Sibyl Academic Journal Vol 7 2018

Sibyl

THE WOMEN’S COLLEGE ACADEMIC JOURNAL Volume 7 / 2018

EDITORIAL BOARD Dr Amanda Bell Dr Tiffany Donnelly Assoc. Prof. Linda English Dr Rosemary Hancock Dr Claire Hooker Dr Chris Rudge Dr Olivia Murphy Ms Elisabeth Tondl

CONTACT DETAILS The Women’s College The University of Sydney NSW 2006 Australia Phone: +61 2 9517 5000 Web: www.thewomenscollege.com.au Published by: The Women’s College within the University of Sydney, Sydney, Australia 2019 Cover image: Students in the newly completed Langley Wing of The Women’s College, c.1969

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CONTENTS Introduction V TIFFANY DONNELLY Guest Article: Love and Other Fictions DR OLIVIA MURPHY

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STUDENT ARTICLES Buildings that Howl: The Phenomena of Aeroacoustics in the Built Environment EMELIA MILLINER

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O admirable faith of the weaker sex!: Re-thinking Women in the Crusades GEORGIA CONNERY

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The Composite Figure of Mary Magdalene: Female Sinfulness and Penitence in Medieval Western Christianity MADELEINE GANDHI

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Breastfeeding as Cultural Taboo SALLY MONTGOMERY Barbarians at the gate: Examining non-Roman identities in Late Antiquity MALA RIGBY Through the Looking Glass: Reclaiming the Concept of the Gaze through a Reframing of the Photographic Image ISABELLA CONOMOS Dispossession of Aboriginal land and identity: Legitimising colonisation through the law EMILY GRAETZ

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Introduction The Women’s College Academic Journal, Sibyl, is in its seventh year of publication, showcasing the intellectual and writing prowess of students across multiple disciplines. Submissions of high-distinction earning essays and reports are refereed by a panel of our fellows, and selected based on a variety of criteria such as originality of thought, complexity of writing, and depth of research. What results from this process is a set of eclectic essays ranging in discipline from engineering to sociology, anthropology, history, art history and European studies. All of this year’s essays are highly readable; several, perhaps unsurprisingly, take a feminist viewpoint, and collectively they demonstrate that the academic collateral of the College continues to be outstanding.

Our guest paper is an address given at Formal Dinner at Women’s College in September 2018 by alumna and Sibyl Fellow, Olivia Murphy. Dr Murphy unpicks the underlying agenda of romantic fiction from the eighteenth century to today, presenting love as the fictional answer to the problem of the disinheritance of women from economic agency. It’s a light-hearted look at a terrifying conundrum that persists, albeit in a slightly different form, today.

In our opening student essay, senior Engineering student Emelia Milliner explores the phenomenon of buildings that howl. As she notes, the concept of aeroacoustic noise is a study “dedicated to understanding the interaction between turbulent fluid flow and solid structures.” Howling façades on tall buildings are difficult to predict and complicated to remedy, partially due to the complexities of adequately modelling the exact conditions of built environments.

In one of two essays focussing on dual representations of women in the medieval period, Georgia Connery looks at the role of women who travelled to the crusades, as well as those who stayed at home, and shows that in both cases, women subverted and conformed to expected patterns of female behaviour during the period. In her essay, Madeleine Gandhi deconstructs the image of Mary Magdalene in the medieval period, showing her to be a “composite figure” symbolising sin, penitence and demonic possession as

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well as “female empowerment and agency.” As the first witness to Christ’s resurrection, Mary Magdalene is posited as Christ’s “intimate companion,” granting her a status which ensured her place in popular traditions of Christianity through the ages.

In her essay on anthropology and food, Sally Montgomery examines the taboos associated with breastfeeding through the lens of dark anthropological theory. Focussing on issues of breastfeeding in public, human milk sharing and extended breastfeeding, Montgomery shows that the taboos around these practices are positioned as cultural transgressions by women.

History student Mala Rigby takes us to the period of Late Antiquity, when barbarian peoples invaded the Roman Empire. Seen variously as uncivilised and unintelligible, Rigby’s essay demonstrates that the concept of barbarism was rhetorically constructed in the fourth and fifth centuries CE so as to distinguish those who were “ethnically non-Roman” from those who adhered to the ‘civilised’ precepts of Romanitas.

Isabella Conomos plays with the question “what is a photograph” in her arthistorical essay which puts forward an idea for a hypothetical exhibition focussing on depictions of gender and race in photography. Conomos’s proposed exhibition “ponders the nature of photography and spectatorship” by taking up the notion of the gaze and turning it from the viewer to the subject. Finally, in her sociological piece Emily Graetz examines the racism inherent in Australian legal codes that legitimise and perpetuate dispossession of land and culture for Aboriginal people.

DR TIFFANY DONNELLY Editor-in-Chief

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Love and Other Fictions OLIVIA MURPHY Sibyl Fellow An address given at College Formal Dinner in September 2018 Love is probably the most important theme in literature as a whole – and when I say literature, I mean poetry, novels, song lyrics, plays, television shows and films, half-baked internet memes - the kind of stuff that some people make up to entertain other people, and to give English students something to write essays about.

What not a lot of people realise is that literature invented love.

At first, in poetry, love was invented in order to show off. From the biblical poets, to Ovid, to Dante, Chaucer, Petrarch, and Shakespeare, love was the best excuse for whipping out the ornate polysyllables and highfalutin rhetorical devices that get an ambitious poet noticed.

Almost without exception, these poets wrote about idealised—and by that I mean unmarried—love. Lancelot loves Guinevere (who’s married to King Arthur); Tristan loves Isolde (who’s married to King Mark). In so-called real life, Dante’s Beatrice, like Petrarch’s Laura, was married to another man, and Shakespeare’s best sonnets are about a young nobleman he’s encouraging to hook up with a woman.

The idea that love and marriage could be connected never seems to have crossed anyone’s mind until after the Renaissance (at least in England – the timetable is different in other countries).

After that though, something really interesting starts to happen.

Economically, legally and socially, things start to shift in English society until there’s a bit of a crisis. I’ll put it to you this way:

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Scenario #1 For the greater economic good of the people in charge, we’ve decided to change the way things are run around here. Unfortunately, since you’re not a bloke, you’re not going to inherit any land or anything useful from your family, and we’re not going to let you earn an income any more. You can starve in penury, or if you’re lucky you can sign over your name and your entire identity to someone else, who may or may not give you somewhere to live, in exchange for sex and taking over the household chores. How do you feel?

See, this is where literature steps in. Literature is the most important problem-solving technology humans have invented, and by the time this crisis rolled around, it had already been working on the concept of love for a few centuries.

So I’ll put it to you another way: Scenario #2 You’re an attractive young woman. If you play your cards right, and keep up with the personal grooming, one day, a really wonderful man will come along, one who loves and adores you, and you’ll be married in a pouffy white dress and live happily ever after. How do you feel?

This is literature, specifically the novel, solving a problem. In England, until about the beginning of the eighteenth century, women inherited pretty equally with men. They had businesses of their own, they didn’t lose their legal identity when they married, and even in the working classes their contributions to the family income meant that women, and the pigs, chickens and cows they looked after, were hugely important to their families.

Then, throughout the eighteenth century, things really changed. Landowners began consolidating their land. The first way to do that was to ignore the laws of the church and stick with the common law. The English Common Law favoured primogeniture, or giving everything to the first-born son, and leaving very little to anybody else. The other thing rich people did was to buy up what had been common land, so all those pigs, chickens and cows that peasant women had owned suddenly had nowhere to graze or forage.

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Because women no longer had anything but their bodies, and sometimes some towels and sheets, to bring with them into a marriage, men weren’t so interested in getting married any more. It meant a huge increase in the cost of living, without any increased income. So men started demanding bigger dowries, and dowries got huge. That meant women were even more of a drain on their families, and women without dowries could basically forget marriage altogether.

Back in 1700, daughters were valuable to their families, bringing in an income or even just the eggs and cheese that were an essential part of the early modern diet. By 1800, however, in most cases daughters were little more than an economic burden and a drain on a family’s resources.

Because families were now so keen to get rid of their daughters, the average age at which women got married dropped from around 25 at the start of the century to around 18 at the end of it. In turn, that meant a lot of young mothers having several children before they were 20, with a massive upswing in the number of women dying in childbirth, either by starting so young, or by having so many more children in a lifetime.

‘Single women have a dreadful propensity to being poor’ Jane Austen wrote to her niece – and in a world where the gender pay gap was appalling, and the gender inheritance gap was worse, that was a wicked, inescapable fact. Scholars of the eighteenth century call it ‘The Great Disinheritance’ – all those women, passed over in favour of their brothers, or nephews, or cousins – all those women whose only route to a comfortable life was marriage – a dangerous route when the risk of death in childbirth kept rising and rising.

This is what Austen is thinking about when she writes about love. And what does she really mean by love, anyway? Well, in her novels, the word ‘love’, as most of her characters understand it, means a developing heterosexual relationship between two single people of reproductive age that grows out of their mutual affection for one another; an affection based on the complementary nature of the unique characteristics (physical, moral, emotional, intellectual, financial) of each party; and finding its perfect expression in a socially sanctioned, clerically officiated, legally monitored, monogamous companionate marriage.

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That is, pretty much, the ‘romantic love’ which forms the backbone of the eighteenth-century novel. It’s that concept of love that we still see being played out everywhere from Love Actually to Love Island. It’s this version of love that’s at the bottom of what we think about when we think about love, about marriage, about other kinds of sexual and romantic relationships.

And the weird thing is, in this version of love, love is at once the most personal and private of emotions, and at the same time a kind of public property, in which the invested – or merely just interested – community might want to interfere. So if you’re sitting around watching The Bachelor in your pyjamas, there’s good precedent for that: ‘It is a truth universally acknowledged,’ writes Austen in her most famous aphorism, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.

However little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his first entering a neighbourhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families, that he is considered the rightful property of some one or other of their daughters.

Have a think about that second sentence for a minute – it might not be as famous but it does all the heavy lifting. The word ‘feelings’ jars with the legalistic phrase ‘rightful property’, and the word truth – repeated so often you feel like maybe this is a tweet from the White House – ought to make us wonder who’s trying to lie to us, and why. It is the offhand ‘some one or other of their daughters’, however, which really pulls out the rug from under the novelistic ideal of romantic love. It is clear at this point—before the reader has been introduced to any characters, and while this statement still exists only in abstract—that any ‘one or other’ daughter will do so long as she enters into ‘the holy estate of Matrimony’.

If he is rich and she is handsome, that is enough to satisfy the neighbourhood’s—and the novel’s—desire for a wedding. Think about that problem we’re trying to solve again, that Great Disinheritance. Most of the money has been funneled towards men, leaving women out in the cold. But the novel – and the concept of love that the novel develops – can solve all that.

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The redistribution of wealth is crucial to the novel’s ideal of romantic love, and from Pamela to Pride and Prejudice rich men are always on hand to rescue deserving, beautiful young women from spinsterish poverty. There are a couple of novels where a rich young woman adds to her wealth through marriage to an equally, or more wealthy man: Austen’s own Emma, for instance. But they’re very much in the minority. I’ve never found a novel in which a wealthy heiress relieves the undeserved poverty of her worthy, handsome suitor. The only exception is the pornographic novel Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure, where the heroine, Fanny Hill, makes enough money as a prostitute to become quite a desirable match for the poor man she loves.

It’s the same story in the nineteenth century – I can think of only Elizabeth Gaskell’s North and South, among all the Victorian novels I’ve read, where a wealthy woman rescues her lover from financial ruin. I can’t think of any from the twentieth or twenty-first centuries, unless that awful film Notting Hill would count?

Anyway, my point is that the legal, sexual – and most importantly economic union of wealthy hero and beautiful heroine is what drives the plots of romantic fiction. What we now see as a confusion of lust and greed, or more fairly, a combination of the pretty universal human desires to have sex and somewhere to live, the eighteenth century reader saw as love.

Earlier in the eighteenth century, heroines got all hot and bothered over generous prenuptial agreements, but by the time Austen is writing, we just have Elizabeth Bennet seeing Darcy’s enormous house Pemberley and changing her mind about its owner.

Today, in our culture, we are much better off than Elizabeth Bennet. What the feminist movement means is that, economically, things have run full circle. Women are back to being, if not the major breadwinners in a household, at least crucial to its economic survival. Our property rights are more equal than they have been since Shakespeare was writing his will.

The courts, to a certain extent, protect some of our other rights, and it’s no longer perfectly legal for our husbands to beat or rape us, in Australia at least. We can have sex outside of marriage without risking our livelihood.

We no longer have to get married, even to have legitimate children.

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But there’s one other problem that the fiction called love solved, and it’s just as powerful today as it ever was. In every marriage plot of the eighteenth, nineteenth, twentieth and even twenty-first century, marriage solves all the problems, and ties up all the loose ends. In most fictions, it becomes a kind of reward for solving a puzzle or completing a quest – a prize for winning a game. Reality television like The Bachelor has made that quite bizarrely literal. But it’s also an amazingly good way of controlling women.

Think about all those disinherited women of the eighteenth century, the nineteenth century – even today. If you get a group of kids together, even a group of chimpanzees – they’re all really good at understanding what’s fair and what’s unfair. If something’s unfair, they throw a tantrum or refuse to play. So why didn’t all those disinherited women throw a collective tantrum and get their rights back?

Well, because they wanted to win the game. Winning the prize of love – a prize that means having a family, having a chance economically, having social status and somewhere to live, lots of legal protections, etc. – that’s a really big deal. And not everyone can be a winner. In the eighteenth century, as Jane Austen remarked, ‘there certainly are not so many men of large fortune in the world as there are pretty women to deserve them’.

How to make sure you were a winner, carrying off the prize of a wonderful husband? Well, fiction had a lot of answers to that question. They can be summed up with the simple instruction: ‘Be Perfect’. So be Beautiful, but not focused on your looks. Agreeable, but not a complete doormat.

Strategic, but not cunning, Smart, but not intellectual, well-dressed but not super into fashion, kind to your family, to children, to baby animals, to your less attractive friends, but not taken in by con artists, be yourself, but don’t be too weird, don’t be slutty but don’t be a prude, obviously don’t be fat but don’t be too thin either…

The list is basically endless, and you can see just how endless and insane it is by glancing at the covers of women’s magazines in the supermarket.

Even though we’ve gone a long way toward gaining legal equality with men, and we’ve made some inroads towards recovering our economic and political rights too, we still have a lot of work to do. Until we stop being controlled by this powerful discourse, the one that tells us at once that ‘all we need is love’ and that, in order to be loved, we must be perfect, we’re

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still going to be trapped in this insidious fiction. We need to change the narrative – it can be done, we’ve done it before – we need to find a way of thinking about how we live in the world and relate to other humans that doesn’t require giving up who we are or what we want.

To paraphrase the words of the late Aretha Franklin, ‘All I’m asking, is for a little self-respect’. So, let’s find out what that means.

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Buildings that Howl: The Phenomena of Aeroacoustics in the Built Environment EMELIA MILLINER Engineering Commerce 5th Year Abstract In today’s society, noise is everywhere. However, not all of this noise is pleasant, nor wanted. As cities continue to grow and buildings become more elaborate, the incidence of aeroacoustic noise from the interaction between turbulent wind flow and complex built structures is increasing.

Of particular note is the noise generated by façades which use repeated finned elements for aesthetic or solar shading purposes. Understanding aeroacoustic noise is thus paramount to identifying and eliminating unwanted tonal noise. This article reviews the current understanding of aeroacoustic noise in the context of the built environment with a view to identifying methods of analysis suitable for industrial applications.

Keywords: Aeroacoustics, Façades, CFD

1. Introduction At 169 meters tall, the Beetham Tower in Manchester, England, is not only notable for being the tallest completed structure in Manchester.

During high winds, the tower is notorious for emitting a loud tonal noise across the city. The noise itself emanates from the decorative glass façade located atop the building, with a measured frequency of 247 Hz or a standard musical pitch of B3. Despite efforts to prevent the noise from occurring, the Beetham tower continues to howl to this day (Hamer, 2006).

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The mechanism driving this sound is referred to as aeroacoustic noise.

Aeroacoustics is an area of study dedicated to understanding the interaction between turbulent fluid flow and solid structures (Rienstra and Hirschberg, 2017). In comparison to other areas of study, the field of aeroacoustics is still in its infancy, having been developed in response to the invention of the jet engine. The complicated and unpredictable nature of turbulent fluid flow and the limitations of current experimental methods results in significant uncertainty in many areas of aeroacoustics.

Increasing complexity in building façades for both aesthetic and solar shading purposes has resulted in more frequent observations of tonal aeroacoustic noise. Such noise has been documented off two skyscrapers in The Hague, the Netherlands (Ploemen et al., 2011), the ornamental dome on the top of the Cityspire building in Manhattan, New York (Haynes, 2017) and off a highway balustrade in Melbourne, Australia (Mitchell et al., 2010). Unwanted noise, such as aeroacoustic noise off building façades, can have a significant detrimental impact on health and living amenity (Hurtley, 2009). The increased occurrence of aeroacoustic noise in the built environment has prompted renewed interest in understanding aeroacoustic noise in industrial applications. This article endeavours to present current literature and methods of investigation critical to further development in the understanding of aeroacoustic noise.

