This article investigates concepts of masculinity in the Homeric poems by focusing on two words: ὴνοαέη and ἀγηνορίη. We argue that whereas ήνορέη is a positive quality best understood as ‘manliness’, άγηνορίη denotes ‘excessive manliness’ in a pejorative sense. By comparing the use of these two terms we claim that it is possible to explore what constitutes proper, as opposed to excessive, masculinity in the Homeric poems.

Our analysis of ἠνορέη and άγηνορίη suggests that some current views of Homeric masculinity need to be reconsidered. Whereas much recent scholarship has emphasized the individualism of ‘the Homeric hero’, we suggest that individualistic behaviour on the part of men is presented as a serious problem in the Homeric poems. As well as the use of the terms ἠνορέη and άγηνορίη, the frequent injunctions to ‘be men’ found in the poems confirm that solidarity with other men is an important aspect of Homeric masculinity.

Our analysis also shows that the language of masculinity is employed very differently in the Iliad and the Odyssey. In the Iliad, excessive manliness is typically displayed by an individual who fails to show solidarity with other men on the battlefield. In the Odyssey, the suitors are standardly designated as ‘excessively manly’ for coveting another man's wife. In both poems, normative definitions of masculinity seek to regulate proper relationships among men.

The article seeks to show that, contrary to the standard view, the ‘Choice of Heracles’ preserved at Xen. Mem. 2.1.21–33 is not a summary or paraphrase, but is a very close approximation to the actual wording of Prodicus' epideixis. The language and style are shown to be uncharacteristic of Xenophon, and the fact that Prodicus' original was known to exist in both written and orally performed versions serves to explain why the piece is framed by language that disclaims strict accuracy in reproducing it. It is further shown that the way in which near-synonyms are used in the piece is not necessarily inconsistent with other evidence for Prodicus' practice: it is rather the personified character Vice whose usage conflicts with that of Prodicus himself and with that of the personification of Virtue. Finally, it is proposed that the ‘Choice of Heracles’ represented the contents, not of Prodicus' advanced teaching, but of the popular, cut-rate lecture intended for a general audience.

Protagoras has just been presented with a new pupil, Hippocrates, and he states what he proposes to teach him—such prudence in domestic affairs as will best enable him to regulate his own household, and such wisdom in public affairs as will best qualify him to speak and act in affairs of state (318e). Socrates asks is this the art of politics and is Protagoras undertaking to make men good citizens, and Protagoras agrees (319a). Socrates replies that he had supposed that this art could not be taught, and he gives two grounds: (1) the Athenians are agreed to be wise men, yet, while they call in experts in the assembly to advise them on technical matters, they regard all citizens alike as capable of advising them on matters pertaining to the city (319b–d); (2) the wisest and best of the citizens are not able to hand this virtue on to others. So Pericles educated his sons well in all that could be taught by teachers, but he did not try to teach them, or have them taught his own wisdom, but left them to pick it up unaided (319d–320b).

Now Protagoras, it has been pointed out, is in a difficult position. He is apparently confronted with the choice of admitting that virtue cannot be taught and that his profession is a fraud, or of declaring that the theory of Athenian democracy is false, and his patron, Pericles, is ignorant of the true nature of political virtue. His reply takes the form of a myth, followed by a set argument (Logos). Some have regarded his reply as ‘a tissue of obscure and contradictory ideas,’ while others who have recognised its skill, have regarded it as failing in one way or another to give a satisfactory answer to Socrates' objections. It is the aim of what follows to show that Protagoras' answer is perfectly satisfactory if rightly understood, and that the contrary opinions are due to misunderstandings of what Protagoras actually says in the dialogue.

