trace, however
feeble, that can anticipate the modern phenomenon.69 It follows that
the ancient phenomenon is worth studying only as a precursor to the
present. And all this, ultimately, more than analysing the past, is legiti-
mating the present.
This is a risk always present in research, but for some motives it becomes
more dangerous for specific phenomena or ages of humanity.70 The reasons
might well lie again in what Gramsci called cultural hegemony: it might be
the feature of a contemporary age that considers itself so unique and special
to look for its own legitimation in the past. And, although new questions
to analyse old ages are always welcome, an unquestioning modernization
normally leads to misinterpretation, rather than investigation.
Notes
* This research was carried out within the framework of the STAR programme,
funded by UniNa and Compagnia San Paolo.
1 Hopkins (2002b): 15–16. See also Strange (1996): xii–xiii, who advocates for not
using the term, because it is too vague.
2 Pitts and Versluys (2015): 3. But see also the recent Pitts (2020).
3 See also Foster (2006); Hingley (2015): 32–34.
4 See the penetrating analysis of Morris (2010): 11–21, who meaningfully titled his
volume Why the West Rules – For Now.
5 Van Oyen (2015).
6 Hopkins (2002a): 1.
7 Hopkins (2002b): 12; Cox (1996): 21–22; Hingley (2005): 1–2. It should be noted,
en passant, how such feelings were challenged by protest movements that spread
around the globe at the turn of the millennium. On this, see, for example, Stiglitz
(2002).
8 See the important works of Jennings (2011; 2017).
9 Hopkins (2002a): 1–2.
10 Horden and Purcell (2000). See also the subsequent LaBianca and Scham (2006)
where connectivity and globalization are explicitly addressed as two moments of
the same phenomenon.
11 See, for example, the works of Scheidel (2009; 2015; 2019); Morris (2010); Bang
and Kołodziejczyk (2012); Conrad (2016).
12 For an overview of the old scholarship on globalization, see Pitts and Versluys
(2015). See also Bayly (2004).
13 Marx and Engels (1964): 23.
14 For a completely opposite view on the matter, see Nederveen Pieterse (2015):
18–25.
15 Wallerstein (2011).
16 Harvey (1989): 240. See the comment of Morley (2015): 53–59.
17 Boldizzoni (2011).
18 See Ménard and Shirley (2018) for an up-to-date discussion of this issue. See, in
particular, Terpstra’s chapter (2018) in the book, on NIE and the ancient econ-
omy. See also Blanton IV and Hollander (2019): 14–18.
19 Coase (1937): 390.
20 Coase (1960): 15; Kehoe, Ratzan and Yiftach (2015): 5–7.
21 Coase (1992): 716.
22 North (1990): 27.
23 Tchernia (2016): 91–96; Lo Cascio (2018).
24 There are many works which carefully explain the most evident issues with the
NIE model. For an example of a severe and ideologically motivated criticism, see
Boldizzoni (2011); for an alternative view, see Verboven (2015).
25 The topics of the natural inclination of men to trade, as well as the possibility of
using the concept of ‘market economy’ to usefully describe any economic system
are very sensitive ones. There is an ongoing rich and very heated debate on these
subjects. See for instance Temin (2013), who forcefully advocates for the pres-
ence of a strong integrated market economy in the Roman World; Bang (2008)
for a completely opposing view on the topic.
48 Dario Nappo
26 A classic exposition of how the burden of transaction costs would have weighted
pre-modern economies is found in North and Thomas (1973).
27 Kehoe, Ratzan and Yiftach (2015): 9, adapted from Allen (1991).
28 Ael. Arist., Or. 6.12–3.
29 Pitts and Versluys (2015): 18.
30 See, instead, the interpretation of Lo Cascio (2013).
31 See, at least for the Roman World, Mattingly (2010); Revell (2010); Morley (2010).
32 Witcher (2017): 634.
33 Rostovtzeff (1926).
34 See Shaw (1992); Michelotto (2019).
35 Hingley (2005): 14–48; (2015); Morley (2015).
36 See, for example, Morris, Saller and Scheidel (2007): 11–12.
37 Bücher (1893). See also Bücher (1922): 1–97.
38 Meyer (1895): 696–750.
39 Especially Rostovtzeff (1941; 1957).
40 Especially Polanyi (1944; 1968) and Polanyi, Arensberg and Pearson (1957).
41 Weber (1968; 1976).
42 The substantivist position was later further developed by anthropologists such
as Sahlins (2017); Gudeman (2013).
43 Weber (1976): 7–13. See also Finley (1977): 315–317.
44 His most influential book is still Finley (1973).
45 Criticism began at the very moment Finley’s book was published. His first, and
possibly most severe critic was Frederiksen (1975): 164–171; see also the more
moderate Lo Cascio (2009): 8–19.
46 Hopkins (1983): xi.
47 Finley (1973): 17–21. See also the detailed analysis of Finley’s theoretical frame-
work in Lo Cascio (2009): 8–19.
48 In this respect, Weber had rather a different view. See Weber (1976): 913: ‘The
continuum of Mediterranean-European Kulturetwicklung has up until now
known neither complete cycles nor an unambiguously unilinear development.
Elements of Antiquity which had disappeared completely re-emerged later in a
world alien to them’.
49 Finley (1973): 27.
50 P. Bang, Antiquity between ‘Primitivism’ and ‘Modernism’, published online at:
http://www.hum.au.dk/ckulturf/pages/publications/pf b/antiquity.htm#notes
(last consulted on the 15th of September 2020).
51 See the classic Hicks (1969): 1–8 for an economist’s purview on the matter.
52 Gramsci (1975); citing Gramsci the letter Q indicates ‘quaderno’ and the symbol
§ indicates the paragraph.
53 On the impact of Lenin on Gramsci’s thought, see Gruppi (1972); Di Biagio
(2008); Cospito (2016).
54 See Cohen (2001): 63–70.
55 Marx (1971): 20; see also Cohen (2001): 216–220.
56 On this concept, see the classic work by La Grassa (1975) and Sereni (1970). See
also the recent assessment of Sereni’s impact on the scholarship made by Redolfi
Riva (2009).
57 Lenin (1988). In the same years, the Italian Antonio Labriola (1964): 55, 59–65
performed a very similar analysis.
58 Sereni (1970): 50. Lenin further explored the implication of the ökonomische
Gesellschaftformation in more of his works. For a detailed analysis, see Gruppi
(1971); Paggi (1984): 3–38.
59 Gramsci (1975): Q 10 §7. The concept had been already anticipated in ‘Il grido del
Popolo’, 20 July 1918. See the comments of Gruppi (1972): 133–137 and Rapone
(2011): 273–279.
60 Gramsci (1975): Q8 §234. See Sereni, (1970): 46–50; Silva (1973); it is also impor-
tant to highlight the role played by Lenin (1988) in changing the paradigm of
the Second International and in restoring the importance of the economic social
formation as a product of both structure and superstructure.
61 Texier (2014): 50. See also Gruppi (1972): 99–101; Vacca (1974), commenting on
Gramsci’s ‘theory of transition’.
62 Such vulgar economism had been the object of Croce’s criticism, one more
reason for Gramsci to polemicize against it (see Gruppi (1972): 139–140). On
the general subject of the economic determinism characterizing some Marxist
thinkers, see, for instance, the brilliant remarks of Sofri (1969): 51–60, 71–80,
93–94; see also Buci-Glucksmann (1976): 281–340; Timpanaro (1997): 1–28;
Rigby (1998).
63 On the concept of ‘historical bloc’ and its implication for the political purview of
Gramsci, see Portelli (1972).
64 Gruppi (1972): 96–99.
65 On hegemony in Gramci, see the recent Antonini (2020).
66 See the detailed reconstruction of this pattern in Scheidel (2019): 51–88.
67 Among the most interesting recent works on the building of the Roman society,
see Scheidel (2009; 2015; 2019); Morris and Scheidel (2009); see also Bang and
Kołodziejczyk (2012).
68 Probably the best study on the general issue is still Morley (2009).
69 It is worth mentioning a different view in scholars such as Jennings, who frame
globalization in more cyclical terms, identifying past instances of globalization
(in the plural), which have their own distinct manifestations (potentially with a
cyclical dynamic of, growth apogee and decline). See Jennings (2011; 2017).
70 See, for example. the acute analysis by Giardina (2017) on Late Antiquity.
Bibliography
Allen, Douglas. 1991: ‘What are transaction costs?’, Research in Law and Economics
14, 1–18.
Antonini, Francesca. 2020. Caesarism and Bonapartism in Gramsci: Hegemony and
the Crisis of Modernity. Leiden: Brill.
Bang, Peter Fibiger. 2008: The Roman Bazaar. Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press.
Bang, Peter Fibiger and Dariusz Kołodziejczyk. 2012: Universal Empire: A Compar-
ative Approach to Imperial Culture and Representation in Eurasian History. Cam-
bridge: Cambridge University Press.
Bayly, Christopher Alan. 2004: The Birth of the Modern World, 1780–1914: Global
Connections and Comparisons. Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell.
Blanton IV, Thomas and David Hollander. 2019: ‘The Extramercantile Economy’, in
David Hollander, Thomas Blanton IV and John Fitzgerald (eds.), The Extramer-
cantile Economies of Greek and Roman Cities: New Perspectives on the Economic
History of Classical Antiquity. London and New York: Routledge, 8–28.
Boldizzoni, Francesco. 2011: The Poverty of Clio: Resurrecting Economic History.
Buci-Glucksmann, Christine. 1974: Gramsci e lo Stato. Rome: Editori Riuniti.
Bücher, Karl. 1893: Die Entstehung der Volkswirtschaft. Sechs Vorträge. Tübingen.
Bücher, Karl. 1922: Zur griechischen Wirtschaftsgeschichte, in Id., Beiträge zur
Wirtschaftsgeschichte, 1–97. Tübingen: Verlag de H. Laupp’schen
Coase, Ronald H. 1937: ‘The nature of the firm’, Economica 4, 386–405.
50 Dario Nappo
Coase, Ronald H. 1960: ‘The problem of social cost’, Journal of Law and Economics
3, 1–44.
Coase, Ronald H. 1992: ‘The institutional structure of production’, The American
Economic Review 82(4), 713–719.
Cohen, Gary. 2001: Karl Marx’s Theory of History: A Defence. Princeton, NJ:
Princeton University Press.
sity Press.
Cospito, Giuseppe. 2016: ‘Egemonia/Egemonico nei ‘Quaderni del Carcere’
(e prima)’, International Gramsci Journal 2, 49–88.
Cox, Robert. 1996. ‘A Perspective on Globalization’, in James H. Mittelman (ed.),
Globalization: Critical Reflections, 20–37. London: Lynne Rienner.
Di Biagio, Anna. 2008: ‘Egemonia leninista, egemonia gramsciana’, in Francesco
Giasi (ed.) Gramsci nel suo tempo, 379–402. Rome: Carocci.
Finley, Moses Israel. 1973: The Ancient Economy. London: The Hogarth Press.
Finley, Moses Israel. 1977: ‘The Ancient City: From Fustel de Coulanges to Max
Weber and Beyond’, Comp. Stud. Soc. Hist. 19, 315–317.
Foster, Robert. 2006: ‘Tracking Globalization. Commodities and Value in Motion’,
in Christopher Tilley, et al. (eds.), Handbook of Material Culture, 285–302.
London: Sage.
Frederiksen, Martin. 1975: ‘Theory, evidence and the ancient economy’, Journal of
Roman Studies 65, 164–171.
Giardina, Andrea. 2017: ‘Explosion of Late Antiquity’, in Averil Cameron (ed.),
Late Antiquity on the Eve of Islam, 1–24. London: Routledge.
Gramsci, Antonio. 1975: Quaderni dal Carcere, edited by Valentino Gerratana. Tu-
rin: Einaudi.
Gruppi, Luciano. 1971: Il Pensiero di Lenin. Rome: Editori Riuniti.
Gruppi, Luciano. 1972: Il Concetto di Egemonia in Gramsci. Rome: Editori Riuniti.
Gudeman, Stephen. 2013: The Demise of a Rural Economy: From Subsistence to
Capitalism in a Latin American Village. London and New York: Routledge.
Harvey, David. 1989: The Condition of Postmodernity. Oxford: Blackwell.
Hicks, John. 1969: A Theory of Economic History. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Hingley, Robert. 2005: Globalizing Roman Culture: Unity, Diversity and Empire.
London and New York: Routledge.
Hingley, Robert. 2015: ‘Post-colonial and Global Rome: The Genealogy of Empire’,
in Pitts and Versluys, 2015b: 32–48.
Hodos, Tamar (ed.), 2017: The Routledge Handbook of Archaeology and Globaliza-
Hopkins, A.G. 2002a: ‘Introduction: Globalization – An Agenda for Historians’, in
Hopkins (2002c): 1–10.
Hopkins, A.G. 2002b: ‘The History of Globalization – and the Globalization of
History?’, in Hopkins (2002c): 11–46.
Hopkins, A.G. (ed.), 2002c: Globalization in World History. London: Pimlico.
Hopkins, Keith. 1983: ‘Introduction’, in Peter Garnsey, Keith Hopkins and C.R.
Whittaker (eds.), Trade in the Ancient Economy, iii–xxi. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press.
Horden, Peregrine and Nicholas Purcell. 2000: The Corrupting Sea: A Study of Med-
iterranean History. Oxford: Blackwell.
University Press.
Jennings, Justin. 2017: ‘Distinguishing Past Globalizations’, in Tamar Hodos (ed.),
The Routledge Handbook of Archaeology and Globalization, 12–28. London and
New York: Routledge.
Kehoe, Denis, David Ratzan and Uri Yiftach. 2015: Law and Transaction Costs in
the Ancient Economy. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press.
La Grassa, Gianfranco. 1975: Valore e Formazione Sociale. Rome: Editori Riuniti.
LaBianca, Øystein and Sandra Scham. 2006: Connectivity in Antiquity: Globaliza-
tion as Long-Term Historical Process. London: Equinox.
Labriola, Antonio. 1964: Saggi sul Materialismo Storico. Rome: Editori Riuniti.
Lenin, Vladimir Ilyich. 1988: What the ‘Friends of the People’ Are and How They
Fight the Social-Democrats, edited by E.S. Kulikov. Moscow: Progress Publishers.
Lo Cascio, Elio. 2009: Crescita e Declino: Studi di storia dell’economia romana.
Rome: L’Erma di Bretschneider.
Lo Cascio, Elio. 2013: ‘Roma come “mercato comune del genere umano”’, in Paolo
Desideri and Francesca Fontanella (eds.), Elio Aristide e la legittimazione greca
dell’impero di Roma, 190–210. Roma: L’Erma di Bretschneider.
Lo Cascio, Elio. 2018: ‘Market Regulation and Transaction Costs in the Roman
Empire’, in Alan Bowman, and Andrew Wilson (eds.), Trade, Commerce, and the
State in the Roman World, 117–132. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Marx, Karl. 1971: A Contribution to the Critique of Political Economy, edited by
Maurice Dobb. London: Lawrence and Wishart.
Marx, Karl and Friedrich Engels. 1964: The Manifesto of the Communist Party.
London: William Reeves.
Mattingly, David. 2010: Imperialism, Power, and Identity: Experiencing the Roman
Empire. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.
Ménard, Claude and Mary M. Shirley (eds.), 2018: A Research Agenda for New In-
stitutional Economics. Cheltenham, UK and Northampton, MA: Edward Elgar.
Meyer, Edward. 1895: ‘Die wirtschaftliche Entwicklung des Altertums’, Jahrbücher
für Nationalökonomie und Statistik 9: 696–750.
Michelotto, Pier Giuseppe. 2019: Da Pietroburgo a New Haven. Sei Saggi su M.I.
Rostovtzeff. Milano: Pearson.
Morley, Neville. 2009: Antiquity and Modernity. Chichester: Wiley-Blackwell.
Morley, Neville. 2010: The Roman Empire: Roots of Imperialism. London: Pluto
Press.
Morley, Neville. 2015: ‘Globalisation and the Roman Economy’, in Pitts and
Versluys 2015b: 49–68.
Morris, Ian. 2010: Why the West Rules – For Now. New York: Farrar Straus & Giroux.
Morris, Ian, Robert Saller, and Walter Scheidel (eds.), 2007: ‘Introduction’, in The
Cambridge Economic History of the Greco-Roman World, 3–20. Cambridge: Cam-
bridge University Press.
Morris, Ian and Walter Scheidel. 2009: The Dynamics of Ancient Empires: State
Power from Assyria to Byzantium. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Mouffe, Chantal (ed.), 2014: Gramsci and the Marxist Theory. London and New
York: Routledge.
Nederveen Pieterse, Jan. 2015: Globalization and Culture. Global Mélange. Lanham,
MD: Rowman and Littlefield.
52 Dario Nappo
North, Douglas. 1990: Institutions, Institutional Change, and Economic Perfor-
mance. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
North, Douglas and Robert Thomas. 1973: The Rise of the Western World.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Paggi, Leonardo. 1984: Le strategie del Potere in Gramsci. Rome: Editori Riuniti.
Pitts, Martin and Miguel John Versluys. 2015a: ‘Globalisation and the Roman
World: Perspectives and Opportunities’, in Pitts and Versluys 2015b: 3–31.
Pitts, Martin. 2020: ‘Globalization, Consumption, and Objects in the Roman World:
New Perspective and Opportunities’, in Vladimir D. Mihajlović and Marko
Janković, (eds.), Pervading Empire: Relationality and Diversity in the Roman Prov-
inces, 155–167. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag.
Pitts, Martin and Miguel J. Versluys (eds.), 2015b: Globalisation and the Roman
University Press.
Polanyi, Karl. 1944: The Great Transformation: The Political and Economic Origins
of Our Time. New York: Farrar & Rinehart.
Polanyi, Karl. 1968: Primitive, Archaic and Modern Economies. Essays of Karl
Polanyi Edited by George Dalton. Garden City, NY: Doubleday & Co.
Polanyi, Karl, Conrad Arensberg and Harry Pearson (eds.), 1957: Trade and Market
in the Early Empires: Economies in History and Theory. Glencoe, IL: Henry Reg-
nery Company.
Portelli, Hugues. 1972: Gramsci et le bloc historique. Paris: Presses Universitaires de
France.
Rapone, Leonardo. 2011: Cinque Anni che Paiono Secoli. Rome: Carocci.
Redolfi Riva, Tommaso. 2009: ‘La Nozione di Formazione Economico-Sociale nel
Marxismo di Emilio Sereni’, Il Pensiero Economico Italiano 17: 111–124.
Revell, Louise. 2010: Roman Imperialism and Local Identities. Cambridge: Cam-
bridge University Press.
Rigby, Stephen. 1998: Marxism and History: A Critical Introduction, 2nd edition.
Manchester: Manchester University Press.
Rostovtzeff, Mikhail Ivanovic. 1926: A History of the Ancient World, Volume 1.
Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Rostovtzeff, Mikhail Ivanovic. 1941: A Social and Economic History of the Hellenis-
tic World. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Rostovtzeff, Mikhail Ivanovic. 1957: The Social and Economic History of the Roman
Empire, 2nd edition. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Sahlins, Marshall. 2017: Stone Age Economics. London and New York: Routledge.
Scheidel, Walter. 2009: Rome and China: Comparative Perspectives on Ancient World
Empires. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Scheidel, Walter. 2015: State Power in Ancient China and Rome. Oxford: Oxford Uni-
versity Press.
Scheidel, Walter. 2019: Escape from Rome: The Failure of Empire and the Road to
Prosperity. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.
Sereni, Emilio. 1970: ‘La categoria di Formazione Economico Sociale’, Quaderni di
Critica Marxista 4: 29–79.
Shaw, Brent. 1992: ‘Under Russian Eyes’, Journal of Roman Studies 82: 216–228.
Silva, Ludovico. 1973: Lo Stile Letterario di Marx (transl. by A. Pescetto). Milan:
Bompiani.
Sofri, Gianni. 1969: Il modo di produzione asiatico: Storia di una controversia
marxista. Turin: Einaudi.
Spriano, Paolo. 1977: Gramsci e Gobetti. Introduzione alla vita e alle opere. Turin:
Einaudi.
Stiglitz, Joseph. 2002: Globalization and Its Discontents. New York: Norton & Co.
Strange, Susan. 1996: The Retreat of the State: The Diffusion of Power in the World
Economy. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Tchernia, André. 2016: The Romans and Trade. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Temin, Peter. 2013: The Roman Market Economy. Princeton, NJ: Princeton Univer-
sity Press.
Terpstra, Taco. 2018: ‘Neo-Institutionalism in Ancient Economic History: The
Road Ahead’, in Claude Ménard and Mary M. Shirley (eds.), A Research Agenda
for New Institutional Economics, 233–240. Cheltenham, UK and Northampton,
MA: Edward Elgar Publishing.
Texier, Jacques. 2014: ‘Gramsci, theoretician of the superstructures’, in Mouffe
2014: 48–79.
Timpanaro, Sebastiano. 1997: Sul Materialismo. Pisa: Edizioni Unicopli.
Vacca, Giuseppe. 1974: Saggio su Togliatti e la tradizione comunista. Bari: De
Donato.
Van Oyen, Astrid. 2015: ‘Globalisation and material culture: the road ahead’,
Journal of Roman Archaeology 28: 641–646.
Verboven, Koenraad. 2015: ‘The Knights who Say NIE. Can Neo-Institutional
Economics Live up to Its Expectation in Ancient History Research?’, in Paul Erd-
kamp and Koenraad Verboven (eds.), Structure and Performance in the Roman
Economy: Models, Methods and Case Studies, 33–58. Brussels: Latomus.
Wallerstein, Immanuel. 2011: The Modern World System, voll. 1–3. Oakland, CA:
University of California Press.
Weber, Max. 1968: Economy and Society. London: NLB.
Weber, Max. 1976: The Agrarian Sociology of Ancient Civilizations. London: NLB.
Witcher, Robert. 2017: ‘The Globalized Roman World’, in Hodos 2017: 634–651.
Section II
Bronze age globalization

3 Bronzization, the globalization
of the Bronze Age in
Afro-Eurasia
Tibor-Tamás Daróczi
Bronzization – globalization in the Bronze Age

The scale and intensity of cultural networking during the period between
2000 and 1200 BCE is unprecedented, the beginnings of which are deeply
rooted in the previous millennium, but also with far echoing effects that
lasted several centuries. A recent thesis proposes the viewing of these phe-
nomena as a case of pre-modern globalization of the Afro-Eurasian region,
coined bronzization.1 It questions the directional flow between the core,
semi-periphery and periphery of the Wallersteinian ‘World Systems The-
ory’ applied to the Bronze Age, and suggests a more practical approach.
The emergence of tin-bronzes and heightened desire for their acquisition
can be traced from northern Africa through Europe and Eurasian steppes
to China, with several foci.
Globalization is viewed as complex connectivity, in which linkages vary
from the social-institutional relationships that are proliferating between

individuals and collectives worldwide, to the idea of the increasing
‘flow’ of goods, information, people and practices across […] borders,
to the more ‘concrete’ modalities of connection provided by technolog-
ical developments such as […] rapid […] transport and the more literal
‘wiredness’ of […] communication systems.2
A recent work argues that several globalizations exist, even in the ancient
world, though their essence is age-specific.3 Since the complex connectivity,
that is, globalization, did not engulf the entire world during the third and
second millennium BCE, reaching only from the Atlantic shores of Europe
to the Pacific coast of eastern Asia, the more suitable concept of bronziza-
tion is introduced. Bronzization can be viewed as the glocalization particu-
lar to third and second millennium BCE Afro-Eurasia, in the sense that
outside, pre-modern global is continuously merged with the local, which
creates a new synthesis.4 The term ‘is employed to conceptualize how the
Bronze Age was an overarching phenomenon knit by one crucial resource
DOI: 10.4324/9781003096269-6
58 Tibor-Tamás Daróczi
and maintained by innumerable interconnecting activities over several hun-
dred years’.5
The engine of any globalization is transculture, seen ‘as a mode of being,
located at the crossroads of cultures’. It grows out of the potentiality of a
large network, it depends on individuals to go beyond their ability to nego-
tiate identity within just a culture, thus enabling interactions of cultures as
well.6 Where the transculture permeates regional groups, the contact zone is
born, perceived as a social, rather than a physical, space,7 which is recog-
nized through:
a Autoethnography, seen ‘as selective collaboration with and appropria-

tion of idioms of the metropolis or the conqueror’;8
b Transculturation, which involves a ‘process whereby members of subor-
dinated or marginal groups select and invent from materials transmit-
ted by a dominant or metropolitan culture’.9
In archaeology, and more specifically in the theory of bronzization, these

are employed as a response to transculture and translational practices.10
The translational practices are best exemplified by skeuomorphs11 and ap-
propriations of foreign idioms12. The transculture of bronzization is bronze,
for which the tin is acquired over long distances, hence ensuring a primary
motivation for long-range trade and exchange. Furthermore, the copper-
alloy is culturally engaging not only as a raw material or for its components,
but as finished product as well, and is easy to recycle in both instances. As
a universal means of exchange, in the form of standardized ‘Ösenringe’ or
oxhide-ingots,13 and as increasingly abundant tools or standardized weap-
ons, employed by an expanding range of actors, bronze penetrates societies
with a democratizing effect.14 It becomes clear that we must be dealing with
several foci and due to the unique ways in which the transculture glocal-
izes in regional societies’ choke-points, hubs and nodes, offshoots emerge
that act and react in the complex web of bronzization, each negotiating its
relation to others in a unique manner. Hints of the complex connectivity
during the Afro-Eurasian Bronze Age emerge from the earliest employment
of the Wallersteinian model to prehistoric archaeology, although this was
not the intent and, in several instances, directly contradicts the very essence
of the construct.
World Systems Theory (WST), in its original form, is a means to describe
and analyse societal, and especially economic dynamics, in capitalist Eu-
rope immediately following the mid-second millennium CE.15 The state-
ment of general truths is avoided by effectively encompassing the long durée
of Braudel,16 by which a specific historical structure is limited in time. Nev-
ertheless, especially with the emergence of post-structuralist approaches,
criticism related to its generalizing nature and economic focus of social en-
tanglements is recognized even by the author of the model.17 The theory
had already been applied in the 1970s in the field of archaeology,18 with
The Bronze Age in Afro-Eurasia 59
several important contributions having been made over the past decades.19
In the early stages of the model’s application, multiple cores are recognized
for Mesopotamia and central Asia,20 in direct contradiction to the orig-
inal construct, but resonate with other theoretical approaches. Recently,
after a synoptic overview of the WST with special regard to archaeology,
Harding rightfully highlighted the existence of local systems rather than a
world system.21 Similarly, the notion that so called ‘peripheries’ and ‘semi-
peripheries’ are seen as puppets and controlled by the core’s elites is also
criticized by researchers.22
A historical thinking that considers more than just the single directional
dependency described above and bi-directional flows (Figure 3.1) is histoire
croisée. Intercrossings emerge in entanglements of individuals and objects,
Figure 3.1 Diagrammatic representation of Core-Periphery/World Systems model

Source: After Bintliff (1997): 18, fig. 11.
in the way by which their relation is negotiated and through the role that
both play as social actors in the wider milieu of societies.23 These in turn
create converging and dispersing circumstances, the vying dialectics of
aggregation and disaggregation, which fit in well with general trends of
globalization, embodied by directional trade, and in some instances even
long-ranged, and non-directional flows of goods, peoples and ideas.24
Spheres of engagement overlap in an irregular fashion and their connectiv-
ity does not imbricate as it would have in a core-periphery interpretation of
the Bronze Age. Intercrossings represent repositories of knowledge as they
are cauldrons of information, technology, and resources. The Carpathian
Basin is a good example for such a crucible of neighbouring or more distant
lands of the northeast European steppes, Balkans and Aegean, central Eu-
rope, southern Scandinavia, and the southern Baltic region.25
Emanating from the theoretical approach, several lines of inquiry are
postulated with respect to mobility of goods, people and ideas, the network-
ing of technologies and self-image, and also of directional, long-range trade
and non-directional flows. These facets are placed in the wider context of
the Bronze Age by looking at finished products and raw materials in cir-
culation, technologies employed, transmissions of imagery and self-image,
along with regional translations. The actual transculture – bronze, as an
alloy or as its individual components – will be slightly disregarded in the
following examples, while the discussion will focus on the aftermath of in-
tercrossings, democratizing effects on the spread of certain goods, and on
the way they have a glocalizing effect; moreover, focussing on the circula-
tion of some social practices during the Bronze Age will underscore a more
complete picture of the presented phenomena.
Amber and bronzization

The presence of amber as far away as the Aegean26 or the British Isles27 was,
and still is, one of the best evidences for contact between distant corners of
Europe. The direct connection and synchronicity between the two above
mentioned regions are questioned early on, with the advent of radiocarbon
dating.28 Nevertheless, recent and abundant Carbon-14 dates allow at least
for a partial, temporal overlapping of the social groups,29 which probably
used and circulated the raw material and finished products, as well.30 These
in turn were employed in various regions and glocalized in a myriad of
ways, prompting the combination of the global with the local, hence giving
birth to the contact zone.
After an early synthesis on ‘Baltic’ amber,31 it is clear that the raw ma-
terial sources of this commodity were deposited in a strip reaching from
south-eastern Scania to the mouth of the Dnieper during the Palaeogene or
redeposited up until recent time (Figure 3.2). Succinite, the most common
type of amber, is found in the Baltic region and areas to the northwest of
the Black Sea, while rumenite is only presumed to occur in this region north
Figure 3.2 Amber: sources, trade-routes, exchange networks and finds

Source: After Daróczi (2018a): 98, fig. 3.
of the Carpathians.32 Further sources of amber, though of the Cretaceous

period, are identified in the Iberian peninsula,33 simetite of Miocene origin
in Sicily34 and rumenite of usually Oligocene origin, but Cretaceous, Eocene
or Miocene ones are documented too, in western Transylvania, and mostly
in the outer foothills of the Carpathian Arch.35 The amber-like substance
of copal of Late Cretaceous, referred to as ajkait, is also documented near
Ajka just north of Lake Balaton.36
Beyond the aspects of actual physical evidence for items from distant re-
gions, the ramifications of their directional and non-directional flows are
equally important. Raw amber reaches the Carpathian Basin through at
least three possible routes (Figure 3.2), but the finished products have quite
a different circulation, as they are either locally produced or show affini-
ties with north-Alpine traditions in the earlier part of the Bronze Age. In
contrast, by the second half of the second millennium BCE, amber beads
from the Po valley in Northern Italy are also recorded in the Eastern Car-
pathian Basin, and terracotta skeuomorphs of spacer-plates can be linked
to some later Mycenaean examples. Lastly, large depositions of amber beads
in caves certainly can be related to the sacred, as a simple cache of beads
seems unlikely. Moreover, the acquisition of such a quantity can tie in well
with warriors on the move, who are motivated by looting, where low-weight,
high-value commodities are surely preferred.
Vitreous materials and bronzization

Similarly, a shift of tendencies and flows of vitreous materials between the
earlier and later part of the Bronze Age is also noted. Based on the glass
content of the vitreous materials various terms are used: low (<25–30 per
cent) in faïence, common (40–60 per cent) in glassy faïence or so-called
glass-paste, and high (80 per cent<) in glass.37 One of the earliest findings
of glass-paste beads, dated to the fourth and third millennium BCE, are
documented in the north-western Pontic steppes and other sites around
the Black sea, which might be considered as the original locations for the
glass-making technology.38 Mesopotamia is the next major region where
glass-making surfaces with the earliest evidence from around the turn to
the third millennium BCE,39 probably wherefrom Egypt and India acquires
its vitreous manufacturing technology during the later part of the same mil-
lennium.40 Nevertheless, faïence beads are reported from the region of the
Nile already in pre-dynastic and early dynastic periods.41 South-eastern and
central Europe acquire their faïence products and production technology
from the same Pontic steppes during the third millennium BCE, as well.42
Furthermore, compositional analysis of beads indicates local production
of faïence at least during the Early Bronze Age in the northern Carpathian
Basin.43 Moreover, the abundance of faïence in the British isles and cen-
tral Europe, but the scarceness in the southwest underlines the ‘separate-
ness of these various areas in terms of faïence production’.44 Lastly, due not
only to the high silica content and high temperatures employed, but also to
the unique composition, it is suggested that an independent glass-making
emerges and flourishes in eastern Afro-Eurasia during the Shang dynasty.45
Glass is valued during the Bronze Age right after gold and silver, and
is – according to Egyptian reliefs, state letters and based on occurrence
within royal funerary and palace contexts – considered in the same cate-
gory as gemstones.46 A clear difference is made between the individuals
who produced the glass, the glassmakers, and the ones who made finished
products from the raw material, the glassworkers.47 The same is true for
Mesopotamia, where glass also was produced under royal auspices, how-
ever the lack of monopoly of a single court is noted, as is the employment
of a rigorous component technology.48 The clear separation of neodymium
and strontium isotopes, but also of chromium, zirconium, lanthanum and
titanium trace elements suggests that glass, as a raw material, is not mixed,
nor are glass raw materials exported between the Nile valley and Mesopo-
tamia.49 Semi-finished or finished products, rather than the individual raw
materials, of plant-ash or natron glass are imported from the Near East and
eastern Mediterranean to Europe.50 Aegean cobalt-blue glass clearly can
be associated with similar examples in Egypt, copper-coloured ones with
both Egyptian and Mesopotamian samples as well,51 while recent analysis
of Late Bronze Age, western and southeast Aegean glasses also indicates
an eastern source for them.52 Already during the Early Bronze Age, Cy-
prus had an established flow of vitreous materials from the east, whereas
the origin of the faïence beads at the later Early Bronze Age Ayios Mamas,
Macedonia is still elusive.53 A longer trade route of faïence goods is sug-
gested during the Early Bronze Age through or from the Carpathian Basin
to regions north of the Alps.54 Similar long-range trade with glass, towards
the Aegean, to and from the Nile valley is coined ‘elite gift exchange’ for
which, during the Late Bronze Age, the Uluburun shipwreck, textual and
iconographic evidence are the best examples.55 The Danube is viewed – at
least from just before the onset of the Iron Age – as one of the major arteries
through which goods, and implicitly vitreous materials, as well, circulate.56
Another possible route of vitreous materials from the Aegean is the seaway
through the central Mediterranean, continued on the land-route running
parallel and north of the Pyrenees, and again, a seaway through the eastern
Atlantic to the British Isles (Figure 3.3).57 Intercrossings emerge at every
location where the distant and global touch the local and regional, creating
new narratives of autoethnography and in effect materializing the glocal.
Recently, compositional analysis of central European, mixed-alkali glass
Figure 3.3 Glass: making/working sites and trade-routes during the Bronze Age
Source: After Daróczi (2018b): 9, fig. 1.
beads confirms their manufacturing origin in the Po valley during the later
Late Bronze Age.58 Simultaneously, glass beads of mostly Mesopotamian,
and less commonly of Egyptian origin, are identified in northern Europe.59
Decorated hearths and bronzization

Fireplaces are common elements in most Bronze Age dwellings, though re-
strictive access to them in communal places, their shape and decorations,
central positioning within architectural features do individualize some of
them. Their emergence in the Eastern Carpathian Basin on the doorstep of
the second millennium BCE can be regarded as signs of the dawn of major
social changes that would materialize in the coming centuries. The large
numbers and distribution throughout the Eastern Carpathian Basin (Figure
3.5), does suggest a well cemented social practice, however, slight nuances
in shapes, decorations and contexts can be noted that certainly merit more
detailed research in the future. A broad conclusion and over-regional impli-
cation can already be stated in that similarities in contexts, shape, decora-
tions, and function exist between earlier examples of the Carpathian Basin
and later ones of the Aegean.
About two and a half dozen decorated hearths and their fragments or
hearth-rings and fragments thereof are documented in the Bronze Age
Eastern Carpathian Basin (Figure 3.5). Circular and rectangular hearths
with ledges raised above the ancient walking level are reported from sev-
eral locations, but many are not decorated.60 In some instances, they are
placed above pits, which are interpreted as features in which the remains of
uncertain rituals are found, for example, Rotbav – La Pârâuţ and Sibişeni –
Deasupra satului.61 Meanwhile, the site of Sălacea – Dealul Vida, due to the
fact that it was destroyed by fire, has two identical sets of cultic paraphernalia
preserved in place nearby two hearths: nine, pyramidal terracotta weights,
three sandstone ‘Krummesser’ and a terracotta, cylindrical support.62 The
excavator of Vărşand – Movila dintre Vii/Movila plată/Laposhalom/Lopós-
halom describes fireplaces with tall, occasionally decorated ledges, built-in
vessels and with lobes vertically projected from their rims as ‘cauldrons’
(Hungarian, katlan).63 They are later renamed ‘hearth- cauldrons’ (German,
Kesselherde) by Bóna (Figure 3.4),64 though most likely they were open on
one side, i.e. hoof-shaped (Figure 3.5), and placed on the actual hearth, for
which more recently the term ‘hearth-ring’ is suggested and used.65 It is ar-
gued that in the case of the hearth-rings from the above mentioned site, the
lime-powder originated from heavily fired limestone, the latter preserved as
a solid cube on another hearth due to the weak fire.66 This suggests that the
preserved white or yellowish-white lime-wash, noticed on some decorated
hearths, in fact might be a side-effect of the activities taking place at and
materials placed on the hearth.
In the Throne Room, that is, Room 6, at Pylos a roughly circular hearth
raised above walking level has the diameter of just over four metres and the
Figure 3.4 Reconstruction of a ‘hearth-cauldron’ (hearth-ring), from Tószeg –

Laposhalom, Carpathian Basin
Source: After Banner, Bóna and Márton (1959): fig. 41/1.
topmost stucco has a saw-tooth pattern decoration on the outer part of the
ledge,67 which is dated to the Late Helladic IIIB/IIIC early, roughly to
the period shortly after 1200 BCE.68 From the Megaron (O) at Mycenae the
preserved third of a circular, central hearth raised in two steps is reported,
which is decorated with white, red and blue frescoes organized in concen-
tric patterns.69 Although, Evans argues that the association of the running
spiral with ‘notched-plume’ ornament is of Cretan origin, as it is already
seen on Late Minoan I frescoes in Knossos.70 Fragments from other circu-
lar, fixed or moveable hearths with painted frescoes are further reported
from this site.71 The possible presence of a central, decorated hearth on the
citadel of Mycenae could be in the Early Palatial stage, destroyed in Late
Helladic IIA, but the actual evidence for such a hearth comes from the Pa-
latial Stage II, heavily damaged in mid-Late Helladic IIIB.72 At Tiryns, in
the Great Megaron, at least from the Late Helladic IIIA1 period, a large,
central and decorated hearth is documented within the structure,73 which
from the Late Helladic IIIC is not entirely replaced, but rather moved from
a roofed to a hypethral structure.74 Hearths dated to the second half of
Late Helladic IIIC Early associated with similar architectural features, re-
strictive access and ceremonial activities are recognized at the same site in
the North-eastern Lower Town.75 Also, circular, painted stucco fragments
are seen as possibly originating from the ledges of large, central hearths.76
Lastly, the earliest evidence, in Late Helladic I, for a centrally placed, cir-
cular and raised hearth within a structure is from Tsoungiza, where the
floor deposits suggest feasting.77
The origins of these Mycenaean, large, decorated, centrally placed
hearths seem elusive, however the large ceremonial hearth from Lerna BG
building, dated to the Early Helladic II, offers a good example for appro-
priation of Early Cycladic II portable braziers, as it is fixed in the floor, in
terms of shape and decoration.78 Hearth-ledges from the Greek Mainland
Figure 3.5 Sites with decorated hearths from the Eastern Carpathian Basin
Source: After Daróczi (2018a): 112, fig. 12.
and adjacent islands with stamped rims or of horseshoe-shape are found

early, in contexts of Early Helladic at Corinth, Tiryns, Lerna, Zygouries,
Berbati, Asine, Askitario, Eutresis, Thebes and Ayia Irini on Keos,79 though
a clear continuity and function from the onset of the third millennium BCE
to Mycenaean times, at our present knowledge, is not sustained by factual
evidence. Slightly more distant examples from Middle Bronze Age Crete
indicate the presence of fixed braziers or hearths with ledges decorated in
relief or with stuccos at the palaces of Knossos, Malia, Phaistos and at the
settlement of Koumasa.80 Nevertheless, in her survey of Minoan hearths,
Muhly concluded that decorated Middle Minoan fireplaces suggest little
connection with religion and cult, while they are associated with feasting
only from Late Minoan I at Kato Zakros,81 and hence cannot be considered
as precursors of Late Helladic hearths. A common origin of these social
practices can be presumed, but a continuity in a single region cannot be
concluded. Nevertheless, the similar usage of these fire installations and
to some extent similar positioning and rendering of hearths certainly ex-
press a genetic relation, albeit diachronic, which most likely suggests a clear
directionality of social practices, as indicators of circulation of ideas and
maybe even peoples. They spring from intercrossings of the Eastern Car-
pathian Basin and glocalize in the Aegean in a manner in which the foreign
and generic is woven into the local.
Other facets of bronzization

There are many more possible interesting conversations on entangled direc-
tionalities and non-directional flows of goods and ideas, which exceed the
limits of the present discussion.82 For example, horses and horse riding fur-
ther substantiate the complex connectivity encountered in the Bronze Age.
The role of north Pontic steppes in the emergence and mediating of prac-
tices related to horses is evident, although the importance of the Carpathian
Basin is also significant at a continental level, not only as the birth place of
some technologies, but also as a radiating spin table for incoming, new ap-
proaches to harnessing and horse exploitation. Especially, in the later part
of the Bronze Age, the Eastern Carpathian Basin emerges as an innovative
hub with its own voice in creations of harnessing and implicit horse use, as
well. The role of equids, especially horses, in the facilitation of entangle-
ments and circulation of actual goods is evident, without which the mobility
documented in the age is unimaginable. If bronze is the primary motivator,
then horses and their paraphernalia are the primary motors. Horses cannot
be regarded as simple or mediocre means of transport, since the raising,
training and expenses related to equipment are certainly high, hence also
suggesting an expression of status and by the individual nature of many of
the bridle pieces, also of identity. The latter category is usually tied to ex-
pression of a new type of warriorhood, the roots of which are sought in the
later part of the third millennium BCE. This presumes not only communi-
cating being a warrior through visual means (weapons, beautification of the
warrior’s body, horses and gear), but also through a lifestyle, which implies
an active engagement of social actors with similar concerns, either through
conflicts of various scale and intensity or through communal feasting, that
served as a means of maintaining social memory. Large scale engagements
are documented a few centuries before the onset of the first millennium BCE
with individuals banding together and even presenting strong military, po-
litical and economic competition to existing states, for example, sea-people.
Around the same time large fortifications of several tens of hectares appear
in the Eastern Carpathian Basin, which further underscore the size of war-
rior groups, but also the wealth and the concern given by the dwellers to
negotiate status and identity through monumental architecture.
Closing remarks
Traditionally, the flow of amber from northern or north-western Europe
to the south would have been seen as linear, but through the prism of the
presented theoretical approach this view radically changes. Several possible
sources emerge, some are even highlighted as the actual origin for some
of the amber beads previously thought of being of Baltic origin.83 In this
relocation of perspective, the linearity of the so-called amber diffusion dis-
solves and concepts of glocalization of amber and the democratizing effect
of bronze, as the transculture of the Bronze Age, on regional amber con-
sumption gain new dimensions. No continuous flow of this commodity can
be ascertained from the recorded amounts. Rather smaller caches of loot,
carried by travelling warriors, or even mercenaries, would seem the most
reasonable and archaeologically most sustainable option, as long-range
trade or down-the-line, is yet again not sustained by the European distribu-
tion of amber artefacts. Since the agency of transfer of these amber goods
was through warriors, autoethnographies emerge in regions where they pass
through, by entangling the supra-regional narratives with the local, regional
ones. A different flow of goods can be recognized when discussing vitreous
materials. Faïence in the earlier part of the European Bronze Age emerges
at the intercrossings of east–west and north–south, where the Carpathian
Basin acts as a repository of knowledge. The finished products radiate only
to neighbouring regions, where they are appropriated and glocalized, by yet
again merging the foreign with the local, giving birth to various narratives
of autoethnography. In the dusk of the Bronze Age, glass production ap-
pears in the Near East and Nile valley, with several specialized production
centres. An image of complex connectivity emerges based on glass circula-
tion in Afro-Eurasia, with several hubs in the southeast, which either export
glass as a raw-material to neighbouring regions of Anatolia and Aegean or
as finished products, which even reach the Scandinavian archipelago. Yet
again, the documented amounts are relatively low to argue for short or long-
range trade, but various off-shoots of these goods carried by warriors or sol-
diers of fortune seems the most likely, especially since this is the time of the
big Bronze Age war engagements in the north in the Tollense valley and with
the sea-people in the Nile valley. The complex connectivity of bronzization
gives a new meaning for the way in which glass is consumed and the var-
ied context in which it is found across Europe suggests appropriations that
give birth to narratives of autoethnography in which the global is braided
into the local. Lastly, decorated hearths have different traditions, which
can be followed through the wider European region from the earliest onset
of the Bronze Age. While earlier examples of the mainland and Aegean is-
lands fade out, Mycenaean ones based on social acts performed around and
agencies of power tied to them, remind of similar fire installations from the
Eastern Carpathians Basin of earlier times. From the intercrossings of the
middle Danube self-imagery of power and warriorhood is obviously trans-
ferred to the Mycenaean Aegean, where local autoethnographies give birth
to the Aegean Late Bronze Age central hearths, which again entangle the
supra-regional with the regional. The above complex connectivity becomes
possible once a heightened connectivity is enabled by the desire to acquire
and hold bronze or components thereof. This intense circulation of bronze
creates new connections and previously highly valued, rare goods (like am-
ber or glass) have a broader consumption, that is, a democratizing effect,
which in turn reflects in their occurrence in a more varied and large number
of archaeological contexts.
Peoples, goods, and technology pass through, are glocalized and to some
extent new inventions are born in various hotspots. The combination of flu-
vial and land-based high-mobility favours the circulation of exotic materials,
probably transported by warrior-traders on their way to other regions or
returning from them. In some instances, as in the case of manufacture of
some bronze weapons, the raw materials are brought in from more distant
lands, though the finished products show a wide area of distribution. In the
case of ceremonial hearths and bar-shaped cheekpieces, at first of antler,
the origin can surely be placed if not in the Eastern Carpathian Basin, then
at least in the Carpathian Basin. Other finds, which are of high value, as
related to copper and other precious metals, and perceived as imbued with
supernatural traits, like amber and glass, appear as raw materials and fin-
ished goods. Technologies and affiliated habitus are transferred, most likely
through actual circulation of individuals as well, to the Aegean and north
Pontic steps. Warriorhood, as perceived especially in the Late Bronze Age,
glocalizes in varied fashions. Moreover, an engendered warriorhood is noted
in some regions during the latter part of the third and earlier half of the
second millennium BCE. Lastly, the nature and dispersal of fortifications
is a testament to the wealth and prosperity gathered by local groups, which
might have had several regional power foci, according to the distribution of
sites with defences or the sheer size of some during the Late Bronze Age.
Bronzization as a phenomenon that engulfed Afro-Eurasia, driven by the
desire to acquire and hold bronze, either as an alloy or to control the trade
and exchange of its ingredients, has a democratizing effect on other goods
previously tied to negotiation of higher status and prestige. They become
more readily available and accessible to a slightly larger group, which in turn
is reflected by the archaeological record, as well. Technologies travel and con-
solidate in regional hubs, agencies of objects become more prevalent, even to
the extent that arguing for volitions of at least some of these seems likely.
Acknowledgements
I would like to express my gratitude to Helle Vandkilde, who took the time
to discuss details of bronzization and highlight specific ways in which it
materializes in Afro-Eurasia. Furthermore, I am in debt to Olav Balslev
for the English review of the manuscript and to the anonymous reviewer
for the useful comments and suggestions. The project leading to this ap-
plication has received funding from the European Union’s Horizon 2020
research and innovation programme under the Marie Skłodowska-Curie
grant agreement No. 797494.
Notes
1 Vandkilde (2016): 104.
2 Tomlinson (1999): 1–2.
3 Jennings (2011): 19–21, 32–34.
4 Maran (2011): 283.
5 Vandkilde (2017): 509.
6 Berry and Epstein (1999): 25; Maran (2017): 22–25.
7 Firges and Garf (2019).
8 Pratt (1991): 54.
9 Ortiz (1987): 95–97; Pratt (1991): 54.
10 Vandkilde (2016): 107–108.
11 For example, Frieman (2012); Maran (2011): 287–289, fig. 21.1.
12 For example, Cappel (2012); Maran (2013): 161; Maran (2015a); Stockhammer
(2012).
13 Harding (2015); Knapp (1990); Lenerz-de Wilde (2011); Ling and Stos-Gale
(2015).
14 Vandkilde (2016): 106–107.
15 Wallerstein (1974).
16 Braudel (1958): esp. 750–751.
17 Wallerstein (2006): 20–21.
18 For example, Friedman and Rowlands (1977); Pailes and Whitecotton (1979).
19 For example, Bintliff (1997); Frank et al. (1993); Kristiansen (1987); Sherratt
(1993).
20 Kohl (1987a): 16; Kohl (1987b): 20–21.
21 Harding (2013): 388–389.
22 Hahn (2012): 6–8; Kienlin (2015): 93–91; Maran (2011): 282–283.
23 Werner and Zimmermann (2002): 628–633; Werner and Zimmermann (2003):
18–23; Werner and Zimmermann (2006): 38–43.
24 Vandkilde (2020): 33–39; Daróczi (2018b); Daróczi (2018a): 97–135.
25 Maran (1998); P. Fischl and Kiss (2015); Vandkilde (2014).
26 Czebreszuk (2011); Harding, Hughes-Brock and Beck (1974).
27 Harding (1990): 141–143.
28 Renfrew (1968): 283–284.
29 Gerloff (1996): 13–14; Maran (2013): 148–149.
30 Hughes-Brock (1999): 283.
31 Katinas (1971).
32 Czebreszuk (2009): 89–90.
33 Álvarez Fernández, Peñalver Mollá and Delclòs Martínez (2005): 163–168,
fig. 1; Domínguez-Bella, Alvarez Rodríguez and Ramos Muñoz (2001): 626–628;
Peñalver et al. (2007): 844–846, fig. 1; Rovira i Port (1994): 68–69, fig. 1.
34 Cultraro (2007): 379, pl. 48a.
35 Banerjee et al. (1999): 593, fig. 1; Boroffka (2002): 148–149, fig. 1; Boroffka (2009):
129–134, figs. 1, 5–6; Stout, Beck and Anderson (2000).
36 Horváth (1999): 277.
37 Bellintani et al. (2006): 1521–1522.
38 Ostoverkhov (1997).
39 Harding (1971): 190; Peltenburg (1987): 12.
40 Garner (1956); Kanungo and Brill (2009): 11–12; Nicholson (2007): 3–4; Rehren
(2008): 40; Rehren (2014): 219.
41 Beck and Stone (1936): 207, pl. 67, fig. 3; Stone and Thomas (1957): 40–42, fig. 1.
42 Bátora (1995): 188; Bellintani (2015): 15.
43 Bátora (1995): 187, figs. 1–2; Harding and Warren (1973): 64–66, fig. 1; Harding
(1971): 190, 191, 193.
44 Harding (1990): 146.
45 Rehren and Yin (2012): 2969; Yin, Rehren and Zheng (2011): 2355, 2364.
46 Rehren (2014): 219–220; Shortland (2007).
47 Rehren, Pusch and Herold (2001): 234.
48 Henderson, Evans and Nikita (2010): 13, 15; Van de Mieroop (2004): 65.
49 Henderson, Evans and Nikita (2010): 15; Shortland, Rogers and Eremin (2007).
50 Hartmann et al. (1997): 554–555.
51 Walton et al. (2009): 1502, figs. 2–4.
52 Eder (2015): 228; Karatasios and Triantafyllidis (2014); Nikita and Henderson
(2006): 106, 109, 117, figs. 13, 16; Smirniou et al. (2012): 17.
53 Nikita (2004): 4.
54 Bátora (1995): 189–190; Gimbutas (1965): 55; Harding and Warren (1973): 66.
55 Pusch and Rehren (2007): 159–160; Rehren (2005): 537–538; Rehren (2014): 218,
221; Smirniou and Rehren (2013): 4732.
56 Bonev (1995): 282, 288.
57 Stone and Thomas (1957): 53, 56–57, fig. 3.
58 Venclová et al. (2011): 577.
59 Varberg, Gratuze and Kaul (2015): 169, 171, tab. 1, fig. 1; Varberg, Gratuze and
Kaul (2014): 22, 24.
60 Berecki (2016): 25–26, fig. 7.
61 Paul (1995): 170, fig. 5; Dietrich (2014): 178, 236–237, 266–267; Motzoi-Chicideanu
(2011): 535–536, fig. 87.
62 Chidioşan and Ordentlich (1975): 17–19, fig. 1, pl. 4; Ordentlich (1972): figs. 5 & 6,
pls. 14/2, 15/4–8.
63 Domnonkos (1908): 56–59, 61.
64 Bóna (1975): 133.
65 Boroffka (1994): 169, type pl. 6/7 – TN3; Daróczi (2011): 120, fig. 2.
66 Domnonkos (1908): 58.
67 Blegen and Rawson (1966): 85–86.
68 Mountjoy (1997): esp. 131, 134–135; Weninger and Jung (2009): 393, fig. 14.
69 Schuchhardt (1891): 332, fig. 303.
70 Evans (1921): 551, figs. 401 A–B.
71 Lamb and Wace (1921): 199, pl. X.
72 French and Shelton (2005): 175–178, figs. 1 and 2.
73 Kilian (1987): 25, 28, figs. 4 and 5; Maran (2001): 23.
74 Maran (2015b): 280, 284.
75 Maran (2016): 208; Maran and Papadimitriou (2016): 28–30.
76 Rodenwaldt (1912): 63, fig. 25.
77 Wright (2006): 39–40, fig. 1.1a.
78 Caskey (1959): 203, 206, fig. 1, pl. 42a–b; Muhly (1984): 108.
79 Lavezzi (1979): endnote 9.
80 Demargne (1932): 76–88; Evans (1921): 320–322, fig. 234; Mercando (1975): 96–
109, figs. 91–93, pl. 1a; Pendlebury and Pendlebury (1930): 55–56, fig. 2, pl. 11.1;
Xanthoudides (1971): 50, pl. 33/5020.
81 Muhly (1984): 118, 119, 121.
82 Daróczi (2018a): 116–133.
83 Teodor et al. (2009); Teodor et al. (2010).
Bibliography
Álvarez Fernández, Esteban, Enrique Peñalver Mollá and Xavier Delclòs Martínez.
2005: ‘La presencia de ámbar en los yacimientos prehistóricos (del Paleolítico
superior a la Edad del Bronce) de la Cornisa Cantábrica y sus fuentes de aprovi-
sionamiento’, Zephyrus 58: 159–182.
Banerjee, Arun, Virgil Ghiurcă, Benedikt Langer and Manfred Wilhelm. 1999: ‘De-
termination of the provenance of two archaeological amber beads from Romania
by FTIR- and solid-state-carbon-13 NMR spectroscopy’, Archäologisches Korre-
spondenzblatt: Urgeschichte, Römerzeit, Frühmittelalter 29: 593–606.
Banner, János, István Bóna and Lajos Márton. 1959: ‘Die Ausgrabungen von L.
Márton in Tószeg’, Acta Archaeologica Academiae Scientiarum Hungaricae 10:
1–140.
Bátora, Jozef. 1995: ‘Fayence und Bernstein im nördlichen Karpatenraum während der
Frühbronzezeit’, in Bernhard Hänsel (ed.), Handel, Tausch und Verkehr im bronze-
und früheisenzeitlichen Südosteuropa, 187–196. München/Berlin: Südosteuropa-
Gesellschaft/Seminar für Ur- und Frühgeschichte der Freien Universität.
Beck, H.C. and J.F.S. Stone. 1936: ‘Faience beads of the British Bronze Age’, Archae-
ologia 85: 203–252.
Bellintani, Paolo. 2015: ‘Bronze Age Vitreous Materials in Italy’, in Irena Lazar
(ed.), Annales du 19e Congrès de l’Association Internationale pour l’Histoire du
Verre, Piran 17th – 21st septembre 2012, 15–21. Koper: AIHV.
Bellintani, Paolo, Ivana Angelini, Gilberto Artioli and Angela Polla. 2006: ‘Origini
dei materiali vetrosi italiani: esotismi e localismi’, in IIPP (ed.), Materie prime
e scambi nella preistoria Italiana, nel cinquantenario della fondazione dell’Istituto
Italiano di Preistoria e Protoistoria. Firenze, 25–27 novembre 2004, 1495–1531.
Florence: Istituto Italiano di Preistoria e Protostoria.
Berecki, Sándor. 2016: The Bronze Age Site from Luduş. Cluj-Napoca: Mega.
Berry, Ellen and Mikhail Epstein. 1999: Transcultural Experiments: Russian and
American Models of Creative Communication. NewYork: St. Martin’s Press/Pal-
grave Macmillan.
Bintliff, John. 1997: ‘Regional survey, demography, and the rise of complex societies
in the ancient Aegean: Core-Periphery, Neo-Malthusian, and other interpretive
models’, Journal of Field Archaeology 24: 1–38.
Blegen, Carl W. and Marion Rawson. 1966: The Palace of Nestor at Pylos in Western
Messenia. Volume I: The Buildings and their Contents. Part 1 – Text. Princeton:
Princeton University Press.
Bóna, István. 1975: Die mittlere Bronzezeit Ungarns und ihre südöstlichen Beziehun-
gen. Budapest: Akadémiai Kiadó.
Bonev, Alexander. 1995: ‘The Gold Treasure from the Vulchitrun Village (Pleven
District) and the Problems of Cultural Contacts in Southeast Europe in the Sec-
ond Half of the Second Millenium BC’, in Douglass W. Bailey and Ivan Panay-
otov (eds.), Prehistoric Bulgaria, 277–289. Madison, WI: Prehistory Press.
Boroffka, Nikolaus G.O. 1994: Die Wietenberg-Kultur. Ein Beitrag zur Erforschung
der Bronzezeit in Südosteuropa. Bonn: Rudolf Habelt.
Boroffka, Nikolaus G.O. 2002: ‘Observaţii asupra descoperirilor preistorice de
chihlimbar din România’, Apulum 39: 145–159.
Boroffka, Nikolaus G.O. 2009: ‘Mineralische Rohstoffvorkommen und der
Forschungsstand des urgeschichtlichen Bergbaues in Rumänien’, in Martin Bar-
telheim and Harald Stäuble (eds.), The Economic Foundations of the European
Bronze Age, 119–146. Rahden/Westfalen: Marie Leidorf.
Braudel, Fernand. 1958: ‘Histoire et sciences sociales: la longue durée’, Annales.
Histoire, Sciences Sociales 13: 725–753.
Cappel, Sarah. 2012: ‘Lasting Impressions. The Appropriation of Sealing Prac-
tices in Minoan Crete’, in Joseph Maran and Philipp Stockhammer (eds.),
Materiality and Social Practice: Transformative Capacities of Intercultural En-
counters [Conference ‘Materiality and Practice – Transformative Capacities of
Intercultural Encounters’, Internationales Wissenschaftsforum Heidelberg on
March 25 to 27, 2010], 173–184. Oxford: Oxbow.
Caskey, John L. 1959: ‘Activities at Lerna, 1958–1959’, Hesperia: The Journal of the
American School of Classical Studies at Athens 28: 202–207.
Chidioşan, Nicolae and Ivan Ordentlich. 1975: ‘Un templu-megaron din epoca
bronzului descoperit la Sălacea’, Crisia 5: 15–26.
Cultraro, Massimo. 2007: ‘Evidence of amber in Bronze Age Sicily: local sources and
the Balkan-Mycenaean connection’, in Ioanna Galanaki, Helena Tomas, Yannis
Galanakis and Robert Laffineur (eds.), Between the Aegean and Baltic Seas. Pre-
history Across Borders. Proceedings of the International Conference Bronze and
Early Iron Age Interconnections and Contemporary Developments between the Ae-
gean and the Regions of the Balkan Peninsula, Central and Northern Europe, Uni-
versity of Zagreb, 11–14 April 2005, 377–389. Liège: Université de Liège-Histoire
de l’art et archéologie de la Grèce antique/University of Texas Austin – Program
in Aegean Scripts and Prehistory.
Czebreszuk, Janusz. 2009: ‘Ways of Amber in the Northern Pontic Area. An Out-
line of Issues’, in Aleksander Kośko (ed.), Routes between the Seas: Baltic-Bug-
Boh-Pont from the 3rd to the Middle of the 1st Millenium BC, 87–102. Poznań: de
Gruyter.
Czebreszuk, Janusz. 2011: Bursztyn w kulturze mykeńskiej: zarys problematyki
badawczej. Poznań: Wydawnictwo Poznańskie.
Daróczi, Tibor-Tamás. 2011: ‘Associations of archaeological finds in the Middle
Bronze Age centres of the Eastern Carpathian Basin – aspects of power’, Acta
Terrae Septemcastrensis 10: 113–140.
Daróczi, Tibor-Tamás. 2018a: ‘Bronzization and the Eastern Carpathian Basin’,
in Botond Rezi and Rita E. Németh (eds.), Bronze Age Connectivity in the Car-
pathian Basin. Proceedings of the International Colloquium from Târgu Mureş,
13–15 October 2016, 95–181. Târgu Mureş: Mega.
Daróczi, Tibor-Tamás. 2018b: ‘Of liquid stones and brilliant suns. Notes on the
wider networking and appropriations of vitreous materials and amber during the
Bronze Age in the Eastern Carpathian Basin’, in Oana Tutilă, Cătălin Cristescu,
Nicolae Cătălin Rişcuţa and Antoniu Tudor Marc (eds.), Archaeological Small
Finds and their Significance. Proceedings of the International Symposium from
Deva – Geoagiu Băi, 23rd–25th of March 2017, 7–39. Cluj-Napoca: Mega.
Demargne, Pierre. 1932: ‘Culte funéraire et foyer domestique dans la Crète mi-
noenne’, Bulletin de Correspondance Hellénique 56: 60–88.
Dietrich, Laura. 2014: Die mittlere und späte Bronzezeit und die ältere Eisenzeit in
Südostsiebenbürgen aufgrund der Siedlung von Rotbav. Bonn: Rudolf Habelt.
Domínguez-Bella, Salvador, Angeles Alvarez Rodríguez and José Ramos Muñoz.
2001: ‘Estudio analítico de las cuentas de collar de ámbar del dolmen de Alberite
(Villamartín, Cádiz): naturaleza química y mineralógica e implicaciones sobre
su origen’, in María Luisa Pardo Rodríguez, Blanca María Gómez Tubío and
Miguel Ánfel Respaldiza Galisteo (eds.), III Congreso Nacional de Arqueometría
(3. 1999. Sevilla), 621–630. Sevilla.
Domnonkos, János. 1908: ‘A lopós halom (Arad m.)’, Archaeologiai Értesítő 28: 55–78.
Eder, Birgitta. 2015: ‘Stone and Glass: The Ideological Transformation of Imported
Materials and their Geographic Distribution in Mycenaean Greece’, in Birgitta
Eder and Regine Pruzsinszky (eds.), Policies of Exchange. Political Systems and
Modes of Interaction in the Aegean and the Near East in the 2nd Millennium B.C.E.
Proceedings of the International Symposium at the University of Freiburg, Institute
for Archaeological Studies, 30th May – 2nd June 2012, 221–242. Vienna: Austrian
Academy of Sciences Press.
Evans, Arthur J. 1921: The Palace of Minos at Knossos I: The Neolithic and Early and
Middle Minoan Ages. London: Macmillan.
Firges, Pascal and Tobias P. Garf. 2019: ‘Exploring the Contact Zone: A Critical
Assessment from the Perspective of Early Modern Euro-Ottoman History’, in
Laila Abu-Er-Rub, Laila, Christiane Brosius, Sebastian Meurer, Diamantis Pa-
nagiotopoulos and Susan Richter (eds.), Engaging Transculturality: Concepts, Key
Terms, Case Studies, 109–121. London: Routledge.
Frank, Andre Gunder, Guillermo Algaze, J.A. Barceló, Christopher Chase-Dunn,
Christopher Edens, Jonathan Friedman, Antonio Gilman, Chris Gosden, A.F.
Harding, Alexander H. Joffe, A. Bernard Knapp, Philip L. Kohl, Kristian Kris-
tiansen, C.C. Lamberg-Karlovsky, J.R. McNeill, J.D. Muhly, Andrew Sherratt
and Susan Sherratt. 1993: ‘Bronze Age world system cycles [and comments and
reply]’, Current Anthropology 34: 383–429.
French, Elizabeth and Kim Shelton. 2005: ‘Early Palatial Mycenae’, in Anastasia
Dakouri-Hild and Andrew Sherratt (eds.), Autochthon. Papers presented to O. T.
P. K. Dickinson on the occasion of his retirement, 175–184. Oxford: Archaeopress.
Friedman, John and Michael J. Rowlands. 1977: ‘Notes Towards an Epigenetic
Model of the Evolution of “Civilization”’, in John Friedman and Michael J.
Rowlands (eds.), The Evolution of Social Systems. Proceedings of a Meeting of the
Research Seminar in Archaeology and Related Subjects held at the Institute of Ar-
chaeology, London University, 1974, 201–278. London: Gerald Duckworth.
Frieman, Catherine J. 2012: ‘Flint daggers, copper daggers, and technological in-
novation in Late Neolithic Scandinavia’, European Journal of Archaeology 15:
440–464.
Garner, Harry. 1956: ‘An early piece of glass from Eridu’, Iraq 18: 147–149.
Gerloff, Sabine. 1996: ‘Wessex, Mycenae and Related Matters: The Chronology of
the British Bronze Age in its European Setting’, in Clarissa Belardelli and Re-
nato Peroni (eds.), The Bronze Age in Europe and the Mediterranean. International
Congress of Prehistoric and Protohistoric Sciences, 1996 Forlì: The colloquia of the
XIII International Congress of Prehistoric and Protohistoric Sciences, 11–19. Forlì:
A.B.A.C.O. Ed.
Gimbutas, Marija. 1965: Bronze Age Cultures in Central and Eastern Europe. Paris/
The Hague/London: Mouton.
Hahn, Hans P. 2012: ‘Words and Things: Reflections on People’s Interaction with
the Material World’, in Joseph Maran and Philipp Stockhammer (eds.), Materi-
ality and Social Practice: Transformative Capacities of Intercultural Encounters
[Conference Materiality and Practice – Transformative Capacities of Intercultural
Encounters; Internationales Wissenschaftsforum Heidelberg on March 25 to 27,
2010], 4–12. Oxford: Oxbow.
Harding, Anthony F. 1971: ‘The earliest glass in Europe’, Archeologické rozhledy 23:
188–200.
Harding, Anthony F. 1990: ‘The Wessex Connection: Developments and Perspec-
tives’, in Peter Schauer (ed.), Orientalisch-ägäische Einflüsse in der europäischen
Bronzezeit. Ergebnisse eines Kolloquiums, 139–154. Bonn: Rudolf Habelt.
Harding, Anthony F. 2013: ‘World systems, cores, and peripheries in prehistoric
Europe’, European Journal of Archaeology 16: 378–400.
Harding, Anthony F. 2015: ‘Oxhide ingots in the European north?’, Antiquity 89:
213–214.
Harding, Anthony F., Helen Hughes-Brock and Curt W. Beck. 1974: ‘Amber in the
Mycenaean world’, The Annual of the British School at Athens 69: 145–172.
Harding, Anthony F. and Stanley E. Warren. 1973: ‘Early Bronze Age faience beads
from central Europe’, Antiquity 47: 64–66.
Hartmann, Gerald, Irene Kappel, Klaus Grote and Betty Arndt. 1997: ‘Chemistry
and technology of prehistoric glass from Lower Saxony and Hesse’, Journal of
Archaeological Science 24: 547–559.
Henderson, Julian, Jane Evans and Kalliopi Nikita. 2010: ‘Isotopic evidence for the
primary production, provenance and trade of Late Bronze Age glass in the Medi-
terranean’, Mediterranean Archaeology and Archaeometry 10: 1–24.
Horváth, Tünde. 1999: ‘Contribution to the study of Hungarian amber-finds’,
Savaria 24: 277–289.
Hughes-Brock, Helen. 1999: ‘Mycenaean beads: gender and social contexts’, Oxford
Journal of Archaeology 18: 277–296.
Jennings, Justin. 2011: Globalization and the Ancient World. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press.
Kanungo, Alok K. and Robert H. Brill. 2009: ‘Kopia, India’s first glassmaking site:
dating and chemical analysis’, Journal of Glass Studies 51: 11–25.
Karatasios, Ioannis and Pavlos Triantafyllidis. 2014: ‘Late Bronze Age glass pro-
duction on Rhodes’, Journal of Glass Studies 56: 351.
Katinas, Vladas. 1971: Pietų Pabaltijo gintaras ir gintaringos nuogulos, Vil’njus:
Mintis.
Kienlin, Tobias L. 2015: Bronze Age Tell Communities in Context. An Exploration
into Culture, Society, and the Study of European Prehistory. Part 1: Critique. Eu-
rope and the Mediterranean, Oxford: Archaeopress Archaeology.
Kilian, Klaus. 1987: ‘Zur Funktion der mykenischen Residenzen auf dem griechis-
chen Festland’, in Robin Hägg and Nanno Marinatos (eds.), The Function of the
Minoan Palace. Proceedings of the Fourth International Symposium at the Swedish
Institute in Athens, 10–16 June, 1984, 21–38. Stockholm: Paul Åströms Förlag.
Knapp, A. Bernard. 1990: ‘Ethnicity, entrepreneurship, and exchange: Mediter-
ranean inter-island relations in the Late Bronze Age’, The Annual of the British
School at Athens 85: 115–153.
Kohl, Philip L. 1987a: ‘The ancient economy, transferable technologies and the
Bronze Age world-system: a view from the northeastern frontier of the ancient
Near East’, in Michael Rowlands, Mogens Trolle Larsen and Kristian Kristiansen
(eds.), Centre and Periphery in the Ancient World, 13–24. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press.
Kohl, Philip L. 1987b: ‘The use and abuse of World Systems Theory: the case of the
pristine west Asian state’, Advances in Archaeological Method and Theory 11: 1–35.
Kristiansen, Kristian. 1987: ‘Center and Periphery in Bronze Age Scandinavia’, in
Rowlands, Trolle Larsen and Kristiansen 1987: 74–85.
Lamb, Winifred and A.J.B. Wace. 1921: ‘Excavations at Mycenae’, The Annual of the
British School at Athens 24: 185–209.
Lavezzi, John C. 1979: ‘Early Helladic hearth rims at Corinth’, Hesperia: The Jour-
nal of the American School of Classical Studies at Athens 48: 342–347.
Lenerz-de Wilde, Majolie. 2011: ‘Neue Ringbarrenhorte – Bronzen als Wertträger
(prämonetäre Zahlungsmittel)’, in Ute Luise Dietz and Albrecht Jockenhövel
(eds.), Bronzen im Spannungsfeld zwischen praktischer Nutzung und symbolische
Bedeutung, 177–198. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner.
Ling, Johan and Zofia Stos-Gale. 2015: ‘Representations of oxhide ingots in Scandi-
navian rock art: the sketchbook of a Bronze Age traveller?’, Antiquity 89: 191–209.
Maran, Joseph. 1998: ‘Neue Ansätze für die Beurteilung der Balkanisch-Ägäischen
Beziehungen im 3. Jahrtausend v. Chr.’, in Petre Roman (ed.), The Thracian World
at the Crossroads of Civilisations. I. Proceedings of the Seventh International Con-
gress of Thracology, Constanţa, Mangalia, Tulcea, 20–26 May 1996, 171–192. Bu-
cureşti: Vavila Edinf.
Maran, Joseph. 2001: ‘Zur Frage des Vorgängers des ersten Doppelpalastes von
Tiryns’, in Stephanie Böhm and Klaus-Valtin von Eickstedt (eds.), IΘAKH. Fest-
schrift für Jörg Schäfer zum 75. Geburtstag am 25 April 2001, 23–29. Würzburg:
Ergon.
Maran, Joseph. 2011: ‘Lost in translation: the emergence of Mycenaean culture as
a phenomenon of glocalization’, in Toby C. Wilkinson, Susan Sherratt and John
Bennet (eds.), Interweaving Worlds: Systemic Interactions in Eurasia, 7th to 1st
Millennia BC. Papers from a Conference in Memory of Professor Andrew Sherratt
[University of Sheffield on 1st – 4th April 2008]; What would a Bronze Age World
System Look Like? World Systems Approaches to Europe and Western Asia 4th to
1st millennia BC, 282–294. Oxford/Oakville: Oxbow Books.
Maran, Joseph. 2013: ‘Bright as the Sun: The Appropriation of Amber Objects in
Mycenaean Greece’, in Hans Peter Hahn and Hadas Weiss (eds.), Mobility, Mean-
ing and Transformations of Things: Shifting Contexts of Material Culture through
Time and Space, 147–169. Oxford: Oxbow Books.
Maran, Joseph. 2015a: ‘Near Eastern Semicircular Axes in the Late Bronze Age
Aegean as Entangled Objects’, in Diamantis Panagiotopoulos, Ivonne Kaiser and
Ourania Kouka (eds.), Ein Minoer im Exil. Festschrift für Wolf-Dietrich Niemeier,
243–270. Bonn: Rudolf Habelt.
Maran, Joseph. 2015b: ‘Tiryns and the Argolid in Mycenaean Times. New Clues and
Interpretations’, in Ann-Louise Schallin and Iphigeneia Tournavitou (eds.), My-
ceneans Up to Date: The Archaeology of the North-eastern Peloponnese – Current
Concepts and New Directions, 277–293. Stockholm: Swedish Institute at Athens.
Maran, Joseph. 2016: ‘Against the Currents of History: The Early 12th c. BCE Re-
surgence of Tiryns’, in Jan M. Driessen (ed.), RA-PI-NE-U. Studies on the Myce-
naean world offered to Robert Laffineur for his 70th Birthday, 201–220. Louvain:
Presses Universitaires de Louvain.
Maran, Joseph. 2017: ‘Later Balkan Prehistory. A Transcultural Perspective’, in
Maja Gori and Mariya Ivanova (eds.), Balkan Dialogues. Negotiating Identity be-
tween Prehistory and the Present, 17–37. London & New York: Routledge.
Maran, Joseph and Alkestis Papadimitriou. 2016: ‘Gegen den Storm der Geschichte.
Die nördliche Unterstadt von Tiryns: ein gescheitertes Urabanisierungsprojekt
der mykenischen Nachpalaszeit’, Archäologischer Anzeiger: 19–118.
Mercando, Liliana. 1975: ‘Lampade, lucerne, bracieri di Festòs (Scavi 1950–1970)’,
ASAtene 52–53: 15–167.
Motzoi-Chicideanu, Ion. 2011: Obiceiuri funerare în epoca bronzului la Dunărea Mi-
jlocie şi Inferioară. Bucureşti: Editura Academiei Române.
Mountjoy, Penelope A. 1997: ‘The destruction of the palace at Pylos reconsidered’,
The Annual of the British School at Athens 92: 109–137.
Muhly, Polymnia Metaxa. 1984: ‘Minoan hearths’, American Journal of Archaeol-
ogy 88: 107–122.
Nicholson, Paul T. 2007: Brilliant Things for Akhenaten: The Production of Glass,
Vitreous Materials and Pottery at Amarna Site O45.1. London: Egypt Exploration
Society.
Nikita, Kalliopi. 2004: ‘Early Bronze Age beads of vitreous materials in the Aegean
and in Cyprus’, Bead Study Trust Newsletter 44: 3–7.
Nikita, Kalliopi and Julian Henderson. 2006: ‘Glass analyses from Mycenaean The-
bes and Elateia: compositional evidence for a Mycenaean glass industry’, Journal
of Glass Studies 48: 71–120.
Ordentlich, Ivan. 1972: ‘Contribuţia săpăturilor arheologice de pe “Dealul Vida”
(com. Sălacea, jud. Bihor) la cunoaştera culturii Otomani’, Studii şi Comunicări
Satu Mare 2: 63–81.
Ortiz, Fernando. 1987: Contrapunteo del tabaco y el azúcar. Caracas: Biblioteca
Ayacucho.
Ostoverkhov, A.S. 1997: ‘Ancient archaeological glass in eastern Europe’, Археологія
2: 70–81.
P. Fischl, Klára and Viktória Kiss. 2015: ‘Exchange Networks in the Middle Bronze
Age Carpathian Basin: The Movement of Visible and Invisible Commodities’, in
Paulina Suchowska-Ducke, Samantha Scott Reiter and Helle Vandkilde (eds.),
Forging Identities. The Mobility of Culture in Bronze Age Europe: Volume 2, 47–54.
Oxford: Archaeopress.
Pailes, R.A. and Joseph W. Whitecotton. 1979: ‘The Greater Southwest and Mesoa-
merican “World” System: An Explanatory Model of Frontier Relationships’, in
William W. Savage and Stephen I. Thompson (eds.), The Frontier: Comparative
Studies, Vol. 2, 105–121. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press.
Paul, Iuliu. 1995: ‘Die Wietenberg – Nekropole und – Siedlung von Sibişeni – ‘Dea-
supra Satului‘ (Gemeinde Vinţu de Jos, Kreis Alba)’, in Iuliu Paul (ed.), Vorg-
eschichtliche Untersuchungen in Siebenbürgen, 164–197. Alba Iulia: Centrul de
Cercetări Pre- şi Protoistorice.
Peltenburg, Edgar. 1987: ‘Early Faience: Recent Studies, Origins and Relations with
Glass’, in Mavis Bimson and Ian C. Freestone (eds.), Early Vitreous Materials.
Proceedings of a Symposium held in the British Museum on the 2nd and 3rd of No-
vember 1984, 5–29. London: British Museum.
Peñalver, E., Esteban Álvarez Fernández, P. Arias, Xavier Delclòs Martínez and R.
Ontañón. 2007: ‘Local amber in a Palaeolithic context in Cantabrian Spain: the
case of La Garma A’, Journal of Archaeological Science 34: 843–849.
Pendlebury, H.W. and J.D.S. Pendlebury. 1930: ‘Two protopalatial houses at Knos-
sos’, The Annual of the British School at Athens 30: 53–73.
Pratt, Mary Louise. 1991: ‘Arts of the contact zone’, Profession: 33–40.
Pusch, Edgar B. and Thilo Rehren. 2007: Hochtemperatur-Technologie in der
Ramses-Stadt. Rubinglas für den Pharao. Teil 1 – Text, Hildesheim: Gerstenberg.
Rehren, Thilo. 2005: ‘Der Handel mit Glas in der Spätbronzezeit’, in Ünsal Yalçın,
Önder İpek and Olaf Medenbach (eds.), Das Schiff von Uluburun: Welthandel vor
3000 Jahren. Katalog der Ausstellung im Deutschen Bergbau-Museum Bochum vom
15. Juli 2005 bis 16. Juli 2006, 533–539. Bochum: Deutsches Bergbau-Museum.
Rehren, Thilo. 2008: ‘Red glass for the pharaoh’, Archaeology International 8: 40–42.
Rehren, Thilo. 2014: ‘Glass Production and Consumption between Egypt, Mesopo-
tamia and the Aegean’, in Peter Pfälzner, Herbert Niehr, Sarah Lange and Tina
Köster (eds.), Contextualising Grave Inventories in the Ancient Near East. Pro-
ceedings of a Workshop at the London 7th ICAANE in April 2010 and an Interna-
tional Symposium in Tübingen in November 2010, both organised by the Tübingen
Post-Graduate School ‘Symbols of the Dead’, 217–223. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz.
Rehren, Thilo, Edgar B. Pusch and Anja Herold. 2001: ‘Qantir-Piramesses and the
Organisation of the Egyptian Glass Industry’, in Andrew J. Shortland (ed.), The
Social Context of Technological Change: Egypt and the Near East, 1650–1550 BC.
Proceedings of a conference held at St Edmund Hall, Oxford, 12–14 September
2000, 223–238. Oxford: Oxbow Books.
Rehren, Thilo and Min Yin. 2012: ‘Melt formation in lime-rich proto-porcelain
glazes’, Journal of Archaeological Science 39: 2969–2983.
Renfrew, Colin. 1968: ‘Wessex without Mycenae’, The Annual of the British School
at Athens 63: 277–285.
Rodenwaldt, Gerhart. 1912: Tiryns. Die Ergebnisse der Ausgrabungen des Instituts.
Zweiter Band: Die Fresken des Palastes. Athen: Eleutheroudakis & Barth.
Rovira i Port, Jordi. 1994: ‘Ámbar y pasta vítrea. Elementos de prestigio entre el Ne-
olítico avanzado y el Bronce Final del nordeste de la península Ibérica. Un primer
estado de la cuestión’, Quadernos de Prehistoria Castellana 16: 76–91.
Schuchhardt, Carl. 1891: Schliemann’s Ausgrabungen in Troja, Tiryns, Mykenä, Or-
chomenos, Ithaka im Lichte der heutigen Wissenschaft. Leipzig: Brockhaus.
Sherratt, Andrew. 1993: ‘What would a Bronze-Age world system look like? Re-
lations between temperate Europe and the Mediterranean in later prehistory’,
Journal of European Archaeology 1: 1–58.
Shortland, Andrew J. 2007: ‘Who were the glassmakers? Status, theory and method
in mid-second millenium glass production’, Oxford Journal of Archaeology 26:
261–274.
Shortland, Andrew J., Nick Rogers and Katherine Eremin. 2007: ‘Trace element
discriminants between Egyptian and Mesopotamian Late Bronze Age glasses’,
Journal of Archaeological Science 34: 781–789.
Smirniou, Melina and Thilo Rehren. 2013: ‘Shades of blue – cobalt-copper coloured
blue glass from New Kingdom Egypt and the Mycenaean world: a matter of pro-
duction or colourant source?’, Journal of Archaeological Science 40: 4731–4743.
Smirniou, Melina, Thilo Rehren, Vassiliki Adrymi-Sismani, Eleni Asderaki and
Bernard Gratuze. 2012: ‘Mycenaean Beads from Kazanaki, Volos: A Further
Node in the LBA Glass Network’, in Despina Ignatiadou and Anastassios Anto-
naras (eds.), Annales du 18e Congrès de l’Association International pour l’Histoire
du Verre. Thessaloniki, 21st–25th September 2009, 11–18. Thessaloniki: AIHV.
Stockhammer, Philipp W. 2012: ‘Performing the practice turn in archaeology’,
Transcultural Studies 1: http://heiup.uni-heidelberg.de/journals/index.php/
transcultural/article/view/9263/3223.
Stone, J.F.S. and L.C. Thomas. 1957: ‘The use and distribution of faience in the
ancient east and prehistoric Europe’, Proceedings of the Prehistoric Society 22:
37–84.
Stout, Edith C., Curt W. Beck and B.K. Anderson. 2000: ‘Identification of ruman-
ite (Romanian amber) as thermally altered succinite (Baltic amber)’, Physics and
Chemistry of Minerals 27: 665–678.
Teodor, Eugenia Dumitra, Simona Carmen Liţescu, Antonela Neacşu, Georgiana
I. Truică and Camelia Albu. 2009: ‘Analytical methods to differentiate Romanian
amber and Baltic amber for archaeological applications’, Central European Jour-
nal of Chemistry 7: 560–568.
Teodor, Eugenia Dumitra, M. Virgolici, M.M. Manea, Georgiana I. Truică and Si-
mona Carmen Liţescu. 2010: ‘Non-destructive analysis of amber artefacts from
the prehistoric Cioclovina hoard (Romania)’, Journal of Archaeological Science
37: 2386–2396.
Tomlinson, John. 1999: Globalization and Culture. Cambridge: Polity Press.
Van de Mieroop, Marc. 2004: A History of the Ancient Near East, ca. 3000–323 BC,
Malden, MA: Blackwell.
Journal of Archaeology 17: 602–633.
Prähistorische Zeitschrift 91: 103–123.
Vandkilde, Helle. 2017: ‘Small, Medium, Large: Globalisation Perspectives on the
Afro-Eurasian Bronze Age’, in Hodos, Tamar (ed.), The Routledge Handbook of
Archaeology and Globalization, 509–521. London: Routledge.
Vandkilde, Helle. 2020: ‘Amber, Weapons and Circulating Ideas about Leadership
at the Threshold to the Middle Bronze Age in Europe’, in Joseph Maran, Radu
Băjenaru, Sorin-Cristian Ailincăi, Anca-Diana Popescu and Svend Hansen (eds.),
Objects, Ideas and Travelers. Contacts between the Balkans, the Aegean and West-
ern Anatolia during the Bronze and Early Iron Age. Volume to the Memory of Al-
exandru Vulpe. Proceedings of the Conference in Tulcea, 10–13 November 2017,
31–41. Bonn: Rudolf Habelt.
Varberg, Jeanette, Bernard Gratuze and Flemming Kaul. 2014: ‘Glasvejen: den sen-
sationelle påvisning af hvor glasperler fra dankse bronzealdergrave blev fremstil-
let henne’, Skalk: 20–30.
Varberg, Jeanette, Bernard Gratuze and Flemming Kaul. 2015: ‘Between Egypt,
Mesopotamia and Scandinavia: Late Bronze Age glass beads found in Denmark’,
Journal of Archaeological Science 54: 168–181.
Venclová, Natalie, Václav Hulínský, Julian Henderson, Simon Chenery, Lucia Šu-
lová and Josef Hložek. 2011: ‘Late Bronze Age mixed-alkali glasses from Bohe-
mia’, Archeologické rozhledy 63: 559–585.
Wallerstein, Immanuel. 1974: The Modern World-System I. Capitalist Agriculture
and the Origins of the European World-Economy in the Sixteenth Century. Berke-
ley, Los Angeles & London: University of California Press.
Wallerstein, Immanuel. 2006: World-Systems Analysis. An Introduction. Durham,
NC & London: Duke Universtiy Press.
Walton, Marc S., Andrew J. Shortland, S. Kirk and P. Degryse. 2009: ‘Evidence for
the trade of Mesopotamian and Egyptian glass to Mycenaean Greece’, Journal of
Archaeological Science 36: 1496–1503.
Weninger, Bernhard and Reinhard Jung. 2009: ‘Absolute Chronology of the End
of the Aegean Bronze Age’, in Sigrid Deger-Jalkotzy and Anna Elisabeth Bächle
(eds.), LH IIIC Chronology and Synchronisms III: LH IIIC Late and the Transition
to the Early Iron Age. Proceedings of the International Workshop at the Austrian
Academy of Sciences at Vienna, February 23rd and 24th, 2007, 373–416. Wien: Ös-
terreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften.
Werner, Michael and Bénédicte Zimmermann. 2002: ‘Vergleich, Transfer, Verflech-
tung. Der Ansatz der Histoire croisée und die Herausforderung des Transnation-
alen’, Geschichte und Gesellschaft 28: 607–636.
Werner, Michael and Bénédicte Zimmermann. 2003: ‘Penser l’histoire croisée: entre
empirie et réflexivité’, Annales. Histoire, Sciences Sociales 58: 7–36.
Werner, Michael and Bénédicte Zimmermann. 2006: ‘Beyond comparison: histoire
croisée and the challenge of reflexivity’, History and Theory. Studies in the Philos-
ophy of History 45: 30–50.
Wright, James C. 2006: ‘The Formation of the Mycenaean Palace’, in Sigrid Deger-
Jalkotzy, and Irene S. Lemos (eds.), Ancient Greece: from the Mycenaean Palaces
to the Age of Homer. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press.
Xanthoudides, Stéphanos. 1971: The Vaulted Tombs of Mesara (1924), London:
Gregg International Publishers Limited England.
Yin, Min, Thilo Rehren and Jianming Zheng. 2011: ‘The earliest high-fired glazed
ceramics in China: the composition of the proto-porcelain from Zhejiang during
the Shang and Zhou periods (c. 1700–221 BC)’, Journal of Archaeological Science
38: 2352–2365.
4 Agencement, matter flows and
itinerary of object in the Bronze
Age East Mediterranean
A new materialities approach to
globalization
Louise Steel
Introduction
This chapter explores the materiality of trade in the East Mediterranean
(Figure 4.1) during the Late Bronze Age (LBA; c. 1600–1200 BCE). This
period was characterized by the development of complex over-lapping trade
networks exemplified by the bulk movement of raw materials (copper and
tin in particular)1 and pottery – both as commodity containers2 and as ob-
jects traded in their own right.3 Additionally, the exchange of luxury crafted
Figure 4.1 Map of East Mediterranean, showing key sites involved in Late Bronze Age
trade
Source: Author’s drawing.
DOI: 10.4324/9781003096269-7
82 Louise Steel
objects, the work of high-status craft specialists,4 is well documented
throughout the region. The connectivity evident in the movement of these
goods and materials might be examined as potentially one of the earliest ex-
amples of globalization,5 focusing on the interconnectedness of trading and
diplomatic networks. In this chapter however, I want to explore the move-
ment of things, peoples and materials through the lens of another relational
ontology: the concept of assemblage6 (agencement),7 which emphasizes the
ongoing flow of matter (both human and nonhuman) at multiple scales.
To shed light on how such an approach might be explored I focus on the
surviving material evidence for long-distance trade identified at Aredhiou
Vouppes in the Cypriot hinterland,8 a small nodal point in the posited LBA
exchange networks which would normally be considered peripheral to inter-
national interactions.
Bronze Age globalization?