2. Aeroacoustic Noise Broadly, sound waves are propagated by periodic oscillations of pressure around a fixed location in a fluid (Bettini, 2017). As can be seen in Figure 1, the variation in air pressure corresponds to the compressions and rarefaction of air characteristic of a longitudinal sound wave. As turbulent fluid flow encounters a solid body, it is possible for the resulting rapid perturbations in pressure to form a sound wave (Glegg and Devenport, 2017). Aeroacoustics is mainly concerned with scenarios whereby the acoustic source is contained in the fluid flow. Such sources are often generated by unsteady oscillations, such as turbulent vortices, being produced due to obstacles in the path of the flow (Cehelova et al., 2017).

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Figure 1. Demonstration of Relationship between Pressure and Sound Waves (“Noise – Basic Information”, 2018)

There are two broad types of aeroacoustic noise. Broadband noise is sound which comprises multiple frequencies, such as is the case for noise from the wind or ocean. In contrast, tonal noise is characterised by having a clear tonal frequency, as can be observed for musical instruments. Due to the increased intensity and annoyance associated with tonal noise, the focus will be given to the analysis of tonal noise.

2.1. Aeolian Tone The Aeolian tone is the most widely studied aeroacoustic mechanism having been first noted by Strouhal in 1878 whilst investigating the noise generated by cylindrical wires exposed to fluid flow (Zdravkovich, 1996).

Strouhal observed oscillatory trailing vortices in the region behind the wire, which due to the strong periodic behaviour of fluctuations ultimately results in the generation of a steady pure tone. These particular vortices are known as Von Kármán vortex streets and are the key driving mechanism behind Aeolian tones. The strong periodic behaviour which creates the pressure fluctuations critical to the sound wave generation can be seen in Figure 2.

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Figure 2. Details of Von Kármán Vortex Street (Basic, 2016)

For an Aeolian tone, the frequency at which the noise occurs is governed by the Strouhal number, shown in Equation (2.1). The Strouhal number is a non-dimensional number which relates the frequency of the vortex shedding (f), a characteristic length (l) and the flow velocity (U). For the flow over a thin wire, on which the original experiment was conducted, the Strouhal number remains constant at 0.2, allowing for the tonal frequency to be predicted based on flow parameters and wire geometry.

St =

fl U

(2.1)

However, this relationship does not hold for all aeroacoustic problems, particularly where multiple solid structures are present resulting in a more complex interaction between the structure and the fluid flow.

2.2 Other Mechanisms of Sound Generation Chanaud (1970) classifies aeroacoustic whistles (long steady tones) into three broad types based on understanding aeroacoustic systems as working through a feedback loop. Within this system, the sound is not only amplified, but this amplified energy is fed back into the system to sustain and control the process. The relationship which exists between these various types identified is summarised by Figure 3.

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Figure 3. Whistle Feedback Mechanisms (Chanaud, 1970)

The three whistle types are distinctive not only by the mechanism which causes the tone to occur but also by the characteristic relationship between the flow velocity and frequency. These fundamental differences can be summarised as follows: Type I. These whistles are generated as the by-product of vortex development in a similar manner to Aeolian tones. The frequency of the type I whistle is related to flow velocity as governed by the Strouhal number.

Type II. Whistles of this type occur as vortices encounter a bluff body creating an acoustic source which ultimately radiates back onto the incident flow source. The frequency for this type of whistle is unique as the linear relationship between velocity and frequency does not hold for certain flow rates, resulting in a frequency jump.

Type III. This type of whistle is governed by the resonant frequency of the structure, whereby the source of the tone itself is overpowered by the feedback mechanism inherent in the structure. The tonal frequency thus remains constant for a range of incident velocities.

Despite these three specific source types identified, in many instances, the exact mechanisms causing the tonal noise can be complex, involving several different types of sources identified. Furthermore, there are other noise sources generated by aerodynamic interaction including mechanical noises, structural-borne noises and the modal excitation of structural elements (Blinet et al., 2015).

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3. Classification and Identification of Façade Noise There have been several studies which focus on the generation of aeroacoustic noise on façade elements with the aim of identifying the mechanisms causing the noise in order to prevent this noise from occurring.

However further insight into the aeroacoustic mechanisms at work with façade blades can be gained by understanding fundamental flow behaviour, for example, the flow over bluff bodies.

In studying the tonal noise emitted off a finned balustrade, Mitchell et al.

(2010) determined the mechanism causing the noise was driven mainly by the acoustic resonance between the adjacent fins. The resulting unstable shear layers were found to create a feedback loop amplifying the resonant frequency. There was found to be a relationship between the acoustic wavelength (λ=c/f) and the depth of façade blade (D), as shown in Equation (3.1), where n is the order of the acoustic mode. n 1 c D = + (3.1) 2 4 f

(

)

Paduano et al. (2015) analysed the aeroacoustic noise from a façade blade with a space between the blades and the building wall. For this scenario, the tonal noise was found to be a result of aeroacoustic resonance in the duct created in the space between the blades and the wall. The periodic vortex shedding off the façade blade resonates with the acoustic mode of the duct. As shown in Equation (3.2), a similar relationship was observed between the width of the duct (w) and the frequency observed. n c W= (3.2) 2 f

( )

The equations proposed by both Mitchell et al. (2010) and Paduano et al. (2015) are similar in form, with the critical difference occurring with the additional ¼ in Equation (3.1). These relationships proposed are reminiscent of the relationship between length and the standing wave in a closed-ended pipe and open-ended pipe shown in Equation (3.3) and Equation (3.4) respectively (Kinsler, 2000). n c L = (3.3) 4 f n c L = (3.4) 2 f

( ) ( )

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These relationships highlight the complexity inherent to understanding aeroacoustic noise on façade elements, due to the interaction between the noise source and the structure itself. Not only is the geometry of the blade significant for causing the fluid structures which ultimately cause the noise to be generated, but for the interaction effects, such as resonance created by having multiple solid bodies. Thus whilst there is some understanding of the mechanisms causing the aerodynamic noise of façade blades, significant further research is required to understand the parameters which influence noise produced entirely.

4. Experimental Methods At present, there are three principal approaches to understanding aeroacoustic noise: experimental, computational and theoretical approaches. Experimental approaches rely on in-situ measurements or wind tunnel tests to gather information about the aeroacoustic noise. In contrast, computational approaches, known as Computational Aeroacoustics (CAA), use computer simulations to resolve the flow and acoustic fields.

Finally, theoretical approaches aim to solve first principle wave and fluid flow equations to understand the noise phenomenon.

In industrial applications, such as façade noise, theoretical approaches are seldom used due to their complexity and inability to generalise.

Experimental methods, particularly the use of wind tunnel tests, are more commonly employed to determine the potential for noise, however the cost of these places emphasis on finding more robust methods (Paduano et al., 2015). The continual improvement of computational power has resulted in an increased focus on the potential use of computational techniques for the prediction of façade noise (Ploemen et al., 2011).

Current computational approaches, particularly Computational Aeroacoustics has seen significant potential for modelling aeroacoustic problems. However, focus thus far in CAA has been in the context of jet noise and other high Mach number flows, with little industrial applications tested. This mainly stems from the technical knowledge required for implementing these approaches, uncertainty in accuracy and computational power required for CAA simulations (Kurbatskii and Mankbadi, 2004).

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More recently Paduano et al. (2015) have proposed a simplified approach for aeroacoustics, relying on the relationship between pressure fluctuations in a flow and the characteristic of a sound source as a consistent periodic pressure fluctuation over time. This method employs Computational Fluid Dynamics (CFD) to resolve the critical flow features, and collect the behaviour of pressure in the flow domain over time. A Fast Fourier Transform (FFT), is thus used to change the fluctuations in pressure from a time-signal into the frequency domain, where any consistent periodic pressure fluctuation will be distinct, allowing for the identification of tonal noise. This method was further validated by Milliner (2018) showing the potential of the method not only as a diagnostic tool but for expanding understanding of aeroacoustic phenomena.

5. Conclusion As engineers continue to build more elaborate structures, employing façades for aesthetics and solar shading, the incidence of aeroacoustic noise is becoming a pressing problem which needs to be addressed. The current limitations in knowledge, however, provide a significant disadvantage in identifying and eliminating the source of this noise. Recent research has aimed to understand not only the different mechanisms responsible for aeroacoustic noise but also the interactions between solid structures and their impact on the noise produced. Development in computational approaches shows significant potential in expanding understanding of aeroacoustic phenomena. In particular, a method using CFD results and a FFT presents itself as a suitable industrial tool for capturing aeroacoustic phenomena.

With increased understanding and awareness of this aeroacoustic noise, howling buildings will be a thing of the past.

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REFERENCES Basic, J. (2016). Turbulent history of fluid mechanics (Undergraduate). University of Split.

Bettini, A. (2017). Waves. In A Course in Classical Physics 4 - Waves and Light, Undergraduate Lecture Notes in Physics, pages 77-123. Springer, Cham, Switzerland.

Blinet, T., Kerdudou, P., Jean-Baptiste, C., and Jacqus, G. (2015). Wind noise generated by facade elements on buildings: A simple measurement method and case studies. In Inter.Noise 2015 Conference Proceedings, San Francisco, California.

Cehelova, D., Urban, D., Bielek, B., Rychtarikova, M., and Roozen, N. (2017). Literature Review on Wind Induced Sound on Buildings. Technical report, Scientific Grant Agency MSVVS SR. Chanaud, R. C. (1970). Aerodynamic Whistles. Scientific American, 222(1):40-47.

Glegg, S. and Devenport, W. (2017). 1 - Introduction. In Aeroacoustics of Low Mach Number Flows, pages 3-8. Academic Press.

Hamer, M. (2006). Buildings that whistle in the wind. New Scientist, (2563).

Haynes, G. (2017). Storm Doris: why do so many buildings whistle in high winds? The Guardian, page 2.

Hurtley, C. (2009). Night noise guidelines for Europe. Technical report, World Health Organization Europe, Copenhagen, Denmark.

Kinsler, L. E. (2000). Fundamentals of acoustics. New York Wiley, 4th edition.

Kurbatskii, K. A. and Mankbadi, R. R. (2004). Review of Computational Aeroacoustics Algorithms. International Journal of Computational Fluid Dynamics, 18(6):533-546.

Milliner, E. (2018). Predicting Aeroacoustic Noise of Facade Elements using Computational Fluid Dynamics (Bachelor of Engineering Honors (Mechanical)). The University of Sydney.

Mitchell, A., Leclercq, D., and Stead, M. (2010). Control of aeolian noise generated by the finned balustrade of a freeway pedestrian overpass. Building Acoustics, 17(1):17.

Noise - Basic Information. (2018). Retrieved from https://www.ccohs.ca/oshanswers/phys_agents/ noise_basic.html Paduano, D. C., Keenahan, D. J., and R_eamoinn, R. M. (2015). Design process to evaluate potential of wind noise at fa_cade elements. In Proceedings of the 10th European Congress and Exposition on Noise Control Engineering, Maastricht, Netherlands.

Ploemen, J. C. F., Nijs, L., Pleysier, J. A., and Schipper, H. R. (2011). Wind-induced sound on buildings and structures. In Proceedings of the 13th International Conference on Wind Engineering, Amsterdam, the Netherlands.

Rienstra, S. W. and Hirschberg, A. (2017). An Introduction to Acoustics. Eidhoven University of Technology, Eidhoven, The Netherlands.

Zdravkovich, M. (1996). Different modes of vortex shedding an overview. Journal of Fluids and Structures, 10(5):427-437.

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O admirable faith of the weaker sex!: Re-thinking Women in the Crusades 1

GEORGIA CONNERY Arts 3rd Year Despite the history of women in Medieval Europe receiving much attention from scholars, women’s role in the crusade movement has been largely overlooked. Beginning at the end of the eleventh century, crusade expeditions “touched the lives of people all over Europe, crossing social boundaries of wealth, politics, culture and gender.”2 Since 2003, when the first book-length scholarly study of women in the crusades was published, historians have come to recognise the various ways in which women were able to contribute to the crusade effort. 3 By seeking to continue the investigation of women in the crusades, this essay will ask: to what extent did women’s participation in the crusades conform to their traditional gender roles? The analysis will argue that women who accompanied their husbands to the crusades were acting outside traditional norms, however their roles during the expeditions often reverted back to established patterns of support. On the other hand, while women who stayed behind remained in their traditional domestic sphere, they assumed roles and responsibilities previously restricted to men. In the absence of sources that deal with a specific crusade or a specific role that women played, this essay will best present a wide understanding of women’s contribution to the crusades, and thus will not be restricted by time or geographic scope. The essay will 1 “ Itinerarium Peregrinorum et Gesta Regis Ricardi” in Chronicle of the Third Crusade: A Translation of Itinerarium Peregrinorum et Gesta Regis Ricardi, translated by Helen Nicholson, Helen, (Hants, England: Ashgate, 1997), 48.

2 Natasha Hodgson, “Women”, in The Crusades: An Encyclopedia, ed. Alan V. Murray (Santa Barbara, CA: ABC-CLIO, 2006), 1285.

3 Deborah Garish, “Gender Theory”, in Palgrave advances in the Crusades, ed. Helen Nicholson (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2005), 135.

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previously restricted to men. In the absence of sources that deal with a specific crusade or a specific role that women played, this essay will best present a wide understanding of women’s contribution to the crusades, and thus will not be restricted by time or geographic scope. The essay will first examine women who travelled to the Holy Land with the crusade expeditions before subsequently analysing the participation of women on the home front. By simultaneously examining women in both contexts, the essay seeks to further the body of knowledge about female participation in the crusades, arguing that their contribution was diverse and wide-ranging, indicative of the varying experiences of women in the medieval period.

While Maier notes that it is hard to say how many women participated in the crusades and why, some historians have been able to garner evidence of women travelling to the Holy Land.4 For example, Hodgson collated sources for the First Crusade and found that seven women were named as the wives of noble crusaders.5 Although there is substantial evidence of many more women following this lead, it is clear that their decision to travel with the crusade expeditions rebelled against societal expectations.

James Brundage explains that while it is clear canon law supported women taking a crusade vow,6 from the outset of the crusades the Church discouraged non-combatants from travelling. At the Council of Clermont in 1095, regulations were issued in an attempt to limit the crusade to those who were qualified to fight.7 Not only did Pope Urban II not expect women to sign up for the crusades,8 he also considered female participation to hinder the progression of the crusades. Robert of Rheims explains that he considered unaccompanied female participation to be “more hindrance than help, a burden rather than a benefit.” 9 The legacy of Urban II’s unease with women’s participation continued throughout the rest of the crusade era. Chroniclers of the crusades rarely mentioned women’s participation,10 and if they did, it was often accompanied by an expression of surprise 4 Christopher T. Maier, “The roles of women in the crusade movement: a survey”, Journal of Medieval History 30, no.1 (2004): 69.

5 Hodgson, “Women”, 1286.

6 Maier, “The roles of women in the crusade movement”, 71.

7 Jonathan Riley-Smith, The first crusaders, 1095-1131, (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press: 1997), 106.

8 Maier, “The roles of women in the crusade movement”, 70.

9 Natasha Hodgson, Women, crusading and the Holy Land in historical narrative, (Woodbridge, Boydell Press: 2007), p.45.

10 Hodgson, “Women”, 1286.

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when women fought.11 Consequently, it is evident that the women who did travel with crusade expeditions did so against the norms and expectations of society.

There is evidence that women continued this theme of defying expectations with military involvement in the crusades. However, there is significant contention amongst historians over whether women actually took up arms during the expeditions. Opinions range from those who deny that women could ever be true crusaders to those who argue that women took an active role in fighting.12 There is limited primary evidence supporting the hypothesis that women contributed militarily to the crusades. In O City of Byzantium, Annals of Nikeatas Chonniates, Niketas Choniates describes women “bearing lances and weapons as men do.” 13 Furthermore, In Hodoeporicon et pericula Margarite Iherosolimitane, Margaret of Beverley’s brother details Margaret’s journey to the Holy Land, explaining her involvement in fighting between a Christian and Muslim army.14 She reputedly fought at the siege of Jerusalem in 1187, apparently wearing a cooking pot on her head for protection.15 However, the majority of evidence of women fighting in crusade battles comes from contemporary Muslim historians, who “make a great deal of female crusaders pitched against their own forces.” 16 Both Imad-al Din and Baha al-Din cite numerous instances of female Christian participation in the crusaders. For example, in July 1191, both recorded the presence of female archers among the Christian besieges of Acre.17 Imad al-Din provides a brief account of this, explaining that “There was a woman on one of the points of the defence holding a bow of wood, firing well and drawing blood…”.18 However, it is important to note that the presence of female warriors cannot always be taken as a faithful account of events. It was sometimes used as a deliberate 11 Helen Nicholson, “Women on the Third Crusade”, Journal of Medieval History 23, no. 4 (1997): 345. 12 Nicholson, “Women on the Third Crusade”, 335.

13 Niketas Chonniates, ‘O City of Byzantium, Annals of Nikeatas Chonniates’ in Stories of Women Crusaders: Annals of Niketas Choniates, translated by Harry J. Magoulias, (Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1984), 35.