This paper, concerning one element in the ancient biographical tradition of Philip II of Macedon, demonstrates the manner in which facts—that the Macedonian monarch was gravely wounded in the right eye, in the collar bone, and in the leg—become the basis of fictitious fabrications entered into the biographical tradition and accepted as elements of Philip's ‘life’. A diachronic analysis of the complete literary testimonia which convey information concerning these traumata attempts to determine when and how the biographical facts were altered and embellished over the centuries following Philip's death. Since the stunning discovery by Andronicos at Vergina in 1977 of the tomb designated Royal Tomb II, identified by the excavator as the tomb of Philip II, considerable interest has been focused on the wounds of Philip II in linking items recovered from the tomb and the physical remains of the male decedent with the great king of Macedon. A diachronic review of the literary traditions regarding Philip's injuries, useful to those arguing the identification of the occupant of Royal Tomb II, reveals a great deal about ancient biographical practices. Particularly in the case of the blinding wound to Philip's right eye, it is evident that the facts are very soon obscured by an overlay of fictitious embellishments, frequently amusing, which were created to heighten interest in an occurrence of lasting impact on Philip and became stock items in his βίος.

Why did the Greeks of the Roman period make such extensive use of the vocative κύριε, when Greeks of earlier periods had been content with only one vocative meaning ‘master’, δέσποτα? This study, based primarily on a comprehensive search of documentary papyri but also making extensive use of literary evidence (particularly that of the Septuagint and New Testament), traces the development of both terms from the classical period to the seventh century AD. It concludes that κύριε was created to provide a translation for Latin domine, and that domine, which has often been considered a translation of κύριε, had a Roman origin. In addition, both κύριε and domine were from their beginnings much less deferential than is traditionally supposed, so that neither term underwent the process of ‘weakening’ which converted English ‘master’ into ‘Mr’. δέσποτα, which was originally far more deferential than the other two terms, did undergo some weakening, but not (until a very late period) as much as is usually supposed. These findings in turn imply that Imperial politeness has been somewhat misunderstood and suggest that the Greeks of the first few centuries AD were much less servile in their language than is traditionally assumed.

The purpose of this article is to try to show that the legend of the rape of the Delphic tripod by Herakles became associated as symbolic with the First Sacred War and that this association is a chief factor in the great popularity of that subject in late archaic art.

We should begin with the First Sacred War itself, an event whose historical importance is inadequately matched by the quality of our literary sources. The earliest account of it occurs in Aeschines' speech against Ktesiphon (iii. 107 ff.), where he introduced the subject because it provided the theological justification for the line which he had taken when attending the meeting of the Delphic Amphictyony in the autumn of 340. So it is not a simple narrative, but a tendentious statement, carefully designed to bring out the points which suited the orator's case. At the same time it has real value as historical evidence, because it is based to some extent on an ancient stele, a memorial of the war, to whose text Aeschines had referred in his original speech at Delphi. A copy of the inscription was read to the jury, and the extant speech contains quotations and paraphrases of portions of it.

The Achaean war against Rome in 146 continues to provoke befuddlement and perplexity. Few problems in antiquity have proved so intractable to solution. The event was of major import: the last futile outburst of Greek resistance to Roman power, calling forth a new era, an enforced reorganisation of Greece and its subjugation, for all practical purposes, to the Roman governor of Macedon. Greek independence was thereafter chimerical. Yet the origins and motivations for that fateful struggle remain as puzzling as ever. Understandably so. A half century earlier, the Achaean League had thrown off allegiance to Macedon and opted for collaboration with Rome. A formal alliance followed in subsequent years. Relations between the two powers were sometimes rocky, but never issued in overt conflict during that half-century. In the three great eastern wars of the second century, against Philip V, Antiochus III, and Perseus, Rome and Achaea were on the same side. Yet in 146, when Rome's military might should have been incontestable, the Achaeans engaged her in a suicidal and ruinous war that brought the dissolution of the old League and the overlordship of Rome. Small wonder that the episode causes bafflement.

Iphigenia Aulidensis was produced after the poet's death, probably in 405 BC. The aim of this paper is to recover the text of this production, which I call FP for First Performance. Probably Euripides left behind an incomplete draft, which was finished by Euripides Minor, the poet's son or nephew. The text we have contains, as Page showed in 1934, material added for a fourth-century revival and other still later interpolations. Diggle's edition tries to separate original Euripides from all later hands on the basis of style. But if we want to recover the amalgam that was FP we need to be attentive to the plot that is implied by the most clearly genuine portions: we can't confine ourselves to what appears to be Euripidean since more than one hand contributed to FP.