There is considerable archaeological evidence for long-distance trade
around the shores of the East Mediterranean in the LBA and stretching
into wider Eurasia.9 Archaeologists have proposed theoretical constructs to
shed light on the nature and practice of this trade. One such approach that
is gaining some traction is globalization.10 Globalization describes interre-
gional connectivity and expanding exchange networks precipitated by the
demand for raw materials, desirable (branded) commodities11 and restricted
luxuries.12 While we cannot claim trading contacts to have been a truly
global phenomenon in the Bronze Age (c. third-second millennia BCE) there
is certainly evidence for ever-expanding and overlapping spheres of inter-
action throughout a hyper-region of Eurasia and north-east Africa.13 This
transregional trading system fits some of the criteria for globalization as
outlined above, in particular its interconnectedness, the ‘spatially spreading
and changing networks’,14 and a complex relationship between increasing
demand for raw materials, technological development and social change.15
In particular, Vandkilde highlights the demand for tin (more so than cop-
per),16 commenting that ‘[e]ngagement in wide-ranging networks was no
longer merely an option. It was a necessity to the function of the Bronze Age
world’,17 which increasingly depended upon bronze technologies.
Bronze Age inter-regional trade has previously been examined as an
early example of a world system – namely the movement of much needed
raw materials (primarily metals) from a less developed periphery into a
more politically advanced core.18 More recently, Kohl has challenged the
perception of Bronze Age Eurasia and Egypt as ‘multiple core areas loosely
integrated or overlapping’,19 instead highlighting a more fluid relationship
and exchange of knowledges between the so-called periphery and core. For
example, many of the technological and social developments that shaped
LBA material worlds, such as the horse-drawn chariot and (c. 1200 BCE),
the cut-and-thrust sword, were innovations of the apparent marginal Euro-
pean edges of the Eurasian contact systems. Moreover, our knowledge of
Agencement, matter flows and itinerary of object 83
different areas is deficient in detail and impedes comparison. In some areas
there is an emphasis on the urban context, in others the focus is on the
funerary domain, and while our knowledge and understanding are ever-
changing with new archaeological discoveries, ‘the picture in hand at the
moment remains incomplete with certain vital pieces missing to complete
the puzzle’.20
There is an inevitable tension between the local and interregional within
these models of globalization. The consequence of exchanges across vastly
distant geographic regions is inevitably cultural contact and, as a result, the
transformation of material worlds. As Vandkilde notes, the ‘[l]ocal and global
are mutually constitutive’.21 The mixing of material culture and new knowl-
edges within ‘a place of encounter’,22 or Homi Bhabha’s third space,23 has
been variously explored by archaeologists as cultural hybridity,24 transcul-
turalism25 and glocalization26 – approaches that highlight the agency of local
populations and their (re)consumption of the exotic, new and different. The
emphasis in studies of Bronze Age globalization therefore, is not simply on
how local worlds are situated within wider social and economic networks, but
more particularly on how local agents mediate the integration of imported
goods, as well as any accompanying new ideas and social practices, and meld
them into their own way of life. These are creative choices, encapsulating
both acceptance and rejection of the new and foreign and their manipulation
into new cultural constructs. As Kopytoff notes, ‘[w]hat is significant about
the adoption of alien objects – as of alien ideas – is not the fact that they are
adopted, but the way they are culturally redefined and put to use’.27
Bernbeck28 has developed a tripartite model of Bronze Age globaliza-
tion, highlighting three material, non-human components that make up the
overlapping exchange networks. The nodes of the network he identifies with
the major trading centres – namely the towns, ports, palaces and storage
facilities – sites such as Ugarit and Enkomi, the palace centres of Knossos
on Crete and Mycenae, Pylos and Tiryns in the Peloponnese. These nodal
points are interlinked by the connectors, the technologies of communica-
tion, including transport systems such as roads, riverways, shipping and sea-
routes, as well as the writing tools such as cuneiform tablets, writing boards
and associated writing and sphragistic paraphernalia. The third compo-
nent, which he views as underpinning the whole system, is what he terms the
interstitial spaces that comprise the rural hinterland of the nodes.29 Surely
however, the rural hinterland supporting the whole infrastructure, as well
as the other ‘peripheral’ sites in the hinterland, such as the mines supplying
raw materials, clay beds for pottery, and the production centres, as well as
the materials supporting them – the timber for shipbuilding and the textiles
and twines making the sails and ropes used in the shipping industry – are
all equally chains embedded in the network of exchanges, and likewise the
people (actors) entangled in the flow of production – the farmers, potters,
miners, shipwrights, weavers and ropemakers.
In many respects Bernbeck’s model elides with Latour’s Actor Network
Theory (ANT), which embeds human actors and non-human actants as equal
84 Louise Steel
participants in networks,30 although within ANT the connectors (actants,
or non-human entities with agentive capacities) would equally be classed
as nodes entwined within a network through a string of actions. I would
argue that his model, grounded within a spatial representation of networks,
serves to separate the productive hinterland – the source of agricultural and
mineral wealth – from the wider Bronze Age exchange. Instead, I would ar-
gue that the primary producers were in fact vital components of globalized
communities, providing the starting link in the chains of communication.
Rather than attempting to impose networks of human and material agency
onto a partially mapped East Mediterranean LBA land and seascape, this
chapter examines the interconnectedness of the East Mediterranean more
explicitly through the lens of the new materialisms,31 specifically as agence-
ment.32 It is worth noting that Bernbeck similarly in fact characterizes his
tripartite model of globalization as a Deleuzian assemblage/agencement.33
This approach highlights the ongoing flow and entanglements of matter and
allows for a more fluid understanding of how people, materials and things
became connected at multiple levels from small-scale local interactions to
more wide-ranging cosmopolitan exchanges. The following discussion ex-
plores the concept of new materialist agencement, which I argue provides a
more flexible perspective for interrogating the evidence than the rigid cate-
gories of globalization outlined above.
Matter flows and agencement

‘Matter is always in flux and can only be followed…This perspective requires
new analytical models of movement or flow in archaeology’.34
Rather than the models of globalization discussed above, this chapter fo-
cuses on a new materialist perspective to explore the interconnectedness of
the LBA East Mediterranean. Here, relationality is explored as an assem-
blage, an approach developed by Deleuze and Guattari35 that has gained
traction throughout the social sciences, including archaeology.36 In this
chapter, however, I choose to use the original French term agencement (the
processes of organization, ordering or arrangement), ‘with its connotations
of continual emergence and becoming’,37 as it captures the fluidity of the con-
cept described by Deleuze and Guattari more precisely that the more static
term of assemblage and, moreover, avoids inevitable confusion between the
theoretical construct and an archaeological assemblage.38 An agencement
describes the continual emergence, ebb and flow of ‘ad hoc groupings of
diverse elements, of vibrant materials of all sorts […] living, throbbing con-
federations’39 both human and non-human. It alludes to the process of these
things coming together and moreover, ‘actively links these parts together by
establishing relations between them’.40 This is a recursive relationship within
which the ‘properties of a whole are produced by the ongoing interactions
41
between its parts, while the whole … reacts back on this part’. The re-
lationality of an agencement therefore references the flux, flow and entan-
glements of matter within ‘a meshwork of interwoven lines of growth and
movement’.42 The challenge here is to move beyond the physical remains
that survive in the archaeological record; rather than simply focusing on the
tangible evidence it encourages us to think about how this emerged through
ongoing interactions between people and things. Certainly, the framing of
Bernbeck’s globalization model (see above) suggests such an interplay of hu-
man/non-human entities at varying scales commensurate with agencement
and suggests that this approach has potential for exploring the connectivity
of trade in the LBA.
The continual reconfiguration of the human and non-human, the tangible
and intangible, within an agencement is inevitably multi-scalar.43 Indeed,
as an archaeologist examining interactions between people and the wider
material world, the concept of agencement is particularly attractive as it
enables us to think about materials at different levels, from the microscopic
(residue analyses, environmental data etc.), through the materials and sub-
stances with which people worked, to individual artefacts and groupings of
materials, to a wider geographical, even inter-regional, scale. This has par-
ticular relevance for the analysis of interregional connectivity, previously
explored through the lens of globalization or world systems theory, since
the archaeologist’s starting point of analysis is typically an archaeological
artefact (or group/assemblage of such objects). Situating this archaeolog-
ical material within an agencement facilitates a clearer understanding of
how the object was embedded within the material world and likewise allows
us to consider its (im)material interactions, thereby elucidating how objects
and materials moved between diverse value systems and social structures,
along with thoughts, knowledges, ideologies and novel technologies. The
flexibility of agencement also allows us to engage with the vagaries of an
incomplete and ever-changing archaeological record as discussed above.44
‘By keeping our attention on movement, temporality, and scale’,45 agence-
ment allows us to move beyond the residual remains of the archaeological
record and to direct our attention on more intangible aspects of relational-
ity in the past.
Background to Aredhiou
The focus of this chapter is the agencement, or flow of matter (people, mate-
rials, commodities, ideas and knowledges), into (and out from) a small LBA
site located in the rural hinterland of Cyprus, at the interface of the Me-
saoria plain and the northern foothills of the Troodhos massif – Aredhiou
Vouppes (Figure 4.2).46 Aredhiou has been identified as a farming site sup-
porting copper extraction in the hilly flank zones of the Troodhos, which
was then traded from the coastal urban centres such as Enkomi. Large-scale
agricultural production at Aredhiou is illustrated by the substantial number
86 Louise Steel
Figure 4.2 Map of Cyprus, showing location of Aredhiou Vouppes

of ground stone tools as well as significant quantities of pithos sherds47 and

this picture of intensive food production is further reiterated by impressive
storage facilities and workrooms that have been excavated at the site.
According to Bernbeck’s model,48 Aredhiou would be one of the intersti-
tial spaces surrounding the interregional exchange networks of the Bronze
Age. Here, however, I argue that the site was not simply a rural backdrop
to Cypriot involvement in the East Mediterranean trading systems, but in-
stead should be viewed as a key element within an agencement that emerged
from the interactions comprising the island’s economic network, and by
extension those of the wider Mediterranean. Certainly, excavations at the
site have demonstrated that the activities centred on this farming commu-
nity were more diverse than might be expected according to the settlement
and economic models previously developed for LBA Cyprus.49 Intriguingly,
significant quantities of traded commodities (pottery from the Aegean, the
Levant and Egypt) have been identified amongst the material remains from
the site, suggesting it was firmly embedded within the matter flows within
and beyond the Cypriot coastal urban centres.
Imported pottery from Aredhiou

The discussion here focuses on the flow of imported goods and commodi-
ties into Aredhiou as evidenced by the pottery (Figure 4.3). Several distinct
wares have been identified at the site, from the wider East Mediterranean:
these include fine tableware and possible perfume bottles from the Aegean
Percentages of Imported Wares at Aredhiou
Minoan Mycenaean
Canaanite Jar Egypan
Figure 4.3 Graph showing percentages of imported wares at Aredhiou

(Minoan and Mycenaean), as well as transport vessels from Crete, Egypt

and the Levant. Although not included in the following discussion, other
wares further illustrate the connectivity of the community at Aredhiou –
namely, small quantities of Red Lustrous wheelmade ware50 and White
Shaved ware dipper juglets.51
The imported wares were found throughout the site of Aredhiou but most
commonly either in association with the sunken Room 103, identified as a
restricted place for commensality and hospitality,52 or otherwise in the fill
of Tomb 1 excavated at the eastern edge of the site.53 This might suggest that
the vessels and/or their contents were reserved for use within liminal spaces
rather than being incorporated within everyday consumption, suggesting
some attribution of value to the vessels and/or their contents. Nonetheless,
with only a few exceptions, detailed below, the imported pottery was found
in a very fragmented state, even within sealed deposits, similar in fact to the
preservation of the locally manufactured wares. This demonstrates how the
imported wares were regularly embedded in social praxis at the site, albeit
within delimited spaces, resulting in regular breakage and discard alongside
the local ceramics. To better understand their presence at the site ‘we have
to follow the things themselves’.54
Mycenaean pottery
The most commonly attested imported pottery (57 per cent of the imported
wares, 285 sherds) from Aredhiou was Mycenaean (LH IIIA-B). For the most
part it has not been possible to identify specific forms, but where identified
88 Louise Steel
the sherds largely came from kraters or shallow bowls, with a small number
of stirrup jar sherds and some possible sherds from Mycenaean jugs. These
were found in contexts throughout the site with no specific concentrations of
use. Among the extant grave goods in Tomb 1 there was a complete stirrup
jar (AV06-01-06; FS171; Figure 4.4, 1). This vessel was imported to Cyprus,
most probably as a container of a luxury perfume,55 one of the prized prod-
ucts of the Mycenaean palaces, although the contents of these vessels has
not been demonstrated through a coherent programme of residue analy-
sis.56 Nonetheless, its narrow aperture was designed to pour a thin, easily
poured liquid, consistent with a perfumed oil and perhaps to be identified
with the po-ro-ko-wa (prochoë) mentioned on Linear B tablets.57 The dis-
tinctive form of the Mycenaean stirrup jar, its decoration and likewise its
lustrous surface, all served to advertise the prestigious contents to a Cypriot
and Near Eastern market – a form of commodity branding.58 The Aredhiou
stirrup jar was marked with a X-sign in fugitive washy red paint on its base.
Nicolle Hirschfeld’s detailed study of LBA pot marks in the Aegean and
Near East indicates that such painted marks were almost exclusively ap-
plied to Mycenaean pottery; moreover, this type of painted mark is rarely
attested in the Aegean and instead belongs to a marking system most com-
monly identified on Cyprus and to a lesser extent in the Levant, in particular
Ugarit.59 The precise meaning and function of these painted signs remains
Figure 4.4 1: Drawing of Mycenaean stirrup jar: AV06-01-06; 2: Drawing of incised

Minoan stirrup jar: AV06-01-01
elusive, however, the very occurrence of such a mark at Aredhiou demon-
strates relationality with wider socio-economic practices binding Cyprus
and Ugarit.
Mycenaean pottery has been found in large quantities on Cyprus, where
it was widely consumed in the coastal trading towns, in particular at En-
komi and also the sites around the Bay of Larnaca.60 With the possible ex-
ception of Ugarit, more has been found on the island than elsewhere in the
East Mediterranean; moreover, in the Levant, Mycenaean pottery is always
found alongside larger quantities of Cypriot pottery. This distribution sug-
gested to Hankey that Cyprus acted as a middleman for the exchange and
distribution of Mycenaean pottery in the east,61 selecting the choice pieces
before shipping the remainder to the Levant. Studies of other sites in the
Cypriot hinterland, such as the sanctuary at Athienou Bamboulari tis Kou-
kouninas and the mining settlement of Apliki Karamallos, suggest that My-
cenaean pottery was part of an internal exchange of prestige goods supplied
to local elites by the coastal trading sites in return for raw materials such as
copper or agricultural produce.62 While the range of forms represented at
both these sites63 corresponds with those identified at Aredhiou, the quanti-
ties of Mycenaean imports at the latter stands out. Moreover, it is interesting
to note that there was a clear emphasis on the krater for mixing wine and
drinking vessels at Aredhiou, suggesting that practices involving the use
of Aegean drinking sets were fully embedded at the site. Viewing these im-
ported vessels as part of an agencement, comprising not simply the flow of
materials but equally the movement of the immaterial, illustrates complex
relationality at several scales between the Aegean and multiple communities
in Cyprus and the Levant. The ongoing gathering and becoming of mate-
rials, people and social concepts place Aredhiou in a nexus of connectivity
both material – potters working with clay in the Aegean, sailors, merchants
and ships traversing the East Mediterranean, the accumulation of goods at a
Cypriot quayside, its movement inland – and immaterial – the knowledge of
social practices and value systems, such as the Cypro-Ugaritic consumption
of alcoholic beverages served in a krater64 and the administrative systems
implicit in the marking of pottery.
Minoan pottery
Small quantities of Minoan pottery (41 sherds, comprising 8 per cent of
the imported wares) were identified scattered throughout the site. For the
most part these are non-diagnostic, but where forms can be identified these
are large amphoroid kraters, similar to that at Pyla Kokkinokremos,65 and
stirrup jars. The former were undoubtedly imported in their own right as
decorative vessels, whereas the stirrup jars were more plausibly imported
for their liquid contents. Smaller stirrups, such as those from the tombs in
Enkomi, have been identified as perfume containers,66 while large stirrup
jars were designed for the bulk movement of liquid commodities within and
90 Louise Steel
beyond the Aegean; the precise contents have not been identified through
residue analysis, in part because the potential complications inevitable due
to the repeated re-use of the vessels in antiquity.67 Both forms illustrate
how imported objects and substances were incorporated within embodied
practices at Aredhiou, including feasting (the large kraters being used for
mixing alcoholic beverages) and the anointing of the body with perfumed
oils.68 The false neck and inscribed handle of an imported transport stir-
rup jar (AV06-01-01; Figure 4.4, 2), made of a fabric identified as Minoan
‘oatmeal ware’,69 was found on the surface in fields to the north of the main
site during the 2006 season.70 The form is usually interpreted as an olive oil
container used in large-scale commodity trade,71 a form which circulated
widely throughout the Aegean and the East Mediterranean in the thirteenth
century BCE, with significant quantities identified at Tiryns found in asso-
ciation with Canaanite jars (see discussion below).72 The handle had been
incised after firing with an arrowhead-shaped mark with lengthened central
prong (CM 028). Parallels to this sign have been identified at Kition Bam-
boula and Maa Palaekastro on Cyprus,73 as well as at Ugarit.74 There is also
the trace of a second incised sign, represented by vertical stroke, below the
arrow sign, identifying this as an inscription rather than simply a marked
pot.75 Post-firing marking of Aegean wares relates specifically to Cypriot
administrative activities,76 plausibly taking place at the port on arrival as
part of the mercantile handling practices and illustrative of internal com-
munication between sites (and individuals) on the island. In this respect it
is interesting to note Ferrera and Bell’s recent discussion of writing (specif-
ically of short inscriptions) as a form of commodity branding, specifically
as an indicator of quality77 – a similar concern might underpin the complex
marking on the Minoan stirrup jar identified here. In the inscribed stirrup
jar we see multiple flows of material engagements (both tangible and intan-
gible) resulting in its eventual incorporation within the recorded ceramic
assemblage of Aredhiou: olive cultivation and oil production in the Aegean,
potters working clay, merchants assembling a shipload of commodities for
export to the east, mercantile practices involving the marking of the stirrup
jar, plausibly in the Cypriot port (possibly endorsing the contents with a
mark of authenticity), and the movement inland to Aredhiou.
Levantine pottery
Two joining sherds from a Levantine shallow bowl with string-cut base were
found in the fill sealing the floor of Room 103.78 A base from a second such
platter bowl was found in the fill overlying the southern wall of the adjacent
Building 1 (Figure 4.5, 1).
Shallow bowls with a flat base are typical elements of the LBA ceramic
repertoire in the southern Levant,79 but are unusual on Cyprus. As an open
shape associated with the consumption of food and drink, we might assume
this was a vessel that would have be taken to Cyprus in its own right rather
Figure 4.5 1: Drawing of Levantine platter bowl bases: AV06-01-08 and uncata-
logued; 2: Drawing of Canaanite jar rim sherd (uncatalogued); 3: Draw-
ing of incised Canaanite jar handle: AV06-01-03; 4: Drawing of Egyptian
amphorae rim sherds (uncatalogued)
than for any contents, either as a gift, traded commodity or personal pos-
session. While Cypriots eagerly adopted (and imitated) Mycenaean bowls
(see above), their preference otherwise was for local eating and drinking
equipment.80 These bowls, therefore are an oddity and attest to unusual so-
cial and material engagements at Aredhiou. We can only conjecture as to
how and why the Levantine bowls made their way to the site, possibly as
92 Louise Steel
the personal possessions of Canaanite traders, perhaps who were resident
on Cyprus.81 Certainly, the association of AV06-01-08 with Room 103 (and
the second fragment was found close by), a space identified with hospital-
ity, commensality and reciprocity,82 is intriguing and might substantiate the
idea of a non-Cypriot presence at the site. Alternatively, it might indicate
the adoption of the exotic or unknown as a means of advertising knowledge
of outside practices on the part of one of Aredhiou’s inhabitants.
Some 161 sherds (32 per cent of the imported wares, primarily body, but
also two rim sherds; Figure 4.5, 2) as well as an incised handle can be attrib-
uted to Canaanite jars.
These were for the most part very fragmentary and worn. Numerous
fabric categories have been identified for Canaanite jars and petrographic
analyses indicate these to have multiple places of manufacture, including
Cyprus, but also Egypt and various locations in the Levant.83 The Are-
dhiou sherds have been ascribed visually to this class of pottery, but their
place of origin has not been pinpointed by petrographic analysis. Nonethe-
less, I am including these with the imported pottery as, perhaps more than
any other class of pottery, Canaanite jars illustrate the interconnectedness
of the East Mediterranean, being widely distributed throughout Cyprus (in
the thirteenth century BCE), the Levant, Anatolia (Tarsus) and along the
Egyptian Nile.84 They likewise comprised a substantial element of the cargo
of the Ulu Burun shipwreck.85 Canaanite jars were designed for the trans-
port of bulk liquid commodities (oils, wines and resins) and represent the
East Mediterranean counterpart to the transport stirrup jar; consequently,
they were less frequently exported to the Aegean.86 The ovoid body with
pointed base was designed to be easily stacked in warehouses, perfectly il-
lustrated by the 80 jars excavated by Schaeffer at Minet el-Beida,87 and as
cargo on ships.
The vast majority of the Canaanite jar sherds from Aredhiou were found
in deposits associated with Building 1 (work rooms and storage facilities)
and in the fill of the sunken Room 103. The incised handle (AV06-01-03; Fig-
ure 4.5, 3) was found in the fill overlying the floor of Room 103. The scratch-
iness of the incised sign, tentatively identified as CM025,88 suggests this was
made after firing, and as with the Minoan stirrup jar, we might assume this
was part of Cypriot internal administrative practices. The presence of Ca-
naanite jars therefore reinforces the picture of an economically connected
site, fully integrated as a link in the chain of commercial interactions that
bound together the trading emporia and urban centres of the East Mediter-
ranean (Cyprus, Egypt and the Levant).
Egyptian pottery
More unusual are the occasional pieces of New Kingdom Egyptian ampho-
rae (late eighteenth to twentieth Dynasty in date).89 Sixteen body sherds
have been identified in excavated deposits throughout the site – including the
fill sealing the floor in Room 103 and associated with Building 2 – and a cou-
ple of rim sherds have been identified in fieldwalking (Figure 4.5, 4). These
sherds have the thick, light-coloured (yellowish-green to cream) matte slip
and coarse reddish-brown fabric, sometimes with a thick grey core, typical
of the Egyptian amphorae. The vessels were transported for their contents
and it is suggested these contained wine.90 Similar Egyptian amphorae have
been identified in small quantities at a number of LC IIC-IIIA sites on or
near the coast, including Kalavasos Ayios Dhimitrios, Maa Palaekastro and
Pyla Kokkinokremos, but most significant are the near complete examples
and plentiful sherds found at Hala Sultan Tekke in Area 8, the courtyard
of Building C91 and in British Museum Tomb VIII.92 Of particular interest
is the surface find of an amphora handle stamped with the cartouche of
Seti I.93 Certainly, Hala Sultan Tekke stands out for the number of luxury
Egyptian imports, including scarabs and amulets,94 and might well have
mediated trading relations between Cyprus and Egypt at least during the
latter part of the Egyptian New Kingdom, post-Amarna period.
The presence of Egyptian imported amphorae at Aredhiou illustrates a
series of matter flows connecting the inhabitants of the site not only with
the traders, merchants and elites of the prosperous trading site of Hala Sul-
tan Tekke but likewise with the potters, farmers, vintners and traders of
ancient Egypt. These vessels created a series of relations between various
points in Egypt before moving by ship to Cyprus and then, possibly by pack
animal, into the Cypriot hinterland. They moreover demonstrate how Bern-
beck’s so-called interstitial spaces (see above) were fully integrated within
the meshworks or entanglements of LBA exchanges. At some point in this
itinerary of object,95 the original Egyptian contents were consumed; plausi-
bly this occurred at the end point in Aredhiou and in this respect it is worth
highlighting the find spot of nearly a third of the excavated sherds in the fill
of Room 103, which has been identified as a place for commensality, perhaps
mediating relations between incomers and the site’s inhabitants. We should
not however, discount the possibility that these vessels had been emptied en
route and refilled with different substances, perhaps on several occasions,
throughout their trajectory to Aredhiou. By their very nature as transport
amphorae, these things are mobile and can be detached from their origi-
nal purpose (and cultural meaning) as they travel from place to place and
through the hands of different people.96
Matter flows and agencement at Aredhiou

One of the aims of this chapter has been to show the value of looking in
depth, on a microscale, at the local context to shed light on the macrolevel
of interregional exchanges. Indeed, this survey of the imported pottery from
Aredhiou illustrates the interconnectedness of the site, not just within local
Cypriot networks of exchange and social practices,97 (as particularly evi-
denced by the pottery marking systems), but likewise within much larger
94 Louise Steel
overlapping exchange systems linking together Cyprus, the Aegean (Crete
and the Peloponnese), Egypt and the Levant. More than simply an intersti-
tial space,98 the sheer variety of traded goods illustrates Aredhiou to have
been one of the many links in the chain. The presence of these imported
wares, their contents, as well as knowledge of marking systems, throw light
on the role played by rural communities such as Aredhiou in LBA interre-
gional exchanges. These objects were not used in isolation but comprised an
integral element of the material world of these places, shaping social prac-
tices and the lived experiences of the inhabitants. The following discussion
considers the imports, their contents, and the people who made, handled,
moved, consumed and discarded them as an agencement, comprising ‘con-
tingent, continually shifting relationships’.99 Other goods and materials, in-
cluding local Cypriot ceramics, agricultural produce, copper and copper
slag, also circulated between this and other sites in the Cyprus and the wider
Mediterranean trade networks, and should equally be considered as part of
the continuing flow of matter.
The notion of object itinerary,100 which considers both the spatial and
temporal flow of matter, allows us to think of the ongoing movement of
pottery around the East Mediterranean from its point of origin, through
the hands of various traders and merchants as it moved between trading
emporia across land and sea, ultimately arriving within a small farming
community in the Cypriot hinterland. Each vessel would have followed its
own unique route to Aredhiou, where we have but a snapshot, or segment of
this itinerary;101 in most cases literally the moment of breakage and discard.
Even at Aredhiou, the objects followed multiple distinct, albeit overlapping,
paths: some pots being used on a daily basis for storage of foodstuffs, whilst
others were used, perhaps more sparingly, in embodied commensal prac-
tices. Deleuzian agencement describes the flows of these entities into and
out of relationships and allows us to examine such itineraries at multiple
scales. We might consider the initial procurement of clay, chaff and minerals
used to shape the vessels, through their firing, shipment, arrival in Cyprus
and movement into the hinterland. In some instances, the vessels were filled
(and possibly refilled) with a commodity, and some vessels were marked
with signs, linking them into wider relationships of marking systems, ad-
ministration and literacy.
Agencement not only enables us to explore the tangible material entan-
glements (the pots, their contents, ships, trading sites etc.) but equally to
consider ‘the active process of materialization of which embodied humans
are an integral part’102 and to describe the relationships between them. Al-
though archaeologically elusive, people were an integral part of the ebb and
flow of vibrant matter; they were involved in material engagements with
these imported objects at different stages on their itinerary and undoubtedly
disseminated intangible knowledges of various foreign social practices as
well as value systems and administrative activities. All the actors, materials,
substances and the immaterial practices involved in these various processes
make up the matter flows of overlapping agencement. These relationships
and connections continued to evolve, shift and transform as the objects en-
tered the archaeological record, either through intentional placement or ac-
cidental discard, eventually to be excavated; and the archaeologist in doing
so likewise becomes part of the agencement.103 Exploring the imported ves-
sels through the lens of agencement therefore recognizes multiple levels of
relationality binding a small farming community in the Cypriot hinterland
with producers, merchants and consumers not only in the Cypriot coastal
towns, but equally from the Egyptian Nile, the Levant, Mycenaean Greece
and Minoan Crete.
Notes
1 See for example Vandkilde (2016).
2 Day et al. (2011); Ben-Shlomo et al. (2011); Kardamaki et al. (2016); Steel (2013):
122–135.
3 The Cypriot Base Ring ware found in Niqme-pa’s palace at Alalakh Level IV
provides an excellent example of pottery traded as a desirable exchange object
in its own right; see Bergoffen (2005).
4 Sherratt and Sherratt (1990); Feldman (2006).
5 Bernbeck (2015).
6 Harris (2014); Delanda (2016); Govier and Steel (2021).
7 Deleuze and Guattari (1980).
8 Steel (2016a).
9 Kristiansen and Suchowska-Ducke (2015).
10 Hodos (2017).
11 Appadurai defines commodities as things of value, with a specific type of social
potential and intended by their producers primarily for exchange, (1986): 1, 5,
16. See Wengrow (2008) on the concept of commodity branding in the Uruk
period in Mesopotamia.
12 Bernbeck (2015): 4; Vandkilde (2016): 103, 106; see also Sherratt and Sherratt
(1990).
13 Beaujard (2011); Vandkilde (2016) characterises the ‘globalization’ of Bronze
Age Eurasia and Africa as bronzization, emphasizing the significance of the
trade in copper and tin.
14 Bernbeck (2015): 4.
15 Vandkilde (2016).
16 Vandkilde (2016): 105–106, fig. 1.
17 Vandkilde (2016): 106.
18 Sherratt (1993); Stein (1999); Ratnagar (2001); Beaujard (2011).
19 Kohl (2011): 81.
20 Kohl (2011): 82.
21 Vandkilde (2016): 103.
22 Stockhammer (2012): 49.
23 Bhabha (1994).
24 Steel (2018b).
25 Hitchcock (2011); Stockhammer (2012): Vandkilde (2016): 106–108.
26 Maran (2011).
27 Kopytoff (1986): 67.
28 Bernbeck (2015): 4–5.
29 Bernbeck (2015): 6–7.
96 Louise Steel
30 Latour (2005).
31 Coole and Frost (2010).
33 Bernbeck (2015): 5.
34 Joyce and Gillespie (2015): 9.
36 Bennett (2010); Harris (2014); DeLanda (2016); Hamilakis and Jones (2017).
37 Van Dyke (2018): 351; see also DeLanda (2016): 1.
38 See discussion in Govier and Steel (in press).
39 Bennett (2010): 23.
40 DeLanda (2016): 2, my emphasis.
41 DeLanda (2016): 83.
42 Ingold (2016): 4.
43 Harris (2014): 332.
44 Kohl (2011): 82
45 Van Dyke (2018): 351.
46 For a detailed discussion of excavations at Arediou see Steel (2009, 2016a).
47 Steel and McCartney (2008).
48 Bernbeck (2015): 4, 6–7.
49 Catling (1962); Keswani (1993); Webb and Frankel (1994).
50 There is still considerable debate as to the origin of the Red Lustrous ware, but
petrographic analysis might suggest a Cypriot origin; see discussion in Steel
(2018a): 198–199. These vessels are widely distributed around the East Mediter-
ranean from central Anatolia, along the coast of the Levant and in Egypt.
51 These flasks, which were particularly common in the sanctuary at Athienou
and at Enkomi, appear to have been a Cypriot product, which Gittlen suggests
was aimed at a Levantine market (1981): 51.
52 Steel (2021).
53 Steel (2016a): 519.
54 Appadurai (1986): 5.
55 See discussion in Bushnell (2012).
56 Shelmerdine (1985).
57 Leonard (1981): 96.
58 Steel (2013): 128, 131–134; See Wengrow (2008) on commodity branding.
59 Hirschfeld (2004): 100.
60 Steel (2004).
61 Hankey (1967): 146.
62 Keswani (1993): 78–79; Van Wijngarden (2002): 168.
63 Van Wijngarden (2002): 379–387, Catalogues VI and VII.
64 Steel (2016b): 86.
65 Karageorghis and Georgiou (2010): 302–303, fig. 2.1–2.
66 Ben-Shlomo et al. (2011): 335; See Graziadio (2011) for discussion of Minoan
perfume containers from Enkomi, and Bushnell (2012) for discussion of per-
fumed oils in Cyprus.
67 Ben Shlomo et al. (2011): 329, 335.
68 See Steel (2021): 113–114.
69 Ben-Shlomo et al (2011): 332 notes the use of coarse pastes (similar to the Are-
dhiou example) to make the handles of Minoan transport stirrup jars. Kar-
damaki et al. (2016): 149 comment on the lack of macroscopic fabric criteria
for provenancing Minoan transport stirrup jars, identifying three potential
sources of manufacture in Crete: the Phaisto-Kommos region, Chania and the
Gulf of Mirabello.
70 Steel and McCartney (2008): 20–21, fig. 14.
71 Pratt (2016): 45–46.
72 Kardamaki et al. (2016).
73 Caubet and Yon (1985): 179, figs. 80, 83; No. 133: Demas and Karageorghis
(1988): pls. C, CCVII.
74 Schaeffer (1949): 228, no. 4.
75 Nicolle Hirschfeld, pers. comm.; Olivier and Godart (1978): 34 suggest that an
inscription comprises a group of at least two signs.
76 Hirschfeld (1993).
77 Ferrera and Bell (2016).
78 AV06-01-08: Steel (in press): 108, fig. 9.3.
79 Fischer and Sadeq (2002): 114, 120, figs. 7.1–3 and 12.1–2.
80 Steel (2016b): 83–84, 86, fig. 4.
81 For resident merchants in Ugarit and Cyprus see Steel (2013): 29–32.
82 See discussion in Steel (2021).
83 Georgiou (2014): 175.
84 Killebrew (2007); Georgiou (2014): 175.
85 Pulak (1988): 10–11.
86 See, however, Day et al. (2011) for the discussion of Canaanite jars and Egyptian
amphorae at Kommos, southern Crete.
87 Sauvage (2006): figs. 3–4.
88 Nicolle Hirschfeld, personal communication.
89 Steel and McCartney (2008): 21; for discussion of these amphorae, see Eriksson
(1995): figs. 2–4, and Day et al. (2011): 518–519.
90 Bourriau (2004): 78.
91 Eriksson (1995): 200–203, figs. 2–4.
92 Bailey (1976): 15–16, 30, pl. 15d.
93 Cyprus Museum inv. no. 1952/1–11/6; Eriksson (1995): 200.
94 Åström (1989); more recently Fischer and Bürge (2017): 174, 195.
95 See Joyce (2015); Joyce and Gillespie (2015).
96 Joyce (2015): 29.
97 For example, Keswani (1993).
98 Bernbeck (2015).
99 Van Dyke (2018): 350.
100 Joyce and Gillespie (2015).
101 Joyce (2015): 29.
102 Coole and Frost (2010): 7.
103 Harris (2014): 334.
Bibliography
Appadurai, Arjun. 1986: ‘Introduction: Commodities and the Politics of Value’, in
Arjun Appadurai 1986: 3–63.
Appadurai, Arjun (ed.), 1986: The Social Life of Things: Commodities in Cultural
Perspective. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Åström, Paul. 1989: ‘Trade in the Late Cypriot Bronze Age’, in Edgar Peltenburg
(ed.), Early Society in Cyprus, 202–208. Edinburgh: University of Edinburgh
Press.
Bailey, Donald. 1976: ‘The British Museum Excavations at Hala Sultan Tekke in
1897 and 1898: The Material in the British Museum’, in Paul Åström, Donald M.
Bailey and Vassos Karageorghis (eds.), Hala Sultan Tekke 1: Excavations 1897–
1971. Studies in Mediterranean Archaeology 45(1), 1–32. Göteborg: Åströms.
98 Louise Steel
Balensi, Jacqueline, Jean-Yves Monchambert and Sylvie Müller-Celka (eds.), 2004:
La Céramique Mycénienne de l’Égée au Levant. Hommage à la Mémoire de Vronwy
Hankey, Travaux de la Maison de l’Orient, 41. Lyon: Maison de l’Orient et de la
Méditerranée-Jean Pouilloux.
Beaujard, Philippe. 2011: ‘Evolutions and Temporal Delimitations of Bronze Age
World-Systems in Western Asia and the Mediterranean’, in Wilkinson, Sherratt
and Bennet 2011: 7–26.
Bennett, Jane. 2010: Vibrant Matter: A Political Ecology of Things. Durham, NC and
London: Duke University Press.
Ben-Shlomo, David, Eleni Nodarou and Jeremy Rutter, 2011: ‘Transport stirrup
jars from the southern Levant: new light on commodity exchange in the eastern
Mediterranean’ American Journal of Archaeology 115: 29–353.
Bergoffen, Celia J. 2005: The Cypriot Bronze Age Pottery from Sir Leonard Wool-
ley’s Excavations at Alalakh (Tell Atchana). Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen
Akademie der Wissenschaften.
Bernbeck, Reinhard. 2015: ‘Networks, Globalization and Power: Reflections on
Past Spatialities’, in Peter Pfälzner and Michel al-Maqdissi (eds.), Qatna and the
Networks of Bronze Age Globalism: Proceedings of an International Conference
in Stuttgart and Tübingen in October 2009. Qatna Studies Supplements 5, 3–10.
Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag.
Bhabha, Homi. 1994: The Location of Culture. London: Routledge.
Bourriau, Janine. 2004: ‘The Beginnings of Amphora Production in Egypt’, in Ja-
nine Bourriau and Jacke Phillips (eds.), Invention and Innovation: The Social Con-
text of Technological Change 2: Egypt, the Aegean, and the Near East, 1650–1150
B.C., 78–9. Oxford: Oxbow Books.
Bushnell, Lesley. 2012: ‘Fragrant copying? Mycenaean Perfumed Oil and the Role
of Cyprus’, in Artemis Georgiou (ed.), Cyprus: An Island Culture: Society and
Social Relations from the Bronze Age to the Venetian Period, 197–209. Oxford:
Oxbow Books.
Catling, Hector W. 1962: ‘Patterns of settlement in Bronze Age Cyprus’, Opuscula
Atheniensia 4: 129–69.
Caubet, Annie and Marguerite Yon. 1985: Kition-Bamboula I. Le sondage L-N 13
(Bronze recent et Géométrique I). Paris: Éditions Recherche sur les Civilisations.
Coole, Diana and Samantha Frost. 2010: ‘Introduction’, in Diana Coole and Saman-
tha Frost (eds.), New Materialisms: Ontology, Agency, and Politics, 1–43. Durham,
NC and London: Duke University Press.
Day, Peter, Patrick Quinn, Jeremy Rutter and Vassilis Kilikoglou. 2011: ‘A world of
goods: transport jars and commodity exchange at the Late Bronze Age Harbor of
Kommos, Crete’, Hesperia 80(4): 511–58.
DeLanda, Manuel. 2016: Assemblage Theory. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University
Press.
Deleuze, Gilles and Félix Guattari. 1980: Milles Plateaux: Capitalisme et Schizo-
phrénie. Paris: Editions de Minuit.
Demas, Martha and Vassos Karageorghis. 1988: Excavations at Maa-Palaeokastro
1979–1986. Nicosia. Department of Antiquities.
Eriksson, Kathryn. 1995: ‘Egyptian Amphorae from Late Cypriot Contexts in Cy-
prus’, in Stephen Bourke and Jean-Paul Descœudres (eds.), Trade, Contact, and
the Movement of Peoples in the Eastern Mediterranean: Studies in Honour of J.
Basil Hennessy. Mediterranean Archaeology Supplement 3, 199–205. Sydney:
Meditarch.
Feldman, Marian. 2006: Diplomacy by Design: Luxury Arts and an ‘International Style’
in the Ancient Near East, 1400–1200 BCE. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Ferrera, Silvia and Carol Bell. 2016: ‘Tracing copper in the Cypro-Minoan script’,
Antiquity 90: 1009–1021.
Fischer, Peter and Moain Sadeq. 2002: ‘Tell el-cAjjul. Second season preliminary
report’, Ägypten und Levante 12: 109–153.
Fischer, Peter and Teresa Bürge. 2017: ‘Tombs and offering pits at the Late Bronze
Age metropolis of Hala Sultan Tekke, Cyprus’, Bulletin of the American Schools
of Oriental Research 377: 161–218.
Georgiou, Artemis. 2014: ‘Appendix III: The Canaanite Jars’, in Vassos Kara-
georghis and Athanasia Kanta (eds.), Pyla-Kokkinokremos: A Late 13th Century
BC Fortified Settlement in Cyprus: Excavations 2010–2011. Studies in Mediterra-
nean Archaeology Vol 141, 175–87. Uppsala: Åströms Förlag.
Gittlen, Barry. 1981: ‘The cultural and chronological implications of the Cypro-
Palestinian trade during the Late Bronze Age’, Bulletin of the American Schools of
Oriental Research 241: 49–59.
Govier, Eloise and Louise Steel (2021): ‘Beyond the “thingification” of worlds:
archaeology and the new materialisms’, Journal of Material Culture, DOI:
10.1177/13591835211025559.
Graziadio, Giampaolo. 2011: ‘Cretan Perfumed Oils at Enkomi (Cyprus) in the 13th
Century B.C.?’, in Walter Gauß, Michael Lindblom, Angus Smith, and James
Wright (eds.), Our Cups Are Full: Pottery and Society in the Aegean Bronze Age
Papers presented to Jeremy B. Rutter on the occasion of his 65th birthday. BAR
International Series 2227, 89–96. Oxford: Archaeopress.
Hamilakis, Yiannis and Andrew Jones. 2017: ‘Archaeology and assemblage’, Cam-
bridge Archaeological Journal 27(1): 77–84.
Hankey, Vronwy. 1967: ‘Mycenaean pottery in the Middle East: notes since 1951’,
Annual of the British School at Athens 62: 107–47.
Harris, Oliver. 2014: ‘Revealing our Vibrant Past: Science, Materiality and the Ne-
olithic’, in Alasdair Whittle and Penny Bickle (eds,), Early Farmers: The View
from Archaeology and Science, 327–45. Oxford: Oxford University Press/British
Academy.
Hirschfeld, Nicolle. 1993: ‘Incised Marks (post-firing) on Aegean Wares’, in Carol
Zerner (ed.), Wace and Blegen: Pottery as Evidence for Trade in the Late Bronze
Age Aegean, 311–18. Amsterdam: J.C. Gieben.
Hirschfeld, Nicolle. 2004: ‘Eastwards via Cyprus? The Marked Mycenaean pottery
of Enkomi, Ugarit and Tell Abu Hawam’, in Balensi et al. 2004: 97–104.
Hitchcock, Louise. 2011: ‘Transculturalism as a model for examining migration to
Cyprus and Philistia at the end of the Bronze Age’, Ancient West and East 10(1):
267–80.
Hodos, Tamar (ed.), 2017: The Routledge Handbook of Archaeology and Globaliza-
tion. London: Routledge.
Ingold, Tim. 2010: ‘Bringing things to life: creative entanglements in a world of
materials’, ESRC National Centre for Research Methods, Realities Working
Paper 15: 1–14. Available at: http://eprints.ncrm.ac.uk/1306/1/0510_creative_
entanglements.pdf
Joyce, Rosemary A. 2015: ‘Things in Motion: Itineraries of Ulua Marble Vases’, in
Joyce and Gillespie 2015: 21–38.
Joyce, Rosemary A. and Susan D. Gillespie. 2015: ‘Making Things Out of Objects
that Move’, in Joyce and Gillespie 2015: 3–19.
100 Louise Steel
Joyce, Rosemary A. and Susan D. Gillespie (eds.), 2015: Things in Motion: Object
Itineraries in Anthropological Perspective. Santa Fe: SAR Press.
Karageorghis, Vassos and Artemis Georgiou. 2010: ‘A corpus of Late Minoan III
pottery from Pyla-Kokkinokremos’, Report of the Department of Antiquities, Cy-
prus: 302–24.
Kardamaki, Elina, Peter Day, Marta Tenconi, Joseph Maran and Alkestis Pa-
padimitriou. 2016: ‘Transport Stirrup Jars in Late Mycenaean Tiryns: Maritime
Transport Containers and Commodity Movement in Political Context’ in Stella
Demesticha and Bernard Knapp (eds.), Maritime Transport Containers in the
Bronze-Iron Age Aegean and Eastern Mediterranean, 145–67. Studies in Mediter-
ranean Archaeology Pocketbook 183. Uppsala: Åströms Förlag.
Keswani, Priscilla S. 1993: ‘Models of local exchange in Late Bronze Age Cyprus’,
Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 292: 73–83.
Killebrew, Ann. 2007: ‘The Canaanite Storage Jar Revisited’, in Sidrie White Craw-
ford, Amnon Ben Tor, J.P. Dessel, William Dever, Amihai Mazar and Joseph Avi-
ram (eds.), “Up to the Gates of Ekron”. Essays on the Archaeology and History of
the Eastern Mediterranean in Honor of Seymour Gitin, 166–88. Jerusalem: W.F.
Albright Institute of Archaeological Research and The Israel Exploration Society.
Kohl, Philip. 2011: ‘World-Systems and Modelling Macro-Historical Processes in
Later Prehistory: An Examination of Old and a Search for New Perspectives’, in
Wilkinson, Sherratt and Bennet 2011: 77–86.
Kopytoff, Igor. 1986: ‘The Cultural Biography of Things’, in Appadurai 1986: 64–91.
Latour, Bruno. 2005: Reassembling the Social: An Introduction to Actor-Network-
Theory. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Kristiansen, Kristian and Paulina Suchowska-Ducke. 2015: ‘Connected histories:
the dynamics of Bronze Age interaction and trade 1500–1100 BC’, Proceedings of
the Prehistoric Society 81: pp. 361–92.
Leonard Jr, Al. 1981: ‘Consideration of the morphological variation of Mycenaean
pottery from the Southeastern Mediterranean’, Bulletin of the American Schools
of Oriental Research 241: 87–101.
Maran, Joseph. 2011: ‘Lost in Translation: The Emergence of Mycenaean Culture as
a Phenomenon of Glocalisation’, in Wilkinson, Sherratt and Bennet 2011: 282–94.
Olivier, Jean-Pierre and Louis Godart. 1978: Fouilles exécutées à Mallia: Le Quar-
tier Mu I: Introduction générale, écriture hiéroglyphique crétoise. Études Cretoise
XIII. Paris: Geuthner.
Pulak, Kemal. 1988: ‘The Bronze Age shipwreck at Ulu Burun, Turkey: 1985 cam-
paign’, American Journal of Archaeology 92: 1–37.
Pratt, Catherine. 2016: ‘The rise and fall of the transport stirrup jar in the Late
Bronze Age Aegean’, American Journal of Archaeology 120(1): 27–66.
Ratnagar, Shereen. 2001: ‘The Bronze Age: unique instance of a pre-industrial
world system?’, Current Anthropology 42(3): 351–79.
Sauvage, Caroline. 2006: ‘Warehouses and the economic system of the city of
Ugarit: the example of the 80 jar deposit and deposit 213 from Minet el-Beida’,
Ugarit Forschungen 38: 617–29.
Schaeffer, Claude. 1949: Ugaritica II. Nouvelles études relatives aux découvertes de
Ras Shamra. Paris: Paul Geuthner.
Shelmerdine, Cynthia. 1985: The Perfume Industry of Mycenaean Pylos. Studies in
Mediterranean Archaeology Pocketbook 34. Göteborg: Åströms Förlag.
Sherratt, Andrew. 1993: ‘What would a Bronze Age world system look like? Re-
lations between temperate Europe and the Mediterranean in later prehistory’,
Journal of European Archaeology 1(2): 1–57.
Sherratt, Andrew and Susan Sherratt. 1991: ‘From Luxuries to Commodities: The
Nature of Bronze Age Trading Systems’, in Noel Gale (ed.), Bronze Age Trade in
the Mediterranean, Studies in Mediterranean Archaeology 90, 351–86. Jonsered:
Åströms Förlag.
Steel, Louise. 2004: ‘A Reappraisal of the Distribution, Context and Function of
Mycenaean Pottery in Cyprus’, in Balensi et al. 2004: 69–85.
Steel, Louise. 2009: ‘Exploring Regional Settlement on Cyprus in the Late Bronze
Age: The Rural Hinterland’, in Irmgard Hein (ed.), The Formation of Cyprus in
the 2nd Millennium BC: Studies in Regionalism During the Middle and Late Bronze
Ages, 135–45. Vienna: Austrian Academy of Sciences Press.
Steel, Louise. 2013: Materiality and Consumption in the Bronze Age Mediterranean.
Abingdon, New York: Routledge.
Steel, Louise. 2016a: ‘Exploring Aredhiou: new light on the rural communities of
the Cypriot hinterland during the Late Bronze Age’, American Journal of Archae-
ology 120(4): 511–36.
Steel, Louise. 2016b: ‘Kitchenalia in Bronze Age Cyprus’, Gastronomica: The Jour-
nal of Food and Culture 16(3): 79–90.
Steel, Louise. 2018a: ‘Another Look at Red Lustrous Arm-Vessels’, in Lindy Crewe,
Linda Hulin and Jennifer Webb (eds.), Structures of Inequality. Studies in Hon-
our of Alison K. South. Studies in Mediterranean Archaeology Pocketbook 187,
197–210. Jonsered: P. Åströms Förlag.
Steel, Louise. 2018b: ‘Shifting relations in Bronze Age Gaza: An investigation into
Egyptianizing practices and cultural hybridity in the southern Levant during the
Late Bronze Age’, Journal of Ancient Egyptian Connections 20: 15–30.
Steel, Louise. (2021): ‘Hospitality or Heterotopia: What Happened in Room 103 at
Arediou?’, in Zuzana Chovanec and Walter Crist (eds.), All Things Cypriot: Stud-
ies on Ancient Environment, Technology, and Society in Honor of Stuart Swiny,
105–18. Boston: ASOR publications.
Steel, Louise and Carole McCartney. 2008: ‘Survey at Arediou Vouppes (Litho-
souros), a Late Bronze Age agricultural settlement on Cyprus: a preliminary
analysis of the material culture assemblages’, Bulletin of the American Schools of
Oriental Research 351: 9–37.
Stein, Gil. 1999: Rethinking World Systems: Diasporas, Colonies, and Interaction in
Uruk
Stockhammer, Philipp W. 2012. ‘Conceptualizing Cultural Hybridization in Ar-
chaeology’, in Philipp W. Stockhammer (ed.), Conceptualizing Cultural Hybridiza-
tion in Archaeology: A Transdisciplinary Approach, 43–58. Berlin and Heidelberg:
Springer.
Van Dyke, Ruth. 2018: ‘From enchantment to agencement. Archaeological engage-
ments with pilgrimage’, Journal of Social Archaeology 18(3): 348–59.
Van Wijngarden, Gert J. 2002: Use and Appreciation of Mycenaean Pottery in the
Levant, Cyprus and Italy (1600–1200 BC). Amsterdam: University of Amsterdam
Press.
102 Louise Steel
Webb, Jennifer M. and David Frankel. 1994: ‘Making an impression: storage and
surplus finance in Late Bronze Age Cyprus’, Journal of Mediterranean Archaeol-
ogy 7: 5–26.
Wengrow, David. 2008: Prehistories of commodity branding’, Current Anthropology
49(1): 7–34.
Wilkinson, Toby, Susan Sherratt and John Bennet (eds.), 2011: Interweaving Worlds.
Systemic Interactions in Eurasia, 7th to 1st Millennia BC. Oxford: Oakville.
5 Dragon divers and clamorous
fishermen
Bronzization and transcultural
marine spaces in the Japanese
archipelago
Mark Hudson
In Japan, the term ‘Bronze Age’ is usually applied to the Yayoi period,
which dates from the tenth century BCE to the third century CE. This was
the time when full-scale cereal farming reached the Japanese archipelago
from the Korean peninsula (Figure 5.1). Although rice has received the
most attention, broomcorn and foxtail millet, barley and wheat were also
introduced. Bronze objects became common from the fourth century BCE.
Figure 5.1 Map of Japan and surrounding regions with sites discussed in the text
DOI: 10.4324/9781003096269-8
104 Mark Hudson
Yayoi bronzes include swords, spears and halberds, weapons which were
common to Bronze Age societies across much of Eurasia. At the same time,
Yayoi bronzeworking developed ritualized characteristics which, in some
respects, mirror those of Bronze Age China.1 Even before the actual use of
bronze, however, the social changes associated with the end of the preced-
ing Neolithic Jōmon period (c. 14,500–1000 BCE) clearly place Japan on a
broader Eurasian historical stage. In fact, one can even argue that those
changes had already begun in the third millennium BCE.2 In this sense,
bronzization can be considered as a process which straddles the traditional
division between Jōmon and Yayoi.
While the Yayoi has clear links with Bronze Age Eurasia, Japanese re-
search has often focused much more narrowly on the role of rice farming in
the formation of national identity.3 In some cases, this has involved nation-
alistic rejections of the globalized links of Bronze Age Japan.4 Kōji Mizo-
guchi has discussed common approaches to the Jōmon and Yayoi in terms
of a set of dichotomies shown in Table 5.1. Links between Yayoi culture and
the continent are acknowledged by all archaeologists, but those links are
examined in terms of their contribution to Japanese culture rather than as a
broader process of interaction.
In this chapter, I shall attempt a rather different approach, arguing that
seeing Jōmon and Yayoi as separate and contrasting identities prevents us
from recognizing certain broader-scale processes, in particular how inter-
action with the Eurasian continent gave rise to new ‘transcultures’ which
were neither Jōmon or Yayoi as normally understood, but something rather
different again. I explore this argument by looking at fishing groups who,
I suggest, provide a good example of this type of middle ground culture.
The Japanese Islands are well known for widespread and intensive ex-
ploitation of marine and freshwater resources in the Neolithic Jōmon
period.5 An early stage of the globalization of Jōmon fisheries can be
connected to open sea fishing and technological exchanges in fishing gear
between the southern Korean peninsula and northwest Kyushu.6 Despite
the complex marine adaptations of Jōmon Japan, however, the following
Table 5.1 Some dichotomies between the Jōmon and Yayoi cultures
Jōmon Yayoi
Nature Culture
Static dynamic
Female male
clay figurines bronze ritual items
domestic/shamanistic political
idyllic evil
nostalgia despair
remedy to modernity ills of modernity
Source: Based on Mizoguchi (2012).