14 Thomas of Froidmont, “Hodoeporicon et pericula Margarite Iherosolimitane” in P.G. Schmidt, ‘‘Peregrinatio periculosa.’’ Thomas von Froidmont über die Jerusalemfahrten seiner Schwester Margareta’, 472-485, in Maier, Christopher T., ‘The roles of women in the crusade movement: a survey’, Journal of Medieval History 30, no. 1 (2004): 61 – 82; 65.

15 Hodgson, “Women”, 1286.

16 Maier, “The roles of women in the crusade movement”, 69 17 Nicholson, “Women on the Third Crusade”, 337.

18 Imad al-Din, quoted in Helen Nicholson, “Women on the Third Crusade”, Journal of Medieval History 23, no. 4 (1997), 338.

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literary device by chroniclers to indicate either weakness or barbarity in an adversary.19 Thus, many historians note the problem that arises with a vast majority of the evidence of women fighting in that it comes from Muslim sources, who had their own reasons to depict Christian women fighting.20 Similarly, Christian sources would be motivated by similar reasons to omit mention of women’s participation. Consequently, it is difficult to ascertain whether women actually continued their defiance of traditional expectations by military participation in the crusades; it is likely that they were present in the army however almost no Christian source mentions them fighting.

Therefore, while the act of travelling with crusade expeditions was a step out of their usual gender roles, women’s participation in the crusades when they travelled to the Holy Land was largely relegated to roles and responsibilities that had defined their lives in Europe. Firstly, women among the camp followers of the crusade armies were primarily categorised into groups offering specific services for the crusaders. For example, they were often employed as washerwomen, cooks and prostitutes.21 Furthermore, they maintained markets for fish and vegetables, and most likely tended to wounded and sick crusaders.22 Their involvement in crusade battles was mostly confined to auxiliary roles, where they supported crusaders in a variety of ways. For example, Kostick explains that the anonymous author of Gesta Francorum reported that at the battle of Dorylaeum “the women in the camp were a great help, for they brought up water for the fighting men to drink and bravely always encouraged them.” 23 Additionally, women were brought on the crusades to help establish a domestic society within the settler states. Contemporary chronicler Ralph Niger accepted, albeit reluctantly, that women were a necessary evil for repopulating conquered territories.24 Wives were crucial to the establishment of a Latin population in the settler states. Here, they were not actively participating in the political and religious mission of the crusades, but rather were a passive tool for the men who participated. Consequently, although women who travelled to the Holy Land with the crusade expeditions broke away from 19 Hodgson, Women, crusading and the Holy Land, 48.

20 Nicholson, “Women on the Third Crusade”, 366.

21 Maier, “The roles of women in the crusade movement”, 68.

22 Hodgson, Women, crusading and the Holy Land, 42.

23 Conor Kostick, The Social Structure of the First Crusade, (Leiden, Boston, Brill: 2008), 275.

24 Hodgson, “Women”, 1288.

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traditional restrictions on their societal roles, their primarily contribution to the crusades remained customary and supportive in nature. Their responsibilities did not alter dramatically; they just occurred in a different context.

The expectation that women would remain at home was reinforced from the outset, when the Church pledged to protect the property and family of those who took the cross.25 Widespread evidence of crusaders leaving charters that included specific provisions for their female relatives while they were away creates an image of a society where the women remained at home and needed to be protected. Furthermore, the ability of women to participate in the crusades was not properly acknowledged by societal leaders until Pope Innocent III, who envisioned a society in which everyone contributed to the crusade effort.26 However, he articulated that people’s roles during the crusade era ideally should be derived from their usual function in society.27 This created inherent gender divisions, where women’s contributions were expected to center on the home front.

Women who stayed at home by no means abandoned their traditional responsibilities, however these were performed in the midst of further complications. Allen and Amt explain that women faced increased danger with their male protectors away, despite the Church’s pledged protection.28 Tyerman notes cases in England where women were murdered in the absence of their crusader husbands.29 Despite this, women’s contributions on the home front did retain some of their usual characteristics as they acted in a supportive and auxiliary manner. Historians note the role women played in supporting participation in the crusades.30 Hodgson explains that women had the ability to encourage male participation in the crusades through early religious education of their children or by employing chaplains who supported the crusades. Patterns of intermarriage in France suggest

25 Hodgson, “Women”, 1289.

26 Maier, “The roles of women in the crusade movement”, 72.

27 Maier, “The roles of women in the crusade movement”, 74.

28 S.J. Allen and Emilie Amt, The Crusades: a reader, (Peterborough, Ontario: Broadview Press, 2003), xiv.

29 Hodgson, Women, crusading and the Holy Land, 110.

30 Hodgson, “Women”, 1289.

31 Hodgson, “Women”, 1289.

32 Alfred J. Andrea, Encyclopedia of the Crusades, (Westport: Greenwood Press, 2003), 333.

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that certain alliances imported traditions of crusading from one family to another. 31 This was particularly evident amongst noble families, where crusading often became a multigenerational tradition due to women taking the crusading tradition to families into which they married.32 Furthermore, a lot of women took on supporting positions, where they prayed, donated money and took care of traditional family interests at home.33 For example, Pope Innocent II asked women to pray collectively for the success of the crusade expeditions.34 Crusaders even sought out the support of specific holy women before leaving on crusade. In 1177, Count Philip of Flanders wrote to the abbess of Rupertsberg, Hildegard of Bingen, for her advice on the eve of his departure for the Holy Land.35 Women were still relegated to their traditional domestic duties, even if their husbands travelled to the Holy Land on crusade.

Remarkably, despite conforming to gender expectations by remaining at home, many women broke free from stereotypic gender roles. The nature of their responsibilities in the domestic sphere began to shift towards increased authority and power as they assumed some of the roles traditionally undertaken by men. Amongst the higher nobility, this often took the form of women shouldering the political office of their husbands.

The most prominent example of this was Adela of England overseeing the territories of her husband, Stephen of Blois. His letters to her reminded her “to conduct yourself honourably, and to manage your lands especially well.” 36 Countess Ermengarde of Brittany undertook a similar role, when she acted as regent for her husband, Alan IV, during the First Crusade.37 Furthermore, Jonathan Riley-Smith and Thérèse de Hemptinne outline several cases where mothers and wives were left in charge of administering and defending the family estates that their sons and husbands had left to them.38 However, it should be questioned how far from the traditional roles of noblewomen this extends. It is well known that many heiresses and

33 Garish, “Gender Theory”, 135.

34 Hodgson, “Women”, 1289.

35 Hodgson, “Women”, 1289.

36 Stephen of Blois, “Extracts from the Letters of Stephen of Blois” in John H. Pryor, “Stephen of Blois: Sensitive New-Age Crusader or Victim of History?”, The Journal of the University of Sydney Arts Association, vol. 20, (1998), 65.

37 Hodgson, “Women”, 1286.

38 Maier, “The roles of women in the crusade movement”, 76.

39 Hodgson, Women, crusading and the Holy Land, 51.

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widows of noble lineage had a degree of autonomy in land-ownership, and thus we must consider the extent to which the roles women like Adela of England rebelled against traditional expectations.39 Nonetheless, Hodgson does note that this often did depend on age and political situation, and was consequently not the universal experience of women. Additionally, RileySmith argues that female family members took on increased financial responsibility when they became involved in paying expenses of their husbands or other relatives while they were on crusade.40 He explains that “women acted as part of the family collective when selling or mortgaging common assets in order to provide cash.” 41 The Church leveraged women’s more direct involvement in this manner, with Pope III encouraging women to sponsor a knight instead of going on crusades.42 Consequently, it is obvious that women who conformed to the expectations of staying at home were allowed more freedom and responsibility in the domestic sphere.

While further examination of this phenomenon resides outside the scope of this essay, it would be interesting to examine whether this increased responsibility continued when their male relatives returned from the crusades, or whether this was a temporary expansion of their gender roles.

Consequently, the understanding of women’s participation in the crusade expeditions and the traditional gender roles they faced in society is twofold.

Firstly, women were actively discouraged from travelling to the Holy Land by both the Church and wider society. As such, the women who did travel to the Holy Land were rebelling against societal norms. However, despite this initial breach of traditional roles, their participation on the expeditions often reverted back to established patterns of passive support to men. While some historians argue that they had a military contribution, this is highly contested as the reliability of the sources is easily questioned. Secondly, women who stayed at home remained in their traditional domestic sphere, however they were often afforded more freedom and responsibility as they undertook roles that were previously restricted to men. Further research could analyse whether this was merely a temporary advancement of the role of women, or whether their increased liberty continued after the crusade

40 Maier, “The roles of women in the crusade movement”, 75.

41 Maier, “The roles of women in the crusade movement”, 76.

42 Hodgson, “Women”, 1289.

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era ended. Consequently, female participation in the crusades conformed to their traditional gender roles only when women initially rebelled against them to travel to the crusades. Contrastingly, when women conformed to their roles by staying at home, this was subverted and their participation defied societal norms.

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BIBLIOGRAPHY Primary sources Chonniates, Niketas, ‘O City of Byzantium, Annals of Nikeatas Chonniates’. In Stories of Women Crusaders: Annals of Niketas Choniates. Translated by Harry J. Magoulias, Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1984, 35.

“Itinerarium Peregrinorum et Gesta Regis Ricardi”. In Chronicle of the Third Crusade: A Translation of Itinerarium Peregrinorum et Gesta Regis Ricardi. Translated by Helen Nicholson.

Hants, England: Ashgate, 1997.

Imad al-Din, quoted in Helen Nicholson, “Women on the Third Crusade”, Journal of Medieval History 23, no. 4 (1997) Stephen of Blois. “Extracts from the Letters of Stephen of Blois”. In John H. Pryor. “Stephen of Blois: Sensitive New-Age Crusader or Victim of History?”. The Journal of the University of Sydney Arts Association, vol. 20, (1998): 65.

Thomas of Froidmont. “Hodoeporicon et pericula Margarite Iherosolimitane” in P.G. Schmidt. ‘‘Peregrinatio periculosa’’. Thomas von Froidmont über die Jerusalemfahrten seiner Schwester Margareta’. 472-485. In Christopher T. Maier, “The roles of women in the crusade movement: a survey”, Journal of Medieval History 30, no. 1 (2004): 61 – 82; 65.

Secondary sources Alfred J. Andrea. Encyclopedia of the Crusades. Westport: Greenwood Press, 2003.

Allen, S. J. and Amt, Emilie. The Crusades: a reader. Peterborough, Ontario: Broadview Press, 2003.

Maier, Christoph T. “The roles of women in the crusade movement: a survey”. Journal of Medieval History, 30, no.1 (2004): 61 – 82.

Garish, Deborah. “Gender Theory”. In Palgrave advances in the Crusades.Edited by Helen Nicholson, 130-147. London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2005.

Hodgson, Natasha. “Women”, in The Crusades: An Encyclopedia. Edited by Alan V. Murray, 1285-1290. Santa Barbara, CA: ABC-CLIO, 2006.

Hodgson, Natasha. Women, crusading and the Holy Land in historical narrative. Woodbridge, Boydell Press: 2007.

Kostick, Conor. The Social Structure of the First Crusade. Leiden, Boston, Brill: 2008.

Nicholson, Helen. “Women on the Third Crusade”. Journal of Medieval History 23, no. 4 (1997): 335-349.

Porges, Walter. “The Clergy, the Poor, and the Non-Combatants on the First Crusade”. Speculum 21, no. 1 (January 1946): 1-23.

Riley-Smith, Jonathan. The first crusaders, 1095-1131. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press: 1997.

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Weber, Alison. “Gender.” In The Cambridge Companion to Christian Mysticism, edited by Patricia Z. Beckman and Amy Hollywood, 315-327. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012.

Wiethaus, Ulrike. “Sexuality, Gender and the Body in Late Medieval Women’s Spirituality: Cases from Germany and the Netherlands.” Journal of Feminist Studies in Religion 7, no. 1 (Spring 1991(: 35-52.

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The CompositeFigure of Mary Magdalene:Female Sinfulness and Penitence in Medieval Western Christianity MADELEINE GANDHI Arts/Law 3rd Year In medieval Western Europe, early Church Fathers and theologians venerated Mary Magdalene for renouncing her sinful life and becoming the trusted companion of Christ. Her complex medieval image derives from a sermon by Pope Gregory the Great, in which he conflates the identities of three distinct New Testament women: Mary of Magdala, who was freed of seven devils and witnessed the resurrection of Christ, the unnamed “sinful woman” (Luke 7:37–50) who bathed Christ’s feet with her tears, and Mary of Bethany, the sister of Lazarus and Martha.1 In contrast, the Eastern Orthodox tradition is truer to the gospel narrative in that it correctly distinguishes Mary of Magdala, Mary of Bethany, and the unnamed woman. This essay will examine the personas of the former prostitute Mary of Magdala and the contemplative Mary of Bethany in Western Christianity. Despite her celebration in the Catholic tradition, Mary Magdalene’s image was fashioned to uphold the Church’s lessons on redemption, penitence and female sexuality as sin.

The figure of Mary Magdalene serves Christianity as a reminder of female sinfulness. Pope Gregory described Mary’s “seven demons” (Luke 8:2) as literal and moral representations of the seven deadly sins.2 The nature of 1 Ruth Mazo Karras. Holy Harlots: Prostitute Saints in Medieval Legend. Journal of the History of Sexuality 1, no. 1 (1990): 17.

2 Danielle C. Dubois, “From Contemplative Penitent to Annihilated Soul: The Recasting of Mary Magdalene in Marguerite Porete’s Mirror of Simple Souls.” The Journal of Medieval Religious Cultures 39, no. 2 (2013): 154.

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Mary’s former sinful life is not indicated in the Bible and contemporary theologians argue that her ‘demonic possession’ most likely signals a “violent and chronic nervous disorder.” 3 However, medieval thinkers emphasised the sins of lust and sexual looseness.4 It was assumed that Mary’s sins were of a sexual nature, as “all feminine sin was expressed sexually” in medieval Europe.5 However, the importance placed on Mary’s sexualised past is dismissed by Ruth Mazo Karras, who posits that “prostitution merely provided the background against which penitence stood in stark contrast.” 6 Nonetheless, Mary’s characterisation as a prostitute has been key to her popular image in public memory.

The image of Mary Magdalene as a ‘penitent prostitute’ worked to demonise female sexuality. Medieval preachers venerated Mary Magdalene for her conversion to chastity.7 As one of the most prominent conversion tales in the Bible, her popular image displaces sexual sin onto women and presents feminine sexuality as “the greatest evil.” 8 This paradigm is sustained in other works of medieval literature, such as the legend of Mary of Egypt. In Sophronius’s seventh-century Greek text, Mary is a prostitute who does not accept payment and is condemned for enticing men into sin.9 The view that her male partners were blameless substantiates Ruth Mazo Karras’s claim that “Sexuality, for the Middle Ages, constituted a woman’s life; if she sinned it would be by abusing her most salient quality… Sexuality defined the woman and it defined her sin.” 10 Feminist critic Elizabeth Cady Stanton denounced biblical stories that taught that “woman brought sin and death into the world.” 11 As Patricia Duncker states, “All myths are culturally specific.”12 Biblical stories were used to legitimise gender roles and power structures in medieval society, in 3 J. E. Fallon, St. Mary Magdalene (Washington, DC: Thomson-Gale, 2003), quoted in Blair Tolbert, “Mary Magdalene: Apostle to the Apostles,” Citations 3 (2005): 3.

4 Ibid.

5 Dubois, From Contemplative Penitent, 155.

6 Karras, Holy Harlots, 5.

7 Dubois, From Contemplative Penitent, 160.

8 Karras, Holy Harlots, 32.

9 Ibid.

10 Ibid, 32.

11 Stanton, The Woman’s Bible in Birgit Breninger, “Christianity: A Male Domain?” Feminist Perspectives on Cultural and Religious Identities (Frankfurt: Peter Lang, 2012) 135.

12 Patricia Duncker, Sisters & Strangers: An Introduction to Contemporary Feminist Fiction (Oxford: Blackwell, 1992), 133-34.

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which the “The Book of Patriarchy… [existed] as God-given, Godspeak, the Sacred Word.”13 The Christian condemnation of sexual misconduct aligns with the medieval view that chastity is a commodity to be guarded, controlled and “sold” by a woman’s male kin.14 Through misrepresenting the image of Mary Magdalene, the early Church Fathers wielded the Bible as a tool to oppress women.15 However, Mary Magdalene arguably also symbolises female empowerment and agency in the catholic tradition.

Mary Magdalene is widely characterised as a bold leader who thrived amid androcentric language and patriarchal rules.16 In her interpretation of the Gnostic texts, Jane Schaberg highlights Mary’s prominence as the “Apostle to Apostles” and as the first witness of Christ’s resurrection.17 In the Pistis Sophia, Jesus grants Mary intimate knowledge and elevates her station from that of the other apostles, addressing her as “Mary, thou blessed one, who I will perfect.” 18 The other disciples recognise Mary’s status as Jesus’s intimate companion. In the Gospel of Philip, they are offended when Jesus repeatedly kisses Mary on the mouth, asking, “Why do you love her more than all of us?” (Philip 35, 36 40). Christ replies that he loves her most because she is not blinded by the light. Therefore, although Mary is systematically challenged and opposed by Peter, her privileged position at the right hand of Christ is undeniable.19 This elevation validates Mary’s conversion and allows her to embody the tension between original sin and redemption. According to Danielle C. Dubois, this paradoxical persona is responsible for Mary’s immense popularity in medieval Europe.20 Mary Magdalene is often described as the most popular female saint, after the Virgin Mary.21 Interestingly, Karras contends that Mary owes her elevation to societal factors. Arguably, Mary’s nobility, wealth and beauty distinguished her from a “common prostitute” in the medieval mind,

13 Ibid.

14 Karras, Holy Harlots, 22.

15 Breninger, “Christianity: A Male Domain?”

16 Jane Schaberg, The Resurrection of Mary Magdalene: Legends, Apocrypha, and the Christian Testament (New York: Continuum Press, 2003).