A discovery about the plot gives us some objective basis for reconstructing FP. Our transmitted text contains two different conceptions of Calchas' prophecy, only one of which belonged to FP. Several passages scattered throughout the play imply that it was public, made to the entire army, but other passages say that it was private, restricted to Agamemnon's inner circle, with the army left in the dark. The secret prophecy motif, I argue, is the work of a fourth-century producer, whom I call the Reviser. Its purpose was to introduce into the play scenes where Greek soldiers, ignorant of the real reason for Iphigenia's coming to Aulis, might make naive comments or ask questions that are highly ironic in view of the actual situation, this being an emotional effect he found congenial. We find two such passages in places that are under grave suspicion: the entrance of Clytaemestra, where there is a chorus of Argives who felicitate Iphigenia on her wonderful prospects, and the first messenger, who reports naive questions from the soldiery. Both these passages have linguistic and dramaturgical features that make it virtually certain that neither Euripides nor Euripides Minor wrote them. Working from these we can detect the Reviser's hand at other places in the play and reconstruct its original lineaments. One satisfying result is that the business of baby Orestes, played by a doll, can be shown to be the work of the Reviser. The play ended with Iphigenia's departure for the altar, and there was no substitution of a stag. Like Menoeceus, Macaria and their kin, Iphigenia pays for the victory of her country with her blood, and there is no happy ending.

Modern scholars have long recognised that much of the coinage minted by Seleucus I Nicator and Lysimachus was originally designed as some form of propaganda. They have met, however, with only partial success in trying to delineate more precisely the nature and purpose of that propaganda. Especially problematical have been those coin motifs which appear to advertise various omens, prophecies, and logoi about Seleucus and Lysimachus, which, in turn, would have lent a charismatic sanction to the kingships of both men. These will be our main concern here; I wish to propose some refinements and some complete revisions of my predecessors' conclusions about this coinage as propaganda. But, in so doing, I will need to review much of the evidence for other kinds of propaganda employed by these two men.

The immediate publication of the results of an extensive excavation is sometimes very difficult, often impossible. In the present instance the nature and quantity of our discoveries was not such as to preclude this possibility, and therefore we felt that we should best consult the interests of the archaeological public in making all that we can accessible in the number of the Journal of Hellenic Studies appearing after the conclusion of our season's work. The Report published by the Cyprus Exploration Fund has served to indicate the manner and attainments of our excavations; but it seemed desirable to publish at once all the material which has been gained for the advance of historical, archaeological, and artistic knowledge. For this purpose we have divided that material amongst ourselves; and while each of us is individually responsible for the section he has undertaken, we trust that we have so divided the field that our accounts may be found to mutually explain and supplement one another. We have attempted no more than to add such comments to the facts as were necessary for their due comprehension. If we had wished to finally systematize the whole of our results, or to deduce from them more remote inferences as to the history or institutions of Cyprus, we could not have published them so soon. This larger task may afterwards be completed either by others or by ourselves. At present our desire is to place on record the material available for its accomplishment.

At the end of the play, when the Eumenides are to be ushered to their cave beneath the Areopagus, Athena joins to the procession a special escort of her own temple-servants, and sets forth the procession with these words:

The unsolved questions in lines 1028–1030 are two:—first, how to punctuate them, that is, who are to be the wearers of the crimson cloaks, the Escort or the Eumenides themselves: and second, what is the reason for the crimson colour? Neither question, perhaps, may seem to be of great importance; but Aeschylus is not a poet who does things at random; he is apt to have more than superficial meanings; and enquiry may, I hope, reward us with a new significance.

παρειλήΦασι ϒἀρ ψευδῆ λόϒον, ὡς ἒστιν αὐτοῖς ἡϒεῖσθαι πἀτριον This is Isocrates' judgment (IV. 18) on the claim of the Spartans to be the leaders of Greece. He rightly saw that the tradition of hegemony had been the force behind most of Sparta's active foreign policy for more than two hundred years down till his own day. He might truthfully have added that the hegemony exercised by contemporary Sparta was of a kind which Spartans no more than a generation earlier had never imagined. Though they had long desired to control all Greece, the particular form of control which they came to possess over the members of their second empire was determined for them by the Peloponnesian war.

