SED

 

Catalogue Raisonné of J. L. Speranza’s Publications – H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Sed

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Sedazio – Ossia: Grice e Sedazio -- Grex griceiana – verbalia: Sedazio The gens Sedatia, occasionally written Sedata, was a plebeian family at ancient Rome, which flourished from the first to the third century. The only member of this gens known to have held a seat in the Roman senate was Marcus Sedatius Severianus, consul suffectus in AD 153.[1]  The Sedatii were an influential mercantile family, whose wealth was based on commerce along the Loire, and had interests in Ostia.[2] The social and political rise of the Sedatii parallels the decline of the aristocratic Julii, who had been the leading class in Roman Gaul since the time of the Julio-Claudian dynasty. The likely marriage of Gaius Sedatius Severus and Julia Rufina might have contributed to the ascendency of winemakers and landowners, who became the leading class in Gaul until the Flavians.[3]  Origin The Sedatii seem to have been a Gallic family, which probably obtained Roman citizenship some time during the early Empire. The nomen Sedatius seems to be derived from the name of a Celtic god, Sedatus, of whom little is known, but who is mentioned in a series of inscriptions from the Danubian provinces. The transformation of a theonym into a personal name was typical of Gallic practice, but the development of original gentilicia at this early date was highly unusual. Cassius Dio relates that newly enrolled citizens in the time of Claudius were expected to assume the imperial gentilicium, unless the emperor granted them permission to bear another name, and no exceptions are known prior to the time of Vespasian. Original gentilicia were much more typical of the second century, when such names were very common in the provinces.[4]  Praenomina The only praenomina associated with the Sedatii are Gaius and Marcus, two of the most common names throughout all periods of Roman history.  Branches and cognomina The only distinct family of the Sedatii bore the cognomen Severus, and its derivative, Severianus. Severus, meaning "stern, serious, austere", or "severe", belongs to a class of old Roman surnames, derived from the characteristics and habits of individuals.[5]  Members This list includes abbreviated praenomina. For an explanation of this practice, see filiation. Sedatii Severi Gaius Sedatius Severus, the father of Marcus Sedatius Severianus, was probably born about AD 75.[6][7] Marcus Sedatius C. f. Severianus Julius Acer Metillius Nepos Rufinus Tiberius Rutilianus Censor, consul suffectus in AD 153, and governor of Cappadocia at the beginning of the Parthian War of Lucius Verus. Severianus took his own life after his army was besieged at Elegeia in 161.[1][6][8] Marcus Sedatus M. f. C. n. Severus Julius Reginus Gallus, the son of Marcus Sedatius Severianus.[6][7] Others Gaius Sedatius Florus, secretary for the administration of Portus Namnetum, with Marcus Gemellius Secundus, early in the second century AD.[9][10] Marcus Sedatius Myro, together with his brother, Apollinaris, dedicated a tomb at Rome to his daughter, Sedatia Pollina.[11] Sedatia M. f. Pollina, buried at Rome, in a tomb dedicated by her father, Marcus Sedatius Myro, and uncle, Apollinaris.[11] Gaius Sedatius Velleius Priscus Macrinus, an imperial legate in Bithynia during the reign of Claudius Gothicus. He was honoured with a statue at Palmyra.[6] Gaius Sedatius Stephanus,[i] a decurion of the Civitatis Taunensium in Germania Superior, in AD 240.[12][13] Gaius Sedatius, named in an inscription from Virunum in Noricum.[14] Sedatius Agathonicus, dedicated a tomb at Lugdunum in Gallia Lugdunensis for his father, Claudius Agathyrsus, aged seventy years, five months, and ten days.[15] Sedatia Bassina, named in a libationary inscription honoring Jupiter Optimus Maximus and Juno Regina, from Nida in Germania Superior.[16] Sedatia Blandula, named in an inscription honoring Mercury at Andematunum in Gallia Belgica.[17] Sedatius Gratus, named in a funerary inscription from Mogontiacum in Germania Superior.[18] Sedatius Martius, husband of Olympias and father of Martia, a girl buried at Rome, aged eleven years, [... months?], and twenty-five days.