17 Ibid.

18 G. R. S. Mead, Pistis Sophia (Annotated Edition), (Loschberg: Jazzybee Verlag, 2013), 45.

19 Schaberg, The Resurrection.

20 Dubois, From Contemplative Penitent.

21 Ibid.

22 Karras, Holy Harlots, 20.

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making her a more acceptable companion of Christ.22 In addition to condemning female sexuality as sinful, medieval sermons depicted Mary Magdalene as a symbol of the contemplative life. Her composite image is completed by the persona of Mary of Bethany, who is found weeping at Christ’s feet at the tomb of her brother Lazarus, in the house of the Pharisee. Her tears were upheld as genuine expressions of sorrow and remorse, as medieval theologians had commandeered the symbol of tears as evidence of introspection and conversion.23 Thus, Mary of Bethany was viewed as embodying the “traditional contemplative model.” 24 In this style of contemplation, Mary thoughtfully absorbs the teachings of Christ: In the Gospel of Luke, Mary sits quietly, hanging on Jesus’s every word, while her sister, Martha, flutters about attending to domestic duties (Luke 10:39). Preachers never tired of emphasizing that Mary, not Martha, had chosen the better part (Luke 10:42)… The contemplative Mary is peaceful, while Martha is burdened.25 Through their disapproval of Martha’s agitated activities, medieval preachers taught that women should follow Mary and lead a life of calm reflection.26 This notion stems from pastoral reform of the Fourth Lateran Council in the thirteenth century. From these reforms emerged the idea that salvation is attainable for those who perform their social function virtuously, meaning, “those who pray, those who fight, and those who work.” 27 In medieval society, women were excluded from the mercantile and military spheres and were thus confined to seeking salvation through contemplation.28 Furthermore, the Fourth Lateran Council established a new paradigm of penance, placing contrition at the core and unseating “old stringent penitential practices.” 29 The belief that Christ “came not 23 Dubois, From Contemplative Penitent.

24 Dubois, From Contemplative Penitent, 153.

25 Ibid, 151 26 Ann Graham Brock, Mary Magdalene, The First Apostle: The Struggle for Authority (Cambridge: Harvard UP, 2003).

27 Ibid, 150 28 Ibid.

29 Thomas N. Tentler, Sin and Confession on the Eve of the Reformation (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1977), 18–19 cited in Dubois, From Contemplative Penitent, 155.

30 Brock, Mary Magdalene, The First Apostle.

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to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance” (Mark 2:17) emphasises the importance of penitence in the catholic tradition.30 Medieval preachers turned to Mary Magdalene, the ideal embodiment of the renouncement of sin, as an example that “confession, contrition, and penance could wipe away the worst of sins.” 31 Accordingly, the Fourth Lateran Council’s emphasis on private penance caused a new wave of devotion to Mary Magdalene.

The conflation of Mary of Magdala and Mary of Bethany in Western European Christianity has mischaracterised Mary Magdalene as a penitent prostitute. In an attempt to portray the Magdalen more faithfully, the Roman Catholic Church officially overruled Pope Gregory’s interpretation in 1969.32 However, Pope Gregory’s “reckless” mischaracterisation has endured and continues to dominate Western interpretation and tradition.33 In recent decades, popular culture has bolstered an upsurge of interest in the composite image of Mary Magdalene.34 Moreover, filmic and literary adaptations of her life reveal that Mary Magdalene continues to reflect the social, theological and political concerns of the age.35 Mary Magdalene is undeniably a significant and symbolic embodiment of conversion in catholic history. However, notwithstanding her fame and singular status as a female leader in catholic history, Mary Magdalene established the mythology of woman as a sinner. Through conflating the identities of the penitent prostitute and the contemplative sister of Lazarus, medieval Christianity reflected the belief that female sexuality is sinful and women are confined to seeking salvation through pensiveness and reflection. Thus, Mary Magdalene was utilised to venerate the model of the penitent Christian woman.

31 Karras, Holy Harlots, 3.

32 Lucy Winkett, “Go Tell! Thinking about Mary Magdalene,” The Journal of the Britain & Ireland School of Feminist Theology 29 (2002): 19—32.

33 Blair Tolbert, “Mary Magdalene: Apostle to the Apostles,” Citations 3 (2005): 3.

34 Mary Ann Beavis, “The Deification of Mary Magdalene,” Feminist Theology 21, no. 2 (2012): 145—154.

35 Dubois, From Contemplative Penitent, 151.

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REFERENCES Beavis, Mary Ann. “The Deification of Mary Magdalane” In Feminist Theology 21, no. 2 (2012): 145—154.

Breninger, Birgit. “Christianity: A Male Domain?” In Feminist Perspectives on Cultural and Religious Identities, 135—173. Frankfurt: Peter Lang, 2012.

Brock, Ann Graham. Mary Magdalene, the First Apostle: The Struggle for Authority. Cambridge: Harvard UP, 2003.

Dubois, Danielle C. “From Contemplative Penitent to Annihilated Soul: The Recasting of Mary Magdalene in Marguerite Porete’s Mirror of Simple Souls.” The Journal of Medieval Religious Cultures 39, no. 2 (2013): 154—160.

Duncker, Patricia. Sisters & Strangers: An Introduction to Contemporary Feminist Fiction.

Oxford: Blackwell, 1992, 133-34.

Karras, Ruth Mazo. Holy Harlots: Prostitute Saints in Medieval Legend. Journal of the History of Sexuality 1, no. 1 (1990): 5-20.

Mead, G. R. S. Pistis Sophia (Annotated Edition). Loschberg: Jazzybee Verlag, 2013.

Schaberg, Jane. The Resurrection of Mary Magdalene: Legends, Apocrypha, and the Christian Testament. New York: Continuum Press, 2003.

Tolbert, Blair. “Mary Magdalene: Apostle to the Apostles”. La Grange 3: 1—9.

Winkett, Lucy. “Go Tell! Thinking about Mary Magdalene”. The Journal of the Britain & Ireland School of Feminist Theology. 29 (Jan 2002): 19—32.

Lucy Winkett. “Go Tell! Thinking about Mary Magdalene”. The Journal of the Britain & Ireland School of Feminist Theology. 29 (Jan 2002): 19—32.

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Breastfeeding as Cultural Taboo SALLY MONTGOMERY Arts 3rd Year The archetypal first-food – breastmilk, as a subject of inquiry, provides fertile ground for the consideration of the cultural construction of consumption. Breastmilk and breastfeeding have often been configured as natural and innate – characterisations which proceed from the focus on biology and nutrition. Critiquing this, several anthropologists have argued that breastmilk and breastfeeding instead must be read as cultural phenomena (Gottschang 2007, 66; Hastrup 1992, 92; Falls 2017, 17; Bartlett 2004, 341). Taking lead from such works, this essay will seek to analyse the cultural practices and meanings surrounding breastmilk and breastfeeding. Specifically, this analysis will focus on the taboos governing the way breastmilk operates as food within the 21st century Western world. Within the scope of this essay three taboos will be considered – those relating to breastfeeding in public, human milk sharing and extended breastfeeding. In describing these taboos, this essay will seek to explain the reasons behind such cultural anxieties. In the existing scholarship, structuralist, cultural ecology and historical approaches have dominated conceptions of breastfeeding to date. In considering the operation of media and medicine in relation to these taboos however, this essay will take a different theoretical advance. Though breastfeeding, with its symbolic association to infantile innocence and motherly nurture, seems disparate from dark anthropology’s harshness and brutality (Ortner 2016, 49), this theoretical approach will be shown to grant the clearest lens through which to view and understand breastmilk taboos.

Conceptually, taboos relate to that which is either too pure or too tainted – to the extent that prohibitions must be put in place (Fershtman, Gneezy,

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Hoffman 2011, 139). Significantly, it is a similar symbolic divide that breastmilk and breastfeeding straddle.

Though represented in nutritional terms as ‘liquid gold’, breastmilk is also configured negatively – allusions to ‘dirt’ and ‘contamination’ signifying perceived pollution (Carroll 2014, 467). It is in terms of this symbolic taint that breastfeeding in public, human-milk sharing and extended breastfeeding have come to be regulated by taboos. As Kate Boyer cites in her analysis of public breastfeeding in the UK, according to a 2005 survey, over 40% of women have received negative reactions in response to their breastfeeding in public spaces (Boyer 2011, 430). Breastfeeding has been culturally demarcated as a domestic practice or, when necessitated in public, something to be done discreetly – so as to avoid accusations of exhibitionism as social anthropologist Sheila Kitzinger states (Kitzinger 2011, 263). Here a mother must navigate the need to feed, and the need to uphold, what Monica Campo calls, ‘social etiquettes’ (Campo 2010, 60).

This need to feed, so problematic for parents without access to their own breastmilk, also encapsulates the second taboo to be considered – human milk sharing. Whilst milk banks are considered legitimate avenues through which to source breastmilk, peer-to-peer sharing has been stigmatised as ‘repulsive’ and ‘contaminated’ (Thorley 2009, 15; Foss 2017, 219). Susan Falls, in her ethnography on milk sharing, notes that such peer-to-peer exchanges, characterised as ‘informal’, carry connotations of impropriety and illegitimacy (Falls 2017, 93). Such terms convey the taint of taboo.

Highlighting the third taboo to be dealt with, Katherine Foss, in her analysis of attitudes toward extended breastfeeding, similarly highlights ‘immediate, abundant and overwhelmingly negative’ responses (Foss 2017, 206). Within this, women who breastfeed past that stage which is considered ‘normal’ are demonised – their ‘excessive’ feeding considered dirty and tainted with declarations such as – ‘she should be arrested for sexual abuse’ (Foss 2017, 207). Significantly, these three breastmilk taboos are all positioned as cultural ‘transgressions’ (Falls 2017, 105; Boyer 2011, 432).

As transgressions, public breastfeeding, human milk sharing and extended breastfeeding all breach hegemonic codes of behaviour – cultural boundaries that dictate action, identity and relationships. It is in identifying where these boundaries originate and the ways in which they are maintained that we can come to understand the cultural forces behind these taboos. Influencing this

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essay is the work of anthropologist Anne Allison who, working within the dark anthropology approach, has contributed to scholarship questioning culture’s innocence and power’s transparency (Allison 1991, 196). Likewise surveying a seemingly wholesome element of motherhood – the making of obento lunchboxes in Japan, Allison reveals the operation of an ulterior gendered state ideology (Allison 1991, 195). Here Allison draws upon the scholarship of neo-Marxist Louis Althusser. Conceptualising the manner in which power works in ways that are both subtle and disguised, Althusser identified the term ‘Ideological State Apparatus’ (ISA)– institutions that have both an overt, practical function and a latent, indoctrinating function (Althusser 1971, cited in Allison 1991, 196). Ortner, in her treatise on dark anthropology, characterises such a theoretical approach as envisaging the world in terms of ‘power, exploitation and chronic pervasive inequality’ (Ortner 2016, 50). It is within this framework that breastmilk taboos can be understood.

In tracing the rise of dark anthropology, Sherry Ortner notes that many ethnographic studies have shifted toward dark subject matter (Ortner 2016, 51). Significantly however, breastfeeding has been neglected from this scholarship to date. Rather, the theoretical approaches of cultural ecology, structuralism and historical explanations have been used to account for taboos surrounding breastfeeding and breastmilk. Cultural ecology explanations of these taboos emphasise breastmilk’s status as a bodily fluid. In this way, the possibility for contamination and the corresponding health concerns are linked to cultural anxieties (Shaw 2010, 84; Carroll 2014; 467, Foss 2017; 220). Such explanations however elide the statistical reality of very few cases of associated disease and death (Falls 2017, 93). Conceding that fears are not always rational, fault in this theoretical approach can also be found in its tendency to dismiss the cultural element of breastfeeding. In scholarship that does engage with the cultural conception of breastfeeding, structuralist approaches abound. Breastmilk’s liminality has been problematised within this, with Katherine Carroll noting its crossing of the ‘body boundary’ and Falls noting its ‘categorical ambiguity’ as a bodily fluid oscillating between the inside and outside (Carroll 2014, 467; Falls 2017, 140). In this theoretical approach, breastfeeding taboos are explicated by drawing upon Mary Douglas’ seminal structuralist work in which ambiguity is characterised as threatening (Douglas 1966, cited in Falls 2017, 140) – challenging fundamental understandings such as, in this

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case, the Western ontological conception of the subjective self as a bounded individual. Structuralism however fails to consider the role of the feeder in relation to structures of power – a significant interplay, as will be evidenced in this essay. Meanwhile privileging the role of the feeder, the historical approach, with its discussion of gender, class and racial inequalities, especially in relation to wet nurses, comes closest to dark anthropology.

However, such diachronic descriptions, in which taboos are configured as remnants of ‘historical processes’ (Golden 1996, 87) similarly falls short in explaining the existence of these taboos – ostracising power to the past and inadequately broaching the question of how and why such structures of inequality are maintained contemporarily. As will be shown, these three theoretical approaches ultimately prove unsuccessful as they fail to recognise that these taboos stem from the transgression of boundaries between citizen and state. Following Allison’s work on gendered state ideology, this essay will therefore gesture toward the way in which these taboos have been constructed and maintained through the operation of ISA. Practices, discussions and regulations surrounding breastmilk cannot be divorced, within contemporary Western discourses, from medical rhetoric and mass media influence. Whilst explicitly functioning to promote public wellbeing and to entertain, health and media institutions, in Althusser’s conception, have the capability to design and indoctrinate ways of seeing the world (Althusser 1971, cited in Allison 1991, 196). Human milk sharing however challenges these institutions. This transgression is evidenced in Falls’ ethnographic work through which she came to understand milk sharers as creating a ‘counternetwork’ – subalterns coalescing the hegemony and authority of institutions (Falls 2017, 17, 81). Echoing this, Foss notes that peer-to-peer exchange constitutes the ‘demedicalization’ of breastmilk (Foss 2017, 212) – a move which renders state institutions obsolete – bypassing, as Falls summarises, regulation and formal, forprofit markets of both human milk and formula (Falls 2017, 154). Health institutions, acting as ISA in this case, are invested in the perpetuation of milk sharing taboos so as to safeguard the status-quo. Here mass media works as a complementary ISA, disseminating public health messages about breastmilk’s taint. Pointing toward headlines such as ‘Microbial contamination of human milk’ and the New York Time’s ‘Breastmilk Donated or Sold Online is often Tainted, Study Says’, Foss shows that ‘contamination’ dominates media representations of breastmilk (Foss

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2017, 219). It is from such representations that the ‘greater pressure to conform’ (Falls 2017, 200), has resulted, with informal sharing increasingly being replaced with commoditised, formal networks ‘governed by health services’ (Nathoo & Ostry 2010, 138). Indoctrinating representations of risk, contamination and pollution – analogies for taboo – health and media institutions have acted as ISA, restoring citizens’ dependence upon the state.

Mass media has played a similar role in promoting and maintaining negative attitudes toward public breastfeeding – behaviour which is suggestive of the way in which it operates as an ISA. Indicative of the taboo that dislocates breastfeeding from public spheres, representations of feeding mothers are also marginalised within public mass media (Foss 2017, 223; Kitzinger 2011, 264). As Kitzinger has noted, in the rare instances in which breastfeeding is depicted, it is often in the form of a joke featuring sexualised embarrassment (Kitzinger 2011, 264). Such representations demonstrate the way in which public breastfeeding transgresses not only demarcations between public and private, but what Alison Bartlett has called ‘entrenched constructions’ about female sexuality (Bartlett 2002, cited in Boyer 2011, 432). Such sentiment is expressed in Campo’s ethnography with interlocutors acknowledging that public breastfeeding ‘intensified a negotiation between the sexual and maternal’ female identities (Campo 2010, 60). This negotiation, and the impact of media’s sexualisation of the female body, is seen most acutely in the cleavages in gendered labour.

Dominating analyses of public breastfeeding is the theme of maternal labour competing with formal employment (Gottschang 2007, 76; Falls 2017, 120; Kitzinger 2011, 266). Mass media has fetishised the maternal lactating breast, conflating it, as Kitzinger states, with intimate sexuality deemed appropriate only for the domestic sphere (Kitzinger 2011, 263).