Sparta did not enter upon that long struggle with the deliberate intention of creating for herself a subject empire. She desired to destroy the Athenian ἀρχή, which appeared as a threat to her own Peloponnesian league: and in opposition to Athens, she asserted a principle of city autonomy, which was to prove both then and later wholly incompatible with the conception of a subject empire. At the outset, the Spartans can have contemplated no higher success than that the Athenian democracy might be so humbled as to abandon part, at least, of its ἀρχή and perhaps even to return to its earlier position as a member of the Peloponnesian league. But the war with Athens compelled Sparta to develop her social, political, and military organisation, and the conquest of Athens offered Sparta the temptation of securing a new kind of supremacy—not ἡγεμονία, but ἀρχή.

Chaeremon is a shadowy figure in early fourth century tragedy, but one of considerable interest. I attempt here an appraisal of his work, in so far as the fragments and the ancient testimonia allow.

I. Bibliography

Text of the fragments: Nauck, TGF 781–92; P. Hibeh ii 224.

The only general assessments of Chaeremon of any extent date from the nineteenth century with its more expansive approach. Best is G. Bernhardy, Grundriss der griechischen Literatur ii 2 (Halle 1859) 61–3, who there refers to the ‘sorgfältige Monographie’ of H. Bartsch, De Chaeremone poeta tragico (Mainz 1843) (inaccessible to me). Older literature is listed by A. Dieterich s.v. ‘Chairemon’, PW iii 2, 2025 (published 1899).

Since Bernhardy the space accorded Chaeremon not just in general works but even in detailed studies of tragedy diminishes sharply. He still warrants a page or so in A. and M. Croiset, Histoire de la littérature grecque (Paris 1913) iii 402 f.; in Lesky he gets a brief mention, Geschichte 680. He is not mentioned by name in Lesky's Tragische Dichtung, and only in connection with fr. 2 by Pohlenz, Griechische Tragödie (Göttingen 1954) 407; he is ignored, for example, by Kitto, Greek Tragedy (London 1961).

Our knowledge of the early military organisation of Thessaly rests mainly on two passages of Aristotle's ‘Constitution of the Thessalians’ which are closely connected. I give the numbers (Fragments 497 and 498) according to V. Rose, Aristotelis Fragmenta, 1886; but I have purged the text of emendations.

Following the lead of Walter Burkert, scholars have believed that the ancient Greeks required that sacrificial animals assent to being killed, or at least appear to assent. The literary evidence for this view, however, is weak, being confined mostly to dramatic scholia and Pythagorean sources, and ample visual evidence suggests an alternate view: the Greeks required that sacrificial animals make some display of vitality that would show that they were fit to present to a god. The Greek practice of inspecting sacrificial animals supports this alternate view.

Editions of Aristophanes need illustrations. By this I do not mean illustrations of theatrical antiquities in the shape of terracottas, vases, etc., that help us to visualise the appearance of the actors and the Greek theatre. Such a visualisation is, I think, proper in dealing with drama, but there are in Aristophanes two other visual aspects. There is first a wealth of vocabulary that refers to objects that the audience of his day would have seen in the theatre in the form of properties. One need only mention such things as Dicaeopolis' chopping board (τὸ ἐπίξηνον τοδί, Ach. 366), Strepsiades' whirl (διὰ τουτονί τὸν δῖνον, Nub. 1473), Prometheus' parasol (τοντί τὸ σκιάδϵιον, Av. 1508), and the pots and pans in Ecclesiazusae (τὰ σκϵυάρια ταυτὶ, Ecc. 753). These properties can be thought of as naturalistically made or fantastically exaggerated. The second group of words comes in the form of mental pictures—images, however weak, that the mention of an object will raise. Much of the richness of effect and of a play's texture is conveyed by these two groups of words, the immediacy of the comic situation is sharpened by the visual and mental images. Old Comedy more than most Greek literature is rooted in contemporary life, and one is anchored in late fifth century Athens as much by the impedimenta as by the political jests.