Bronzization and transcultural marine spaces 105
Yayoi period saw a significant reduction in fishing activities. It is difficult
to evaluate the role of fishing in Bronze Age Japan because past research
has emphasized rice agriculture at the expense of other economic lifeways.7
Nevertheless, certain changes are clear. Numbers of shell middens decrease
dramatically (Figure 5.2). An increase in shellfish size suggests reduced
No. shell middens

350
300 290
266
250
200
150
121
100 73 72
57 46 63
50
17
0
Inial Early Middle Late Final Yayoi Kofun Nara Heian
Jomon Jomon Jomon Jomon Jomon
Middens divided by length of period

0.5
0.45
0.4
0.35
0.3
0.25
0.2
0.15
0.1
0.05
0
Inial Early Middle Late Final Yayoi Kofun Nara Heian
Jomon Jomon Jomon Jomon Jomon
Figure 5.2 Changes in numbers of shell middens in Chiba prefecture from c. 9500
BCE to 1185 CE.
Note: The top graph shows absolute numbers by period after Toizumi (2009). In the bottom
graph, the shell midden numbers have been divided by the approximate length of each period
based on the chronology of Uchiyama (2018). Both graphs show a major drop in midden sites
in the Final Jōmon and Yayoi periods.
106 Mark Hudson
human predation.8 Farming villages of the Yayoi period were oriented
away from the sea, and focused more on inland, freshwater fishing, often
using traps. Octopus pots were also used, especially in the Osaka Bay area.
Carp aquaculture was a new custom, presumably introduced together with
wet rice farming.9
Despite these trends, it would be quite wrong to characterize the whole
of the Yayoi period by a trend away from the sea and marine resources. At
the same time as farming villages placed less emphasis on fishing, there is
also evidence for coastal settlements which specialized in marine resources.
New maritime adaptations had already developed in Japan from the third
millennium BCE, before farming had been introduced from Korea, with a
new emphasis on large, offshore resources such as tuna, marlin and sharks.
In Hokkaido, Epi-Jōmon groups focused on sea bottom fish, especially Pleu-
ronectinae and Japanese or bastard halibut (Paralichthys olivaceus), as well as
swordfish.10 These were difficult and even dangerous species to fish and it can
be assumed that opportunities for status and trade were a major stimulus.11
From Hokkaido down to Kyushu, abalone also became a common trade item,
a pattern which continued into historic times. The long-distance connections
between maritime-oriented populations along the coast of the Sea of Japan
is shown by various categories of archaeological evidence discussed below.
Ancient Japanese fisheries and East Asia: the ethnological

tradition
For many years, links between the Bronze Age fishing cultures of Japan and
continental East Asia were discussed by ethnologists more than by archae-
ologists. Adopting the methods of the Austrian culture-historical school,
Masao Oka (1898–1982) argued that one of the Kulturkreise that made up
ancient Japan derived from a wet rice growing and fishing people from
southern China.12 This suggestion was taken up in more detail by Kōmei
Sasaki (1929–2013) who proposed that an ancient fishing culture character-
ized by diving for abalone, by cormorant fishing, and by the use of body tat-
toos as protection while diving was widely distributed from Southeast Asia
to southern Korea and western Japan.13 Diving and tattoos are mentioned
in the Wei zhi, a third-century CE Chinese history with an account of the
Wa people of Japan. That text notes that:
The people are fond of catching fish and collecting abalone; regardless
of shallow or deep water all go down to catch them. … the Wa water
people, who are fond of diving to catch fish and for clams, also decorate
their bodies in patterns to prevent being annoyed by large fish and water
fowl.14
Based on comparisons with southern China and Vietnam, it has

been suggested that dragon tattoos were probably one of the designs
commonly used in Bronze Age Japan.15 Sasaki and other ethnologists
have linked this diving/fishing culture with wet rice cultivation. Food-
ways connected to fish fermentation have also been used to link Japan
with south China and Southeast Asia through the claim that there
is a ‘strong correlation’ between fermented fish paste (J. shiokara) and
wet rice farming.16
In concluding that the Wa people ‘had their origins in the culture of the
padi-rice growing and fishing peoples along the coast of the East China
Sea’, Japanese ethnologists have assumed those people moved by boat to
the archipelago together with rice agriculture in the Bronze Age.17 Recent
archaeological research shows, however, that rice farming in China spread
north to the Bohai Bay area where it was combined with barley, millets and
wheat before moving to Korea and then Japan.18 There is little or no evi-
dence for direct maritime migrations from southern China to the Japanese
archipelago. Furthermore, many of the fishing culture features discussed by
ethnologists may have been independently developed and did not necessar-
ily diffuse to Japan from the East China Sea coast.19
Understanding the ‘sea people’ of ancient Japan

The description of fishing and diving found in the Wei zhi uses the term 水人
or ‘water people’. In later Japanese texts, the similar term 海人 ‘sea people’
became widely used to refer specifically to abalone divers but also more
broadly to specialist marine groups. These ‘sea people’, usually read ama in
modern Japanese, have generated a huge literature in history, ethnology and
related fields. The term is first applied to the Bronze Age; in the Neolithic
Jōmon, it is assumed that all members of society participated in the same
broad range of subsistence activities and that consequently there were no
‘specialist’ fishers.20 Understandings of the ama in ancient Japan range from
a type of independent sea nomad to a people who were closely related to
royal power.21 In later periods there is clear evidence that fishers sometimes
opposed state power. The Nihon shoki (720), for example, records that in the
reign of king Ōjin, ‘The fishermen [ama] of several places clamoured nois-
ily, and would not obey the Imperial command.’ While Ōjin is a legendary
ruler, it seems likely that the Nihon shoki text reflects frequent resistance by
fisherfolk. That these were not ordinary fishermen is shown by the fact that
the ama could become mercenaries, as for instance in the chapter on King
Richū in the same text when ama from Awaji island served a local warlord
against the court.22
Archaeological perspectives
In the previous section we saw that ethnologists have discussed links be-
tween fishing peoples in Japan and southern China/Southeast Asia, arguing
for the diffusion of traits such as dragon tattoos used for protection while
108 Mark Hudson
diving for fish and abalone. These fishing peoples have also been linked with
rice farming and understood as part of ‘traditional’ Japanese culture. While
adopting a quite different emphasis, many archaeologists have supported
such interpretations. In a widely cited essay, Seigo Wada claimed that ‘The
fishing tools and methods of the Yayoi period began by adding the fishing
culture transmitted with wet rice farming to the existing traditions of the
Jōmon.’23 Another classic essay by Makoto Watanabe spoke of the ‘reor-
ganisation’ of the Jōmon tradition with the advent of the Yayoi.24 In this re-
spect, Japanese archaeologists have followed a two layer or ‘dual structure’
model to understand Yayoi fishing.25 In this chapter, however, I should like
to emphasize two different interpretations.
First, rather than a ‘dual structure’ of Jōmon tradition overlain by Yayoi
innovations, it is clear that completely new fishery technologies and cultures
also developed during the Bronze Age. While Japanese scholars typically
insist on the Yayoi as the main period of socio-economic change, there is
in fact considerable evidence that new, specialized fishing and maritime ad-
aptations were evolving by the third millennium BCE. Second, in contrast
to Japanese archaeologists who stress the dependence of Yayoi fishers on
farming groups, I argue that such dependence needs to be proven rather
than assumed.
Change and diversity in Bronze Age fisheries

From the third millennium BCE there was an increase in marine activity
and voyaging across the Japanese archipelago. Offshore islands were visited
more frequently and contacts between Kyushu and southern Korea became
more intense.26 Skeletons from the Late and Final Jōmon phases frequently
display evidence for auditory exostoses which are linked to diving in cold
water.27 Unusually for a society which lacked cereal agriculture, salt was
widely produced along the Pacific coast of eastern Japan during the Late
and Final Jōmon.28 In the Yayoi period, the Jōmon salt-making tradition
continued only in the Sendai Bay area until the Middle Yayoi and, from
the Late phase, a new tradition emerged in the Inland Sea. Kawashima has
discussed the problems with interpreting Bronze Age salt production in Ja-
pan as either originating from the Jōmon or from the Korean peninsula.29
While details remain unclear, it seems appropriate to approach salt making
in terms of a Bronze Age transculture.
Kyushu was the centre of the new maritime cultures of the Bronze Age.
As during the Neolithic, links with Korea across the Tsushima Straits made
northern Kyushu a natural focus for a vibrant mix of cultures, a role which
the island maintained into historic times.30 The Wei zhi noted the role of
markets and maritime trade centred on Iki and Tsushima islands. Sites on
Iki such as Karakami and Haru-no-Tsuji have produced a rich, ‘interna-
tional’ material culture including Chinese coins and Lelang pottery from
the Han dynasty commandery in northern Korea.31 In Kyushu, though
later than our period, the eighth century Hizen no Kuni Fudoki describes
maritime peoples in the Gotō islands of Nagasaki raising horses and cat-
tle, activities which were certainly not found in Neolithic Jōmon societies.32
Another text, the Engishiki (927) lists tribute of ‘Tanra abalone’ from Kum-
amoto and Ōita in Kyushu and the same product is mentioned on a wooden
tablet excavated from the Heijō palace site in Nara. Tanra (Korean T’amna)
is Cheju Island located south of the Korean peninsula. The Japanese texts
imply that abalone was traded between Cheju and Kyushu by at least the
eighth century.33 Maritime connections between Kyushu and Korea date
back to the Neolithic yet new links in the Bronze Age suggest that these
economic patterns may have a greater antiquity than the details recorded
in the early texts.
Another important area for Yayoi fishing was Tokyo Bay where a num-
ber of sea caves have produced evidence for specialized fishing activities.
Earlier research saw these sites as a simple continuation of the Jōmon
tradition.34 Recent work, however, has stressed the new, specialized na-
ture of these sites.35 Further north, Hokkaido is usually seen as separate
world from ‘mainland’ Yayoi Japan but from the perspective of fishing
and the maritime economy the links are clear. Several so-called ‘Epi-
Jōmon’ sites show evidence of very long distance connections with the
south. At Usu 10, shell ornaments include tropical shells traded with
Okinawa.36 The Hamanaka 2 site on Rebun island has produced an
abalone prybar made on whalebone, a small harpoon and evidence for
the consumption of domestic dogs – three items which tie Hamanaka
to Yayoi-period sites on Iki island. The large quantity of abalone shells
from Hamanaka provides a contrast with the preceding Jōmon period
when no sites are known consisting only of large abalone deposits.37
Nishimoto has argued that the Hamanaka 2 site can be interpreted as
a summer fishing camp by groups from Kyushu who specialized in ab-
alone.38 Thus, Hokkaido was certainly not isolated from Yayoi cultures
to the south and Epi-Jōmon groups were also involved in trade in amber.
The Epi-Jōmon may have further developed independent links with the
mainland; two bronze bells found near Sapporo, for example, may have
originated in Mongolia.39
Sea mammals such as sea lions, fur seals and dolphins had been hunted
in northern Japan with toggling harpoons from the first half of the third
millennium BCE.40 The period from around 600 BCE saw a focus on the
halibut Paralichthys olivaceus and this species accounts for two-thirds of
the fish remains around the Tsugaru straits.41 Takase has suggested that
seeking this large and difficult-to-catch fish may have been related to status
competition but notes that, from the second century BCE, there was a shift
away from bastard halibut to salmon and Clupeidae, a process reflecting
increased trade with Honshu.42
110 Mark Hudson
Were Bronze Age fishers dependent on farmers?
Japanese archaeology has worked within a strict framework of Jōmon
(hunter-gatherer) versus Yayoi (farmer) and has found it difficult to talk
about the changes in fishing and other cultures from the third millennium
BCE. Since traditional Japanese culture is assumed to have been based
on rice farming, Yayoi-period settlements without clear evidence for rice
are typically demoted to either ‘mountain’ or ‘coastal’ villages, concepts
derived from modern folklore and which may not be appropriate for the
Bronze Age. From at least the 1980s, Yayoi fishing has been described as
‘farming (village) type fishing’.43 Takesue attempted to classify Yayoi vil-
lages as fishing or farming oriented based on numbers of excavated polished
stone reaping knives, tools which are assumed to have been used for har-
vesting rice.44 Kōmoto uses the vague term ‘non-Jōmon’ elements to refer
to cultures which do not fall into the classic division between Jōmon and
Yayoi; while his work represents an important step in the direction of con-
sidering subsistence and cultural diversity, he does not attempt to analyse
the changes he outlines in broader terms.45
The idea that fishers were dependent on farmers has a long history
in Japanese archaeology. During the early modern Tokugawa period
(1600–1868), people without land or who did not produce taxable crops were
called by derogatory terms such as mizunomi (‘water drinkers’) or atama-
furi (‘head shakers’).46 The research of historian Yoshihiko Amino has
shown that these people were not necessarily poor farmers; Amino notes
that in some cases ‘they did not need to own land, since they were extremely
wealthy people who specialized in shipping and commerce.’47 We cannot
assume that exactly the same social relations structured maritime commu-
nities in Bronze Age Japan, yet the historiographic parallels are revealing.
The social status of Yayoi fishing groups has been discussed by several
archaeologists. Instead of a regional division of labour of the type pro-
posed by Ling and colleagues as a ‘maritime mode of production’, Japanese
scholars have argued that fishers were economically and socially dependent
on farmers.48 Tsude proposed two classifications. In the first type, fishing
and salt-making villages were independent but exchanged their goods with
farmers. In the second type, fishers and salt-producers were incorporated
into the same agricultural villages.49 Wada argued that Yayoi fishers were
not free to produce and trade but were under the control of a growing chiefly
class.50 While this is, of course, a reasonable hypothesis, Wada provides no
direct supporting evidence. Shitara suggests that Yayoi fishers were depend-
ent on farmers for bronze and iron:
The control of the means of transportation by inland farming groups

can be considered to have resulted in the redistribution to fishing groups
of the iron – and the iron fishing implements produced from that iron –
which the farmers had obtained through trade with the continent.51
Bronze fishhooks are also known in the Yayoi, so presumably the same sce-
nario could be applied to bronze. In support of this conclusion, Shitara cites
Wada but the latter does not make such a specific proposal regarding metal
procurement.
In my view, there is no reason to assume that Yayoi fishing groups were
economically dependent on farmers. By definition, fishers had boats and
made frequent visits to Korea and Hokkaido. The Nukdo site, located on
the coast of southeast Korea and dated from the fourth century BCE to
the first century CE, has produced Yayoi pottery in addition to Chinese
coins.52 As noted above, historical texts imply that abalone was traded be-
tween Cheju island and Kyushu by at least the eighth century CE.53 Given
this background, it seems likely that fishing groups were actively involved
in trading relationships involving bronze and iron and were not necessarily
dependent on rice farmers for such trade.
Ships, art and Bronze Age transculture

In the final section of this chapter, I want to offer some comments about ships
and art and their role in Bronze Age transculture. The term ‘transculture’
in Bronze Age contexts is used to mean a type of Eurasian meta- culture.54
A provisional analysis of artistic representations of ships in the Yayoi sug-
gests fascinating parallels with other parts of the Bronze Age world. Here I
propose the hypothesis – to be investigated in future research – that these
parallels reflect participation in a Eurasian Bronze Age meta-culture, the
exact nature of which needs further study.
Ships are depicted on at least six ceramic vessels from Yayoi Japan.55 One
of these, from the Inayoshi site (Tottori), has a ship with four rowers wearing
elaborate headdresses like bird-feathers and with a sun circle positioned above
(Figure 5.3a). Fugoppe cave in Hokkaido has a similar ship and sun motif (Fig-
ure 5.3b). The Fugoppe rock art is associated with the Epi-Jōmon culture and
the petroglyphs there are thought to date from around 1900 years ago.56 In the
Kofun period which follows the Yayoi, similar motifs once again appear in
decorated tombs in Kyushu.57 As well as ships and the sun, birds also appear
on the stern and/or bows of boats, a combination not known from the Yayoi
even though bird motifs are themselves common in Yayoi art (Figure 5.3c).
Ships with warriors wearing feather-headdresses are known from Dong
Son bronzes in Southeast Asia, even as far as Timor.58 In the Near East
and Europe, frequent representations of ships and the sun, sometimes with
horses or birds in association, have been analysed as part of a widely-shared
mythology relating to the journey of the sun from night into day.59 There
are clear similarities with the Japanese material introduced above. Warrior
figures from Fugoppe cave even have horns and helmets as commonly found
from the Near East to Scandinavia (Figure 5.3d).60 Segawa has argued that
horses are depicted on the Fugoppe rock art, even though that animal is
thought not to have reached Japan until several centuries later (Figure 5.3e).61
112 Mark Hudson
(a) (b)
(c) (d)
Figure 5.3 Art from Bronze Age Japan. 5.3a: Inayoshi (Tottori); 5.3b: Fugoppe cave
(Hokkaido); 5.3c: Torifunezuka (Fukuoka); 5.3d and 5.3e: Fugoppe cave
Source: Redrawn by the author from Hudson (1992) and Segawa (2017).
What are we to make of these striking similarities? Are they sheer co-
incidence? Can they be explained as reflecting symbols shared deep in the
human psyche? Or do they represent actual historical connections of some
sort? Comparing Scandinavia with Southeast Asia, Ballard and colleagues
seek to explain similarities in maritime imagery in terms of similar pre-
occupations, writing that ‘It seems hardly surprising that societies whose
daily lives may have involved travel by sea should have chosen the ship as a
symbol.’62 Some Japanese scholars have been open to the possibility of con-
nections with rock art in coastal Northeast Asia. Comparing the Fugoppe
petroglyphs and rock carvings in Korea, Yamaura has suggested a link be-
tween the Bronze Age sea mammal hunting cultures of the two regions.63
Yasuda, by contrast, links sun- and bird-worship with rice farming socie-
ties in south China and Southeast Asia and argues that rice farmers from
those regions were forced to migrate to Japan due an ‘invasion’ by ‘northern
wheat/foxtail millet cultivating pastoral people’.64 However, the motifs of
ships, sun, warriors, birds and horses clearly have a much wider distribution
across Eurasia and cannot be linked one particular subsistence economy
or civilization. No doubt this issue will remain controversial for the fore-
seeable future, but my hypothesis of historical connections builds on the
concept of transculture. In other words, it is not necessary that every icono-
graphic detail follows exact parallels with elsewhere. It is already clear that
the examples from Japan introduced here date from several centuries – or in
some cases as much as a millennium – later than similar examples in west-
ern Eurasia. The proposal is that certain ideas may have been transmitted
to eastern Eurasia, but not necessarily in their exact original form. Instead,
they were perhaps translated into motifs appropriate to the Bronze Age of
the Japanese Islands.
Concluding remarks
In this chapter I have contrasted two perspectives on fisheries in Bronze
Age Japan. In the first, influenced originally by the Austrian Kulturkreise
school of ethnology and here dubbed the ‘dragon divers’ approach, links
between the fishing cultures of the East Asia mainland and Japan are
seen as separate cultural layers which accumulate over time. Although
cultural diversity is not denied, the various layers eventually coalesce to
form a unitary Japanese ethnic culture, which is centred on rice and, ul-
timately, on state power. Ethnohistoric evidence for the use of body tat-
toos of ‘dragons’ by fishing and diving groups is symbolic of this research
tradition.
The alternative approach sketched here reflects what the eighth-century
Nihon shoki called ‘clamorous fishermen’ – maritime groups who resisted
state power. By Late Antiquity, such groups came more and more under the
control of the Yamato kingdom of western Japan, but we cannot assume a
priori such a relationship for the Bronze Age. Instead, I have suggested that
the fishing or ‘sea peoples’ of the archipelago encapsulate a transcultural
identity which moved between the sea and the land, incorporating elements
of both Jōmon and Yayoi yet in the process generating something new. In-
stead of an emphasis on ‘traditional’ culture and national identity, a trans-
cultural framework better encapsulates the role of fishing peoples as part of
the process of Eurasian bronzization.
The preliminary discussion here suggests a need for a broader reconsid-
eration of the political economy of fisheries in Japan. Historians such as
Yoshihiko Amino have done much to bring our attention to the important
role of maritime peoples in Japanese history, but such research has devel-
oped as a critique of the rice-centred view of Japan’s past and there has so
far been little discussion of issues of globalization surrounding early fish-
eries in the archipelago. Recent archaeological research exploring the pre-
historic roots of food globalization is transforming our understanding of
early agricultural expansions and exchanges, but has focused primarily on
plants.65 Fisheries differ from such studies in the sense that fish were usually
not raised in home communities but were transported over long distances
in dried or salted form. The globalization of early fisheries can be analysed
in terms of four factors: long-distance or trans-regional trade and exchange;
new technologies of capture and preservation; mercantilism and commod-
itization; and new cultures of food preparation and consumption.66 In Ja-
pan, the roots of such processes can no doubt be traced back to the Bronze
114 Mark Hudson
Age. From the perspective of fishing and the sea, nothing about Bronze
Age Japan suggests closure to Eurasia. Rather, the concept of bronziza-
tion appears a much more appropriate way to approach the period. Instead
of closure or insularity or the formation of Japanese national identity, the
dominant themes for Bronze Age Japan become openness, translation and
transculture.
Acknowledgement
I thank T. Segawa for permission to reproduce the drawings in Figure 5.3.
The research leading to these results has received funding from the Euro-
pean Research Council (ERC) under the European Union’s Horizon 2020
research and innovation programme (grant agreement No. 646612).
Notes
1 For China, see Rawson (2017).
2 Hudson et al. (2021). On bronzization, see Vandkilde (2016).
3 See Amino (1996; 2012) and Ohnuki-Tierney (1993).
4 Environmental archaeologist Yoshinori Yasuda (2008), for example, has claimed
that wet rice/fishing ‘boat people’ were forced to migrate from south China to
Japan as a result of a belligerent ‘invasion’ by northern pastoralists.
5 In English, see Hongo, (1989), Matsui (1996), Habu et al. (2011) and Morisaki
et al. (2019).
6 Imamura (1996): 122–124 and Bausch (2017).
7 Sugiyama (2019).
8 Yamazaki and Oda (2009).
9 Nakajima et al. (2019).
10 Segawa (2017) and Takase (2019).
11 Takase (2019).
12 See Ōbayashi (1991).
13 Sasaki (1991, 1993).
14 Kidder (2007): 12, 14. Kidder (2007): 290 notes that ‘the Wei text makes no men-
tion of fishing with poles or nets, that is, techniques of river fishing’.
15 Sasaki (1991): 27. An artist’s impression of such a tattoo can be found in Mori
(1989): 101.
16 Ishige (2001): 38.
17 Sasaki (1991): 42.
18 Stevens and Fuller (2017).
19 Fish sauces, for example, are hardly limited to the East Asian wet rice zone.
Ishige (2001): 36 briefly mentions garum, but numerous recipes for salting and
fermenting fish are also known from elsewhere, for example from medieval
Egypt: see Lewicka (2011): 209–225.
20 However, Sugiyama (2019): 40 reminds us that there are Jōmon sites with evi-
dence for quite specialist exploitation of marine resources.
21 See Amino (2012) and Senda (1996).
22 Aston (1972): Vol. 1, 305–306.
23 Wada (1988): 160.
24 Watanabe (1988).
25 On the use of ‘dual structure’ models in Japanese anthropology and archaeol-
ogy, see Hudson et al. (2020).
26 Bausch (2017).
27 Katayama (1996): 22.
28 Kawashima (2015).
29 Kawashima (2015).
30 For the role of Kyushu in Late Antiquity, see Batten (2006).
31 Takesue (2009).
32 Aoki (1997): 265.
33 Sasaki (1993): 170.
34 Aikens and Akazawa (1992).
35 See the summary in Shitara (2009): 12.
36 This site is discussed in English in Hudson and Barnes (1991).
37 Segawa (2017): 80.
38 According to Segawa (2017): 80, this proposal by Toyohiro Nishimoto was first
made in Shin Yayoi kikō, the catalogue to a 1999 exhibition at the National Mu-
seum of Japanese History.
39 Okada (1998): 337, citing the work of Toshihiko Kikuchi.
40 Yamaura (1998).
41 Takase (2019): 419.
42 Takase (2019): 421. For the later salmon trade in Hokkaido, see Ōnishi (2014).
43 Watanabe (1988), Kōmoto (1992) and Ōno (1992).
44 Takesue (2009).
45 Kōmoto (1992).
46 Amino (2012): 13–14. The term atama-furi of course means that it was the state
and its taxmen who were ‘shaking their heads’ at the reluctance of these people
to participate in feudal economic relations.
47 Amino (2012): 14, original emphasis.
48 Ling et al. (2018).
49 Tsude (1968): 134.
50 Wada (1988): 160.
51 Shitara (2009): 14. Kōmoto (1992) also assumes that Yayoi fishers were depend-
ent on farmers through trade.
52 Choy and Richards (2009).
53 Sasaki (1993): 170.
54 Vandkilde (2014).
55 Harunari (1991).
56 Ogawa (2014).
57 See Shiraishi (1999) and Zancan (2013).
58 Oliveira et al. (2019).
59 Kristiansen and Larsson (2005); Kristiansen (2012).
60 See Kristiansen and Larsson (2005): 330–334.
61 Segawa (2017): 116–117. For the introduction of horses into Japan, see Sasaki
(2018).
62 Ballard et al. (2003): 398.
63 Yamaura (1998): 325–327.
64 Yasuda (2008): 506.
65 See, for example, Jones et al. (2011); Boivin et al. (2014); Liu and Jones (2014); Liu
et al. (2019).
66 Barrett et al. (2004); Galloway (2017).
Bibliography
Aikens, C. Melvin and Takeru Akazawa. 1992: ‘Fishing and Farming in Early
Japan: Jomon Littoral Tradition Carried into Yayoi Times at the Miura caves on
116 Mark Hudson
Tokyo Bay’, in C. Melvin Aikens and Song Nai Rhee (eds.), Pacific Northeast Asia
in Prehistory: Hunter-Fisher-Gatherers, Farmers, and Sociopolitical Elites, 75–82.
Pullman: Washington State University Press.
Amino, Yoshihiko. 1996: ‘Emperor, Rice and Commoners’, in Donald Denoon,
Mark Hudson, Gavan McCormack and Tessa Morris-Suzuki (eds.), Multicultural
Japan: Palaeolithic to Postmodern, 235–244. Melbourne: Cambridge University
Press.
Amino, Yoshihiko. 2012: Rethinking Japanese History. Ann Arbor: Center for Japa-
nese Studies, University of Michigan.
Aoki, M.Y. 1997: Records of Wind and Earth: A Translation of Fudoki with Introduc-
tion and Commentaries. Ann Arbor, MI: Association for Asian Studies.
Aston, W.G. 1972: Nihongi: Chronicles of Japan from the Earliest Times to AD 697.
Tokyo: Tuttle.
Ballard, Chris, Richard Bradley, Lise N. Myhre and Meredith Wilson. 2003: ‘The
ship as symbol in the prehistory of Scandinavia and Southeast Asia’, World Ar-
chaeology 35(3): 385–403.
Barrett, J.H., A.M. Locker and C.M. Roberts. 2004: ‘The origins of intensive ma-
rine fishing in medieval Europe: the English evidence’, Proceedings of the Royal
Society B 271: 2417–2421.
Batten, Bruce. 2006: Gateway to Japan: Hakata in War and Peace, 500–1300. Hon-
olulu: University of Hawai‘i Press.
Bausch, Ilona. 2017: ‘Prehistoric Networks across the Korea Strait (5000–1000
BCE): “Early Globalization” during the Jomon Period in Northwest Kyushu?’, in
Tamar Hodos (ed.), The Routledge Handbook of Archaeology and Globalization,
413–437. London: Routledge.
Boivin, Nicole, Alison Crowther, Mike Prendergast and Dorian Q. Fuller. 2014:
‘Indian Ocean food globalization and Africa’, African Archaeology Review 31:
547–581.
Choy, Kyungcheol and Michael P. Richards. 2009: ‘Stable isotope evidence of hu-
man diet at the Nukdo shell midden site, South Korea’, Journal of Archaeological
Science 36: 1312–1318.
Galloway, James A. 2017: ‘Fishing in Medieval England’, in Michel Balard (ed.), The
Sea in History: The Medieval World, 629–641. Woodbridge: Boydell Press.
Habu, J., A. Matsui, N. Yamamoto and T. Kanno. 2011: ‘Shell midden archaeology
in Japan: aquatic food acquisition and long-term change in the Jomon culture’,
Quaternary International 239: 19–27.
Harunari, Hideji. 1991: ‘From figure into sign’, Bulletin of the National Museum of
Japanese History 35: 3–65 (in Japanese with English summary).
Hongo, Hitomi. 1989: ‘Freshwater fishing in the Early Jomon period (Japan): an
analysis of fish remains from the Torihama shell-mound’, Journal of Archaeolog-
ical Science 16: 333–354.
Hudson, Mark. 1992: ‘Rice, bronze and chieftains: an archaeology of Yayoi ritual’,
Japanese Journal of Religious Studies 19(2–3): 139–189.
Hudson, Mark. 2019: ‘Towards a prehistory of the Great Divergence: the Bronze
Age roots of Japan’s premodern economy’, Documenta Praehistorica 46: 30–43.
Hudson, Mark and Gina Barnes. 1991: ‘Yoshinogari: a Yayoi settlement in northern
Kyushu’, Monumenta Nipponica 46(2): 211–235.
Hudson, Mark, Shigeki Nakagome and John Whitman. 2020: ‘The evolving Jap-
anese: the dual structure hypothesis at 30’, Evolutionary Human Sciences 2: e6.
Hudson, Mark, Ilona R. Bausch, Martine Robbeets, Tao Li, J. Alyssa White and
Linda Gilaizeau. 2021: ‘Bronze Age Globalisation and Eurasian Impacts on
Later Jōmon Social Change’, Journal of World Prehistory, 34, DOI: 10.1007/
s10963-021-09156-6.
Imamura, Keiji. 1996: Prehistoric Japan: New Perspectives on Insular East Asia.
London: UCL Press.
Ishige, Naomichi. 2001: The History and Culture of Japanese Food. London: Kegan Paul.
Jones, M.K., H.V. Hunt, E. Lightfoot, D. Lister, X. Liu and G. Motuzaite-Matuzevicuite.
2011: ‘Food globalization in prehistory’, World Archaeology 43: 665–675.
Katayama, Kazumichi. 1996: ‘The Japanese as an Asia-Pacific Population’, in Don-
ald Denoon, Mark Hudson, Gavan McCormack and Tessa Morris-Suzuki (eds.),
Multicultural Japan: Palaeolithic to Postmodern, 19–30. Melbourne: Cambridge
University Press.
Kawashima, Takamune. 2015: ‘Prehistoric salt production in Japan’, in Robin Brig-
and and Olivier Weller (eds.), Archaeology of Salt: Approaching an Invisible Past,
125–138. Leiden: Sidestone Press.
Kidder, J. Edward. 2007: Himiko and Japan’s Elusive Chiefdom of Yamatai: Archae-
ology, History, and Mythology. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press.
Kōmoto, Masayuki. 1992: ‘Umi to yama to sato no keisei’, Kōkogaku Jānaru 344:
2–9.
Kristiansen, Kristian. 2012: ‘Rock art and religion: the sun journey in Indo-
European mythology and Bronze Age rock art’, Adoranten 2012: 69–86.
Kristiansen, Kristian and Thomas B. Larsson. 2005: The Rise of Bronze Age Soci-
ety: Travels, Transmissions and Transformations. Cambridge: Cambridge Univer-
sity Press.
Lewicka, Paulina B. 2011: Food and Foodways of Medieval Cairenes: Aspects of Life
in an Islamic Metropolis of the Eastern Mediterranean. Leiden: Brill.
Ling, Johan, Timothy Earle and Kristian Kristiansen. 2018: ‘Maritime mode of pro-
duction: raiding and trading in seafaring chiefdoms’, Current Anthropology 59(5):
488–523.
Liu, Xinyi and Martin K. Jones. 2014: ‘Food globalisation in prehistory: top down
or bottom up?’ Antiquity 88: 956–963.
Liu, Xinyi, Penelope J. Jones, Giedre M. Matuzeviciute, Harriet V. Hunt, Diane L.
Lister, Ting An, Natalia Przelomska, Catherine J. Kneale, Zhijun Zhao and Mar-
tin K. Jones. 2019: ‘From ecological opportunism to multi-cropping: mapping
food globalisation in prehistory’, Quaternary Science Reviews 206: 21–28.
Matsui, Akira. 1996: ‘Archaeological investigations of anadromous salmonid fish-
ing in Japan’, World Archaeology 27: 444–460.
Mizoguchi, Koji. 2012: An Archaeological History of Japan, 30,000 BC to AD 700.
Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press.
Mori, Kōichi. 1989: Zusestu Nihon no kodaishi 1: umi o wattata hitobito. Tokyo: Chūō
Kōronsha.
Morisaki, Kazuki, Noriyoshi Oda, Dai Kunitaka, Yuka Sasaki, Yasuko Kuro-
numa, Akira Iwase, Takeshi Yamazaki, Naoichiro Ichida and Hiroyuki Sato.
2019: ‘Sedentism, pottery and inland fishing in late glacial Japan: a reassessment
of the Maedakochi site’, Antiquity 93: 1442–1459.
Nakajima, Tsuneo, Mark Hudson, Junzo Uchiyama, Keisuke Makibayashi and Ju-
zhong Zhang. 2019: ‘Common carp aquaculture in Neolithic China dates back
8000 years’, Nature Ecology and Evolution 3(10): 1415–1418.
118 Mark Hudson
Ōbayashi, Taryō. 1991: ‘The ethnological study of Japan’s ethnic culture: a historical
survey’, Acta Asiatica 61: 1–23.
Ogawa, Masaru. 2014: ‘Dating petroglyphs from Fugoppe cave, Japan’, Arts 3(1):
46–53.
Ohnuki-Tierney, Emiko. 1993: Rice as Self: Japanese Identities Through Time.
Okada, Hiroaki. 1998: ‘Maritime adaptations in northern Japan’, Arctic Anthropol-
ogy 35(1): 335–339.
Oliveira, Nuno Vasco, Sue O’Connor and Peter Bellwood. 2019: ‘Dong Son drums
from Timor-Leste: prehistoric bronze artefacts in Island Southeast Asia’, Antiq-
uity 93(367): 163–180.
Ōnishi, Hideyuki. 2014: ‘The formation of the Ainu cultural landscape: landscape
shift in a hunter-gatherer society in the northern part of the Japanese archipel-
ago’, Journal of World Prehistory 27: 277–293.
Ōno, Sachio. 1992: ‘Yayoi jidai no gyogu to gyorō seikatsu’, Kōkogaku Jānaru 344:
15–19.
Rawson, Jessica. 2017: ‘China and the steppe: reception and resistance’, Antiquity
91(356): 375–388.
Sasaki, Kenichi. 2018: ‘Adoption of the practice of horse-riding in Kofun period Ja-
pan: with special reference to the case of the central highlands of Japan’, Japanese
Sasaki, Kōmei. 1991: ‘The Wa people and their culture in ancient Japan: the cultures
of swidden cultivation and padi-rice cultivation’, Acta Asiatica 61: 24–46.
Sasaki, Kōmei. 1993: Nihon bunka no kisō o saguru. Tokyo: NHK Books.
Segawa, Takurō. 2017: Jōmon no shisō. Tokyo: Kōdansha.
Senda, Minoru. 1996: ‘Japanese culture and the ocean people’, in Keiichi Omoto
(ed.), Interdisciplinary Perspectives on the Origins of the Japanese, 335–338. Kyoto:
International Research Center for Japanese Studies.
Shiraishi, Taichirō. 1999: ‘Views on death and the other world, as seen from deco-
rated tombs of the Kofun period’, Bulletin of the National Museum of Japanese
History 80: 73–95 (in Japanese with English summary).
Shitara, Hiromi. 2009: ‘Shokuryō seisan no honkakuka to shokuryō kakutoku gi-
jutsu no dentō’, in Hiromi Shitara, Shinichirō Fujio and Takehiko Matsugi (eds.),
Yayoi jidai no kōkogaku 5: shokuryō no kakutoku to seisan, 3–22. Tokyo: Dōseisha.
Stevens, Chris and Dorian Fuller. 2017: ‘The spread of agriculture in eastern Asia:
archaeological bases for hypothetical farmer/language dispersals’, Language Dy-
namics and Change 7(2): 152–186.
Sugiyama, Kōhei. 2019: ‘Yayoi jidai kenkyuū to umi’, in Shinsuke Hamada, Seiji
Nakayama and Kōhei Sugiyama, Saikō ‘Yayoi jidai’: nōkō, umi, shūraku, 38–49.
Tokyo: Yūzankaku.
Takase, Katsunori. 2019: ‘Long-term marine resource use in Hokkaido, northern
Japan: new insights into sea mammal hunting and fishing’, World Archaeology
51(3): 408–428.
Takesue, Jun’ichi. 2009: ‘Interaction between the Three Han states and Wa from
the perspective of settlements based on marine resources’, Bulletin of the National
Museum of Japanese History 151: 285–306 (in Japanese with English abstract).
Toizumi, Takeji. 2009: ‘Jōmon bunkateki gyorō katsudō to Yayoi bunkateki gyorō
katsudō’, in Hiromi Shitara, Shinichirō Fujio and Takehiko Matsugi (eds.), Yayoi
jidai no kōkogaku 5: shokuryō no kakutoku to seisan, 186–197. Tokyo: Dōseisha.
Tsude, Hiroshi. 1968: ‘Kōkogaku kara mita bungyō no mondai’, Kōkogaku Kenkyū
15(2): 131–142.
Uchiyama, Junzō. 2018: ‘Neolithization: a perspective from the East Asian inland
seas’, in Yoshinori Yasuda and Mark Hudson (eds.), Multidisciplinary Studies
of the Environment and Civilization: Japanese Perspectives, 133–158. London:
Routledge.
Journal of Archaeology, 17(4): 602–633.
Wada, Seigo. 1988: ‘Gyorō’, in Hiroshi Kanaseki and Makoto Sahara (eds.), Yayoi
bunka no kenkyū 2: seigyō, 153–161. Tokyo: Yūzankaku.
Watanabe, Makoto. 1988: ‘Jōmon, Yayoi jidai no gyogyō’, Kikan Kōkogaku 25: 14–20.
Yamaura, Kiyoshi. 1998: ‘The sea mammal hunting cultures of the Okhotsk Sea with
special reference to Hokkaido prehistory’, Arctic Anthropology 35(1): 321–334.
Yamazaki, T. and S. Oda. 2009: ‘Changes in shell gathering in an early agricul-
tural society at the head of Ise Bay, Japan’, Journal of Archaeological Science 36:
2007–2011.
Yasuda, Yoshinori. 2008: ‘Climate change and the origin and development of rice
cultivation in the Yangtze river basin’, Ambio Special Report 14: 502–506.
Zancan, Claudia. 2013: ‘Decorated Tombs in Southwest Japan: Behind the Identity
and the Socio-Political Developments of the Late Kofun Society in Kyushu’, MA
thesis. Faculty of Archaeology, University of Leiden.
Section III
Globalization in the early

historic Indian Ocean
6 Archaeology of globalization
A retrospective view of the
Indian Ocean world and
implications for the present
(500 BCE – 300 CE)
Sunil Gupta
Introduction
The present day phenomenon which we call ‘globalization’, and which we
understand to be primarily rooted in a powerful economic dynamic, is man-
ifested the world over through the spread of new techno-cultural standards,
certain uniformities in business practices and transforming societies. The
globalized economy has impacted far-flung communities in various ways,
creating common lifestyles (food courts and malls), expanding markets for
branded products, and triggering migration. All of this within the context
of a rapidly evolving digitalscape. Globalization has been seen as both good
and bad, depending upon benefits and losses for communities. Migration
of people chasing opportunities, while considered by proponents of a glo-
balized world as necessary for innovation and growth, has been perceived
by many settled populations as disruptive of local culture and tradition. In
Runaway World: How Globalization is Reshaping our Lives (2003), Anthony
Giddens articulates the uncertainties of the emerging globalized world,
pointing to the ‘manufactured risks’ of new technologies, such as the un-
known consequences of digital technologies and genetics.1 He cautions that
modern globalization should not be seen solely in economic terms, that it is
‘political, technological and cultural, as well as economic’.2
The challenge is to examine the symptoms of modern globalization to
the constancy of the underlying factors, which can be detected in both the
present and in the past. The primary constant which defines globalization
is economic and techno-cultural interconnectivity across large geographi-
cal regions. For centuries, long-distance trade networks, sustained by po-
litical power embedded in urban centres, have created the conditions for
rapid enlargement of markets (read ‘global’) for goods and services (pepper
and petroleum as in past and present respectively), emergence of ‘interna-
tional’ commercial standards, hybrid technologies, syncretic art and min-
gling of cultures. Erosion of old orders and reinvigorating new ideas and
practices are key features of globalization. Justin Jennings, in his seminal
work, Globalizations and the Ancient World (2011) asserts that globalization
DOI: 10.4324/9781003096269-10
124 Sunil Gupta
phenomena have been, like contemporary times, experienced by human so-
ciety in the past, calling these ‘eras of great social change that were triggered
by surging interactions across large parts of the earth’.3 In his perceptive
article The Indian Ocean and the Globalisation of the Ancient World, Eivind
Seland argues for the employment of the Greek term oikoumene, meaning
‘the inhabited world’, to study past globalization processes in the Old World
comprising Europe, Asia and Africa.
In the case of our study, this global arena is the early Indian Ocean world,
in the defining period from 500 BCE to 300 CE. This study attempts to
interface modern globalization theories with archaeology to understand
globalization patterns in the early Indian Ocean world. The Indian Ocean
region has witnessed intense archaeological activity during the past three
decades. A rich record is now available in the form of field reports, labo-
ratory reports on botanical and faunal indicators, quantitative analysis of
ceramic and bead finds and interpretative publications. More significant, is
the data available on artefactual indicators of long-distance exchange and
trade, highlighting regional and interregional networks from the Red Sea
to the South China Sea. Jennings’ enthusiastic response to the archaeolog-
ical approach needs to be quoted: ‘One of the cornerstones of archaeology
is finding evidence for interaction, and scholars have gotten quite good at
tracking objects, ideas and people across space and time’.4 Later in the chap-
ter, globalization phenomena in the early Indian Ocean world will be high-
lighted through diagnostic long-distance trade indicators such as Roman
amphorae, luxury beads and glassware and sculptural art among others.
Of course, a caveat needs to be stated. This being that the archaeological
database on ancient Indian Ocean networks is still unfolding, it is uneven in
distribution, patchy in certain areas while concentrated in others.
One of the underlying factors in the globalization debate concerns the na-
ture of political choices facing the world today and in the past. The implica-
tion is that the nature of a polity determines the nature of an economy and
a society. The question of political economy thrown up by globalization was
first taken up by the political scientist Francis Fukuyama in his essay The End
of History? published in the summer of 1989, a few months before the fall of the
Berlin Wall.5 Fukuyama followed this up with the publication of his seminal
work The End of History and the Last Man (1992).6 His basic thesis was that
after the end of the Cold War, the idea of liberal democracy had triumphed.
According to him, the spread of this single political idea would create a uni-
versal consensus ad infinitum and therefore bring about an ‘end of history’.
The ideas of Francis Fukuyama and Anthony Giddens, which capture the
essence of the globalization debate, will be engaged with in this chapter.
The socio-economic and techno-cultural issues thrown up by the phe-
nomenon of globalization have often been explained by political scientists,
economists and journalists on the basis of causal factors rooted within the
present time matrix. This is most evident in the immediacy of many issues
raised on multilateral platforms like the United Nations, World Trade
A retrospective view of the Indian Ocean world 125
Organization and others. The concerns raised, such as failures of govern-
ance, the negative impact of climate change, increases in carbon dioxide
emissions due to rampant use of fossil fuels or steps required to alleviate
poverty, are genuine and highly relevant. However, theoreticians seeking
to comprehend rapidly changing globalization phenomena are themselves
standing on the quicksand of the very same realities which they seek to un-
derstand and control. Giddens sensed this as much, saying that:
We are the first generation to live in global society, whose contours we

can as yet only dimly see. It is shaking up our existing ways of life, no
matter where we happen to be. This is … emerging in an anarchic, hap-
hazard, fashion … it is not settled or secure, but fraught with anxieties,
as well as scarred by deep divisions. Many of us feel in the grip of forces
over which we have no control.7
Giddens’ statement is prescient. He is clearly implying that theories drawn

from the present time matrix are inadequate to fully perceive the complex-
ity and speed of technological change in the modern globalised world. It is
my submission that a deep time matrix or a ‘hindsight perspective’ is required
to increase our comprehension of what Anthony Giddens calls the ‘runaway
world’. Therefore, historians and archaeologists are needed in the globaliza-
tion debate. It is not that modern-day theorists of globalization are unaware
of the time factor. Giddens distinguishes between global and pre-global socie-
ties.8 In his seminal work The Levelling: What’s Next After Globalization (2019),
Michael O’Sullivan draws an analogy for the political choices of today from
the seventeenth-century Putney Debates in England in which two factions, the
Levellers, believing in total democracy and the Leviathans, believing in sacri-
ficing personal freedoms for despotic benevolence, argued the future.9 In this
chapter, I present a case study from the past which displays the same patterns
of globalization we are experiencing in contemporary times. As stated, the fo-
cus of this study is the Indian Ocean world as it changed from 500 BCE to 300
CE, connecting far-flung exchange networks from the Red Sea to the South
China Sea. The attempt will not only be to throw light on the Indian Ocean
past on the basis of present theoretical constructs of globalization, but also to
make a sense of what Giddens calls the contemporary ‘runaway world’.
Globalization of the ancient Indian Ocean world: an

archaeological view
The vast Indian Ocean region, stretching from the Red Sea in the west to the
periphery of the South China Sea in the east, incorporates the Gulf of Aden,
the Arabian Sea, the Persian Gulf, the Bay of Bengal, the Gulf of Thailand
and the Sulawesi Sea among other bodies of seawater (Figure 6.1). The In-
dian Ocean region touches the littoral regions of Arabia, Iran, India, South-
east Asia and east Africa.
126 Sunil Gupta
Figure 6.1 Map of the Indian Ocean showing the maritime routes, ports of trade and
land routes
Source: Courtesy of Allahabad Museum; authors: Sunil Kushwaha and Sunil Gupta.
The first maritime tradition in the Indian Ocean is signified by Bronze

Age maritime networks (3rd – 2nd millennium BCE) of the Red Sea, the
northern Arabian Sea and the eastern Indian Ocean. From the mid-first
millennium BCE a spread of maritime exchange networks was witnessed in
both the eastern and western parts of the Indian Ocean region. On the In-
dian seaboard, harbours re-emerged nearly a thousand years after the Hara-
ppan ports had faded into obscurity. In the Persian Gulf region, we find Iron
Age coastal settlements situated in close vicinity to earlier Copper-Bronze
Age sites. In Island Southeast Asia, the Early Iron Age settlements began to
yield beads of Indic origin just after the mid-first millennium BCE, indicat-
ing Indian voyaging across the Bay of Bengal. The close of the first millen-
nium BCE saw increasing contacts between various littoral regions of the
Indian Ocean, primarily due to the spreading knowledge of the monsoons
and development of maritime technologies.10
From a broader ‘civilisation’ point of view, the mid-first millennium BCE
was a watershed in many ways across the Indian Ocean world. The powerful
Achaemenid Empire of Persia fell to the conquests of Alexander the Great
in the fourth century BCE. The campaigns of Alexander which broke up the
Persian Empire opened India to influences from the Mediterranean world.
The Seleucid dynasty (fourth to second century BCE), the inheritor of Alex-
ander’s dominions from the eastern Mediterranean to northwest India, pur-
sued a conscious policy of establishing Greek culture across Asia. The spread
of the Greek diaspora along the Silk Route, the establishment of cities like Ai
Khanoum in Afghanistan modelled on Hellenic tenets, the use of the Greek
language and customs in Seleucid administration created, through inter-
twining with strong local cultures, a unique Greek-inspired civilization from
Syria to Afghanistan which has been called Hellenistic. Together with Seleu-
cid Asia, the Hellenistic world included Ptolemaic Egypt and the Arabian–
Persian Gulf littoral. Closer to the Indian borderlands, the rise of the Bactrian
Greek and Indo-Greek kingdoms in Afghanistan and northern Pakistan in
the late centuries BCE manifest the Hellenistic presence in the east. It is in
these borderlands that the Hellenistic World engaged with an equally strong
Indic World having its own languages and scripts (Prakrit, Brahmi), its ideas
of kingship, its religious ideas (Brahmanism, Buddhism) and lifestyles.
The conquest of Egypt by Augustus Caesar in 30 BCE expanded the Roman
frontiers to the Red Sea and opened new commercial possibilities for trade
with Early Historic India and Indian Ocean lands. This new sea route was
the maritime complement to the overland Silk Route connecting the Medi-
terranean world to Central Asia, China and India. The opening of the Red
Sea route to India during the BCE–CE transition was an important episode
in the integration of the Indian Ocean world, connecting hitherto separated
exchange networks, opening new markets for commodities, bringing about in-
terchange of technologies, ideas and art at entrepots and crossroads of trade.11
Ports on the Red Sea coast of Egypt, such as Berenike and Myos Hormos/
Quseir were refurbished by Roman authority.12 The Hadhramaut region in
eastern Yemen became rich with the shift of Roman sea trade to this region.
The Hadhrami ports of Qana and Khor Rori were founded in the begin-
ning of the Common Era to take advantage of new opportunities offered
by Roman mercantilism. These ports, under the direct control of Hadh-
rami rulers, traded in frankincense and offered berthing facilities for ships
crossing the Arabian Sea to and forth from India.13 Explorations on the
Somali coast have brought to light coastal trading stations flourishing at
the turn of the Christian Era. Deposition of Roman, Indian and Persian
ceramics indicates the external contacts of the African Horn, particularly
articulated through the finds of the earlier British and later, Spanish, ex-
peditions in Somaliland.14 Recent discoveries of trade ceramics and beads
on the Tanzanian coast indicate that the east African coast was integral
to Indian Ocean networks through the first millennium CE.15 The Persian
Gulf experienced a resurgence in maritime activity in the early centuries
CE, with trade ships from India and south Arabia reaching ports near the
Hormuz and at the head of the Gulf.16 On the Indian subcontinent, coastal
settlements and ports were established or were expanded in BCE–CE tran-
sition, reflecting the consolidation of monsoonal trading activity. The fairly
detailed list of ports and coastal settlements provided in textual sources
like the Periplus Maris Erythraei (first century CE) and the Geographia of
Ptolemy (second century CE) reflect more than western geographical cu-
riosity about the subcontinent.17 Archaeological fieldwork undertaken to
locate the ‘Periplus’ ports reveals that Early Historic trading stations and
harbours flourished in diverse environments.18 The opportunities opened
by Roman sea trade raised prosperity levels in western India and stimu-
lated Indo-Roman syncretic expressions in material culture (inspiring the
Indian Red Polished Ware) and ideas (adoption of Alexandrian horoscopic
128 Sunil Gupta
precepts).19 The opening of the subcontinent to sea lanes is reflective of a
strong Indian response to regularisation of deep sea trade using monsoon
winds.
Similar responses are observed in Southeast Asia, where number of
coastal trading stations emerged in the early centuries CE. The Indo-
Southeast Asian interchange is expressed in the wide deposition of Indian
pottery and beads of stone and glass similar to Indian types.20 The pro-
liferation of Roman artefacts on the east coast of India, especially at the
coastal site of Arikamedu, is indicative of direct western involvement in
maritime networks of the eastern Indian Ocean.21 Crafting technologies,
especially of glass and stone beads, spread from south India to Southeast
Asia in early centuries CE. A particular type of glass beads, the Indo-
Pacific bead type, were manufactured in the Bay of Bengal littoral and ex-
ported in large numbers to East Asia: southern China, littoral Korea and
western Japan. The deposition of Indo-Pacific beads in Japan shows a sud-
den increase in the Yayoi Period (first to second century CE).22 All these
developments were integral to what Ian Glover describes as ‘the first ap-
pearance of a world system’ manifested in ‘a vast network of trade stretch-
ing from the Mediterranean basin and the Red Sea to South China.’23 This
was the time when the Indian Ocean world came closest to experiencing
the phenomenon we call globalization. It is this dimension of the Indian
Ocean past which creates the opportunity to use theoretical constructs to
understand globalization processes in the past and also draw from them in
this exercise to throw light on the present.
Cosmopolitanism in the Indian Ocean past

Giddens perceived the impact of globalization in the social sphere in terms
of ‘detraditionalisation’. By this he means that as ‘pre-global’ societies are
touched by techno-cultural influences of a global scale, the extant tradi-
tions or settled ways of thinking and acting dissipate. This gives rise to an
open-ended ‘democratization’ of thought where humans adapt to new situ-
ations.24 The open eclectic social space is an important element in Anthony
Giddens’ idea of a globalized world. Anthony Giddens’ ideas are discussed
with regard to three major urban centres of Early Historic South Asia: Tax-
ila, Mathura and Kaushambi. These three cities of ancient India had their
genesis in the time of the Second Urbanisation in the period 1000–500 BCE.
The growth of these urban centres through the review period (500 BCE –
300 CE) is marked by increasing engagement with wider cultures and econ-
omies, culminating in deep linkages with the maritime and land ‘Silk Route’
networks which formed the backbone of the globalized Indian Ocean world
in the early centuries CE. The urban centres of Taxila, Mathura and Kau-
shambi lay on a critical alignment of the long distance trade routes and were
actively connected to each other. Ancient Taxila (Sanskrit Takshashila)
was situated in the northwest part of present-day Pakistan. It was at the
crossroads of land routes from the Mediterranean and Central Asia reach-
ing this urban centre through Afghanistan. From Taxila, trade routes went
further south along the Indus River to reach the warm water ports of the
Arabian Sea. Eastwards, Taxila was connected to Mathura, with which it
enjoyed the status of a twin capital under the Kushan rule (first to third cen-
tury CE). From Mathura, trade routes went east across the Gangetic Valley
to the great city of Kaushambi and thence onward to the Bay of Bengal
estuary. Routes also branched out from Mathura southwest to the harbours
on the Arabian Sea, principally ancient Bharuch (Sanskrit Bhrgukaccha,
Greek Barygaza). Therefore, the Taxila – Mathura – Kaushambi core was
well integrated with the maritime and the land routes girding the ancient
Indian Ocean world. The growth of urbanisation, trade, religious ideologies
and art at these three centres reflects similar processes in the wider Indian
Ocean world during the period 500 BCE to 300 CE.
Taxila, the capital of the ancient Gandharan region, was an outlier of
Indian civilization, the first stop for Alexander the Great when he crossed
the Hindu Kush into India in 323 BCE. Earlier sources record Achaemenid
control over the Gandharan region. After Alexander, the Taxila region be-
came a province of the Mauryan Empire (fourth to second century BCE)
which spread across much of the Indian subcontinent. With the decline of
the Mauryas, there was a consolidation of Indo-Greek rule in the second
to first century BCE followed briefly by the Sakas and Parthians and then
the long rule of the Kushanas (latter first to third century CE). The urban
landscape at Taxila reflected the diverse influences of Hellenistic, Indian
and Central Asian cultures.25 The Gandharan region experienced the rise
of new religious thoughts, the principal one being Buddhism. However, the
new heterodoxy also included the rising cults of Vaishnava, Shaivite and
goddess worship which laid the ground for a new Hinduism, a departure
from the earlier, abstracted Vedic forms of worship. This ideological turbu-
lence opened dialogues across hitherto disparate communities and ethnic
groups. The Indo-Greek rulers of the Gandharan region, who retained their
Hellenic roots through the use of the Greek language and script, as well
as dress and lifestyles, were also reaching out to the Indic faiths. This is
reflected in the open air Buddhist stupas and temple remains at Sirkap, the
planned Hellenistic city of the second to first century BCE.26 One of the first
iconic representations of the Hindu god Vasudeva Krishna and his brother
Balarama are found on a coin of the Indo-Greek emperor Agathocles II
(ruled 185–170 BCE).27 Rapin brilliantly argues that the syncretic architec-
ture of the temple ruin at Jandial C in Sirkap, with its likely Ionic columns
and Indic barrel shaped roof, could have been dedicated to the Vasudeva
cult, an early form of Vishnu worship.28 We see the affinity to correlate the
Indian and Greek pantheons to discover attributes in the Indic forms which
would retain the spirituality of the Greeks. So Vasudeva Krishna, whose
cult spread amongst the Greek-speaking population of northwest India,
was likened to Herakles.29 The Buddhists adopted Herakles in the form of
130 Sunil Gupta
Vajrapani, the protector and guide of the Buddha.30 This interactivity of re-
ligions and cultures which must have commenced not long after Alexander
left Gandhara, clearly points to the ‘detraditionalisation’ phenomena and
‘democratization’ of thought of which Giddens speaks.
The full impact of external ‘global’ influences on the Taxila region were
felt during the Kushan rule (first to third century CE). The Kushan domains
straddled Central Asia and northern India, facilitating the movement of
trade between the two parts of Asia. The Kushan Empire was one among
the four great polities of the Indian Ocean world, abutting the Parthian on
the west and the Han Chinese on the east, and connected to the Roman do-
mains by land and sea. The discovery of a beautiful cache of Roman glass-
ware, at the Kushan summer capital of Begram in Afghanistan, is powerful
testimony to the international trade passing through their domains. Under
Kushan rule, an exotic ‘Indo-Greek’ school of sculptural art matured in
the Gandharan region, largely Buddhist in theme (Figure 6.2). The art of
Gandhara was also impacted by Parthian, Roman and Central Asian fea-
tures, expressing the ‘melting pot’ of diverse cultures which came together at
Gandhara due to the opening up of the region to global trade.31
Figure 6.2 Gandharan sculpture of Buddha Maitreya, grey schist, Taxila area, sec-
ond century CE
Source: Courtesy of Allahabad Museum.
We can see in these developments the ‘reflexivity’ of fresh ideas which emerge,
as Giddens says, when globalization wipes out extant traditions. This ‘detradi-
tionalisation’ created a ‘cosmopolitanism’ in the Gandharan region where the
Hellenic features of Gandharan sculptures were strangely modified with Indic
embellishments and coins of the Kushan kings depicting all the diverse gods
worshipped in their domains: Indian, Greek, Iranian and Central Asian.32
The Kushanas extended their empire to large parts of northern India in
the latter half of the first century CE, creating in addition to Purushapura
(modern Peshawar near Taxila), a second capital at Mathura. There is no
doubt that it was the ‘opening’ up of Mathura as a crucial hub of the trade
routes under the political consolidation of the Kushan Empire which en-
hanced art activity, both religious and secular, in the city. The sculptural art
of Mathura began to flower at the beginning of the Common Era, reflecting
its new-found status as an imperial capital. While much of the sculptural
art of Taxila portrayed Buddhist themes, the Mathura School expressed
Buddhist, Jain and Hindu iconography with equal fervour (Figure 6.3).33
Figure 6.3 Headless image of the Buddha dated to the second regnal year of Kus-
han Emperor Kanishka found at the site of Kausambhi, first century CE
132 Sunil Gupta
The secular element of the sculptural art of Mathura is powerfully expressed
in the royal portraits of the Kushan kings, best exemplified by the headless,
sword-bearing statue of the great King Kanishka on display at the Mathura
Museum.34
The syncretic element comes out in strong Gandharan influence in some
of the Mathura sculptures. In particular, Kubera, the Hindu god of wealth
is shown partaking wine from large goblet and being served by attend-
ants wearing Hellenistic dresses typical of Gandhara.35 Kubera has been
equated with Bacchus, the Roman god of wine, and depictions on ancient
terracottas and sculptures show that Bacchanalian revelries, so popular in
the Roman Empire, had also spread into India in a quirky expression of
ancient globalization (Figure 6.4).36
The sensuousness of the damsels carved in relief by the Mathura artists,
showing them in various moods of enjoyment illustrates a society enjoying
the pleasures of life (Figure 6.5). A Mathura sculpture showing the famous
scene of Hercules slaying the Nemean lion, was most likely commissioned
by a Hellenized resident of the city.37 The discovery at Mathura of a Dressel
3-type Roman amphora handle with Latin inscription (dated second cen-
tury CE), indicates ancient Mathura’s connection to the Roman sea trade.38
The life-size Kanishka statue mentioned above was discovered with those
of other Kushan monarchs at an ancient devakula (divine sanctuary) at Mat
on the outskirts of modern Mathura. The devakula at Mat, which presented
Figure 6.4 Terracotta plaque depicting a Bacchanalian scene. From Ahhichatra,

Uttar Pradesh, second century BCE
Figure 6.5 A beautiful yakshi or semi-divine damsel sculpted at Mathura, first to

second century CE
the Kushan kings as godly figures worthy of worship is similar to the shrines
dedicated to the Roman Emperor Augustus Caesar which had sprung up
all across the Roman Empire in the BCE–CE transition.39 Complementing
the eclectic urban milieu of Gandhara, the twin capital at Mathura showed,
through its ateliers of sculptural art, the religious and secular expressions
of a tolerant and cosmopolitan society. The impact of ‘global’ influences
in the form of international trade, the arrival of diverse ethnic and linguis-
tic groups and the consolidation of Mathura as a new power centre of the
Kushans, made it a very different place from the staid and settled Buddhist,
Jaina and Vasudeva traditions of the last centuries BCE. The Mathura
school of art was the expression of a new cosmopolitanism in this hub of the
Silk Route and Indian Ocean trade networks.40
This brings us to Kaushambi, the fortified Iron Age city, some 600
kilometres east of Mathura in the heart of the middle Ganga Valley. The
sprawling ruins of Kaushambi are spread in a seven square kilometre area,
surrounded by ancient, rammed mud defences on three sides and the river
Yamuna flowing on the fourth. Kaushambi is repeatedly mentioned in an-
cient Buddhist, Jaina and Brahmanical texts. It was the capital of the Vatsa
Janapada, among the 16 polities which emerged in northern India in early
134 Sunil Gupta
first millennium BCE. Buddha (563–483 BCE) often visited Kaushambi,
which was the seat of the sangha or the Buddhist monastic order. A pil-
lar inscribed with the inscriptions of Emperor Asoka (ruled 268–232 BCE),
moved from Kaushambi and now in the Mughal period fort in Allahabad,
indicates that the city was under Mauryan rule in the fourth to third century
BCE. The Kushan connection at Kaushambi is revealed in the earliest in-
scribed stone statue of the Buddha, created at Mathura, but found at the site
of Kaushambi. The inscription at its base informs that the statue, now in the
Allahabad Museum, was created in the second regnal year of the Kushan
emperor Kanishka (Figure 6.3). A similar inscribed statue of the Buddha,
again a product of Mathura art, was found at the Buddhist site of Sarnath,
some 120 kilometres east of Kaushambi. The inscription on this statue in-
dicates that it was created in the third regnal year of Kanishka.41 These
statues mark out the eastern frontiers of the vast Kushan Empire which fa-
cilitated long-distance trade.
Kaushambi was a vital hub of trade in the Taxila – Mathura – Kaushambi
alignment. Kaushambi was the gateway to the Bay of Bengal ports for trade
coming from Central Asia and the Arabian Sea littoral. The long-distance
trade routes from Taxila – Mathura or the Arabian Sea ports to Mathura, ran
directly east to Kaushambi and thence further on, by way of large Gangetic
settlements such as Rajghat (modern Varanasi) and Pataliputra (modern
Patna) to the estuarine harbours of Tamralipti and Chandraketugarh. Kau-
shambi seems to have attained its maximum spread in the period of Kushan
rule (first to third century CE). Terracotta artefacts from Kaushambi dated
to the early centuries CE, reveal a vibrant cosmopolitan lifestyle: portrait
busts with different headgear, terracotta toys and exquisite coiffures. Small
cameos of semiprecious stones recovered from Kaushambi show Hellenistic
features and religious imagery. Kaushambi was a great centre of stone and
glass crafting, excelling in making exquisite animal-shaped beads. A large
part of stone and glass bead production from Kaushambi made its way
through the Bay of Bengal ports to Southeast Asia. Kaushambi, though
not a thriving centre of sculptural art like Taxila and Mathura, was a trade
centre par excellence. The diversity of the archaeological record from Kau-
shambi shows that the city, flourishing since the time of Buddha, was a more
open social space in the period of Kushan rule in the early centuries CE.
The Taxila – Mathura – Kaushambi alignment needs to be viewed in terms
of its connections to the Early Historic trade ports on both the Arabian Sea
and the Bay of Bengal coasts of the Indian subcontinent, and through these,
to the maritime exchange networks which reached the eastern and western
Indian Ocean lands. In this sense, this close study is a microcosm of the
broader patterns of globalization in the Indian Ocean world in the early
centuries CE. The impact of globalization due to the opening up of the In-
dian Ocean routes as well as the land Silk Routes in the BCE–CE transition
is clearly observed in each of the three political and trade centres discussed:
in the transformation of their urban landscapes, thoughts and lifestyles in
the period 500 BCE to 300 CE. All three centres experienced a tide of cos-
mopolitanism with the intermingling of various ethnic and linguistic com-
munities in the early centuries CE.
Politics and the popular will: lessons from the

Indian Ocean past
The overarching role of the Kushan monarchs in facilitating trade in their
domains brings into focus the role of the polity in the globalization of In-
dian Ocean lands. How did the pact between state and non-state actors
come about in the context of ancient Indian Ocean trade? Did the state
impose itself, through its tax regime, upon the diverse groups (merchants,
craftspeople, seafarers, caravan pilots) involved in long-distance trade or
did the polities respond with helpful policies to aspirations from ‘below’?
What were the political choices before the public?
As pointed out at the beginning of the discussion, the debate on the na-
ture of polity and political choices in the modern globalized world was trig-
gered by Francis Fukuyama on publication of his essay The End of History
months before the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989 and his seminal work, The
End of History and the Last Man (1992). Fukuyama proposed that the idea
of western liberal democracy with its key concepts of equality and liberty
has triumphed over all political ideologies and therefore, there is really
nothing more that human imagination can strive for. The predominance of
a liberal political philosophy signals, according to Fukuyama, ‘an end of
history’ as henceforth, human imagination will plateau as globalization
of the world brings in material comforts for all. Fukuyama went on to au-
thor more essays and books in which he modified his original ideas but held
on to the core of his ‘liberal democracy’ and ‘end of history’ thesis.42 A
major counter-argument to Fukuyama has come from Michael O’Sullivan
in his recent work The Levelling: What’s Next After Globalization (2019).
O’Sullivan speaks of the rise of a post-global multi-polar world divided be-
tween those who choose liberal democracy or benevolent despotism. The
point here is that when we know that the world is not exactly behaving as
Fukuyama predicted and that we have new politico-economic emergences
of ‘multi-polarity’, ‘de-globalization’ and ‘despotic benevolence’, then what
does the future portend? Could a deep-time perspective provide insights
into the future of the present day ‘runaway world’?
These questions provide an opportunity to examine the idea of democ-
racy in the ancient world. While Greece was the progenitor of democracy,
with its establishment in Athens in 509 BCE, it is interesting how the con-
cept of ‘people power’, in the form of the political organisation of republics,
expressed itself in ancient Rome, India and Iran. These three powers inter-
acted in the ‘globalized’ ancient Indian Ocean world in the early centuries
CE. Interestingly, as far back as 522 BCE, more than a decade before de-
mocracy came to Athens, the historian Herodotus recorded a debate within
136 Sunil Gupta
the Persian nobility in which one of the aristocrats pleaded for a political
structure based on wishes of the populace.43 While there may be strong rea-
sons to contend that the ‘Persian debate’ is a rhetorical construct by Her-
odotus to illustrate his arguments rather than an actual event, we cannot
discount the circulation of ideas across the Greek-Persian realms, ideas of
democracy which may have well found adherents among the Persians. In
India, the sixth century BCE was a time of ideological flux. The Buddha
preached his doctrine, as did several other independent thinkers, such as
Mahavira of the Jainas and Gosala of the Ajivikas. The Buddha established
his monastic order, the sangha, on fairly democratic principles, no doubt
drawing from the idea of the republics which coexisted with monarchical
kingdoms or janapadas in northern India. The Buddha, in his earlier avatar
as Prince Siddartha, belonged to the lineage of the Sakyas, a republican
polity in the Himalayan foothills. The Buddha was also closely associated
with the Licchavis, a tribal grouping which had organised themselves into
the Vrijjan republic.44 The republics seemed to endure, for Alexander’s his-
torians record his meetings with free and independent communities, espe-
cially with one Aculphis, ‘president’ of the city of Nyasa who surrendered
to the conqueror with his council of three hundred.45 Ancient Rome began
as a republic and existed formally as such for nearly 500 years before Julius
Caesar (100–44 BCE) seriously compromised the democratic principles of
the Roman Republic. Though a dynastic line that began with Julius Caesar
the Roman Empire grew, but the nostalgia of the founding of the republic on
popular will was never openly discarded. The Roman senate often remained
a pinprick for the Caesars and in turn, the Caesars continued to gratify the
Roman public with gladiatorial games.46
The pertinent question that comes out of history is whether a ‘perfect
democracy’ ever existed. Even in modern times, including the period of glo-
balization in the first two decades of the present millennium, the ‘liberality’
of democracies is suspect.47 The choice of a political system based on liberal
democracy does not guard against unconstitutional consolidation and exer-
cise of power, in the hands of the bureaucracy or the ‘deep state’. In his ad-
dress to students at Harvard University, Kofi Annan, the Secretary-General
of the United Nations said, ‘during globalization’s glory years extraordinary
growth rates seemed to justify political actions which otherwise might have
invited dissent’.48 Modern democracies can proclaim emergencies in times
of military or financial crisis and arm themselves with draconian powers.
In this state of action, a liberal democracy may not seem too different from
a dictatorship or a party-ruled state. To this end, we need to view political
choices in ‘neutral’ terms and state action, benevolent or malevolent, as the
underlying reality of the past and the present.
The second engagement with Fukuyama here is with his ‘end of history’
conception. It was conceived as a consequence of the universal acceptance
of the liberal democracy that was to happen. Fukuyama presented almost a
fait accompli, with his prediction that humankind would lose all motivation
for higher pursuits of ideas, for adventure and risk-taking ventures with
the universal acceptance of the democratic ethos. Fukuyama, in fact, be-
moaned the ‘end of history’, saying that mankind in the absence of any great
challenges would confine itself to chasing narrow interests. However, the
political choices of states or societies do not matter, in the final analysis, in
the setting of ‘forward’ goals by aspirational individuals and groups. With-
out prejudice to the political systems (large kingdoms to small chiefdoms)
which prevailed in different parts of the ancient Indian Ocean world, there
was, on the whole, a compact between the state and public groups (mer-
chants, craftspeople, sailors) to undertake ambitious commercial ventures.
Taking these groups and communities to be representative of the public, the
popular will, or much of it, manifested in the higher echelons of power as
collaborative activities beneficial to both the state and the people. The state
was primarily involved in establishing physical infrastructure, tariff struc-
tures, commercial practices and trade agreements in the globalised interac-
tive space across the Indian Ocean. The strong Roman mercantile outreach
into the Indian Ocean after the conquest of Egypt would not have been
possible without state support, especially in the creation of infrastructure
and a tax regime. A study by McLaughlin estimates that the Roman treas-
ury received, between the first and second centuries CE, as much as one
third of its tax revenues from Rome’s sea trade with India and Indian Ocean
lands.49 A recent critique by Cobb and Wilkinson considerably downgrades
McLaughlin’s estimates but still peg the revenue generation from Rome’s
eastern trade at a hypothetical 10–15 per cent.50 These estimates are par-
tially drawn from a papyrus document dated to the second century CE in
the Vienna Museum which describes an agreement between a merchant and
a financier for the transport of pepper and other consignments from the
great harbour of Muziris in south India to Egypt.51 The Muziris papyrus,
correlated with other customs records such as the Coptos Tariff in Egypt,
the Palmyrene tariff for Indian Ocean goods and the tax regime for for-
eign trade in the Indian treatise Arthasastra, points to the establishment of
‘globalised’ trans-oceanic commercial practices across much of the Indian
Ocean world.52 In this atmosphere of new thoughts, societal coexistence
and opportunities, the state did not stand in the path of human aspirations.
This historical analogy can be extended to modern times. In recent months,
Communist China launched a space probe to Mars and democratic USA
permitted the first commercial launch of the SpaceX rocket. Both political
systems encourage high aspirations. To this end, Fukuyama’s theory of the
‘end of history’ drawing from the dominance of a particular political system
(liberal democracy) does not withstand scrutiny. The globalization episode
in the Indian Ocean past shows that there is no causal connection between a
political way of life and high human aspirations, that there is never an ‘end
of history’.
Polities often seek popular legitimacy for achieving greater goals. Never
before had so many littoral polities competed for the fruits of Indian Ocean
138 Sunil Gupta
trade as happened in the first three centuries CE. The competitive spirit,
which Colin Renfrew calls ‘Peer Polity Pressure’, did however, sometimes
spill over into conflict. The Greek sea guide, Periplus Maris Erythraei de-
scribes how the Kshatrapa king Nahapana despatched naval vessels to seek
out Roman merchant ships approaching rival Satavahana trade ports near
modern Mumbai and ‘escort’ them to his harbour of Barygaza (modern
Bharuch) situated further north on the estuary of the river Narmada.53 The
king of the south Arabian kingdom of Hadhramaut sent military officers
in the first century CE to the desolate mosquito-ridden coast of Dhofar
(south Oman) in order to establish the port of Sumhuram that would export
frankincense to the Roman world. In the Bay of Bengal region, the ‘Indo-
Roman’ trading station of Arikamedu on the south Indian coast witnessed
the coming together of Mediterranean and Indian glass crafting technolo-
gies, with products including cameo blanks and counterfeit glass ‘beryls’
made for export to the Roman Empire.54 Chiefdoms and incipient polities
sprang up in coastal Southeast Asia. Organised within political bounda-
ries, communities of traders, shippers and craftspeople – representative of
the public –participated in the vast network of commodity and cultural ex-
change which we can call the Indian Ocean Interaction Sphere.
Conclusion
Dimensions of globalization in the Indian Ocean past have been explored
in the light of important theoretical constructs emerging from the present
globalization experience. At the same time, there has been an attempt to
understand globalization in the deep-time matrix of globalization patterns
in the ancient Indian Ocean in the BCE–CE transition. The close study of
the Taxila – Mathura – Kaushambi alignment showed that the concepts put
forward by Anthony Giddens find reflection in deep time, that is, democ-
ratization of thought and cosmopolitan lifestyles follow in the wake of glo-
balization. The study also reveals that human aspirations are not driven by
political realities, as Fukuyama asserted, but by the very restlessness of the
human nature, expressed in the profit motive of trade, creative surges of art,
religious heterodoxy and military adventures. In this sense, the globaliza-
tion experience in the present time matrix is not a unique phenomenon. The
Indian Ocean past reveals that a large part of the Old World experienced
rapid economic, social and techno-cultural changes on a global scale two
thousand years ago. I am not proposing a cyclical or ‘history repeats itself’
notion from the Indian Ocean past, but pointing out that the ‘end of history’
debate is irrelevant. What will fortify us for the future is the realization
that the world will always be in creative flux and that there will always be
political choices. Whether it is the merchant ships sailing out from the Red
Sea coast to the far ports of the Indian Ocean two thousand years ago, or
the SpaceX rocket blasting off into the ether today, human enterprise will
remain as that one constant, pushing the frontiers of human imagination.
Acknowledgement
I would like to thank Dr. Serena Autiero and Dr. Matthew Cobb for or-
ganizing the very relevant session on Globalization and Transculturality at
the 25th Conference of the European Archaeologists Association at Bern,
Switzerland in September 2019. I also thank ISMEO (Rome) for extending
financial support which covered the major costs of travel and stay for the
Bern conference.
Notes
1 Giddens (2003).
2 Giddens (2003): 10.
3 Jennings (2011): 32.
4 Jennings (2011): 32.
5 Fukuyama (1989).
6 Fukuyama (1992).
7 Thompson (2016).
8 Thompson (2016).
9 O’Sullivan (2019).
10 For overviews see Gupta (2002): 1–24; Gupta (2004): 133–160.
11 Gupta (2019): 353–393; Tomber (2008); Sidebotham (1986).
12 Sidebotham (1986).
13 For Qana see Sedov (1996): 11–35; for Khor Rori, see Avanzini (2002; 2008).
14 Chittick (1976): 117–134; Smith and Wright (1990): 106–114; for recent fieldwork
on the Somali coast, see Torres Rodriguez et al. (2019): 30–35.
15 Chami (2002): 33–44; Gupta (2016): 157–172.
16 Salles (1993): 493–523.
17 For commentary on the Periplus, see Casson (1989); for Geographia, see McCrin-
dle (1884): 313–411.
18 Gupta (2018a): 249–346.
19 Gupta (1998): 87–102; for the introduction of Roman Egyptian astrological con-
cepts into India, see the commentary of Pingree (1978) on the Yavanajataka of
Sphujidhvaja, a work of the third century BCE.
20 Glover (1996): 129–58.
21 For excavations at Arikamedu see Wheeler (1954) and Begley et al. (1996).
22 Katsuhiko and Gupta (2000): 73–88.
23 Glover (1990): 10.
24 Thompson (2016).
25 Marshall (2008): 1–6.
26 Fogelin (2015): 115–116.
27 Rapin (1995): 278–279.
28 Rapin (1995): 290, says ‘the Jandial “C” temple would pertain to both cultures
present at Taxila in the 2nd century BC: Greek for part of the plan and for the
architectural decoration, Indian for the ritual …’.
29 Rapin (1995): 290, says ‘The assimilation of the Heracles image was very success-
ful in India, as witnessed in Buddhism by Vajrapani and possibly in Hinduism
by Krishna. From being a representative of royal power in the Greek world, in
the Indian culture, evolved into a representative of spiritual power’.
30 Flood (1989).
31 For detailed focus on the art of Gandhara, see R. Allchin et al. (1997); Marshall
(2008); Sharma and Ghoshal (2004).
140 Sunil Gupta
32 The English archaeologist John Marshall (2008): 2–3, observed: ‘Indeed, the
great predominance of Western Asiatic types on these coins suggests that the
currency was intended for use in the West rather than in the East. But, however
this may be, this gold coinage leaves us in no doubt that the attitude of the Kus-
hans towards religion was as thoroughly cosmopolitan as it was towards other
matters, as cosmopolitan indeed as that of the Romans…’.
33 For the development of Buddhist, Hindu and Jaina icons at Mathura, see Sharma
(1984); Srinivasan (1989); Sharma (1994); Asthana (1999); Gupta (2013).
34 Biswas and Sharma (2004): 174–179.
35 Sharma (1994): 103–104.
36 The cult of Bacchus spread across the Roman Empire and into the Hellenized
West Asia. The Bacchus cult seems to have made its way into northern India as
seen by the revelry scenes of inebriated men and women on terracotta plaques
(Figure 6.5). Bacchus was replaced by the Hindu god Kubera who is depicted as
being served with wine (Sharma 1984): 133–134.
37 For reference to the Mathura Herakles statue see Flood (1989): 21–22. For Scyth-
ian, Hellenistic and Parthian elements in the art of Mathura, see Lohuizhen de
Leeuw (1989): 72–82.
38 Joshi and Sinha (1991): 255–259.
39 Ghosh (2012): 212–219.
40 For a comprehensive review of Mathura art and archaeology, see Srinivasan
(1989).
41 For inscriptions on the Buddha statues see Sharma (1994): 83.
42 In a recent essay on the Covid-19 pandemic, Francis Fukuyama takes a bleak
view of the political future of mankind but does not lose hope. ‘Over the years to
come, the pandemic could lead to … the continued erosion of the liberal inter-
national order and a resurgence of fascism around the globe. It could also lead
to the rebirth of liberal democracy …’ (Fukuyama 2020).
43 Sissa (2012): 227–261.
44 Muhlberger, Democracy in Ancient India. Available at https://www.infinityfoun-
dation.com/mandala/h_es/h_es_muhlb_democra_frameset.htm
45 Note 42.
46 For the theory and practice of Roman ‘democracy’, see Brown (2016).
47 For changes in the idea of ‘liberty’ through history, see Rosenblatt (2018).
48 Annan (1998).
49 McLaughlin, (2019): 117–134.
50 Cobb and Wilkinson (forthcoming).
51 De Romanis (2020).
52 Gupta (2019: 383).
53 Periplus (32) in Casson (1989).
54 Gupta (2018b).
Bibliography
Annan, Kofi. 1998: Politics of Globalization. Address by UN Secretary General
at Harvard University. Retrieved from https://academy.wcfia.harvard.edu/
politics-globalization-hon-kofi-annan
Asthana, Shashi Prabha. 1999: Mathura Kala, Catalogue of Mathura Sculptures in
the National Museum. New Delhi: National Museum.
Avanzini, A. 2002: Khor Rori Report 1. Pisa: Edizioni Plus.
Avanzini, A. (ed.), 2008: A Port in Arabia between Rome and the Indian Ocean (3rd
C. BC – 5th C. AD), Khor Rori Report 2. Rome: L’Erma di Bretschneider.
Begley, V., P. Francis, Jr., I. Mahadevan, K.V. Raman, S.E. Sidebotham, K.W. Slane
and E.L. Will. 1996: The Ancient Port of Arikamedu – New Excavations and Re-
searches 1989–92. Pondicherry: École Française D’Extrême-Orient.
Biswas, T.K. and S. Sharma. 2004: ‘Kushana Portraits’, in R.C. Sharma and
P. Ghoshal (eds), Buddhism and Gandhara Art, 174–179. New Delhi: Aryan Books
International.
Brown, Zachary S. 2016: ‘How democratic was the Roman republic? The theory
and practice of an archetypal democracy’, Inquiries Journal, 8(11). Retrieved from
http://www.inquiriesjournal.com/a?id=1492
Casson, Lionel. 1989: Periplus Maris Erythraei. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University
Press.
Chami, Felix. 2002: ‘People and contacts in the ancient western Indian Ocean or
Azania’, Man and Environment 27(1): 33–44.
Chittick, Neville. 1976: ‘An archaeological reconnaissance in the Horn: the British-
Somali expedition, 1975’, Azania 11: 117–134.
Cobb, Matthew A. and Troy Wilkinson. Forthcoming: ‘The Roman state and Red
Sea trade revenue’, Red Sea 9.
De Romanis, Federico. 2020: The Indo-Roman Pepper Trade and the Muziris Papy-
rus. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Flood, Finbarr B. 1989: ‘Herakles and the “Perpetual Acolyte” of the Buddha: some
observations on the iconography of Vajrapani in Gandharan art’, South Asian
Studies 5(1): 17–27.
Fogelin, Lars. 2015: An Archaeological History of Indian Buddhism. New York:
Oxford University Press.
Fukuyama, Francis. 1989: ‘The end of history’, The National Interest 16: 3–18.
Fukuyama, Francis. 1992: The End of History and the Last Man. New York: Si-
mon & Schuster.
Fukuyama, Francis. 2020: ‘The pandemic and political order: it takes a state’, For-
eign Affairs, July–August 2020. Retrieved from https://www.foreignaffairs.com/
articles/world/2020-06-09/pandemic-and-political-order
Ghosh, Suchandra. 2012: ‘Revisiting Kushana dynastic sanctuaries’, Proceedings of
the Indian History Congress, 72nd Session, 212–219. Patiala: Delhi.
Giddens, Anthony. 2003: Runaway World: How Globalization is Reshaping our Lives.
Giddens, Anthony. 2008: The Third Way: A Renewal of Social Democracy.
Cambridge: Polity Press
Glover, Ian C. 1990: Early Trade between India and Southeast Asia. Hull: Centre for
Southeast Asian Studies.
Glover, Ian C. 1996: ‘Recent Archaeological Evidence for Early Maritime Contacts
between India and Southeast Asia’ in H.P. Ray and J-F. Salles (eds.), Tradition
and Archaeology: Early Maritime Contacts in the Indian Ocean, 129–158. Delhi:
Manohar.
Gupta, Sunil. 1994: ‘Archaeology of Indian maritime traditions: the early historic
phase’, Man and Environment: Journal of the Indian Society for Prehistoric and
Quaternary Studies 19(1–2): 217–225.
142 Sunil Gupta
Gupta, Sunil. 1998: Roman Egypt to Peninsular India: Archaeological Patterns of
Trade, 1st century BC to 3rd century AD. Unpublished PhD thesis, University of
Pune.
Gupta, Sunil. 2002: ‘The archaeo-historical idea of the Indian Ocean’, special issue
of Man and Environment: Indian Ocean in Antiquity 27(1): 1–24.
Gupta, Sunil. 2004: ‘Monsoon Environment and the Indian Ocean Interaction
Sphere in Antiquity’, in Y. Yasuda and V. Shinde (eds.), Monsoon and Civilization,
133–160. Kyoto and Delhi: International Research Center for Japanese Studies
and Roli Books.
Gupta, Sunil. 2016: ‘Contact between East Africa and India in the First Millennium
CE’, in G. Campbell (ed.), Early Exchange between Africa and the Wider Indian
Ocean, 157–172. Cham: Palgrave Macmillan.
Gupta, Sunil. 2018a: ‘India’s Trade with the Indian Ocean World from 500 BC to
1200 AD: An Archaeological Perspective’, in D.K. Chakrabarti (ed.), History of
India Series Volume 7, 249–346. Kanyakumari: Vivekananda Foundation and
New Dew Delhi: Aryan Books International.
Gupta, Sunil. 2018b: The Archaeological Record of Indian Ocean Engagements: The
Bay of Bengal. Oxford: Oxford University Press/Oxford Handbooks Online in Ar-
chaeology Series. Available at https://www.oxfordhandbooks.com/view/10.1093/
oxfordhb/9780199935413.001.0001/oxfordhb-9780199935413-e-46
Gupta, Sunil. 2019: ‘The Western Indian Ocean Interaction Sphere: Significance
of the Red Sea and the Arabian/Persian Gulf Routes from the Mediterranean to
India (First Century BCE to Third Century CE)’, in Andrea Manzo, Chiara Zaz-
zaro and Diana Joyce de Falco (eds.), Stories of Globalisation: The Red Sea and
the Persian Gulf from Late Prehistory to Early Modernity, 353–393. Leiden: Brill.
Gupta, Vinay K. 2013: Mathura: An Art and Archaeological Study. New Delhi:
Kaveri Books.
Joshi, M.C. and A.K. Sinha. 1991: ‘Discovery of an Amphora-handle from Mathura’,
in C. Margabandhu, K.S. Ramachandran, A.P. Sinha and D.K. Sinha (eds.), In-
dian Archaeological Heritage Vol. I, 255–259. Delhi: Agam Kala Prakashan.
Katsuhiko, Oga and Sunil Gupta. 2000: ‘The Far East, Southeast and South Asia:
Indo-Pacific beads from Yayoi tombs as indicators of early maritime exchange’,
Journal of South Asian Studies 16: 73–88.
Lohuizen de Leeuw, Johanna E. van. 1989: ‘Foreign Elements in Indian Culture
introduced during the Scythian Period with Special Reference to Mathura’, in
Srinivasan 1989: 72–82.
McCrindle, John W. 1884: ‘Ptolemy’s Geography of India and Southern Asia’, IA,
Vol. XIII, October: 313–411.
McLaughlin, Raoul J. 2019: ‘Indian Ocean Commerce in Context: The Economic
and Revenue Significance of Eastern Trade in the Ancient World’, in Matthew A.
Cobb (ed.), The Indian Ocean Trade in Antiquity: Political, Cultural and Economic
Impacts, 117–134. New York: Routledge.
Marshall, Sir John. 2008[1960]: The Buddhist Art of Gandāra. New Delhi: Munshi-
ram Manoharlal.
Mukherjee, Bratindra N. 1997: ‘The Impact of Gandhara on the Art of Ancient
Vanga: A Case of the Eastern Response’, in R. Allchin, B. Allchin, N. Krietman
and E. Errington (eds.), Gandharan Art in Context: East–West Exchanges at the
Crossroads of Asia, 173–188. New Delhi: Regency Publications.
O’Sullivan, Michael. 2019: The Levelling: What’s Next After Globalization.
New York: Public Affairs.
Pingree, David (trans.) 1978: The Yavanajataka of Sphujidhvaja. Cambridge, MA:
Harvard University Press.
Rapin, Claude. 1995: ‘Hinduism in the Indo-Greek Area: Notes on Some Indian
Finds from Bactria and on Two Temples in Taxila’, in A. Invernizzi (ed.), In the
Land of the Gryphons: Papers on Central Asian Archaeology in Antiquity, 275–290.
Turin: Casa Editrice Le Lettere.
Rosenblatt, Helene. 2018: The Lost History of Liberalism: From Ancient Rome to the
Twenty-First Century. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.
Salles, Jean-François. 1993: ‘The Periplus of the Erythraean Sea and the Arab-
Persian Gulf’, Topoi 3(2): 493–523.
Sedov, A.V. 1996: ‘Qana’ (Yemen) and the Indian Ocean: The Archaeological Evi-
dence’, in H.P. Ray and J-F. Salles (eds.), Tradition and Archaeology: Early Mari-
time Contacts in the Indian Ocean, 11–35. Delhi: Manohar Publishers.
Sharma, Ramesh C. 1984: The Buddhist Art of Mathura. New Delhi: Agam Kala
Prakashan.
Sharma, Ramesh C. 1994: The Splendour of Mathura. New Delhi: D.K. Printworld.
Sidebotham, Steven E. 1986: Roman Economic Policy in the Erythra Thalassa
(31 B.C. – 217 A.D.). Leiden: E.J. Brill.
Sissa, Giulia. 2012: ‘Democracy: a Persian invention?’, Metis N.S. 10: 227–261.
Smith, Matthew C. and Harry T. Wright. 1990: ‘Notes on a Classical Maritime Site:
The Ceramics from Ras Hafun, Somalia’, in Paul J.J. Sinclair and J.M. Rakotoar-
isoa (eds.), Urban Origins in Eastern Africa, 106–114. Stockholm: Central Board
of National Antiquities.
Srinivasan, Doris M. (ed.), 1989: Mathura, The Cultural Heritage. New Delhi:
American Institute of Indian Studies.
Thompson, Karl. 2016: ‘Review of Anthony Giddens Runaway World’. Available
online at https://revisesociology.com/2016/08/21/anthony-giddens-runaway-
world-summary/
Tomber, Roberta. 2008: Indo-Roman Trade: From Pots to Pepper. London:
Duckworth.
Torres-Rodriguez, Jorge de, A. Gonzales-Ruibal, C. Kleinitz, M.A.F. Rodriguez,
C.M. Barrio and A.D. Jama. 2019: ‘Excavation of a first century AD tomb in Heis
(Somaliland): evincing long distance trade contacts’, Nyame Akuma 91, June 2019:
30–35.
Wheeler, R.E. Mortimer. 1954: Rome Beyond the Imperial Frontiers. London:
G. Bell and Sons.
7 Oikoumenisation and the
Ptolemaic beginnings of the
Indian Ocean trade
Troy Wilkinson
Introduction
According to Strabo, by the end of the first century BCE maritime trade
between Egypt and southern India had experienced a five-fold increase
compared to the Ptolemaic period (323–30 BCE).1 Certainly, the archaeo-
logical evidence confirms Strabo’s view that with Roman involvement came
a significant increase in trade, not just with southern India, but with many
regions beyond the Gulf of Aden (the Indian Ocean).2 This undoubtedly
resulted in greater economic and cultural integration between the Indian
Ocean and the Mediterranean Sea than was seen previously. How this rapid
economic development was facilitated is an important question for scholars
of ancient trade and the economy. Part of this question has recently been
addressed by Cobb who has rightly sought to stress that the rapid growth
in Indian Ocean commerce under Rome was built on foundations that were
established by the Ptolemies.3
However, this situation also represents an intriguing prospect for schol-
ars attempting to understand the nature and process of globalization in the
ancient world. In a 2008 article for the journal Ancient West & East, Seland
argued that the period from the first to the fifth century CE represented
a phase of increasing globalization. However, since the publication of the
article (entitled ‘The Indian Ocean and the Globalisation of the Ancient
World’), Seland’s premise has received relatively little attention. Despite the
subsequently narrow engagement, I would argue that Seland provides a con-
structive lens through which to better understand ancient globalization, spe-
cifically in relation to its manifestation in the north-western Afro-Eurasian
world. That is to say, it provides an important case study for how processes
of globalization manifested themselves in the Red Sea, the Gulf of Aden and
Arabian Sea regions of the Indian Ocean between the first and the fifth cen-
turies CE. This chapter will, therefore, explore the validity and potential of
Seland’s approach. It will then seek to apply the resulting framework to the
Ptolemaic period to see if we can identify what is likely a historical instance
of glocalization taking place in the Red Sea sphere (including Egypt, East-
ern Africa and Arabia).4 Such an analysis would, akin to Cobb’s discussion
DOI: 10.4324/9781003096269-11
Ptolemaic beginnings of the Indian Ocean trade 145
of the expansion of commerce under Rome building upon earlier Ptolemaic
era developments, highlight the Ptolemaic beginnings upon which the rapid
phase of globalization, which Seland convincingly describes, took place.
From globalization to oikoumenisation and glocalization