Perpetuated by the ISA of mass media, the public breastfeeding taboo operates to relegate mothers from formal employment and public life. In Allison’s summation of Althusser’s theorisation of power, she notes that such inequalities relating to gender and power become ‘naturalised’ and accepted (Allison 1991, 196). Confronting this is a new wave of activists – termed ‘lactivists’, who draw attention to the ways in which transgressive motherhood is unsupported by the state (Falls 2017, 138). Such activism too has come under media attack however, with lactivists labelled ‘unruly’ and othered (Falls 2017, 105). As the power differentials between state and

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citizen have been challenged therefore, the operation of the ISA has been heightened, mobilising taboos to restore boundaries.

It is in regard to extended breastfeeding that these two forms of ISA – mass media and health institutions – again intersect, converging to promote the taboo, the state and gender inequalities. Drawing attention to the disproportionate, negative reactions afforded to extended breastfeeding, Foss considers responses to three media depictions of mother’s feeding older children: a documentary entitled Extraordinary Breastfeeding, a Time magazine cover and an episode of Game of Thrones (Foss 2017, 205).

Within this, Foss identifies the way in which these media representations have characterised extended breastfeeding as a spectacle, and further, a spectacle designed to invite public backlash and scrutiny (Foss 2017, 210).

In addition, the mothers are depicted as ‘militant’ – extended breastfeeding being positioned as an extension of their power and opposition to the ‘normal’ (Foss 2017, 211, 223). Here we can again identify the way in which taboos surrounding breastfeeding relate to hegemonic boundaries. Noting these negative responses, Foss draws attention to the milder reactions afforded by an episode of Strange Sex depicting erotic breastfeeding between a husband and wife (Foss 2017, 223). In questioning the intense reception toward extended breastfeeding, she argues that the anxiety expressed is linked to the women’s projections of agency and autonomy, whilst, in Strange Sex, the narrative is controlled by the male voice, with erotic breastfeeding serving to ‘support hegemonic structures in which women give their bodies to male partners’ (Foss 2017, 223). In this way, the ISA of mass media can be seen to preserve gender inequalities. From where these gender inequalities stem is also of significance. As several scholars have evidenced, in the twentieth century breastfeeding was subsumed, in many countries, as a ‘nationalist project’ – such state investment necessitating regulation through medical institutions (Hunt 1998, 405; Kitzinger 2011, 268; Bartlett 2010, 342). As an extension of colonial projects, breastfeeding, and hence female bodies, came under surveillance – regimented and timetabled so as to ‘inculcate discipline’ and promote productivity (Kitzinger 2011, 268; Bartlett 2010, 343, 344). Indicative of the continuing operation of ISA, Elizabeth Grosz has argued that the ‘colonisation’ of the female body has persisted through medical discourses (Grosz 1994, cited in Bartlett 2010, 348). Extended breastfeeding can hence be understood as taboo due to the way in which it challenges the state control of the female body – control arising from

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health institutions as ISAs and maintained through ‘othering’ mass media depictions.

In considering cultural anxieties governing breastfeeding in public, human milk sharing and extended breastfeeding – the theoretical approach of dark anthropology proves compelling in explaining why such taboos exist.

Whilst cultural ecology, structuralist theories and historical approaches have been employed in previous attempts to clarify these food taboos, such scholarship has neglected to recognise that it is boundaries of power between citizen and state that are being transgressed. Regulating the body to reinstate, indoctrinate and naturalise inequalities, mass media and health institutions have functioned to create and perpetuate these taboos in ways that correspond to Althusser’s conception of the Ideological State Apparatus. Gesturing beyond breastmilk to the broader relevance of this essay, the intricate processes of power surrounding what, for many, is the first food, is suggestive of the complex recipes – full of both apparent and hidden cultural ingredients – that govern our food choices today.

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REFERENCES CITED: Allison, A., 1991. ‘Japanese Mothers and Obentos: The Lunch-Box as Ideological State Apparatus’, in Anthropological Quarterly, Vol. 64, no. 4, p. 195-208.

Bartlett, A., 2010. ‘Black breasts, white milk? Ways of constructing breastfeeding and race in Australia’, in Australian Feminist Studies, Vol. 19, no. 45, p. 341-355. Available at doi:10.1080/0 816464042000278016. Accessed 10 May, 2018.

Boyer, K., 2011. ‘“The way to break the taboo is to do the taboo thing” breastfeeding in public and citizen-activism in the UK’, in Health and Place, Vol. 17, no. 2, p. 430-437. Available at https:// doi.org/10.1016/j.healthplace.2010.06.013. Accessed 11 May, 2018.

Campo, M., 2010. ‘The Lactating Body and Conflicting Ideals of Sexuality, Motherhood and Self’, in Shaw. R and Bartlett, A (eds.) Giving Breastmilk: Body Ethics and Contemporary BreastFeeding Practice. Demeter Press, Bradford Ontario, p. 51-64.

Carroll, K., 2014. ‘Body Dirt or Liquid Gold? How the ‘Safety’ of Donated Breastmilk is Constructed for use in Neonatal Intensive Care’, in Social Studies of Science, Vol. 44, no. 3, p.

466-485. Available at www.jstor.org/stable/43284241. Accessed 10 May, 2018.

Falls, S., 2017. White Gold: Stories of Breastmilk Sharing. University of Nebraska Press. Available at doi:10.2307/j.ctt1s475pj. Accessed 10 May, 2018.

Fershtman, C., Gneezy, U., Hoffman, M., 2011. ‘Taboos and Identity: Considering the Unthinkable’, in American Economic Journal, Vol. 3, p. 139-164. Available at https://rady.ucsd. edu/faculty/directory/gneezy/pub/docs/taboo.pdf. Accessed 13 May, 2018.

Foss, K., 2017. Breastfeeding and Media. Palgrave Macmillan, Cham. Available at doi:<10.1007/978-3-319-56442-5>. Accessed 11 May, 2018.

Golden, J., 1996. ‘From commodity to gift: gender, class, and the meaning of breastmilk in the twentieth century’, in The Historian, Vol. 59, no. 1, p. 75-88.

Gottschang, S., 2007. ‘Maternal Bodies, Breastfeeding, and Consumer Desire in Urban China’, Medical Anthropology Quarterly, Vol. 21, no. 1, p. 64-80.

Hastrup, K., 1992. ‘A Question of Reason: Breast-feeding patterns in the Seventeenth- and Eighteenth-Century Iceland’, in Vanessa Maher (ed.), The Anthropology of Breastfeeding: Natural Law or Social Construct, Berg, Oxford, Providence, p. 91-108.

Hunt, N., 1988. ‘”Le Bebe en Brousse’: European Women, African Birth Spacing and Colonial Intervention in Breast Feeding in the Belgian Congo’, The International Journal of African Historical Studies, Vol. 21, no. 3, p. 401-432. Available at doi: 10.2307/219448. Accessed 11 May, 2018.

Kitzinger, S., 2011. ‘Breastfeeding’, in Rediscovering Birth. Pinter & Martin, London, p. 263-269.

Nathoo, T., Ostry A., 2010. ‘Wet nursing, milk banks and black markets’, in Shaw. R and Bartlett, A (eds.) Giving Breastmilk: Body Ethics and Contemporary Breast-Feeding Practice. Demeter Press, Bradford Ontario, p. 51-64.

Ortner, S., 2016. ‘Dark anthropology and its others: Theory since the eighties’, in Journal of Ethnographic Theory, Vol. 6, no. 1, p. 47-73.

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Shaw, R., 2010. ‘Perspectives on Ethics and Human Milk Banking’, in Shaw. R and Bartlett, A (eds.) Giving Breastmilk: Body Ethics and Contemporary Breast-Feeding Practice. Demeter Press, Bradford Ontario, p. 51-64.

Thorley, V., 2008. ‘Sharing Breastmilk: Wet Nursing, Cross-feeding, and Milk Donations’, in Breastfeeding Review, Vol. 16, no. 1. Available at https://search-informit-com-au.ezproxy1.library. usyd.edu.au/documentSummary;dn=997006746641135;res=IELHEA. Accessed 11 May, 2018.

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Barbarians at the gate: examining non-Roman identities in Late Antiquity MALA RIGBY Arts/Law 3rd Year “The State was lying grievously afflicted, or I should say rendered lifeless, by innumerable ills and barbarian peoples had flowed over Roman territory like a kind of flood,” 1 bewails a 389CE panegyric to Theodosius. Indeed, Late Antiquity in the Western Roman Empire calls to mind images of barbarian hordes, bringing devastation and destruction to the lawful and rational Roman civilitas. Late Antiquity saw the influx of numerous ‘barbarian’ peoples into the Roman Empire, most notably the Greuthungi and Tervingi (who later became ‘Goths’). These peoples crossed the Rhine in 375CE and were eventually settled in the Roman Empire under a treaty with Theodosius in 382CE. In the 5th century CE, barbarians continued to move into the Western Empire (Fig 1). These ‘barbarians’ were predominantly Germanic, a broad term to describe a diverse array of peoples with distinct cultures and ethnicities.2 But were these peoples truly ‘barbarian’?

The word ‘barbarian’ has three different meanings. Firstly, it connotes being uncivilised. Secondly, it is employed as a broad ethnic term to describe a non-Roman people. Thirdly, barbarian means someone who speaks an unintelligible language, itself a marker of ethnicity. This essay primarily addresses the late 4th to early 5th centuries CE in the Western Roman Empire. It begins by examining the first definition of barbarian:

1 Pacatus, Panegyric on Theodosius I, 3.3.

2 Walter Goffart, “Rome, Constantinople and the Barbarians.” The American Historical Review 86, no. 2 (April 1981), 278.

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that of an uncivilised culture. It demonstrates that the image of the lawless, irrational barbarian was artificially constructed. This image informed the Romans’ understanding of the second meaning of ‘barbarian’ — that of a non-Roman. Yet, the barbarians themselves identified as non-Roman, finding unity through shared religion, legal systems and language. This ethnic identity could be re-negotiated through appropriating Romanitas in order to become less ‘barbarian.’ It is concluded that while the barbarians were not barbaric, they were nevertheless ‘barbarian’ in the sense that, for the most part, they were ethnically non-Roman.

Figure 1: the barbarian invasions of the Roman West 378-439 CE.

The barbarian: image and reality The barbarian was a Greco-Roman invention that was imposed onto a whole spectrum of peoples in order to enhance the moral superiority of Romanitas.3 As such, barbarians in Late Antiquity are seen through a Greco-Roman lens that is divorced from reality.4 In this way, the Romans defined Romanitas as the starting point for civilisation against which other cultures were compared. It is thus important to be cautious when disputing the ‘barbarian’ image: to use evidence of diplomatic relationships, 3 Patrick Geary, “Barbarians and Ethnicity,” in Late Antiquity: A Guide to the Postclassical World, ed. G. Bowersock, P. Brown and O. Grabar (Cambridge University Press, 1999), 107.

4 Peter Heather, “the barbarian in Late Antiquity: Image, reality and transformation,” in Constructing Identities in Late Antiquity, ed. Richard Miles (London: Routledge, 1999), 235.

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barbarian law or free trade is to accept a Roman definition of civilitas.5 Instead, the essay will show that no barbarian group was truly ‘barbaric,’ as barbarianism was a rhetorical construct that was manipulated to conform with each author’s purpose.

In Roman thought, the barbarian had a long history of being seen as irrational, faithless and unable to follow the law. In the early Republic, Strabo wrote of the ‘war-mad’ Gauls and similarly Tacitus recounted that the Germani were ‘astonishingly wild.’6 This representation continued into Late Antiquity. Thus, Themistius proclaimed in a panegyric to Valens that: There is in each of us a barbarian tribe, extremely overbearing and intractable — I mean temper and those insatiable desires, which stands opposed to rationality as the Scythians and Germans do to the Romans.7 Themistius’ statement presupposes that his audience will recognise the barbarian as a human animal, prey to its desires. He thereby uses the irrationality of the barbarians as a mirror to define what Romanitas is: Romans were not irrational like the barbarians, therefore Romanitas was rational.8 This Roman rationality was seen to be generated through the study of Classical literature and through subordination to the written rule of law.9 Themistius delivered the speech in the wake of the war between Valens and the Goths 367-9CE, after which Valens concluded a foedus with the Goths.

Themistius therefore presented the treaty as the imposition of Roman moral superiority over the barbarians, claiming that it was ‘virtue’s task to render them submissive and amenable to the dictates of intelligence.’ 10 Thus, he placed emphasis on the irrationality of the barbarian rather than their violence.

However, the ‘barbarian’ could also be an ideological justification of the assertion of Roman military power over non-Romans.11 For example, in 5 G. Halsall, Barbarian migrations and the Roman West 376-568 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007),60-2. 6 Strabo. 4.4.2; Tac. Germ. 46; Halsall “barbarian migrations and the Roman west,” 48.

7 Them. Or. 10.131.

8 Heather, “Image, reality and transformation,” 238.

9 Heather, “Image, reality and transformation,” 236.

10 Them. Or. 10. 133.

11 Heather, “Image, reality and transformation,” 235; Ralph W. Mathieson, “Violent Behavior and the Construction of Barbarian Identity in Late Antiquity,” in Violence in Late Antiquity, ed. Harold Drake (Aldershot 2006), 27-29.

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Pacatus’ panegyric to Theodosius, the ‘Goth reduces, the Hun pillages and the Alan carries off,’ yet Theodosius ‘kept [them] quiet by the terror of [his] name.’12 In line with this trend, Roman victories were celebrated with coins showing defeated barbarians, and imperial battles were displayed on posts in the circus (Fig 2).13 Interestingly, the image of the defeated barbarian became increasingly at odds with the inclusion of barbarians in Roman armies. Indeed, Pacatus confesses that Goths were ‘admitted into service to supply soldiers for your camps and farmers for our lands,’ alluding to the treaty of 382CE.14 Similarly, Synesius of Cyrene’s speech ‘De Regno’ shows Roman anxiety over the ‘pollution’ of the army with barbarians. Synesius delivered ‘De Regno’ in 398 CE in Constantinople, against the Gothic king Alaric, who had recently been given Roman commands by Eutropius, the Eastern Emperor Arcadius’ regent.15 Synesius outlined that barbarian soldiers were tainting the army with ‘feminine malady’ and suggested that the army should be purified by removing ‘barbarians’ from the army and ‘excluding [them] from magistracies.’16 Thus, he bemoaned the decay of Roman military traditions due to the Goths.17 Synesius also illustrates how the barbarian image could have a very real impact on political decisions as Synesius based his arguments on excluding barbarians from the army solely on stereotypes.18 Therefore, no barbarian group was ‘barbaric,’ in the sense of being unduly lawless, violent or irrational as this was an image rather than a fixed reality.

Figure 2: A Roman soldier killing a barbarian (Constantius II shown on the right). Bronze 23mm, c.337-361CE, mint of Aquileia.

12 Pacatus, Panegyric on Theodosius I, 11.4; 22.

13 Them. Or. 16.199; Heather, “image, reality and transformation,” 235.

14 Pacatus, Panegyric on Theodosius I, 22.3.

15 See Cameron and Long for a persuasive analysis of the dating of de regno and why the conventional assumption that it was delivered against Gaïnas was false: Alan Cameron and J. Long, “de regno,” in Barbarians and Politics at the Court of Arcadius (Berkeley: California Press, 1993).

16 Synesius, de regno, 15.1.

17 Synesius, de regno, 15.11-12; Jay Bregman, Synesius of Cyrene: Philosopher-Bishop, The Transformation of the Classical Heritage 2 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1982), 53.

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The ethnogenesis and ethnicity of the barbarians The rhetorical image of the barbarian informed the Romans’ view of ethnicity, which was based on their understanding of ‘barbarian’ behaviours and geographical origins.19 This view ignored the continuing process of ethnogenesis as it presupposed that people in one area remained the same across time. Nevertheless, the barbarians were identified and identified themselves as non-Roman, meaning that they were ‘barbarian’ in the sense of being ethnically foreign. After the edict of Caracalla in 212CE, all free men inside the Empire were declared citizens, shifting the definition of barbarian from a person who did not speak Latin or Greek to one who was outside of the frontiers.20 Indeed, an anonymous 4th century writer claims that barbarians ‘assail every frontier,’ demonstrating that the line between Roman and barbarian was drawn along the frontiers.21 Yet those within the Empire often maintained their ethnic provincial identity, while also adopting Romanitas. For example, Ausonius proclaimed ‘Bordeaux is my homeland but Rome stands over all homelands.’22 Thus, Romanitas is a matter of culture that overlays one’s provincial ethnic identity, making it impossible to determine who is barbarian by simply contrasting the homogenous ‘Roman’ and the ‘barbarian.’ 23 It is impossible to determine whether the barbarians identified themselves as ethnically distinct or had to accept the category imposed on them by the Romans, due to the lack of barbarian historical sources. Furthermore, the Roman method of classifying barbarian peoples is misleading as it is based on the idea that particular peoples had consistent behaviours and that geographical location alone determined identity. Thus, Tacitus’ Germani are the same as the current Germans, and Themistius calls the Goths ‘Scythians,’ a term dating from Herodotus.24 Furthermore, the Romans often identified different groups as ‘Goths’ or ‘Vandals,’ ignoring the vast array of peoples that made up these groups.25 18 Richard Miles, “Introduction,” in Constructing Identities in Late Antiquity (London: Routledge, 1999), 6.