[19] Sedatia Primitiva, the wife of Libertius Decimianus, and mother of Libertia Primula, buried at Lugdunum, aged forty-five years, having been married for sixteen years.[20] Footnotes  Stephanus seems to have been adopted into the gens Sedatia, for none of his children bear the name. See also List of Roman gentes References  Fasti Ostienses, CIL XIV, 244.  Picard, "Ostie et la Gaule de l'Ouest", passim.  Rémy, Les carrières sénatoriales, p. 220.  Picard, "Ostie et la Gaule de l'Ouest", p. 887.  Chase, pp. 110, 111.  PIR, pp. 189, 190.  Picard, "Ostie et la Gaule de l'Ouest", p. 889.  Picard, "Ostie et la Gaule de l'Ouest", pp. 885–888.  CIL XIII, 3106.  (in French) Champeaux & Chassignet, Aere perennius, p. 229.  AE 1987, 00078.  CIL XIII, 7352.  Mémoires de la Société nationale des antiquaires de France, p. 142.  AEA, 2005, +00008.  CIL XIII, 2099.  CIL XIII, 7347.  CIL XIII, 5676.  CIL XIII, 7083.  CIL VI, 22254.  CIL XIII, 2264. Bibliography Theodor Mommsen et alii, Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum (The Body of Latin Inscriptions, abbreviated CIL), Berlin-Brandenburgische Akademie der Wissenschaften (1853–present). René Cagnat et alii, L'Année épigraphique (The Year in Epigraphy, abbreviated AE), Presses Universitaires de France (1888–present). (in French) Société nationale des antiquaires de France, Mémoires de la Société nationale des antiquaires de France, (1886). George Davis Chase, "The Origin of Roman Praenomina", in Harvard Studies in Classical Philology, vol. VIII, pp. 103–184 (1897). Paul von Rohden, Elimar Klebs, & Hermann Dessau, Prosopographia Imperii Romani (The Prosopography of the Roman Empire, abbreviated PIR), Berlin (1898). Annona Epigraphica Austriaca (Epigraphy of Austria Annual, abbreviated AEA) (1979–present). (in French) Gilbert Charles-Picard, "Ostie et la Gaule de l'Ouest", in Mélanges de L'École Française de Rome, vol. 93, No. 2, pp. 883–915 (1981). Bernard Rémy, Les carrières sénatoriales dans les provinces romaines d'Anatolie, Istanbul-Paris (1989). (in French) Jacqueline Champeaux, Martine Chassignet, Aere perennius: en hommage à Hubert Zehnacker (2006). Categories: SedatiiPeople from Roman GaulRoman gentes And from THIS gens? Thanks

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Sedazio – Ossia: Grice e Sedazio -- Grex griceiana – verbalia: Sedazio For the Sedatii, the first-best choice is unquestionably Marcus Sedatius Severianus, because he gives Speranza the fullest tragic arc: Gallic mercantile rise, original provincial gentilicium, senatorial ascent, multiple names piled like credentials, a governorship in Cappadocia, the Parthian crisis, Elegeia, defeat, and suicide. It is almost too Roman, except that he is not originally Roman enough, which makes him perfect. The nomen itself is already useful. If Sedatius is connected with the Celtic theonym Sedatus, the family-name carries a provincial sacred residue into Roman public nomenclature. Rome receives not just a man, but a name that has already travelled from local cult to civic status. The later Severus/Severianus then adds Roman sternness, seriousness, severity. So the man’s name says, in effect: provincial god-name naturalised into Roman senatorial severity. Speranza could dine out on less. But the deeper Gricean interest is his extraordinary polyonymy: Marcus Sedatius C. f. Severianus Julius Acer Metillius Nepos Rufinus Tiberius Rutilianus Censor. That name does not merely identify; it performs. It asks the hearer to recover alliances, adoptions, marriages, status, and accumulated legitimacy. It is almost a Roman paragraph masquerading as a person. A bare “Sedatius” might still sound provincial or mercantile; the full string says: do not be too quick, I come with connections. This is nomenclature as conversational implicature. The tragedy is that the name succeeds socially before the man fails militarily. He reaches the consulship and the governorship; he is made to carry Rome’s eastern confidence; then the Parthian war exposes the difference between onomastic weight and strategic competence. At Elegeia, the accumulated name cannot save the army. When he kills himself after the disaster, the Roman system has done its cruel sorting: the name got him there; the field judged him. A dry title would be: Grice e Sedazio: il nome lungo e la fine breve. A reconstructed exchange might run: Severianus: “Nomen meum non unum est; tot testimonia fero.” “My