In Seland’s view, the term globalization cannot be applied prior to the Sec-
ond World War due to the inherent implications of modern technology such
as fast, affordable travel and telecommunications.5 Certainly he is right to
highlight that the word globalization does carry with it these connotations
and it has even been called a replacement for westernization.6 Despite this,
it forms the basis of several recent edited volumes on the ancient world
by Pitts, Versluys and Hodos among others. This stems primarily from a
partial shift away from seeing globalization as a phenomenon relating to
modern technology and a geographically interconnected ‘globe’ (i.e., a
planetary-wide phenomenon) and instead, towards questions of cultural
exchange, connectivity and identity.7 These are problems which have been
especially prevalent in scholarship on the ancient world.8 While globaliza-
tion offers an important and potentially useful theoretical framework for
the study of antiquity, it should be explored in tandem with terms that are
less closely associated with the developments of modernity. Seland is cor-
rect, therefore, to propose that a different term should be utilised (or at least
explored) to describe this process.9 The result of this advice, as will be seen,
is a term which sits within the limits of the evidence and places globaliza-
tion closer to the conceptual worldview of certain social-cultural groups in
antiquity.
The concept of globalization possesses numerous characteristics, many of
which could be appropriately applied when describing phenomena in the an-
cient world. These include the intensification of social or economic contacts
over great distances, the impact of political events being felt over increasingly
large geographical areas, time-space compression and cultural heterogeneity
to name but a few.10 However, Seland offers Watson’s definition as the basis
for his new term: ‘[Globalisation] is the process by which the experience of
everyday life, marked by the diffusion of commodities and ideas can foster a
standardization of cultural expressions around the world.’11
Seland sees this description as the most appropriate to apply to the an-
cient world and specifically to the growth in trade between the Mediterra-
nean and the Indian Ocean from the first century CE (it is worth noting that
there is no single definition of globalization).12 This is for two reasons, the
first of which is because it primarily emphasizes culture and so recognises
the absence of statistical economic information. To account for this absence,
Seland adopts a part of the criteria for globalization proposed by Flynn
and Giraldez and suggests that the economic effects of trade on the ancient
world must be measured by assessing the long-term impact on people.13
146 Troy Wilkinson
The second advantage of Watson’s definition, according to Seland, is that
it does not mention technology. This, to Seland’s mind, makes it applicable
to all periods of history, including antiquity.14 Certainly, this latter point is
quite convincing. Similarly, Seland’s other premise, that the economic im-
pact of globalization in the ancient world can be more effectively studied
in terms of the qualitative impact on various peoples, also seems pertinent
when studying ancient societies for which we generally lack ‘quantitative
data.’ Finally, Seland, as will be seen, is also right to propose that when
studying the process of globalization historically this should be based on
networks, systems and their impact, rather than on trade across every conti-
nent as some have suggested.15 For Seland, such an approach recognises the
potential for unevenness of exchange relations between different regions.16
Indeed, a planetary geographical approach to globalization is, in the an-
cient world, necessarily problematic. On this point, it is worth noting that
a recognised characteristic of this theory is unevenness (not all parts of
the globe being equally integrated or impacted by this integration). More-
over, Greco-Roman writers such as Strabo and Ptolemy were well aware
that their knowledge of the physical extent of their world was imperfect.
Thus, any approach that insisted upon a planetary-wide view, would be a
non-starter. Conrad rightly argues that even a geographically or regionally
restricted position may still adopt views on connectivity and structures that
are global in outlook.17 If viewing ‘ancient globalization’ from the Greco-
Roman perspective, Seland proposes utilising the terminology and concep-
tual categories developed within these societies. That is to say, the word
oikoumene which was employed within historical and geographic discourse
(among other forms of writing). This term is frequently translated as the
‘inhabited world.’18 From a Greco-Roman viewpoint the area of the oikou-
mene included Europe, Asia and Africa but, importantly, did not exclude
the potential existence of additional oikoumenai.19 It was noted above that
the core view of Seland’s theoretical analysis is that globalization has been
and should be studied within ‘perceived’ worlds, systems, or oikoumenai
rather than via geography. Therefore, Seland proposes that the term oikou-
menisation should be used to describe globalization but in the context of the
ancient (Greek and Roman) world. This, Seland convincingly argues, avoids
a geographical discussion and separates the ancient and modern process.20
Certainly, using oikoumenisation to describe the process of globalization
which the Greeks and Romans experienced would place it much closer to
a contemporary understanding of their world. Despite this important step
forward, Seland’s proposal has received some perceptive criticism.
In her discussion of globalization and material culture in the first mil-
lennium BCE Mediterranean, Hodos highlights two problems with using
the term oikoumene to describe ancient globalization. The first of these is
that the word, which was initially used by Herodotus in the fifth century
BCE, had by the Hellenistic era come to denote a social nuance referring
to a ‘civilised Greek-speaking world.’21 This lasted until Late Antiquity.22
Indeed, even in Herodotus’ work, the difference between ‘civilised Greeks’
and ‘uncivilised barbaroi’ is already emphasized. This is particularly the
case with his account of Africa which becomes increasingly fantastical.23
Consequently, Hodos cautions that using the term oikoumene comes with
an inherent implication of cultural superiority over non-Greek popula-
tions.24 Hodos’ second concern with using the term oikoumene to con-
ceptualise ancient globalization is that the Greeks and Romans did not
engage with all of the groups which the authors of their respective times
discuss. This could subsequently result in the groups which comprised the
oikoumene and its relevant networks being excluded.25 On this basis, Ho-
dos suggests that the term oikoumene, and thus oikoumenisation, is not
an appropriate lens through which to see ancient globalization because
it lacks concrete definitions of the societies and geography which were
included.
Hodos is certainly right to highlight the implications of Greek cultural
superiority that are inherent in the term oikoumene and the fact that its
geographical span is not clearly defined. However, Hodos’ use of examples
from Herodotus, while certainly providing relevant historical context, does
not fully reflect the conceptual development of the term oikoumene by the
Roman period, 500 years later.26 Certainly, Herodotus presented the conti-
nent of Africa in fantastical and derogatory terms. However, Herodotus did
the same with respect to the subcontinent of India by regaling his readers
with stories such as the gold-digging ‘ants’ of the Pactyic region.27 On the
other hand, by the late Hellenistic period knowledge of these regions had
been greatly expanded, partly as a result of Alexander III’s campaigns and
partly through the establishment by the major Hellenistic kingdoms of dip-
lomatic relations with their counterparts on the subcontinent.28 Moreover,
by the time of the Roman conquest of Egypt it is clear that the oikoumene
had developed significantly since the time of Herodotus to include new
groups of peoples and regions. Indeed, as Seland himself emphasizes, such
processes of connection and interaction were uneven and the oikoumene
came to include the Mediterranean, parts of Africa and broad swathes of
Asia.29
This gradual development is shown by Polybius who connected the his-
tory of Greece, Italy and Africa together following the Second Punic War
in 202 BCE.30 By the time of Augustus’ death in 14 CE, the Res Gestae
makes it clear that India had become a more integrated part of the Roman
conception of the oikoumene.31 Indeed, by the second century CE, Aelius
felt that there was no longer a need to write a geography of the world as it
had become a single oikoumene:
And now indeed there is no need to write a description of the world, nor
to enumerate the laws of each people, but you have become universal
geographers for all by opening up the gates of the oikoumene and by
organising the whole oikoumene like a single household.32
148 Troy Wilkinson
Thus, it seems reasonable to suggest that, while Hodos is right that there is
no single term to describe the territory encompassed by the oikoumene, it
appears that it could be liberally expanded to include new areas and peo-
ples. Such an open-ended concept would appear to be ideally suited to de-
scribe the ancient Greek and Roman world in which knowledge of the full
extent of the globe was far from complete. However, Hodos’ concerns about
the implied superiority of Greek culture remain a legitimate problem, since,
as she cautions, this remained attached to the oikoumene concept until
Late Antiquity.33 On the other hand, it is worth noting that the intention
of Herodotus’ writing was primarily to present an enquiry into the origins
of the conflict between the Greeks and the Persians.34 Although, the view
which Herodotus presents of the ‘civilised’ Greeks versus the ‘barbarian’
other seems to have been retained by much of Rome’s intellectual elite, this
was not necessarily the case for the whole of society. For example, the quote
by Aelius suggests that such a view may not even have been reflected by all
elites. Moreover, the Periplus, a first century CE account of trade in the In-
dian Ocean by an unknown Greco-Egyptian merchant, does not appear to
reflect these views either.35
It is therefore questionable whether the oikoumene should be ruled out
completely as a conceptual framework on this basis. A further reason for
not ruling out the use of the term is that, as has already been suggested, it
presents an opportunity to appreciate a form of ‘ancient’ globalization (or
what is potentially a part of a longer process of proto-globalization) within
a context which is appropriate for one cultural vantage point, in this case
the Greco-Roman.36 While Hodos’ concerns must be recognised, under-
standing globalization from a distinctly Greco-Roman mindset represents
one of the most promising aspects of oikoumenisation. This is because, as
mentioned above, Seland’s definition mainly examines the process of glo-
balization via networks of exchange rather than by geography. While it has
already been shown that the oikoumene could be expanded in several ways
it nevertheless implies a predominantly Greco-Roman outlook. However,
this is not necessarily a bad thing. Indeed, such a perspective would allow
scholars to examine a specific network from a particular viewpoint (in this
instance the Greco-Roman).37 Such a culturally focused view could help
lead to a deeper appreciation of, as Fitzpatrick suggests, one part of a wider
trading network.38 In addition, it could, to some degree, resolve Hodos’ sec-
ond concern.
On the other hand, the more focused cultural view, which is a great
strength of oikoumenisation suggests that, rather than serving as a replace-
ment term for globalization in antiquity, as Seland proposes, it should per-
haps be seen as a form of glocalization or, as suggested in the introduction,
at least, a historical instance of it. Glocalization (understanding the reac-
tion of a specific region or culture to the process of globalization) would,
however, still incorporate oikoumenisation within wider ‘globalization the-
ory’ rather than entirely separating or discarding it.39 In addition, viewing
Seland’s framework in this manner would solve many of Hodos’ concerns.
This is because while oikoumenisation’s broad geographical, yet narrow
cultural focus means that it can be applied, theoretically, to any trading
network or cultural perspective from antiquity, it might appear to privilege
Greco-Roman involvement in these trading networks.40 Highlighting the
involvement of only a single ‘people’ could therefore result in repeating a
trope found in earlier scholarship on trade in the Red Sea and the Indian
Ocean during the Classical period.41 This notion held that the Romans were
the principal participants and drivers of commercial activity, often at the
expense of other groups.
However, as will be shown in the section on the Ptolemaic oikoumenisa-
tion of the Red Sea, it is now possible to say far more about the involvement
of actors from other polities. Classing oikoumenisation as a form of glocal-
ization rather than using it as a replacement for globalization would there-
fore help to avoid potentially misrepresenting the multifaceted, multi-ethnic
makeup of the exchange networks. Aside from addressing Hodos’ second
concern, placing oikoumenisation alongside other forms of glocalization
could still lead to a greater appreciation of how different cultural groups oc-
cupying the same networks uniquely responded to the ‘globalizing’ oppor-
tunities of trade.42 Furthermore, seeing oikoumenisation as one amongst
many glocalizations would potentially help to compartmentalise it, to some
degree, against a wider backdrop involving the active involvement of numer-
ous groupings of people. This would arguably limit, if not entirely remove,
the implications (at least in a modern theoretical sense) of cultural supe-
riority which Hodos highlights in her first criticism. Consequently, while
oikoumenisation might not be suitable to simply replace globalization, it
nonetheless represents an important step forward. This is because it still al-
lows for an understanding of ‘ancient’ globalization or, more likely, a histor-
ical example of glocalization within a conceptual framework that is closer
to the Greek and Roman worldview. This is true even if this only represents
one socio-cultural perspective from antiquity. Nonetheless, it is important
to remain cognizant of the potential biases in the term oikoumene.
The Romans and the oikoumenisation of the Indian Ocean

For Seland, the Indian Ocean represented a ‘nucleus’ of trade which bound
much of Europe, Asia and Africa together from the Roman period onwards.
This, he rightly proposes, makes it ideal for examining the cultural and
economic impact on people which are the hallmarks of oikoumenisation
(ancient glocalization/globalization).43 To this end, Seland’s article offers
several examples of oikoumenisation in the Indian Ocean between the first
and the fifth centuries CE. The first of these is the long-term cultural impact
of the spread of Greek as a common language. This is equated to the spread
of English in modern times.44 The Periplus indicates that Zosakles’ (king of
the port city of Adulis) knowledge of Greek was highly regarded.45 While
150 Troy Wilkinson
correctly recognising that this singular case is insignificant, Seland points to
the choice of Greek for the legends on Askumite coinage as further evidence
of the spread of the Greek language. These legends continued until the end
of Askum’s coinage in the seventh century CE.46 Of course, this does not
directly indicate that knowledge of Greek was widespread amongst the gen-
eral populace.47 On the other hand, being bilingual was a common feature
of Greek and Roman mercantile communities.48 This is confirmed both by
the Periplus and by the coins themselves, since many of the people who han-
dled them would presumably have been merchants.49 The second of Seland’s
examples concerning the cultural impact of oikoumenisation is the growth
of settlements or ‘diaspora’ around the Indian Ocean. Chief amongst them
was the polyglot community of Indians, Arabians and Greeks which the
Periplus mentions was established on Socotra. This community seems to
have existed until at least 525 CE when Cosmas reports on the settlement.50
Seland’s third example of the cultural effect of oikoumenisation traces the
establishment of new religious communities along the trade routes. These
communities include the Christian churches which sprang up in places such
as Sri Lanka and Ethiopia in the Late Antique period.51 The last of Seland’s
examples attempts to discern the economic impact of the Indian Ocean’s
oikoumenisation on its participants.
To do this Seland draws, primarily, upon Pliny the Elder’s assertion that
the Indian Ocean trade cost Rome c. 100 million sesterces each year. While
Seland correctly observes that there can be no certainty about Pliny’s fig-
ures, the sums involved have led several scholars to believe that Indian
Ocean commerce had a detrimental effect on the Empire.52 Despite this,
given the value of the Muziris papyrus, a loan contract for a Roman trad-
ing vessel from the second century CE, Pliny’s figures certainly represent
the correct order of magnitude.53 Thus, Seland is right to propose that 100
million sesterces would have paid for more than 20 of Rome’s 29 legions in
the first century CE.54 Such a large sum will doubtless have had a significant
impact on many parts of Roman society.55 In addition to this, trade in the
Indian Ocean seems to have been an important influence on political events
in India, Africa and Arabia.56 In short, Seland convincingly shows that the
oikoumenisation of the Indian Ocean, largely as a result of trade, had a sig-
nificant and lasting cultural and economic impact both on Rome and on the
other cultural groups involved.57
The Ptolemies and the oikoumenisation of the Red Sea

If the first to the fifth century CE can be argued to have been a time in
which oikoumenisation took place in the Indian Ocean, it is worth exam-
ining what developments preceded this phenomenon. As noted in the intro-
duction, trade between the Mediterranean and various regions of the Indian
Ocean grew very rapidly after the Roman annexation of Egypt. Indeed, the
majority of Seland’s examples come from the Periplus, a text which has been
shown to have been written between 40 and 70 CE.58 Likewise, the state-
ment of Pliny the Elder that trade with the Indian Ocean cost Rome c. 100
million sesterces comes from the first century CE.59 In addition, very few
of Seland’s examples do not come from beyond the Gulf of Aden. This then
raises the question, as with the growth of trade itself, of how the oikoume-
nisation of the Indian Ocean (regions beyond the Gulf of Aden) took place
so rapidly. The remainder of this article will demonstrate that oikoumenisa-
tion in the Indian Ocean, similarly to trade, can be traced back to Ptolemaic
activity in the Red Sea.
The most promising way to observe the kind of long-term economic im-
pact of oikoumenisation that we see during the Roman period under the
Ptolemies is through the importation of elephants from the Red Sea’s Afri-
can coastline. This practice, which received major impetus under Ptolemy
II (from the 270s BCE), was notionally to counter the military threat posed
by elephants belonging to the Seleucid dynasty.60 To this end, for approxi-
mately the next century, large and royally sanctioned hunting parties were
periodically dispatched into the Eastern Desert.61 To support these mis-
sions the Ptolemies oversaw the construction of the ports of Berenike, Ars-
inoe and Ptolemais-of-the-Hunts along with a series of roads and forts.62
This network became the basis for the trade which would enable the sub-
sequent oikoumenisation of the Indian Ocean. While these ports were pri-
marily built to facilitate the hunting of live elephants for military purposes,
Burstein has convincingly argued that the economic potential of this activ-
ity was not overlooked.63 Indeed, the economic impact which the hunting of
Red Sea elephants had on Ptolemaic society is shown most prominently by
Athenaeus’ account of the so-called Grand Procession of Ptolemy II. This
depicts a major religious festival which took place during the monarch’s
reign and, moreover, suggests that ivory was acquired on an especially large
scale. Athenaeus states that the parade included a display of 600 tusks.64
This number represents the hunting of at least 300 animals. To put this de-
mand for ivory into perspective, the 300 elephants (600 tusks) which would
have been needed for Ptolemy II’s parade, compares to the 73 live elephants
which were deployed by Ptolemy IV at the battle of Raphia.65 Given this dis-
parity, it can be suggested that while efforts may have been initially driven
by military requirements, the economic value, as per Burstein’s suggestion,
was quickly understood. An additional and especially illuminating aspect
of this event is that Athenaeus records that the tusks that were used dur-
ing the parade were brought as gifts by Ethiopians who then carried them
during the procession.66 While this certainly does not preclude Ptolemaic
expeditions from gathering ivory independently, it highlights the potential
for other mechanisms by which ivory was brought to the Ptolemaic kingdom
(in this case from south of the first and second cataracts).67
The impact of these Red Sea ‘imports’ on Ptolemaic society was however
not only limited to the rule of Ptolemy II nor just to Egypt. This is shown
firstly by the expedition of Simmias which was supported by Ptolemy III and
152 Troy Wilkinson
secondly, by three inscriptions from Delos which indicate a gradual drop in
the price of ivory between 279 and 250 BCE.68 While it must be noted that
the Seleucids had presumably been obtaining ivory from India (and possibly
other goods from around the Indian Ocean), since the time of Ptolemy I it
is very likely that much of the ivory responsible for the reductions in price
would have also come from the Red Sea.69 It appears therefore that Ptole-
maic elephant hunting, which involved Greeks and other peoples, from the
third century BCE had a significant economic impact which was felt across
Egypt and at least into the Aegean. The full extent of this aspect of Ptolemaic
activity in the Red Sea is indicated by the apparent diminution of the native
elephant population (along the coastal regions) which seems to have taken
place during the Hellenistic period.70 Despite this, and possibly because of
Ptolemaic activity, ivory remained popular into the Roman period.71 How-
ever, Pliny the Elder observes that, during the first century CE, the largest
ivory tusks could only be obtained from India.72 As a result, the cargo of the
Hermapollon, which was returning to Egypt from the port of Muziris during
the mid-second century CE, included a large quantity of Indian ivory.73 It
is clear therefore, that the Ptolemies’ royally sanctioned elephant hunts in
the Red Sea, which necessitated the construction of large ports and a ma-
jor network of roads, led to the importation of very large amounts of ivory
into Egypt and beyond. These imports were potentially supplemented by
exchanges with the Meroitic kingdom to the south and the developing Red
Sea trade. This combination undoubtedly made the Red Sea an important
component of the Ptolemaic economy. Indeed, the continued activity in the
region following the decline of elephant hunting certainly suggests that this
was the case and, moreover, that the economic impact which the Red Sea
had on the Mediterranean world should be seen over the long term.
At the same time as elephant hunting via the Eastern Desert was coming
to an end, five merchants signed a contract to sponsor their voyage to ‘the
Spice-Bearing Land.’74 Although the contract does not specify where this
land lay, it is thought to have referred to the region of modern-day Soma-
lia in East Africa.75 This contract, which was signed by individuals from
northern Africa, Egypt, Greece, Italy and France suggests that not only
was trade between Egypt and East Africa increasing, it was drawing inter-
national interest.76 Moreover, that this contract contained a stipulation that
the loan had to be repaid within 50 to 90 days of returning to Egypt suggests
that such Red Sea voyages (at least to East Africa) had become a frequent
occurrence by the middle of the second century BCE.77 This situation is
confirmed by several dedications by merchants who returned from voyages
in the Red Sea which have been found in the Eastern Desert.78
While it can be assumed from the Spice-Bearing contract that these mer-
chants had travelled to East Africa to acquire spices, it does not give any
indication of the quantity of goods which were transported back to Egypt.
Alongside spices, monkeys were also a popular import from East Africa,
both as pets and for religious purposes.79 Many of these animals were likely
imported into Egypt via the Red Sea.80 Importantly, the animal necropolis
of North Saqqara, which dates to the early second century BCE, has pre-
served the remains of 146 mummified Olive baboons which appear to have
originated from Sudan and Tanzania.81 This suggests that only decades
prior to the Spice-Bearing contract Ptolemaic trade with East Africa was
already expanding significantly.
However, in addition to the Greco-Roman merchants and Ethiopians
noted above it is also possible that additional cultural groups originat-
ing from East Africa were engaging in trade with the Ptolemies. While
Classical- era archaeological finds from East Africa are very limited and the
stratigraphy of what little material survives is debated, the Periplus makes it
clear that by the first century CE the East African port of Rhapta was con-
trolled by the governor of Mapharitis and exported goods to south Arabia.82
These goods included ivory, ambergris and possibly nautilus shells.83 This
situation, therefore, made it possible for those merchants from the Medi-
terranean who ventured to the southern Arabian coast to have potentially
acquired goods originating from Rhapta. Admittedly the only East African
export to have been excavated for the period we are concerned with are glass
beads, but the extent of the literary testimony suggests that East African
communities may have had a larger role in trade than the current archaeo-
logical evidence suggests.84 Indeed, the site of Rhapata has not been found
and it has been proposed that the absence of finds could be due to changing
sea levels.85
Certainly, it has already been noted that Ethiopians (a people vaguely
connected to north-East Africa in the mind of Greco-Roman authors)
were involved in the ivory trade from the third century BCE. This suggests
therefore that non-Greeks had an important role in commercial activity in
the Red Sea although the current state of the evidence makes it impossible
to say more until further excavation can be conducted.86 Such economic
connections with East Africa would, along with the import of ivory via the
Red Sea and Eastern Desert, have done much to bring the region within the
oikoumene and, indeed, the signing of the Spice-Bearing contract confirms
this. However, the long-lasting economic impact that defines oikoumenisa-
tion may have also been felt in other regions of the ‘wider’ Red Sea (inclusive
of the Gulf of Aden region).
The kingdoms of southern Arabia developed a significant commerce in
spices and incense between the tenth and the eighth century BCE and had
regularly brought these goods overland to Egypt.87 Indeed, by the third
century BCE this commerce appears to have become virtually synonymous
with merchants from the kingdom of Ma’in, with some individuals from
this polity attested as operating inside Ptolemaic dominions.88 Some of
these merchants even appear to have had royal connections as documents
from the Zenon archive suggest.89 Indeed, royal involvement could perhaps
have also have gone in the opposite direction (i.e., to southern Arabia) as
Bukharin has recently argued.90
154 Troy Wilkinson
Despite the evident success of this overland route, some merchants seem
to have explored maritime alternatives in the Red Sea.91 These routes would
come to largely replace the overland trade during the Roman period.92 The
start of the integration of the Arabian coast into these wider Red Sea net-
works seems to have been marked by another royally sanctioned mission.
Although this expedition, which was led by Ariston during the reign of
Ptolemy III, seems to have only explored the Arabian coastline it is not un-
reasonable to propose that this activity could have brought back crucial in-
formation on potential ports and sea routes.93 Indeed, information brought
back by Ariston may even have prompted a few Ptolemaic merchants to
make voyages to some of the Arabian ports. This is possibly suggested by
the discovery of pottery at Qana’ which may date from the late Ptolemaic
period, although this is by no means certain.94 Indeed, Davidde asserts that
no finds were made during her two excavations in Qana’ that date to before
the first century CE.95
Whatever the case, Ptolemaic explorers like Ariston and unnamed mer-
chants likely contributed to the accumulation of information that would
be exploited by merchants in the early centuries CE.96 Thus Arabia (and
Arabian merchants) were increasingly impacting on the economy of Ptole-
maic Egypt during the Hellenistic period and it appears that the Ptolemies
sought to improve their knowledge and possibly, as a result, commercial
activity, with southern Arabia. These efforts should be included in the over-
all picture of oikoumenisation in the Red Sea from the third century BCE,
not least because it appears to have enabled the very rapid development of
similar exchange networks from the end of the first century BCE to the first
century CE (the start of the period articulated by Seland).
The cultural impact of Ptolemaic era oikoumenisation

It has been shown above that the Ptolemies, as with the Romans after them,
greatly contributed to the expanding of economic activity throughout the
Red Sea. This has been shown to have not only had a long-term economic
impact on Egypt, but also the Aegean and other parts of the Mediterra-
nean. This expansion of economic activity also led to a number of cultural
impacts on Ptolemaic society and likely on other polities in the wider Red
Sea region. As has been seen, Ptolemaic commerce with East Africa appears
to have increased by the middle of the second century BCE. Where Seland
is right to see Zosakles’ knowledge of the Greek language and the use of
Greek legends on Askumite coinage as evidence of the cultural impact of
oikoumenisation in the Indian Ocean, Cobb has astutely proposed that this
should be placed in the longue durée, taking into account the cultural ef-
fect of earlier Ptolemaic activity in the Red Sea.97 That regular voyages by
Ptolemaic merchants to East Africa, which have been shown to have taken
place by the middle of the second century BCE, may have encouraged some
in these regions to acquire knowledge of the Greek language (at the very
least for practical purposes), a phenomenon that would continue into the
first millennium CE.98
In addition to the (limited) spread of the Greek language in parts of the
Red Sea region, it is also likely that the maritime import of Olive baboons
from East Africa for religious rituals would have had a lasting cultural
impact. The overland import of frankincense by Arabian traders such as
Zaydʿil bin Zayad, whose sarcophagus states that he imported myrrh and
calamus for Egypt’s temples only serves to reinforce this view.99 Finally, the
cultural impact on Egypt of the increasing activity in the Red Sea during
the Ptolemaic period can be seen perhaps most clearly, again, in the Parade
of Ptolemy II. This display included as much as c. 630 kilograms of spices
which were presumably brought overland from Arabia.100 Alongside these,
as has already been mentioned, were 600 elephant tusks from north-east
Africa.
To have such a large amount of East African/Red Sea goods within the
context of a major religious festival and royal parade comprising five sep-
arate processions, clearly demonstrates the growing significance of this re-
gion and likely, the sense of Alexandria’s linkage with the wider oikoumene.
Moreover, the status of goods from the Red Sea at this event could even be
said to foreshadow the importance which goods from both the Red Sea and
wider Indian Ocean would come to enjoy at similar social events during the
Roman era.101 An example of this is the funeral of Poppaea Sabina during
the reign of Nero in which one year’s worth of Arabian incense was allegedly
burnt.102
To this end it has been demonstrated that earlier activity in this region
had a lasting cultural and economic impact that should not be discounted
when considering ‘Roman’ participation in wider Indian Ocean networks of
exchange during the early-mid-first millennium CE. In fact, it may be said
that in the Red Sea the process of oikoumenisation was already underway
prior to Octavian’s annexation of Egypt. This goes a long way to explain the
speed of oikoumenisation in the Indian Ocean which Seland outlines.
Conclusion
This chapter has argued, firstly, that while there are difficulties with view-
ing ancient globalization through the lens of oikoumenisation, Seland’s ap-
proach represents a promising development for several reasons. The first of
these is because, although Hodos rightly cautions that the term oikoumene
had a specific social and intellectual meaning in the Greco-Roman world,
in practical terms, by the Roman period, it appears to have expanded to
include a wide variety of peoples and places. This combination of a flexible
term and a definition of globalization which accounts for the limited evi-
dence, offers the potential to explore ancient globalization from a specific
cultural perspective; placing the process within the conceptual worldview of
the ancients is, to the author’s mind, a notable advantage.
156 Troy Wilkinson
It is argued that the points raised in this chapter address many of Hodos’
concerns regarding the unclear geographical definition of the oikoumene
and the culturally narrow view inherent in the term. However, while Se-
land’s framework has significant advantages, the potentially exclusive cul-
tural focus which oikoumenisation implies (and is one of Hodos’ critiques)
would perhaps benefit from seeing it classified as an historical example of
glocalization, rather than as a replacement term for globalization. Impor-
tantly, glocalization is a theoretical concept which Hodos herself acknowl-
edges.103 This chapter has subsequently argued that, while Seland is correct
to view the Roman conquest of Egypt as a time of increased oikoumenisa-
tion in the Indian Ocean, an important question still needs to be answered.
In the same way as trade between the Mediterranean and the Indian
Ocean rapidly expanded on the back of Ptolemaic developments in the Red
Sea, oikoumenisation appears to have followed a similar trajectory. The re-
mainder of this chapter, following the oikoumenisation framework, has out-
lined the ways in which peoples operating from Ptolemaic Egypt, alongside
those from other parts of the wider Red Sea, can be said to have oikoume-
nised the region prior to Rome’s arrival. This was achieved economically by
the establishment of a significant trade in ivory which appears to have been
imported into Egypt and beyond. Alongside ivory, the Ptolemaic period ap-
pears to have witnessed an increase in trading voyages to East Africa as the
internationally backed venture to the Spice-Bearing Land and the import of
Olive baboons implies. Finally, the exploration of the coast of Arabia likely
did much to open maritime trade routes which would be utilised early in the
Roman era.
The cultural impact of the Ptolemaic era oikoumenisation of the Red Sea
is apparent from a range of evidence, including the Parade of Ptolemy II, a
major festival and social event which included ivory from the Red Sea and
aromatics from Arabia. This could be said to foreshadow the continued sig-
nificance of such goods in the Roman era of the Mediterranean world. See-
ing these processes of oikoumenisation as developing from the Ptolemaic
period would help to explain the speeding up of this phenomenon and its
expansion, which Seland articulates for the first millennium CE. This rep-
resents important progress in our understanding of ancient globalization,
glocalization, oikoumenisation and the early stages of trade in the antique
Indian Ocean.
Notes
1 Srab. 2.5.12.
2 Cobb (2015b): 372–378; 381; Tomber (2013): 116; Apicius 1.1 (use of spices in
wine); Mart. Ep. 1.87 (malabathrum to freshen breath); Plin. NH 12.41.83 (in-
cense used for funerals).
3 Cobb (2018): 28–60; Cobb (2019c).
4 Sidebotham (1986): 182–186 outlines the very broad areas that were referred to
by the sources as the Erythra Thalassa, Erythra Thalatta and Rubrum Mare.
These could mean either the Red Sea, the Indian Ocean or the Persian Gulf. To
clarify what is meant by terms like the ‘Indian Ocean’ and the ‘Red Sea’ these
regions are clearly defined throughout the chapter.
5 Seland (2008): 68.
6 Hodos (2017b): 4.
7 Pitts and Versluys (2015a): 22; Hodos (2017b): 5; 6; 10–11.
8 Pitts and Versluys (2015a): 5–6; Hodos (2017b): 11.
9 Seland (2008): 70.
10 Pitts and Versluys (2015a): 11; Cobb (2019b): 7.
11 Watson quoted in Seland (2008): 68.
12 Seland (2008): 68.
13 Seland (2008): 69; Flynn and Giraldez (2002): 4 cited in Seland (2008). It should
be noted that Seland’s article was written prior to McLaughlin (2010) and (2014)
which examines the potential economic impact of Rome’s Indian Ocean trade
in the wider context of the imperial budget. On the impact of Indian Ocean
goods in society see Cobb (2013).
14 Seland (2008): 68.
15 Conrad (2016): 95–97.
16 Seland (2008): 70; Jennings (2017): 15.
17 Conrad (2016): 12.
18 Seland (2008): 69; Romm (1992): 37 cited in Seland (2008).
19 Seland (2008): 69.
20 Seland (2008): 70.
21 Hodos (2014): 26; Hall (2002): 221 and Shahar (2004): 54–64 cited in Hodos
(2014).
22 Osterloh (2008): 195 cited in Hodos (2014).
23 Hodos (2014): 26–27; Hdt. 4.191.
24 Hodos (2014): 27.
25 Hodos (2014): 27.
26 Parker (2008): 219–221 shows that by the Roman period, while a military
conquest of India was not feasible, India was clearly conceptualized as part
of Rome’s worldview. This is a stark contrast to Herodotus’ discussions
of India.
27 Hdt. 3.102–105. Hdt. 3.38; 3.99.1–2 describes other derogatory views of India.
28 Parker (2008): 33. See below on Indian contact with the Hellenistic Kings.
29 Seland (2008): 69. This is not to say that Herodotus was unaware of these conti-
nents (Hdt. 4.36, 42, 45).
30 Versluys (2014): 12; Plb. 1.3.
31 Aug. Res. 31.
32 Ael. 26.101–102, translation by Sommer (2015).
33 Hodos (2014): 26.
34 Hdt. 1.1.
35 Casson (1989): 8; Peripl. M. Rubr. 29.9.27.
36 Cobb (2018): 28, has previously suggested that oikoumenisation should perhaps
be seen as a form of early globalization. Although he is now inclined towards
the view that it might be better rearticulated as a particular glocal perspective
(a Greco-Roman vantage point) on wider global process in the Indian Ocean
region during Antiquity (pers. comm.).
37 A similarly focussed approach has been taken in this volume by Daróczi with
regards to the Bronze Age Aegean.
38 Fitzpatrick (2011): 53–54. Hodos (2017b): 9.
39 Pitts and Versluys (2015a): 14; Hodos (2017b): 6–7. It is worth emphasizing that,
as with globalization itself, there is no single definition of glocalization. On this
issue see Cobb (forthcoming).
158 Troy Wilkinson
40 Cobb (forthcoming), has rightly noted that similar forms of glocalization, such
as Minoanization and Mycenaeanization, all privilege the perspectives of cer-
tain socio-cultural groups.
41 On this trope see Warmington (1928); Wheeler (1955). For a similar view see
Gurukkal (2016). It is important, however, to recognise that with the exception
of Gurukkal these works were written prior to recent expansion in archaeo-
logical studies of the regions concerned, as well as the discovery of additional
sources such as inscriptions and graffiti.
42 Cobb (forthcoming) has similarly suggested that glocalization can lead scholars
to outline a pathway towards understanding local agency within wider global
process.
43 Seland (2008): 70
44 Seland (2008): 72.
45 Peripl. M. Rubr. 5.
46 Seland (2008): 72; Munro-Hay (1991): 184; 194 cited in Seland (2008).
47 Seland (2008): 72.
48 Seland (2008): 72.
49 Seland (2008): 72; Peripl. M. Rubr. 16. This is not to suggest that Greek was
the only common language for merchants of the Indian Ocean trade. Sanskrit
appears to have been used frequently by Indian merchants and, as a result,
translators seem to have often been required as one inscription from Berenike
suggests. On this issue see Strauch (2012): 262; Sidebotham and Zych (2012): 143;
Sidebotham (2014): 620.
50 Peripl. M. Rubr. 30.
51 Seland (2008): 73; Cos, Christian Topography. 3.65; 11.13.
52 Warmington (1928): 272–276; Young (2001): 183–186; McLaughlin (2010):
159–161; 2014: 89; Fitzpatrick (2011): 47; Plin. HN 12.41.84
53 Wilson and Bowman (2017): 14–15.
54 Seland (2008): 74–75.
55 On the proclivity and use of Indian Ocean goods in Roman society see Side-
botham (1986); McLaughlin (2010) and Cobb (2013).
56 Seland (2008): 76–78.
57 Sidebotham (2008): 75–78.
58 Casson (1989): 6–7.
59 Murphy (2004): 2; 4.
60 Cobb (2016): 198. See Burstein (2008a) for an outline Ptolemy II’s policy objec-
tives in the region.
61 Strab. 16.4.5; 16.4.7; Diod. 3.18.4. (royal expeditions); P. Eleph. 28. (size of hunt-
ing party). Gates-Foster (2019) has recently ascertained that Ptolemaic pottery
recovered from installations in the Eastern Desert suggests a scale of activity
(potentially connected to the hunting of elephants) which was far larger than
was previously imagined.
62 Gates-Foster (2012): 196; Cobb (2016): 196; Plin. HN 6.33.167–8 (Berenike);
Strab. 17.1.25; Plin. HN 6.33.167 (Arsinoe); Strab. 16.4.4–5 (Philoteras); Strab.
16.4.7, 17.1.45 (Ptolemais-of-the-Hunts). On the construction of fortifications
and roads see Sidebotham (2011): 28–32.
63 Burstein (1996): 799–807.
64 Ath. 5.32.
65 Plb. 5.82. Burstein (2008a): 145 estimates the size of the Ptolemaic elephant
corps at 100 animals during the third century BCE.
66 Ath. 5.32. Burstein (2008a): 140 suggests that the tusk-carriers were Aithiopians. If
this was the case, then it may be that these elephants were of a different species to
those hunted along the Red Sea coast. On this see Charles (2016). Either way it does
not detract from the economic impact of ivory imports.
67 Burstein (2008a): 140 argues that Kush was a tributary state under Ptolemy II
during this time.
68 Diod. 3.18.4 (Simmias expedition); IG XI 2163A; 203A71; 287a118 (Delos
inscriptions). For a detailed discussion of the Delos inscriptions see
Reger (2002).
69 Errington (2008): 38 discusses the treaty between Seleucus I and Chandragupta
which provided the Seleucids with 500 elephants. Salles (2015): 260. Polybius
(Plb. 18.9.5) records that Antiochus III received ca. 1,000 talents of frankin-
cense and 200 talents of stakte.
70 Cobb (2016): 197–204. Burstein (2008a): 141 suggests that elephant hunting
ended with the Great Revolt (c. 207 –c. 186 BCE). However, it is possible
that the Ptolemies were hunting elephants as late as 145 BCE as Josephus (AJ
13.4.8–9) notes that a Seleucid pretender sized elephants from Ptolemy VI upon
his death in Syria in 145 BCE. Nevertheless, Redon (2018): 41, has noted that
the archaeology supports a heavy use of the Edfu to Berenike road under the
first three Ptolemaic kings. Thus even if there was any hunting activity (for
live elephants) in the second century BCE, it would have been on a greatly
reduced scale.
71 An ivory statuette recovered from Pompeii and discussed recently by Grønlund
Evers (2017): 22–36 and Weinstein (this volume) is perhaps the most well-known
example of ivory originating from India. However, Grønlund Evers (2017): 15–
19 points to CIL VI 33; 885 which highlights the existence of a collegium of ivory
workers based in Rome.
72 Plin. HN 8.4.7. Peripl. M. Rubr. 4; 10 states that small amounts of ivory could
be obtained from Mosyllu in modern-day Somalia and Adulis in modern-day
Eritrea. In contrast, Peripl. M. Rubr. 16 states that large amounts of ivory could
be obtained from Rapta in central eastern Africa (Azania).
73 P. Vindob. G. 40822.
74 Cobb (2018): 32; SB III 7169.
75 Casson (1989): 129; Peripl. M. Rubr. 12 (Ἀρωμάτων ἐμπόριον); Strab. 16.4.14.
76 Cobb (2018): 61.
77 De Romanis (2014): 79; 89.
78 Cobb (2018): 33. For the evidence in question see Bernand (1972): nos. 2, 8.
79 Agath. 5.73–74.
80 Cobb (2018): 31.
81 Cobb (2018): 31.
82 Horton (2015): 449–450 mentions the limited Greek and Roman material that
has so far been found in East Africa. This includes a lamp from Ras Hafun
which is possibly Ptolemaic. For the settlement of Rhapta as a trading station,
see Peripl. M. Rubr. 16–17.
83 Horton et al. (2017): 135.
84 Horton (2015): 446; Horton et al. (2017): 137. Horton (1996): 454, notes that a
seafaring society seems to have existed in East Africa since at least the fifth
century BCE.
85 Horton et al. (2017): 137.
86 Horton et al. (2017): 137 notes that Somalia has been closed to excavators since
the 1980s.
87 Singer (2007): 25.
88 Singer (2007): 36; Cobb (2018): 34; P. Cair. Zen 59536. Agath.5.103a + b also
notes that Sabaean merchants were involved in the incense trade.
160 Troy Wilkinson
89 Sidebotham (2011): 33.
90 Bukharin (2020): 1–5.
91 Sidebotham (2011): 35–38.
92 Davidde (2017): 582.
93 Agath. 87a.
94 Cobb (2018): 33.
95 Davvide (2018): 591–594.
96 For the relevant passage in Agatharchides, see note 93.
97 Cobb (2018): 32.
98 For a discussion of the impact of Greek language and culture on Eastern Africa
(primarily in Nubia) from the Hellenistic to the Medieval period see Burstein
(2008b).
99 Sidebotham (2011): 34; Cobb (2018): 34.
100 Humphry, Oleson and Sherwood (1998): xxiv. Depending on the weight that Athe-
naeus means when he says ‘talent’ it could also have been 431 kilograms of goods.
101 On the reception of Red Sea (and Indian Ocean) goods in Roman society, see
Cobb (2013).
102 Plin. HN 12.40.81.
103 Hodos (2017b): 9.
Bibliography
Ancient sources
Bostock, John. 1855: [Translation] Pliny Natural History. London: Taylor and Francis.
Brunt, Peter. A. and J.M. Moore. 1967: [Translation] Res Gestae Divi Augusti. Ox-
ford: Oxford University Press.
Burstein, Stanley. M. 2010: [Translation] Agatharchides On the Erythraean Sea, Sec-
ond Edition. Farnham: Ashgate Publishing.
Casson, Lionel. 1989: [Introduction, Translation and Commentary of] Periplus
Maris Erythraei. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.
Lauren, Giles. 2014: [Translation] Diodorus Siculus Historical Library. Volume One.
Saphron.
Godley, Alfred. D. 1920: [Translation] Herodotus Histories. Cambridge MA: Har-
vard University Press.
Jones, Horace. L. 1897: [Translation] Strabo Geography. Cambridge MA: Harvard
University Press.
Paton, William. R. 2010: [Translation] Polybius Histories. Cambridge MA: Harvard
University Press.
Modern scholarship
Bernard, Hans and Kim Duistermaat (eds.), 2012: The History of the Peoples of the
Eastern Desert. Los Angeles: University of California.
Blue, Lucy, John Cooper, Ross Thomas and Julian Whitewright (eds.), 2009: Con-
nected Hinterlands. Proceedings of the Fourth International Conference on the Peo-
ples of the Red Sea Region. Oxford: Archaeopress.
Brun, Jean-Pierre, Thomas Faucher, Bérangère Redon and Steven E. Sidebotham
(eds.), The Eastern Desert of Egypt during the Greco-Roman Period: Archaeologi-
cal Reports. Paris: Collège de France.
Bukharin, Mikhail. 2020: ‘New evidence for diplomacy between the Mediterranean
and South Arabia’, Arabian Archaeology and Epigraphy 31(2): 1–5.
Burstein, Stanley M. 1996: ‘Ivory and Ptolemaic exploration of the Red Sea: the
missing factor’, Topoi 62: 799–807.
Burstein, Stanley M. 2008a: ‘Elephants for Ptolemy II: Ptolemaic Policy in Nubia in
the Third Century BC’, in McKechnie and Philippe 2008: 135–148.
Burstein, Stanley M. 2008b: ‘When Greek was an African language: the role of
Greek culture in ancient and medieval Nubia’, Journal of World History 19(1):
41–61.
Charles, Michael. B. 2016: ‘Elephant size in antiquity: DNA evidence and the Battle
of Raphia’, Historia, 65(1): 53–65.
Christeen, Paul and Donald G. Kyle (eds.), 2014: A Companion to Sport and Specta-
cle in Greek and Roman Antiquity. Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell.
Cobb, Matthew. A. 2013: ‘The reception and consumption of Eastern goods in Ro-
man society’, Greece and Rome 60: 136–152.
Cobb, Matthew. A. 2015a: ‘The chronology of Roman trade in the Indian Ocean
from Augustus to early third century CE’, Journal of the Economic and Social
History of the Orient 58: 362–418.
Cobb, Matthew. A. 2015b: ‘Balancing the trade: Roman cargo shipments to India’,
Oxford Journal of Archaeology 34: 185–203.
Cobb, Matthew. A. 2016: ‘The decline of Ptolemaic elephant hunting: an analysis of
the contributory factors’, Greece and Rome 63: 192–204.
Cobb, Matthew. A. 2018: Rome and the Indian Ocean Trade: From Augustus to the
Early Third Century AD. Leiden: Brill.
Cobb, Matthew A. (ed.), 2019a: The Indian Ocean Trade in Antiquity: Political, Cul-
tural and Economic Impacts. London and New York: Routledge.
Cobb, Matthew. A. 2019b: ‘Introduction,’ in Cobb 2019a: 1–14.
Cobb, Matthew. A. 2019c: ‘From the Ptolemies to Augustus: Mediterranean Inte-
gration into the Indian Ocean Trade,’ in Cobb 2018a: 17–52.
Cobb, Matthew. A. Forthcoming: ‘From Bronzization to “World System”: Glo-
balization and Glocalization across the Globe (2000 BCE – 1500 CE)’, in Victor
Roudometof and Ugo Dessì (eds.), Handbook of Culture and Globalization. Chel-
tenham: Edward Elgar Publishing.
sity Press.
Davvide, Barbara. 2017: ‘The Port of Qana’, a Junction between the Indian Ocean
and the Mediterranean Sea,’ in Wilson and Bowman 2017: 579–598.
De Romanis, Federico. 2014: ‘Time to repay a maritime loan: a note on SB III 7169
and SB XVIII 13167 recto’, Sileno 40: 73–89.
Errington, Malcolm. R. 2008: A History of the Hellenistic World. Oxford. Blackwell
Publishing.
Fitzpatrick, Matthew. P. 2011: ‘Provincializing Rome: The Indian Ocean trade net-
work and Roman imperialism’, Journal of World History 22: 27–54.
Flynn, Dennis O. and Arturo Giraldez. 2002: ‘Cycles of silver – globalization as
historical process’, World Economies 3(2): 1–16.
Foetmyer, Victoria. 1988: ‘The dating of the pomp of Ptolemy II Philadelphus’, His-
toria Zeitshrift fur alte Geschichte 37: 90–104.
Gates-Foster, Jennifer. 2012: ‘The Eastern Desert During the Ptolemaic Period: An
Emerging Picture’, in Hans and Duistermaat, 2012: 191–203.
162 Troy Wilkinson
Gates-Foster, Jennifer. 2019: ‘The Early Ptolemaic Transport Amphora from
Egypt’s Eastern Desert’, paper presented at the Red Sea IX Conference, Lyon,
4 July.
Grønlund Evers, Kasper. G. 2017: Worlds Apart Trading Together the Organisation of
Long-Distance Trade Between Rome and India in Antiquity. Oxford: Archeopress.
Gurukkal, Rajan. 2016: Rethinking Classical Indo-Roman Trade: Political Economy
of Eastern Mediterranean Trade Relations. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
material- culture studies in the early first-millennium BCE Mediterranean’, Ar-
chaeological Dialogues 21(1): 24–30.
Hodos, Tamar. (ed.), 2017a: The Routledge Handbook of Archaeology and Globaliza-
tion. London: Routledge.
Hodos, Tamar. 2017b: ‘Globalization: Some Basics. An Introduction to
The Routledge Handbook of Archaeology and Globalization’, in Hodos
2017a: 3–11.
Horton, Mark. C. 2015: ‘Early maritime trade and settlement along the coasts of
eastern Africa’, in Reade 2015. 2nd Edition: 439–459.
Horton, Mark, Alison Crowther and Nicole Bovin. 2017: ‘Ships of the Desert, Cam-
els of the Ocean: An Indian Ocean Perspective on Trans-Saharan Trading Sys-
tems’, in Mattingly et al. 2017: 131–155.
Humphrey, John. W., John P. Oleson, Andrew N. Sherwood and Milo Nikolic. 1998:
Greek and Roman Technology: A Sourcebook: Annotated Translations of Greek
and Latin Texts and Documents. London: Routledge.
Irichinschi, Eduard and Holger. M. Zellentin (eds.), 2008: Heresy and Identity in
Late Antiquity. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck.
Jennings, Justin. 2017: ‘Distinguishing Past Globalizations’, in Hodos 2017a:
12–28.
McKechnie, Paul and Philippe Guillaume (eds.), 2008: Ptolemy II Philadelphus and
his World. Leiden: Brill.
McLaughlin, Raoul. 2010: Rome and the Distant East Trade Routes to the Ancient
Lands of Arabia, India and China. New York: Continuum.
McLaughlin, Raoul. 2014: The Roman Empire and the Indian Ocean: The Ancient
World Economy and the Kingdoms of Africa, Arabia and India. Barnsley: Pen and
Sword.
Mattingly, David. J., Victoria Leitch, Chloe Duckworth, Aurélie Cuénod, Mar-
tin Sterry and Franca Cole (eds.), 2017: Trade in the Ancient Sahara and Beyond.
Munro-Hay, Stuart. C. 1991: Aksum: An African Civilisation of Late Antiquity. Ed-
inburgh: Edinburgh University Press.
Murphy, Trevor. 2014: Pliny the Elder’s Natural History: The Empire in the Encyclo-
paedia. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Nappo, Dario. 2009: ‘Roman Policy in the Red Sea between Anastasius and Justin-
ian’, in Blue et al. 2009: 71–77.
Nappo, Dario. 2017: ‘Money and Flows of Coinage in the Red Sea Trade’, in Wilson
and Bowman 2017: 557–578.
Opper, Thorsten (ed.), 2013: Hadrian: Art Politics and Economy. London: British
Museum.
Osterloh, Kevin. L. 2008: ‘Judah, Rome and the Hellenistic Oikoumene. Emula-
tion and the reinvention of communal identity’, in Irichinschi and Zellentin 2008:
168–206.
Parker, Grant. 2008: The Making of Roman India. Cambridge: Cambridge Univer-
sity Press.
Peacock, David and David Williams (eds.), 2007: Food for the Gods: New Light on
the Ancient Incense Trade. Oxford: Oxbow Books.
Pitts, Martin and Miguel J. Versluys. 2015a: ‘Introduction’, in Pitts and Versluys
2015b: 3–31.
Pitts, Martin and Miguel J. Versluys. (eds.), 2015b: Globalization and the Roman
University Press.
Reade, Julian (ed.), 2015: The Indian Ocean in Antiquity, 2nd edition. London:
Routledge.
Redon, Bérangère. 2018: ‘The Control of the Eastern Desert by the Ptolemies’, in
Brun, Faucher, Redon and Sidebotham 2018: 29–49.
Reger, Gary. 2002: ‘The Price Histories of Some Imported Goods on Independent
Delos’, in Scheidel and Von Reden 2002: 133–154.
Remijensen, Sophie. 2014: ‘Greek sport in Egypt: status, symbol and lifestyle’, in
Christeen and Kyle 2014: 349–363.
Rice, Ellen. E. 1983. The Grand Procession of Ptolemy Philadelphus. Oxford: Oxford
University Press.
Romm, James. S. 1992. The Edges of the Earth in Ancient Thought: Geography, Ex-
ploration and Fiction. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.
Salles, Jean-François. 2015: ‘Achaemenid and Hellenistic Trade in the Indian
Ocean’, in Reade 2015: 251–268.
Scheidel, Walter and Von Reden, Sitta (eds.), 2002: The Ancient Economy. Edin-
burgh: Edinburgh University Press.
Seland, E.H. 2008: ‘The Indian Ocean and the globalization of the ancient world’,
Ancient West and East 7: 67–79.
Shahar, Yuval. 2004: Josephus Geographicus: The Classical Context of Geography in
Josephus. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck.
Sidebotham, Steven. E. 1986: Roman Economic Policy in the Erythra Thalassa: 30
BC–AD 217. Brill.
Sidebotham, Steven. E. 2011: Berenike and the Ancient Maritime Spice Route. Oak-
land: University of California Press.
Sidebotham, Steven. E. and Iwona Zych. 2012: ‘Results of fieldwork at Berenike: a
Ptolemaic Roman port on the Red Sea coast of Egypt, 2008–2010’, Topoi Supple-
ment 11: 133–157.
Singer, Caroline. 2007: ‘The Incense Kingdoms of Yemen: An Outline History of the
South Arabian Incense Trade’, in Peacock and Williams 2007: 25–57.
Sommer, Michael. 2015: ‘OIKOYMENH. Longue durée perspectives on ancient
Mediterranean “globality”’, in Pitts and Versluys 2015b: 175–197.
Tomber, Roberta. 2013: ‘Hadrian and Egypt: Exchange and Embassies in 2nd –
Century AD Trade with the East,’ in Opper 2013: 112–119.
Versluys, Miguel. J. 2014: ‘Understanding objects in motion. An archaeological dia-
logue on Romanization’, Archaeological Dialogues 21(1): 1–20.
164 Troy Wilkinson
Warmington, Herbert. E. 1928: The Commerce Between the Roman Empire and In-
dia. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Wheeler, Mortimer. 1955: Rome Beyond the Imperial Frontiers. London: Penguin
Books.
Wilson, Andrew and Bowman, Alan. 2017: ‘Introduction’, in Wilson and Bowman
2017: 1–26.
Wilson, Andrew and Alan Bowman (eds.), 2017: Trade, Commerce and the State in
the Roman World. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
8 Mediterranean goods in an
Indian context
The use of transcultural theory
for the study of the ancient
Indian Ocean world*
Matthew A. Cobb
Introduction
The recent growth of interest in trade and interconnectivity across the
ancient Afro-Eurasian world (c. 300 BCE – 700 CE) has been spurred on by a
number of factors. One of these is evidential: new archaeological discoveries
have been made at a range of sites across the globe, while more epigraphic,
papyrological and numismatic studies have also been undertaken.1 A sec-
ond major factor is the development of scholarly interest in global history
and the history of globalization, which are both concerned with how things,
people and ideas circulated, as well as how individuals and groups within
different societies responded to these movements and exchanges (including
socio-economic, political and cultural responses).2
These developments have spurred engagement with a whole range of issues,
including the traditional concerns of long-distance trade, such as networks,
nodes, organization, financing, sailing technology, the goods exchanged,
and the merchants and sailors involved. There has also been an expanded in-
terest into how this trade was integrated into wider socio- economic activity,
such as the production, cultivation and reworking of items of exchange, and
habits of consumption.3 Cultural responses have likewise received greater
attention and can be analysed by utilizing concepts connected to globali-
zation and glocalization, such as ‘standardization’ (groups sharing similar
ideas, practices and technologies), ‘cultural homogenization’ (the transmis-
sion, mutation, adoption and adaptation of foreign concepts), ‘cultural het-
erogeneity’ (differences resulting from these exchanges of ideas, products,
and practices), and the ‘re-embedding of local culture’ (reactions to external
influences that reinforce the purportedly traditional).4
It is the latter interest in cultural responses that forms the focus of this
chapter. In particular, how goods produced in another society (often trans-
ported as a result of long-distance trade) became adopted, adapted, and
re-interpreted in a different context. What I will call here, material trans-
culturality. It is argued that this focus can offer a valuable complement to
the wider study of the impact of the Indian Ocean trade in Antiquity. It not
DOI: 10.4324/9781003096269-12
166 Matthew A. Cobb
only allows us to consider concepts such as status display and the develop-
ment of social stratification within a society, that can often be connected
to the consumption of perceived exotic or foreign luxury goods;5 but also
the practical, ideological, aesthetic, philosophical and religious value that
might be ascribed to certain goods and their uses, regardless of what the
original society (or social actor) that produced them may have understood
or intended (proper function and system function).6 This has implications
for our understanding of issues such as choice, demand, and the selection of
items for export, as well as practices of imitation and adaptation of styles,
and wider questions about identity.
As indicated, one concept that is of particular relevance to this approach is
transculturality (the phenomenon) and transculturation (the process); that is
to say, the ongoing processes involving the reception of ideas, habits and ob-
jects and their modification by recipients.7 The application of this concept to
the study of material culture seems like a particularly fruitful avenue for anal-
ysis.8 In other words, exploring how new social, political and geographic con-
texts informed they way in which objects were understood, appreciated and
adapted to suit local practices. While few modern scholars would subscribe
to the idea that ancient societies were hermetically sealed and rarely per-
meated by outside influences (though on the problem of container thinking,
see below), discourses about cultural influence can (inadvertently) imply that
an influenced ‘culture’ or ‘civilization’ was ‘weaker’ or as less sophisticated
than the influencing peoples.9 The value of transculturality is its emphasis on
modification and adaptation, a discourse that encourages us to think more
about the creative agency of the individuals and groups involved.10
This chapter examines goods produced in the Mediterranean world that
appear at sites in South Asia during the Early Historic period and how they
might be interpreted in light of transcultural theory. The array and distri-
bution of different types of finds is such that an exhaustive treatment is not
possible. Instead, early Roman coins (aurei and denarii) discovered in India
are examined as a case study. The aim is to look beyond the perception of
these items as mere commodities or bullion (stores of value). Rather, I wish
to consider the modified social and ritual significance of these items (and
their imitations/adaptations) in their new contexts.
Methodological issues
Before considering how transcultural theory might be used to interpret
goods deriving from the Mediterranean world that found their way to the
Indian Subcontinent, it is first necessary to consider the methodological
challenges involved. These principally centre on the issues of ‘boundaries’
and representational approaches to the study of material culture.11 It is im-
portant to obtain as much clarity as possible over what is the ‘new’ context
in which such items might be adopted, adapted and reconceptualized. It is
also vital to emphasize that the idea that clearly distinguishable, delimited
Mediterranean goods in an Indian context 167
cultural entities exist or existed is problematic.12 A transcultural perspective
takes it as a given that culture is permeable, transitory and open to dis-
ruptive influences.13 We certainly need to avoid ‘container thinking’, where
bounded cultural ‘chunks’ are examined in isolation.14
With regards to the former issue, there are a number of ways in which
past societies (and social actors from these societies) conceived of them-
selves and others, including in political, cultural, and ethnic terms. These
concepts do not necessarily overlap, as is apparent when considering Early
Historic India. This region was made up of a range of polities whose for-
tunes waxed and waned. These encompassed peoples speaking various
languages, holding numerous beliefs, and deriving from diverse (ancestral
or ‘ethnic’) backgrounds (this is especially true of the northwest subcon-
tinent). While the terms India, Indian Subcontinent or South Asia can be
convenient shorthands (frequently employed in this chapter), they should
only really be understood in a broad sense.15 When analysing individual
objects or a class of material at a range of different sites, it is important
to remain cognizant of the specific political (and geographic and societal)
circumstances.16
In the case of ethnicity and culture, the former is often assumed to relate
to features such as a person’s descent, connections to a territory (though note
diaspora communities) and notions of common history (fictive and real);
although language, religion, ritual and customs are sometimes ascribed to
this concept as well.17 Many definitions of culture would include some of
these latter elements, notably customs and ritual practices, as well as related
facets such as art, laws, culinary habits and social organization.18 However,
it is important to note that these are both distinct concepts. Ethnicity often
centres on definition or identity (ascribed to oneself, or by others) and cul-
ture around patterns of interaction, practices and behaviour; although in
the case of the latter there is no single list of behaviours or products (mate-
rial culture) that defines a group. This is not least because, as a transcultural
perspective makes clear, people ‘shape and create’ their reality through their
interactions with others, their environment, different concepts (which they
may accept, reject or modify) and the physical objects they utilize.19 In the
context of the present discussion, a transcultural concept of culture (rather
than cultures) is utilized, since we are concerned with the adaptation, us-
age and imbuing of new meaning to particular, originally ‘foreign’ material
objects.
It is important to bear in mind that we certainly cannot speak of a ho-
mogenous Indian culture any more than we can for the Mediterranean
world (not least, because we wish to avoid container thinking). This is not
to say that prevailing features within specific geographic areas cannot
be identified. For example, inscriptions (frequently employing the Tamil
Brahmi script) and literary evidence (particularly the Sangam corpus) is of-
ten utilized to argue for the appearance of a distinct Tamil identity (which
was used as a means of self-identification by social actors) in the so-called
168 Matthew A. Cobb
Tamilakam region (this includes modern Kerala, Tamil Nadu and southern
Andhra Pradesh and Karnataka) during the Early Historic period.20 The
salient point is that we should be careful about being too absolutist in our
ascription of cultural habits to individuals and groups, and what this may
mean in terms of their identity.21
To come to the second, interrelated, issue of representational approaches
to the study of material culture, it has longed been question whether dis-
tinct cultural groups can be uncomplicatedly identified from such evidence
(ceramics, terracotta figurines, glassware etc.). In part, because a sense of
identity often revolves around perception, and is not merely based on the
ownership or use of items.22 Moreover, there is always the potential that
pre-existing assumptions or expectations may delimit the patterns inter-
preted from the material culture and attributions of ownership.23 The latter
problem is discussed below in relation to the so-called Eros of Junnar.
None of the above mentioned caveats means that we cannot think of co-
herent groups of people who often chose to define themselves by aspects
such as shared habits and political affiliations. Indeed, it has to be recog-
nized that many ancient authors employed a discourse which we might con-
sider a form of proto-ethnography. This was used to try and help develop a
sense of identity (often in distinction to others); although we would now tend
to see the hard distinction between Self and Other as unhelpful and concep-
tually problematic.24 Even if the notion of ‘cultures’ (in the plural) as dis-
tinct, bounded and static entities is problematic, the term culture can still be
valuable for analysing and tying together a series of habits, patterns of con-
sumption and social phenomena that seem to connect to a particular group;
albeit we should recognize that these factors were fluid, non-homogenous
and were responded to differently by social actors within a society. The
key point is to avoid ‘container thinking’. Similarly, while many archaeolo-
gists and historians are reticent to abandon the notion that material culture
plays a role in helping to identify ‘groups’ and manifestations of identity, we
should be cautious about our approaches to representational archaeology.25
Ultimately, in applying transcultural theory to the study of ‘Indian’ re-
sponses to, and uses of, goods deriving from the Mediterranean world, we
must acknowledge the nature and limitations of the evidence. Likewise, care-
ful thought needs to be given to the challenges of identifying ownership and
the factors contributing to these objects’ adaptation and re-interpretation
within new social contexts.
Applying transcultural theory

Despite the challenges outlined above, a transcultural approach to the study
of Mediterranean objects found in the Indian Subcontinent can allow us to
examine these items in more complex ways. There are several ways in which
such items can be re-contextualized and given new meaning, relating both
to practical uses and repurposing, artistic adoption and adaptation, and the
attribution of new symbolic and religious meanings. A number of recent
studies demonstrating these points are discussed here.
One of the most obvious areas where scholars have been able to identify
the repurposing of ideas and aesthetic forms is with artistic adaptation. The
borrowing of styles and forms from terracotta figurines produced in the
Mediterranean world is a good example of how commercial exchange can
lead to what might be termed transcultural developments.26 In particular,
Autiero has noted how Bes figurines (Hellenistic to Roman) produced in
Egypt and conveyed to India, particularly the Deccan region, had an impact
on the development of Satavahana yaksha figurines. She suggests that the
figure of Bes with its grotesque form presented suitable imagery that could
be adapted to the representation of ganas or yakshas (ambivalent nature
spirits who guarded treasures under the earth). Bes and other representa-
tions of foreigners (notably representations of what is assumed to be Yavana
soldiers, with unusual physical features – curly hair style, prominent nose,
etc. – and weaponry) were potentially ideal as, coming from another world,
they shared a typological similarity with the liminal yakshas.27
Autiero suggests that the basis for the spread and subsequent adaptation
of this imagery was that these Bes figurines had been brought by resident
‘Romans’ in India, with those living in the region then adapting the imagery
to suit their own cultural language.28 This is certainly a possible scenario,
at least with the initial encountering of these objects. However, we do have
evidence elsewhere to suggest that terracotta objects could be deliberately
carried as items of exchange, no doubt in response to local demand. Nota-
bly, the large terracotta figures and plaster medallions of gods (Aphrodite,
Cupid and Psyche) and people (warriors, ephebes) used as artistic models
for imitation and adaption; these were transported via the Indian Ocean,
through riverine networks up to the site of Begram.29 Additionally, small
steatite (soapstone) molds have been found in the Deccan which relate to the
production of pendants and other objects; these clearly show adaptations of
artistic forms deriving from the Kushana and Mediterranean worlds.30 It is
thus entirely possible that some of the Bes figurines that reached the Deccan
were taken there as deliberate responses to demand, rather than incidentally
as personal possessions.
Either way, the salient point is that these terracottas, which may have
had a comparatively more limited ‘monetary’ value (leaving aside the issue
of whether they were directly gifted, bartered, or exchanged via currency
transactions), nevertheless had a distinct social impact. An important re-
minder that cultural and economic dynamics are intertwined, especially
in relation to long-distance exchange. Moreover, this emphasizes the point
that ancient Indian Ocean networks of exchange should not be character-
ized and dismissed as mere ‘luxury’ trade.
A different artistic object that was clearly produced in the Mediterranean
world, and which can also be productively analysed within a transcultural
framework, is an alabaster figure of a young male child laying inside half
170 Matthew A. Cobb
an egg (cut longitudinally). It has traditionally been assumed to represent
the birth of the god Eros from an egg, although this interpretation, while
plausible, is far from certain.31 Found at the Lenyardi caves, close to present
day Junnar, it is an object that raises a number of questions about identity,
ownership and the manner in which it was brought to the Deccan region.
Dhavalikar speculated that this item was bought as the personal possession
of a trader setting out from Alexandria.32 However, we cannot know for sure
who possessed this object prior to its final disposition. It is equally as likely
that it had been acquired by someone indigenous to the region. Cobb and
Mitchell note that this object could easily have invoked cosmological asso-
ciations with the creation of the universe from an egg which existed widely
in Indian oral and (subsequently) literary traditions by the Early Historic
period.33
Again, the main point to consider is that regardless of the original rep-
resentation or meaning (proper function) that the artisan may have intended
(such as the birth of Eros), the object could have been invested with a new
meaning within the framework of a different geographical and social con-
text, that is, the Deccan region (system function). While there is no certainty
as to how this object should be interpreted, the employment of a transcul-
tural perspective allows us to rethink assumptions about whether the ob-
ject’s presence in India must be attributed to a resident foreigner who had
travelled from the Mediterranean world (i.e. it being carried as a personal
possession), or in fact can be understood as an item desired in India (or
more specifically the Deccan region which was largely controlled by the Sa-
tavahanas, but periodically contested by the Western Kshatrapas) for its
aesthetic qualities. In the case of the latter, this object would have been ap-
preciated and potentially invested with a new symbolic meaning to suits its
new context.
Case study: re-using Roman coins in India