19 Geary, “barbarians and ethnicity,” 107.

20 Halsall, “barbarian migrations and the Roman west,” 53.

21 Halsall, “barbarian migrations and the Roman west,” 46.

22 Auson. Ordo nob. urb. 1.1.

23 Halsall, “barbarian migrations and the Roman West,” 55.

24 Halsall, “barbarian migrations and the Roman West,” 50; Goffart ‘Rome, Constantinople and the Roman West,’ 278.

25 Goffart, “Rome, Constantinople and the Barbarians,” 277-8

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New ethnicities could develop due to the effects of migration into the Roman Empire or military confederacies.26 The Alamanni are an example of a military confederacy composed of different tribes, homogenised by the Romans into one barbarian ethnic group. This is revealed through Ammianus Marcellinus’ comments that the kings of the Alamanni, Chondomarius and Vestralpus, joined with five other ‘kings’ to fight Julian at Strausbourg.27 These kings were likely the chieftains of different tribal groups that made up the confederacy that would form the Alamanni people, demonstrating how an ethnic identity was generated.28 Furthermore, the movement of different peoples caused by the Huns in the 370s created the ‘Gothic,’ people. Thus, the people settled in 382CE consisted of Tervingi, Greuthungi, Alans and Huns that all began to identify or be identified as one people. This suggests that the terms like ‘Gothic,’ ‘Hun’ or ‘Vandal’ are homogenisations of many peoples.29 In order to keep military confederations together, it was necessary for the people themselves to mark and define a new ethnicity as distinct from that of Rome. This could occur through a belief in a shared legal system, culture and language.30 Language can be used as an ethnic marker both by the group itself and by another dominant culture, as is clear by the fact that the Roman definition of ‘barbarian’ initially referred to someone who spoke an unintelligible language.31 Barbarians could speak a variety of ‘barbaric’ languages and could have a knowledge of Latin or Greek. Priscus described meeting a person in the court of Attila the Hun who could speak Greek and was aware that some barbarians could speak Latin due to trading with the Romans. Furthermore, Priscus believed that the Huns were composed of a variety of people, and therefore could speak multiple ‘barbarous’ languages such as Gothic or Hunnic.32 These ‘barbarous’ languages

26 Geary, “barbarians and ethnicity,” 109.

27 Amm. Marc. 16.12.1.

28 Geary, “barbarians and ethnicity,” 109.

29 Halsall, “barbarian migrations and the Roman West,” 217.

30 Halsall, “barbarian migrations and the Roman west,” 35; Stephen Mitchell and Geoffrey Greatex, “Introduction,” in Ethnicity and Culture in Late Antiquity (London: The Classical Press of Wales, 2000), xi.

31 For e.g.: Cic. Rep. 1.37; Halsall, “barbarian migrations and the Roman West,” 45; Jill Harries, “Legal culture and identity in the fifth-century west,” in Ethnicity and culture in Late Antiquity, ed. Stephen Mitchell and Geoffrey Greatrex (London: Classical Press of Wales, 2000), 49.

32 Priscus, fr. 8, FHG.

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could mark a separate ethnicity. Indeed, the Goths retained a Germanic language, as evident in the codex argentes, the Gothic translation of the Bible by Ulfila in 341 CE.33 Furthermore, John Chrysostom, the bishop of Constantinople between 397-405CE, appointed Gothic-speaking priests in an orthodox church, demonstrating that the Goths maintained their own language within the Empire.34 Yet language alone was not enough to define barbarians as a separate people, as after the Edict of Caracalla, ‘Romans,’ encompassed provinces such as Carthage, which still had a strong Punic speaking population.35 Religion also separated barbarian groups from the Romans. Initially this religion was pagan, as suggested by Gregory of Tours, who claimed that the Franks made and sacrificed to ‘images of waters, birds and beasts and other elements.’36 The Goths eventually converted to Arian Christianity (in the late 4th century CE).37 Yet under Theodosius, Arianism was rejected as heresy, meaning that the Goths’ Arianism could be used to distinguish them as a different ethnic group.38 Chrysostom claimed that the Church disregarded whether someone was a barbarian or a Roman, so long as they were united under orthodox Christianity, and this is apparent in his willingness to accept Goths into an orthodox church.39 Yet Chrysostom was unwilling to allow an orthodox church to be used by the Goths for an Arian service, demonstrating that the Goths’ religion continued to separate them from the Romans as barbarians.40 Similarly, Salvian of Marseilles, writing after the sack of Carthage by the Vandals in 439CE, drew the distinction between Roman and barbarian along religious lines, saying that the Arianism of the Vandals and Goths makes them less morally culpable for sinning, as unlike the Romans they were ignorant of God’s commandments.41

33 Craig R. Davis, “Gothic ‘Immigrants’ in the Roman Empire,” in Strangers in this World: Multireligious reflections on immigration, (Ausburg Fortress, 2015), 138.

34 Theodoret, Hist. eccl. 5.30.

35 Goffart, ‘Rome, Constantinople and the Roman West, 278; August. Ep. 17.

36 Gregory of Tours. Hist. 2.10.

37 Craig R. Davis, “Gothic ‘immigrants,’” 138-9.

38 Sozom. 7.5-7; Liebeschuetz, Barbarians and Bishops: Army, Church and State in the Age of Arcadius and Chrysostom (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1990), 159.

39 John Chrysostom, 499-502ff, PG. 40 Liebeschuetz, Barbarians and Bishops, 169.

41 Salvian of Marseilles, De Gub. 5.5-14; David Lambert, “The barbarians in Salvian’s De Gubernatione Dei,” in Ethnicity and Culture in Late Antiquity, ed. Stephen Mitchell and Geoffrey Greatrex, (Classical Press of Wales, 2000), 107-8.

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It is also likely that Germanic groups had a shared legal system and customs, although nothing is known of them before the Code of Euric (c.

470-80CE).42 Ammianus Marcellinus reports that after Julian’s defeat of the Alamanni in Strasbourg in 359CE, three kings of the Alamanni ‘took oaths in words formally drawn up in the native manner not to disturb the peace.’ 43 Although Ammianus does not elaborate on the ‘native manner,’ he nevertheless shows an awareness that oaths had a legal importance for the Alamanni. Geary suggests that the use of oaths and formal oral procedure marks barbarian law as distinct from Roman, which had a written law.44 Thus shared language, religion and a shared legal system define barbarian groups as ethnically distinct from the Romans, meaning that, on an ethnic level, they were barbarian.

Re-negotiating ethnicity As ethnicity is not static, but rather continuously negotiated and transformed, individuals could reclassify themselves or be reclassified as culturally Roman. As Romanitas was primarily based on the belief in the rationality of written law and the paideia of Greco-Roman literature, it had a cultural rather than an ethnic content.45 Romans could justify their alliances with barbarians by reclassing them as quasi-Romans. Gregory of Nazianzus congratulates Modares (the leader of the Tervingi) for fighting alongside Romans, thereby overcoming his usual Gothic faithlessness.46 Furthermore, Sidonius’ brother-in-law Avitus was supported by Goths under king Theoderic II in his accession to the emperorship in 454-5CE. Sidonius claimed that Avitus taught Theoderic Latin law and poetry, thereby transforming him into an acceptable ‘Roman’ ally.47 Sidonius recategorised Theoderic’s ethnicity as Roman by showing his assimilation into Roman culture.

Barbarians could also attempt to reclassify their ethnicity. Stilicho, the Western regent, had Vandal ancestry but operated ‘entirely within the 42 Geary, “barbarians and ethnicity,” 121.

43 Salvian of Marseilles, De Gub. 17.1.13.

44 Geary, “barbarians and ethnicity,” 121.

45 Heather, “image, reality and transformation,” 240.

46 Gregory of Nazianzus. Ep. 136.

47 Sid. Apoll. Carm. 7.496-8 cf. Ep. 1.2.4; Jill Harries, Sidonius Apollinaris and the Fall of Rome AD 407-85 (Clarendon Press: Oxford, 1994), 11-12, 247; Heather, “image, reality and transformation,” 247.

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Roman tradition,’ and was described by Claudian as a Roman consul who defeated ‘savage Visigoths.’ 48 On the other hand, Alaric became a leader of Gothic units in the Roman army under Theodosius, hence was simultaneously a Roman and Gothic leader. Alaric’s dual role became precarious after Theodosius’ death in 395CE, leading to his revolt in Illyricum and Eutropius (the Eastern regent) eventually placating him with the award of a Roman command.49 Alaric’s continuous revolts throughout 395-410CE were to gain a Roman command which would secure supplies for his Gothic troops and cement his dual role (Fig 1).50 Athaulf, Alaric’s brother and successor, continued this trend. According to Orosius, Athaulf decided to support Roman law rather than replace it with ‘Gothia,’ as Goths could not obey written laws.51 Although the authenticity of this statement is debated, Athaulf shows a willingness to adopt some aspects of Romanitas through his marriage with Galla Placidia and adoption of the dress of a Roman general.52 Athaulf’s marriage did not result in Honorius recognising his Roman command, nor could Alaric consistently maintain his dual status.53 Nevertheless, both kings laid the ground work for the ethnogenesis of the barbarian kingdoms.

Soon after Athaulf’s death, a Visigothic settlement was established in Aquitaine. This was one of the so-called ‘successor kingdoms’ of the 5th and 6th centuries CE which would begin a new ethnogenesis as former armies were settled and became a ‘people.’ These kingdoms appropriated Romanitas on their own terms in order to forge a new ethnicity that was a mixture of barbarian and Roman. Theoderic the Ostrogoth tried to transform his army into a settled people by convincing them to adopt Roman law, while also maintaining their Arian Christianity as distinct from orthodox Roman Christianity.54 Similarly, the breviarium of Alaric II from 506CE is evidence of the barbarians asserting their sovereignty over a Roman institution, and assimilating it into their own cultural and ethnic identity.55 The ethnic 48 Geary, “barbarians and ethnicity,” 119; Claud. Cons. Stil. 1.2.

49 Zos. 5.5; Soz. 8.1; Halsall, ‘barbarian migrations and the Roman West,’ 190-1.

50 Geary, “barbarians and ethnicity,” 120-1; J. Matthews, Aristocracies and the Imperial Court: AD 364-425 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1994), 297.

51 Oros. Hist ad. Pag. 7.43.2.-3.

52 Olympiodorus.fr.24; for a good discussion on the authenticity see John Matthews, “Roman law and barbarian identity in the late Roman west,’ in ethnicity and culture in Late Antiquity, ed. Stephen Mitchell and Geoffrey Greatrex (Classical Press of Wales, 2000), 3233.

53 Geary, “barbarians and ethnicity,” 120.

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definition of ‘barbarian’ was fluid, and it is therefore not possible to prove conclusively whether these people were truly ‘barbarian’ throughout Late Antiquity in all three understandings of the term.

Conclusion This essay has argued that none of the Germanic people who entered the Empire in Late Antiquity were ‘barbaric,’ as this was a rhetorical construct that did not exist. The barbarian stereotype informed the Romans’ understanding of their ethnicity. This led to a flawed system of homogenising ethnic groups and ignored the process of ethnogenesis.

However, the barbarians did define themselves as ethnically non-Roman due to shared language, culture and religion, carving out a distinctly nonRoman identity within the Empire. Furthermore, ‘barbarian’ and ‘Roman’ cannot be thought of as static binaries, as ethnicity is fluid. Thus, individuals like Stilicho or Alaric could try to reclassify themselves, and thereby become less ethnically barbarian. While the barbarian peoples were not ‘barbaric,’ they were ‘barbarian,’ as they had a culture and ethnicity that was distinct from Romanitas.

54 Geary, “barbarians and ethnicity,” 122.

55 Matthews, “Roman law and barbarian identity in the late Roman west,” 35; Harries, “legal culture and identity in the fifth-century west,” 48.

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BIBLIOGRAPHY Images Zlobin, Ilya. “Constantius II and Battle Scene.” Trusted Ancient Coins. 2017. http://www.trustedancientcoins.com/ancient-military-coins/amp/.

“Migrations of Germanic Tribes.” Short History Website. 2016. https://www.shorthistory.org/ancient-civilizations/ancient-rome/the-beginning-of-the-barbarianmigrations-into-the-territory-of-roman-empire/.

Primary sources Ammianus Marcellinus. Trans. J.C. Rolfe, Loeb edition, 1939.

Ausonius. Ordo nobilium urbium, Trans. Hugh White, Loeb edition, 1919.

Cicero. on the Republic, Trans. G. W. Featherstonhaugh, Carvill, 1829.

Claudian. On Stilicho’s Consulship, Trans. Maurice Platnauer, Loeb edition, Harvard University Press, 1922.

Gregory of Nazianus. Epistula 136, Trans. Charles Browne and James Swallow, Christian Literature Publishing, 1894.

Gregory of Tours. History, Trans. Ernest Brehaut, Columbia University Press, 1873.

John Chrysostom. fragment 499-502, Trans. Jacques Paul Migne, Patrologica Graeca.

Olympiodorus. fragment 24, Trans. R. C. Blockley, Francis Cairns Publishing, 1983.

Orosius. History Against the Pagans, Trans. A. T. Fear, Liverpool University Press, 2010.

Pacatus. Panegyric on Theodosius I. Trans. Nixon and Rodgers, Berkeley, 1994.

Priscus. fragment 8, Trans. J.B. Bury, Fragmenta Historicorum Graecorum.

Salvian of Marseilles. On the Government of God, Trans. Eva Sanford, Columbia University Press, 1930.

Sidonius Apollinaris. Carmina 7, Trans. W. B. Anderson, Loeb edition, 1936.

Sidonius Apollinaris. Epistula 1.2, Trans. O. M. Dalton, 1915.

Sozomen. Ecclesiastical History. Trans. Chester Hartranft, Christian Literature Publishing, 1890.

Strabo. The Geography. Trans. H.L. Jones, Loeb edition, 1932.

Synesius. de regno, Trans. A Fitzgerald, Migne edition, 2007.

Tacitus. Germania. Trans. Alfred Church, W. Jackson, L Cerrato, Random House, 1942.

Themistius. Oration 10. Trans. David Moncur, Liverpool ,1991.

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Theodoret. Ecclesiastical History, Trans. Bloomfield Jackson, Christian Literature Publishing, 1892.

Zosimus. New History, Trans. Green and Chaplin, London, 1814.

Secondary literature Bregman, Jay. Synesius of Cyrene: Philosopher-Bishop. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1982.

Cameron, Alan, and J. Long. “de regno.” In Barbarians and Politics at the Court of Arcadius.

Berkeley: California Press, 1993.

Davis, Craig R. “Gothic ‘Immigrants’ in the Roman Empire.” In Strangers in this World: multireligious reflections on immigration, 129-42. Ausburg Fortress, n.d.

Geary, Patrick. “Barbarians and ethnicity.” In Late Antiquity: A Guide to the Postclassical World, edited by G. Bowersock, P. Brown, and O. Grabar, 107-28. Cambridge University Press, 1999.

Goffart, Walter. “Rome, Constantinople and the Barbarians.” The American Historical Review86, no. 2 (April 1981), 275-306.

Halsall, G. Barbarian migrations and the Roman West 376-568. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007.

Harries, Jill. Sidonius Apollinaris and the Fall of Rome AD 407-85. Clarendon Press: Oxford, 1994.

Harries, Jill. “Legal culture and identity in the fifth-century west.” In Ethnicity and culture in Late Antiquity, edited by Stephen Mitchell and Geoffrey Greatrex, 45-58. London: Classical Press of Wales, 2000.

Heather, Peter. “The barbarian in late Antiquity: image, reality and transformation.” In Constructing Identities in Late Antiquity, edited by Richard Miles, 234-258. London: Routledge, 1999.

Lambert, David. “The barbarians in Salvian’s De Gubernatione Dei.” In Ethnicity and Culture in Late Antiquity, edited by Stephen Mitchell and Geoffrey Greatrex, 103-116. Classical Press of Wales, 2000.

Liebeschuetz. Barbarians and Bishops: Army, Church and State in the Age of Arcadius and Chrysostom. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1990.

Mathieson, Ralph W. “Violent Behavior and the Construction of Barbarian identity in Late Antiquity.” In Violence in Late Antiquity, edited by Harold Drake, 27-35. Aldershot, 2006.

Matthews, J. Aristocracies and the Imperial Court: AD 364-425. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1994.

Miles, Richard. “Introduction.” In Constructing Identities in Late Antiquity, 1-16. London: Routledge, 1999.

Mitchell, Stephen, and Geoffrey Greatex. “Introduction.” In Ethnicity and Culture in Late Antiquity, xi-xvi. London: The Classical Press of Wales, 2000.

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Through The Looking Glass: Reclaiming the Concept of the Gaze through a Reframing of the Photographic Image ISABELLA CONOMOS Arts 3rd Year A hypothetical exhibition for the Museum of Modern Art in New York Curatorial Rationale: “To gaze implies more than to look at — it signifies a psychological relationship of power, in which the gazer is superior to the object of the gaze…” 1 Jonathan Schroeder, 1998 What, in truth, is a photograph?2 This ostensibly simple question has sparked constant debate and discourse in the art world since photography first appeared on the scene in the early nineteenth century. It is indisputably one of the principal filters through which we engage with the world, and since its invention, the technology has come to permeate almost every crevice of contemporary life, with images and cameras a ubiquitous presence in private and public realms. Numerous theorists have engaged in critical discourse in attempt to resolve our preliminary question. The answer remains ambiguous.