name is not one; I carry so many testimonies.” Implicature: My polyonymous name is evidence of status, alliance, and Roman recognisability. Scepticus: “Testimonia, Sedati, non legiones.” “Testimonies, Sedatius, not legions.” Implicature: Social credentials do not equal military capacity. Severianus: “Roma ipsa nominibus regitur.” “Rome herself is governed by names.” Implicature: Public authority in Rome depends on recognisable names, offices, lineages, and titles. Scepticus: “Donec hostis castra legit, non fastos.” “Until the enemy reads camps, not the fasti.” Implicature: War tests arrangements of force, not arrangements of nomenclature. That is the vignette. Sedatius Severianus lets Speranza show the splendour and danger of Roman uptake. A long name can make a man legible to the Senate, to office, to marriage, to memory; it cannot make him victorious. In Gricean terms, the name carries a heavy implicature of competence and legitimacy, but the implication is cancellable — and at Elegeia it is cancelled rather harshly. The best dry formula is: Sedatius Severianus had enough names for a triumph and not enough luck for a campaign. Rome heard the names first; Armenia heard the result. And his suicide compares to Cato and does not? This pre-dates Cato -- why one more remembered than the other? -- Grice, "Communication of falling on one's sword". Thanks Yes — the comparison with Cato is illuminating, but only if one keeps the difference of communicative setting firmly in view. First, a chronological correction: Sedatius Severianus does not pre-date Cato the Younger. Cato dies at Utica in 46 BC; Sedatius Severianus dies after the disaster at Elegeia in AD 161, under the opening phase of the Parthian War of Lucius Verus. So Severianus is later by a little over two centuries. That matters, because by Severianus’s time Cato’s death is already part of the Roman moral repertoire. A senator or commander falling on his sword no longer occurs in a cultural vacuum; it is received through an already formed grammar of Roman noble suicide. But the two suicides do not mean the same thing. Cato’s suicide is remembered because it is ideologically overdetermined. He dies not merely because he has lost, but because Caesar has won, and because accepting Caesar’s clemency would itself communicate submission. Cato’s death therefore becomes a final speech-act: “I will not be incorporated into your victory.” It is political, philosophical, Stoic, anti-Caesarian, theatrical, and immensely quotable. The act has an audience even when he performs it in private, because everyone knows the public meaning it will bear. Sedatius Severianus’s suicide is different. It follows military catastrophe. His army is trapped or destroyed at Elegeia; he has misread or overtrusted the situation; the Parthian front exposes the inadequacy of his command. His self-killing communicates, but less as philosophical refusal than as aristocratic accountability under defeat. It says something like: “The disaster has reached the commander’s body.” It is a way of accepting that the defeat cannot be redescribed into administrative inconvenience. So Grice’s “communication of falling on one’s sword” would distinguish the act-type from the occasion-meaning. The physical act may be similar; the non-natural meaning depends on context, audience, prior expectations, and available interpretive tradition. For Cato: What is done: he kills himself. What is meant: I refuse Caesar’s order of the world; liberty is not to be received back as a favour. Implicature: survival under tyranny would be consent. For Severianus: What is done: he kills himself after military disaster. What is meant: I bear the disgrace or consequence of the failed command. Implicature: the defeat is not merely tactical; it is personally and publicly terminal. Why is Cato remembered and Severianus much less so? Because Cato’s suicide is narratively clean and politically reusable. It can be made into a motto of libertas, republican integrity, Stoic consistency, and opposition to monarchy. Severianus’s death is messier. It belongs to a failed campaign, a provincial-senatorial career, and an imperial war whose memory is not centred on him. He is not the emblem of a lost constitution; he is a casualty of command. Speranza’s dry formula might be: Cato fell on his sword and made Caesar the