The enriched perspective provided by a transcultural approach can be ex-
plored in further detail through an examination of Roman aurei and denarii
(gold and silver coins) found in South Asia. A considerable degree of contro-
versy surrounds when these coins were exported (if they were exported over a
consistent period, or in concentrated periods due to peculiar circumstances)
and how they were treated by their recipients (i.e. peoples in the Indian Sub-
continent).34 There is not scope to go into either issue in extensive depth
here, but to summarize, with the former debate, one school of thought holds
that these coins were treated as a normal export commodity as suggested by
the literary tradition (see, in particular, the Periplus Maris Erythraei) and an
interpretation of wear patterns seen in coin hoards. The other view regards
their export as resulting from Nero’s (64 CE) currency reforms (intensifying
with Trajan’s policy of removing old coins from circulation, 107 CE). This
meant that pre-64 CE denarii with higher silver content became valuable
to export as their precious metal content was higher than post-64 CE de-
narii. However, they would have retained the same notional value within the
Roman Empire, whereas in India they were valued as bullion. This view is
also based on a particular interpretation of the wear patterns found in coin
hoards in India.35 The second debate concerns whether these coins were
treated as bullion or if other factors influenced demand.36
Rather than re-examining all the finer points of these opposing views,
a more specific look at how gold and silver coins were repurposed for deco-
ration or jewellery will be used to demonstrate the value that a transcultural
perspective might contribute to this debate. One particular feature that we
see on some early Roman coins (primarily aurei) found in India is their
piercing (sometimes with loops for suspension).37 This practice was (and still
is) quite common in various parts of India (often referred to as kasumala),
in which coins could be suspended on necklaces. This phenomenon was not
unique to Roman coins found in India;38 for example, the Lohardaga hoard
has revealed pierced Kushan coins.39 There are a fair number of examples of
pierced genuine and imitation Roman coins across the Indian Subcontinent
(notably in Andhra Pradesh, Karnataka, Madhya Pradesh, Tamil Nadu,
and Telangana).40
It is not impossible that these piercings happened at a much later date,
consequently allowing for the maintenance of the view that they were ini-
tially exported to India for nothing more than their metallic content. How-
ever, there are reasons to suspect that at least in some cases there was not
a long lag between the initial import of these coins and their subsequent
conversion into jewellery/objects for decoration. One reason is that some of
the piercings occurs on reasonably unworn issues, such as on coins from Vi-
nukonda, Kaliyampattur and possibly Nellore.41 A second reason is that, as
Darley suggests, excavation data from a few sites hint at the likelihood that
Roman/Byzantine coins reached South Asia within a generation of their
minting, and circulated for a generation or two within India prior to their
final disposition.42 A third reason is that we see imitations (which represent
a quite considerable portion of the finds), both of distinct artistic quality
and of high precious metal content (i.e. they should not simply be dismissed
as mere attempts at fraud), as well as of base metals (sometime washed with
silver).43 It can also be noted that Roman coins sometimes appear in con-
nection to gift-giving rituals and donations to Buddhist sanctuaries, in a
few instances even being valued above their metallic content.44 Moreover,
Indian silver was potentially used in the production of some Tiberian de-
narii, as analysis of one such coin at Woodham Mortimer, Essex indicates,
complicating the notion that the flow of ‘bullion’ was one-way.45 All this
seems to reinforce the point that assuming these coins were only desired for
their bullion content is reductive and potentially misleading.
It is important to make the contextual point that other objects like figu-
rines, ceramics and jewellery (pendants, rings, etc.) also indicate the (loose)
adaptation of imagery and forms deriving from the Mediterranean world,
172 Matthew A. Cobb
as we have already seen in the case of Bes figurines.46 Importantly, we see
clay/terracotta bullae in India that are made in imitation of Roman coins;
some of these had a welded loop across the top for suspension. The fact that
such a practice was not simply restricted to genuine precious metal Roman
coins indicates the potential that such imagery and styles were appreciated
by wider segments of the population.47
These imitations and clay bullae indicate, if nothing else, that the use of
Roman coins for artistic repurposing was quite popular in parts of India and
may have encouraged emulation by those lower down the socio- economic
scale.48 The variation in imagery and style seen on Indian imitations need
not be dismissed as examples of artistic failing or miscomprehension, but
may be credited to the specific choices made by those designing the coins
(again for reasons we cannot precisely recover) and may reflect a demand
not solely enmeshed in the precise replication of ‘genuine’ Roman imagery.49
A useful point of comparison is Darley’s valuable study of Late Roman/
Byzantine coins found in South Asia (particularly peninsular India and Sri
Lanka).50 She notes a topographical pattern whereby a fair number of Late
Roman coin find-spots in south India seem to overlap with sites of Buddhist
significance (it is also worth noting that the majority of Early (Imperial) and
Late Roman coins so far found in India are at inland rather than maritime
sites).51 There is a high incidence of double-piercing on these Late Roman
coins making them suitable for attaching to fabric.52 Darley suggests, quite
plausibly, that the use of some of these coins (on clothing and as offerings)
may tie into ritual practice, as suggested by evidence from later historical
periods relating to marriage rites and temple treasuries.53
To return to our main focus, ultimately it is difficult to be sure exactly
when such aurei and denarii (and their imitations) were converted for use
as jewellery, especially for kasumala-style necklaces. But there is no reason
to preclude the idea that in many cases they were, at least partially, desired
for their aesthetic qualities or for other non-economic motives that we are
not in a position to fully appreciate (possibly the ‘foreign’ facial features
on the obverse of these coins imbued them with apotropaic functions).54
This necessarily impacts on questions of chronology of export and nature
of demand. It is suggested here that some level of demand for these coins
as artistic objects in their own right existed. They were not exclusively re-
garded as bullion. The implication of this is that any explanation for their
export that is primarily or solely based on factors with the Roman Empire
(i.e., currency reform) is inadequate. This is not to say that these coins could
not be appreciated for their bullion content. There is no reason to assume a
mutually exclusive interpretation on this matter. These coins could be ap-
preciated for their aesthetic qualities, be converted into jewellery and also
be prized as a store of value (Pliny, in fact, comments on the use of jewellery
in this way within the Roman Empire).55 Moreover, they were useful objects
for a powerful individual to redistribute to their followers or subordinates as
a means of reinforcing relationships and social hierarchies. This is indicated
by their appearance in association with Buddhist stupas and Sangha com-
munities (who themselves potentially gave out/lent out these coins in their
own networks).56
Conclusion
Issues such as trade routes, schedules and emporia (often discussed in re-
lation to concepts like networks and nodes), shipping technology, finance,
organization and the identities of the merchants and sailors involved, have
long been the ‘bread and butter’ of studies of long-distance trade. There is
nothing inherently wrong with this. Indeed, such questions are extremely
valuable to explore. It is, however, suggested in this chapter that the move-
ment of goods over long distances can be better understood by thinking in
both cultural and economic terms; cultural demand alongside the economic
forces enabling these goods to reach their destinations (the networks of pro-
duction and distribution). By applying transcultural concepts (what I call
here material transculturality) – going beyond simple references to wealth,
consumption and status competition – we can think in more complex ways
about why certain goods reached the Indian Subcontinent and the manner
in which they were utilized.
As shown in this chapter, precious metal Roman coins need not be exclu-
sively interpreted in the vein of demand for bullion, but in relation to more
multifaceted aesthetic choices (creation of jewellery) that adapted to existing
local practices. The reasoning behind the selection and amalgamation of cer-
tain imagery on these coin imitations – both precious and base – also raises
interesting questions about transcultural adaption that cannot be answered
here. This transcultural perspective also impacts on related debates, such
as the question of the continuous versus sporadic export of Roman coins to
the Subcontinent (i.e., whether internal Roman monetary reforms sparked
a short, intense period for their export or whether external Indian demand
encouraged fairly consistent export over the early centuries CE). A trans-
cultural perspective can usefully be applied to other regions as well. As can
be seen, for example, with studies by Autiero on the adaptation of Indian
artistic elements in South Arabian art, Asher on use of Indian small figural
and temple images as templates for Southeast Asian religious structures, and
Evers on the adaption of Indian carved ivories for Roman furnishings.57
Ultimately, it is hoped that this short paper has been able to demonstrate
the benefits of examining the Indian Ocean trade in Antiquity from a trans-
cultural perspective. As we have seen, it can offer new insights into this ac-
tivity, and give greater emphasis to both economic and cultural dimensions.
Notes
* My thanks to Dr. Rebecca Darley and Dr. Serena Autiero for kindly looking
through drafts of this chapter. Of course, all opinions and errors remain my own.
174 Matthew A. Cobb
1 For a justification of delimiting a period of 300 BCE to 700 CE for the study
of the Indian Ocean in Antiquity see Cobb (2019b): 3–4. For important recent
archaeological, epigraphic and papyrological scholarship see Salles and Sedov
(2010); Cuvigny (2011) and (2012); Sidebotham (2011); Autiero (2012); Seland
(2014); Cherian (2015); De Saxcé (2015); Ast and Bagnall (2016); Boussac, Salles
and Yon (2016); Sidebotham and Zych (2016); Zych et al. (2016); Kotarba-Morley
(2019).
2 For an overview of global history and developments in this field see Conrad
(2016). On the political, social and economic impacts of the Indian Ocean trade
in Antiquity see Cobb (2019a).
3 On these issues see, for example, Tomber (2008); Evers (2017); Cobb (2013); Cobb
(2018); De Saxcé (2015).
4 These are four out of eight ‘hallmarks’ identified by Jennings. For a discussion
of concepts connected to globalization and their application to ancient societies
see Jennings (2011); Hodos (2017); Pitts (2020).
5 It is important to note that no good has the inherent quality (or lack thereof)
of being luxurious, decadent, exotic, of value for social display, etc., outside of
the social context in which it is consumed. That is to say, the (subjective) tastes,
judgements, and ascription of values expressed by those involved in its consump-
tion and those observing/responding to this consumption is context dependent.
On this see Cobb (2013); and Parker (2002).
6 On definitions of proper function (using objects in the manner for which they
were originally intended) and system function (discrepant use of an object), see
Swift (2017): 154–155.
7 The term transculturation was first employed by the Cuban writer Fernando
Ortiz in his book Contrapunteo cubano del tabaco y el azúcar. For a discussion on
transcultural adaptation see Maran and Stockhammer (2012): 1–2; and Hutch-
eon (2006): 145–148; Abu-Er-Rub et al. (2019b); Michaels (2019): 3–14. See also
the introductory chapter for more details on the terms evolution since Ortiz’s
publication. For the term’s meaning in cultural studies see Lewis (2002): 24–25.
For methodological discussions relating to cultural heritage see Falser and
Juneja (2013).
8 A transcultural approach is increasingly being adopted by pre-modern archae-
ologists and historians. Among others, see Vandkilde (2014); Autiero (2017;
2018); Maran (2019).
9 Potentially this can be seen with earlier, less nuanced applications of concepts
like Hellenization and Romanization. For a strong critique of Hellenization, see
Hodos (2014). For an overview of critiques made on the concept of Romanization
and some recent attempts to nuance it, see Sommer (2012); Versluys (2014); and
more sceptically Stek (2014). On the problem of ‘influence’ being reductive with
regards to agency in a Mediterranean-South Asian context, see De Saxcé (2018):
88. See also Autiero (2017): 86. The term acculturation can assume a dominant
and a subordinate culture, with the latter society changing more dramatically
as a result of interaction and exchange – Ferraro (2004): 388; see also Versluys
(2017): 144–146. Similarly, the term ‘hybridity’ can allude to new cultural for-
mations that results from ‘cultural contact in conditions of unequal power’ –
Barclay (2005): 317. It is clear that the ‘acculturation’ model should definitely be
avoided, and ‘hybridity’ model is also problematic and potentially imprecise,
especially in the context of long-distance exchange (on the problems of the latter,
see Versluys (2014): 8; Roudometof (2016): 13–14).
10 As cultural anthropologists note, the spread of ideas and things is selective in na-
ture. What is selected will often depend upon the item’s utility and suitability to
existing cultural traits. These ideas or objects can then become modified in terms
of form or usage to suit local practices (on this see Ferraro (2004): 386–388). The
concepts of globalization and glocalization have been increasingly adopted by
scholars as a means of analysing such phenomena. These concepts are certainly
preferable to the notion that ‘diffusion’ leads to cultural homogenization. As
Roudometof notes, this notion often fails ‘to capture the reality’ of how ‘local’
communities respond to ‘global’ influences (2016): 63. The notion of transcul-
turality also seems preferable to interculturality. The latter can suggest that
cultures are closed, static and unproblematically distinguishable from others.
For a definition of interculturality see Liddicoat (2015).
11 For a critique of the way in which these concepts have traditionally be em-
ployed by archaeologists and historians, see Pitts and Versluys (2015b); Pitts
(2020): 162.
12 Maran (2019). For further discussion, see the introductory chapter.
13 Lewis (2002): 24. Indeed, it is noted in cultural studies that while the transmis-
sion of ideas from generation to generation is significant, the sense of static-ness
that this may suggest is unfounded. There is ‘nothing as constant as change’ –
Ferraro (2004): 33. More traditional archaeological studies often assumed that
internal cultural change was slow and incremental, and when rapid change was
seen it tended to be explained as the result of migration, invasion of popula-
tions or the diffusion of ‘radically new and powerful ideas’, though this view
has tended to become more nuanced in recent scholarship. – Shanks and Tilly
(1987): 82.
14 On the problems of container thinking, see Versluys (2014): 12–13; Versluys
(2017): 145–146; Maran (2019): 52–53; Pitts (2020): 158–161.
15 The labels Indian Subcontinent and South Asia both tend to encompass the
modern nation-states of India, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Bhutan, Nepal, Sri Lanka
and the Maldives.
16 On this issue, with regards to coins, see Darley (2019): 65.
17 Knapp (2014): 35–36; McInerney (2014b): 2–4.
18 As noted by Ferraro, numerous definitions of culture exist, though at its most
basic it essentially relates to people’s way of life or more generally ‘everything
that people have, think, and do as members of a society.’ [italics original] – Ferraro
(2004): 24. The concept of culture has also been abstractly described as ‘an as-
semblage of imaginings and meanings’ expressed through discourse, language,
symbols, signs – Lewis (2002): 22.
19 Thomas (1986): 372.
20 See Abraham (2013): 207, 210–211, 216–218. He notes the difficulty of identifying
such cultural developments from the archaeological record. More generally, see
Mahadevan (2003).
21 Mairs discusses two pertinent examples of the complications that relate to
ascribing identity and cultural habits in contexts where individuals of dif-
ferent backgrounds might mix. The first example is the individual Sōphytos,
a person with a seemingly ‘Indian’ name (transcribed) who left a Greek in-
scription at Kandahar and appears to have embraced a number of linguistic
and educational facets of Hellenic culture. The second example relates to He-
liodorus, son of Dion, an ambassador of the Indo-Greek king Antialkidas of
Taxila, who left a pillar inscription from Besnagar celebrating his devotion to
Vasudeva (in a form of Prakrits language, written in Brahmi script). See Mairs
(2014): 102–145, 183.
22 Knapp (2014): 36; Shanks and Tilly (1987): 86–87; Versluys (2017): 144–146.
23 Shanks and Tilly (1987): 83–84.
24 McInerney (2014b): 6. For Graeco-Roman concepts of ‘otherness’ and ethno-
graphic literature, see Romm (1992); and Parker (2008). For Indian literature
176 Matthew A. Cobb
that makes periodic reference to ‘Yavanas’ (foreigners from the West) in the
early-mid-centuries CE, see the Sangam corpus – Meile (1940–41); Zvelebil
(1956); and Tieken (2003). More generally on ancient ethnography, see Almagor
and Skinner (2013). On the issue of Self and Other, see Versluys (2017): 145.
25 Van Oyen and Pitts (2017b): 7–9; Pitts (2020): 162–163.
26 For a discussion see Margabandhu (2005): 178–179; Brancaccio (2005): 56–69,
and (2014); Suresh (2004): 81; Autiero (2017): 80–81.
27 Autiero (2017): 82–86.
28 Ibid., 82–83.
29 For a discussion of these objects and their context, see Mehendale (2011); and
Cambon (2011).
30 See Brancaccio (2014).
31 For an introduction to this object, see Dhavalikar (1992); and Cimino (1994a).
32 Dhavalikar (1992): 326–327. See also Cimino (1992b): 176–179; and Cimino
(1994a): 183–184, who notes the possibility that this object could be interpreted
in this way.
33 See Cobb and Mitchell (2019). Laws of Manu 1.5–13; Vishnu Purana 1.2.10–56;
Matsya Purana 2.28–36; Śatapatha-Brāmaṇa 11.1.6.1; Mahābhārata 1.1.27.
34 For an overview of these issues see Cobb (2015).
35 On the former view see De Romanis (2012), who also points to comments in
Pliny’s Natural History and Tacitus’ Annals (also De Romanis (2020): 127–132);
and Cobb (2015). On the latter view see MacDowall (1991; 1996; 2004); and
Burnett (1998).
36 On the issue of traditional narratives about the presence of Roman coins in India
and Sri Lanka privileging economic explanations, see Darley (2015): 61, 68–75.
37 On this see Darley (2015): 78; Darley (forthcoming); and Majumdar (2015):
421–422. Other features, such as countermarks and slashes also appear on some
of these coins (see Suresh (2004): 40–52). However, the notion that slashes were
done to test purity, for example, does not hold up to security. Especially in the
light of multiple slash marks (which would be unnecessary for this purpose). In
fact, it is entirely possible that this was done for ritual purposes – see Darley
(2019): 73–78.
38 On this see Dwivedi (2016).
39 Suresh (2004): 78. Such piercing also occurs on Kushan coins as far north as
Bactria, as suggested by a gold coin of Kanishka I – British Museum IOC.287
(acquired in Kabul). See also an early Kushan coin-type pendant that has been
pierced – British Museum IOLC.7749.
40 For pierced/looped aurei and imitations, see the following hoards: Akki
Alur, Bhagavanpavum, Chakherbedha, Dharpul, Kaliyampattur, Kondapur,
( possibly) Nellore, Upparipeta, Vinukonda. Details in Turner (1989): 48–49, 51,
53, 58, 61, 71, 79, 84–85. See also Suresh (2004): 77–78, 163, 166–169, 173–175, who
adds Soriyapattu, Gootiparti, Gopalapuram, Gumada, Nosagere, and Uppav-
ahr, Nagarjunakonda, Peddabankur (genuine aurei, lead imitations), Junagadh
and Chakherbedha to the list. For a general outline on such pierced (genuine
and imitation) coins see Darley (forthcoming).
41 Turner (1989): 58, 71, 84–85.
42 Darley (2019): 69–79, 72. As seems to be suggested, for example, at the sites of
Kudavelli and Peddabonkur.
43 IOC fluorescence analysis on Roman and imitation coins in the British Museum
has revealed that the genuine coin was of pure silver, at 99.08 per cent, while the
imitation was slightly less pure at 96.28 per cent. That is in fact higher in purity
than the genuine post-64 CE reformed denarius, especially if Ponting (2009) is
correct in his analysis that the reformed denarii may have actually been in the
80–90 per cent purity range. The imitation, however, weighed only 2.91 grams,
which is lower than the weight of a genuine denarius of the period. Addition-
ally, Turner notes that the average weight of the coins in the Akkanpalle hoard
were around 3.5 grams, while most of the imitation Augustan coins from this
hoard weigh between 3.10–3.92 grams (excluding a fragmentary imitation of 1.64
grams). See Turner (1989): 38–40. Also Darley (1999): 69.
44 See De Romanis (2006); Darley (forthcoming).
45 De Romanis (2020): 131–132.
46 For a wider ranging discussion, see De Saxcé (2018).
47 Turner (1989): 37, 61; Suresh (2004): 79–81, 138–139; Vickers (1994): 243; Tripati,
Patnaik and Pradhan (2015): 219–224; Darley (2019): 72. See also De Saxcé (2018):
88, who notes the historically long-term nature of this type of practice in South
Asia.
48 De Saxcé (2018): 88; Darley (2019): 72.
49 Imitations of silver denarii tended to be quite precise and near the intrinsic value
of the genuine issues; although we do also see some ‘forgeries’ (with use of (core)
of debased metals). See Darley (forthcoming).
50 See Darley (2015); also Darley (2019): 64.
51 Darley (2015): 76.
52 Day [see under Darley] (2012); Darley (forthcoming).
53 Darley (2015): 78–80.
54 Apotropaic functions are possible, as might be suggested by the presence on
other bullae of figures like Yakshas, lotuses or Gaja Lakṣmī – De Saxcé (2018):
89–90. On parallels with the representation of Yavana soldier figures, and the
import of Bes figurines, see Autiero (2017): 86. On the potential for coins to be
social instruments (and not exclusively as political and economic markers), see
Darley (2019): 74–75.
55 Plin. HN 13.4.20.
56 We see, for example, large finds of Roman coins in hoards at Akkanalle and
Nasthullapur, which are near to Buddhist temple complexes at Amaravati and
Nagarjunakonda – Turner (1989): 43–44, 119. For a more general discussion of
this redistribution/prestige-goods economy model see Frankenstein and Row-
lands (1978); and Gilissen (2003). On the operation of some Buddhist sangha
as ‘lending institutions’ see Kulke and Rothermund (1986): 93, 99, 102; Morri-
son (1997): 95; Thapar (1978): 64; Ray (1987): 98. Also De Romanis (2006); and
Darley (forthcoming).
57 Autiero (2018); Asher (2019): 160–161; Evers (2017): 15–47.
Bibliography
Abraham, Shinu A. 2003: ‘Chera, Chola, Pandya: using archaeological evidence to
identify the Tamil Kingdoms of early historic South India’, Asian Perspectives
42(2): 207–223.
opoulos, and Susan Richter (eds.), 2019a: Engaging Transculturality: Concepts,
Key Terms, Case Studies. London: Routledge.
opoulos, and Susan Richter. 2019b: ‘Introduction: Engaging Transculturality’, in
Abu-Er-Rub et al. 2019a: xxiii–xliv.
Almagor, Eran and Joseph Skinner (eds.), 2013: Ancient Ethnography: New
Approaches. London: Bloomsbury.
Asher, Frederick M. 2019: ‘Evidence for Ancient Indian Maritime Activity’, in Cobb
2019a: 157–167.
178 Matthew A. Cobb
Ast, Rodney and Roger Bagnall. 2016: Documents from Berenike Volume III: Greek
and Latin Texts from the 2009–2013 Seasons. Brussels: Association égyptologique
Reine Elisabeth.
Autiero, Serena. 2012: ‘I rapporti culturali e commerciali nell’Oceano Indiano occi-
dentale alla luce dei dati storici, letterari, epigrafici, numismatici, archeologici e
storico-artistici (III sec. a.C. – V sec. d.C.)’, PhD thesis, Sapienza Università di Roma.
Autiero, Serena. 2018: ‘Foreign Iconographic Elements in South Arabian Art: The
Indian Contribution’, in Andrea Manzo, Chiara Zazzaro and Diana Joyce de
Falco (eds.), Stories of Globalisation: The Red Sea and the Persian Gulf from Late
Prehistory to Early Modernity Selected Papers of Red Sea Project VII, 408–442.
Leiden: Brill.
Barclay, John M.G. 2005: ‘The Empire Writes Back: Josephan Rhetoric in Flavian
Rome’, in Jonathan Edmondson, Steve Mason and James Rives (eds.), Flavius
Josephus and Flavian Rome, 315–332. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Boussac, Marie-Françoise, Jean-Françoise Salles and Jean-Baptiste Yon (eds.),
2016: Ports of the Ancient Indian Ocean. New Delhi: Primus Books.
Brancaccio, Pia. 2005: ‘Sātavāhana terracottas: connections with the Hellenistic
tradition’, East and West 55(1): 55–69.
Brancaccio, Pia. 2014: ‘Looking to the West: stone molds and foreign visual models
in Satavahana material culture (first–second centuries CE)’, Archives of Asian Art
64(1): 33–41.
Burnett, Andrew. 1998: ‘Roman Coins from India and Sri Lanka’, in Osmund
Bopearachchi and Don P.M. Weerakkody (eds.), Origin, Evolution and Circulation
of Foreign Coins in the Indian Ocean, 179–89. Sri Lanka: Manohar.
Cambon, Pierre. 2011: ‘Begram: Alexandria of the Caucasus, Capital of the Kushan
Empire’, in Hierbert and Cambon 2011: 145–209.
Cherian, P. J. (ed.), 2015: 9th Season Pattanam Excavation Report 2015. Kerala:
KCHR.
Cimino, Rosa M. (eds.), 1994a: Ancient Rome and India: Commercial and Cultural
Contacts between the Roman World and India. New Delhi: Munshiram Manohar-
lal Publishers.
Cimino, Rosa M. 1994b: ‘An exceptional find in India: a small sculpture depict-
ing Eros issuing from an egg’, in Asko Parpola and Petteri Koskikallio (eds.),
South Asian Archaeology 1993, 171–182. Helsinki: Annales Academiae Scientiarum
Fennicae B 271, 2 vols.
Cobb, Matthew A. 2013: ‘The reception and consumption of Eastern goods in
Roman society’, Greece & Rome 60(1): 136–152.
Cobb, Matthew A. 2015: ‘The chronology of Roman trade in the Indian Ocean from
Augustus to Early Third Century AD’, Journal of the Economic and Social History
of the Orient 58(3): 362–418.
Cobb, Matthew A. (ed.), 2019a: The Indian Ocean Trade in Antiquity: Political,
Cultural and Economic Impacts. London and New York: Routledge.
Cobb, Matthew A. 2019b: ‘Introduction: The Indian Ocean in Antiquity and Global
History’, in Cobb 2019a: 1–14.
Cobb, Matthew A. and Fiona Mitchell. 2019: ‘Eros at Junnar: reconsidering a piece
of Mediterranean art’, Greece & Rome 66(2): 203–226.
sity Press.
Cuvigny, Hélène (ed.), 2011: Didymoi: une garnison romaine dans le désert oriental
d’Égypte. I – les fouilles et le materiel. Cairo: IFAO.
Cuvigny, Hélène (ed.), 2012: Didymoi: une garnison romaine dans le désert oriental
d’Égypte. II – les textes. Cairo: IFAO.
Darley, Rebecca. [published as R. Day] 2012: ‘A tale of “four” hoards (or unpicking
Akki Alur)’, Journal of the Oriental Numismatic Society 211: 5–13.
Darley, Rebecca. 2015: ‘Self, Other and the Use and Appropriation of Late Roman
Coins in Peninsular India (4th – 7th Century CE)’, in Himanshu P. Ray (ed.),
Negotiating Cultural Identity: Landscape in Early Medieval South Asian History,
60–84. New Delhi: Routledge.
Darley, Rebecca. 2019: ‘Worth and value: new readings of Roman coins in the col-
lection of the Telangana State Archaeology Museum’, in Proceedings of the Inter-
national Conference, Rediscovering Telangana, Hyderabad, January 2017, 64–82.
Hyderabad: Department Heritage Telangana.
Darley, Rebecca. Forthcoming: ‘Byzantine coins and peninsular India’s Late Antiq-
uity’, Journal of Ancient Civilizations.
De Romanis, Federico. 2006: ‘Aurei after the Trade: Western Taxes and Eastern
Gifts’, in Federico De Romanis and Sara Sorda (eds.), Dal denarius al dinar.
L’Oriente e la moneta aurea romana. Atti dell’incontro di studio, 55–82. Rome:
Istituto Italiano di Numismatica.
De Romanis, Federico. 2012: ‘Julio-Claudian denarii and aurei in Campania and
India’, Annali dell’Istituto Italiano di Numismatica 58: 161–192.
De Romanis, Federico. 2020: The Indo-Roman Pepper Trade and the Muziris
Papyrus. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
De Saxcé, Ariane. 2015: Commerce, transferts, réseaux: Des échanges maritimes en
mer érythrée le IIIe siècle av. n.è. et le VIIe siècle de n.è. PhD thesis, University of
Paris – Sorbonne.
De Saxcé, Ariane. 2018: ‘Appropriations culturelles en Asie du Sud aux débuts de
notre ère’, Revue Histoire de l’art 82: 87–96.
Dhavalikar, Madhukar K. 1992: ‘Eros from Junnar’, in David W. MacDowall, Savita
Sharma and Sanjay Garg (eds.), Indian Numismatics, History, Art, and Culture:
Essays in the Honour of Dr. P.L. Gupta, 325–327. Delhi: Agam Kala Prakashan.
Dwivedi, Jyoti. 2016: ‘Indian tribal ornaments: a hidden treasure’, Journal of Envi-
ronmental Science, Toxicology and Food Technology 10(3): 1–16.
Evers, Kasper G. 2017: Worlds Apart Trading Together: The Organisation of
Long-Distance Trade between Rome and India in Antiquity. Oxford: Archaeopress.
Falser, Michael and Monica Juneja (eds.), 2013: Kulturerbe – Denkmalpflege: tran-
skulturell. Grenzgänge zwischen Theorie und Praxis. Bielefeld: Transcript.
Ferraro, Gary. 2004: Cultural Anthropology: An Applied Perspective, 5th edition.
Toronto: Thompson Wadsworth.
Frankenstein, Susan and Michael J. Rowlands. 1978: ‘The internal structure and
regional context of early Iron Age society in southwest Germany’, Bulletin of the
Institute of Archaeology of London 15: 73–112.
Gilissen, Tijn. 2003: ‘Revision and application of Rowlands and Frankenstein’s
prestige-goods economy model and a consideration of other options’, Profiel 10
(2/3): 18–45.
Hierbert, Fredrik and Pierre Cambon (eds.), 2011: Afghanistan: Crossroads of the
Ancient World. London: British Museum.
180 Matthew A. Cobb
material-culture studies in the early first-millennium B.C.E. Mediterranean’,
Hodos, Tamar. (ed.), 2017: The Routledge Handbook of Archaeology and Globaliza-
Hutcheon, Linda. 2006: A Theory of Adaptation, 2nd edition. London and New
York: Routledge.
University Press.
Knapp, A. Bernard. 2014: ‘Mediterranean Archaeology and Ethnicity’, in McIner-
ney 2014a: 34–49.
Kotarba-Morley, Anna M. 2019: ‘Ancient Ports of Trade on the Red Sea Coasts –
The “Parameters of Attractiveness” of Site Locations and Human Adaptations
to Fluctuating Land- and Sea-Scapes. Case Study Berenike Troglodytica, South-
eastern Egypt’, in Najeeb M.A. Rasul and Ian Stewart (eds.), Geological Setting,
Palaeoenvironment and Archaeology of the Red Sea, 741–774. Springer: Cham.
Kulke, Hermann and Dietmar Rothermund. 1986: A History of India. London and
Lewis, Jeff. 2002: ‘From Culturalism to Transculturalism’, Iowa Journal of Cultural
Studies 1(1): 14–32.
Liddicoat, Antony J. 2015: ‘Interculturality’, in Karen Tracy, Cornelia Ilie and Todd
Sandel (eds.), The International Encyclopedia of Language and Social Interaction.
Chichester: Wiley-Blackwell.
MacDowall, David W. 1991: ‘Indian Imports of Roman Silver Coinage’, in Amal
K. Jha (ed.), Coinage, Trade and Economy, 145–163. Nashik: Indian Institute of
Research in Numismatic Studies.
MacDowall, David W. 1996: ‘The Evidence of the Gazetteer of Roman Artefacts in
India’, in Himanshu P. Ray and Jean-François Salles (eds.), Tradition and Archae-
ology: Early Maritime Contacts in the Indian Ocean, 79–95. New Delhi: Manohar.
MacDowall, David W. 2004: ‘The Indo-Roman Metal Trade’, in David W. MacDow-
all and Amiteshwar Jha (eds.), Foreign Coins Found in the Indian Sub- Continent,
39–44. Nashik: Indian Institute of Research in Numismatic Studies.
McInerney, Jeremy (ed.), 2014a: A Companion to Ethnicity in the Ancient Mediterra-
nean. Chichester: Wiley-Blackwell.
McInerney, Jeremy (ed.), 2014b: ‘Ethnicity: An Introduction’, in McInerney 2014a: 1–16.
Mahadevan, Iravatham. 2003: Early Tamil Epigraphy: From the Earliest Times to the
Sixth Century A.D. London: Harvard University Press.
Mairs, Rachel. 2014: The Hellenistic Far East. Oakland: University of California
Press.
Majumdar, Sumita B. 2015: ‘Money Matters: Indigenous and Foreign Coins in the
Malabar Coast (Second Century BCE – Second Century CE)’, in Mathew 2015:
395–423.
Maran, Joseph. 2019: ‘Not “Cultures”, but Culture! The Need for a Transcultural
Perspective in Archaeology’, in Abu-Er-Rub et al. 2019a: 51–64.
Maran, Joseph and Philipp W. Stockhammer. 2012: ‘Introduction’, in Joseph Maran
and Philipp W. Stockhammer (eds.), Materiality and Social Practice: Transforma-
tive Capacities of Intercultural Encounters, 1–3. Oxford: Oxbow.
Margabandhu, C. 2005: ‘Roman influence on the art of clay modelling of the
Sātavāhanas: a study in cultural fusion’, Indian Historical Review 32(1): 165–188.
Mathew, Kuzhippalli S. (ed.), 2015: Imperial Rome, Indian Ocean Regions and
Muziris: New Perspectives on Maritime Trade. London and New York: Routledge.
Mehendale, Sanjyot. 2011: ‘Begram: At the Heart of the Silk Roads’, in Hierbert and
Cambon 2011: 131–143.
Meile, Pierre. 1940–41: ‘Les Yavanas dans l’Inde tamoule’, Journal Asiatique 232:
85–123.
Michaels, Axel. 2019: ‘Cultural hybridity and transculturality’, in Abu-Er-Rub et al.
2019a: 3–14.
Morrison, Kathleen D. 1997: ‘Commerce and culture in South Asia: perspectives
from archaeology and history’, Annual Review of Anthropology 26: 87–108.
Ortiz, Fernando. 1940: Contrapunteo cubano del tabaco y del azúcar. Havana: Jesús
Montero.
Parker, Grant. 2002: ‘Ex oriente luxuria: Indian commodities and Roman experi-
ence’, Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient 45(1): 40–95.
Pitts, Martin. 2020: ‘Globalization, Consumption, and Objects in the Roman
World: New Perspectives and Opportunities’, in Vladimir Mihajlović and Marko
A. Janković (eds.), Pervading Empire: Relationality and Diversity in the Roman
Provinces, 155–166. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag.
Pitts, Martin and Miguel J. Versluys (eds.), 2015a: Globalisation and the Roman
University Press.
Pitts, Martin and Miguel J. Versluys, 2015b: ‘Globalisation and the Roman World:
Perspectives and Opportunities’, in Pitts and Versluys 2015a: 3–31.
Ponting, Matthew. 2009: ‘Roman Silver Coinage: Mints, Metallurgy, and Pro-
duction’, in Alan Bowman and Andrew Wilson (eds.), Quantifying the Roman
Economy, 269–280. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Ray, Himanshu. P. 1987: ‘Early historical urbanization: the case of the Western
Deccan’, World Archaeology 19(1): 94–104.
Romm, James S. 1992: The Edges of the Earth in Ancient Thought: Geography,
Exploration and Fiction. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.
York: Routledge.
Salles, Jean-François and Alexander V. Sedov (eds.), 2010: QĀNI’ Le port antique
du Ḥaḍramawt entre la Méditerranée, l’Afrique et l’Inde: Fouilles Russes 1972,
1985–89, 1991, 1993–94. Turnhout: Brepols.
Seland, Eivind H. 2014: ‘Archaeology of trade in the western Indian Ocean, 300
BC–AD 700’, Journal of Archaeological Research 22: 367–402.
Shanks, Michael and Christopher Tilley. 1987: Social Theory and Archaeology.
Cambridge: Polity Press.
Sidebotham, Steven E. 2011: Berenike and the Ancient Maritime Spice Route.
Berkeley: University of California Press.
Sidebotham, Steven E. and Iwona Zych. 2016: ‘Results of the Winter 2014–2015
Excavations at Berenike Egypt & Related Fieldwork in the Eastern Desert’, Jour-
nal of Indian Ocean Archaeology 12: 1–34.
Sommer, Michael. 2012: ‘Heart of darkness? Post-colonial theory and the transfor-
mation of the Mediterranean’, Ancient West & East 11: 235–245.
Stek, Tesse D. 2014: ‘Roman imperialism, globalization and Romanization in
early Roman Italy. Research questions in archaeology and ancient history’,
182 Matthew A. Cobb
Suresh, Sethuraman. 2004: Symbols of Trade: Roman and Pseudo-Roman Objects
Found in India. Delhi: Manohar.
Swift, Ellen. 2017: ‘Design, Function and Everyday Social Practice: Artefacts and
Roman social history’, in Van Oyen and Pitts 2017a: 153–167.
Thapar, Romila. 1978: Ancient India Social History. Some Interpretations. London:
Sangam Books.
Thomas, David R. 1986: ‘Culture and ethnicity: maintaining the distinction’,
Australian Journal of Psychology 38(3): 371–380.
Tieken, Herman. 2003: ‘The Yavanas’ clothes in old Tamil literature’, Indo-Iranian
Journal 46: 261–271.
Tomber, Roberta. 2008: Indo-Roman Trade: From Pots to Pepper. London:
Duckworth.
Tripati, Sila, Sunil K. Patnaik and Gopal C. Pradhan. 2015: ‘Maritime Trade Con-
tacts of Odisha, East Coast of India, with the Roman World: An Appraisal’, in
Mathew 2015, 215–230.
Turner, Paula J. 1989: Roman Coins from India. London: Royal Numismatics Society.
Van Oyen, Astrid and Martin Pitts (eds.), 2017a: Materialising Roman Histories.
Oxford: Oxbow Books.
Van Oyen, Astrid and Martin Pitts 2017b: ‘What Did Objects do in the Roman
World? Beyond Representation’, in Van Oyen and Pitts 2017a: 3–19.
Versluys, Miguel J. 2014: ‘Understanding objects in motion. An archaeological
dialogue on Romanization’, Archaeological Dialogues 21(1): 1–20.
Versluys, Miguel J. 2017: ‘Roman Visual Material Culture as Globalising Koine’, in
Van Oyen and Pitts 2017a: 141–174.
Vickers, Michael. 1994: ‘Nabataea, India, Gaul, and Carthage: reflections on
Hellenistic and Roman gold vessels and red glossed ware’, American Journal of
Archaeology 98(2): 231–248.
Zvelebil, Kamil. 1956: ‘The Yavanas in Old Tamil Literature’, in Felix Tauer, Věra
Kubičková and Ivan Hrbek (eds.), Charisteria Orientalia: praecipue ad Persiam
pertinentia, 401–409. Prague: Československé akademie věd.
Zych, Iwona, Steven E. Sidebotham, Martin Hense, Joanna K. Rądkowska and
Marek Woźniak. 2016: ‘Archaeological fieldwork in Berenike in 2014 and 2015:
from Hellenistic rock-cut installations to abandoned temple ruins’, Polish
Archaeology in the Mediterranean XXV: 315–348.
9 The Indian figurine from
Pompeii as an emblem of
East-West trade in the Early
Roman imperial era
Laura R. Weinstein
Introduction
In October 1938, Amedeo Maiuri, as Superintendent of Archaeology at
Pompeii, made an unprecedented discovery that remains a unicum: a small
ivory statuette of extraordinary craftsmanship, presumed to have been im-
ported from India during the height of Roman and Indian trade in the first
century CE. Scholars knew from the textual sources that trade had flour-
ished for centuries between Rome and Arabia, India, and with India as a
conduit, Southeast Asia and China. Roman objects since excavated at In-
dian sites such as Arikamedu, Kolhapur, Pattanam, etc., have highlighted
that bustling commercial relationship. However, the droves of spices, cloth,
wood and gems that the ancient writers and the Periplus Maris Erythraei
(shortened in the following pages as PME or Periplus) reported as having
been exported from India to Rome had, until recently, vanished or become
impossible to provenance.1 In 1938, some luxurious ivory ornaments had
been found, but certainly none pinpointed an Indian production.
Instead, Maiuri’s intricately carved, 24 cm tall female figure, securely
traceable to India prior to 79 CE, is the only identified ancient Indian-
crafted object found in the Roman Mediterranean territories to date. In
the 82 years since its discovery, research on this object has been sporadic
and moreover, usually not paralleled by thorough research in its area of
origin.2 By conducting research at the major Satavahana sites (Paithan,
Bhokardan, Ter, Sanchi) associated with the statue’s creation, its probable
Indian Ocean departure point (Barygaza), likely point of entry on the Ital-
ian peninsula (Puteoli), and the find spot (inside the closed House of the
Indian Statuette), this author has been attempting to bridge two worlds,
just as the statue did 2000 years ago.3 The goal of this chapter is to create
a fuller picture of this unusual object, a fascinating testament to ancient
transregional exchange. It also updates iconography and function debates,
puts the find spot debate to rest, and points to various avenues of research
still to come.
DOI: 10.4324/9781003096269-13
184 Laura R. Weinstein
Background
Discovery
Over the course of three days in October 79 CE, Mount Vesuvius destroyed
numerous Roman towns including Pompeii, buried under six metres of ash
and pumice pebbles.4 House I.8.5, which faced the main artery of Pompeii,
Via dell’Abbondanza, was excavated from 1938 to 1939.5 It was a large home,
with 14 rooms on the ground floor and evidence of a second floor above the
apotheca. The material remains were plentiful, including a bone statuette
depicting a male seated with a theatrical mask at his feet, more glass vases
(39) than any other house on the entire block, numerous bronze vases, lamps
and trays, two marble herms, jewellery made of silver and also rock crystal,
ceramics, including a vase with inlaid glass, amphora, lead, iron, and nu-
merous coins.6 However, the sensation was an enigmatic ivory statue found
on ‘slightly disturbed ground’ in the southwest corner of what had been the
peristyle garden, along with a scattering of other household furnishings and
‘impressions of a chest and a typical wooden closet’ that one assumes once
contained the items.7
In 1939, announcement of the startling discovery was made in the then-
new Le Arti, the art bulletin of the Italian Ministry of Culture, and in-
cluded photographs of the statue, before and after restoration by Armando
Mancini (Figure 9.1).8
To anyone reading Maiuri’s original report it is clear that the find spot is
House 5, henceforth known as the ‘House of the Indian Statuette’, despite
several scholars mistakenly attributing the statuette to House 17/The House
Figure 9.1 Pompeii Indian figurine before and after restoration

Source: Left and right: courtesy of Ministero della Cultura – Museo Archeologico Nazionale
di Napoli, photo by Giorgio Albano; centre: Maiuri (1939): Tav. XLV, n.1.
The Indian figurine from Pompeii as an emblem 185
9
of the Four Styles, perhaps due to repetition of a translation error. If the
statue was found anywhere other than House 5, a more convincing prove-
nience might be the adjacent House 19 – the officina tinctoria (clothing dye
shop) of Terentius.10 Even if the statue might have been thrown to an adja-
cent house during the eruption, evidence to date suggests that the statue be-
longed to someone in House 5. The statue was later displayed – and can still
be seen today – in the Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli (National
Archaeology Museum of Naples, abbreviated as MANN).
Description
The ivory figurine is 24 cm tall, 5 cm wide, and 6 cm deep. It is crafted from
ivory, a material that was considered luxurious and exotic even before Ro-
man times, presumed to be Indian and elephantine, and carved from one
tusk block.11 The figure is barefoot and nude except for elaborate jewellery –
a chudamani (a head ornament designed in a lotus shape), a thick necklace
that reaches almost to her waist, numerous bangles from elbow to wrist (with
the ones at the wrist much thicker) and numerous bangles from calf to ankle
(again, with the ones at the ankle much thicker).12 The necklace does not
continue all the way around the neck but seems to emerge from two rosette-
shaped buds at the clavicle.13 The right arm is raised and bent behind, with
the right hand touching the left scapula. The left arm is bent at the elbow and
seems to be cupping something that is protruding slightly – which may be an
earring.14 The left leg is extended slightly forward and crosses in front of the
right leg, and the figure wears a little belt around her hips.
From her hips to her feet, the figure is flanked by two attendants, minia-
ture versions of their mistress. Their genitals are also hairless and clearly
defined, but they have less voluptuous breasts.15 The attendant to the main
figure’s right holds a rectangular box in her upturned left hand, while the at-
tendant to the main figure’s left holds two conical objects with spiral design
in her upturned right hand.16 On the same ‘forward’ side as the upturned
hands, the attendants wear sashes hanging down their thighs. There is also
a wedge under the left-side maiden, helping make the base flat.17
The detailed carving on the back of the main figure leads one to conclude
the object was meant to be seen in the round. The hair is braided and coiled
in a wide serpentine fashion that reaches the waist, with at least one dec-
orative object inserted, in the shape of a flower.18 This elaborate veni can
be glimpsed even from the front, as it swings to her right, seeming to be in
movement. In addition, there is a projectile – which may be a continuation
of the braid – emerging from the left side of and behind her head.
Maiuri’s analysis
The figure’s iconography was not Greco-Roman. In addition, on the bottom
of the figure there is a symbol attributed to an Indian script (Figure 9.2).
Figure 9.2 Pompeii Indian figurine plinth inscription

Source: Drawing and interpretive comments courtesy of Serena Autiero, including graphic
elaboration after Maiuri (1939): 112.
Paleographers at first assessed it was the word ‘śi’ written in Karoshthi

script. This secured the Indian provenance, as the script was common
in the Kushan territory, including the lands that are now Pakistan and
Afghanistan, from the third century BCE until the third century CE.19 Be-
cause it was hidden under the plank of the base, Maiuri interpreted it as the
signature of the artist rather than something sacred as suggested by other
scholars.20
On the top of the cranium, there is a hole. This cavity reaches halfway
down the figure.21 From this, Maiuri assessed that the statue functioned as
a kind of handle – for a mirror, perhaps – or, in any case, as the lower part
of a larger object into which it was inserted.22 He surmised the figure was
imported to the Italian peninsula sometime after the Battle of Actium in 31
BCE, when relatively unimpeded sea trade routes more easily connected east
and west, and probably during the reign of the Emperor Nero (54–68 CE)
because Nero, with a penchant for luxury items, had a particularly vigorous
mercantile relationship with the East.23
Though there was an extraordinary contemporaneous discovery in
Begram (Afghanistan) of first- or second-century ivory furniture that
included female figures, Maiuri and his Indian expert De Lorenzo cited
large reliefs and sculptures from Bharhut, Bhutesvara and Sanchi and de-
duced the Pompeii statuette was likely created by artisans in and around
the sacred city of Mathura.24 Notably, these ‘comparanda’, even with some
voluptuous similarities, were all yakshi, nature spirits associated with fer-
tility. Notwithstanding figures on the torana (gateways) at Sanchi with al-
most identical iconography, Maiuri leaned on what he interpreted as an
abundance of lotuses on the ivory statuette and concluded that it repre-
sented the Hindu goddess Lakshmi, associated with wealth, fortune and
prosperity.25 This was justified by a tondo from Sanchi Stupa #2 that shows
a central female figure with two attendants and, like the Pompeii ivory, is
devoid of some of Lakshmi’s common icons, such as four arms or lustrating
elephants.26
Importing luxury
While trade with ‘the East’ was documented and abundant, a carved ivory
that could be provenanced to India was a unique find in Pompeii in 1938.
In fact, crafted objects that can be securely traced back to India are still
unknown in the former Roman territories, even 80 years later.27 However,
the paucity is not due to the fact that the trade went only in one direction –
the Sanskrit and Tamil words for sugar, ginger, pepper, sandalwood, beryl,
cotton cloth and indigo made their way into Latin – but instead, that so
many goods exported from India to the Roman west were of a perishable
or fragmentary nature.28 Already in the 20s BCE, Horace remarked about
the ‘indefatigable merchants who hasten to the Indians’ wait’.29 Though the
numbers must be taken with a grain of salt, Strabo describes large convoys
with up to 120 vessels sailing annually to India at the beginning of Augus-
tus’ rule as princeps.30 Pliny’s Natural History cites India and other forms of
its name more than 220 times.31 And there was the aforementioned PME, a
first-century CE Greek manuscript written by an anonymous seafarer from
Roman Egypt to help fellow merchants. An invaluable source for the me-
chanics of East-West trade, it furnishes accounts of maritime trade cities in
Arabia and India and their respective imports and exports. The Periplus in-
dicates that not only did India supply its own exotic products, such as ivory,
but it also served as a gateway for places even farther afield, such as China,
which produced silk.
The mid-second-century ‘Muziris Papyrus’, part contract/part account-
ing ledger first published in 1985, provides even more documentary evidence
for trade, in this case between Roman Egypt and India.32 Recently, archae-
obotanical evidence, as well as a growing corpus of tesserae and similar ep-
igraphic minutiae, attest to the volumes and kinds of goods imported from
India, so it may only be a matter of time until another crafted object such as
the Pompeii ivory is discovered.
Ivory
Indians, Greeks and Romans believed that ivory and gold had magical,
spiritual qualities; thus, many Greco-Roman cult statues were made from
gold and ivory.33 The root of ivory’s desirability lay in the inherent beauty
of its subtle glowing colour, smooth texture, warmth and luminosity –
approximating human skin.34 Its purity, texture, and relative softness made
it particularly desirable for sculpture that aimed at a high quality of work-
manship and emphasized minute details.35 Pliny cited ivory as the costliest
product derived from a land animal.36 It was an arduous task, as the out-
ermost surfaces are mostly unusable and needed to be removed.37 Rome’s
intense exploitation of African elephants led to a shortage in the first and
second century.38 By contrast, it would have been completely impractical to
capture and transport Indian elephants across the oceans.39 Instead, their
tusks would have been sold whole (or possibly as schidai, ivory trimmings)
to artisans abroad or carved by Indian artisans and exported to Rome as
finished works of art.40
Ivory was a prestige item, and as such, it was most likely present in many
households even if, because of the cost, often in smaller forms such as hair
combs, knife handles, gaming pieces, dolls and musical instruments, with
ivory banquet vessels and furniture afforded only by the rich.41 In Pompeii,
not far from the Marina Gate there was a workshop (VII.7.11) belonging to
Furius, faber and negotiator eborarius, maker and seller of ivory.42 This shop
was dedicated to ivory working, probably for the imported raw tusks and
fragments but perhaps occasionally for the carving of the tusks of African
elephants killed in the amphitheatre.43 It is also possible Furius sold Indian-
finished ivory and functioned as a repair shop.
Pinning the provenance
Emergence of similar ivory and bone in India

In his Le Arti announcement, Maiuri promised he would revisit the inter-
pretation in time, but he did not, and for more than 20 years, his analy-
sis of the Pompeii statuette remained intact.44 However, in the late 1950s,
scholarship blossomed anew, inspired by the discovery of ivory and bone fe-
male figurines much closer in size to the Pompeii statuette, found in Taxila,
Ahichchhatra and Chaurasi.45 However, these still did not shift the prove-
nance conversation, as the new comparanda were from northwest or central
India. Meanwhile, in a village called Ter, in ancient times called Tagara, a
prominent merchant named Shri Ramalingappa Lamture (1902–1973), had
been collecting artefacts since 1930. In particular, there was an ivory female
figure that was found between 1935 and 1940, which could have greatly in-
formed Maiuri’s analysis of provenance, but it was not known to the public
until the late 1950s.46 (Figure 9.3).
Suddenly there was a flurry of analysis. The statuette is about 15 cm tall,
but broken at the knees, so is surmised to have been the same height as the
Pompeii figurine.47 Her legs are not crossed, there are no attendants, and the
figure has an ovaloid face that is out of proportion to her slender body. Some
scholars argue this figure should be dated later than the Pompeii statuette.48
However, both are ivory and have a drilled hole from occiput to waist. Ad-
ditionally, the female is touching her right earring (the Pompeii touches her
left) and the bracelets and the chudamani are similar. Madhusudan Narhar
Deshpande, later Director General of the Archaeological Survey of India,
noted two small circular holes below the knees and a third hole in the hang-
ing part of the garment on the right side. Two of the three holes retain the
corroded fragments of iron pins.49 The statue might have had a protrusion –
or ‘projecting pin’ – from the head. This, and the drilled holes, pointed to a
similar function as the Pompeii statuette.50
Figure 9.3 Ter statuette discovered by Lamture in the 1930s

Source: Courtesy of Lamture family; photographs by the author.
In 1978, the Indian government posthumously created a museum in Ter

in Lamture’s name, which house the majority of his 25,000 surface finds.
However, the rural location, and the fact that there are still more than
1,000 objects in the family’s private collection, might account for repeated
scholarly reference to the already mentioned statuette, while other Lamture
discoveries have not been fully examined and published.51 The enormous
collection, public and private, contains numerous ivory and bone figurines,
including five figurines that demand more attention – one never published,
two published as a photo only but no text, and two that have not been photo-
graphed nor mentioned in articles since 1976 and 1968, respectively. Some-
times the hands or legs are in slightly different poses, and some are more or
less clothed, but they all share similarities with the Pompeii figurine.52
Maiuri passed away in 1963. It is not clear if he knew about the com-
paranda emerging in southern India. These figures, however, were bringing
to the fore a new contender for the Pompeii figurine’s provenance: the Sata-
vahana dynasty.
Satavahana kingdom
The Satavahana, also called Andras, were one of the great ancient king-
doms of southern India (Figure 9.4), reaching their maximum potency in the
first or second century CE under Gautamiputra Satakarni.53
Figure 9.4 Map of the Satavahana Empire c. first century CE, and points relevant to
the research of the Indian/Pompeii statue
Source: Courtesy of John C. Huntington.
They were prosperous – trading with the Romans in spices, precious and
semi-precious stones, silk and pearls – and artistically prolific, including
significant ivory production.54 It is important to note that the first century
Periplus Maris Erythraei indicates only two major cities in the interior of
central-south India, the Satavahana capital Pratishthana, modern-day
Paithan, and Tagara, modern-day Ter, which was also under Satavahana
rulership.55 In retrospect, it seems odd that Maiuri and even later scholars
overlooked the Satavahana as a possible source for the Pompeii statuette.
Maiuri argued that the Pompeii statuette was created between the end of the
Sunga dynasty and the first decades of the Kushan, but even while mention-
ing iconographical examples from Sanchi, failed to note that after the Sunga
demise, the famous Sanchi passed to the Satavahana.56
Bhokardan breakthrough
With the privately collected Ter figurines finally brought to light in the
1960s, scholars were becoming aware of the implications for the Pompeii
figurine. However, the breakthrough came in 1973, when Shantaram Bhal-
chandra Deo of Nagpur University led excavations of another Satavahana
town, Bhokardan, that revealed a fragmentary ivory statuette that is the
closest yet to the one from Pompeii.57 Unfortunately, only the bottom half
has been found (Figure 9.5), but its dimensions, proportions and iconogra-
phy are almost identical to the Pompeian figurine.58
The legs of the central figure are tightly crossed in front and adorned
with thick stacks of anklets, while, unlike any of the Ter comparanda, two
smaller attendants are carved on either side of her waist. In addition, the
Bhokardan piece possesses a drilled cavity – which indicates it was a part
of another object.59 However, unlike the Ter statuette, the Bhokardan ivory
was found in a properly excavated layer of soil – and that stratigraphy cor-
responded to the first century CE.60 Furthermore, based on the abundance
of ivory found at the site, Deo concluded that Bhokardan was a major ivory
workshop centre for the Satavahana dynasty in the first and second centu-
ries, alongside the one at Vidisha-Sanchi.61 Therefore, the discovery of this
Figure 9.5 Fragment of an ivory statuette from Bhokardan

Source: Graphic rendering by Jeffrey Everett after Deo et al. (1974): fig. 39.
unassuming fragment was the linchpin for dating the Pompeii figure finally
and securely to first century production and forced scholars to abandon the
previous theories of North or Central Indian provenance, to that of Satava-
hana patronage, firmly in the South.
Global sea trade: the journey from India to Pompeii

The distance from India’s Deccan region to Pompeii was more than double
the distance from Pompeii to the far northwestern edge of the empire, the
future Hadrian’s Wall. The figurine probably made a 20-day journey from
Bhokardan and was shipped from Barygaza, in modern-day Bharuch,
which the Periplus notes was a major export point for ivory.62 Pliny (HN 6.
26. 99–105) notes that vessels leaving from India set out around the begin-
ning of the Egyptian month of Tybi (Roman December), or at least before
the sixth day of Mechir, the Roman Ides (13th) of January.63 Once ships
reached the Red Sea, there were many ports to choose from, including the
prosperous Berenike and Myos Hormos, both in modern-day Egypt, or
Leuce Come on the Arabian side.64 From the Red Sea ports, Rome-bound
products would have arrived in Alexandria and sailed toward Puteoli, now
called Pozzuoli, on the northwest of the Bay of Naples. Maiuri, and others
since, have emphasized the remains of the Nabatean temple to Dushara
as further evidence of a community in Puteoli and a possible intermedi-
ary role. The ancient writers note the Nabateans’ dominance in the trade
of perfumes and incense; however, their participation in ivory import is
undetermined.65
It is not inconceivable that the House of the Indian Statuette’s owner
might have been a merchant himself. Some intriguing objects were found
in the home, and the taberna next door, I.8.6, could have been his store-
front.66 Unfortunately, no inscribed utensils, seals or signet rings have been
found. There was an inscription in one of the rooms west of the tablinum
with the name Chrysantus; however, it was likely a freedman in the house.67
Intriguingly, just off the atrium is a room that was in the midst of resto-
ration in 79 CE.68 The rough white walls display graffiti of two boats, one
never published (Figure 9.6), and there is reason to think there might have
been more.69
Ancient Tamil texts speak of the yavanas, foreigners who came to India
to trade, and epigraphs found in Deccan Buddhist caves attest to their exist-
ence as well.70 Roman wares have been found in more than 50 excavations in
India, even inland at Ter and Bhokardan.71 Even if Maiuri and other schol-
ars believed it possible that the owner of House 5 might have journeyed to
India and brought back the statue as a souvenir, recent epigraphic evidence
indicates at least some Campanian families and entrepreneurs would have
had agents along the trade route.72 Therefore, it seems more likely the far-
thest destination would have been Alexandria, the entrepôt for merchants or
agents travelling from India to the Red Sea to meet up with clients arriving
from the Roman world.73
Figure 9.6 Boat graffito from the south-west of the atrium in Room 5 of the House
of the Indian Statuette
Source: Photo by the author, courtesy of Ministero della Cultura – Parco Archeologico di
Pompei. Graphic rendering by Jeffrey Everett.
Updating Maiuri
Revisiting the function

As mentioned, the Pompeii statuette, as with its ‘sisters’ from Bhokardan
and Ter, has a hole bored down from the top of the head through the body.
This led Maiuri to believe the figure might have functioned, even if second-
arily, as a mirror handle.74 The assessment as a feminine beauty product
was further supported by the fact that the attendants seem to be holding
cosmetic boxes, and the main figure’s sexual features are exaggerated. In
1979, Elisabeth During Caspers conducted a reexamination of the function
of both the Pompeii and Ter figurines. She hypothesized that the notches –
miniscule triangular openings between the right leg of the main figure and
the right leg of the small attendant who elevates the rectangular casket –
might indicate that the Pompeii ivory was one of four caryatids supporting
a small table or low stool or in support of a standing tray or dish.75 In this
theory, the projectile emerging from the head on the Pompeii figurine, and
indicated on the Ter statuette, was yet further support for an object that
would have been resting above.76
Even if some scholars still echo the mirror theory, During Caspers’ article,
which included schematics of both statuettes functioning as legs aligned with
their respective notches, is very convincing, also when considering protru-
sions that would have made the figure heavy and awkward to hold, and with
no signs of wear from grasping.77 In addition, at the Lamture Museum in Ter,
all the mirror handles on display were simple in style.78 Adding credence to
the table leg theory, the entire left side of the statue seems to be accentuated:
the figure’s head and gaze are to her left, her left breast is much larger – a nat-
uralistic depiction since her right arm is raised – and the left hip is also jutting
out. Perhaps on the long sides there were originally two pairs of figures facing
inward toward each other. In this scenario the Pompeii figure would have been
on the viewer’s left, at the front of the tray or box, or on the right, at the back.
Tempting though it is to imagine the ultra-feminine ivory as the leg of a
jewellery or cosmetic box, if we consider the importance of ‘conversation
pieces’ in ancient Rome, it seems more likely to have been an object in the
public area of the house – part of a low table for serving food? A display
shelf for other precious items? – rather than tucked away in the boudoir.79
Grønlund Evers proffers it might have been the support of an armrest on a
chair but was more likely the upper part of the leg of a mensa delphica table,
tripod or stool, perhaps with the citrus wood top so often remarked upon by
the ancient writers.80 He also argues that there was an industry of imported
ivory furniture fittings that could be transported easily and then appended –
and integrated to local fashion – once they reached their destination.81
Whether the patron had travelled to the edge of the Empire, bought it
locally or had his agents deliver it to his door, the long travels and the mate-
rial with which it was constructed would have made the ivory a prized pos-
session in the household of I.8.5. As Tronchin summarizes, ‘… the stories
would have added another layer to the social value of the collection. The
miniaturized and literally domesticated eclectic art collections in a villa or
domus attested to the cultural and artistic knowledge of the owner, as well
as demonstrating the wealth and wherewithal required to gather such an
assemblage’.82
Since the statue was discovered with varied objects in the traces of what
had been a box in a shed-like area of the peristyle, it seems probable that the
figurine was already detached from its home object before 79 CE. If so, it is
conceivable that this larger object broke in 62 CE, during the earthquake. If
we add to that the likelihood that the statue was imported during the epoch
of Nero, we might be able to pinpoint the import date to somewhere between
55 and 60 CE. Perhaps the owner, understanding the intrinsic value, kept
one ‘leg’ of his broken object, thinking he could perhaps find or commission
a similar one in the future.
Revisiting the symbol underneath

If the southern Satavahanas created the Pompeii figurine, how are we to
make sense of the typically ‘northern’ Karoshthi script on the bottom? Moti
Chandra, in agreement with Maiuri, had this insight,
the appearance of Karoshthi on the ivory would suggest that it was

carved in the region where Karoshthi was well-known, though the
possibility of an ivory carver knowing Karoshthi and working farther
south in Mathura or Ujjain cannot be ruled out. … It is possible that the
ivory was manufactured for a ‘foreign market’ where Karoshthi was bet-
ter understood than Brahmi, and hence the use of the Karoshthi letter.
He notes that, for example, Indian carvers might well have visited Alexan-
dria Egypt, ‘perhaps in search of fresh markets and to study new taste’.83
This would seem to support the possibility that carvers were entrepreneur-
ial, and a Karoshthi symbol does not preclude southern production.
However, Grønlund Evers highlights some doubts about the Karoshthi ‘śi’
interpretation and reminds us that Kharoshthi inscriptions have been found
no closer to Satavahana territory than Mathura, more than 400 kilometres
to the north.84 Furthering this line of thought, Serena Autiero hypothesizes
the symbol is in fact Brahmi script, which was more common in Satavahana
territory.85 During Caspers interpreted the symbol hidden under the figure
as something akin to assembly instructions, to indicate where the leg should
be situated, and perhaps it could have the same meaning in Brahmi.86 In ad-
dition, the underside of the Bhokardan figurine – the only sample so far with
an intact pedestal – should be re-examined for script, as, though it would
seem a major oversight, there is no documentation of the base.
Revisiting the iconography

The iconographies of the pre-Aryan Sri, Lakshmi, a yakshi, as well as Maya,
the mother of the Buddha, are easily blurred and confused.87 It seems a
stretch to interpret all of the flowers as lotus and ‘Lakshmi’ indicators, as
Maiuri did.88 In addition, Lakshmi is usually seated or standing on a lotus,
whereas the Pompeii figure is standing on a plinth. Also, while Maiuri used
a tondo at Sanchi Stupa #2 with two attendants as precedent, it is not clear
to what degree this Lakshmi depiction was an anomaly and/or influenced by
the West, and thus, even if the MANN continues to identify the statue as a
Lakshmi, without either the consort Vishnu or elephant accompaniment, it
seems unlikely. Another obstacle is that Indian deities are rarely drawn on
objects of utilitarian purpose, whether a mirror handle, which was believed
at the time, or a table, stool or box leg, as in recent theories.89 In addition,
touching the earring is an attribute not only of Sri-Lakshmi but also of stri-
ratna.90 According to Dwivedi, Chandra and others, it is quite likely the
Pompeii figurine was an idealized female figure, akin to a queen or a courte-
san, and not necessarily divine.91 Finally, even though Maiuri initially said
it might have been an ‘eastern slave’s’ cult statue or talisman, scholars today
do not think the statue was an object of worship; therefore, determining
which goddess she represents might be moot.92
In a cosmopolitan and polytheistic town such as Pompeii, a piece of art
or even a religious statue from another culture would not have been seen as
transgressive or sacrilegious – but exotic, chic and prestigious.93 In 1950,
Mirella Levi D’Ancona argued that the Pompeii statue depicted Venus,
since that Roman goddess of love and beauty is sometimes shown with two
toilet attendants, as we have on the Pompeii statuette.94 Maiuri did not be-
lieve the iconography was ‘tainted by the west’, and most scholars agree.95
That said, Maiuri did confess the statuette might have conjured associations
with Pompeii’s patron goddess Venus. This already would be an example
of transculturality, where an object that the viewer recognized as having
travelled from another culture was adopted, adapted, and re-interpreted in
a different context.96 However, Venus is typically depicted more modestly,
and it is conceivable that at least some Romans viewing the hyper-expressed
sexual attributes might have associated the statue with fertility and prosper-
ity cults such as the one devoted to Priapus.
Questions still to be solved and conclusions