Since the appearance of the oldest known heliograph ‘View from a window at Gras,’ in 1826 by Joseph Nicéphore Niépce, an aura of magic has 1 Schroeder, Jonathan E. (1998) Consuming Representation: A visual approach to consumer research. In Barbara B Stern (Ed.): Representing Consumers: Voices, Views and Visions.

London: Routledge, pp. 193-230.

2 Benjamin, A. (2010). What, in truth, is Photography? Notes after Kracauer. Oxford Literary Review, 32(2), 189-201.

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been attached to photography.3 Niépce joined with Louis-Jacques-Mandé Daguerre to define photography as ‘the spontaneous reproduction of the images of nature received in the camera obscura, not with their colours but with very fine gradation of tone.’4 This proclaimed advertisement of photography as a depiction of reality relied on some element of truth ascribed to the photograph, outlining the photographic image as something largely sterile, factual and evidential. Critical theorist Roland Barthes postulates that in fact, the photograph “never lies: or it can lie as to the meaning of the thing… never to its existence.” 5 Barthes conceived the idea that the photographic image was an illusionary emanation of past reality,6 almost a memory of some magical something that once was. American writer and political activist Susan Sontag expresses a similar view in her work On Photography, where she blurs the line between fantasy and reality” There is something predatory in the act of taking a picture. To photograph people is to violate them, by seeing them as they never see themselves, by having knowledge of them they can never have; it turns people into objects that can be symbolically possessed…7 Sontag is referring to an unseen reality, privy only to the photographer through the lens of their camera. By collapsing the distinction between fantasy and reality in the photograph, Sontag affirms the captured fantasy as a reality.8 The question now remains: just whose reality exactly?

Photography has the ability to remove the surface of reality and present a trace or impression of the real to its audience. This theorised ‘unreality’9 of photography certainly has a hold on how we view the medium today. As with most artistic mediums, photography plays a didactic role in revealing various humanistic veracities, as well as in shaping our social imaginings.

3 Jackson, R.L. (2010). Encyclopedia of Identity. Los Angeles, California: London: SAGE 4 Navab, A. D. (2001). Re-Picturing Photography: A Language in the making. Journal of Aesthetic Education, 35(1), 69-84.

5 Barthes, Roland. (1981) Excerpts: Pages 3, 22-28, 40-51, and 92-97. Camera Lucida: Reflections on photography (pp. 3, 22-28, 40-51, 92-97). Hill and Wang 6 Barthes, Roland. (1981) Camera Lucida: Reflections on photography 7 Sontag, Susan. (1977) On Photography. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux 8 Sontag, Susan. (1977) On Photography.

9 Grundberg, A. (2002). The crisis of the real: photography and postmodernism. In The Photography Reader. (pp. 164-197). Routledge.

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However, the medium of photography is condemned to efface the truth.10 It challenges the regimes of representation that govern society, and transforms reality into something idyllic. Reality is so mediated, we can often barely differentiate between what is fact and what is fiction.

A new challenge is to be explored in this exhibition. It seeks to go beyond the fantasy vs. reality debate, into the realm of the unconscious. When we look at a photograph, why do we see what we see? And how is this different to the intentions of the photographed or the photographer? What, in truth, is a photograph? Our answer: that whilst photography does convey truth in some form, it is a single truth, a ‘distracted gaze’11 that often fails to recognise marginalised and fringe identities in its depiction. ‘Through the Looking Glass: Reclaiming the Concept of the Gaze through a Reframing of the Photographic Image,’ alerts us to some of these intricacies often ignored in analyses of certain significant features of politics and visual culture.12 The exhibition will engage with such features, notably the powerfully charged gaze on gender and race in photography.

The Oxford English Dictionary defines the ‘gaze’ as ‘to look fixedly, intently or deliberately at something,’13 but also mentions that in early use, gaze meant ‘to look vacantly, inanely or curiously about.’ This definition pertains to the work of cultural critic Walter Benjamin in his essay The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction, where he introduces the concept of the ‘optical unconscious.’ Benjamin explores how photography has shaped history, modernity, lived experience, politics and race, and provided a reenvisioning of our global perceptions.14 The eye of the camera enables us to gaze upon subjects that we otherwise would not have seen. Taken literally, the camera turns the depicted into an object, distancing the viewer and the viewed through the lens of objectification. As with Benjamin and Sontag, Michel Foucault’s analysis of the rise of surveillance in modern society further examines how photography promotes ‘the moralizing gaze (and) 10 Benjamin, A. (2010). What, in truth, is Photography? Notes after Kracauer. Oxford Literary Review, 32(2), 189-201.

11 Walter, Benjamin. (1936). The Work of Art in the Age of its Technical Reproducibility, in Walter Benjamin: Selected Writings, 4: 1938-1940, Howards Eiland and Michael Jennings, eds. (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University, Belknap Press, 2006) 12 Sliwinksi, Sharon. And Smith, Michelle. (2017) Photography and the Optical Unconscious.

Durham: Duke University Press.

13 Oxford English Dictionary Online. From; dictionary.oed.com, Viewed. June 5th. 2018.

14 Walter, Benjamin. (1936). The Work of Art in the Age of its Technical Reproducibility, in Walter Benjamin: Selected Writings, 4: 1938-1940, Howards Eiland and Michael Jennings, eds. (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University, Belknap Press, 2006)

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establishes over individuals a visibility through which one differentiates and judges them.’15 Contemporary art criticism positions the gaze as a vehicle for communication and a medium that can inform both the viewer and the viewed of social implications beyond its function as an artwork.16 Photographers use their medium in ways that challenge and upend its artistic, intellectual and technical concepts,17 to broaden the notion of what a photograph is, and further, what it could be in art theory. This is the context that we encounter in this exhibition — one that ponders the nature of photography and spectatorship. No longer a transparent conforming of the art world’s perspective, this is a photography that refuses to authorise the artistic conventions of representation.18 The malleability of meaning of the photographic image encourages audiences to question what they are seeing. The exhibition seeks to tap into this politicisation, and give voice to the silenced voices of those women, children and ethnicities so often overlooked. In a globalised and mobile society, the image is ever mediated to reflect the current context, and now the gaze must follow suit.

Exhibition Scale: The exhibition ‘Through the Looking Glass: Reclaiming the Concept of the Gaze through a Reframing of the Photographic Image,’ seeks to challenge the privileged and normalised gaze prevalent in both art practice and criticism. Historically the spectator’s gaze on photography has been influenced by specific readings enforced by the artist or wider society. In its place, viewers are asked to search for the whole truth in the photographs presented in the exhibition, and question what is hanging directly in front of them. Following in the footsteps of the ground-breaking Magiciens de la Terre exhibition of 1989,19 peripheral identities are highlighted and the scales of representation are equalised once more.

15 Foucault, Michel. (1977) Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison. New York: Pantheon 16 Foucault, Michel. (1970) Las Meninas. In The Order of Things. New York: Pantheon Books.

17 Squiers, C. (1983) Photography: Tradition and Decline. Millerton: Aperture, Inc. 18 Batchen, G. (2008). Camera Lucida: Another Little history of Photography. In The meaning of photography (pp. 76-91). Clark Art Institute 19 Greenberg, Reesa. (2005) Identity exhibitions: From magiciens de la terre to Documenta 11.

From Art Journal, 64(1). P.90

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The exhibition is meticulously planned-out, right down to the proposed dates and exhibiting space. It will be held in the year 2020, an optometric metaphor for perfect vision. No longer are we, as spectators, blind to the disregard for inclusive representation, but finally witness an exhibition where all ‘visions’ and gazes are included, and those so often left out are given their moment in the spotlight. The question of ‘who is the other and how do we include them in this new globalised world?’ has been answered: they are everyone, and they are visible. The exhibition will be held at MoMA in New York. This space is an interesting choice for a number of reasons, largely because it is a gallery in the most traditional sense of the word: a space where artworks are displayed conventionally. In holding the exhibition at MoMA, the photographs will be hung in the company of Monet, Van Gogh, Lichtenstein and Warhol, thus cementing their position as works of art and not solely ethnographic archives or evidential records.

The exhibition features works by a number of artists who confront visual illiteracy of photographs historically and invert the Western, colonial, male and adult gazes (to name a few). There are a number of revolutionary artists whose works have been included in the program, namely Claude Cahun, Lewis Carroll, and Marc Garanger, as well as Australian artists Christian Thompson and Prue Stent, who will be discussed further in the catalogue. Claude Cahun is heralded as having paved the way for queer artists and her portraits convey a flawless blurring of gendered identities.

Her photographs reclaim the image of the queer self by taking ownership of the objectification of image. Works by Lewis Carroll present a challenge to the exclusively adult vision of the world. Young people’s understandings and perspectives not only replace clichéd and derivative images with fresh perspective, but also contest fixed notions of how adults view the world.20 French photographer Marc Garanger provides a direct contestation to Louis Agassiz’s slave daguerreotypes21 and the ethnographic gaze of marginalised people and neglected historical events, such as the French-Algerian war in the 1960s. The artists from this exhibition are challenging the idea that the photographic image should be taken as gospel truth. They challenge the banality of normalised gazes, and amplify the voices of the silenced.

20 Wissman, Kelly, K. (2008) “This is what I see”: (Re)envisioning Photography as a Social Practice. From Media, Learning and Sites of possibility, Ed. Marc Lamont Hill. Chapter 2, pg. 13. Peter Lang Publishing: New York 21 Wallis, B. (1995). Black bodies, White Science: Louis Agassiz’s Slave Daguerreotypes.

American Art, 9(2), 39-61

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Catalogue Essay: Post-colonial feminist literature often concerns itself with precisely the question this exhibition seeks to answer: what it means to author an image, and how one might exist in creative and critical relationship to the other’s gaze.22 Taking as a point of departure the notion that ‘reading and remaking pictures can be seen as forms of feminist resistance,’23 Melbourne-based photographer Prue Stent is one to note. Starting as a photo-media artist, Stent gained a large following from Instagram, where her photographicperformance works continue to be exhibited for the cyber-world to see. Her works confront the traditional image of the female body as object and reject vehemently the concept of the male gaze. Stent’s works are centred on the conflicting relationship between femininity and its passive connotations.24 Her photographs give voice to the concept of the female gaze, and to women who had seen themselves and their bodies as passive objects for men to control.

The concept of the male gaze was first introduced in an essay by Laura Mulvey entitled Visual pleasure and narrative cinema in 1975,25 with the core idea being that of a man objectifying a woman and the female body, such that men are empowered. This predatory nature of spectatorship harks back to Sontag’s theory of photography,26 whereby the female form is considered an image of male fantasy. In reaction to this, Stent’s photographs present a counter narrative for the way women’s bodies are portrayed in society and more specifically in art and mainstream media. She seeks to discard such preconceptions about the ‘beautiful’ or ‘ideal’ body — being normalised or straight or passive — instead choosing to embrace the body as having political, social and sexual agency.

Stent’s elemental photographic work ‘Scallop’ (2017) portrays a woman’s body swathed in damp pink cloth. The body is fragmented, depicted faceless and without a personal identity. Stent is drawing on the trope of the stereotypical female nude, with roots as far back as Classical Greek 22 Eileraas, Karina. (2003). Reframing the Colonial Gaze: Photography, Ownership, and Feminist Resistance. MLN, 118(4), 807-840.

23 Eileraas, K. (2003). Reframing the Colonial Gaze: Photography, Ownership, and Feminist Resistance 24 Stent, Prue. (2018) Artists Statement. Retrieved from pruestent.com.au 25 Mulvey, Laura. (1975) Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema. Screen. 16(3): 6-18.

26 Sontag, S. (1977) On Photography. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux

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sculptures representing the female muse. In featuring the nude female body, Stent is confronting the art world’s traditionally patriarchal stance regarding the female figure in art, and reclaiming both the female gaze and body as a site of agency. Stent presents a hightened sense of intimacy and fragility through nudity, and reclaims a power through its objectification that was previously lost to the male gaze. Particular attention is drawn to the details of the body: its textures, its protrusions, its folds — all things that women are so often expected to conceal. There is a fetishisation and eroticisation present in the work. The soft, fleshy forms play with the viewer’s senses to explore sexuality and idealised notions of femininity through subversive and surrealist depictions of female anatomy — a fusion of the feminine with the absurd. For the photograph’s composition, Stent has chosen to use a single, pastel pink colour. Symbolically, pink triggers subconscious associations with femininity and sexuality. The soft tones further work to soothe the often awkward positions or angles of the pictured body, and echo the visceral textures of the image. Stent is evading classification by using social stereotypes against society itself. ‘Scallop,’ ticks all the boxes for a feminine representation of sexualised female form — soft, inoffensive colour palette, fleshy and rounded forms. Yet there is something unnerving or grotesque about the image, almost as though we should not be looking at it, but remain captiavted, unable to look away. In an interview with Bullet Media, Stent addressed her ongoing navigation of the system of classification present within our culture, for the most part due to patriarchal and colonial power structures,27 which try to dictate the meaning of subject matter and presume some kind of control over it: Bending cultural symbolism and signifiers within the work hopefully disrupts some of this and encourages the viewer to take away their own meanings and associations from it…28 Stent is subverting the generic idea of femininity through her photographs that are simultaneously recognisable and illusionary — perhaps an amalgamation of fantasy and reality. She is challenging the audience to question what is before them, and mobilises us to reclaim the concept of the female gaze. Women, and women’s bodies, in photography are not 27 Weiss, Alexandra. (2017) Prue Stent & Honey Long Examine the Darker Side of Beauty, from Bullet Media. Retrieved from http://bulletmedia.com/article/prue-stent-honey-longexamine-the-darker-side-of-beauty/ 28 Weiss, Alexandra. (2017) Prue Stent & Honey Long Examine the Darker Side of Beauty

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passive objects, but are instead active and dynamic beings not afraid to exercise their ability to lend both a sensitivity and strength to the world of representation.

In a similar style to Prue Stent, Australian Indigenous artist Christian Thompson works to invert the concept of the gaze; this time the colonial gaze. Thompson employs his photography as a tool for reconciliation of the conflicting narratives that make up Australian colonial history. It is impossible to tell the story of European settlement in Australia without talking about the invasion, and confronting the dispossession of Aboriginal people. Thompson recognises the significance of this dual history of his country, and works to express not only his own personal truth and heritage, but also a truth for the entire Indigenous peoples of Australia. Thus, his photographic works explore notions of identity, race and Australia’s cultural hybridity. The 2015 photographic series ‘Museum of Others’ emerged from Thompson’s longstanding engagement with the nineteenthcentury colonialist-Australian ethnographic photographs, held in collection at the Pitt Rivers Museum at the University of Oxford. Thompson worked to reconnect these archival records of Indigenous Aboriginal culture, with contemporary communities today and to move away from Western ethnocultural markers of Aboriginal ancestry.29 ‘Museum of Others’ uses iconic images of colonial figures, including James Cook, as in ‘Museum of Others (Othering the Explorer James Cook),’ (2015) as a mask to scrutinise history and identity.30 The obvious punctum31 of the work is the space where Thompson has removed the eyes of the Captain, and replaced them with his own. Thompson steps inside the skin of Captain Cook and questions his gaze: ‘how did you divide up and classify your world?’32 He is directly inverting the ethnographic gaze of the historical subject and challenging the practices of objectification that they assigned to those outside of their ‘Westernised-Eurocentric’33 view of the 29 Beller, Jonathan. (2017) Camera Obscura after all: The Racist writing with light. From The Message is Murder. Pp. 99. Pluto Press.

30 Brien, Kerrie. (2018) Can we achieve reconciliation through art? NGV’s Colony shows make a start. Retrieved from: https://www.smh.com.au/entertainment/can-we-achievereconcillation-through-art-ngvs-colony-shows-make-a-start-20180304-h0wygx.html 31 Barthes, R. (1981) Excerpts: Pages 3, 22-28, 40-51, and 92-97. Camera Lucida: Reflections on photography (pp. 3, 22-28, 40-51, 92-97). Hill and Wang 32 Furhmann, Andrew. (2017) ‘Christian Thompson’s performative self-portraiture,’ realtime.

Melbourne: Monash University 33 Brien, Kerrie. (2018) Can we achieve reconciliation through art? NGV’s Colony shows make a start.

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world. Thompson attempts to rewrite cultural histories and the way that audiences look at marginalised Indigenous societies: The action of cutting out someone’s eyes, it’s kind of subversive34 …(the artist) within the historical subject returns a new gaze, unpacking the past to view an entirely different present…35 Thompson turns the tables on the visceral racism optically inscribed onto Aboriginal people’s bodies, and personally engages in the act of ‘othering.’

He is rejecting the scrutiny of Aboriginal people as ethnographic subject, and thus reclaims ownership of their image. As the title of the work suggests, Thompson is objectifying these colonial figures by placing them in a ‘museum,’ just as his Indigenous ancestors were in the Pitt Rivers collection. Thompson coined the term ‘spiritual repatriation’ in describing the intended purpose of his photographs as a gateway from the archive to the contemporary. ‘Museum of Others’ manages to capture a direct and spiritual connection to the aura of his Indigenous ancestors, freeing them of the shackles of being defined as solely an ethnographic object of colonial gaze. Thompson shifts the focus from the author of the image, and in this case the author of the stereotyped classification of Aboriginal people, to the Indigenous identity. Rather than dealing with historical misrepresentation, Thompson elects to highlight the figures themselves and their unique biographies.