addressee. Severianus fell on his sword and made the casualty-list shorter by one commander. Both acts communicated; only one acquired a schoolroom moral. Or, more Griceanly: Cato’s death had uptake. Severianus’s had explanation. The one became exemplum; the other remained incident. Grice: Elegeia for Sedatius -- Potts (tutee). Good! I like poetry. Grice: I said 'elegeia' not 'elegy'. Potts: What gives, sir? Thanks Potts’s mistake is perfect because it is exactly the sort of mistake a civilised ear makes when geography and genre share a sound. “Elegeia” is not “elegy,” though the case rather maliciously tries to become one. Elegeia is the place, or better the Armenian frontier-site associated with Sedatius Severianus’s disaster at the opening of the Parthian war under Lucius Verus; elegia is the poetic form one writes after disaster has become safely literary. Potts hears the poem before he has located the battlefield. The exchange could run: Grice: “Elegeia for Sedatius.” Potts: “Good! I like poetry.” Grice: “I said Elegeia, not elegy.” Potts: “What gives, sir?” Grice: “A legion, mostly.” The joke turns on a grim little cancellation. Elegeia sounds as though it should belong to lament; in fact it belongs to defeat. Only later, in retrospective narration, does the place acquire elegiac usefulness. The disaster is not named from the genre, but the genre is invited by the name. That is pure Speranza material: a false etymological implicature which happens to be emotionally apt. For Sedatius, the point is sharper. Cato at Utica gives Rome a death that can be immediately moralised into libertas. Sedatius at Elegeia gives Rome a death that first has to be explained: bad command, bad omen, bad intelligence, bad luck, Parthian pressure, Armenian theatre. Cato’s suicide becomes a sentence. Sedatius’s suicide becomes a note in a campaign. So Potts’s “I like poetry” is premature. History has not yet granted Severianus an elegy; it has merely supplied a place whose name tempts one. Dry Speranzian formula: Elegeia is not elegy, though Severianus did his best to make the distinction inconvenient. Potts (to Grice): I never knew you knew Armenian, sir. G: "Elegeia" is not Armenian -- She (Towns are feminine in Roma) is _in_ Armenia -- the border strictly -- part Armenia, part not. Potts: "And elegy, sir? Was it brought to England via the Normans?" Thanks and -- and if you can use Greek letters that's fine -- what is the etym of Armenian toponym, because it is 'elegeia' and Greek is indeed 'elegeia' so what is ultimate etymology of Greek lexeme -- Potts: "Cicero was not able to find a Roman semi-equivalent?" Thanks Yes — Greek letters help here because the joke depends on two different Greek-looking things being too close for comfort. For the Armenian toponym Elegeia, I would be cautious. The place-name is transmitted through Greek and Roman geographical-historical usage as Ἐλέγεια or Elegeia, especially in connection with Armenia and the Roman-Parthian frontier. But I would not assume that its ultimate etymology is Greek merely because the transmitted form looks Greek. Frontier toponyms are often Hellenised or Latinised spellings of local names, and Armenia is precisely the sort of region where Iranian, Armenian, Anatolian, and Greek transmission can all interfere. So the safest position is: Ἐλέγεια as a recorded classical toponym is Greek in form, but its deeper local etymology is uncertain unless a specialist Armenian/toponymic source pins it down. Potts should not be allowed to infer “Greek poem” from “Greek-looking place-name.” That would be a very pretty error, but still an error. The Greek poetic word is clearer. Elegy goes back to Greek ἐλεγεία, “elegiac poem” or “elegiac verse,” related to ἔλεγος, originally some kind of song or lament. The older etymology of ἔλεγος is disputed. Ancient and modern discussion often connects it with lamentation, but beyond Greek the ultimate origin is not secure. Some have suspected a non-Greek or Anatolian source; what matters for Greek usage is that ἔλεγος / ἐλεγεία becomes associated with elegiac metre and then, later and more narrowly, with lament. In archaic Greek, elegiac verse is not only funeral lament; it can be martial, sympotic, exhortatory, erotic, political. The modern “elegy” as mournful poem is a narrowing after a much broader metrical and generic history. So Potts’s