In the years since the discovery of the ivory figurine at Pompeii, many the-
ories have been overturned. Though the name has persisted, most scholars
today conclude that the object is not a Lakshmi, but either a yakshi or an
idealized woman. The date of production has been confirmed as the first
century CE. It does not seem to have been a mirror handle, but rather, the
decorative part of a piece of furniture, and both surface finds and excava-
tions have revealed comparanda that indicate the statuette was most likely
created much further south than Maiuri ever dreamed.
Yet many questions still remain – for example, is this statue the only
known crafted object from India that we can provenance? While waiting
for discoveries from new excavations, and in light of recent and accelerating
scholarship about East-West trade, artefacts from excavations from nearly a
century ago, and their associated archival material, possibly misinterpreted
or overlooked, should be re-assessed for potential Indian provenance.
In 1989, Castiglione Morelli del Franco and Vitale published a priceless
analysis of the excavation archives in Region I, Insula 8. Nevertheless, the
storage rooms at Pompeii, as well as those at the MANN currently under-
going massive reorganization, need to be accessed – as study of the objects
from I.8.5 (such as the male bone statue, the removed tablinum painting or
other artefacts) might elucidate the dominus’ personal involvement in inter-
national trade.97
In addition, we might also consider transcultural iconographical studies
such as those already conducted on numerous Roman objects discovered
in India.98 For example, can we find evidence of Grønlund Evers’ sugges-
tion that Indian composite furnishings spearheaded a change in ‘western’
fashion, after which Roman locals developed a parallel production at more
economical prices?99 Related, further studies of Indian and Roman furni-
ture might help determine if the ivory statuette was likely sold as just legs
to be adhered in loco, and if we can hypothesize the design and materials of
the upper portion.
While we try to piece together clues as to the identity of the owner of
House 5, the function of the statuette prior to the eruption, or even 17 years
earlier, before the earthquake, and the whereabouts of other Indian objects
in the Roman Mediterranean context, this one artefact stands as our best
material evidence that, as with the many Roman objects found in India,
Romans were collecting foreign artistic objects and adapting them to new
social contexts.
Acknowledgements
This work, derived from my Master’s Thesis, would not have been possible
without the generous support of John Cabot University, Rome, in particular
Mr. Enrico Amarante, Prof. Crispin Corrado, Prof. Inge Hansen, Prof. Jens
Koehler, Ms. Regina Lee and Prof. Lila Yawn.
I am also grateful for the invaluable research assistance received from
Dr. Serena Autiero, Prof. Rosa Maria Cimino, Dr. Laura Giuliano, Mr.
Amol Gote and the Late Ramlingappa Lamture Government Museum in
Ter, Dr. Kasper Grønlund Evers, Shri Revanshidha Lamture and Family,
Dr. Christian Meyer, Dr. Maya Patil, the Museo Archeologico Nazionale di
Napoli, in particular Dr. Floriana Miele, as well as the Superintendency and
staff of the Parco Archeologico di Pompei.
I am thankful for the design contributions of Prof. John C. Huntington,
Lynette Turnblom and Jeffrey Everett, and the generous editorial guidance
of Dr. Patricia Gaborik and Phyllis Weinstein.
Notes
1 Casson’s 1989 translation of the Periplus Maris Erythraei has been used through-
out; please refer to pp. 190 and 192 for further discussion on this precious source.
2 As far as this author can assess, Cimino was the last scholar to publish after hav-
ing visited the Ter Museum and seeing the Bhokardan statuette in Aurangabad
(both 1994). According to the Lamture family, their private collection had not
been studied or published for even longer.
3 A 1997 Spanish excavation team led by Antonio Mostalac Carrillo seems to have
been the last inside the house I.8.5, except for Pompeii maintenance staff.
4 An inscription found in 2018 lent weight to an already growing theory that the
eruption was not August CE 79, but October CE 79. Pliny the Younger’s letters
were discovered in the 1400s, but there seems to have been a medieval transcrip-
tion error.
5 Castiglione Morelli del Franco and Rosa Vitale (1989): 194.
6 Ibid.
7 Maiuri (1939): 111. Some scholars have mistranslated ‘impronta’ as ‘traces’, lead-
ing one to believe there was an actual box present.
8 Maiuri (1939): 111–115, plates 42–45.
9 During Caspers (1979): 353; Berry (2007): 200; Basu (2010): 63; Lapatin (2015):
265.
10 Della Corte (1965): 333–334, worked at Pompeii under Spinazzola but was not
part of the figure’s discovery.
11 Mehendale (1993): 534.
12 Chandra (1957–1959): 25.
13 Chandra (1957–1959): 26, said perhaps an uttariya.
14 During Caspers (1979): 343 and 347, says the protrusion on the left is not an ear-
ring, but part of the stabilizing aspect for an object above.
15 Dwivedi (1976): 65, says perhaps to indicate youth, but the artist ‘was more likely
limited or handicapped in expression by the material’.
16 For the rectangular box, Chandra (1957–1959): 26, says the first figure might be
holding a jewel casket or wine bottle. Dwivedi (1976): 65, argued that it was a
jewel, or more likely, cosmetic/toiletries.
17 Perhaps due to deformed ivory and/or lack of restoration materials.
18 Mehendale (1993): 533, says ‘flower-like festoons, and a central rosette’.
19 Maiuri (1939): 112.
20 Maiuri (1939): 112. Chandra (1957–1959): 25–31, argues that the symbol ‘Si’ is an
abbreviated version of ‘Sri’ and therefore an argument for the figure’s identifica-
tion as the syncretic goddess Sri-Lakshmi.
21 Maiuri (1939): 111, also During Caspers (1979): 343, and many others.
22 Maiuri (1939): 112; Czuma (1988): 298.
23 Maiuri (1939): 115; During Caspers (1979): 345. All authors seem to agree on a
probable Neronian import date.
24 Maiuri (1939): 112.
25 Maiuri (1939): 112.
26 For the tondo, see Levi D’Ancona (1950): 169.
27 Bussagli (1950): 14, had a tantalizing footnote mentioning: ‘the small Indian fig-
ure from Mainz’, but efforts to locate said statuette, whether found in Mainz or
housed in Mainz, have been fruitless. The intaglios from Pattanam/Muziris and
Arikamedu might indicate that a number of ‘Roman engraved’ stones were in
fact produced in India (by Roman artisans or Indian ones), but to date we have
no proof.
28 For the word loans see Scialpi (2008): 78; Bussagli (1950): 13–14.
29 Schmitthenner (1979): 94, quotes from Horace Epistles I.I.45, ‘impiger extremos
curris mercator ad Indos, per mare pauperiem fugiens, per saxa, per ignes’. In
addition, Pollard (2013): 10, says ‘Augustine writers Cattalus, Horace, Virgil and
Lucan (as well as Juvenal and Lucian in the later first century) characterized
India as a source for exotic goods and later as a land ripe for conquest’.
30 Schmitthenner (1979): 103, and Cobb (2015): 191. (Both point to the original
source as Strabo Geog. 2.5.12).
31 Schmitthenner (1979): 95.
32 For more about the ‘Muziris Papyrus’ and the Muziris port itself, see Mathew
(2017).
33 For magic – Lapatin (2015): 7.
34 Lapatin (2015): 172. Lapatin (2001): 16.
35 Czuma (1988): 298. Lapatin (2015): 171.
36 Lapatin (2015): 172 (Plin. HN 37.78.204, 8.10.31).
37 Lapatin (2015): 177.
38 Lapatin (2015): 177, from Plin. HN 8.4.7.
39 Dalby (2002): 194 says, ‘few elephants came from India to Rome, but a white
elephant spoken of by Horace (Ep. 2.1.196) as appearing in the theater suggests
that at least some did’. Lach (1967): 138, ‘tradition has it, but the evidence is not
substantial that a white elephant from Asia was on display in Rome during the
reign of Augustus’.
40 Lapatin (2001): 12; Lapatin (2015): 177; Dalby (2002): 194; De Romanis (2017).
Perhaps more research can be done to determine if some ivory that has been
found in the Mediterranean context, even with ‘western’ iconography, might
have been crafted in India.
41 Tronchin (2012b): 338; Lapatin (2015): 171; Schmitthenner (1979): 95. The au-
thor has also done a survey of all the ivory found at Pompeii and some at
Herculaneum.
42 http://www.treccani.it/enciclopedia/pompei ‘Pompei’ Section D) Arte – 8 ‘Ori.
Gemme. Avori’.
43 Lapatin (2015): 177.
44 Maiuri (1939): 111.
45 R.C. Agrawala (1968): 311–314. Agrawala believed both Ahichchhatra and Tax-
ila were mirror handles, but Chaurasi had a horn-like projection which might
make it even more similar to the Pompeii figure. Also Chandra (1957–59): 16 and
20, and Chandra (1960): 7–14.
46 Nandkishor Lamture, email exchanges, in particular 3 December 2018.
47 Deshpande (1961): 55, claims 16 cm (versus other claims of 13 or 15 cm), with the
vertical aperture of 8.7 cm.
48 Agrawala (1968): 311.
49 Deshpande (1961): 55.
50 Deshpande (1961): 55; Mehendale (1993): 534.
51 Personal communication from Lamture family (3 December 2018).
52 These are in the course of study and will be published at a later date.
53 Ollett (2017): 189, believes Gautamiputra Sri Satakarni ruled 60–84 CE which
would overlap with Pompeii.
54 Schmitthenner (1979): 99; During Caspers (1979): 345; Deshpande (1961): 56.
55 Paithan and Ter are mentioned in PME 51:17.9 and 51:17.10–11 respectively.
Cimino (1994b): 176, and Chandra (1957–59): 24, inform that Junnar (in antiq-
uity: Dhenukakata or Dhanyakataka) was the first capital. Deshpande (1994):
175, Chandra (1960): 8–9, discuss yet another capital at Amaravati on the east
coast.
56 Tansey and Kleiner (1996): 473–474; Maiuri (1939): 114, gave it a wide range.
Oddly, Maiuri (1950): 30 seems to be leaning to first century BCE, but Levi
D’Ancona (1950): 174–175 and 180, stated that while the arm can be raised above
the head, the position of the arm behind a head never appears in Indian art be-
fore the first century CE.
57 Deglurkar and Verma (1974): 188–189; Deo and Shastri (1974): 215; Mehendale
(1993): 536–537, says that the Pompeii was better constructed, hence Bhokardan
broke at the waist and Pompeii did not.
58 Deglurkar and Verma (1974): 190 report dimensions of 12.5 cm (but waist to foot
only, which would have made it comparable to Pompeii’s 24 cm).
59 Deglurkar and Verma (1974): 188. Repeated in Mehendale (1993): 530; Basu
(2010): 62.
60 Deglurkar and Verma (1974): 188; Deo and Shastri (1974): 215.
61 Deglurkar and Verma (1974): 188; Deo and Shastri (1974): 215; Mehendale (1993):
529. Interesting because Deshpande (1961): 56, said there was probably an ivory
guild at Ter – perhaps overturned for Bhokardan after 1973? – or perhaps at
both? Dwivedi (1976): 53, reminds us that the presence of a guild would signify
large demand for the product and labor.
62 PME 51 says the distance from Paithan to Barygaza was 20 days, and Bhok-
ardan would seem even closer. Deshpande (1961): 56; Chapekar (1969): 3. Tomber
(2012): 125, says Barygaza (modern: Bharuch) is mentioned more than any other
place in the Periplus – 28 times in 19 of the 66 chapters. It was a manufacturing
centre itself, but its importance reflects (moreover) the richness of Barygaza’s
hinterland.
63 The Greek merchant and navigator Hippalus who had studied and explained
monsoon patterns in the first century BCE indicated that the best time to set sail
from India toward Arabia was November, with estimated arrival in February
(Charlesworth (2016): 60).
64 Tomber (2012): 57.
65 Maiuri (1939): 114–115; During Caspers (1979): 344–345, quoting Strabo (Geog.
16.2.3) and Dio Cassius (68.14). In addition, Asaka and Iorio (2005): 327–328;
Ruffing (2013): 204–205, 209; Lapatin (2015): 265; Terpstra (2015): 73–77, 87;
Grønlund Evers (2017): 129–133, 145. Berry (2007): 200, goes so far as to say that
the cult of Lakshmi was imported from Nabatea. While there is, in fact, evidence
for the Nabatean cult of the male god Dushara at Puteoli, no evidence exists for
any connection between this South Asian goddess and Nabataea.
66 Castiglione Morelli del Franco and Vitale (1989): 195.
67 Castiglione Morelli del Franco and Vitale (1989): 218.
68 Carratelli (1990): 797–798.
69 Castiglione Morelli del Franco and Vitale (1989): 194, said ‘various’. The author
is trying to ascertain the subject of the removed painting in the Tablinum – the
side panels were red with vignettes of painted panthers which are not readable
today.
70 Schmitthenner (1979): 99–100, warns the dates of the Tamil literature, such as
Tayan Kannanar (in his Agam 149.7–11), are in dispute, but even if so, assures
that there is a consensus that they allude to events from the first–third century
CE. Cimino (1994a): 64–74, 132–141, 148–164. Regarding cave inscriptions at
Karle, Junnar, Nasik, see Grønlund Evers (2017): 158, 161; Cobb (2018): 166–170.
71 Cobb (2015): 187, 193–197; Sidebotham (2017): 81. Tomber (2012): 131, 149–150
and 172 writes about two levels of trade – for both local and foreign recipients.
72 Regarding ‘souvenir’ see Maiuri (1939): 115; Della Corte (1965): 334; Carratelli
(1990): 798; Asaka and Iorio (2005): 328–330. Reference to direct trade can be
found in De Puma (1991): 100–103, which argues that many objects found at
Kolhapur, also in the Deccan, might have originated in Campania, and more
precisely in Capua and Pozzuoli. There is reference to Campania families also in
Grønlund Evers (2017): 91–97.
73 Cobb (2018): 129, 145.
74 Maiuri (1939): 111–112 said ‘il manico figurato’, but if it had a secondary use after
its home-object destruction (in 62 CE?), the elegant base of a stable table mirror
seems more likely than handheld.
75 During Caspers (1979): 349–353. She also discusses Begram ivories used for
small chests or boxes.
76 During Caspers (1979): 349, 351 and 353.
77 During Caspers (1979): 347. Of course if it was a standing mirror these arguments
diminish, but in any case the mid-section notches on both the Pompeii and Ter
figures lead one to believe secondary use, at most.
78 Grønlund Evers (2017): 25–26 references Sankalia (1960), From History to
Pre-History at Nevasa (1954–56), as having more examples.
79 Tronchin (2012a): 261, notes that collecting was not only an elite activity, but
other classes also wanted to ‘engage in the expressive and evocative possibilities
of domestic display’, and on page 277 says display objects were chosen to reflect
Romans’ multi-faceted identity.
80 Grønlund Evers (2017): 38, 40.
81 Grønlund Evers (2017): 40.
82 Tronchin (2012a): 280.
83 Chandra (1957–59): 8, 27–28. For Alexandria, sourcing Gilgit Manuscripts
Vol III, part 1, page 171.
85 Autiero, in emails from June 2019 states, ‘if you look at the Brahmi script used
by the Satavahanas there is a much better correspondence with the letter “je”
(j + vocalic sound for e). It seems more a consonant + vowel in Brahmi script,
a reversed “3” with an added sign, not a sign made with a continuous line as it
should be if Karoshthi’.
86 During Caspers (1979a): 350; Grønlund Evers (2017): 38.
87 Hegewald (2012): 91.
88 Levi D’Ancona (1950): 170, 172, says the lotus in the jewellery and headdress is
not sufficient, as the typical Lakshmi iconography is absent.
89 Dwivedi (1976): 66.
90 Dwivedi (1976): 62. Stri-ratna is Sanskrit for ‘gem’ or ‘jewel of a woman’ – an
ideal woman. Also Chandra (1960): 10.
91 Bussagli (1950): 16. Chandra (1957–1959): 28–31, and Chandra (1960): The ‘royal
lady’ argument starts on p. 8 (and others, such as Vogel and Bussagli also felt
she was not necessarily divine). Page 13 states ‘… the stri-ratna of chakravartin
embodies the concept of Sri-Lakshmi, the patron goddess of royal authority’
and on p. 14 implies the Pompeii and Ter figures were royal ‘courtesans’. Dwivedi
(1976): 66, cites Vogel, Rowland and Saraswati as concluding she was ‘a mortal
creature, perhaps a courtesan, at most a yakshini’.
92 Maiuri (1939): 115. For example Beard (2008): 11, only repeats/cites the ‘souvenir
of a Pompeian trader’s travels’ aspect of Maiuri’s theory.
93 Tronchin (2012a): 273. (Also Tronchin, 268, speaks of multiple meanings, de-
pending on the viewer).
94 Levi D’Ancona (1950): 170–172, felt the statue’s style displayed a purposeful mix
of classical art and Indian.
95 Except for (notably) Vogel and Levi D’Ancona. Jean Philippe Vogel (1871–1958)
felt the Pompeii showed great Hellenistic influence and represented a courtesan
or yaksi.
96 See Autiero and Cobb, this volume.
97 Castiglione Morelli del Franco (1989): 203 also has a photo of an oil lamp from
a neighbouring house (I.8.14) where the male figure shows a possible Indian ico-
nography (an ascetic or brahman), as also discussed with Serena Autiero. Future
research will be attempted to determine if the script on that lamp (not visible in
the photo) could possibly be Brahmi or Karoshthi.
98 See Cobb, this volume.
Bibliography
Agrawala, R.C. 1968: ‘Early Indian bone figures in the National Museum, New
Delhi’, East and West 18 (3/4): 311–314, figs. 5–8.
Asaka, Tadashi and Vincenza Iorio. 2005: ‘… lucroque India admota est: Contatti
tra l’India e l’area vesuviana’, in Stephan T.A.M. Mols and Eric Moorman (eds.),
Omni pede stare: Saggi architettonica e circumvesuviani in memoria Jos de Waele,
325–330. Napoli: Electa.
Basu, Chandreyi. 2010: ‘The Heavily Ornamented Female Figure from Pompeii’, in
Beatrice Palma Venetucci (ed.), Fascino Dell’oriente Nelle Collezioni E Nei Musei
D’italia, 59–63. Roma: Artemide.
Beard, Mary. 2008: Pompeii: The Life of a Roman Town. London: Profile.
Berry, Joanne. 2007: The Complete Pompeii. New York: Thames & Hudson.
Bussagli, Mario. 1950: ‘The archaeological aspect of Asiatic contacts with Italy’,
East and West 1(1): 13–17.
Carratelli, Giovanni Pugliese (ed.), 1990. Pompei, Pitture E Mosaici. Vol. 1, Regio I,
Parte Prima. Roma: Istituto della Enciclopedia Italiana.
Casson, Lionel (ed.), 1989: ‘The Periplus Maris Erythraei:’ Text with Introduction,
Translation, and Commentary. Princeton: Princeton University Press.
Castiglione Morelli del Franco, Vincenzina and Rosa Vitale. 1989: ‘L’insula 8
della Regio 1: un campione d’indagine socio-economica’, in Gina Ascione An-
tonio Varone (ed.), Rivista di Studi Pompeiani, III: 185–221. Roma: L’Erma di
Bretschneider.
Chandra, Moti. 1957–1959: ‘Ancient Indian ivories’, Bulletin of the Prince of Wales
Museum of Western India 6: 4–63.
Chandra, Moti. 1960: ‘An Ivory figure from Ter’, Lalit Kala 8: 7–14.
Chapekar, B.N. 1969: Report on the Excavation at Ter, 1958. Poona: Shrisaraswati.
Charlesworth, M.P. 2016[1926]: Trade Routes and Commerce of the Roman Empire.
Cimino, Rosa Maria (ed.), 1994a: Ancient Rome and India: Commercial and Cultural
Contacts between the Roman World and India. New Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal.
Cimino, Rosa Maria. 1994b: ‘An exceptional find in India: A small sculpture de-
picting Eros issuing from an egg’, in Asko Parpola and Petteri Koskikallio (eds.),
South Asian Archaeology, 1993: Proceedings of the Twelfth International Confer-
ence of the European Association of South Asian Archaeologists, 171–182. Helsinki:
Suomalainen Tiedeakatemia.
Cobb, Matthew A. 2013: ‘The reception and consumption of Eastern goods in Ro-
man society’, Greece & Rome 60(1): 136–152.
Cobb, Matthew A. 2015: ‘Balancing the trade: Roman cargo shipments to India’,
Oxford Journal of Archaeology 34(2): 185–203.
Czuma, Stanislaw. 1988: ‘A unique addition to the School of Kashmiri ivories’, The
Bulletin of the Cleveland Museum of Art 75(8): 298–319.
Dalby, Andrew. 2002: Empire of Pleasures: Luxury and Indulgence in the Roman
World. London: Routledge.
De Puma, Richard D. 1991: ‘The Roman Bronzes from Kolhapur’, in Vilma Begley
and Richard D. De Puma (eds.), Rome and India: The Ancient Sea Trade, 82–112.
Madison, WI: University of Wisconsin Press.
De Romanis, Federico. 2017: ‘A Muziris Export: Schidai or Ivory Trimmings’, in
Mathew 2017, 369–380.
Deglurkar, G.B. and O.P. Verma. 1974: ‘Ivory, Bone and Shell Objects’, in Shan-
taram Bhalchandra Deo and Ajay Mitra Shastri (eds.), Excavations at Bhokardan
(bhogavardhana), 1973, 186–196. Nagpur: Nagpur University.
Della Corte, Matteo and Pietro Soprano (eds.), 1965: Case Ed Abitanti Di Pompei.
Napoli: Faustino Fiorentino.
Deo, Shantaram Bhalchandra and Ajay Mitra Shastri. 1974: Excavations at Bhok-
ardan (bhogavardhana) 1973, 1st edition. Nagpur: Nagpur University.
Deshpande, M.N. 1961: ‘Some observations on the Ivory figure from Ter’, Lalit Kala
10: 55–56.
Deshpande, M.N. 1994: ‘The Archaeological Site of Ter (Tagara)’, in Cimino 1994a:
175–176.
During Caspers, Elisabeth C.L. 1979: ‘The Indian Ivory Figurine from Pompei – A
Reconsideration of its Functional Use’, in Herbert Härtel (ed.), South Asian Ar-
chaeology 1979: Papers from the Fifth International Conference of the South Asian
Archaeologists in Western Europe, 341–353. Berlin: Dietrich Reimer Verlag.
Dwivedi, Vinod P. 1976: Indian Ivories: A Survey of Indian Ivory and Bone Carvings
from the Earliest to the Modern Times. Delhi: Agam Prakashan.
Gardner Coates, Victoria C., Kenneth D.S. Lapatin and Jon L. Seydl. 2012: The
Last Days of Pompeii: Decadence, Apocalypse, Resurrection. Los Angeles: J. Paul
Getty Museum.
Gell, William and J. Gandy. 1852: Pompeiana: the Topography, Edifices and
Ornaments of Pompeii, 3rd edition. London: Bohn.
Grønlund Evers, Kasper. 2017. Worlds Apart Trading Together: The Organisation of
Long-Distance Trade between Rome and India in Antiquity. Oxford: Archaeopress.
Hegewald, Julia A.B. 2012: ‘Reuse Theory as a Method for Critical Analysis in
Art History Research’, in Tiziana Lorenzetti and Fabio Scialpi (eds.), Glimpses
of Indian History and Art: Reflections on the Past, Perspectives for the Future:
Proceedings of the International Congress, Rome, 77–100. Roma: Sapienza Uni-
versità Editrice.
Lach, Donald F. 1967: ‘Asian elephants in Renaissance Europe’, Journal of Asian
History 1(2): 133–176.
Lapatin, Kenneth D.S. 2001: Chryselephantine Statuary in the Ancient Mediterra-
nean World. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Lapatin, Kenneth D.S. 2015: Luxus: The Sumptuous Arts of Greece and Rome. Los
Angeles: J. Paul Getty Museum.
Laurence, Ray. 2010: Roman Passions: A History of Pleasure in Imperial Rome. Lon-
don: Continuum.
Levi D’Ancona, Mirella. 1950: ‘An Indian statuette from Pompeii’, Artibus Asiae
13(3): 166–180.
Maiuri, Amedeo. 1939: ‘Statuetta Eburnea Di Arte Indiana a Pompei’, Le Arti I(II):
111–115.
Maiuri, Amedeo. 1950: Gli Scavi Di Pompei Dal 1879 Al 1948. Napoli: G. Macchiaroli.
Mathew, Kuzhippalli S. (ed.), 2017: Imperial Rome, Indian Ocean Regions and
Muziris: New Perspectives on Maritime Trade. London: Routledge.
Mehendale, Sanjyot. 1993: ‘The Ivory Statuette from Bhokardan and its Connection
to the Ivory Statuettes from Pompeii and Ter’, in Adalbert J. Gail and Gerd J.R.
Mevissen (eds.), South Asian Archaeology 1991: Proceedings of the Eleventh Inter-
national Conference of the Association of South Asian Archaeologists in Western
Europe, 529–538. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag.
Ollett, Andrew. 2017: Language of the Snakes: Prakrit, Sanskrit, and the Language
Order of Premodern India. Oakland: University of California Press.
Pollard, Elizabeth Ann. 2013: ‘Indian spices and Roman “magic” in Imperial and
Late Antique Indomediterranea’, Journal of World History 24(1): 1–23.
Ruffing, Kai. 2013: ‘The Trade with India and the Problem of Agency in the Economy
of the Roman Empire’, in Silvia Busi (ed.), Egitto dai faraoni agli arabi – atti del
convegno, 199–210. Milano: Università degli Studi.
Schmitthenner, Walter. 1979: ‘Rome and India: aspects of universal history during
the Principate’, Journal of Roman Studies 69: 90–106.
Scialpi, Fabio. 2008: ‘Italy and India in the light of history’, Il Veltro: Rivista della
Civiltà Italiana, Genn–Aprile: 75–99.
Sidebotham, Steven E. 2017: ‘From the Mediterranean to South Asia: The Odyssey
of an Indian Merchant in Roman Times’, in Mathew 2017, 75–81.
Tansey, Richard G. and Fred S. Kleiner. 1996: ‘The Art of Indian Asia’, in Rich-
ard G. Tansey and Fred S. Kleiner (eds.), Gardner’s Art through the Ages. Vol. I,
Ancient, Medieval, and Non-European Art, 463–491. Fort Worth, TX: Harcourt
Brace College.
Terpstra, Taco. 2015: ‘Roman Trade with the Far East: Evidence for Nabatean
Middlemen in Puteoli’, in Federico De Romanis and Marco Maiuro (eds.), Across
the Ocean: Nine Essays on Indo-Mediterranean Trade, 73–94. Leiden: Brill.
Tomber, Roberta. 2012 [2008]: Indo-Roman Trade: From Pots to Pepper. London:
Bristol Classical Press.
Tronchin, Francesca C. 2012a: ‘Introduction: collecting the eclectic in Roman
houses’, Arethusa 45(3): 261–282.
Tronchin, Francesca C. 2012b: ‘Roman collecting, decorating, and eclectic practice
in the textual sources’, Arethusa 45(3): 333–345.
Section IV
Global studies in complex

historical contexts
10 A universal dhamma
Buddhism and globalization
at the time of Aśoka
(270–232 BCE)
Signe Cohen
This chapter analyses the expansion of Buddhism under the Indian king
Aśoka (270–232 BCE)1 as a form of ancient globalization. I argue that the
articulation of a transregional identity, as exemplified in Aśoka’s edicts,
plays a vital part in global cultural expansion. Buddhism was not merely
the religious tradition that happened to be promoted by the first Indian
ruler with globalizing ambitions, but an integral part of the Aśokan ide-
ology of expansion itself. I argue that the creation and use of a particular
form of non-denominational Buddhist-based ideology in the Aśokan edicts
helped construct a new type of translocal identity that facilitated cultural
expansion.
Aśoka and the Mauryan Empire

The Mauryan Empire was founded by Aśoka’s grandfather, Candragupta
Maurya, who overthrew the previous Nanda dynasty rule in 322 BCE. Can-
dragupta went on to expand his empire to encompass large parts of central
and northern India. A military campaign in the northwest against the Mace-
donian Seleucus I Nicator, a former general under Alexander the Great who
had gone on to found his own empire in Asia, ended with a treaty that gave
the Mauryas control of areas of what is today western Afghanistan. Seleucus
subsequently sent an ambassador to the Mauryan court, Megasthenes, who
described his life at the royal court at Pāṭaliputra in his treatise Indika, which
today is only preserved through the fragments and summaries of later au-
thors. Seleucus’ daughter was given in marriage to Candragupta, and this
fusion of cultures at the Mauryan court may help to explain Candragupta’s
grandson Aśoka’s interest in communicating with rulers and nations beyond
the borders of his own empire and may have fuelled his globalizing aspira-
tions. Candragupta was succeeded by his son Bindusāra, Aśoka’s father, who
was fascinated by Greek culture. He is reported to have asked Antiochus I to
send him a gift of wine, figs, and a sophist. Bindusāra received the wine and
the figs, but was informed that sophists were not for export.2
At its height, the Mauryan Empire encompassed almost all of the Indian
subcontinent, with the exception of the southernmost regions. The Mauryas
DOI: 10.4324/9781003096269-15
208 Signe Cohen
ruled over an extensive empire that was diverse both in terms of language
and religion. Strategies for creating political and social cohesion were there-
fore vitally important.3 While Candragupta Maurya devoted resources to
infrastructures such as roads and irrigation to boost trade and food pro-
duction,4 he also provided support to small religious movements such as
Jainism, Buddhism, and the tradition of the Ājīvikas. This concern for the
practical welfare of the people, coupled with religious tolerance, was further
developed into a new imperial ideology of expansion under Candragupta’s
grandson Aśoka.
Early Buddhist texts introduce the concept of a cakravartin (‘the one who
turns the wheel’) as a world monarch, a benevolent ruler who fuses spiritual
and political power in his global reign.5 A cakravartin is the ‘conqueror of
the four directions’, and his realm is therefore, by definition, a global one,
extending to the ends of the known world. The term cakravartin/cakkavatti
was first used during the Mauryan Empire, and is especially applied in later
Figure 10.1 The Mauryan Empire under Aśoka and sites of Aśokan inscriptions
Source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Maurya_Empire,_c.250_BCE_2.png
A universal dhamma 209
Buddhist literature to the emperor Aśoka who expanded the borders of the
Mauryan Empire, and was instrumental in the transregional spread of Bud-
dhism. Buddhist texts construct an image of Aśoka as an ideal world leader
and the very embodiment of the cakravartin ideal.6
The Aśokan inscriptions

The inscriptions that scholars today ascribe to King Aśoka are found over
a large area of India, as far north as present-day Afghanistan, and as far
south as present-day Karnataka. The most commonly attested language
in the inscriptions is Prakrit, a form of Middle Indic likely to have been
widely understood throughout the Mauryan Empire. The inscriptions are
composed in two different scripts, Kharoṣṭhī and Brāhmī, both ultimately
derived from the Aramaic script that was in common use in the Achaemenid
Empire in Iran. The Brāhmī script is the most prevalent among the Aśokan
texts and is used over a larger geographical area, while Kharoṣṭhī is used
primarily in the northwest region. While the Kharoṣṭhī script fell out of use
by the fourth century CE, thus rendering the Kharoṣṭhī inscriptions largely
unintelligible for later generations, Brāhmī evolved into the scripts that are
now used over large parts of the Indian subcontinent. The Aśokan inscrip-
tions themselves remained forgotten and unreadable, however, until they
were deciphered in modern times by James Princep in 1837.
The Aśokan inscriptions are commonly referred to as ‘edicts’, although
many of them are not imperial orders or proclamations, but rather epis-
tles, summaries of the king’s deeds, or treatises on the nature of dhamma.
They are unique among ancient Indian texts in that we know both their
dates and their provenance with a reasonable degree of certainty.7 The cor-
pus of Aśokan inscriptions encompasses fourteen major rock edicts, two
separate rock edicts, two minor rock edicts, seven major pillar edicts, as
well as individual rock inscriptions.8 Some inscriptions are found repeated
with small variations at several sites. The series of fourteen rock edicts are
found at nine sites, and the seven pillar edicts at six separate sites.9 In the
northwest, there are also bilingual and trilingual versions of the inscrip-
tions that include translations into Greek and Aramaic. Both the idea of
public inscriptions and the use of different languages in the Aśokan edicts
may be inspired by the trilingual inscriptions of the Achaemenid kings of
nearby Iran.10 There are no translations of the Aśokan inscriptions into any
of the local Dravidian languages spoken in the southern parts of the Mau-
ryan Empire, or into Sanskrit, the ancient liturgical language in the region.
The conspicuous absence of Dravidian in the inscriptions likely reflects the
Mauryans’ greater preoccupation with the more contested northern areas
than with the more peaceful regions on the southern borders of the empire.
The choice of a contemporary Prakrit over Sanskrit, with its rich religious
heritage, suggests that the primary purpose of the inscriptions is commu-
nication with ordinary citizens of the empire, rather than with a priestly
elite. Sanskrit is closely connected with the oral transmission of sacred
210 Signe Cohen
Hindu texts, and is not attested in epigraphy until the first century CE, and
even then only in brief non-literary texts.11 Pollock observes that Sanskrit
remained a predominantly oral and liturgical language for centuries after
the introduction of writing in India, while Prakrit was commonly used for
inscriptional materials.12 Perhaps the very idea of using Sanskrit for worldly
and political purposes seemed inappropriate given its role in religious ritu-
als. But as Thapar has noted, Prakrit was in Aśoka’s time period a language
that ‘transcended political boundaries and most religious affiliations’13 and
therefore well suited to public inscriptions.
It is unclear how widespread literacy was during the Mauryan reign. Aśo-
ka’s edicts are themselves the oldest preserved Indian texts, with the excep-
tion of the undeciphered seal inscriptions of the Indus civilization, which
had vanished by 1700 BCE. While it is possible that writing on perishable
materials flourished in India prior to Aśoka, there is no preserved writing
that predates his edicts. Falk has even proposed that Aśoka himself may be
behind the invention of the Brāhmī script used in his edicts,14 while Pollock
suggests that the script was invented and promulgated by Aśoka’s chan-
cery.15 If the script has its origins at the court of Aśoka, the edicts them-
selves may have served more as visual symbols of the king’s power for an
illiterate population than forms of verbal communication in themselves.
Since the inscriptions employ the popular language of Prakrit, rather than
the more formal Sanskrit, however, I find it reasonable to assume that they
are intended to communicate something to people who spoke Prakrit, and
that at least some of the subjects may have been able to read the inscriptions.
If the inscriptions were meant to be mere visual signifiers of power to an
illiterate population, it makes little sense that the inscriptions in the north-
west region use a different script from that used in other parts of the empire.
The fact that several of the inscriptions were also translated into Greek and
Aramaic further suggests that the motivation for ordering the carving of the
edicts must have been a desire to communicate ideas as widely as possible.
The inscriptions can, of course, still be interpreted as ‘a symbolic assertion
of imperial presence’ as Olivelle claims,16 but I find it reasonable to under-
stand the inscriptions as verbal signifiers of the king’s message as well. Al-
though literacy may have been somewhat limited, the Aśokan inscriptions
themselves refer to public readings of the king’s dhamma texts. It is likely,
therefore, that literate officials from the court would read the texts aloud
during public gatherings, so that the king’s words could be disseminated to
his people. But were these messages that were read to the people identical to
the inscriptions that we know today?
It is important to note that the inscriptions themselves may well be cop-
ies of a more portable document written on perishable material that was
sent from the royal court to the local site. There are several references to
the king’s composition of dhamma-lipis, or dhamma texts, in the inscrip-
tions, but it is not clear whether dhamma-lipi refers to the inscriptions them-
selves, or to an original document from which the inscriptions are copied.17
The suggestion in the inscriptions that the king’s officials should read the
dhamma texts to themselves as often as they wanted, moreover, also in-
dicates that the dhamma texts existed in portable copies as well as in the
carved inscriptions,18 although no extant manuscript versions of these texts
are preserved. Public readings could have involved an official reading from
a document rather than reading directly from the inscriptions, or they could
have taken place during annual festivals that took place at some of the sites
where the inscriptions are found. While most of the rock edicts and pillar
edicts could easily have been visited by inhabitants of cities or monasteries,
the very oldest Aśokan inscriptions are located very far from any sites of
human habitation, often in caves on hills.19 But as Falk has pointed out,
there is some evidence that even these remote locations were sites of ancient
religious folk festivals.20
The corpus of Aśokan texts is often divided into rock edicts and pil-
lar edicts, based on the medium into which the inscriptions are carved. It
has often been argued that the rock edicts and the pillar edicts are asso-
ciated with two different stages of the king’s life. There is some internal
evidence in the inscriptions themselves to support this; the rock edicts refer
to events in the twelfth and thirteenth year of the king’s reign,21 while the
pillar edicts refer to the twenty-sixth year of his reign. Many scholars have
assumed, therefore, that the rock edicts were composed more than a dec-
ade before the pillar edicts. Tieken argues, however, that the two sets of
inscriptions may not be that far apart in composition, even if they refer to
different parts of the king’s life.22 Tieken proposes, based on the dissemi-
nation of the edicts, that the rock edicts and the pillar edicts are part of the
‘same centralized undertaking’, but aimed at different audiences; the rock
edicts are found in outlying border districts of the empire, while the pillar
edicts are found in the heartland of the Mauryan Empire.23 Tieken ques-
tions, however, whether the edicts were commissioned by the king himself,
and suggests that some of the inscriptions may have been composed after
Aśoka’s death.24
The authorship of the Aśokan inscriptions

On the surface, the question of authorship seems simple: the inscriptions
themselves refer frequently to their author, King Piyadassi, who has been
credibly identified with Aśoka.25 Several of the inscriptions begin with the
signature phrase devānaṃpiye piyadassi lājā hevam āhā (‘Thus says the be-
loved of the gods, king Piyadassi’).26 Several of the inscriptions – two of
the minor rock edicts, four of the major rock edicts, all pillar edicts, the
two separate edicts, and one minor pillar edict – are composed in the first
person.27 The remaining inscriptions are in the third person, but still refer
to King Piyadassi.
This does not mean, however, that we can assume that Aśoka was the
literal author of each of these inscriptions.28 King Piyadassi is the first per-
son narrator of several of the texts, and the main character in the others,
but this is in itself not a proof of his authorship of the texts. Although there
212 Signe Cohen
is a distinct personal style that runs through the inscriptions, they may
have been composed at the king’s command or on his behalf, or even by his
successor.
It would be naïve to assume that each inscription reflects the precise words
of a royal author. The extant inscriptions show significant regional and ed-
itorial variations in those cases when the same text, roughly speaking, is
found inscribed in several different locations.29 When texts are translated
into Greek and Aramaic, the texts are sometimes significantly modified
from the Prakrit versions, and whole passages may be left out.30 The varia-
tions in the inscriptions are even referenced in one of the edicts:
These dhamma texts have been caused to be written by king Piyadassi,

beloved of the gods, either in an abridged form, medium length, or full
length. For the whole was not suitable everywhere. […] In some cases,
this may have been written incompletely, whether because of the loca-
tion, because my message was not well received, or through the fault of
the writer.31
It is not clear, however, whether the phrase ‘these dhamma texts’ refers to
the inscriptions themselves, or whether they refer to a lost exemplar on more
perishable material from which the extant inscriptions were copied. The
blurring of inscriptional text with some other text that may have existed in
document form is evident in the inscriptions themselves. Some parts of the
inscriptions do not seem to be part of the imperial message, but rather in-
structions for those inscribing them into rocks and pillars, instructions that
appear to have ended up as part of the inscription by mistake.32
In this chapter, I examine the extant ‘Aśokan’ inscriptions, not as ex-
pressions of an individual man’s personal ideology, but rather as a body
of texts that rhetorically constructs a non-denominational, transregional,
Buddhist-inspired identity that is closely tied to the idea of Buddhist expan-
sion. Whether the texts of the inscriptions were composed by one person or
by many, by the king himself or by his officials, during the lifetime of Aśoka
or posthumously, the texts themselves are articulations of a new form of
global identity.
The Aśokan inscriptions and Buddhism

While several modern historians have followed the Buddhist tradition in
connecting Aśoka’s promotion of non-violence and tolerance as stemming
from his conversion to Buddhism following the bloody Kaliṅga war,33 it
is not entirely clear how ‘Buddhist’ the Aśokan inscriptions are. Romila
Thapar is surely correct in pointing out that Aśoka’s particular version
of Buddhism, with its emphasis on social responsibility and religious tol-
erance, also served a useful role in unifying a complex multicultural em-
pire.34 Moreover, while Aśokan edicts certainly promote Buddhism, there
is little in these inscriptions that can be read as sectarian or partisan. On
the contrary, the inscriptions appear to promote an ideology that, while
Buddhist-based to some extent, transcends religious traditions and advo-
cates a universal moral code for followers of all religions. While the concept
of dhamma (truth, righteousness, morality) is central to the message of the
Aśokan inscriptions, this dhamma is, as we shall see, largely divorced from
its Buddhist context, and is rearticulated in these texts as something that is
applicable to all human beings.
It is intriguing that while there are a few direct references to Buddhism
in the Aśokan inscriptions, neither the Buddha nor his four noble truths are
mentioned at all. Buddhist mendicants (samaṇa) are mentioned, together
with Brahmins (bamhaṇa), as a group that should be respected and sup-
ported.35 The deliberate juxtaposition of Buddhist mendicants with their
Brahmin counterparts implies that all those who have devoted their lives to
religion deserve respect and support in equal measure.
One of the most explicit references to Buddhism in the Aśokan texts is
from the so-called ‘Schism edict’, an inscription that is found, with minor
variations, in Allahabad, Sanchi and Sarnath. In this text, the king claims to
have taken action against schisms in the saṅgha, a term that normally desig-
nates the Buddhist community. This edict declares that it is the king’s wish
that the saṅgha remains united for as long as his sons and grandsons and
great-grandsons will reign, and as long as the sun and the moon will shine.36
A monk or nun causing a split in the saṅgha will therefore be expelled.37
While this edict has often been read as an indication that the king was per-
sonally invested in maintaining Buddhist orthodoxy, Bechert proposes that
the reference in this text likely refers to smaller local squabbles and not to
a falling out over doctrine in the Buddhist community as a whole.38 It is
nevertheless worth noting that expulsion from the monastic community as a
punishment for the serious transgression of causing a split in the saṅgha has
parallels in canonical Buddhist texts.39
While the ideology of the Aśokan edicts is certainly rooted in Buddhist
ideas, it is not identical to traditional Theravāda Buddhism, but rather rep-
resents a new form of inclusive civil religion that is open to everyone regard-
less of denomination or ethnicity. In the following pages, I will examine the
ideology that emerges from the Aśokan inscriptions more closely and ana-
lyse the function it serves in articulating a new identity, far more expansive
than that found in earlier canonical Buddhist texts.
The Aśokan non-denominational Dhamma

The main preoccupation of the Aśokan inscriptions is the concept of
dhamma. The term is used a total of 111 times in the inscriptions.40 Sev-
eral edicts refer to themselves as dhamma-lipi (‘dhamma writing’ or ‘dhamma
texts’),41 signalling the significance of the concept. But what exactly is
dhamma in the Aśokan edicts?
Dhamma is a powerfully loaded term in a South Asian context. The related
Sanskrit word dharma is closely associated with the Brahminical tradition,
214 Signe Cohen
where it carries shades of meaning such as ‘cosmic and moral order’, ‘ritual
duty’, and ‘socially sanctioned behaviour’. In the Brahminical tradition, a
person’s dharma is determined by caste, gender, and social roles. In Bud-
dhism, the Pāli term dhamma is used to signify the teachings of the Buddha,
as well as morally correct actions or ‘righteousness’. Although dhamma is
central to Buddhism, the Aśokan inscriptions do not associate dhamma with
uniquely Buddhist ideas such as the Buddha’s four noble truths. In Jainism,
dharma signifies the eternally true teachings of the Jinas, as well as virtuous
action, and even ‘reality’. When the Aśokan inscriptions refer to dhamma,
then, the term is likely very familiar to the audience, regardless of religious
affiliation, although the term may signify different things to different pop-
ulations. The Aśokan inscriptions give a nod to all these previous meanings
of dhamma, but also imbue the term with entirely new meaning. Although
some scholars have identified the Aśokan dhamma with the Buddhist
dhamma, I argue that the inscriptions promote a new Buddhist-inspired, but
not necessarily canonically Buddhist, ideology that was meant to transcend
religious differences. Many of the inscriptions explain in great detail what
this new dhamma entails. As Olivelle has noted, the Aśokan inscriptions,
carved into rocks and pillars throughout the Mauryan Empire, construct an
overarching imperial ideology around the concept of dhamma.42
Out of these edicts, we can see a new form of identity emerging, an iden-
tity defined more by adherence to a new common ethos than merely by re-
ligious or local affiliation. Olivelle has even argued that Aśoka’s ideology,
as it emerges from his edicts, may be defined as a form of ‘civil religion’,43
a non-sectarian form of nationalism. In fact, in the Greek and Aramaic
translations of Aśoka’s edicts, found in the far northwestern parts of his
empire,44 dhamma is rendered in a way that removes it from a Buddhist con-
text altogether and gives it a meaning that transcends traditional religious
boundaries: dhamma is translated as eusebeia (‘piety’) in the Greek inscrip-
tions and qsyt (‘truth’) in Aramaic,45 terms that convey ethical behaviour,
but certainly not anything exclusively Buddhist.
The edicts advocate for non-denominational ethical ideas, applicable to
the Mauryan subjects regardless of rank and geographical location, such
as doing much good and little evil, and being kind, generous, truthful, and
pure. King Piyadassi advocates pardoning prisoners sentenced to death,46
banning the killing of animals,47 planting fruit trees to benefit the public,48
and promoting tolerance toward all religions, decreeing that his subjects
should listen to and respect the doctrines of others.49 The Aśokan vision of
a religiously diverse empire where everyone lives by a non-denominational
code of conduct serves to create cultural cohesion and harmony in an oth-
erwise very diverse society.
The edicts specifically reject certain types of ceremonies, such as women’s
ceremonies performed during illness, at the marriage of one’s children, at
the birth of a son, or at the beginning of a journey, as vulgar and pointless.
Instead, the edicts advocate for practising kindness to slaves and servants,
50
respect for one’s elders, and kindness to animals. The king is honouring
all religious sects with gifts and honours, but admonishing the practitioners
that one should not praise one’s own sect and criticize the other’s.51 Intrigu-
ingly, one edict states that ‘this is the wish of the beloved of the gods: that all
sects should be rich in learning and pure in dhamma’.52 This text explicitly
separates dhamma from individual religious traditions and constructs it as
something that all faiths have in common.
The references to the Brahminical tradition in the edicts are likewise
non-specific. There are no references to a caste system,53 or to the related
notion of svadharma, or a dharma based on one’s position in the social hier-
archy.54 While the Aśokan inscriptions do mention bamhaṇas (Brahmins),
Lubin has noted that the inscriptions do not associate these bamhaṇas with
either social class or the performance of rituals; rather they seem to be an
ascetic group.55 The inscriptions do not dwell on religious differences, but
rather focus on a common dhamma as a universal code of moral behaviour.56
Dhamma and the ideology of expansion

In his analysis of the structure of the rock edicts, Tieken notes that the first
three edicts contain a shift in scene; they begin with the royal palace, but
then shift their focus to the entire realm, and then turn their attention to
the areas at the border of the Mauryan Empire and beyond.57 I argue that
the rock edicts, read as a continuous series,58 demonstrate an expansion of
dhamma, geographically, temporally, and conceptually that lays the ideo-
logical groundwork for an expansion of the empire itself. In the first rock
edict, dhamma begins with the king himself and his household:
Previously, in the kitchen of king Piyadassi, beloved of the gods, many

hundred thousands of animals were killed daily for the sake of food.
But now when this dhamma text is written, only three animals are being
killed for food, two peacocks and one deer, but usually not even the
deer. Even these three animals will not be killed in the future.59
But then the focus shifts beyond the royal palace:
Everywhere in the realms of king Piyadassi, beloved of the gods, and

likewise among his neighbors, such as the Choḍas,60 Pāḍas,61 Sati-
yaputa,62 Kelalaputa,63 and even the Taṃbapaṃṇī,64 the Yona king An-
tiyaka,65 as well as Antiyaka’s neighbors, two kinds of medicine were
established by king Piyadassi, beloved of the gods: medicine for men
and medicine for animals.66
In the past, there were no officers of dhamma called Mahāmātras. But I

appointed Mahāmātras of dhamma thirteen years after I was anointed.
They work with establishing dhamma within all religious groups […]
216 Signe Cohen
and they are devoted to dhamma even among the Yoṇas,67 Kambojas,68
Gandhāras,69 Risṭikas,70 and Peteṇikas,71 and whatever other borders
there are in the west.72
These edicts suggest that the change that began at the royal palace has spread
throughout his realm and even beyond. This passage hints at the wide reach
of the king’s benign influence and of the non-violence at the heart of the new
dhamma. This geographical reach of dhamma is then juxtaposed with its
temporal reach:
And the sons, grandsons, and great-grandsons of king Piyadassi, be-

loved of the gods, will promote this dhamma until the age of the destruc-
tion of the world, and they will teach dhamma, abiding by dhamma and
by good conduct.73
This dhamma text has been caused to be written for this purpose: that
it may long endure, and that my sons, grandsons, and great-grandsons
may conform to this for the well-being of all humans.74
While the edicts articulate an aspiration for the Aśokan dhamma to endure
in the future, this dhamma is represented as a radical break with the past:
For centuries in the past, there was killing of animals and harm towards
living beings, rudeness to relatives and to bamhaṇas and samaṇas. […]
King Piyadassi, beloved of the gods, is now promoting the teaching of
dhamma, abstention from killing animals, abstention from harming liv-
ing beings, kindness to relatives, kindness to bamhaṇas and samaṇa,
obedience to mother and father, and obedience to one’s elders.75
In the past, kings used to go on pleasure trips. On these trips, they en-
joyed hunting and other pleasures.76 But when king Piyadassi, beloved
of the gods, had been anointed for ten years, he went to Saṃbodhi.77
Thus there were these dhamma tours. On these tours, these things take
place: visiting bamhaṇas and samaṇas and giving them gifts, visiting the
old and supporting them with gold, an visiting the people of the country
and teaching them dhamma and questioning them about dhamma as
appropriate.78
The edicts then go on to expand dhamma conceptually as well. Ordinary

virtues and qualities are contrasted with the dhamma versions of those vir-
tues and qualities79 and demonstrate how all life is transformed when under
the perspective of dhamma ‘There is no gift like a dhamma-gift, a dhamma-
friendship, a dhamma distribution (of money), or of dhamma-kinship.’80
It is particularly intriguing to see how the more or less untranslatable
term dhamma is rendered in the trilingual rock inscription from Kandahar.
Here, the Prakrit dhamma is translated into Greek as eusebeia, which im-
plies piety and reverence, both towards gods and elders, while the Aramaic
version of the text renders dhamma as qsyt, which means ‘truth’ or ‘right’
or ‘justice’.81 The translators of these texts have chosen terms that differ
slightly from dhamma in range of meaning, but carry a similar cultural
and religious weight in the target languages. The insistence on translating
dhamma, rather than leaving it untranslated like the king’s name, implies
that dhamma itself is both translatable and transferrable to different cul-
tural contexts; that the concept is, in short, a global one, rather than one
rooted in a particular religious and cultural setting. But there is a religious
aspect to the Aśokan dhamma nevertheless, as exemplified by passages
like ‘… may they practice the dhamma, and may they attain this world
and the next.’82 But while the Aśokan dhamma is vaguely associated with
the promise of an afterlife, it remains non-denominational in its orienta-
tion. The Aśokan inscriptions take the first steps towards the creation of a
global cultural identity by articulating a unified dhamma that is applicable
to people all across a vast empire, as well as to those foreigners who live on
its outskirts. While the king’s dream of his dhamma enduring during the
reigns of his great-grandsons was not to be fulfilled, his geographical as-
pirations for a universal dhamma were realized to a greater degree. While
the Mauryan Empire came to an end with the rise of the Śuṅga dynasty in
185 BCE, the idea of dhamma lived on and spread to large parts of Asia.
But this universal dhamma, while it had a great deal in common with the
dhamma promulgated in the Aśokan edicts, is more closely tied to canon-
ical Buddhism.
By the third century BCE, Buddhism had become what Reynolds and
Hallisey call a ‘civilizational religion’,83 a religious tradition associated with
high culture and transcending regional boundaries. Buddhism reached Sri
Lanka around the third century BCE. According to Buddhist tradition, the
dhamma was brought there by a monk by the name of Mahinda, Aśoka’s
own son, and Sri Lanka soon became a vibrant centre of Pali literature and
Buddhist scholarship.
Buddhism then spread from Sri Lanka to Southeast Asia. According to
the Pali chronicle Mahāvaṃsa (fifth century CE), Buddhism was brought to
Burma (Suvarṇabhūmi, present-day Myanmar) by two monks, envoys sent
by Aśoka himself, in the third century BCE. During the Kingdom of Pa-
gan (849–1297), Theravāda Buddhism flourished in Burma and spread from
there into mainland Southeast Asia. Although Theravāda Buddhism may
have been introduced to Thailand by emissaries from Sri Lanka early on,
the area was dominated by Mahāyāna Buddhism until the thirteenth cen-
tury, when Theravāda Buddhism was made state religion in the Kingdom of
Sukhotai (1238–1583). Theravāda Buddhism had already been introduced in
Laos in the seventh to eighth centuries CE. Mahāyāna Buddhism reached
China via Silk Road trade around the first century CE, and spread from
there to Korea, Vietnam, and Japan in the fourth century. In the seventh
218 Signe Cohen
century CE, Buddhism was introduced to Tibet by the local king Songtsen
Gampo, perhaps due to the influence of his Chinese wife. Although there
are many factors that can account for this spread of Buddhism after Aśoka,
the king’s own global aspirations and the articulation of a transregional
Buddhist identity in his edicts may have laid ideological groundwork for the
later expansion of Buddhism into the rest of Asia.
Stūpas and inscriptions: dhamma made visible

While the dhamma-centred ideology of the Aśokan edicts is only loosely
tied to Buddhism, the material remains of Aśoka’s expansion tell a some-
what different story. In addition to the edicts, Aśoka is credited with es-
tablishing numerous stūpas, or shrines containing relics of the Buddha,
throughout his empire. Alongside the royal edicts, the stūpas served to es-
tablish the emerging religion of Buddhism as a physical and monumental
imperial presence throughout the Indian landscape. Pious Buddhist leg-
ends claim that Aśoka built a staggering 84,000 stūpas in India, but the
impossibly high number is likely a way of indicating the significance of
relic cult as religious worship under Aśoka.84 While the construction of
stūpas containing relics appears to be a pre-Buddhist practice as well, it
seems that the Mauryan kings appropriated this local form of worship as
part of an imperial ideology and transformed it into a Buddhist relic cult.
So effective was Aśoka’s legendary stūpa construction as a reminder of his
status as a cakravartin that many later Buddhist monarchs took to building
stūpas precisely as a way to imitate Aśoka in an attempt to establish them-
selves as cakravartins as well.85
Although the number of stūpas constructed under Aśoka may well be ex-
aggerated, the association of the king with a massive construction project
with religious significance is interesting. The newly built local shrines would
have served as signifiers of the king’s ideology, visual reminders that the
local environment was part of a larger political and ideological structure. In
short, I argue that the stūpas, like the Aśokan inscriptions, may have served
as reminders of the unifying dhamma. Whether or not the historical Aśoka
personally composed or commissioned the inscriptions is irrelevant; the
dhamma advocated by King Piyadassi who is rhetorically constructed by
the inscriptions as a benevolent, but stern ruler over all men is nevertheless
central to the construction of a pan-regional new identity. The edicts and
stūpas associated with Aśoka represent a transformative moment in the his-
tory of Buddhism, a moment when a regional form of practice is reinvented
as a universal religion and a new non-local identity is formulated. Through
the advocacy for the Buddhist concept of dhamma, the political and military
expansion under Aśoka/Piyadassi, and his dispatching of envoys to other
realms, Aśoka’s reign – as it existed in history and in narrative – ushered in
a globalizing period in Buddhist history.
The Aśokan dhamma and the articulation of a transregional
identity
The Aśoka inscriptions construct a new form of identity for the imperial
subjects through their dhamma-centred discourse.86 This new identity is no
longer rooted in geographical region or religious affinity, but rather in ad-
herence to a particular moral code, grounded in the concept of dhamma.
This dhamma is presented as a universal human concept that is applicable
to followers of all religions.
The inscriptions’ ideology of dhamma embeds the Aśokan subject in a
new social structure. The significant term dhamma is redefined; dhamma is
no longer understood as a function of a person’s caste or gender, or even reli-
gious identity, but rather as an integral part of the condition of living within
an expanding Aśokan realm. The inscriptions make clear that this dhamma
also applies to those living on the very borders of the empire, or even be-
yond it, and that incorporating those who are not yet part of the empire
into its ideological project is part of the king’s mission. This new dhamma,
promoted by the king, is here a clearly defined and easy to understand moral
code. But although this code is new, it is not transitory; the inscriptions in-
dicate that this dhamma, which was first taught by King Piyadassi, will also
be taught by his descendants in the future. The conceptual expansion of the
empire to include people of all religious and tribal affinities is a significant
step in the formulation of a global identity. This global identity is further
affirmed in the sixth rock edict, where the king declares: ‘I consider the wel-
fare of all humans my duty’,87 and in the first separate rock edict, where he
states: ‘All men are my children.’88
The promotion and definition of dhamma throughout the edicts serve to
construct a new identity that is global in its aspirations. This distillation of
a new community identity into a single powerful concept can be compared
to Gandhi’s use of satyagraha (‘grasping the truth’; non-violence) during
the Indian independence movement. Like Aśoka’s dhamma, Gandhi’s sat-
yagraha focuses a new communal identity on a particular moral code that is
seen as translocal and universal in its validity and application.
Non-violence towards both humans and animals is an integral part of
this new moral identity formulated in the Aśokan edicts. The idea of non-
violence, likely inspired by Jainism, serves as a marker of the new dhamma
and is presented in the inscriptions as a radical break with the past, even on
the part of the king himself. Famously, the thirteenth rock inscription ex-
presses the king’s deep regret for the loss of life in a battle he had won against
the rebellious Kaliṅga people.89 While the king’s grief over his slain enemies
has often been read as a personal testimony to the devastating effects of war,
the very public expression of the ruler’s grief also signals a rupture with a
violent past and an ushering in of a new non-violent dhamma. This ideal of
non-violence is not absolute, however; the thirteenth rock inscription also
220 Signe Cohen
makes clear that in spite of his remorse over the loss of life in the Kaliṅga
war and his desire for non-violence, Piyadassi will punish those who refuse
to behave according to dhamma.
While complete abstention from the slaughter and consumption of ani-
mals may have been too difficult to enforce throughout an empire used to
meat consumption, the fifth pillar edict lists some practical ways the new
dhamma of kindness towards animals can be enacted, even in the absence
of a mass adoption of vegetarianism. This edict lists specific animals that
must not be killed, including non-edible animals like squirrels and porcu-
pines, pregnant or nursing animals, or those less than six months old. This
edict also specifically prohibits feeding animals to other animals.90 These
detailed protections for certain animals seem superfluous since other edicts
propose that no animals should be killed at all, but it is likely that the fifth
edict represents a compromise of sorts: if complete abstention from killing
animals is not possible, then this new dhamma can be enacted in other, eas-
ier ways, such as avoiding killing non-edible animals. These more lenient
restrictions would be possible to observe even for populations within the
empire that were dependent on animals as a source of food. I would argue
that the Aśokan dhamma is not a static or monolithic concept, but rather
an ideology that is constantly being negotiated throughout the edicts. As a
new supra-regional identity is constructed within and through the discourse
of the edicts,91 dhamma remains at the core of an ideology that gradually
shifts and changes as it encounters new local realities. At the heart of this
dhamma-centred ideology is an ethical system of tolerance and non-violence
that transcends religious and geographical boundaries.92 The Aśokan in-
scriptions construct a new definition of kingship as paternal and benevolent
(except when met with resistance) and the source of all dhamma, and an
ensuing implied definition of citizenship based on adherence to dhamma
rather than language, religion, or geographical origin.
This dhamma is Buddhist-based, but not identical to, or limited to, tradi-
tional Theravāda Buddhism. Rather, dhamma becomes a tool for the pro-
cess of identity formation, a discursive strategy that unifies the citizens of
the far-flung Mauryan Empire. The Aśokan dhamma is not, then, a doctrine
to be known and accepted, but rather a discursive practice with a particular
social and political function.93
As Heath has astutely observed, our understanding of an ideology must
not be focused exclusively on the subject (in this case, Aśoka or the inhab-
itants of his empire), but rather on the ‘suturing effects, the effecting of the
join of the subject in structures of meaning’.94 By shifting our attention away
from ‘Aśoka’ as an individual person imposing his personal ideology upon
the passive inhabitants of his empire, to the rhetorical power of the texts
themselves to construct identity and join the royal subjects in ‘structures
of meaning’, I argue that we are better able to understand the impact of
the identity constructed through these texts on the subsequent transregional
spread of Buddhism.
While the inscriptions’ vision of an everlasting empire of dhamma, ruled
over by the righteous descendants of King Piyadassi, turned out to be a mi-
rage in hindsight – Aśoka himself was largely forgotten in mainland India
within a few centuries after his death – the legacy of the Aśokan dhamma
has endured. Scialpi suggests that Aśoka’s diplomatic contacts with other
rulers prepared the way for subsequent trade networks,95 facilitating the
spread of Buddhism over large parts of Asia. I would argue that it was not
only these trade networks, but also the very notion of a transregional iden-
tity, first formulated in the Aśokan inscriptions, that made this Buddhist
globalization possible.
Notes
1 Aśoka is variously referred to as an ‘emperor’ and a ‘king’ in the scholarly lit-
erature. Since this distinction has no counterpart in the Aśokan inscriptions
themselves, which use the term lājā (‘king’) throughout, I will use the term ‘king’
here. The dates for Aśoka’s rule are based on his thirteenth major rock edict.
This edict mentions five foreign kings, Antiochus, Ptolemy, Antigonus, Magus,
and Alexander. These kings have been plausibly identified with Antiochus II
Theos of Syria (261–246 BCE), Ptolemy II Philadelphus of Egypt (285–247 BCE),
Antigonus Gonatas of Macedonia (276–239 BCE), Magas of Cyrene (c. 258–250
BCE), and Alexander of Epirus (276–255 BCE), see Romila Thapar (1961): 41.
2 Ath. 3.444 and 14.652–653.
3 Scialpi (1984): 58.
4 Allchin and Erdosy (1995): 187–194.
5 The corresponding Pāli term is cakkavatti. See, for example, Dīgha-Nikāya 16:
Mahāsudassana-Sutta, where the cakkavatti is described as ‘a righteous king rul-
ing righteously, a conqueror of the four directions, a stabilizer of his country …’
6 See, for example, the Aśokāvadāna and the Mahāvaṃsa.
7 Olivelle (2012a): 158. Most other ancient Indian texts have a long history of oral
transmission before being committed to writing and are therefore notoriously
difficult to date.
8 Norman (2012): 39–40.
9 Tieken (2002): 5.
10 Salomon (2009): 46; Scialpi (1984): 62.
11 Pollock (2006): 60.
12 Pollock (2006): 62–63.
13 Thapar (2012): 35. See also Pollock (2006): 6–37.
14 Falk (1993): 339. See also Olivelle (2012a): 170.
15 Pollock (2006): 59.
16 Olivelle (2012a): 170.
17 Tieken (2002): 19.
18 Tieken (2002): 19.
19 Falk (2006): 55.
20 Falk (2006): 56.
21 The fourth rock edict refers to the king’s twelfth year, while the fifth refers to his
thirteenth year. See Tieken (2002): 6.
22 Tieken (2002).
23 Tieken (2002): 7.
24 Tieken (2002): 7–8.
25 This identification was made in Princep (1837) and has rarely been disputed
since. Princep points out that Aśoka is explicitly referred to as Piyadassi in the
222 Signe Cohen
Dīpavaṃśa. For further literary evidence to support this claim, see the excellent
discussion in Vassilkov (1997–98).
26 Most scholars take devānaṃpiye literally as ‘beloved of the gods’, an honorific
title also on occasion applied to other kings such as King Tissa of Sri Lanka and
a king Daśaratha, a descendant of Aśoka, who is mentioned in the Nāgārjunī
Cave Inscriptions, Sircar (1993): 77–78. But note Deshpande’s interpretation of
deva ‘god’ as ‘king’ here based on parallels in other Sanskrit and Pali texts (2012).
It is possible to read devānaṃpiye as ‘beloved of the kings’, indicating Aśoka’s
standing among neighbouring monarchs.
27 The inspiration for this use of first person, which is otherwise extremely rare in
Indian inscriptions, may come from the inscriptions of the Achaemenid kings of
Iran, see Salomon (2009): 45.
28 Olivelle (2012a): 158.
29 Norman (1978–79): 78; Olivelle (2012a): 158.
30 Norman (1972): 154.
31 Fourteenth rock edict, Hultzsch (1925): 25.
32 Norman (1987).
33 Smith (1901); Lahari (2015). For depictions of Aśoka in ancient literature, see the
Sanskrit Aśokāvādana (second century CE), the Pali Dīpavaṃsa (fourth century
CE), and Mahāvaṃsa (fifth century CE). The Kaliṅga war and its psychological
effect on the king is described in the Thirteenth Rock Edict.
34 Thapar (1961): 2–5.
35 Third rock edict, Hultzsch (1925): 4; fourth rock edict, Hultzsch (1925); 5–6;
ninth rock edict, Hultzsch (1925): 16.
36 Schism edict (minor pillar inscription), Hultzsch (1925): 166.
37 Schism edict (minor pillar inscription), Hultzsch (1925): 166.
38 Bechert (1961; 1982), cited from Tieken (2000): 2.
39 See, for example, Vinaya 1.150 and 2.180; Aṅguttara 2.239; Itivuttaka 11;
Tikapaṭṭhāna 167 and 171.
40 Hiltebeitel (2011): 35.
41 First rock edict, Hultzsch (1925): 1.
42 Olivelle (2012b): 131.
43 Olivelle (2012a): 173. Olivelle borrows this idea of a ‘civil religion’, which may be
traced back to Rousseau, from Bellah (1970): 168–189.
44 Norman (2012): 43.
45 Schlumberger and Benveniste (1968): 197; Olivelle (2012b): 131–132.
46 First separate rock edict, see Thapar (1961): 258.
47 First major rock edict, see Hultzsch (1925): 1; Thapar (1961): 250, and Sircar
(1967): 46; fourth major rock edict, see Thapar (1961): 46; fifth pillar edict, see
Thapar (1961): 73.
48 Seventh pillar edict, see Thapar (1961): 265, and Sircar (1967): 76.
49 Seventh major rock edict, Hultzsch 1925: 13; Thapar (1961): 253, and Sircar
(1967): 51; twelfth major rock edict, Thapar (1961): 255, and Sircar (1967): 55.
50 Ninth rock edict, Hulzsch (1925): 15–16; eleventh rock edict, Hultzsch (1925): 18.
51 Twelfth rock edict, Hultzsch (1925): 20.
52 Twelfth rock edict, Hultzsch (1925): 20.
53 Thapar (2009): 32.
54 Olivelle (2012a): 172.
55 Lubin (2013): 31.
56 Cf. Kosambi (1959): 204; Thapar (1997): 157.
57 Tieken (2002): 11.
58 For a discussion of why the rock edicts must be read as a cohesive series rather
than a random assemblage of short texts, see Tieken (2002).
59 Translated from the Prakrit text given in Hultzsch (1925): 1.
60 The Choḍas, likely refers to the Tamil Chola dynasty.
61 This likely refers to the Pāṇḍya dynasty of Madurai.
62 This king has plausibly been identified with the Tamil king Athiyamān Nedumān
Añji, see Manickam (2001): 152.
63 Some reference to the district of Kerala on the Malabar coast is perhaps im-
plied here.
64 This name corresponds to Sanskrit Tamrapārṇī, which is sometimes used to des-
ignate Sri Lanka.
65 Presumably Antiochus II Theos, a Greek king of the Seleucid Empire, 261–
246 BCE.
66 Hultzsch (1925): 3.
67 Yona is the Prakrit for of Yavana, a term that originally designated Greeks, but
later came to encompass other foreigners as well.
68 This tribe is frequently mentioned in Sanskrit literature from the Vedas onwards.
They appear to be located in what is present-day Iran, and the tribe name may
be reflected in the Old Persian royal name Kambūjiya (Cambyses), see Witzel
(2003): 44.
69 Gandhāra is located in present-day Pakistan.
70 Bühler identifies the Risṭikas with a tribe called Ṛṣṭikas mentioned in the
Rāmāyaṇa and locates them on the southern borders of the Mauryan Empire,
around present-day Hyderabad, see Bühler (1883): 261.
71 It is not clear who the Peteṇikas were. See discussion in Bhandarkar (2000): 223.
72 Fifth rock edict, Hultzsch (1925): 8.
73 Fourth rock edict, Hultzsch (1925): 6–7.
74 Sixth rock edict, Hultzsch (1925): 12.
75 Fourth rock edict, Hultzsch 1925: 5–6.
76 Eighth rock edict, Hultzsch (1925): 14.
77 Saṃbodhi may be a reference to Bodhgayā, where the Buddha is said to have
achieved enlightenment under the Bodhi tree, cf. Hultzsch (1925): 15.
78 Eighth rock edict, Hultzsch (1925): 14.
79 Tieken (2002): 10.
80 Eleventh rock edict, Hultzsch (1925): 18.
81 Hiltebeitel (2011): 37, see also https://biblehub.com/hebrew/7189.htm.
82 Norman (1994–95): 265.
83 Reynolds and Hallisey (1987): 8.
84 See Swearer (1995): 68.
85 Swearer (1995): 72–73.
86 For the role of discourse in identity formation, see Hall (1996): 3.
87 Sixth rock edict, Hultzsch (1925): 11.
88 First separate rock edict, Hultzsch (1925): 92.
89 Thirteenth major rock edict, Thapar (1961): 255–256, and Sircar (1967): 56–8.
90 Fifth pillar edict, Hultzsch (1925): 125–126.
91 Cf. Hall (1996): 3.
92 See Thapar (2006): 302, and Thapar (2009): 31.
93 Cf. Foucault’s deconstruction of ‘science’ as a similar discursive process, rather
than a theory of the knowing subject (1970): xiv.
94 Heath (1981): 106.
95 Scialpi (1984): 58.
Bibliography
Allchin, F. Raymond and George Erdosy. 1995: The Archaeology of Early Histor-
ical South Asia: The Emergence of Cities and States. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press.
224 Signe Cohen
Bechert, Heinz. 1961: ‘Asokas ‘Schismenedikt’ und der Begriff Sanghabheda’,
Wiener Zeitschrift für die Kunde Südasiens 5: 19–52.
Bechert, Heinz. 1982: ‘The importance of Asoka’s so-called schism edict’, in L.A.
Hercus, F.B.J. Kuiper, T. Rajapatirana and E.R. Skrzypczak (eds.), Indological
and Buddhist Studies. Volume in Honour of Professor J.W. de Jong on his Sixtieth
Birthday, 61–8. Canberra: Faculty of Asian Studies.
Bellah, Robert. 1970: ‘Civil Religion in America’, in Robert Bellah, Beyond Be-
lief: Essays on Religion in a Post-Traditional World, 168–89. New York: Harper
and Row.
Bhandarkar, D.R. 2000: Aśoka. New Delhi: Asian Educational Services.
Bühler, G. 1883: ‘Beiträge zur Erklärung der Asoka-Inschriften’, Zeitschrift der
deutschen morgenländischen Gesellschaft 37: 253–281.
Deshpande, Madhav. 2012: ‘Interpreting the Aśokan Epithet devānaṃpiye’, in
Olivelle et al. 2012, 19–43.
Falk, Harry. 1993: Schrift im Alten Indien: Ein Forschungsbericht mit Anmerkungen.
Tübingen: Gunter Narr Verlag.
Falk, Harry. 2006: Asokan Sites and Artefacts: A Source-Book with Bibliography.
Mainz: Von Zabern.
Foucault, M. 1970: The Order of Things: An Archaeology of the Human Sciences.
London: Tavistock.
Hall, Stuart. 1996: ‘Introduction: Who Needs Identity?’, in Stuart Hall and Paul du
Gay (eds.), Questions of Cultural Identity, 1–17. London: Sage Publications.
Heath, Stephen. 1981: Questions of Cinema. Basingstoke: Macmillan.
Hiltebeitel, Alf. 2011: Dharma: Its Early History in Law, Religion, and Narrative.
Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Hultzsch, E. 1925: Inscriptions of Asoka. [Corpus Inscriptionum Indicarum I].
Oxford: Reprint Varanasi: Indological Book House 1969.
Kosambi, D.D. 1959: ‘Notes on the Kandahar Edict of Asoka.’ Journal of the
Economic and Social History of the Orient 2.2: 204–206.
Lahari, Nayanjot. 2015: Ashoka in Ancient India. Cambridge, MA: Harvard
University Press.
Lubin, Timothy. 2013: ‘Aśoka’s disparagement of domestic ritual and its validation
by the Brahmins’, Journal of Indian Philosophy 41(1): 29–41.
Manickam, V. 2001: Kongu Nadu: A History up to A.D. 1400. Chennai: Makkal
Veliyeedu.
Norman, K.R. 1972: ‘Notes on the Greek Version of Aśoka’s Twelfth and Thirteenth
Rock Edicts’, Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society, 111–118.
Norman, K.R. 1978–79: ‘Middle Indo-Aryan Studies XII’, Journal of the Oriental
Institute, Baroda 28: 78–85.
Norman, K.R. 1987: ‘The orthography of the Girnār version of the Aśokan Rock
Edicts’, Bulletin d’Etudes Indiennes 5: 273–285.
Norman, K.R. 1994–5: ‘A comparative study of Aśoka’s second separate Edict’, Bul-
letin of the Deccan College Post-Graduate and Research Institute 54–55: 255–267.
Norman, K.R. 2012: ‘The Languages of the Composition and Transmission of the
Aśokan Inscriptions’, in Olivelle et al. 2012, 38–62.
Olivelle, Patrick, Janice Leoshko and Himanshu Prabha Ray. 2012: Reimagining
Aśoka: Memory and History. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Olivelle, Patrick. 2012a: ‘Aśoka’s Inscriptions as Text and Ideology’, in Olivelle
et al., 157–183.
Olivelle, Patrick. 2012b: ‘Kings, Ascetics, and Brahmins: The Socio-Political
Context of Ancient Indian Religions’, in Volkhard Krech and Marion Steinicke
(eds.), Dynamics in the History of Religions between Asia and Europe, 117–135.
Leiden: Brill.
Pollock, Sheldon. 2006: The Language of the Gods in the World of Men: Sanskrit,
Culture, and Power in Premodern India. Berkeley: University of California Press.
Princep, James. 1837: ‘Further elucidations of the lát or Śīlastambha inscriptions
from various sources’, Proceedings of the Asiatic Society of London 6: 790–794.
Reynolds, Frank E., and Charles Hallisey. 1987: ‘Buddhist Religion, Culture, and
Civilization’, in Joseph M. Kitagawa and Mark D. Cummings (eds.), Buddhism
and Asian History. New York: Macmillan.
Salomon, Richard. 2009: ‘Aśoka and the “Epigraphic Habit” in India’, in Patrick
Olivelle (ed.), Aśoka in History and Historical Memory, 45–52. Delhi: Motilal
Banarsidass.
Scialpi, Fabio. 1984: ‘The ethics of Aśoka and the religious inspiration of the
Achaemenids’, East and West 34: 55–74.
Schlumberger, D. and E. Benveniste, 1968: ‘A new Greek inscription of Asoka at
Kandahar’, Epigraphica Indica 37, V: 193–200.
Sircar, D.C. 1967[1957]: Inscriptions of Aśoka. Delhi: Government of India Press.
Sircar, D.C. 1993: Select Inscriptions Bearing on Indian History and Civilization,
Vol. 1. New Delhi: V.K. Publishing House.
Smith, Vincent. 1901: Asoka: The Buddhist Emperor of India. Oxford: Clarendon
Press.
Swearer, Donald K. 1995: The Buddhist World of Southeast Asia. Albany: State
University of New York Press.
Thapar, Romila. 1997[1961]: Aśoka and the Decline of the Mauryas. Oxford and
Delhi: Oxford University Press.
Thapar, Romila. 2006: ‘The Mauryan Empire in Early India’, Historical Research
79(205): 287–305.
Thapar, Romila. 2009: ‘Ashoka – A Retrospective’, Economic and Political Weekly
44–45: 31–37.
Thapar, Romila. 2012: ‘Aśoka: A Retrospective’ in Olivelle et al., 17–37.
Tieken, Herman. 2000: ‘Aśoka and the Buddhist “Saṃgha”: a study of Aśoka’s
Schism Edict and Minor Rock Edict I’, Bulletin of the School of Oriental and
African Studies 63(1): 1–30.
Tieken, Herman. 2002: ‘The dissemination of Aśoka’s Rock and Pillar Edicts’,
Wiener Zeitschrift für die Kunde Südasiens 46: 5–42.
Vassilkov, Yaroslav. 1997–98: ‘On the meaning of the names Aśoka and Piyadasi’,
Indologica Taurinensia 23–24: 441–457.
Witzel, Michel. 2003: ‘Linguistic evidence for cultural exchange in prehistoric
Western Central Asia’ Sino-Platonic Papers (December): 129.
11 Globalization and
Gandhāran art
Ashwini Lakshminarayanan
This chapter deals with two examples of Gandhāran art depicting episodes
from the life of the Buddha Shakyamuni. These motifs were recreated in the
cave painting of the oasis of Kuča, situated along the northern branch of the
so-called Silk Roads in the Tarim Basin region (Chinese Central Asia, now
in the Xingjiang province).1 The first section of this chapter engages with
the archaeological context in Gandhāra and Kuča, focussing on their rela-
tionship during the first centuries CE. The second section lays out how ico-
nography can be analysed within this framework with two examples: male
figures as depicted in the lifting of the elephant episode, and the depiction
of a nun.
Figure 11.1 The Kuṣāṇa Empire at the time of Kanishka I (c. 127–150 CE) and the
most important trade routes
Source: Author’s drawing, not to scale; based on Asia Society 2020.
DOI: 10.4324/9781003096269-16
Globalization and Gandhāra art 227
The chapter will not propose a comparative date for the paintings; in-
stead, it will compare two specific iconographic motifs to understand how
the scheme may have been transferred and transformed based on the con-
text. The comparison of motifs in the two regions is not without its limita-
tions. Aspects such as the difference in mediums, size, workmanship, and
chronology of the reliefs, plan of the cave, and location of the scene in the
cave play important roles in a comparative study. Such details are not always
present for the examples discussed below. Many reliefs from Gandhāra and
paintings from Kuča have been removed from their contexts and the re-
lated archaeological data cannot be retrieved. This complicates the process
of developing a chain of transmission between the regions. Nevertheless,
some attempts have been undertaken in previous studies to contextualise
the data, and these will be considered here.
The similarities between the Gandhāran reliefs and the Kuča examples
should not be understood as a homogenizing aspect of globalization.2 Mo-
tifs were adopted, appropriated, and transformed to become features of the
local.3 Using the hydraulic metaphors of religious flows studied by Neelis,
the ‘currents’ of cultural globalization include both push and pull factors.4
The tension between the two factors can be understood as, the tension be-
tween iconographies, and the adaptation and transformation of the iconog-
raphy in local contexts. Although Central India and Gandhāra played an
important role in the transmission of Buddhism and artistic motifs, this
should not be overemphasised.5 Local culture was an active agent in mobi-
lising and disseminating specific cultural influences. The discussion below
will highlight the active local choice and artistic reasons for the transfer and
transformation of motifs.6
Context
Gandhāra
Gandhāra refers to the Khyber Pakhtunkhwa region formerly known as the
North-Western Frontier Province (NWFP) of Pakistan aligned along the
southern border of Afghanistan. The Peshawar valley was the nucleus of
the ancient region and includes sites around modern Peshawar, Mardan,
Swabi, Charsadda, and Nowshera. The term ‘Greater Gandhāra’ is com-
monly used to denote regions outside of this nucleus such as the Dir, Swāt,
and Buner valleys, while ‘Gandhāra Proper’ is used to denote the Peshawar
valley (Figure 11.1).7 In this work, I use the term Gandhāran art to include
the artistic production within both ‘Gandhāra Proper’ and the ‘Greater
Gandhāra’ regions during the first to the fourth century CE.8
To understand why, how, and in what ways non-local motifs and products
were used requires an understanding of specific social contexts within which
the motifs were reproduced, and the archaeological contexts in which the
artefacts were recovered. Even though several reliefs and sculptures, now
228 Ashwini Lakshminarayanan
located in museums all over the globe, do not correspond to an exact site
within the region, they were recovered from Buddhist stupas in settlements
and sanctuaries or saṃgharāma. They were primarily constructed for the
meeting of the saṃgha or the community of the ordained during specific
communal ritual activities and rainy season retreats.9
Excavations have revealed large structures that included dwellings for the
ordained, as well as stupas (burial and receptacle monuments for sacred
objects) that were funded and visited by the lay worshippers. Even if the
retreat locations were in isolated areas such as mountain slopes and forests,
or within city walls, they were connected to settlements in their vicinity to
obtain resources and protection for their prolonged subsistence.10 This re-
lationship between the urban (and the semi-urban) settlements that support
the monastic communities is also evident in Pali literature where the action
takes place within or on the way to urban locations.11
At the advent of Buddhism, the donations of alms to the religious com-
munity were vital to its survival. By the first centuries in Gandhāra, large
scale monasteries show the financial growth and popularity of the religion.
Monastic complexes and their embellishments supported by the Aparaca
and Oḍi kings and queens along with mercantile men and women demon-
strate the authority of the Buddhist monks and nuns and their role as le-
gitimisers of power.12 The monasteries were also supported by the Kuṣāṇa
kings and one Gandhārī manuscript notes the donation of Vima Kadphises,
the third Kuṣāṇa king as a donor to a monastery.13 This imbued the religious
establishments with political, social, and economic dimensions.
Kuča
The Kingdom of Kuča was located in the northern part of the Taklamakan
Desert in the Tarim Basin where the important Buddhist sites of Qizil with
235 caves, Qumtura with 113 caves, and Simsim with 56 caves were found.14
The artistic activities in the Kuča region began around the third century CE
according to Yaldiz.15 These cave sites were decorated with wall paintings
that include narrative, devotional, and ornamental themes. The caves were
not decorated with scenes at random. In Thapar’s words,
the selection of symbols which are constituted into a tradition are sel-
dom random and generally have a purpose which should not go un-
noticed; that such cultural symbols are not solely aesthetic forms and
religious forms but have a social reference point.16
The selection of the scenes also depended on the structure of the cave. The
episodes from the final life of the Buddha as Siddhārtha were painted based
on the theme of the cave.
The Qizil grottoes lie 43 miles outside of Kuča and along the northern
Silk roads in Chinese Central Asia (Xinjiang).17 They were investigated
at the beginning of the twentieth century by the German team of Le Coq,
Grünwedel, and Waldschmidt.18 This was followed by a series of investiga-
tions by Peking University in the 1980s.19
The investigations show that the grottoes were cut in the vertical cliff and
used by the Buddhist saṃgha. The chronology of paintings in Qizil remains
unsettled. Grünwedel studied the decorated caved and classified them into
three different styles: the First Style was based on Gandhāran models, the
Second Style used a new colour scheme of green and blue pigments, and
the Third Style included Chinese inscriptions.20 Le Coq and Waldschmidt
concluded that Grünwedel’s First Style should be dated to the sixth century
CE and the Second Style around the seventh century CE.21 This suggests a
long gap between the final period of Gandhāran art and the first murals in
Qizil.22 Bussagli stated that Kuča paintings began in the fourth century CE
and continued till the eighth century CE and beyond.23 Vignato suggested
that the caves should be divided based on architectural elements: those with
one or more square and rectangular caves and monastic cells and, those with
a central pillar cave.24 Howard and Vignato’s relative periodisation showed
that Style I and II coexisted in Cave no. 47.25 To avoid confusion, they re-
named the styles as A, B, and C. Style A and B were identified by them as
following two different themes and not two different painting styles. This
classification is used in this chapter. They were categorised as two different
‘formal language[s]’ that coexisted rather than ‘dissimilar and consecutive
artistic expressions’.26 Style A was attributed to groups of caves with square
caves and monastic cells. Style B was associated with groups containing the
central pillar caves. Style C was a later development and was dated to the
mid-eighth to the mid-tenth century CE.
Transmission along the trade routes

Buddhism was introduced in Kuča between the first and second centuries
CE.27 It was transmitted through multiple networks from Central India and
Gandhāra by land and sea.28 According to literary sources, the ‘Jibin route’
connected the Pamirs to Kāśmīra and Uddiyāna (Swāt Valley) and was an-
other frequently used land route before the Tang period.29 Commercial ac-
tivities and religious networks within the subcontinent grew as the Kuṣāṇa
influence extended from Central Asia to the Tarim Basin.30 Evidence of in-
scriptions and rock art created by various travellers show that a land route
existed and connected Gandhāra Proper, Swāt, and Kashmir to the Tarim
Basin.31 Many of the carvings cannot be affiliated to a single category such
as monastics and lay followers as little is known regarding the identity of the
travellers. The voyage of monks, merchants, and caravans intertwined as
they travelled these well-known paths.32 The travellers brought back with
them texts, objects, and souvenirs of art and architecture.33
According to Zürcher, the Xinjiang area was a mere transit zone in the early
transmission of Buddhism into China.34 Monasteries around the northern
Taklamakan were commonly located near water sources and mountain
passes that were also important commercial outposts. The strategic location
of the monasteries played a crucial role in transmitting Buddhist religious
philosophy, artistic elements, and architecture into the region. New agri-
cultural practices in the oasis region resulted in a surplus and a population
boom made the region attractive to Buddhist communities.35
The Sarvastivadin school of Buddhism (along with the Dharmaguptaka
monks) operated in both Gandhāra and Kuča and played an important role
in the transmission of Buddhism to the region. Kuča artists may have also
created the iconography of the region independently and its similarity to
Gandhāra could be incidental as the two regions were interested in ‘same
or similar subject matters’.36 The common influential denominations in the
regions could be one reason for the ‘commonalities in the theme and motifs’
in art.37
Iconological Study
Lifting the elephant in Qizil and Gandhāran art