Photography plays a significant role in developing notions of identity and presence, and Thompson examines this in order to offer a different perspective for a modern context. Through Thompson’s photographs, Indigenous Australians, previously the silenced and marginalised cultural ‘others,’ are empowered as subject of their own gaze. His spiritual repatriation enables an Indigenous gaze to confront the colonial, and positions his Aboriginal ancestors a step closer to reclaiming their image and cultural identity.

34 Brien, Kerrie. (2018) 35 Reid, M. (2018) Equilibrium. Retrieved from https://michaelreid.com.au/art/equilibrium/

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Works selected for the exhibition: Prue Stent, ‘Scallop,’ (2017) from Soft Tissue Collection, 100cm X 126cm, archival pigment Prue Stent, ‘Agar Plates,’ from Soft Tissue Collection, 106cm x 159cm, archival pigment print Marc Garanger, Femme Algerienne 3/16, 1960, 26.7cmX26.7cm, paper and photo-pigment ink Marc Garanger, Femme Algerienne 5/16, 1960, 26.7cmX26.7cm, paper and photo-pigment ink Lewis Carroll, ‘Liddell, Alice Pleasance in profile,’ summer 1858 Claude Cahun, Entre Nous (Between Us), (1926), Gelatin Silver Print, 11.91cm x 11.75cm Christian Thompson, Museum of Others (Othering the Explorer, James Cook), 2016, C-Type on metallic, 120cm X120cm Christian Thompson, 2012, Lamenting the Flowers, from We Bury Our Own, 100cmx100c

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REFERENCES: Barthes, R. (1981) Excerpts: Pages 3, 22-28, 40-51, and 92-97. Camera Lucida: Reflections on photography (pp. 3, 22-28, 40-51, 92-97). Hill and Wang Batchen, G. (2008). Camera Lucida: Another Little history of Photography. In The meaning of photography (pp. 76-91). Clark Art Institute Beller, Jonathan. (2017) Camera Obscura after all: The Racist writing with light. From The Message is Murder. Pp. 99. Pluto Press.

Benjamin, A. (2010). What, in truth, is Photography? Notes after Kracauer. Oxford Literary Review, 32(2), 189-201.

Brien, Kerrie. (2018) Can we achieve reconciliation through art? NGV’s Colony shows make a start. Retrieved from: https://www.smh.com.au/entertainment/can-we-achieve-reconcillationthrough-art-ngvs-colony-shows-make-a-start-20180304-h0wygx.html Campany, D. (2003). Safety in Numbness: Some remarks on problems of ‘Late Photography.’

In D. Green (Ed.) Where is the photograph? (pp. 123-132) Photoworks; Brighton: Photoforum.

Eileraas, K. (2003). Reframing the Colonial Gaze: Photography, Ownership, and Feminist Resistance. MLN, 118(4), 807-840.

Foucault, Michel. (1977) Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison. New York: Pantheon Foucault, Michel. (1970) Las Meninas. In The Order of Things. New York: Pantheon Books.

Furhmann, Andrew. (2017) ‘Christian Thompson’s performative self-portraiture,’ realtime.

Melbourne: Monash University Gordin, Misha. (2013) Conceptual Photography: Idea, Process, Truth. In World Literature Today, Vol. 87, no. 2., pp. 76-81 Greenberg, Reesa. (2005) Identity exhibitions: From magiciens de la terre to Documenta 11. From Art Jounral, 64(1). P.90 Grundberg, A. (2002). The crisis of the real: photography and postmodernism. In The Photography Reader. (pp. 164-197). Routledge.

Jackson, R.L. (2010). Encyclopedia of Identity. Los Angeles, California: London: SAGE Krauss, R. (1981). The Photographic Conditions of Surrealism. October, 19, 3-34.

Lutz, Catherine. & Jane Collins (1994). The Photograph as an Intersection of Gazes: The example of National Geographic’. In Taylor (Ed.) op. cit., 363-384 Mulvey, Laura. (1975) Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema. Screen. 16(3): 6-18.

Navab, A. D. (2001). Re-Picturing Photography: A Language in the making. Journal of Aesthetic Education, 35(1), 69-84.

Oxford English Dictionary Online. From; dictionary.oed.com, Viewed. June 5th. 2018.

Ray, M (1989) The Age of Light. In Photography in the modern era: European documents and critical writings, 1913-1940. (pp.52-54). Aperture

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Reid, M. (2018) Equilibrium. Retrieved from https://michaelreid.com.au/art/equilibrium/ Roberts, John. (2009) Photography after the Photograph: Event, Archive, and the Non-Symbolic.

Oxford Art Journal, Vol. 32, no. 2., pp. 281-298 Sliwinksi, Sharon. And Smith, Michelle. (2017) Photography and the Optical Unconscious.

Durham: Duke University Press.

Schroeder, Jonathan E. (1998) Consuming Representation: A visual approach to consumer research. In Barbara B Stern (Ed.): Representing Consumers: Voices, Views and Visions. London: Routledge, pp. 193-230.

Sontag, S. (1977) On Photography. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux Squiers, C. (1983) Photography: Tradition and Decline. Millerton: Aperture, Inc. Tagg, John. (1988) The Burden of Representation. Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press Wallis, B. (1995). Black bodies, White Science: Louis Agassiz’s Slave Daguerreotypes. American Art, 9(2), 39-61 Walter, Benjamin. (1936). The Work of Art in the Age of its Technical Reproducibility, in Walter Benjamin: Selected Writings, 4: 1938-1940, Howards Eiland and Michael Jennings, eds.

(Cambridge, MA: Harvard University, Belknap Press, 2006) Weiss, Alexandra. (2017) Prue Stent & Honey Long Examine the Darker Side of Beauty, from Bullet Media. Retrieved from http://bulletmedia.com/article/prue-stent-honey-long-examine-thedarker-side-of-beauty/ Wissman, Kelly, K. (2008) “This is what I see”: (Re)envisioning Photography as a Social Practice.

From Media, Learning and Sites of possibility, Ed. Marc Lamont Hill. Chapter 2, pg. 13. Peter Lang Publishing: New York

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Dispossession of Aboriginal land and identity: legitimising colonisation through the law EMILY GRAETZ Arts 1st Year ‘The “traditional”, the colonial, and the present are a fluid history connecting place and kin in our culture. Home is a special, specific place. Home is everywhere. Home is the long “lost” past. Home is like a perpetual present.’

Larissa Behrendt (2008, p. 78)

In Australia’s history, various legal processes have legitimised the colonisation and dispossession of Aboriginal people and their land. These legal processes have resulted in inequality and exclusion for Aboriginal people, from the eighteenth century to the present. In this context, structural inequality is defined as the ‘measurable consequences’ of racism that involve the exclusion of racial others from social structures such as education, the criminal justice system and employment (Miles 1988, pp. 8-9). Australian Indigenous people are likely to experience this structural inequality on a daily level, and hence racism can be viewed as a transcendent ideology of exclusion and marginalisation (Essed 1991, p. 2).

Whilst Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people have been subjected to a plethora of inequalities, this paper will focus on the dispossession of land resulting in a loss of identity, belonging and an exclusion from white Australian society. This dispossession of country and culture means that Aboriginal people have long faced an insuperable burden, confounding their overall sense of belonging and identity. In addition, narratives of white dominance have served to categorise racial groups, exacerbating

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the discrimination faced by Aboriginal people. These narratives have been disseminated through several social, cultural, political, and legal platforms, including ongoing debates about the rights that Aboriginal people have with respect to Australian land.

Australia’s colonial dispossession of land was largely legitimised through law that resulted in Aboriginal inequality and marginalisation.

Justification of colonisation via Terra Nullius established a legal basis for the dispossession of Aboriginal land and consequent Aboriginal nonbelonging (Moreton-Robinson 2015, p. 5). Watson (2015, p. 11) further argues that Terra Nullius has not only resulted in lost land, but also lost culture. Further, European colonisers projected legal systems and policies such as ‘protectionism’ onto a group of people who traditionally practised the embodiment of law inextricably linked with the land (Watson 2015, pp.

12-13). Protectionist policies enabled the Australian government to remove Aboriginal people from their land, place them in reserves, and separate families, with legal processes such as court hearings deemed unnecessary (Bringing them Home Report 1997). These policies of dispossession manifested into what we now know as the Stolen Generation and stripped Aboriginal families of land and autonomy (Bringing them Home Report 1997) Howard-Wagner and Kelly (2011, p. 104) argue that rather than existing for the wellbeing of Aboriginal people, these policies were legal mechanisms enacted to ensure a ‘space for the construction of a modern, liberal, settler, colonial society.’ Thus, European legal systems and policies have been imperative in ensuring the historical dispossession of land in addition to a precarious Aboriginal non-belonging and identity (Watson 2015, pp. 12-13).

The progression of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander rights is contingent upon the dismantling of white dominance and changing cultural attitudes.

Watson (2015, p. 17) labels destructive white laws as discussed above, as ‘Muldarbi’: that which is founded upon a colonising Terra Nullius, and she argues that its essential liberalism has eroded tradition and belonging.

However, Behrendt (2008, pp. 75-77) explores celebration and renewal as inevitable partners of trauma and loss, suggesting that despite historical colonial violence, Aboriginal history and its future is becoming more central to the Australian narrative and identity. However, the growing significance and recognition of Aboriginal culture is undermined ‘by how dominant Australian culture imagines Aboriginal Australia and the vast

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chasm between that image and reality’ (Behrendt 2008, p. 77). In addition, ongoing economic exploitation of Aboriginal people demonstrates that cultural and legal change are inextricably linked. To use the critical race framework of Omi and Winant (1986, p. 68), racial identity ‘is an unstable and “decentred” complex of social meanings constantly being transformed by political struggles.’ However, even political efforts such as then Prime Minister Kevin Rudd’s 2008 apology speech, have not resulted in effective policy change (Behrendt 2008, pp. 83-84). As it stands, Terra Nullius and historical policies such as protectionism continue to perpetuate Aboriginal disconnect with identity and land. Hegemonic legal processes ensure that white dominance – and the inequality and exclusion of Aboriginal people – is maintained.

Aboriginal inequalities and exclusions resulting from historical dispossession of the land have been compounded by ongoing legal colonisation through modern legislation. Whilst Terra Nullius legitimised colonisation and has had ongoing effects on an Aboriginal sense of belonging, the Australian legal system continues to colonise the land in various ways today. The Native Title Act 1993 (Cwlth) represents a tokenistic form of land rights.

Whilst it is popularly described as progressive, s. 190B of the Native Title Act 1993 reveals a reliance on proof of ongoing Aboriginal connection with the land within a European framework for any claims to be considered successful. Thus, in prioritising white ways of knowing, and making the process of belonging one of proof on white terms, Native Title ‘will make legal the continuing process of colonialism and cultural genocide’ (Watson 2015, p. 19). Hage (2002, p. 421) also argues that as a result of the government’s unwillingness to sign a treaty, colonisation has remained ‘incomplete’ both legally and physically via the ongoing dispossession of land. This perceived precarity of white dominance further plays into attempts to establish and enforce hegemonic culture and power inequalities (Hage 2002, p. 421), further enabling the racist undertones of the Australian legal system. Historical legal processes and policies reveal and legitimise dispossession of land and thus Aboriginal non-belonging. However, is it the lack of proactive and genuinely healing legal action in Australian law and politics that also drives white belonging and the marginalisation of Australia’s First Nation people.

Hegemonic ways of knowing and communicating have perpetuated Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander inequality and exclusion. European

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colonial practices and knowledge productions largely underpin Australia’s legal system. The historical and contemporary enforcement of this system alienates Aboriginal people whilst ensuring the maintained dominance of white culture through a monopoly of communication and knowledge structures. Moreton-Robinson (2013, p. 127-130) establishes ‘standpoint’ as the position of power and knowledge production, thus revealing that a largely disregarded Indigenous standpoint often reflects a violently colonial history. Contrastingly, white ways of knowing are undeniably legitimised through legal discourses, commonly resulting in an inability for First Nation people to communicate effectively whilst perpetuating their alienation within colonial structures (Behrendt 1993, p. 41). Moreover, the dispossession of land has denied First Nation people a respected way of communicating and sharing knowledge. Moreton-Robinson (2013, p. 120) labels this as the ‘constant battle to authorise Indigenous knowledges and methodologies as shared and valued components of research.’ Even legal cases and legislation that deal primarily or solely with Aboriginal issues such as Native Title, reveal the dismissal of First Nation voices within racially driven legal systems (Maddison 2012, p. 271).

These legal systems reflect and perpetuate perceived racial dominance whilst maintaining the superiority of white knowledge production. The marginalisation of Aboriginal voices reflects what Omi and Winant (1986, p. 61) term ‘racial formations’, whereby the voices of minority groups are devalued based on power structures. However, racial structures are contextual and temporal (Omi and Winant 1986, p. 64) and thus, a more inclusive Australia is possible. Maddison (2012, p. 270) notes that for this change to occur, white Australia needs to make more space for First Nation voices to be heard when creating policy that directly affects them. However, even contemporary policies such as ‘interventionism’ reflect the ongoing dismissal of self-determination for Aboriginal people. In discussing the Northern Territory National Emergency Response Act 2007, HowardWagner and Kelly (2011, p. 116) argue that the ‘intervention’ is a reflection of legal and social ignorance and the ongoing ‘attempt to dispossess and disconnect mobile Aboriginal peoples from their homelands’. As such, whilst Australia is often described as ‘post-colonial’, colonising practises are ongoing. Even if more equitable policies arise, it is hard to imagine their success in the context of the perpetuating and largely ignored colonial dispossession of land, culture and identity (Moreton-Robinson 2015, p. 7).

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It is one of Australia’s great ironies that self-determination is promoted whilst First Nation people remain robbed of the land that would enable the possibility of this self-determination.

Home and country are inextricably linked to Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander identity. As such, the illegal but legitimised European dispossession of land has had a devastating impact on Australia’s Indigenous identity, community, culture and autonomy. Dispossession continues today both physically and metaphysically via legal systems that ignore and devalue First Nation voices. The white dominance and fear of lost European control largely underpins this ongoing colonisation (Hage 2002, p. 421). This paper has discussed the impact of colonisation and a fear of lost white power in the context of Aboriginal lives. However, Australia’s treatment of Asylum seekers, Muslims and minority groups existing beyond the sphere of white belonging, reveals that racism is, in fact, central to our legal system, rather than an exception. For a genuine reversal of Aboriginal inequality and marginalisation to occur, it is not enough for new policies and regulation to be introduced. Our history and present must be recognised as violently colonial. We must acknowledge dispossession and the robbing of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander belonging with the land and advocate for a more inclusive legal system that acts to rectify this. For then, the home of everywhere, the past and the present (Behrendt 2008, p. 78) will be grounded in a self-determined belonging and identity.

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REFERENCE LIST: Behrendt, L 1993, ‘Aboriginal women and the white lies of the feminist movement: implications for Aboriginal women in rights discourse’, Australia Feminist Law Journal, vol. 1, no. 1, pp. 2744.

Behrendt, L 2009, ‘Home: The Importance of Place to the Dispossessed’, South Atlantic Quarterly, vol. 108, no. 1, pp. 71-85.

Essed, P 1991, Understanding everyday racism: an interdisciplinary theory, SAGE Publications, Newbury Park, California.

Hage, G 2002, ‘Multiculturalism and white paranoia in Australia’, Journal of International Migration and Integration, vol. 3, no. 3-4, pp. 417-437.

Howard-Wagner, D & Kelly, B 2011, ‘Containing aboriginal mobility in the Northern Territory: From ‘protectionism’ to ‘interventionism’, Law Text Culture, vol. 15, pp. 102-134.

Human Rights and Equal Opportunity Commission 1997, Bringing them home: National Inquiry into the Separation of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Children from Their Families: 2018, viewed 8 September 2018, https://www.humanrights.gov.au/sites/default/files/content/pdf/social_ justice/bringing_them_home_report.pdf Maddison, S 2012, ‘Evidence and contestation in the Indigenous Policy Domain: Voice, Ideology and Institutional Inequality’, Australian journal of public administration, vol. 71, no. 3, pp. 269277.

Miles, R 2014, ‘Beyond the ‘Race’ Concept: The Reproduction of Racism in England’, Sydney Studies in Society and Culture, vol. 4, pp. 7-31.

Moreton-Robinson, A 2013, ‘Towards an Australian Indigenous Women’s Standpoint Theory: A Methodological Tool’, Australian Feminist Studies, vol. 28, no. 78, pp. 331-347.

Moreton-Robinson, A 2015, The White possessive: property, power, and indigenous sovereignty, University of Minnesota Press, Minneapolis, Minnesota.

Native Title Act 1993 (Cwlth), viewed 4 September 2018, https://www.legislation.gov.au/Details/ C2017C00178 Omi, M & Winant, H 1986, Racial formation in the United States: from the 1960s to the 1980s, Routledge & Kegan Paul, New York, NY. Watson, I 2015, Aboriginal peoples, colonialism and international law: raw law, Routledge, Abingdon, Oxfordshire.

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