confusion can be corrected this way: Potts: “Elegeia, sir — Armenian?” Grice: “In Armenia. Not therefore Armenian in the useful sense.” Potts: “But Greek, sir? ἐλεγεία?” Grice: “That is elegy. A poem, not a frontier disaster. Though Severianus did his best to blur the distinction.” Potts: “And Cicero?” Grice: “Cicero had the usual Roman difficulty: Greek had a genre; Latin preferred to borrow it.” For Cicero’s possible Roman equivalent: Latin does have elegia, taken over from Greek ἐλεγεία. Cicero could Latinise or simply use the Greek-derived term, but there is no good old native Roman semi-equivalent that captures both the metre and the genre. He might say carmen lugubre for a mournful song, nenia for a funeral chant or dirge, or less technically versus elegiaci for elegiac verses. But none of these is exactly ἐλεγεία. Nenia is too native and funerary; carmen lugubre is descriptive rather than generic; versus elegiaci is technical and metrical. Elegia is the borrowed solution. The dry Speranzian point would be: Rome could conquer provinces, but for elegy she imported the label. Cicero could describe the effect, the metre, or the lament; he could not make a perfectly Roman ἐλεγεία without ceasing to name the Greek thing. Potts hears Elegeia and expects poetry; Grice hears Elegeia and expects a map. Severianus supplies the lament afterwards, which is historically inconvenient but etymologically no help. Grice: Today's class: Sedatius's Elegeia. Potts: Ah, the canes! -- The ancient city of Elegeia in Armenia (located in modern-day Erzurum Province, Turkey) derives its name directly from the Armenian word eḷegn (եղեգն), which means "reed" or "cane". In a toponymic context, the name translates to "reedy place" or "marshland." [1, 2] This creates a fascinating linguistic loop with the Greek word for lament (élegos), as both trace their ultimate roots to the same ancient musical reality. [1] The Ultimate Root of the Greek Élegos (ἔλεγος) While ancient popular etymology falsely claimed that élegos came from the mournful cry “eleleu!” (ἐλελεῦ), modern historical linguistics provides a different origin: [1, 2] The Musical Instrument Connection: The Greek élegos (poem/song of lament) and the Armenian eḷegn (reed) share a cognate relationship. Pierre Chantraine, a foremost authority on Ancient Greek etymology, established that these terms are fundamentally linked. [1, 2] The Anatolian/Phrygian Root: The word is widely considered a loanword borrowed into Proto-Greek from a non-Indo-European substratum or a neighboring Indo-European language of Asia Minor, most likely Phrygian. [1, 2] The Semantic Shift: The ultimate root originally designated the material—the reed. This reed was used to construct the aulos (αὐλός), a double-reed wind instrument similar to an oboe. Because early Greek elegies were strictly poems sung to the accompaniment of this reed flute, the name of the physical instrument component (reed) evolved into the name of the musical performance, and eventually, the poetic genre of lamentation. [1, 2, 3, 4, 5] If you are tracking a specific historical text or event, would you like to explore the Battle of Elegeia (161 AD)between Rome and Parthia, or dive deeper into how the aulos instrument functioned in ancient funerary rites? Yes — Potts’s “Ah, the canes!” is the right kind of philological misfire, because here the misfire may be more than a joke. If Elegeia is indeed connected with Armenian եղեգն, ełegn, “reed” or “cane,” then the place-name ceases to be merely a deceptive double of Greek ἐλεγεία and becomes almost indecently helpful to Speranza. It is no longer just “Elegeia, not elegy.” It is “Elegeia, reed-place,” while Greek ἔλεγος/ἐλεγεία may itself be connected, at least in some etymological accounts, with the reed-instrumental world of the αὐλός. Potts hears poetry too soon; then, annoyingly, he may have heard the reed before Grice had finished the map. The cautious formulation is needed. The toponymic etymology of Elegeia should not be treated as settled merely because a modern notice says “reed-place.” Armenian ełegn, “reed,” is real enough as a lexical item, and the geographical interpretation “reedy place” is plausible if the local evidence supports it. But the Greek poetic ἐλεγεία is a different historical item: Greek ἔλεγος and ἐλεγεία, associated with elegiac song and metre, with