Santoro has previously compared the depiction of the life of the Buddha
in Cave no. 110 with Gandhāran art. She evaluated the narrative scheme
of the paintings in Qizil and the linear narrative relief panels to suggest a
close relationship between the two regions.38 A closer examination of the
male bodies in the lifting of the elephant episode, with surviving reliefs from
known excavated contexts in Swāt, reveals a direct relationship with the
Qizil painting. This suggests that the iconographic scheme was not greatly
modified between the two regions in this instance.
The series of physical feats performed by the prince Siddhārtha against
the other Sakya princes to compete for the hand of his future bride have
been studied due to their depiction of the ancient Indian courtly marriage
ceremony, the swayaṃvara, using Greco-Roman iconography.39 A related
episode is that of the killing, dragging, and throwing of the elephant that
does not form part of the marriage competitions. The goal of the present
analysis is to understand which motifs were used to present this episode in
Swāt and Qizil. The form and posture of the male body in this episode is
another example of motifs that travelled between Swāt and Qizil due to the
interconnectivity between the two regions.
In short, the episode begins with Devadatta chancing upon an elephant
designated for his cousin, the Prince Siddhārtha. In an envious rage, he dealt
a blow to the elephant and killed it. Upon seeing that a dead elephant was
blocking the city gate, Nanda, another Sakya youth, dragged the elephant to
the side of the main road. When the prince arrived, he was informed of the
deeds of both Devadatta and Nanda. He judged their deeds and remarked
that the large rotting corpse of the elephant would be a hindrance to the
city-folk. He was able to clear the road by lifting the elephant and tossing it
over the city walls.40
The excavations in the Swāt valley conducted by the Italian Archaeolog-
ical Mission of the Italian Institute for the Middle and Far East (IsMEO,
now IsIAO, Italian Institute for Africa and the East) between 1956–62 in
Butkara I and between 1970–80 in Saidu Sharif I and environs, under the di-
rection of Domenico Faccenna, afford an opportunity to study the artistic
‘language’ of this episode. The following fragments were stratigraphically
dated roughly between the first to the third century CE. The fragment from
the Buddhist sacred area on the hill of Gogdara, near Udegram, Swāt meas-
uring 12.5 × 16.5 cm, shows Devadatta, the male figure on the left wearing
an uttariya and a paridhana (an upper garment covering the shoulder and
a lower garment respectively), with his right hand grabbing the tusk of the
elephant and his left hand raised to attack it (Figure 11.2).41
A fragment of a relief carved in greenschist from Saidu Sharif I consists of
the prince Siddhārtha lifting the elephant, with his right knee bent, bearing
the weight on his right shoulder as he throws the elephant over the city walls
(Figure 11.3). His left hand is placed on his hip as he leans to the right side
to throw.
Another fragment discovered in the excavations in Chatpat, conducted
along the Swāt river by the Department of Archaeology at the University
of Peshawar, demonstrates that the artist was acquainted with depicting
every necessary bodily movement in the illustration of the three figures.42
Devadatta, on the left side of the relief, is shown at ease with his raised hand
stretched out to kill the elephant. Nanda is shown on the right, with his left
leg bent forward, right hand extended to pull the body of the unconscious
Figure 11.2 Relief fragment of Devadatta killing the elephant, Gogdara

Source: © Museo Nazionale d’Arte Orientale ‘G. Tucci’/Museo delle Civiltà Inv. 2487; au-
thor’s drawing.
Figure 11.3 Relief of Siddhārtha lifting the elephant, Saidu Sharif I, first to the third
century CE
thor’s drawing.
elephant by its tail. His neck and left side move leftwards to show the force
of the dragging movement.
The artist defined the scene with specific markers in the appearance of the
figures including body posture, clothing, jewellery, and architecture. The
depiction of the clothing marked the moment in which the events occurred.
The two youths are represented in aristocratic clothing which is different
from the garment worn during archery and wrestling competitions. This
shows that the lifting of the elephant was not part of athletic competitions
during which the participants wore short lower garments and no upper gar-
ment to facilitate ease of movement.
In the Hellenistic repertoire, according to Masséglia, the arms akimbo
posture was accorded to an ‘alpha male body language’.43 This pose was
utilised to secure the long folds of the drapery away from the feet to show
the capacity of the body. It also extended the width of the body to create an
impression of dominant body size.44 Although no direct evidence can link
the motifs, a comparative assessment reveals the dramatic posture of the
male body in the fragment from Andanḍherī (Figure 11.4).45 The arm placed
on his hip enlarges the size of his upper body, to show strength and provide
a clear view of the elaborate drapery folds. His feet are spaced apart and his
left leg is slightly bent at the knee to bear the weight of the elephant. The re-
lief depicting Siddhārtha’s physical strength was standardised in Gandhāra
using accurate bodily movements based on balance and posture.
The same outline for the posture and movement of the body is followed in
the mural from Qizil Cave no. 110. The cave is comprised of a small vestibule
and a rectangular hall with a vaulted ceiling. The painting of the Buddha’s
Figure 11.4 Relief showing Siddhārtha lifting the elephant, Andhanḍherī

Source: Author’s drawing based on PL 20.b Dani 1968–69.
life in sixty episodes can be found in the west, north, and east walls and depict
the scenes from the dream of Queen Māyā till the Mahāparinirvāna.46 Each
episode of the life of the Buddha is depicted within a dark frame decorated
with white rosettes. Some episodes contained partially legible inscriptions.
In the foreground Siddhārtha lifts the elephant and, in the background,
Nanda drags the elephant that lies unconscious on the ground.47 Keeping
in mind that the comparison is between two different mediums of art, on
the one hand, the relationship to the body and the garment, as well as the
positioning of architectural elements in the scene, the scene bears a striking
resemblance to the reliefs from Gandhāra. Here, we can identify the bodily
posture of the prince with his left arm placed on his hip and right hand lift-
ing the elephant with his feet shoulders-width apart to balance the weight.
Further, this posture highlights the drapery folds that cover his leg up to
the knees and which fall elaborately between the two legs as noted in the
reliefs. On the other hand, specific details such as jewellery and clothing are
differently imagined. The city gates and part of the road add to the depth
and distance between figures. In Qizil, the size of the elephant also shrinks
considerably between the dragging and the lifting, emphasizing the strength
and centrality of Siddhārtha in the episode.
Even in the shortest rendition of the episode, the reliefs ranked the strength
of Siddhārtha above the Sakya youths. Continuous narrative fragments of
this episode, where preserved in Gandhāra, depict the superiority of Sid-
dhārtha over the others and never just the throwing of the elephant. This is
also evident in the painting from Cave no. 110 where Nanda is depicted in
the background as a comparison.
The nun Utpalavarṇā in Kuča and Gandhāran art

Within the artistic representations, several reliefs show the nun Utpalavarṇā
welcoming the Buddha as he descends from the Trāyastriṃśa or Thirty-Three
Figure 11.5 Relief of the nun Utpalavarṇā welcoming the Buddha

thor’s drawing.
Gods’ heaven.48 The greenschist relief measuring 36 × 34 × 0.7 cm was found

in Butkara I and was classified under ‘drawing group’ which was the earli-
est relief style in the site dating to the first century CE (Figure 11.5).49 The
descending Buddha is depicted using two footprints on the staircase. Utpa-
lavarṇā is the only nun who can be identified without doubt in Gandhāran
art.50 The iconographic feature setting her apart from the monks is the
sleeved tunic with an uttariya thrown back to cover her shoulder.
The scene elaborates on the event during which the nun, through mirac-
ulous power transformed herself into a cakravartin or Universal Emperor,
to be the first to welcome the descending Buddha. At the arrival of the Bud-
dha, the cakravartin changed back to the nun’s original form.51 According
to Taisho no. 1509, the fifth-century CE translation of the second-century
CE text, Mahāprajñāpāramitāśāstra of Nāgārjuna, the Buddha chastised
the nun for her miraculous transformation.52 Instead, the monk Subhūti
was praised as he contemplated on the Buddha instead of visiting him. The
monk ‘visited’ the Buddha through his eye of wisdom (prajñācakṣu) and was
able to truly see him.53
Two partial mural depictions of this episode have been identified in Qizil
and one in Simsim.54 Although the theme of the episode is common – the
miraculous transformation of a nun – their respective compositions of the
episode are different. The Gandhāran reliefs depict the arrival of Bud-
dha on a long continuous staircase with multiple registers. Each register
is filled with gods and deities and the nun is depicted amongst the human
figures at the bottom of the staircase. The Kuča paintings do not show an
organised multi-register separation of the Thirty-Three Gods’ heaven. The
monumental staircase is discarded for a few steps behind the Buddha’s
legs and the figures are limited to the core components of the scene. This
may have stemmed from the medium and spatial constraints faced by the
painters.
In Qizil Cave no. 184 (Drittletzte Höhle), the nun is depicted wearing a
green garment that covers only one shoulder. This consisted of two central
pillar caves and were built after the types that consisted of only one central
pillar cave.55 Zin suggested that the artist began to depict a monk and later
realised the error. As a solution, lines were added around the sleeve and
chest to denote the undergarment worn by nuns. In the relief from Swāt,
lines are also visible on the tunic of the nun. The lined tunic is not worn
by monks in the reliefs. The upper garment is wrapped around the nun
with one end terminating below the left shoulder. The same arrangement
of the garments is visible in the Loriyan Tangai relief (Indian Museum no.
5105/ A23293). This clarifies that the robe worn by nuns in the region was
identifiable to the viewer and separated them from monks as the other
characteristics were indistinguishable. Another painting is located on a
lunette from Simsim Cave No. 48 and depicts the nun in a dark-coloured
robe covering her upper body. The robe is thrown back on both shoulders
up to the neck.
The episode in Kuča depicts the attitude of the Buddha differently. Both
Gandhāran and Kuča works depict the nun as the first to receive the Bud-
dha. Neither the paintings nor the reliefs depict the monk Subhūti. The
available data from Gandhāra do not depict the Buddha reproaching her
for her excessive zeal. He is portrayed standing in abhayamudrā, the gesture
of fearlessness. The gesture can be found in a myriad of contexts including
preaching, blessing, and accepting followers. This is supported by Fa Xian
who stated that the Buddha himself transformed her into a cakravartin so
she might be the first to greet him.56 Pindola Bharadvaja also described the
transformation of the nun in a positive light in the Aśokāvadāna.57 In the
Qizil painting, the Buddha is shown with his thumb and index finger touch-
ing each other likely suggesting a discourse.58 The location of the painting in
Cave no. 184 clarifies the positive representation of the nun. The artistic pro-
gramme of the cave focussed on eminent monks and followers in Buddhist
history and narratives.59 A miracle-performing nun would have certainly
belonged to this category of prominent renunciates.
The Buddha is commonly flanked by Brahmā and Indra on either side.
Furthermore, the staircase is approached only by the nun in the Gandhāran
episodes. She is depicted closest to the final step while other figures occupy
the place on either side of the steps. In Loriyan Tangai, the nun is seated
in front of the staircase with her back to the viewer.60 In Kuča, two figures
approach the Buddha on either side. To the left of the Buddha is the kneeling
nun and to his right is a kneeling male figure. Zin suggested that he might be
King Prasenjit or Udayana, as he likely holds an image of the Buddha in his
hand. The figure can be identified as King Udayana as he not only presented
the image of the Buddha but also ceremonially welcomed the Buddha after
his assembly with the gods.61
Another difference can be found in comparison to larger reliefs such as
the Zar Dheri arch. In Zar Dheri, the Seven Jewels are located on the left
side, above the cakravartin on the chariot. The Seven Jewels are the Jewel
of Wheel, the Jewel of Gem, Jewel of Elephant, Jewel of Horse, the Jewel
of Wife, the Jewel of Citizen, and the Jewel of General.62 An elaborate re-
lief (IS.11–1947), without provenance in the Victoria & Albert Museum in
London, does not depict the Seven Jewels of the cakravartin. The Buddha
flanked by Brahmā and Indra is approached only by the nun whose outline
survives on the lower filet of the relief. The male figures stand on either side
of the monumental staircase. In the Simsim painting, the Seven Treasures
are located on the right around the kneeling nun. The same arrangement is
followed in Qizil Cave no. 189 (Zweite Höhle von vorn).63 It was originally a
monastic cave but was later modified into a square cave.64 In this fragment,
the figure of the nun has not survived but the Jewel of the Citizen (grihapati-
ratna) can be identified above where the nun would have been depicted.
The differences between the two representations may have occurred dur-
ing the process of transmission. According to Zin, the trajectory of such
changes cannot be understood due to the lack of intermediary figures within
Gandhāra and outside. Due to the geographic distance between the two
sites, several intermediary examples likely existed but were not preserved in
the archaeological record.65 Such differences, I believe, point likely to the
originality and independence of the painters in the region in transforming
the motifs.
Conclusions
The representation of the life of the Buddha not only provides us with the
aesthetic nature of art during the first centuries CE in Gandhāra and nearby
regions, but also allows us an insight into the social and cultural ideals held
by followers of the religion, particularly where multi-cultural symbols were
exchanged and adapted. The impact of globalization should be understood
as diverse, experienced, and enacted differently in different contexts. Rather
than the influence of Gandhāran art over Kuča Buddhist paintings, the re-
sulting similarities and differences can be understood as a local choice. The
motifs were likely selected from a repertoire found in the famous Buddhist
sites of Gandhāra and were locally transformed and appropriated.
The two examples discussed in this chapter show two ways in which the
iconography was transformed and remade in Kuča. In the study of the con-
currence of motifs between Gandhāra and Qizil, the depiction of the ideal
male body demonstrating a physical feat that was incomparable is another
example. The form of the male body, as Siddhārtha lifts the heavy elephant,
is reproduced similarly in the two works. The bodily posture and drapery
are treated similarly indicating a direct connection to the Qizil Cave no.
110 episode with Swāt reliefs. The ‘prototypes’ are not faithfully copied and
reproduced in this cave for this episode. The iconographic similarities in the
two depictions can be attributed to the popularity of Gandhāran sanctuar-
ies along the trading routes.
In the case of the nun, a direct connection between the Gandhāra and
Kuča representation cannot be established. Both depictions suggest a pos-
itive attitude of the Buddha towards the miracle-performing nun although
some literary sources reveal that he chastised her. This can be identified as
an example of local independence and choice in depicting the episode. The
two examples show that the iconography from Gandhāra was not always
faithfully copied and reused in the eastern Buddhist centres. The motifs un-
derwent changes based on choice and spatial constraints.
Acknowledgements
This chapter is based on my current doctoral project, supervised by Prof.
Dr. Marco Galli, on gender interactions in Gandhāran art at the University
of Rome ‘La Sapienza’. I am extremely grateful to Dr. Prof. Marco Galli,
Dr. Laura Giuliano and Dr. Serena Autiero for their comments on this
topic. I would also like to thank Dr. Prof. Osmund Bopearachchi for his
valuable feedback. I thank Ms. Sophia Elzie for copy-editing my work. All
mistakes are my own.
Notes
1 Gandhāran art as a model for the paintings in Qizil Cave no. 110, the so-called
Treppenhöhle (Stepped Cave), has already been proposed by Santoro (2003). Fil-
igenzi suggests that artists at Miran, in the same region may have been directly
influenced by particular reliefs from Saidu Sharif I rather than generic examples
(2006): 78. References to connection between Kuča paintings and neighbouring
cultures including Sassanian art can be found in Härtel (1982): 47, Cat. No. 107,
108; Bussagli (1979): 20, 71. The iconological relationship between the two re-
gions was also suggested by Li Chongfeng based on the Mahaparinirvāṇa or the
final nirvāṇa of the Buddha in Kuča (2014): i. 254–312.
2 According to Appadurai (1990): 307, ‘globalisation of culture is not the same as
its homogenization, but globalization involves the use of a variety of instruments
of homogenization (armaments, advertising techniques, language hegemonies,
clothing styles and the like), which are absorbed into local political and cultural
economies, only to be repatriated as heterogeneous dialogues of national sover-
eignty, free enterprise, fundamentalism, etc. in which the state plays an increas-
ingly delicate role’. Hannerz also noted that ‘global culture’ is not homogeneous
as different cultural factors and transmitted, renegotiated and reconstructed to
various degrees through different kinds of ‘network links’ (2002): 49.
3 On the use of appropriation to understand the local contexts as active in the
process and local changes has been studied by Hahn (2008): 197–199. Also see
glocalization, the process in which a local culture uses elements of a global cul-
ture, modifying both in the process and leading to the interconnectedness of the
global and the local – Robertson (2012): 35–53.
4 Neelis (2010): 7–12.
5 According to Hannerz (2002): 50, ‘The tracing of cultural currents from centre
to periphery, however, hardly gives us the complete view of the place of centres
in the contemporary global ecumene’.
6 This is supported by the study of Howard and Vignato who concluded that Kuča
artists ‘remade the Gandhāran model and developed aspects which Gandhāra
had ignored’ (2014): 168.
7 Klimburg-Salter (1995): 120–121; Salomon (1999): 3; Behrendt, (2004): 3.
8 Filigenzi (2019): 53.
9 Winters (1988): 12.
10 Pichard and Lagirarde (2003): 14.
11 Ghokale (1982).
12 Thapar (1987): 21–22.
13 Mark Allon identified that in Fragment A of the Gandhārī manuscript of the
Pratyutpannabuddhasammukhavasthitasamādhi Sūtra, Grema Kataphsa or
Katapha of the ledger as Vima Kadphises (2019): 2. He dated the manuscript
between 104/5 CE and 127 CE as it corresponds to the reign of the king.
14 As the name suggests much of the area was uninhabited due to the dry condi-
tions. The northern and southern edges were occupied due to the availability of
meltwater from the mountains. Kingdoms in the regions were centered around
these oases such as Kashgar, Khotan, Turfan, Korla and Kuča.
15 Yaldiz (2010): 1029.
16 Thapar (1987): 30.
17 Morita (2015).
18 Grünwedel (1912); Le Coq and Waldschmidt (1924); Le Coq (1933).
19 Department of Archaeology, Peking University and Institute for Cultural
Management in Qizil Caves (1997).
20 Grünwedel (1912): 5–6.
21 Le Coq and Waldschmidt (1922–33): vol. 7, 29. This classification has been
challenged due to Carbon-14 dating. Su Bai of the Beijing University classified
the caves into three period based on absolute chronology (1989): 10–23. A sum-
mary of his analysis can be found in Howard (1991): 69–72.
22 A complete analysis of the chronology of Qizil caves has been documented by
Howard (1986): 68–69.
23 Bussagli (1979): 71. According to him ‘it is generally considered that painting
at Kuča began in the fourth century AD and continued, somewhat attenuated,
throughout the eighth century, and even beyond. The first, of Indo-Iranian type,
flourished around 500 A.D. while the second, more strongly Iranian reached its
peak about 600–650’. He added that ‘the paintings of the first phase do, how-
ever show signs of a general Indian tendency, in their evident concern with relief
and chiaroscuro, in the draftsmanship and figures embodying minor Sassanian
features’.
24 Vignato (2006): 368–369. A comprehensive list of monasteries with its caves
arranged according to type can be found in Howard and Vignato (2014): 39.
25 Howard and Vignato (2014): 5.
26 Howard and Vignato (2014): 5.
27 Howard and Vignato (2014): 107. For a summary of how Buddhism came to
China through the Silk Road and Sichuan, see Zufferey (2008): 22, fn. 32.
28 Ray (1994) detailed the way in which trade networks were a catalyst of social change
and spread Buddhism in South East Asia. Holcombe (1999): 28, highlighted that
religious practice demanded commodities that had to be obtained in India such as
icons and incense. A study of the various routes in South Asia including the routes
between Central India and China was conducted by Neelis (2010): 183–228.
29 Chongfeng (2014): ii. 721. The exact geographical identification of Jibin is not
settled. Enomoto Fumio 1994): 365, distinguished how the word was used
and identified. He showed that in some texts it only referred to Kāśmīra and
in others, it included both Gandhāra and adjoining areas. Chongfeng (2014):
ii. 657–706, also lists the various ways in which the word was used in Chinese
literature. Based on the itinerary of travellers such as Fa Xian, Dharmavikrama,
Zhi-meng, and Hui-lan from China to visit the bowl of the Buddha, Kuwayama
(1987) concluded that Jibin is Gandhāra in the fourth and fifth century CE in
Buddhist sources.
30 Hitch (1988): 170–192. Brough (1965), suggested that the Kuṣāṇas also dom-
inated the Tarim basin but sufficient archaeological evidence does not exist.
Hitch (1998): 191, used the 78 CE date for Kaniṣka and formulated the Kuṣāṇa
Tarim domination around c. 90–125 CE Xinru Liu (1998a): 6–8; (1998b): 25–35,
concluded that Kuṣāṇas controlled major urban centres in Begram, Peshawar,
Mathura, Saketa, Kausambi, Pataliputra in Central Asia, Gāndhārī and Central
India which were located on the trade routes.
31 Jettmar (1985) catalogued the various rock carvings identified along the route
around the mountainous region in Northern Pakistan where the Hindu Kush,
western Himalayas and the Karakorum range converge together. The finds
cover a wide range starting from the Neolithic period to the fourteenth century
CE. Many of the engravings reveal the Buddhist faith of the travellers. The first
results of a selected carving from the second century BCE till the first century
CE and its relation to Gandhāra art has been presented by Marike van Aerde
(2019).
32 Neelis (2010): 1. Neelis classified the pattern of transmission based on names.
The names of foreign translators of Buddhist texts in China between the second
and fifth century reflect the pattern of long-distance transmission of Buddhism
from the subcontinent to China, see Neelis (2010): 306. According to Whitefield,
Buddhist monks travelled with merchants, diplomats, and military across the
Pamirs under Kuṣāṇa protection (2018): 259.
33 Wong (2018): 23–56: outlined the various images and memories of architectural
elements Xuanzang brought back from his journey to Gandhāra and Central
Indian Buddhist sites.
34 Zürcher (1990): 182; (2012): 5. He labelled the gradual diffusion of Buddhism
near agricultural and commercial sites from a core such as Central India and
Gandhāra as ‘contact expansion’ (Zürcher 2012): 4.
35 Zürcher (1990): 181.
36 Howard and Vignato (2014): 163. According to Filigenzi (2009): 85, ‘the analogy
in visual forms and their ideological substratum from Afghanistan to Pakistan
to Far East Asia to Himalayan countries confirms the existence of an osmotic
flow, certainly supported by a complex road network but, what is more, nurtured
by common denominators, first of all points of cultural convergence provided by
the spread of Buddhism’ in discussing the seventh and eighth century imagery of
Buddhahood and kingship.
37 Howard and Vignato (2014): 169. Not to mention the relationship between
Gāndhārī Buddhist texts and early Chinese translations see Deeg (2008): fn. 16;
Deeg (2010): 94–97.
38 Santoro (2003): 118, ‘the derivation from Gandhāra is quite clear and indisput-
able if one passes from the single pictures to consider the way in which they
are combined to narrate Siddhārtha’s biography. The subject of the Life of the
Buddha has been constructed by a succession – reading from left to right – of the
various events arranged in chronological order, according to a linear conception
of time that is wholly different from the Indian one, but in every way similar to
the Gandhāran’.
39 Giuliano (2002); Christopoulos (2013).
40 Senart (1882–1897): ii. 74–75; Lefmann (1902): 144–145; Beal (1875): 91–92.
41 A detailed biography of the character of Devadatta including this scene can be
found in Li (2019).
42 Dani (1968–69): 65–102.
43 Masséglia (2015): 35.
44 Masséglia (2015): 38.
45 Dani (1968–69): 33–64.
46 Pinault (2000): 159–161; Vignato (2006): 393. Santoro (2003): fn. 3, noted that
the documentation confirms that there were fifty-seven paintings and not sixty.
Santoro identified a publication by Ding Mingyi which this author could not
consult. This cave belonged to the first type of Vignato’s classification and under
Style A of Howard and Vignato.
47 The image can be found in Karetzky (2000): 212; Santoro (2003).
48 Faccenna (1962): 62, PL CCXXXIII b, Inv No. 2524; Bopearachchi (2011): 353–
368, Bopearachchi (2020): Cat. No. 142 depicts the nun touching the feet of the
Buddha.
49 Zin (2018): 104, cautiously suggested that the style may be an influence of Central
Indian art in Swāt rather than an indication of the age.
50 A fragment of a standing statue from Shahr-i-Napursan (near Rajar) shows a
pedestal with four figures venerating the Buddha (Lahore Museum no. 1194).
Vogel suggested that two of the figures could be nuns. A close examination of the
clothing shows that the pedestal depicts four monks based on their clothing. The
inscription on the pedestal does not state that the dedication was made by nuns,
see Vogel, (1900).
51 There are only two examples in Gandhāra art where a female figure performs
a miraculous act: Māyādevī, the mother of Siddhārtha during the birth of the
prince, and this nun.
52 Lamotte (1949): 634.
53 Strong (2007): 140–141.
54 The three paintings of this episode have been identified by Zin with excellent
images (Zin 2013a: 7).
55 Howard and Vignato (2014): 35. This cave belonged to the second type of Vigna-
to’s classification and Style B of Howard and Vignato.
56 Beal (1884): xl.
57 Strong (1989): 262.
58 Zin (2013a): 6.
59 Morita (2015): fn 38. Zin noted that the paintings brought from Cave no. 184 are
lost (Zin 2013a): fn. 17.
60 Bopearachchi (2011): fig 5.
61 Lamotte (1949): 634.
62 Zin (2012): 149–166.
63 According to Vignato, this cave also belonged to the first category.
64 Both Cave no. 135 and 189 were transformed into a square cave in a second pe-
riod. Vignato (2006): 369.
65 Zin (2013b): 35–50 and Zin (2016): 291, proposed a Gandhāra school of painting
that may have provided a prototype. Howard (2015), suggested that the words
‘somewhat similar’ may be used instead of prototypes.
Bibliography
Allon, Mark. 2019: ‘A unique Gāndhārī monastic ledger recording gifts by Vima
Kadphises’, Journal of the International Association of Buddhist Studies 42: 1–46.
Appadurai, Arjun. 1990: ‘Disjuncture and difference in the global cultural econ-
omy’, Theory, Culture and Society 7(2/3): 295–310.
Beal, Samuel. 1875: The Romantic Legend of Sakya Buddha: A Translation of the
Chinese Version of the Abhiniskramanasutra. Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass.
Beal, Samuel. 1884: Si-yu-ki: Buddhist Records of the Western World. London: Trüb-
ner & Co.
Behrendt, Kurt. 2004: The Buddhist Architecture of Gandhāra. Leiden: Brill.
Bopearachchi, Osmund. 2011: ‘In Search of Utpalavarṇā in Gandhāran Buddhist
Art’, in Carlo Lippolis and Stefano De (eds.), Un impaziente desiderio di scorrere
il mondo: Studi in onore di Antonio Invernizzi per il suo settantesimo compleanno,
353–368. Florence: Le Lettere.
Bopearachchi, Osmund. 2020: When West Met East: Gandhāran Art Revisited.
2 vols. New Delhi: Manohar.
Brough, J. 1965: ‘Comments on third-century Shan-shan and the history of Bud-
dhism’, Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies, University of London
28(3): 582–612.
Bussagli, Mario. 1979: Central Asian Paintings [Translated from Italian by Lothian
Small]. Geneva: Skira.
Christopoulos, Lucas. 2013: ‘Greek combat sports and their transmission to Central
and East Asia’, Classical World 106(3): 431–459.
Dani, Hassan A. 1968–69: ‘Excavation at Andanḍherī’, ‘Excavation at Chatpat’, An-
cient Pakistan 4: 33–64; 65–102.
Deeg, Max. 2008: ‘Creating religious terminology – A comparative approach to
early Chinese Buddhist translations’, Journal of the International Association of
Buddhist Studies 31 (1–2): 83–119.
Deeg, Max. 2010: ‘Why is the Buddha riding on an elephant? The Bodhisattva’s con-
ception and the change of motive’, in Max Deeg, Christoph Cüppers, Christoph
and Hubert Durt (eds.), The Birth of the Buddha: Proceedings of the Seminar Held
in Lumbini, Nepal, October 2004. LIRI Seminar Proceedings Series vol. 3, 93–127.
Lumbini: Lumbini International Research Institute.
Department of Archaeology, Peking University and Institute for Cultural Manage-
ment in Kizil Caves 1997: (eds.), Xinjiang Kezier shiku kaogu baogao [The archae-
ological report of the Kizil grottoes in Xinjiang]. Beijing: Wenwu chubanshe.
Enomoto, Fumio. 1994: ‘A Note on Kashmir as Referred to in Chinese Literature:
Ji-bin’, in Ikari Yasuke (ed.), A Study of the Nīlamata: Aspects of Hinduism in
Ancient Kashmir, 357–365. Kyoto: Institute for Research in Humanities, Kyoto
University.
Faccenna, Domenico. 1962: Sculptures from the Sacred Area of Butkara I (PL
I-CCCXXV). Rome: IsMEO.
Filigenzi, Anna. 2006: ‘From Saidu Sharif to Miran’, Indologia Taurinensia 32:
67–89.
Filigenzi, Anna. 2009: ‘Migration, Diffusion, Localisation: The Common Roots of
Late Buddhist Art in Afghanistan, Pakistan and Early Buddhist Art in Himala-
yan Countries’, in Tibetan Arts in Transition: A Journey through Theatre, Cinema
and Painting, 79–87. Rome: Asia Onlus.
Filigenzi, Anna. 2019: ‘Non-Buddhist Customs of Buddhist People: Visual and
Archaeological Evidence from North-West Pakistan’, in Birgit Kellner (ed.),
Buddhism and the Dynamics of Transculturality: New Approaches, 53–84. Berlin:
Walter de Gruyter.
Ghokale, Govind Krishna. 1982: ‘Early Buddhism and the urban revolution’, The
Journal of International Association of Buddhist Studies 5(2): 7–22.
Giuliano, Laura. 2002: ‘Gare atletiche nell’India antica: il ciclo delle competizioni
di Siddhārtha nell’arte del Gandhāra’, in Paola Torre (ed.), Lo Sport e l’Oriente,
81–90. Roma: Ministero per i Beni Culturali Museo Nazionale d’arte Orientale.
Grünwedel, Albert. 1912: Altbuddhistische Kultstätten in Chinesisch-Turkistan: Beri-
cht über archäologische Arbeiten von 1906 bis 1907 bei Kuca, Qarasahr u und in der
Oase Turfan. Berlin: Reimer.
Hahn, Hans Peter. 2008: ‘Diffusion, appropriation and globalization. Some re-
marks on current debates in anthropology’, Anthropos 103(1): 191–202.
Hannerz, Ulf. 2002: ‘The Global Ecumene as a Network of Networks’, in Adam
Kuper (ed.), Conceptualizing Society, 34–56. London: Routledge.
Härtel, Herbert. 1982: Along the Ancient Silk Routes: Central Asian Art from the
West Berlin State Museums. New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art.
Hitch, Douglas. 1988: ‘Kushan Tarim domination’, Central Asiatic Journal 32(3):
170–192.
Holcombe, Charles. 1999: ‘Trade–Buddhism: Maritime trade, immigration, and the
Buddhist landfall in Early Japan’, Journal of the American Oriental Society 119(2):
280–292.
Howard, Angela Falco. 1986: The Imagery of the Cosmological Buddha. Leiden:
Brill.
Howard, Angela Falco. 1991: ‘In support of a new chronology for the Kizil mural
paintings’, Archives of Asian Art 44: 68–83.
Howard, Angela Falco. 2015: ‘On “Art in the Dark” and meditation in Central
Asian Buddhist caves’, The Eastern Buddhist 46(2): 19–40.
Howard, Angela Falco and Giuseppe Vignato. 2014: Archaeological and Visual
Sources of Meditation in the Ancient Monasteries of Kuča. Leiden: Brill.
Jettmar, Karl. 1985: Zwischen Gandhara und den Seidenstrassen, Felsbilder am Kar-
akorum Highway: Entdeckungen Deutsch-Pakistanischer Expeditionen 1979–1984.
Mainz: Verlag Philip von Zabern.
Karetzky, Patricia Eichenbaum. 2000: Early Buddhist Narrative Art: Illustrations
of the life of the Buddha from Central Asia to China, Korea, and Japan. Lanham,
MD: University Press of America.
Klimburg-Salter, Deborah (ed.), 1995: Buddha in Indien die frühindische Skulptur
von König Aśoka bis zur Guptazeit. Milan: Skira.
Kuwayama, Shoshin. 1987: ‘Literary Evidence for Dating the Colossi in Bāmiyān’,
in G. Gnoli and L. Lanciotti (eds.), Orientalia Iosephi Tucci Memoriae Dicata,
703–729. Rome: Instituto Italiano Per il Medio Ed Estremo Oriente.
Lamotte, Étienne. 1949: Le Traité De La Grande Vertu De Sagesse De Nagarjuna
Mahaprajnaparamitasastra chapitres XVI–XXX. Leuven: Institut Orientaliste.
Le Coq, Albert von. 1933: Die buddhistische Spätantike in Mittelasien, vol 7: Neue
Bidwerke III. Berlin: Reimer.
Le Coq, Albert von. and Ernst Waldschmidt. 1924: Die buddhistische Spätantike in
Mittelasien, vol 3: Die Wandmalereien. Berlin: Reimer.
Lefmann, Salomon. 1902: Lalita Vistara: Leben und Lehre des Çâkya-Buddha, vol.
I. Halle: Verlag der Buchhandlungdes Waisenhauses.
Li, Channa. 2019: ‘Devadatta’, in Jonathan A. Silk (ed.), Brills Encyclopaedia of
Buddhism II: Lives, 141–155. Leiden/Boston: Brill.
Li, Chongfeng. 2014: Fo jiao kao gu, vol 2. Shanghai: Shanghai gu ji chu ban she.
Liu, Xinru. 1998a: The Silk Road: Overland Trade and Cultural Interactions in Eur-
asia. Washington, DC: American Historical Association.
Liu, Xinru. 1998b: Ancient India and Ancient China: Trade and Religious Exchanges
AD 1– 600. Delhi: Oxford University Press.
Masséglia, Jane. 2015: Body Language in Hellenistic Art and Society. New York:
Oxford University Press.
Morita, Miki. 2015: ‘The Kizil paintings in the Metropolitan Museum’, Metropoli-
tan Museum Journal 5: 116–135.
Neelis, Jason. 2010: Early Buddhist Transmission and Trade Networks: Mobility and
Exchange within and beyond the Northwestern Borderlands of South Asia. Leiden:
Brill.
Pichard, Pierre and Francis Lagirarde (eds.), 2003: The Buddhist Monastery. A
Cross-Cultural Survey. Paris: École Française de l’Extrême-Orient.
Pinault, Georges-Jean. 2000: ‘Narration dramatisée et narration en peinture dans
la région de Kuča’, in Jean-Pierre Drège (ed.), La Sérinde, Terre d’échanges Art,
religion, commerce du Ier au Xe siècle: Actes du colloque international Galeries na-
tionales du Grand Palais 13–14–15 février 1996, 149–168. Paris: La Documentation
Française.
Ray, Himanshu Prabha. 1994: The Winds of Change: Buddhism and the Maritime
Links of Early South Asia. Delhi: Oxford University Press.
Heterogeneity’, in Mike Featherstone, Scott Lash and Robertson Roland (eds.),
Global Modernities, 22–44. E-Book: SAGE.
Salomon, Richard. 1996: ‘An inscribed silver Buddhist reliquary of the time of King
Kharaosta and Prince Indravarman’, Journal of American Oriental Society 116(3):
418–452.
Salomon, Richard. 1999: Ancient Buddhist Scrolls from Gandhāra. The British Li-
brary Kharosthi Fragments. Seattle: University of Washington Press.
Santoro, Arcangela. 2003: ‘Gandhāra and Kizil: The Buddha’s life in the Stairs
cave’, Rivista degli studi orientali 77 (1/4): 115–133.
Schopen, Gregory. 1992: ‘On avoiding ghosts and social censure: monastic funerals
in the Mulasarvastivada-Vinaya’, Journal of Indian Philosophy 20(1): 1–39.
Schopen, Gregory. 2002: ‘Counting the Buddha and the Local Spirits In: A Monas-
tic Ritual of Inclusion for the Rain Retreat’, Journal of Indian Philosophy 30(4):
359–88.
Senart, Emile. 1882–1897: Le Mahâvastu. Texte sanscrit publié pour la première
fois et accompagné d’introductions etd’un commentaire, 3 vols. Paris: Imprimerie
nationale.
Strong, John. 1989: The Legend of King Aśoka: A Study and Translation of the
Aśokāvadāna. Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass.
Strong, John. 2007: The Relics of the Buddha. Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass Publishers.
Su Bai. 1989: ‘Kezier bufen dongku jieduan de huafen yu niandai deng wenti de
chubu tansuo’ [Preliminary investigation concerning the periodization and chro-
nology of part of the caves in Kizil], in Zhongguo shiku-Kezier shiku I [Chinese
caves. The caves of Kizil] vol 1, 10–23. Peking: Wenwu Publishing House.
Thapar, Romila. 1987: ‘Cultural transaction and Early India: tradition and patron-
age’, Social Scientist 15(2): 3–31.
Van Aerde, Marike. 2019: ‘Routes Beyond Gandhara: Buddhist Rock Carvings in
the Context of the Early Silk Roads’, in Liang Emlyn Yang, Hans-Rudolf Bork,
Xiuqi Fang, Steffen Mischke (eds.), Socio-Environmental Dynamics along the His-
torical Silk Road, 455–480. E-Book: SpringerLink.
Vignato, Giuseppe. 2006: ‘Archaeological survey of Kizil: Its groups of caves, dis-
tricts, chronology and Buddhist schools’, East and West 56(4): 359–416.
Vogel, J. Ph., 1900: ‘Inscribed Gandhāra Sculptures’, in Archaeological Survey of
India Annual Report 1903– 03, 244–260. Delhi: Swati Publications.
Whitfield, Susan. 2018: Silk, Slaves and Stupas: Material Culture of the Silk Road.
Oakland: University of California Press.
Winters, Dennis A. 1988: ‘The first Buddhist monasteries’, The Tibet Journal 13(2):
12–22.
Wong, Dorothy. 2018: Buddhist Pilgrim-Monks as Agents of Cultural and Artistic
Transmission: The International Buddhist Art Style in East Asia, ca. 645–770. Sin-
gapore: NUS Press.
Yaldiz, Marianne. 1987: Archäologie Und Kunstgeschiste chinesisch-Zentralasiens
(Xinjiang). Leiden: Brill.
Yaldiz, Marianne. 2010: ‘Evaluation of the Chronology of the Murals in Kizil, Ku-
cha Oasis’, in Eli Franco and Monika Zin (eds.), From Turfan to Ajanta Festschrift
for Dieter Schlingloff on the Occasion of his Eightieth Birthday, vol 2, 1029–1043.
Nepal: Lumbini International Research Institute.
Zin, Monika. 2012: ‘Māndhātar, the Universal Monarch, and the Meaning of Rep-
resentations of the Cakravartin in the Amaravati School, and of the Kings on
the Kanaganahalli Stüpa’, in Peter Skilling and Justin McDaniel (eds.), Buddhist
Narrative in Asia and Beyond in Honour of HRH Princess Maha Chakri Sirindhorn
on Her Fifty-Fifth Birth Anniversary, vol 1, 149–166. Bangkok: Institute of Thai
Studies Chulalongkorn University.
Zin, Monika. 2013a: ‘The identification of Kizil Paintings VI’, Indo-Asiatische
Zeitschrift Mitteilungen der Gesellschaft für indo-asiatische Kunst 17: 5–15.
Zin, Monika. 2013b: ‘Buddhist Narrative Depictions in Andhra, Gandhāra and Ku-
cha : Similarities and Differences that Favour a Theory about a “Lost Gandhāran
School of Paintings”’, in Akira Miyaji (ed.), Buddhism and Art in Gandhāra and
Kucha Buddhist Culture along the Silk Road: Gandhāra, Kucha, and Turfan, 35–71.
Kyoto: Ryukoku Daigaku.
Zin, Monika. 2018: ‘Buddhist Art’s Late Bloomer: The Genius and Influence of
Gandhāra’, in Wannaporn Rienjang and Peter Stewart (eds.), Problems of Chro-
nology in Gandhāran Art, Workshop of the Gandhāra Connections Project, Univer-
sity of Oxford, 23rd – 24th March 2017, 103–122. Oxford: Archaeopress.
Zin, Monika. 2019: ‘Sanskrit Literature and the Indian Pictorial Tradition in the
Paintings of Kucha’, in Shashibala (ed.), Sanskrit on the Silk Route, 99–111. New
Delhi: Bharatiya Vidya Bhavan.
Zufferey, Nicolas. 2008: ‘Traces of the Silk Road in Han-Dynasty Iconography:
Questions and Hypothesis’, in Philippe Forêt and Andreas Kaplony (eds.), The
Journey of Maps and Images on the Silk Road, 7–28. Leiden: Brill.
Zürcher, Erik. 1990: ‘Han Buddhism and the Western Region’, in Wilt Idema and
Erik Zürcher (eds.), Thought and Law in Qin and Han China Studies dedicated to
Anthony Hulsewé on the occasion of his Eightieth Birthday, 158–182. Leiden: Brill.
Zürcher, Erik. 2012: ‘Buddhism Across Boundaries: The Foreign Input’, Buddhism
Across Boundaries: The Interplay of Indian, Chinese and Central Asian Source Ma-
terials, Sino-Platonic Papers 222: 1–25.
12 Glocalization as a key to
understanding cultural change
in São Paulo’s colonial
ceramics
Marcelo Rolim Manfrini
Introduction
Several researchers advocate that globalization is a process that can be
traced back several millennia into human existence, being, as such, a pro-
cess with no clear beginning or end.1 Globalization has occurred in an un-
even and asymmetrical pace that varies through space, time, and intensity,
as Jennings argues in ‘Distinguishing Past Globalizations’.2 In this chapter,
the author shows that globalization starts to get more intense and expands
rapidly during the period of the Great Navigations, and the trend persists
until current times. However, even though this process is relevant to the
understanding of connectivity, social change, consumerism, inequalities,
and several other aspects of humanity,3 it has been rarely used in a way to
interpret materiality. In Brazil, where the impacts of European contact had
a profound effect in societal change, this discussion should be used more
often when looking at materiality. Within works in the realm of archae-
ology, we were only able to track down one paper in Brazil that took on
globalization as a concept that could be used to interpret what was seen
in the archaeological record. The work of Souza,4 addresses the material
culture identified in communities in the hinterlands of Northeast Brazil of
the twentieth century, and how globalization can be used to understand lo-
cal narratives, practices of consumption, and the dualities between local
and global interactions. Globalization is a process that takes place within
nations, but also transcends them, affecting local and regional interactions
as well as identities,5 therefore it is a concept that can be used to understand
contexts in a smaller scale. On a more theorical level, we were able to locate
a work by Sallum,6 that used the concept of globalization in order to apply it
to the historical process of Brazilian colonization and the European contact
with indigenous peoples.
However, globalization is not a term that is often used in Brazilian ar-
chaeology, and other terms associated with this process are also just as rare,
such as glocalization and grobalization. In this chapter we seek to incorpo-
rate these terms (especially glocalization) into an archaeological framework,
and use them in order to understand change, resistance and persistence in
DOI: 10.4324/9781003096269-17
246 Marcelo Rolim Manfrini
the pottery of three archaeological sites located in São Paulo, Brazil, that
date between the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.
We believe that terms associated with globalization can be used in the
context found in São Paulo, since we can identify most of the eight trends
associated with globalizing processes:7 time-space compression, deterrito-
rialization, standardization, unevenness, homogenization, cultural hetero-
geneity, re-embedding of local culture, and vulnerability. These trends are
well defined in the aforementioned work, so we will not be addressing them
individually. However, when dealing with ceramic sherds in colonial São
Paulo, it is possible to see trends of standardization, unevenness, cultural
heterogeneity, and re-embedding of local culture, as reactions to colonizers
attempts at homogenization.
The materials that will be shown throughout this chapter are from ce-
ramic sherds excavated at three archaeological sites: Pinheiros 2, Casa do
Bandeirante, and Casa Bandeirista do Itaim Bibi. In order to deepen our
debate, we will engage with the discussion around culture contact and cul-
tural persistence so that it becomes possible to assess how globalizing pro-
cesses can be understood in colonial contexts, especially when it is possible
to perceive these processes as two-way – or more – exchanges of cultural
influences,8 strengthening the agency of native production and undermining
the long-lasting view that colonization was a process that only ‘westernized’
indigenous peoples.9 Therefore, we believe that glocalization is a concept
that can be applied in this context, since pottery production in São Paulo
was a direct result of the contact between global and local cultures that
managed to generate something new, showing that these cultures managed
to adapt and contextualize new and unfamiliar ways of life, and thus, were
able to influence their colonizers despite the oppressive and uneven way that
Europeans colonized the Americas.
Understanding glocalization
Glocalization, as defined by Ritzer,10 is ‘the interpenetration of the global
and the local resulting in unique outcomes in different geographic areas’.
Therefore, this concept emphasizes the local responses to global engage-
ment, focusing on how foreign practices, goods and traditions were adapted,
negotiated and modified in order to be integrated in indigenous societies.11
Glocalization theorists argue that full-scale globalization is never entirely
successful in overwhelming local customs and traditions, since native com-
munities are creative agents capable of shaping their own lives, identities
and histories.12 Glocalization acts as a response to another concept linked
to globalization: grobalization. This concept rests at the heart of capitalism,
seeking homogeneity through hierarchy and colonial rule. However, while
colonists attempt to impose their world views, practices, and traditions, this
process is never really completed,13 as local traditions merge with foreign
practices, originating a new fused product, revealing a novel wholeness.14
Cultural change in São Paulo’s colonial ceramics 247
Cultural change is never one-sided, nor solely governed by European in-
tentions and strategies,15 it is a dynamic process, in which indigenous peo-
ples are active agents involved in a Eurocentric, colonialist and capitalist
system, yet creating complex and multidimensional bonds.16 Therefore,
native peoples always tended to negotiate and readjust foreign practices in
order to deal with the consequences of contact, as Europeans likewise at-
tempted to reorganize their views and attitudes to carry forward their own
goals.17 Therefore, it is in the relationship between natives and colonizers
where we encounter a great variability of responses, since each form of con-
tact between cultures is conducted on its own terms, relying on individual
responses that vary from person to person.18 Even though colonization and
cultural change are worldwide phenomena, they cannot be told in a single
story, as that would erase individual histories and responses to European
contact.19 Cultural structures are never static or timeless entities, they are
transformed as they are reproduced through ongoing historical processes,
and colonialism is one of them.20
Brief notes on colonial São Paulo in the 17th and 18th centuries
São Paulo was founded in 1554 CE by the Portuguese in Southeast Bra-
zil, and was considered for decades, by the historiography, to have been a
very isolated part of the colony.21 However, studies conducted mainly in the
last thirty years have shown that São Paulo had long-distance commerce to
other parts of the colony, as well as trade with merchants from other coun-
tries, not only from Portugal.22
Before the Portuguese arrived in the region in the sixteenth century, sev-
eral indigenous communities inhabited the area. Most of them were from
the Tupi linguistic root, more specifically the Tupiniquim group.23 However,
throughout the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, the Portuguese started
going inland, seeking to enslave more natives for the workforce in São
Paulo and other regions. These campaigns were called Bandeiras, and they
reached their peak in the early-mid seventeenth century, reaching as far as
the current regions of Paraná, Santa Catarina, Mato Grosso, Mato Grosso
do Sul, Minas Gerais, Goiás, and sometimes even further (Figure 12.1).24
That being said, the indigenous peoples found in São Paulo were not always
from the surrounding regions, sometimes they were brought from 100s of
miles away, having different languages, traditions and customs.
After the Bandeiras had devastated most of the indigenous communities
within a radius of hundreds of miles from São Paulo, the workforce began
to get scarce. The discovery of gold in Minas Gerais created an even greater
demand for enslaved workers. It was at that moment, from the end of the
seventeenth century and beginning of the eighteenth century that the indig-
enous workforce in the region began to be replaced by slaves brought from
the African continent. By the end of the eighteenth century, most of the
workforce would be composed of enslaved Africans.25 Therefore, during the
seventeenth and eighteenth centuries in São Paulo, the workforce was quite
mixed, with indigenous and African or Afro-descendent workers.
Even though São Paulo was not at the centre of the main commercial
routes, European products were frequently found in the city. During the
seventeenth century, salt, fabrics, paper, medicines, objects in iron and steel,
frequently arrived from Portugal. Wool and clothing also appeared in São
Paulo, being brought from Buenos Aires.26 Faience from Portugal can also
be seen in several archaeological sites in São Paulo, and there are even re-
cords of patterns associated with wares produced in the sixteenth century.27
During the seventeenth century, São Paulo began to be known for live-
stock breeding,28 especially cattle, although there are records of sheep- and
chicken-rearing in the city.29 Farmers were also known for the production
of vegetables such as manioc, beans, corn and wheat.30 From the eighteenth
century, a few changes occurred in the region. With the discovery of gold
mines in Minas Gerais, São Paulo started to become a commercial out-
post, providing brandy, slaves and cattle to the mines. This also caused an
increase on the amount of people transiting through the region, creating
an excessive demand for wheat, corn and beans, which in turn brought on
Figure 12.1 Maps showing the Bandeiras campaigns (A), the municipality of São
Paulo (B), and site locations (C)
Source: http://www.geocities.ws/bandeiras99/preacao.htm)
a crisis in supply and price inflation.31 São Paulo also had an inner market
of artisans, workers and cooks, with records showing dozens of masons,
bakers, woodworkers, newsboys and potters.32 In this chapter we will focus
on pottery production and how the impacts of globalization can be seen in
material culture.
Pottery in Pinheiros 2, Casa do Bandeirante and Casa

Bandeirista do Itaim Bibi
Several characteristics can be seen when addressing the materials observed
at these three sites. From production techniques that ranged from cording,
to mixed forms of production, with potters applying more than one tech-
nique when assembling the pots; to great variability in the decorations, with
several combinations of motifs that allowed us to reflect on shared practices
between Europeans, Africans, and indigenous peoples.
The manufacturing technique of the Pinheiros 2 site has been the subject
of much debate since the initial excavation reports, and the doubts are justi-
fied.33 These questions occur because two main techniques were used in the
construction of the pots. The first, and perhaps the most common vessel,
was entirely modelled. However, a second type of vessel employed two con-
struction techniques: the lower half of the pot being produced by mould-
ing and an upper half being finished by modelling. Many moulded pieces
exhibit linear sectioning where the pot had broken (see Figure 12.2). This
linear break and traces of clay reinforcement indicates the presence of an
upper part that was added later. However, in cases like these, we could not
categorically state that the upper part was modelled, since it was not there.
However, some sherds show both parts of these pots, since these pieces pre-
serve the junction between both sections, allowing us to observe both man-
ufacturing techniques at the same time.
Additional evidence to support these conclusions was the observation
that almost all the rims were produced by modelling, but a significant per-
centage of the bases were moulded. The bases also revealed that the mould
was concave, since the external surface of these fragments received a dif-
ferent surface treatment, with smoothing occurring only after drying, or
by the use of brushes. The surface that was in contact with the mould was
often rougher than the upper modelled surface. This distortion indicated
that there were many vessels that were not produced with just one tech-
nique. This type of pot construction has already been observed in Brazilian
colonial contexts in Rio de Janeiro, as can be seen in the work of Lima and
Souza.34 Souza also observed this same technique in Minas Gerais.35 Other
works also address this variant in sub-Saharan African contexts, where the
lower part of the vessel is built by moulding, while the upper part is finished
with cording.36 However, according to Gosselain, there are eleven different
types of cording.37 One is based on a single thick clay string being placed
over the moulded section. This single string is then modelled and adjusted
until the pot is finished. If this technique was used in the Pinheiros 2 site, it
is difficult to know, since modelling would end up overlapping the corded
technique. Gosselain could only identify such techniques as he observed
them in ethno-archaeological contexts.38 In Figure 12.2, we compare the pot
identified by Souza to pots unearthed in Pinheiros 2 and at Casa do Bandei-
rante and observe the similarities.39
With regard to production techniques, what was observed at the Pinhei-
ros 2 site was also seen at Casa do Bandeirante in very similar percentages:
the high occurrence of moulded parts (ranging from 27 to 31 per cent),
the major concentration of modelled fragments (ranging from 54 to 62 per
cent), the identification of sherds with evidence of two productive tech-
niques (between 1 and 3 per cent), and the low occurrence of fragments
with cording (between 5 and 3 per cent). However, what was observed in
Casa Bandeirista do Itaim Bibi differs from what was observed at the other
two sites. The percentage of moulded parts falls to less than 10 per cent, as
well as the number of modelled parts, which is reduced to 42 per cent of the
analysed material. Meanwhile, the percentage of pieces produced through
cording is increased to almost 46 per cent of the fragments observed, and
there is no example of sherds in which the two production techniques are
identified together.
All the analysed sites have a great variability in decoration. In all, 74 dif-
ferent patterns were identified. Of these, 40 were observed at Pinheiros 2, 27
at Casa do Bandeirante, and 45 at Casa Bandeirista do Itaim Bibi. Thirteen
of these motifs appear at all three sites, and there are many that are com-
mon to two sites, but not to a third. Some decorative motifs were unique to
each of the sites: in Pinheiros 2, only 16 motifs only occur there; at Casa do
Bandeirante only six motifs were found; yet, at Casa Bandeirista do Itaim
Bibi, 27 exclusive motifs were identified. A detailed catalogue of the decora-
tions can be seen in Manfrini (2020).40
The most common motif at all sites was the single or double diamond
(zig-zag), incision, which occurred in 47.70 per cent of the decorations in
Casa do Bandeirante, in 25.49 per cent of the decorations in Pinheiros 2,
and in 27.59 per cent of the decorated fragments at Casa Bandeirista do
Itaim Bibi. Nonetheless, the use of diamond-shaped incisions also served as
a basis for many other motifs identified at the sites, which combined the use
of diamonds with other incisions (curvilinear or linear), or even the use of
appliqués and notches.
Other motifs with high occurrences in Pinheiros 2 were linear brushed
patterns (10.14 per cent), double curvilinear incisions (8.83 per cent) and lin-
ear appliqué (7.47 per cent). At Casa do Bandeirante, the motifs of linear
appliqués (8.06 per cent) and linear brushed patterns (4.61 per cent) stand
out. At Casa Bandeirista do Itaim Bibi, motifs with incisions in ‘fish spine’
with visible cordings comprised 9.40 per cent, linear appliqués 6.90 per cent,
and linear brushed patterns 6.27 per cent were the most prominent after
diamond patterns (see Figure 12.2).
Figure 12.2 A: pot sherd from Pinheiros 2 with linear sectioning on the fracture and
traces of clay reinforcements (in the circle); B: visible junction between
sections in a fragment from Pinheiros 2; C–G: most common decora-
tions observed at the three sites analysed
Source: Elaboration of author’s own pictures except H: Souza (2015): 87, fig. 6.7.
Shared practices between Indigenous, African, and European

communities
Observing the pottery identified in São Paulo during the first centuries of
colonization, it is possible to see that the pots are not typically indigenous,
African, or Portuguese, especially when considering ceramics from Portu-
gal between the thirteenth to twentieth centuries.41 However, there are sev-
eral characteristics that indicate continuities and technical and decorative
persistences in the colonial sites addressed in this chapter.
The use of diamond motifs (or zig-zag patterns) is commonly associated
with indigenous and African practices, either in the form of incisions or
paintings.42 As we can see in Figure 12.3, such motifs could be observed
in many indigenous communities throughout Brazil: the Kaiabi in Mato
Grosso/Pará (Figure 12.3A); the Tupiguarani in Mato Grosso do Sul (Fig-
ure 12.3B); the Tupi in Espírito Santo (Figure 12.3C); and the Guarani (Fig-
ure 12.3D). We can observe those diamond incisions in African contexts,
among the Ovimbundu, in Angola both on pottery and in body scarification
(Figure 12.3 E).43
Brushed patterns and the use of red engobe are frequently associated
with indigenous practices, and widespread throughout Brazil, both in pre-
colonial and colonial contexts. Regarding the red engobe, several authors
frequently associate this practice to the Tupiguarani tradition.44 In Figures
12.3F and 12.3G we see the comparisons between brushed patterns found
in Casa do Bandeirante and a pre-colonial site in Mato Grosso do Sul. In
Figures 12.3H and 12.3I we compare fragments with red engobe in Pinheiros
2 and in Pedra Grande site, Rio Grande do Sul. As we compare examples in
Figure 12.3, it is possible to comprehend why a continuity with indigenous
contexts is observed.
As for curvilinear (or wavy) motifs, these are quite common in medie-
val and post-medieval pottery in Portugal, and it can also be observed in
faience and glazed pottery.45 It is also possible to find references in African
practices from Ghana and Angola.46 Figures 12.4 and 12.5 show a few of
these examples in Portugal and Ghana (Figure 12.5.1B). The relationship
with Portuguese pottery can also be seen in a few types of handles, as seen
in Figure 12.4. A handle with a central depression is quite common amongst
post-medieval pottery in Portugal, as observed in Cardoso and Batalha.47
However, handles like this have also be seen elsewhere in Brazil.48 Notched
appliqués by the rim, as seen in Figure 12.4, also appear in Portuguese pots
of the same period.49
Decorations with ‘fish spine’ incisions appear frequently in African pot-
tery, as does the appliqué with an incised cross, that can be associated with
the Ovimbundu and Bakongo communities, respectively.50 The use of visi-
ble cording, on the other hand, is as recurrent in African productions, as in
pottery found in indigenous sites. In Figure 12.4, we can compare practices
from both sources and see continuities in these forms of producing and dec-
orating pottery.
Corded technique in pottery production is commonly associated with in-
digenous communities.51 In Africa, this technique was widespread, as it is
also seen in contexts of African diaspora, even though in several sites, the
use of moulding and modelling is also very common.52 Curiously, ‘African’
pottery identified in Portugal was produced through cording.53 The use of
wheel-throwing can be directly associated with European colonists. This
technique was non-existent among indigenous communities54 and was only
observed in North Africa;55 it is unlikely that the practice was brought from
there since enslaved Africans were mostly from the Gulf of Benguela, es-
pecially from Angola.56 Moulded pots, on the other hand, are uncommon
Figure 12.3 Diamond-shaped patterns found in several Brazilian indigenous con-
texts (A to D) and amongst the Ovimbundu, Angola (E); brushed pat-
terns (F and G) and red engobe (H and I) compared to indigenous
practices
Source: Author’s elaboration upon Gaspar (2014): 137, fig. 72 (A); Kashimoto and Martins
(2019): 70 (B) and 113 (F); Ribeiro and Jácome (2014): fig. 5 (C); Tocchetto (1996b): 42, table 2
(D); Symanski (2010): 307, fig. 9 (E); Zuse (2009): 117, fig. 62 (H); and author’s pictures (G and I).
Figure 12.4 Series of comparisons: notched appliqués in Portugal and Pinheiros 2
(A); handles from Portugal and Pinheiros 2 (B); ‘fish spine’ decorations
and visible cording in Ovimbundu pottery and Casa Bandeirista do
Itaim Bibi (C); cording from Rio Grande do Sul and Casa Bandeirista
do Itaim Bibi (D); appliqués with incised crosses from the Bakongo
communities and Pinheiros 2 (E)
Source: Author’s elaboration upon Casimiro and Barros (2012): 393, fig.1 (A, left); Cardoso and
Batalha (2017): 163, fig. 130 (B, left); Hauenstein (1964): 59, planche III (C, left); Machado et al.
(2008): 106, fig. 5 (D, left); Symanski (2010): 304, fig. 7 (E, left); author’s pictures on the right.
among indigenous communities found in Brazil, but they are not nonexist-
ent.57 This practice, on the other hand, is common in archaeological sites
throughout the Iberian Peninsula, mainly during and after the Islamic Pe-
riod, as can be seen in Marcovic,58 and Gomes and Casimiro.59 Thus, all
these practices can be seen concurrently in all the archaeological sites ana-
lysed in this chapter, even if in different percentages.
The occurrence of flat and pedestal bases is also frequently associated
with European practices.60 However, pots with flat bases may also be ob-
served in African and indigenous communities,61 thus, it is impossible to
associate the practice of the flat base with any specific community. Nonethe-
less, pedestal bases can be understood as a Portuguese practice, often seen
in medieval and post-medieval sites in Portugal.62
It is relevant to emphasize that these motifs and practices are often not used
on their own. Several of the decorations observed exhibited combinations of
motifs, such as curvilinear and diamond-shaped, or diamond-shaped with
notched appliqués, visible cording and diamond-shaped incisions, brushed
and notched incisions, among many other forms of combinations.
Such combinations between practices associated with indigenous, Euro-
pean and African groups in Brazilian colonial period ceramics have already
been discussed in articles, thesis and dissertations;63 the presence of incised,
brushed and engobed motifs is seen as a characteristic of these confluences
and cultural persistences.
As can be seen in Souza,64 this great variability of decorative and tech-
nical motifs, and the overlapping of different styles, without invalidating
previous ones, are phenomena that can be understood as cultural synthesis,
in which artisans make use of new practices in order to surpass cultural
differences and operate to accept new decorative practices. In a society in
which people from different parts of the globe were forced to live in a hostile
environment, this form of maintenance and decorative reinvention became
an important part of the daily creative routine.65
Many of the motifs and practices observed here can be associated with
two (or more) origins: for example, the diamond patterns, visible cording
and brushed motifs being observed among indigenous and Afro-descendant
communities; flat bases and moulded techniques can be seen in both indig-
enous, European and African contexts; and curvilinear motifs between Eu-
ropeans and communities in Ghana and Angola. If we consider that these
confluences and reframings of practices are part of a process of synthesis,
we can then believe that similar motifs between two cultures are even more
easily shared, since they represent fewer practical changes, even though the
decorations may have different meanings in each community. Understand-
ing decoration and technique as more than just ‘art for art’s sake’ is relevant
to this discussion.66 The work presented in these ceramic vessels represents
more than just an aesthetic choice, but a reinforcement of social values. The
drawings present in ceramics were channels in which traditional societies
implanted their symbolic values in individual hours of feeding.67
This process of synthesis is also clearly present in the morphology of ce-
ramic vessels. As shown in Figure 12.5 (in which we distinguish five mor-
phologies), similar morphologies had already been produced by Europeans,
Indians and Africans even before contact. In this way, similar practices in
ceramic production could continue without a sudden process of disruption.
Although these morphologies have similar appearances, it is important to
note that they were not always produced in the same way. Very similar pots
could be produced with modelling, or with moulds, turned, or even with
cording techniques. However, these differences end up representing the var-
iability found at the sites analysed in this research. Each of these changes
represents choices, and technical choices also connect to each individual
artisan’s cultural and individual practices. All stages of the chaîne opératoire
represent these choices, and they are part of the identity of each artisan.68
We understand that processes of change and continuity observed at the
sites studied in this chapter are part of the same phenomenon, and the ar-
tefacts analysed in these contexts cannot be categorized simply as a set of
indigenous or even European practices since it is, in a way, concomitantly,
neither and both.69 The intentional process of re-articulation of practices
ends up acting as a form of persistence in continuous trajectories that link
the past and the present of each human being. Even though the coloniz-
ing process is an oppressive medium that promotes abrupt changes in local
systems, this event should not be seen simply as a rupture in traditions and
practices.70 Furthermore, there is not just one story about these processes
of cultural contact; there are several and each contact occurred with its own
agents, particularities, reframings, and persistences.71
As observed throughout this chapter, the decorative motifs and the mor-
phologies found in the archaeological record from the three archaeological
sites under analysis show significant variability. It is important to note that
these patterns persisted, being observed in archaeological sites of the nine-
teenth and twentieth centuries.72 This cultural fusion, even if made through
disproportionate power relations, can be related to a complex materiality,
involving indigenous, European and African practices, which is directly re-
lated as a form of persistence, continuity and resistance developed by ar-
tisans, creating a way to maintain part of their traditional identities and
practices, (re-)appropriating cultural practices of the colonizer and of Afri-
can diaspora communities.73
In time, it is important to highlight that this ceramic production is not
only a set of imitations of European pieces, but something new. Artisans
should be seen as active agents in a colonized society; despite being op-
pressed under colonial rule, their production and culture found a way to
persist in this new dynamic society, affecting even the concept of Europe-
anized wares that the Portuguese wanted in their homes. Traditionally, Por-
tuguese pottery is uncommon, and when found, it is usually in contexts of
cities more closely linked to trade with Portugal, such as Salvador74 and Rio
de Janeiro,75 and what becomes more recurrent in the archaeological record
Figure 12.5 Morphology of ceramic vessels in comparison

Source: Author’s elaboration upon Afonso (2016): 34, fig. 3 (4A); Henriques et al. (2019):
117, fig. 6 (2C and 5C); Sallum and Noelli (2020): 19, fig. 5 (2A, 3A and 5A); Munsberg (2018)
(3B and 4B); Hauser and DeCorse (2003): 85, fig. 4 (1B and 5B); Souza (2015): 82, fig. 6.2
(2B); Casimiro (2018): 174, fig. 5 (3C); Casimiro et al. (2018): 29, fig. 7 (4C); Kashimoto and
Martins (2019): 96 (1A); Silva and Ribeiro (2006/2007): 87, fig. 11 (1C); and author’s pictures
(1D to 5D).
is this combination of practices. As these motifs do not disappear in more
recent chronological periods, it is therefore possible to see that the coloni-
zation process profoundly affected the Europeans who lived here, especially
when the region, with scarce resources, is occupied and which is mainly
inhabited by indigenous peoples. For example, according to Carrara, in the
1670s there were about 12,000 people living in the city of São Paulo, yet,
only 1,500 were considered white Europeans according to the census of the
time.76
Cultural changes are never a unilateral process, with ancestral culture
being neglected because of the colonizer’s rule.77 The oppressed also have
agency, and struggle to maintain their traditional values, thus promoting a
two-way (or triple) cultural process in which oppressors and the oppressed
are transformed by the colonial experience.
Glocalization as a way to understand material change

The pottery in São Paulo presents itself as a manifestation of the multiple
cultural connections that took place during the first centuries of coloniza-
tion. This manifestation, that can be seen as a process of cultural synthesis,
exhibits one of the main characteristics of globalization, that is, the increas-
ing connectivities that unfold and manifest as social awareness of those
connections.78As mentioned by Knappett, it is important to see the direc-
tionality of these connections, and observe if this flow of matter, energy and
information is unidirectional or multidirectional.79 When it comes to São
Paulo, it can be seen as a multidirectional process.
These multidirectional cultural processes created the vast variability in
decoration and production techniques, even though they appear in contexts
where the pottery is mostly standardized. This paradox is mentioned by
Jennings when mentioning that while standardization is implemented as a
way to facilitate interactions, and homogenization is attempted by coloniz-
ers (one the main characteristics of grobalization), cultural heterogeneity is
increased, with a blend of foreign elements being indigenized into the lo-
cal settings.80 This also manifests itself as a re-embedding of local culture,
caused by those who react to this global flow of ideas, objects, and people by
struggling to reassert local traditions.
The high occurrence of variability is also mentioned by Costin, when
addressing contexts of production in which artisans from multiple back-
grounds are forced to work in the same environments: ‘Interestingly, cases
where we detect multiple technological processes co-occurring are often sit-
uations where artisans with different social identities or backgrounds were
(forcibly) brought together by a domineering actor.’81 Therefore, the social
context observed in São Paulo, is quite appropriate for us to perceive these
considerations.
Cultural change manifests itself in materiality through innovations in ar-
tefacts and in the organization of the agents that create and use them. We
can express this claim in the form of a reciprocity principle, that is remarked
on by Lane et al.:82 ‘the generation of new artefact types is mediated by
the transformation of relationships among agents; and new artefacts types
mediate the transformation of relationships among agents’. Thus, what we
observe in São Paulo is the creation of something new, that is not completely
European, nor African or indigenous, but something in between. What we
see at this smaller scale, as we observe pottery sherds, is how past societies
dealt with the wide range of new social and economic relationships gener-
ated by enhanced interregional interaction.83 Therefore, as we comprehend
that the choices made by potters was a reaction to the effects of globaliza-
tion, we can see how glocalization may be used to address colonization in
Brazil.
While processes of grobalization are promoted by European colonists
seeking to homogenize their colony and impose an imperialist agenda with
traditional values, the dialectical process of glocalization is observed in an-
other scale, as individual and social groups act as creative agents capable of
shaping their own existence and identities.84 Moreover, by creating varied
responses to each social interaction with the colonizers, this resulted in a
variety of unique outcomes at each location, since these processes are not
uniform.85
Conclusions
Throughout this chapter we hope to have shown that globalization is a con-
cept that can be used to understand material culture in colonial Brazil, as
do the concepts of glocalization and grobalization, since those represent
fundamental aspects of globalized societies.
What we observed in the three sites addressed in this chapter, was that
pottery reflected the multiple cultures that could be found in São Paulo dur-
ing the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, and how those connections
ended up creating something new, that distanced itself from what was seen
in European, African and indigenous contexts. When we think of Ritzer’s
definition of glocalization, in which the concept relates to connections of
the global and local creating unique outcomes, the pottery in São Paulo be-
comes just that, since the pots were deeply affected by global interactions.86
Glocalization is a concept that can be applied to contexts in which
long-distance cultural exchanges occurred, especially when these connec-
tions resulted in changes in materiality, customs, and society in general.
Since cultural change is a multidirectional flow of information, matter and
ideas, creating unique responses that vary greatly in each interaction, there
is not only one story of colonization, there are several, since each human be-
ing reacts to colonization in their own way.87 To comprehend colonization
as a multilayered process, it is also necessary to comprehend globalization
as a similar process, that is likewise uneven, asymmetrical and filled with
inequalities.88
Notes
1 See Feinman (2017) and Souza (2015).
2 Jennings (2017).
3 See Kentor (2001) and Robertson (2017).
4 Souza (2015).
5 Kearney (1995).
6 Sallum (2015).
7 Jennings (2017).
8 Arroyo (2016).
9 Robertson (2017).
10 Ritzer (2003): 192.
11 Hodos (2017b).
12 Orser Jr. (2017).
13 See Bourdieu (1998) and Orser Jr. (2017).
14 See Ajmar (2017), Canclini (1998) and Souza (2015).
15 See Arroyo (2016) and Wilson and Rogers (1993).
16 Orser Jr. (1999).
17 Wilson and Rogers (1993).
18 Hodos (2017b).
19 Gruzinski (2003).
20 Wilson and Rogers (1993).
21 See Furtado (2000) and Prado Jr. (1969).
22 See Blaj (2002), Borrego (2010), Carrara (2014), Kok (2009), Monteiro (1995;
2004), Petrone (1995), Reis Filho (2004), Vieira (2016) and Vilardaga (2017).
23 See Monteiro (1995).
24 See Monteiro (1995) and Vilardaga (2017).
25 See Monteiro (1995) and Munsberg (2018).
26 Taunay (2004).
27 Zanettini Arqueologia (2011; 2012; 2013).
28 See Monteiro (1995) and Zanettini (2005).
29 Taunay (2004).
30 Monteiro (1995).
31 See Monteiro (1995) and Nizza da Silva (2009).
32 See Taunay (2004), Nizza da Silva (2009), Vieira (2016).
33 Zanettini Arqueologia (2011).
34 Lima and Souza (2016).
35 Souza (2015).
36 Gosselain (1998; 1999), Orton and Hughes (2013), and Richard and MacDonald
(2016).
37 Gosselain (1999).
38 Gosselain (1998; 1999).
39 Souza (2015).
40 Manfrini (2020).
41 See Barros et al. (2012), Bugalhão and Coelho (2015), Cardoso and Batalha
(2017), Casimiro and Barros (2012), Casimiro et al. (2018), and Neoépica Arque-
ologia (2017).
42 See Ribeiro and Jácome (2014), Schmitz (2006), Silva (2019), Symanski (2010),
Tocchetto (1996a; 1996b).
43 Hauenstein (1964) and Symanski (2010).
44 See Brochado (1973), Tocchetto (1996a), and Zuse (2009).
45 See Albuquerque (1991/2001), Barros et al. (2012), Bugalhão and Coelho (2015),
Casimiro and Barros (2012), Casimiro et al. (2018), Neoépica Arqueologia (2017);
and Silva and Ribeiro (2006/2007).
46 See Hauser and Decorse (2003) and Ervedosa (1980).
47 Cardoso and Batalha (2017).
48 Muniz and Gomes (2017).
49 Casimiro and Barros (2012).
50 See Symanski (2010) and Munsberg (2018).
51 See Kashimoto and Martins (2019) and La Salvia and Brochado (1989).
52 See Gosselain (2008), Souza and Symanski (2009), and Souza (2015).
53 Casimiro et al. (2019).
54 La Salvia and Brochado (1989).
55 Gosselain (2008).
56 See Slenes (1992) and Prado Jr. (2011).
57 See Kashimoto and Martins (2019) and La Salvia and Brochado (1989).
58 Marcovic (2016).
59 Gomes and Casimiro (2013).
60 See Chmyz (1976), Casimiro (2014) and Henriques et al. (2019).
61 See Denbow (2014), Kashimoto and Martins (2019), and Souza (2015).
62 See Casimiro (2014) and Silva and Ribeiro (2006/2007).
63 See Agostini (1998b), Brochado (1973), Moreira (2019), Sallum (2018), Souza
(2013), Tocchetto (1996a), and Zuse (2009).
64 Souza (2013).
65 Mrozowski et al. (2015).
66 David et al. (1988).
67 David et al. (1988).
68 See Gosselain (1999) and Costin (2020).
69 See Rubertone (2000) and Silliman (2005; 2009).
70 See Panich (2013), Panich et al. (2018); Souza, (2015).
72 See Agostini (1998a; 1998b; 2010), Sallum (2018), Scheuer (1976), and Souza and
Agostini (2012).
73 See Agostini (1998b), Monteiro (2004), Mrozowski et al. (2015), Sallum (2018),
and Wilson and Rogers (1993).
74 See Etchevarne (2006) and Silva (2019).
75 Calza et al. (2013).
76 Carrara (2014).
77 See Arroyo (2016), Ortiz (1991), Sallum (2018) and Wilson and Rogers (1993).
78 Hodos (2017b).
79 Knappett (2017).
80 Jennings (2017).
81 Costin (2020): 188.
82 Lane et al. (2009): 28.
83 Kardulias (2014).
84 See Robertson (2001) and Orser Jr. (2017).
85 See Ritzer (2003) and Robertson (1995).
86 Ritzer (2003).
88 Hodos (2017b).
Bibliography
Afonso, Marisa Coutinho. 2016: ‘Arqueologia Jê no Estado de São Paulo’, Revista do
Museu de Arqueologia e Etnologia 27: 30–43.
Agostini, Camilla. 1998a: ‘Padrões de decoração em vasilhames cerâmicos no Rio
de Janeiro do século XIX’, Revista de Arqueologia 11: 1–14.
Agostini, Camilla. 1998b: ‘Resistência cultural e reconstrução de identidades: um
olhar sobre a cultura material dos escravos do século XIX’, Revista de História
Regional 3(2): 115–137.
Agostini, Camilla. 2010: ‘Panelas e paneleiras de São Sebastião: um núcleo produtor
e a dinâmica social e simbólica de sua produção nos séculos XIX e XX’, Vestígios
4: 127–144.
Ajmar, Marta. 2017: ‘The Renaissance in Material Culture: Material Mimesis as
Force and Evidence of globalization’, in Hodos 2017a: 669–686.
Albuquerque, Paulo T. 1991/2001: A faiança portuguesa: demarcador cronológico na
Arqueologia Brasileira. Recife.
Arroyo, Jossianna. 2016: ‘Transculturation, Syncretism, and Hybridity’, in Y.
Martínez-San Miguel, B. Sifuentes-Jáuregui and M. Balausteguigoitia (eds.),
Critical Terms in Caribbean and Latin American Thought. New Directions in
Latino American Cultures, 133–144. New York: Palgrave Macmillan.
Barros, Luis, Luísa Batalha, Guilherme Cardoso and António Gonzales. 2012: ‘A
olaria renascentista de Santo António da Charneca – Barreiro: a louça doméstica’,
Arqueologia Moderna, 361–372.
Blaj, Ilana. 2002: A Trama das Tensões: o processo de mercantilização de São Paulo
colonial (1681–1721). São Paulo: HUMANITAS/FAPESP.
Borrego, Maria Aparecida. 2010: A teia mercantil: negócios e poderes em São Paulo
colonial. São Paulo: Alameda/Fapesp.
Bourdieu, Pierre. 1998: Acts of Resistance: Against the Tyranny of the Market. R.
Nice (trans.) New York: New York Press.
Brochado, José P. 1973: ‘Contatos europeus e indígenas: um estudo de aculturação
através das mudanças na cultura material’, Revista do Instituto de Filosofia e Ciên-
cias Humanas II(2): 11–47.
Bugalhão, Jacinta and Inês P. Coelho. 2015: ‘Cerâmica Moderna de Lisboa:
Proposta Tipológica’, I Encontro de Arqueologia de Lisboa: Uma Cidade em Es-
cavação. CAL – Centro de Arqueologia de Lisboa, 107–145.
Calza, Cristiane F., Maria Dulce Gaspar de Oliveira, Danielle de Carvalho, Filipe
André Coelho, Renato P. Freitas and Ricardo T. Lopes. 2013: ‘Análise de petrolei-
ras e cachimbos cerâmicos provenientes de escavações arqueológicas’, Boletim
Museu Paraense Emílio Goeldi Ciências Humanas 8(3): 621–638.
Canclini, Néstor Garcia. 1998: ‘Culturas Híbridas’. São Paulo: Edusp.
Cardoso, Guilherme and Luísa Batalha. 2017: ‘Evidências de produção oleira dos
finais do século XVI a meados do século XVII no Largo de Jesus (Lisboa)’, I En-
contro de Arqueologia de Lisboa: uma cidade em escavação, 147–181.
Carrara, Angelo A. 2014: ‘A população do Brasil, 1570–1700: uma revisão histori-
ográfica’, Revista Tempo 20: 1–21.
Casimiro, Tania. 2014: ‘Portuguese red coarse wares and historical archaeology’, in
C. Smith (ed.), Encyclopedia of Global Archaeology. New York: Springer.
Casimiro, Tania. 2018: ‘A distribuição e consumo de louça de Lisboa no Atlântico
Norte (1600–1700)’, Meios Vias e Trajetos … Entrar e sair de Lisboa, 160–168.
Casimiro, Tania, and Luis Barros. 2012: ‘De quem são estas ollas? Comer, beber,
armazenar em Almada no século XIII’, Actas do X Congresso Internacional a
Cerâmica Medieval no Mediterrâneo, Silver-Mértola, 392–397.
Casimiro, Tania, Carlos Boavida, Telmo Silva, and Dario Neves. 2018: ‘Ceram-
ics and cultural change in medieval (14th–15th century) Portugal: The case of
post-Reconquista Santarém’, Medieval Ceramics 37: 21–36.
Casimiro, Tania, José P. Henriques, Vanessa Filipe and Sara Simões. 2019: ‘Mobil-
ity and identities: the case of the so-called African pots from Lisbon (Portugal)’,
International Journal of Historical Archaeology 24: 79–94.
Chmyz, Igor. 1976: ‘Terminologia arqueológica brasileira para a cerâmica’, Cader-
nos de Arqueologia 1(1): 119–148.
Costin, Cathy L. 2020: ‘What is a Workshop?’, in Anna K. Hodgkinson and Cecilie
L. Tvetmarken (eds.), Approaches to the Analysis of Production Activity at Archae-
ological Sites, 177–197. Oxford: Archaeopress.
David, Nicholas, Judy Sterner, and Kodzo Gavua. 1988: ‘Why pots are decorated’,
Current Anthropology 29: 365–389.
Denbow, James. 2014: The Archaeology and Ethnography of Central Africa. Cam-
Ervedosa, Carlos. 1980: Arqueologia angolana. Angola: Luanda.
Etchevarne, Carlos. 2006: ‘Aspectos da cerâmica colonial do século XVII, em Sal-
vador, Bahia’, Clio, Série Arqueológica (UFPE), 1: 53–79.
Feinman, Gary M. 2017: ‘Economic Aspects of Globalization in the Past Material
World’ in Hodos 2017a: 42–53.
Furtado, Celso. 2000: Formação Econômica do Brasil. São Paulo: Publifolha.
Gaspar, Meliam. 2014: ‘A cerâmica arqueológica na terra indígena Kaiabi’ (MT/
PA). (Master’s dissertation). São Paulo: MAE-USP.
Gomes, Rosa V. and Tania Casimiro. 2013: ‘Post-medieval archaeology in Portugal’,
Journal of Post-Medieval Archaeology 47: 17–34.
Gosselain, Olivier. 1998: ‘Social and Technical Identity in a Clay Crystal Ball’, in
Miriam Stark (ed.), The Archaeology of Social Boundaries, 78–106. Washington
D.C.: Smithsonian Institution Press.
Gosselain, Olivier. 1999: ‘In pots we trust: processing clay and symbols in sub-
Saharan Africa’, Journal of Material Culture 4(2): 205–230.
Gosselain, Olivier. 2008: ‘Ceramics in Africa’, in H. Selin (ed.), Encyclopaedia of the
History of Science, Technology, and Medicine in Non-Western Cultures, 464–477.
New York: Springer.
Gruzinski, Serge. 2003: ‘O historiador, o macaco e a centaura: a “história cultura”
no novo milênio’, Estudos Avançados 7(9): 321–342.
Hauenstein, Alfred. 1964: ‘La poterie chez les Ovimbundu: Angola’, Acta Tropica
21: 48–81.
Hauser, Mark and Christopher DeCorse. 2003: ‘Low-fired earthenwares in the Af-
rican diaspora: problems and prospects’, International Journal of Historical Ar-
chaeology 7(1): 68–98.
Henriques, José P., Vanessa Filipe, Tania M. Casimiro, and Alexandra Krus. 2019:
‘Vestígios de produção oleira dos finais do século XV (Escadinhas da Barroca,
Lisboa).’ Extrair e Produzir … Dos Primeiros Artefactos à Industrialização. Centro
de Arqueologia de Lisboa: 109–121.
Hodos, Tamar (ed.) 2017a: The Routledge Handbook of Archaeology and Globaliza-
tion. New York and London: Routledge.
Hodos, Tamar. 2017b: ‘Globalization: Some Basics. An Introduction to The Rout-
ledge Handbook of Archaeology and Globalization’, in Hodos 2017a: 3–11.
Jennings, Justin. 2017: ‘Distinguishing Past Globalizations’, in Hodos 2017a:
12–28.
Kardulias, P. Nick. 2014: ‘Archaeology and the study of globalization in the past’,
Journal of Globalization Studies 5 (1): 110–121.
Kashimoto, Emília M. and Gilson R. Martins. 2019: Catálogo de Artefatos Cerâmi-
cos Arqueológicos de Mato Grosso do Sul. Campo Grande: IHG-MS.
Kearney, Michael. 1995: ‘The local and the global: the anthropology of globaliza-
tion and transnationalism’, Annual Review of Anthropology 24: 547–565.
Kentor, Jeffrey. 2001: ‘The long-term effects of globalization on income inequality,
population growth, and economic development’, Social Problems 48: 435–455.
Kok, Gloria. 2009: ‘Peregrinações, conflitos e identidades indígenas nas aldeias
quinhentistas de São Paulo’, Anais do XXV Simpósio Nacional de História, 1–15.
Knappett, Carl. 2017: ‘Economic Aspects of Globalization in the Past Material
World’, in Hodos 2017a: 42–53.
La Salvia, Fernando and José P. Brochado. 1989: Cerâmica Guarani. Porto Alegre:
Posenato Arte & Cultura.
Lane, David, Robert Maxfield, Dwight Read and Sander van der Leeuw. 2009:
‘From Population to Organization Thinking’ in David Lane, Denise Pumain,
Sander Ernst van der Leeuw, and Geoffrey West (eds.), Complexity Perspectives in
Innovation and Social Change, 11–42. Cham: Springer.
Lima, Tânia A. and Marcos André T. Souza. 2016: ‘Hibridismo e Inovação em
Cerâmicas Coloniais do Rio de Janeiro, séculos XVII e XVIII’, Urbania: Revista
latino-americana de arqueología y historia de las ciudades 5: 21–60.
Machado, Neli, P. Schneider, and Fernanda Schneider. 2008: ‘Análise parcial sobre
a cerâmica arqueológica do Vale do Taquari, Rio Grande do Sul’, Cerâmica 54:
103–109.
Manfrini, Marcelo. 2020: ‘Cacos fragmentados em uma sociedade conectada: pro-
dução e distribuição de cerâmica utilitária na São Paulo colonial’ (Master’s Dis-
sertation). São Paulo: MAE-USP.
Marcovic, Milan. 2016: ‘Technological characterization of moulded islamic pottery
from Iberian Peninsula’ (Doctoral Thesis). Évora University, Portugal.
Monteiro, John. 1995: Negros da Terra: Indios e bandeirantes nas origens de São
Paulo. São Paulo: Cia das Letras.
Monteiro, John. 2004: ‘Dos Campos de Piratininga ao Morro da Saudade: a
presença indígena na história de São Paulo’, in Paula Porta (ed.), História da Ci-
dade de São Paulo: a cidade colonial, 21–67. São Paulo: Paz e Terra.
Moreira, Melina Pissolato. 2019: ‘Projeto Quebra-Anzol, Minas Gerais: estudo de
continuidade e mudança tecnológica intersítios na cultura material cerâmica’
(Master’s Dissertation). São Paulo: MAE-USP.
Mrozowski, Stephen, D. Rae Gould, and Heather L. Pezzarossi. 2015: ‘Indigenous
Innovation and Colonial Inevitability’, in C.N. Cipolla and K.H. Haynes, Re-
thinking Colonialism: Comparative Archaeological Approaches, 121–142. Gaines-
ville, FL: University Press of Florida.
Muniz, Tiago S.A. and Denise M.C. Gomes. 2017: ‘Identidades materializadas na
Amazônia Colonial: a cerâmica dos séculos XVIII e XIX do sítio Aldeia, San-
taré, PA’, Vestígios 11(2): 53–76.
Munsberg, Suzana. 2018: ‘Dos seiscentos aos oitocentos: Estudo da variabilidade
estilística da cerâmica durante os processos de construção e reconfiguração das
identidades paulistanas’ (Master’s Dissertation). Belo Horizonte: UFMG.
Neoépica Arqueologia. 2017: ‘Os Silos do Palácio de Santa Helena: Lisboa’, Arque-
ologia em Portugal – Estado da Questão, 1751–1766.
Nizza da Silva, Maria Beatriz. 2009: História de São Paulo Colonial. São Paulo:
Unesp.
Orser Jr., Charles E. 1999: ‘A Teoria de Rede e a Arqueologia da História Modena’,
Revista do Museu de Arqueologia e Etnologia, 87–101. I Reunião Internacional de
Teoria Arqueológica na América do Sul, MAE-USP
Orser Jr., Charles E. 2017: ‘Globalization and the Early Modern Atlantic World,
c.1500–1700 CE’, in Hodos 2017a: 259–276.
Ortiz, Fernando. 1991 [1940]: Contrapunteo cubano del tabaco y el azúcar. La Ha-
bana: Editorial Ciencias Sociales.
Orton, Clive and Michael Hughes. 2013: Pottery in Archaeology, 2nd Edition. Cam-
Panich, Lee. 2013: ‘Archaeologies of persistence: reconsidering the legacies of colo-
nialism in native North America’, American Antiquity 78(1): 105–122.
Panich, Lee, Rebecca Allen, and Andrew Galvan. 2018: ‘The archaeology of Native
American persistence at Mission San José’ Journal of California and Great Basin
Anthropology 38(1): 11–29.
Petrone, Pasquale. 1995: Aldeamentos Paulistas. São Paulo: Edusp.
Prado Jr., Caio. 1969: História Econômica do Brasil. São Paulo: Editora Brasiliense.
Prado Jr., Manoel B. 2011: ‘O Atlântico, um Mar de Identidades: etnias africanas
no Sudeste brasileiro (Mangaratiba Séc. XIX)’, Revista Eletrônica do Arquivo Pú-
blico do Estado de São Paulo 46: 1–12.
Reis Filho, Nestor. 2004: São Paulo: vila cidade, metrópole. São Paulo: Prefeitura do
Município de São Paulo.
Ribeiro, Loredana and Camila Jácome. 2014: ‘Tupi ou não Tupi? Predação material,
ação coletiva e colonialismo no Espírito Santo, Brasil’, Boletim do Museu Par-
aense Emílio Goeld 9 (2): 465–486.
Richard, François G. and Kevin MacDonald. 2016: ‘From Invention to Ambiguity:
The Persistence of Ethnicity in Africa’, in François Richard and Kevin MacDon-
ald (eds.), Ethnic Ambiguity and the African Past: Materiality, History, and the
Shaping of Cultural Identities, 1–38. London: Routledge.
Ritzer, George. 2003: ‘The globalization of nothing’, SAIS Review 23: 189–200.
Robertson, Robbie. 2017: ‘Globalization Thinking and the Past’, in Hodos 2017a:
54–66.
Heterogeneity’, in Mike Featherstone, Scott Lash, and Roland Robertson (eds.),
Global Modernities, 25–44, London: Sage.
Robertson, Roland. 2001: ‘Globalization Theory 2000+: Major Problematics’, in
George Ritzer and Barry Smart (eds), Handbook of Social Theory, 458–471. Lon-
don: Sage.
Rubertone, Patricia. 2000: ‘The historical archaeology of Native Americans’, An-
nual Review of Anthropology 29: 425–446.
Sallum, Marianne. 2015: ‘Estudos coloniais e globalização: fluxos, fricções e con-
fluências’, Habitus 13 (1): 51–62.
Sallum, Marianne. 2018: ‘Colonialismo e ocupação tupiniquim no litoral sul de São
Paulo: uma história de persistência e prática cerâmica’ (Doctoral Thesis). São
Paulo: MAE-USP.
Sallum, Marianne and Francisco S. Noelli. 2020: ‘An archaeology of colonialism
and the persistence of women potters’ practices in Brazil: From Tupiniquim to
Paulistaware’, International Journal of Historical Archaeology 1–25.
Scheuer, Herta L. 1976: Estudo da cerâmica popular do Estado de São Paulo. São
Paulo: Secretaria da Cultura, Ciência e Tecnologia.
Schmitz, Pedro I. 2006: ‘Migrantes da Amazônia: a tradição Tupiguarani’, in Pedro
I. Schmitz (ed.), Arqueologia do Rio Grande do Sul, Brasil, 101–124, 2a edição,
IAP.
Silliman, Stephen. 2005: ‘Culture contact or colonialism? Challenges in the archae-
ology of Native North America’, American Antiquity 70 (1): 55–74.
Silliman, Stephen. 2009: ‘Change and continuity, practice and memory: Native
American persistence in colonial New England’, American Antiquity 74 (2):
211–230.
Silva, António M.S.P and Manuela C.S. Ribeiro. 2006/2007: ‘Cerâmica medieval
das escavações no Castelo de Arouca, ensaio de análise morfotipológica’, Portu-
galia, Nova Série, vol. XXVII–XXVIII: 69–88.
Silva, Leandro V. 2019: ‘As cerâmicas da Casa da Torre e do Galeão Sacramento:
hierarquia social, ideologia e simbolismo nas práticas alimentares na Bahia colo-
nial’. Doctoral thesis, São Paulo: MAE-USP.
Slenes, Robert W. 1992: ‘“Malungu, ngoma vem!”: África coberta e descoberta do
Brasil’, Revista USP 12: 48–67.
Souza, Marcos André T. 2013: ‘Por uma arqueologia da criatividade: estratégias e
significações da cultura material utilizada pelos escravos no Brasil’, in Camilla
Agostini (ed.), Objetos da escravidão: abordagens sobre a cultura material da es-
cravidão e seu legado, 11–36. Rio de Janeiro: 7Letras.
Souza, Marcos André T. 2015: ‘When All Bases are Flat: Central Africans and
Situated Practices in Eighteenth-century Brazil’, in Pedro Paulo A. Funari and
Charles E. Orser Jr. (eds.), Current Perspectives on the Archaeology of African
Slavery in Latin America, 77–98. New York: Springer.
Souza, Marcos André T. and Luís Claudio P. Symanski. 2009: ‘Slave communities
and pottery variability in Western Brazil: the plantations of Chapada dos Gui-
marães’, International Journal of Historical Archaeology 13 (4): 513–548.
Souza, Marcos André T. and Camilla Agostini. 2012: ‘Body marks, pots, and pipes:
some correlations between African scarifications and pottery decoration in
eighteenth- and nineteenth-century Brazil’, Historical Archaeology 46 (3): 102–123.
Souza, Rafael A. 2015: ‘Globalização, consumo e diacronia: populações sertanejas
sob ótica arqueológica’, Vestígios 2 (9): 38–62.
Symanski, Luis Claudio P. 2010: ‘Cerâmicas, identidades escravas e crioulização
nos engenhos de Chapada dos Guimarães (MT)’, História Unisinos 14 (3): 293–310.
Taunay, Afonso. 2004: História da Cidade de São Paulo. Brasília: Edições do Senado
Federal v. 23.
Tocchetto, Fernanda. 1996a: ‘A cerâmica do guarani missioneiro como símbolo de
identidade étnica’, Historical Archaeology in Latin America 13: 77–98.
Tocchetto, Fernanda. 1996b: ‘Possibilidades de interpretação do conteúdo simbólico
da arte gráfica Guarani’, Revista do Museu de Arqueologia e Etnologia 6: 22–45.
Vieira, Edileine. 2016: ‘O Barro Cinzento Paulista: Produção em barro cozido nas
olarias do Tijucusú e de Pinheiros. Ordem de São Bento em São Paulo entre o
século XVI e XIX’ (Master’s Dissertation). São Paulo: IEB–USP.
Vilardaga, José C. 2017: ‘Na bagagem dos peruleros: mercadoria de contrabando e o
caminho proibido de São Paulo ao Paraguai na primeira metade do século XVII’,
Anais do Museu Paulista 25 (1): 127–147.
Wilson, Samuel and J. Daniel Rogers. 1993: ‘Historical Dynamics in the Contact
Era’, in Samuel Wilson and J. Daniel Rogers (eds.), Ethnohistory and Archaeology:
Approaches to Postcontact Change in the Americas, 3–18. New York: Springer.
Zanettini, Paulo E. 2005: ‘Maloqueiros e Seus Palácios de Barro: O cotidiano
doméstico na casa bandeirista’ (PhD Thesis). São Paulo: MAE-USP.
Zanettini, Arqueologia. 2011–2013: ‘Programa de Prospecção e Resgate Arque-
ológico, Terreno Sito à Rua Butantã, nº 298, Bairro de Pinheiros – Sítio Arque-
ológico Pinheiros 2’. São Paulo: Fieldwork Reports.
Zuse, Silvana. 2009: ‘Os Guarani e a Redução Jesuítica: tradição e mudança técnica
na cadeia operatória de confecção dos artefatos cerâmicos do sítio Pedra Grande
e entorno’ (Master’s Dissertation). São Paulo: MAE-USP.
Index
Note: Bold page numbers refer to tables; italic page numbers refer to figures.
abalone 106, 108–109, 111 ancient economy 40, 42–43

academic discipline 27, 30–31 ancient Egypt 2, 93
Aegean 60, 62–64, 67–68, 86, 88–90, ancient globalization 10, 20, 23, 41, 132,
92, 94, 152, 154; drinking sets fully 144, 146–149, 155–156, 207
embedded at the site 89; and an ancient Rome 135–136, 194
engendered warriorhood during the ancient world 19, 22, 30, 36, 40–41, 45,
Late Bronze Age 69; and the export 57, 123–124, 135, 144–146
of vitreous materials from the 63; Angola 252–253, 255
post-firing marking of wares of the animals 111, 151–152, 215, 219–220;
90; and relationship with multiple feeding 220; non-edible 220; nursing
communities in Cyprus 89 220; slaughter and consumption of
Afghanistan 126–127, 129–130, 186, 227 214, 216, 220
Africa 41, 124, 146–147, 149–150, 231, Annan, Kofi 136
249, 252, 255; cultivated 40; diaspora antiquity 20, 25, 28, 36–38, 41–43,
communities in 252, 256; indigenous 46, 90, 145–146, 148–149, 165, 173;
communities in 255, 259; north-east applicability of globalization to
82, 153, 155 37; category of globalization to 42;
African 248–249, 251, 256, 259; cultural interactions in 25; historians
elephants 187–188; pottery 252; of 41; and modernity 38, 42–43, 46;
practices 251–252, 256 social-cultural groups in 145; study
Afro-Eurasian Bronze Age 58 of 9, 25, 145; understanding of
agencement (concept) 9, 81–87, 89, 91, globalization in 20, 28
93–95 appliqués 250, 252, 254–255
agents 38, 192, 194, 256, 258–259; active Arabia 40, 125, 144, 150, 153–156,
227, 247, 256; creative 246, 259; local 183, 187
83; travelling 192 Arabian Sea 7, 125, 127, 129, 134, 144
agricultural villages 110 archaeological records 19, 69, 85, 95,
alcoholic beverages 89–90 134, 236, 245, 256
Alexander the Great 126, 129–130, archaeological sites 246, 248, 255–256;
147, 207 Casa Bandeirista do Itaim Bibi 246,
Alexandria (Egypt) 8, 170, 192, 195 249–250, 254; Casa do Bandeirante
Allahabad Museum 126, 130–134 246; Pinheiros 2 246, 249–252, 254
amber 60–61, 67–69, 109, 153; beads archaeological studies 10, 27
61, 68; and bronzization 60; goods archaeologists 1–4, 19, 21, 23, 25–30,
68; sources, trade-routes, exchange 82–83, 85, 104, 106, 108, 110
networks and finds 61 archaeology 2–3, 8–10, 19–29, 31, 58–59,
Amino, Yoshihiko 110 84, 124, 168, 183, 231, 245; branches
270 Index
of 26; classical 27; current 28; focus Bengal 125–126, 134; see also Bay of
on material exchange and connectivity Bengal
23; and globalization theories in Bes figurines 169, 172
current studies 9, 19; and history Bhokardan 183, 191–193
2–3, 8, 10, 20–21; prehistoric 27, 58; boats 107, 111, 192–193; decorated with
students 31 warriors wearing feather-headdresses
archaeology of globalization 19–20, 111; graffito from the south-west
25–31, 123; crosses the boundaries of the atrium in Room 5 of the
between different ‘archaeologies’ 29; House of the Indian Statuette 193;
existence as a discipline 26; and the used by fishers to make frequent
role in current research 27; theoretical visits to Korea and Hokkaido 111;
discussion around 10 used to move people and rice to the
Aredhiou (Vouppes) 82, 85–87, 89–94; archipelago in the Bronze Age 107
background to 85; graph showing borders 57, 207, 209, 215–216, 219
percentages of imported wares at 87; boundaries 2, 10, 29, 166; see also
inhabitants 92; in Late Bronze Age borders
interregional exchanges 94; site of 87; Brahmins (bamhaṇa) 213–216
social concepts 89; stirrup jar marked Brāhmī script 195, 209–210, 235–236
with a X-sign in fugitive washy red Brazil 245–246, 252, 255, 259
paint on its base 88 Brazilian 245, 249, 253, 255; archaeology
Aristides, Aelius 40–41, 147–148 245; diamond-shaped patterns found
Ariston (Ptolemaic explorer) 154 in indigenous contexts 253; pot
art 26, 111, 127, 129–130, 138, 167, 188, construction observed in colonial
195, 229–230, 236, 255; from Bronze contexts in Rio de Janeiro 249
Age Japan 112; and the comparison bronze (alloy) 67–69, 104, 110–111
between two different mediums Bronze Age 1, 9, 57, 60–64, 67–68, 82,
of 233; and its role in Bronze Age 86, 103–104, 107–113, 126; in Afro-
transculture 111; and the Mathura Eurasia 58–59, 61, 63, 65, 67, 69;
School of Art 133; sculptural 124, changes and diversity in fisheries 108;
130–131, 133–134; South Arabian 173; China 104; in colonial times 1; Dong
syncretic 123 Son bronzes 111; Eastern Carpathian
artefacts 26, 188, 196–197, 227, 256, 258; Basin 64; Egypt 82; Eurasia 9, 104,
alien 20; archaeological 85; foreign 25; 111; European 68; fishing cultures of
individual 85; terracotta 134 Japan and continental East Asia 106;
Arthasastra 137 globalization studies 9, 82–83; Japan
artists 186, 231–232, 235 9, 104–105, 107, 110, 112–114; see also
Aśokan (dhamma) 214, 216–217, Early Bronze Age; Late Bronze Age
220–221; edicts 207, 209–210, Bronzization 4, 9, 57–58, 60, 62, 64,
212–214, 217–219; ideology 207, 67–69, 103–104, 114
214; inscriptions 208, 209–215, Bücher, Karl 42–43
217–218, 220–221; texts 209, 211, Buddha 130–131, 134, 136, 195,
213; vision 214 213–214, 218, 228, 230, 232–237;
Athienou Bamboulari tis Koukouninas 89 arrival on a long continuous staircase
Augustus Caesar 127, 133 234; descending depicted using
Autiero 169, 173 two footprints on the staircase 234;
autoethnography 58, 63, 68 headless image dated to the second
regnal year of Kushan Emperor
Bakongo community 252, 254 Kanishka 131; portrayed standing in
Bandeiras (Portuguese campaigns) 247 blessing and accepting followers 235
Bay of Bengal 125–126, 128–129, 134 Buddhism 127, 129, 207–209, 212–214,
Bay of Larnaca 89 217–218, 220–221, 227–230; canonical
Bay of Naples 192 217; conversion to 212; direct
beads 61–62, 64, 124, 126–128 references to 213; early transmission
Index 271
of 229; emerging religion of 218; cultures 110; in numbers of shell
expansion of 207, 212, 218; and middens in Chiba prefecture 105
globalization 207; history of 218; China 2, 57, 107, 127, 183, 187, 217,
Mahāyāna 217; and the Pāli term 229; and the Bronze Age 104; and the
(dhamma) 214; Sarvastivadin East China Sea 107; and India 2, 127;
School of 230; Theravāda 213, 220; and the South China Sea 124–125;
transmission of 227, 230 Southern 106–107, 128
Buddhist 129–130, 172, 212, 214, 229, coastal settlements 106, 127
231; ancient 133; communities 213, coastal villages 110
230; expansion 212; globalization coins 26, 129, 131, 150, 166,
221; history 218, 235; ideas 213–214; 170–173, 184
identity 212; ideology 207; literature Cold War 124
209; monarchs 218; monastic order colonization 246–247, 259
134; monks 228; orthodoxy 213; relic colonizers 246–247, 256, 258–259
cult 218; sanctuaries 171; scholarship communities (indigenous) 170, 247–248,
217; sites 134, 172, 228, 236; stupas 251–252, 255–256, 259
129, 173, 228; texts 209, 213; concepts 1, 3–4, 6–7, 9, 20, 22–27, 29–30,
traditions 212, 217; transmitting 230 36–37, 39–40, 44–46, 84–85, 165–167,
bullion 166, 171–173 213–214, 219, 245–246, 259; analytical
Buner valleys 227 6; central 44; distinct 167; foreign
Burma 217 165; monolithic 220; open-ended
Burstein, Stanley, M. 151 148; theoretical 156; and theories 27;
transcultural 167, 173
Caesar, Augustus 127, 133 construction 7, 151–152, 218, 249; pot
Caesar, Julius 136 249; projects 218; techniques 249
cakravartin 208–209, 218, 234–236 consumption 1, 5, 38, 41, 83, 90, 109,
Canaanite jars 88–90, 92 113, 165–166, 168, 173; of animals
Candragupta, Maurya 207–208 220; Cypro-Ugaritic 89; everyday
cargo 40, 92, 152 87; practices of 245; and social
Carpathian Basin 60–61, 63–65, 67, 69 phenomena 168
Casa Bandeirista do Itaim Bibi 246, Coptos Tariff 137
249–250, 254 cording 249–250, 252, 254; from Rio
Casa do Bandeirante 246, 250, 252 Grande do Sul 254; techniques 256;
case studies 9–10, 31, 125, 166, 170; visible 250, 252, 254–255
culling 10; diverse 8; important 144; Core-Periphery/World Systems theory or
thematic 10 model 7, 39, 57–59, 59, 82, 85, 128
Casimiro, Tania 255 courts 20, 27, 107, 210
cattle 109, 248 criminologists 2, 24
caves 61, 211, 227–230, 232–233, 235, crossdisciplinarity (concept) 29–30
237; central pillar 229, 235; groups cultural change 1, 31, 247, 249, 251,
of 229; Lenyardi 170; monastic 236; 255, 257–259; and colonization 247;
rectangular 229; sea 109; square manifesting in materiality through
229, 236 innovations in artifacts 258; technical
ceramics 10, 87, 90, 94, 124, 127, 138; understanding 245
245–247, 249, 251, 255–257, 259; cultural globalization 227
Brazilian colonial period 255; Cypriot cultural groups 149–150, 153, 168
94; and jewellery 171; Persian 127; cultural heterogeneity 4, 22, 145, 165,
production 256; São Paulo 10, 246, 258
246–259; sherds 246; vessels 257 cultural homogenization 20, 22–23, 165
Chandra, Moti 194–195 cultural responses 24, 165
changes 5, 9, 27–28, 37–39, 41, 104–105, cultures 1–3, 5, 8–9, 20–21, 23–25, 58,
110, 216, 236–237, 245, 248, 255–256, 104, 107–108, 110, 145, 148, 166–168,
259; economic 7; in fishing and other 195–196, 246–247, 255–256; ancestral
272 Index
258; archaeological 20; consumer 20; of incised Minoan stirrup jar 88;
diverse 130; fishing 106, 108, 113; Levantine platter bowl bases 91; of
Jōmon 104; mammal hunting 112; Mycenaean stirrup jar 88
maritime 108; material 2, 8, 22–25, During Caspers, Elisabeth 193, 195
28, 31, 83, 127, 166–168, 245, 249,
259; migrant 25; new 6, 113; single 25; Early Bronze Age 62–63
traditional 113; Yayoi 104, 109 Early Historic Indian Ocean 124,
customs 7, 126, 167, 247, 259 127, 167
Cypriots 88, 90–92 East Africa 82, 125, 127, 152–156; coast
Cyprus 63, 85, 88–90, 92–94; and Egypt integral to the Indian Ocean networks
93; residents on 92; rural hinterland 127; and the Indian Ocean region 125;
of 85; wider socio-economic practices maritime import of Olive baboons 155
binding Ugarit and 89 East-West trade 183, 187, 196
Eastern Carpathian Basin 61, 64,
D’Ancona, Mirella Levi 195 66–67, 69
Darley, Rebecca 171–172 Eastern Desert 151–153
debates 4, 26–28, 37, 41–43, 46, 135, Eastern Mediterranean 9, 62, 81–82, 84,
170–171, 246, 249; on globalization 86, 89–90, 92, 94, 126
46; and the seventeenth-century economists 20–21, 43, 124
Putney Debates 125 economy 29, 42, 124, 128, 144, 154
Deccan region 169–170, 192 edicts 209–216, 218–220; Aśokan 207,
decorated hearths 64–66, 68 209–210, 212–214, 217–219; Greek
decorations 64–65, 88, 171, 249–250, and Aramaic translations of Aśoka’s
252, 255, 258 214; pillar 209, 211; royal 218
de-globalization 135 Egypt 8, 40, 62, 82, 86–87, 94, 137, 144,
democracy 135–136 147, 150–156, 169; Bronze Age 82;
denarii coins 166, 170–172 conquest by Augustus Caesar in 30
Devadatta 230–231; chancing upon an BCE 127, 137; and Cyprus 93; and
elephant designated for his cousin, East Africa 152; increasing activity
Prince Siddhārtha 230; fragment of a in the Red Sea during the Ptolemaic
male figure wearing an uttariya 231; period and the cultural impact on 155;
killing the elephant, Gogdara 231 modern-day 192; Roman conquest
dhamma-lipi 210, 213 of 147, 150, 156, 187; and sailing to
dhamma texts 209–221 India 8
dharma (related Sanskrit word to elders 215–217
dhamma 213–215 elephants 151–152, 230–233, 236;
disciplines 2, 19, 24, 26–30; allied 2; African 187–188; being hunted in the
archaeological 25; autonomous 29; Red Sea 151; importation of 151
and fields 24; identity 29; new 26, empires 38, 41, 45–46, 131, 150, 192,
28–29; technical 30; weak 29; see also 194, 207–211, 214–215, 217–220
sub-disciplines The End of History (1989) 124
‘Distinguishing Past Globalizations’ The End of History and the Last Man
(Justin Jennings) 245 (1992) 124
distribution 64, 69, 89, 124, 166, 173, engagements, material 90–91, 94
216; across Eurasia 112; European 68; entanglements 6, 21, 59, 67, 84–85, 93;
of Mycenaean pottery 89 of individuals and objects 59; material
diving (abalone) 106–108 94; of matter 84–85; social 58
Dong Son bronzes 111 environment 36, 167, 258; diverse 127;
drapery folds 232–233 fertile 20; hostile 255; local 218
drawing 24, 43, 81, 86–88, 91, 103, Epi-Jōmon culture 111
136–137, 152, 186, 231–234, 255; Epi-Jōmon sites 109
of Canaanite jar rim sherd 91; of epigraphic studies 8, 165, 167
Egyptian amphorae rim sherds 91; episodes 228, 230–231, 233–235,
of incised Canaanite jar handle 91; 237; with the elephant 226, 230;
Index 273
globalization 137; in Kuča 235; from female figures 186
the life of the Buddha Shakyamuni figurines 7, 169, 171, 188–189, 191–195
226; in Swāt and Qizil 230 Finley, Sir Moses 43
Eros of Junnar 168, 170 fireplaces 64
Espírito Santo 252 fish 106, 108–109, 113
Ethiopians 151, 153 fisheries 107–108, 110–111, 113
ethnicity 167, 213 fishing 105–108, 110, 113; activities 105,
ethnologists 106–107 109; cultures 106, 108, 113; freshwater
Europe 9, 41, 57, 60, 62, 68, 111, 124, 106; groups 104, 110–111; open sea
149; capitalist 58; central 60, 62; 104; peoples in Japan 107
colonists 252, 259; communities food 90, 194, 215, 220; courts 123;
251; north-western 67; northern 64; globalization 113; preparation 113;
practices 255–256; products 248 production 86, 208
Europeans 249, 255–256, 258–259; fragments 64–65, 188, 191, 207, 231–232,
attempting to reorganize their views 236, 249–252; corroded 188; decorated
and attitudes to progress to their 250; modelled 250; painted stucco 65
own goals 247; and colonizing the Fugoppe caves and rock art 111–112
Americas 246; and communities in Fukuyama, Francis 124, 135–138; essay
Ghana and Angola 255; white 258 The End of History 124
excavations 21, 86, 153–154, 191–192,
196, 228, 231; in Chatpat 231; in India Gandhara/Gandhāra 130, 132–133,
192; new 196 226–230, 232–233, 235–237
exchange networks 61, 86, 126, 134, ‘Gandhāra Proper’ denotes the Peshawar
148–149, 154 valley region 227
exchanges 5, 21, 23, 26, 39–42, 58, Gandhāran 227–228, 234–235, 237; art
81–83, 89, 93, 113, 152, 155, 165; 130, 132–133, 229–230, 233–234, 236;
ancient transregional 183; Bronze Age episodes 235; manuscript 227–228,
84; commercial 169; cultural 138, 145; 234, 237; models 229; region 129–131,
international 196; interregional 93–94; 216, 227–230, 232–233, 235–237;
items of 165, 169; long-distance sculptures 131
cultural 124, 169, 259; reworking Gandhāran sculpture of Buddha
items of 165; technological 104; wide- Maitreya, grey schist, Taxila area,
ranging cosmopolitan 84 second century CE 130
expansion 154, 156, 207–208, 215; of geographers 39
Aśoka 218; of Buddhism 207, 212, Geographia 127
218; of commerce 145; conceptual Giddens, Anthony 123–125, 128,
219; early agricultural 113; of 130–131, 138
economic activity 154; global cultural glass 62–63, 68–69, 128; beads 64, 128,
207; ideology of 208, 215; military 218 153; circulation in Afro-Eurasia 68;
exploitation 6–7, 38, 67; of African cobalt-blue 62; content 62; counterfeit
elephants 187; of horses 67; intense 138; crafting 134; inlaid 184; making,
104, 187; of marine and freshwater working sites and trade-routes during
resources in the Neolithic Jōmon the Bronze Age 63; mixed-alkali 63;
period 104 production 68; southeast Aegean 63;
exports 90, 138, 166, 170–173, 187, workers 62
207; of commodities 170; consistent global 5, 23, 82, 123; cultural identity 22,
173; of frankincense 138; of glass 68; 31; developments 4; history 6, 38, 165;
of ivory 192; of Roman coins 173; interconnectivity 7; networks 2, 5; sea
sporadic 173 trade 192
Globalisation and the Roman World 36
farmers 83, 93, 110–111, 248 globalization 1–10, 19–31, 36–43, 46,
farming groups 108, 110 57–58, 81–85, 123–125, 128, 134–136,
farming villages 106 138, 144–146, 148–149, 155–156,
feasting 65–66, 90 165, 245–246, 258–259; capitalistic
274 Index
26; contemporary 26; criteria for 110–111; linguistic 133; maritime 107,
82, 145; critiques of 3; and culture 113; public 137; regional 58; religious
20; debates 124–125; definitions of 215; social 24, 60, 259
21–22, 41, 155; development of 25; Grünwedel, Albert 229
discussion of issues 113, 146; disputes Gulf of Aden 125, 144, 151
on 38; earliest examples of 82; early Gulf of Thailand 125
22, 27–29, 31; of early fisheries 9, 113;
and economic development 38, 40, Hala Sultan Tekke (trading site) 93
146, 149–152, 155; experiences 138; Hamanaka 2 (site on Rubun Island) 109
full-scale 246; and glocalization 4, Harvey, David 39
7–9, 165; historical roots of 20; impact ‘hearth-cauldrons’ 64, 65
of 128, 134, 236; increasing 144; of hearths 64–66, 68
Indian Ocean lands 135; investigating Hellenistic world 127, 129, 169
antiquity 37, 46; investigations on 39; Herodotus 136, 146–148
of Jōmon fisheries 104; key features of Hindu iconography 131
123; layers of 38; and localization 24; hips 185, 231–233
main characteristics of 258; modern historians 1–4, 19, 24, 37, 41, 113,
37, 123; past 2, 4, 6; patterns 124–125, 125, 168
134, 138; phenomena 124–125; pre- ‘historical bloc’ (concept) 44–45
modern 10, 57; process of 146, 148; history 2, 4, 8, 10, 21–22, 24, 26, 29, 37,
processes 31, 128, 144; proofs of 23; 43–44, 46, 124, 135–136, 146–147, 218;
studies 19–20, 25–26, 28; terms 2, 22, ancient Roman 36; and archaeology
46, 145; theories 9, 19–20, 23, 25, 31, 2–3, 8, 10, 20–21; Buddhist 218, 235;
36, 45, 124, 148; and transculturality of globalization 165; of Greece 147;
1–2, 5–6, 9–10, 19, 23, 25, 28, 31; of mankind 37
understanding of 20 Hodos, Tamar 21, 145, 147–149,
Globalization and Culture 21 155–156
glocalization 1, 3–4, 6–8, 10, 19, 22–25, Hokkaido 106, 109, 111–112
28, 31, 144–145, 148–149, 156, homogenization 4–5, 246, 258–259
245–246, 258–259; of amber 68; Hopkins, Keith 5, 37, 43
ancient 149; dialectical process of horses 67, 111–112, 236
259; historical example of 149, 156; House of the Indian Statuette 183–184,
manifestations of 24; theorists 246; 192–193
understanding 246 houses 184–185, 192–193; adjacent 185;
Glover, Ian 128 public area of the 194
Goiás (region) 247 hubs 58, 68, 83–84, 131, 133–134,
Gramsci, Antonio 44–46 165, 173
graph, showing percentages of imported human imagination 135, 138
wares at Aredhiou 87 humans 128, 216, 219
‘Greater Gandhāra’ (region) 227 hunting 151, 216
Greece 7–8, 129, 131, 135, 146–150,
152, 187, 209–210, 212, 217; ancient iconography 191, 195–196, 227, 230,
148; civilised 147–148; culture of 148, 236–237; figure’s 185; Greco-Roman
207; diaspora of 126; economy of 42; 230; Hindu 131; identical 186;
language of 126, 129, 150, 154–155; numismatic 8
and Roman mercantile communities ideas 1, 3–6, 20–23, 57, 60, 124, 127,
146–147, 150, 187 135–137, 165–166, 168–169, 209–210,
‘grobalization’ 3, 245–246, 258–259 212, 217, 219, 258–259; alien 83;
groups 27, 30, 69, 109, 113, 137, 147, and art 127; circulation of 67, 136;
149, 165–168, 213, 229; ascetic 215; of of democracy 135–136; ethical 214;
caves 229; cultural 145, 149–150, 153, and expressions of identity 6; and
168; diverse 135; ‘drawing’ 234; knowledge 85; political 124; religious
Epi-Jōmon 106, 109; ethnic 129; 1, 127; of Rostovtzeff 41
farming 108, 110; fishing 104, identifying ownership 168
Index 275
identity 6–8, 58, 67, 166–168, 170, Indian Ocean Region 125, 128, 135,
173, 214, 219–220, 245–246, 256, 137–138; Arabian Sea 7, 125, 127,
259; contrasting 104; formation 220; 129, 134, 144; Bay of Bengal 125–126,
global 212, 219; religious 219; social 128–129, 134; Gulf of Aden 125, 144,
258; Tamil 167; traditional 256; 151; Gulf of Thailand 125; Persian
transcultural 113; translocal 207 Gulf 125–127; Red Sea 8, 124–128,
ideology 85, 213–215, 219–220; Aśoka 138, 144, 149–156, 192; South China
207, 214; Buddhist 207; of expansion Sea 125, 128; Sulawesi Sea 125
208, 215; imperial 208, 214, 218; Indian Subcontinent 10, 127, 129,
personal 212, 220; political 135; 134, 166–168, 170–171, 173,
religious 129 207, 209
illiterate population 210 indigenous communities 170, 247–248,
imagery 60, 169, 171–173; adaptation 251–252, 255–256, 259
of 171; maritime 112; religious Indra 235–236
134; Roman 172; and styles 172; industries 38, 42, 83, 194
transmissions of 60; variation inscriptions 90, 134, 152, 192, 195,
in 172 209–215, 218–219, 221, 229;
imitations 169, 171–173, 256; and extant 212; public 209–210; ‘thirteenth
adaptation of styles 166; of Indian rock’ 219
coins 172; of Roman coins 172 interactions 2, 5, 20–21, 23–25, 31,
imperial ideology 208, 214, 218 58, 82, 85–86, 104, 167, 258–259;
imports 94, 151–152, 156; of pottery commercial 92; cultural 23, 25, 58;
86–87, 92–93; of wares 87, 89, 92, 94 enhanced interregional 259; global 31,
India 125, 127–129, 132, 135–136, 147, 245, 259; human 24, 38; international
150, 152, 166, 169–172, 183, 187–188, 82; local 84; long-distance 22, 31;
192, 196–197, 209–210; central-south material 85; patterns of 31; regional
190; and China 2, 127; Deccan region 245; transregional 4
192; and Indian Ocean lands 137; intercrossings 59–60, 63, 67–68; of
and Iran 135; ivory and bone 188; east-west and north-south 68; of
and landscape 218; mainland 221; the Eastern Carpathian Basin 67;
northern 130–131, 133, 136, 207; emerging at every location where
northwest 126, 129; south 128, 137, the distant and global touch the
172; and south Arabia 127 local and regional 63; emerging in
Indian 127, 129, 131, 150, 170, 173, entanglements of individuals and
185, 187, 196, 256; artisans 188; objects 59; representing repositories of
borderlands 127; carvers 195; knowledge 60
and Central Asian cultures 129; interpretations 108, 170, 188, 195; of
civilizations 129; figurines 183, ancient evidence 43; economic 38;
185–197; glass crafting technologies of globalization 38; globalization-
138; government 189; independence oriented 10
movement 219; ivory 10, 152, 188; Iran 125, 135, 209
language 2; preserved texts 210; iron 110–111, 184, 248
production 183; provenance 186, 196; ivory 151–153, 156, 185, 187–189,
and Roman furniture 196; silver 171; 191–192, 194–195; carvers 195;
sites 183; trade 183 figurines 185, 188–189, 196; gathering
Indian Ocean 7, 24, 121, 124–127, 134, of 151–152; and gold 187; imports
137–138, 144–145, 148–152, 154–156, 153, 192; production 190; statuettes
169, 183; antique 156; archaeology 183, 186, 191, 196; trade 153;
10; Interaction Sphere 138; lands 127, trimmings 188; tusks 151–152, 155,
134–135, 137; oikoumenisation 150; 188, 231
trade 7, 133, 144–145, 147, 149–151,
153, 155, 165, 173 Jainas and Vasudeva traditions
The Indian Ocean and the Globalisation 133, 136
of the Ancient World 124 Japan 103, 106–108, 111–113, 128, 217
276 Index
Japanese 3, 9, 103–104, 106–114; languages 7–8, 127, 167, 208–210, 220,
archaeologists 108; archaeology 110; 231, 247
archipelago 9, 103, 107–108; scholars Late Antiquity 113, 146, 148
108, 110, 112 Late Bronze Age 9, 63–64, 68–69, 81–82,
jars 87–92 85, 90; Cyprus 86; East Mediterranean
Jennings, Justin 22–23, 30, 123–124, 84; interregional exchanges 94; pot
245, 258 marks in the Aegean and Near East
Jewel of Citizen 236 88; shaping material worlds 82
Jewel of Elephant 236 Late Helladic period 65–66
Jewel of Gem 236 Late Roman coins 172
Jewel of General 236 LBA see Late Bronze Age
Jewel of Horse 236 Le Arti 184, 188
Jewel of Wheel 236 Lenin, Vladimir 44
Jewel of Wife 236 Lenyardi caves 170
jewellery 171–173, 184–185, 194, Levant 86–89, 92, 94–95
232–233 The Levelling: What’s Next After
jewels 171–173, 184–185, 194, 232–233, Globalization 125
236; see also jewellery ‘liberal democracy’ 124, 135–137
Jōmon and Yayoi cultures, dichotomies linear brushed patterns 250, 252, 253
between the 104, 105, 108, literacy 94, 210
110, 113 local culture 4, 22–23, 123, 227, 246, 258;
Julius Caesar 136 see also cultures
locations 62–64, 92, 212, 227, 235, 259;
Kaliṅga people 219 non-native geographic 8; remote 211;
Kanishka, King 132, 134 rural 189; strategic 230; urban 228
Karoshthi (script) 186, 194–195 Loriyan Tangai relief 235
Kato Zakros 66
Kaushambi 128–129, 133–134, 138 Maa (Palaekastro) 90, 93
Kharoṣṭhī script 209 Mahāyāna Buddhism 217
King Kanishka 132, 134 Maiuri, Amedeo 183–184, 186, 188–190,
King Piyadassi 211–212, 214–216, 192–196
218–221 male figures 230–232, 235–236
King Richū 107 Mancini, Armando 184
King Udayana 235 Manfrini, Marcelo Rolim 10, 250
Kingdom of Pagan 217 Manifesto of the Communist Party
kingdoms 92–93, 113, 127, 136–138, 147, 1848 38
151–153, 189, 217, 228 maps 84, 126, 152–153, 190, 248; of
kings 138, 149, 210–211, 213, 215–216, Cyprus showing location of Aredhiou
218–219 Vouppes 86; of East Mediterranean
Korean peninsula 103, 108–109 showing key sites involved in Late
Kubera 132 Bronze Age trade 81; of the Indian
Kuča oasis 227–230, 233, 235–236 Ocean showing the maritime routes,
Kushan Empire 130, 134; and the kings ports of trade and land routes 126; of
viewed as godly figures 129–134, Japan and surrounding regions with
228; and the opening up of Mathura sites discussed in the text 103; of the
131; pierced coins 171; at the time of Satavahana Empire 190; showing the
Kanishka I 226; and the twin capitals Bandeiras campaigns, the municipality
Mathura and Taxila 129 of São Paulo and site locations 248
Kyushu 106, 108–109, 111 Marina Gate 188
maritime and land routes 126–129
labour 42, 110 Marx, Karl 38, 40–41, 44–45
Lakshmi 186, 195–196 material culture 2, 8, 22–25, 28, 31, 83,
Lamture, Shri Ramalingappa 188 127, 166–168, 245, 249, 259; analysis
land 40, 94, 110, 113, 128, 130, 152, 186, 25; ancient 19; early globalization
229; owners 45; routes 126, 129, 229; manifests in 28; effects of
Silk routes 134 globalization on 23, 25; international
Index 277
108; local 23; shared 41; specialists 19; Nanda (Sakya youth) 230–231, 233
study of ancient 19–20 Nara 109
material engagements 90–91, 94 Neolithic period 104, 108–109
materials 19, 21, 23, 82–86, 89, 94, networks 19, 21, 24–25, 83–84, 126, 128,
184–185, 194, 196, 210, 212, 246, 249; 138, 146–149, 151, 165, 173; ancient
exotic 69; glass 62; inscriptional 210; Indian Ocean 124, 155, 169; complex
raw 7, 38, 58, 60, 62, 69, 81–83, 89; 2, 20; diplomatic 82; economic 83, 86;
vitreous 62–63, 68 interregional 124; local Cypriot 93;
Mathura 128–129, 131–134, 138, 186, maritime 128; religious 229
195; ancient connections 132; art and New Institutional Economics 39–40
artists 131–132, 134; Museum 132; NIE see New Institutional Economics
School 131, 133; sculptures 131–132; Nihon shoki 107, 113
Mato Grosso do Sul 247 Nile valley 62–63, 68
Mauryan Empire 129, 207–209, 211, nodes 58, 83–84, 165, 173; see also hubs
214–215, 217; citizens of the far-flung non-violence 212, 216, 219–220
220; encompassed almost all of the North, Douglas 39
Indian subcontinent 207; founded by northern India 130–131, 133, 136, 207
Aśoka’s grandfather, Candragupta North-Western Frontier Province 227
Maurya 207; and the fusion of numismatic studies 165
cultures 207; and sites of Aśokan NWFP see North-Western Frontier
inscriptions 208 Province
Mauryas 129, 207–208
Māyā, Queen 233 objects 1, 3, 5–7, 25, 27, 81–95, 166,
medicine 215, 248 168–171, 183, 185–186, 189, 191–196;
Mediterranean 45–46, 129, 144–145, alien 83; analysing individual 167;
147, 150, 153–154, 156; basin 9, 128; ancient Indian-crafted 183; bronze
central 63; first millennium BCE 146; 103; conical 185; decorative 185;
goods 165, 167, 169, 171, 173; and imported 90, 94; in iron and steel 248;
Indian glass crafting technologies 138; physical 167–168; sacred 228; tracing
Roman 183, 197; world 126–127, 152, and tracking 6, 124
156, 166–171 oikoumene (inhabited world) 124,
merchants 7–8, 89, 93–95, 135, 137, 150, 146–149, 153, 155–156
152–154, 165, 173, 188, 192 oikoumenisation 4, 9–10, 144–151,
Mesopotamia 59, 62 153–156; classing 149; cultural impact
methodologies 6, 9, 21, 28–29, 31, 37; of 150, 154; examples of 149; great
and models 6; and theories 29, 31 strength of 148; hallmarks of 149;
Meyer, Eduard 42–43 long-term economic impact of 151;
Minas Gerais 247–249 processes of 155–156; Ptolemaic era
Minoanization 4 of 149, 154, 156
modelling 249–250, 252, 256 oils 88, 90
models 6, 23, 42–43, 58, 84 Okinawa 109
modernists 42, 46 ökonomische Gesellschaftformation
monasteries 211, 228–230 (Marx) 44
monks 213, 217, 229–230, 234–235 Old World 124, 138
morphologies 256 Olive baboons 155–156
motifs 111–113, 227, 230, 232, 236–237, Olivelle, Patrick 210, 214, 221–222,
250, 252, 255, 258; bird 111; brushed 224–225
255; combinations of 249, 255; organizations 3, 26–27, 84, 125, 165, 167,
comparisons of 227; curvilinear 173, 258
255; decorative 250, 256; diamond Ortiz, Fernando 2, 24
251; engobed 255; exclusive 250; O’Sullivan, Michael 125, 135
iconographic 227; and practices Ovimbundu 252–254; brushed
255; of ships 112; technical 255; patterns 253; community 252–253;
transformation of 227 pottery 254
multidisciplinarity (concept) 29 ownership 168, 170
Mycenaean pottery 65, 68, 83, 87–89 oxhide-ingots 58
278 Index
Pacific coast 57, 108 Piyadassi, King 211–212, 214–216,
Pactyic region 147 218–221
paintings 196, 227, 229–230, 232–233, Pliny the Elder 150–152, 172, 187, 192
235, 252; in caves 235; in Qizil 230; Polanyi, Karl 42–43
styles of 229; wall 228 polities 124, 133, 135, 137, 149, 153–154,
Paithan site 183, 190 167; great 130; littoral 137; republican
Pakistan 127–128, 186, 227; and 136; in Southeast Asia 138
Afghanistan 186; present-day 128 Pompeii 10, 183–197; figurine 188–189,
palaces 66, 83, 215–216 191, 193–195; figurine’s provenance
paleographers 186 189; Indian figurine before and after
Pali chronicle (Mahāvaṃsa) 217 restoration 184; Indian figurine plinth
Pali literature 217, 228 inscription 186; ivory 186–187, 193;
Palmyrene merchants 8 patron goddess Venus 196; statuette
Palmyrene tariff 137 186, 188, 190, 193, 196; and Ter
Pamirs 229 figurines 193
papyrological studies 165 ports 7, 83, 90, 126–127, 138, 151–152,
Paraná 247 192; large 152; to Mathura 134;
Parthians 129–130 potential 154; reaching 127; rival
patterns 1, 5, 31, 106, 167–168, 170–171, Satavahana trade 138; warm water 129
248, 250, 256; of consumption and Portugal 247–248, 251–252, 254–256;
social phenomena 168; of interaction handles from 254; medieval and
167; linear brushed 250, 252, 253 post-medieval sites in 255; notched
Paulo’s colonial ceramics 10, 246 appliqués in 254; post-medieval
peninsula, Korean 103, 108–109 pottery in 252; post-medieval sites
perfumed oils 88, 90 in 255
Periplus/Periplus Maris Erythraei 7, Portuguese 247, 251, 256
127, 138, 148–150, 153, 170, 183, Portuguese campaigns, Bandeiras 247
187, 190, 192 pottery 7, 81, 83, 86, 89, 92–94, 154, 246,
Persian Empire 126 249, 251–252, 258–259; African 252;
Persian Gulf 125–127 Cypriot 89; Egyptian 92; Indian 128;
personal possessions 91–92, 169–170 Lelang 108; Levantine 90; Minoan
perspectives 9, 38, 46, 68, 84, 113, 148, 89; Mycenaean 65, 68, 83, 87–89;
151, 216; analytical 24; deep-time 135; Ovimbundu 254; Portuguese 252, 256;
enriched 170; flexible 84; hindsight post-medieval 252
125; new materialist 84; socio-cultural Prakrit language 127, 209–210, 212, 217
149; transcultural 3, 167, 170–171, Prasenjit, King 235
173; varied 2 Pratt, Mary Louise 3
phenomena 1, 4–6, 20, 22–24, 36, 39, Princep, James 209
41, 57, 60, 123–124, 145, 155–156, Prince Siddhārtha see Siddhārtha, Prince
255–256; ancient 46; cultural 19–20, processes 3–5, 21–22, 24–25, 36–38, 41,
25; detraditionalisation 130; economic 84, 104, 113, 144–145, 147–148, 155–
4, 43; global 29; of globalization 124; 156, 166, 245–246, 256, 258–259; of
planetary-wide 145; socio-economic change 256; colonizing 256; cultural
38; worldwide 247 5, 258; dialectical 259; dynamic 247;
philosophers 38, 44 globalizing 246; glocalizing 24; of
pillar edicts 209, 211 grobalization 259; historical 44, 245,
Pinheiros 2 246, 249–252, 254; handles 247; intentional 256; intertwined 37;
from 254; with linear sectioning multidirectional 258; multilayered
on the fracture and traces of clay 259; of oikoumenisation 155–156;
reinforcements pot sherd from 251; unilateral 258; unpredictable 22, 31
notched appliqués in 254; visible production 3, 6–7, 38–39, 42, 165, 169,
junction between sections in a 171, 173, 248–249, 256, 258; maritime
fragment from 251 mode of 110; techniques 249–250, 258
Pitts, Martin 36, 40–41, 145 production and culture 256
Index 279
products 4, 24, 38, 109, 134, 138, 165, 217; and cultures 130; emerging 218;
167, 227; finished 58, 60–62, 68–69; universal 218
and practices 4 religious 151, 155; affiliations 210, 214;
projects, construction 218 establishments 228; heritage 209;
provenance 183, 188, 196, 209, 236 philosophy 230; rituals 155, 210;
Ptolemaic 144, 154–156; beginnings traditions 207, 213, 215, 217
144–145, 147, 149, 151, 153, 155; religious sects 215
Egypt 127, 154, 156; elephant hunting Renfrew, Colin 138
152; merchants 154; society 151, 154; representations 169–170, 236; first iconic
transregional connectivities 10 129; frequent 111; positive 235; spatial
Ptolemaic explorers (Ariston) 154 84; vivid 38
Ptolemies 127, 144, 146, 150–154 Res Gestae 147
Ptolemy II 151, 155–156 research 19, 21, 25–27, 44, 46, 64,
Ptolemy III 151, 154 110–111, 113, 183, 190, 256; agenda
Ptolemy IV 151 27; areas 2, 27; interdisciplinary 29;
Putney Debates 125 paired 28; recent 19, 23
resources 41, 57, 60, 208, 228; freshwater
Qana 127, 154 104; marine 106; offshore 106; scarce
Qizil 228–230, 233–234, 236; caves 232, 258
235–236; grottoes 228; paintings responses 58, 124, 128, 169, 246–247;
230, 235 cultural 24, 165; deliberate 169; Indian
Queen Māyā 233 128, 168; individual 247; local 246;
queens 195, 228 unique 259; varied 259
rice 103, 106, 110, 113; agriculture
raw materials 7, 38, 58, 60, 62, 69, 81–83, 105, 107; cultivation 107; farmers
89; individual 62; sources 60, 68 111–112; farming 104, 106–108, 110;
Reactionists 38 harvesting 110
Rebun island 109 Richū, King 107
red engobe 253 Rio Grande do Sul 252, 254; cording
Red Sea 8, 124–128, 138, 144, 149–156, from 254
192; and aromatics from Arabia 156; risk 9, 26, 29–30, 46; of improper
and the Eastern Desert 153; hunting use of knowledge and methods
of elephants in the 151; and the 30; manufactured 123; taking
network of trade stretching to South ventures 137
China 8, 128; networks 154; and wider rituals 64, 167, 171, 215
Indian Ocean 155 Ritzer, George 3, 246, 259
regions 21–22, 60, 62–63, 68–69, 112, roads 151, 208, 231, 233; main 230;
144, 146–148, 150–156, 167, 169–170, major network of 152; northern Silk
194, 227–228, 230, 235–236, 247–248; 228; and transport systems 83
ancient 227; coastal 152; distant rock art 112, 229
61; geographic 7, 219; major 62; rock crystal 184
neighbouring 68; northwest 209; rock edicts 209, 211, 215, 219
peaceful 209; southernmost 207 rocks 212, 214
relationality 84–85, 89, 95; binding 95; Roman 127, 132, 136, 146–147, 149,
complex 89 154–156, 169, 183, 187, 190, 192,
relationships 2, 6, 24, 94–95, 113, 196–197; amphorae 124; archaeology
228, 233, 247, 252, 259; bustling 37; artefacts 128; aurei and denarii
commercial 183; changes 24; close 170; Empire 2, 41, 132–133, 136, 138,
230; complex 82; cultural 37; 171–172; frontiers 127; furniture 173,
economic 259; fluid 82; institutional 196; glassware 130; and the imperial
57; social 45; unequal 1; vigorous era 183; mercantile communities 137,
mercantile 186 150; mercantilism 127; merchant
religions 66, 130, 167, 208, 213–214, ships 138; monetary reforms 173;
219–220, 228, 236; civilizational participation in the wider Indian
280 Index
Ocean networks of trade 155; senate 190–193, 195–196, 209, 211; Buddhist
136; society 45, 150; territories 187; 217; focusing on the entanglement of
treasury 137; world 36, 40, 138, geographic and cultural dimensions of
148, 192 globalization 21; Japanese 108, 110,
Roman coins 171–173; Byzantine 112; Marxist 45; modern 41, 166
171; early 166, 171; export of 173; scholarship 1, 38, 145, 188; accelerating
imitation 171; imitation of 172; in 196; ancient historical 37; current 20,
India 170; precious metal 172–173; 26; earlier 149; recent 41
use of 172 schools 106, 113, 170
Rome 40–41, 144, 148, 150–151, 183, script 2, 127, 129, 186, 194–195,
187–188; and Arabia 183; and the 209–210; Aramaic 209; Brāhmī 209;
development of commerce 145; sea Kharoṣṭhī 209; and languages 127;
trade of 137; see also Ancient Rome Tamil-Brahmi 167
roots 26, 67, 113, 187; archaeological sculptures 8, 132, 186–187, 227
28; historical 20; linguistic 247; sea caves 109
prehistoric 113 Second Punic War 147
Rostovtzeff, Michael 41–43 Second World War 145
routes 61, 63, 93, 129, 154; commercial Segawa, T. 111–112
248; maritime and land 126–129; Seland, Eivind 144–150, 154–156, 236
overland 154; unique 94 Seven Jewels 236; Jewel of Citizen 236;
ruling classes 45 Jewel of Elephant 236; Jewel of Gem
Runaway World: How Globalization is 236; Jewel of General 236; Jewel of
Reshaping our Lives 123 Horse 236; Jewel of Wheel 236; Jewel
rural hinterlands 83, 85 of Wife 236
shell middens in Chiba prefecture from
Sabina, Poppaea 155 c. 9500 BCE to 1185 CE. 105
Saidu Sharif I 231–232 Siddhārtha, Prince 136, 228, 230–231,
sailors 7, 89, 137, 165, 173 233, 236; depicting his physical
Sakas 129, 230, 233 strength standardised in Gandhāra
Sanchi site 183, 186, 191, 213 using accurate bodily movements 232;
Sanchi Stupa #2 186, 195 lifting the elephant, Andhanḍherī
Sangam corpus 167 (relief) 233; lifting the elephant, Saidu
sangha (Buddhist community) 134, 136, Sharif I, first to the third century CE
213, 228 (relief) 232
Sanskrit 187, 209–210, 213 Silk routes 134
Santa Catarina 247 silver coins 170–171
São Paulo 10, 245–249, 251, 255, sites 62, 64–66, 69, 83, 86–94, 108–
257–259; colonial ceramics 10, 109, 165–167, 169, 208–209, 211,
246–249; founder in 1554 247; pottery 249–252, 256, 259; analysis of 250;
of three archaeological sites located in archaeological 246, 248, 255–256;
246; pottery production in 246 Buddhist 134, 172, 228, 236; cave
sarcophagus (inscription) 155 228; coastal 128; colonial 251; with
Satavahana 138, 169–170, 183, 189–192, decorated hearths from the Eastern
194–195; kingdom 189; rulership 190; Carpathian Basin 66; Indian 183;
territory 195 indigenous 252; local 210; maritime
Satavahana sites 183, 189–192; 172; post-medieval 255; pre-colonial
Bhokardan 183, 191–193; Paithan 252; Satavahana 183, 189–192; trading
183, 190; Sanchi 183, 186, 191, 213; 89, 94; of the Yayoi-period 109
Ter (called Tagara in ancient times) slaves 214, 247–248
183, 188 social changes 64, 82, 104, 124, 245
‘Schism edict’ 213 social organizations 167
scholars 10, 20–22, 26–29, 31, 37–38, social practices 60, 66–67, 83, 89, 93–94
144, 148, 150, 183–184, 186, 188, social sciences 2–3, 19, 24, 84
Index 281
societies 4–7, 23, 36, 38, 41, 44–45, 58, tax regimes 135, 137
60, 107–108, 112, 146–148, 165–168, Taxila 128–129, 131, 134, 138, 188
255; ancient 41, 146, 166; capitalist techniques 1, 249–250, 252, 255;
38; colonized 256; contemporary manufacturing 249; productive 250
22; cosmopolitan 133; diverse 214; technologies 1, 4–5, 21, 39, 60, 67, 69,
exploiter 6; global 125, 259; historical 83, 127, 146, 165; maritime 126;
5, 43; human 124; indigenous 246; modern 145; new fishery 108
pre-global 125, 128; pre-literature 8; Ter 183, 188; figurines 191, 193;
pre-modern 1, 4, 36, 42, 46; regional statuettes 189
58; traditional 255; transforming 123 terracotta 64, 132, 169; artefacts 134;
South Arabian art 173 figurines 169; objects 169; plaque
South China 107, 112 depicting a Bacchanalian scene. From
South China Sea 125, 128 Ahhichatra, Uttar Pradesh, second
Southeast Asia 2, 106–107, 111–112, century BCE 132; pyramidal weights
128, 134, 183, 217 64; skeuomorphs 61; toys 134
Southern India 144, 189 texts 2, 7, 103, 107, 109, 210–213,
Souza, Marcos Andre T. 245, 215–217, 220, 224, 229, 234;
249–250, 255 and archaeology 2; early 109;
Spice-Bearing Land 152, 156 historical 111; inscriptional 212;
spices 152–153, 155, 183, 190 non-literary 210
Sri Lanka 172, 217 Thapar, Romila 210, 212, 221–223,
statues 134, 183–186, 188, 192, 194–196; 225, 228
Greco-Roman cult 187; marking out theories 1, 6, 9–10, 20, 24, 27–29, 31,
the eastern frontiers of the Kushan 37–39, 42, 45, 58, 192–193, 196;
Empire 134 adaptation of globalization 19;
statuettes 184, 188–189, 193, 196–197 of bronzization 58; cultural 28;
stirrup jars 88–90, 92 globalisation 37; globalization 9,
Strabo 144, 146, 187 19–20, 23, 25, 31, 36, 45, 124, 148; on
Strathern, Marilyn 29 globalization and culture 20; long-
studies 1–3, 7, 9–10, 19–20, 23–25, standing 6; and methodologies 29,
30–31, 36–37, 40, 88–89, 124–125, 31; modern economic 39; network
137–138, 165–166, 168, 172–173, 6; transcultural 10, 24, 165–166;
195–196; archaeological 10, 27; by transculturality 10; unifying 43
Autiero 173; epigraphic 8, 165, 167; Theravāda Buddhism 213, 217, 220; see
of Indian and Roman furniture 196; also Buddhism
interdisciplinary 28; numismatic Tieken, Herman 211, 215, 221–223, 225
165; papyrological 165; of past time-space compression 22, 31, 39,
globalization and transculturality 145, 246
2; South Asian 10; transcultural time-space vocabulary 10
iconographical 196 Tiryns 65–66, 83, 90
stūpas (shrines) 218 tombs 87–89
sub-disciplines 26, 30 Tomlinson, John 21
Sulawesi Sea 125 trade 21–22, 40, 42, 81–82, 109–111,
superstructures 44–45 126–127, 129–130, 134–135, 138,
Swāt 227, 229–231, 235, 237 144–146, 148–153, 156, 165, 187, 192;
symbols 112, 185, 194–195, 228; cultural agreements 137; in amber 109; ancient
228; multi-cultural 236; visual 210 144; centres 134; in ceramics 127;
systems 46, 83, 146; economic 39–41, control of 69; East-West 183, 187, 196;
43; marking 88, 93–94; transregional foreign 137; global 21, 130; Indian
trading 82 Ocean 7, 133, 144–145, 147, 149–151,
153, 155, 165, 173; inter-regional 82;
Tamilakam region 167 international 133; in ivory 156; Late
Tarim Basin 226, 228–229 Bronze Age 81; long-distance 1, 58,
282 Index
60, 63, 68, 82, 135, 165, 173; overland Utpalavarṇā, (nun) welcoming the
154; Roman 127, 132; routes 63, 129, Buddha (relief) 233, 234
131, 150, 173, 192, 229; Silk Road 217;
sites 89, 94; trans-regional 113 Vandkilde, Helle 82–83
trade networks 1, 21, 81, 94, 123, 133, Vasudeva Krishna (Hindu god) 129
149, 221; complex over-lapping 81, vegetables 248
148; long-distance 123; subsequent Versluys, Miguel J. 36, 40–41, 145
221; wider Mediterranean 94 vessels 64, 87–88, 90, 93–94, 192, 249; in
trade routes 61, 63; of faïence goods 63; antiquity 90; ceramic 111, 255–257;
long-distance 128, 134; open maritime common 249; decorative 89; drinking
156; unimpeded sea 186 89; imported 89, 95; ivory banquet
traders 93–94, 138 188; transport 87, 138
traditions 2, 68, 108, 123, 208, 228, Vidisha-Sanchi 191
246–247, 256; first maritime 126; Vignato, Giuseppe 229
Jainas and Vasudeva 133, 136; literary villages 106, 110, 188; agricultural 110;
170; and practices 256 coastal 110; farming 106; salt-making
transculturality 1–3, 5–9, 19, 23–25, 110; Yayoi 110
28, 31, 166, 196; analytic value of vitreous materials 62–63, 68
7; development of 3; facet of 6; and voyages 152, 154, 156, 229
globalization 1–2, 5–6, 9–10, 19, 23,
25, 28, 31; and glocalization 10, 19, Wada, Seigo 108, 110–111
23, 25, 28, 31; instances of 25; and Waldschmidt, Ernst 229
the intersection with globalization 5; warrior-traders 69
material 22, 165, 173; phenomenon of warriors 62, 67–69, 111–112, 169
24–25; theories 10; value of 166 water sources 230
transculturation 5, 24–25, 58, 166 Weber, Max 42–43
transculture 9, 58, 60, 68, 104, 111–112, Wei zhi (Chinese history) 106–108
114; of Bronze Age Eurasia 9; of Welsch, Wolfgang 3
bronzization 58; glocalizes in regional wheat 103, 107, 248
societies 58 wine 92–93, 132, 207
transkulturalität (transculturality) 3 World Trade Organization 124–125
transregional 207, 209, 212; Buddhist WST see world systems theory
identity 218; identity as exemplified
in Aśoka’s edicts 207; spread of Xian, Fa 235
Buddhism 220
travellers 229 yakshi/yaksha or semi-divine damsel
tropical shells 109 sculpted at Mathura, first to second
tusks 151–152, 188, 231 century CE 133, 169, 186, 195–196
Yayoi 104–105, 108, 110–111, 113; art
Udayana, King 235 111; bronzes 104; cultures 104, 109;
Ugarit site 83, 89–90 fishing 108–111; innovations 108;
universities 19, 27, 30 period 103, 105–106, 108, 110, 128
urban centres 85–86, 92, 123,
128–129 Zar Dheri 236
urban landscapes 129, 134 Zin, Monika 235–236

Serena Autiero (Editor), Matthew Adam Cobb (Editor) - Globalization and Transculturality From Antiquity To The Pre-Modern World-Routledge (2021)

Uploaded by

Copyright:

Available Formats

You might also like

Serena Autiero (Editor), Matthew Adam Cobb (Editor) - Globalization and Transculturality From Antiquity To The Pre-Modern World-Routledge (2021)

Uploaded by

Document Information

Original Title

Copyright

Available Formats

Share this document

Share or Embed Document

Sharing Options

Did you find this document useful?

Is this content inappropriate?

Copyright:

Available Formats

Serena Autiero (Editor), Matthew Adam Cobb (Editor) - Globalization and Transculturality From Antiquity To The Pre-Modern World-Routledge (2021)

Uploaded by

Copyright:

Available Formats

Globalization and Transculturality

from Antiquity to the Pre-Modern

Dr. Matthew A. Cobb is a lecturer in ancient history at the University of

ISBN: 978-0-367-56055-3 (hbk)

Typeset in Times New Roman

List of figures and table vii

Introduction: utilizing globalization and transculturality for

1 From the field to the globe: the archaeology of globalization 19

2 Globalization, the highest stage of modernization? 36

3 Bronzization, the globalization of the Bronze Age in Afro-Eurasia 57

4 Agencement, matter flows and itinerary of object in the

5 Dragon divers and clamorous fishermen: Bronzization and

6 Archaeology of globalization: a retrospective view

7 Oikoumenisation and the Ptolemaic beginnings of the Indian

8 Mediterranean goods in an Indian context: the use of

9 The Indian figurine from Pompeii as an emblem of East-West

10 A universal dhamma: Buddhism and globalization at the time

11 Globalization and Gandhāran art 226

12 Glocalization as a key to understanding cultural change in

Serena Autiero, Ruhr-Universität Bochum, Germany, and Guangzhou

Globalization and transculturality: origins and

Intersections between globalization and transculturality

Transculturality and globalization: relationships with other

Transcultural analysis versus perceptions of identity

Structure of the book: the individual contributions

Section I: Theory and methodology

Section II: The Bronze Age

Section IV: Thematic case studies

Theory and methodology

Globalization studies and the antiquity

Glocalization, transculturality and material culture

The archaeologist of globalization needs to navigate interdisciplinarity,

a It should be triggered by a surge in long-distance connections.

The archaeology of globalization provides us with fresh opportunities to

Globalization, a controversial concept

The bourgeoisie has through its exploitation of the world market

Marx (and Engels) first suggested a connection between globalization and

The costliness of information is the key to the costs of transacting,

North’s definition widens the spectrum of transaction costs, giving them a

The city appears a kind of common emporium of the world. Cargoes

If an empire spanning parts of Europe, Africa and Asia and character-

A Gramscian perspective on globalization

1 Globalization is a concept designed to describe the novelty of the con-

Bronze age globalization

Bronzization – globalization in the Bronze Age

from the social-institutional relationships that are proliferating between

a Autoethnography, seen ‘as selective collaboration with and appropria-

In archaeology, and more specifically in the theory of bronzization, these

Figure 3.1 Diagrammatic representation of Core-Periphery/World Systems model

Amber and bronzization

Figure 3.2 Amber: sources, trade-routes, exchange networks and finds

of the Carpathians.32 Further sources of amber, though of the Cretaceous

Vitreous materials and bronzization

Decorated hearths and bronzization

Figure 3.4 Reconstruction of a ‘hearth-cauldron’ (hearth-ring), from Tószeg –

and adjacent islands with stamped rims or of horseshoe-shape are found

Other facets of bronzization

Bronze Age globalization?