an ultimate etymology that has long been disputed and often suspected of non-Greek, perhaps Anatolian or neighbouring origin. The connection with reed music is attractive because elegiac performance is linked with the aulos, a reed instrument. Still, one should not turn likeness and plausibility into a proven single family too quickly. Speranza may enjoy the loop; Grice would ask who licensed it. A dry exchange could run: Grice: “Today’s class: Sedatius at Elegeia.” Potts: “Ah, the canes!” Grice: “You are either wrong, or prematurely well-informed.” Potts: “I thought it was elegy, sir.” Grice: “That was your first mistake. Your second may be etymological success.” Potts: “So Elegeia is reed-land?” Grice: “Possibly. But do not wave a cane at Chantraine and call it proof.” Potts: “And Greek ἐλεγεία?” Grice: “A poem, a metre, a lament later narrowed into our elegy; perhaps a word with reed-music in its prehistory. But Elegeia the battlefield does not become poetry merely by sounding like it.” The Grice/Speranza point is excellent. Sedatius dies at a place whose name tempts the hearer toward elegy; then the toponym may itself point to reeds or canes; and Greek elegy may, by another route, have had an old relation to reed-accompanied song. The result is not a clean etymology but a cluster of recoverable associations: place, reed, aulos, lament, military disaster, suicide. A lesser writer would make a pun. Speranza can make a scene. Cicero’s problem also fits. If Potts asks whether Cicero had a Roman semi-equivalent, the answer remains: not really, not for ἐλεγεία as a metrical-literary term. Latin borrows elegia. For lament he has native or naturalised alternatives such as nenia, carmen lugubre, lamentatio, or less technically querela; for the metre he can say versus elegiaci. But none of these gives the whole Greek package. Nenia is too funerary and native; carmen lugubre too descriptive; versus elegiaci too metrical; elegia is the import. Rome can govern Armenia, but still borrows the word for elegy. So the final Speranzian formula might be: Elegeia was not elegy; it was where Sedatius made one possible. If the name means reeds, Potts is less foolish than usual. But the reed of the Armenian marsh and the reed of the Greek aulos do not by themselves found an etymological republic. They merely conspire, after the defeat, to make philology sound like mourning. Yes. In oratio recta, Octavian’s reported answer is sharp exactly because the negation falls on his allowing/committing himself to the situation, not on Cicero’s verbal ambiguity as such. The usual form is: “se non commissurum esse ut tolli posset” or, in a slightly expanded direct form: “Non committam ut tolli possim.” (“I shall not put myself in a position where I can be removed.”) The point is that Octavian does not reply: “Non tollendus sum.” (“I am not to be removed.”) That would answer Cicero’s gerundive too directly and almost accept the frame of the joke. Cicero’s “laudandum, ornandum, tollendum” makes tollendum do the dangerous work: first “to be raised/promoted,” then, by the darker Roman ear, “to be removed/dispatched.” Octavian’s answer shifts from the gerundive passive obligation or advisability, tollendum, to his own agency and prudence: non committam. He will not “allow it to come about”; he will not “make the mistake”; he will not create the conditions under which Cicero’s second sense can be realised. So the negation is correctly placed over commissurum esse, not over tolli as an abstract possibility. He does not say, “removal is not possible.” He says, “I shall not be responsible for making myself removable.” In Grice/Speranza terms, Cicero’s utterance offers a dangerous implicature under cover of praise: laudandum = he is to be praised ornandum = he is to be honoured/equipped/advanced tollendum = he is to be lifted up, with the recoverable darker sense: removed Octavian’s reply cancels the hearer’s pleasure in the pun by moving to practical control: “You may play on tollere; I shall control committere.” Dry formula: Cicero makes the joke in the gerundive; Octavian answers in the future active. Cicero says what ought to be done with the young man. Octavian replies by saying what the young man will not let happen. That is why the answer is politically better than a denial: it refuses to be merely a gloss on Cicero’s word.