Since I was taken, thirty-five years ago, to hear E. R. Dodds lecture on the Bacchae, his work has been one of my chief sources of inspiration. My Sather Lectures form a kind of commentary on his; and if I sometimes disagree with him, or see things from a different point of view, that will not prevent the understanding reader from seeing how greatly I admire him and how much my work owes to his. His inaugural lecture at Oxford was called ‘Humanism and Technique in Greek Studies’; and no great scholar of our time, except perhaps Rudolf Pfeiffer, has kept so perfect a balance between the two. In that lecture Dodds, as the circumstances of the time required, pleaded for more attention to the content, as against the form, of ancient writings; and throughout his career he has applied his masterly technique to just those problems of the ancient world which are of most interest and importance to the modern. But he has always borne in mind that a scholar who hopes to throw light upon such problems must do all he can to master the technique of his profession. Both in his humanism and in his technique, he offers an example from which all classical scholars of our time can profit.

To me Pindar seems one of the greatest Greek and also one of the greatest European poets. But some would dispute this proposition; and I believe that many even of those who would assent to it in reality admire him less than other great poets who seem to me to be his equals. There are two main reasons why Pindar has received less than justice. One is that he is believed to have a narrow and restricted outlook, which is often unfavourably compared with that of the great tragedians; the other is that he is difficult. The question of whether Pindar's outlook is narrow I shall treat comparatively briefly here; I shall not try here to describe that outlook at any length, though I may do so later. In comparing it with that of the tragedians, I shall be able to save space because of having already, in my book The Justice of Zeus, written about the Weltanschauung of the early Greek poets. Next, I shall pass to the difficulties which Pindar presents to modern readers. The difficulty with which I shall be most concerned will be that of eluding the dangers inherent in the romantic and historicist approach to Pindar which until eleven years ago was adopted in virtually all modern treatments and which still comes most naturally to most readers, including several distinguished scholars.

That articles on Archilochus begin with a historical overview of the approaches to his ‘I’ and the issue of the historicity of the characters who occupy his poems is a tradition in its own right. Scholarly debate on Archilochus oscillates between total disbelief in and defensive support of the actuality of these figures and an autobiographical stance for the poet. The positions of the respective scholars have often been uncompromising and the language passionate, mirroring perhaps the generic requirements of iambos, or inspired perhaps by the ‘roguish Archilochus’ himself.

This paper discusses the burial of Herodes Atticus as a well-attested case of élite identification through mortuary practices. It gives a close reading of Philostratus' account of Herodes' end in c. 179 (VS 2.1.15) alongside the evidence of architecture, inscriptions, sculpture, and topography at Marathon, Cephisia and Athens. The intended burial of Herodes and the actual burials of his family on the Attic estates expressed wealth and territorial control, while his preference for Marathon fused personal history with civic history. The Athenian intervention in Herodes' private funeral, which led to his magnificent interment at the Panathenaic Stadium, served as a public reception for a leading citizen and benefactor. Herodes' tomb should be identified with a long foundation on the stadium's east hill that might have formed an eccentric altar-tomb, while an elegant klinê sarcophagus found nearby might have been his coffin. His epitaph was a traditional distich that stressed through language and poetic allusion his deep ties to Marathon and Rhamnous, his euergetism and his celebrity. Also found here was an altar dedicated to Herodes ‘the Marathonian hero’ with archaizing features (IG II2 6791). The first and last lines of the text were erased in a deliberate effort to remove his name and probably the name of a relative. A cemetery of ordinary graves developed around Herods' burial site, but by the 250s these had been disturbed, along with the altar and the sarcophagus. This new synthesis of textual and material sources for the burial of Herodes contributes to a richer understanding of status and antiquarianism in Greek urban society under the Empire. It also examines how the public memory of élites was composite and mutable, shifting through separate phases of activity — funeral, hero-cult, defacement, biography — to generate different images of the dead.

May I be allowed to correct and hereby to do penance for a blunder which defaces three or four passages in the recent British Museum publication on Ephesus ? A mental confusion between Lygdamis, the leader of the Cimmerians or Treres, who probably burned one of the earlier Artemisia, and Pythagoras, a pre-Persian tyrant, who is said to have had to build a temple at Ephesus in expiation for desecrating ‘the Hieron,’ took possession of me during the lapse of a year between writing Chapters I. and XIV., and led me to make the absurd suggestion on p. 245 that Temple B was completed ‘perhaps at the cost of Lygdamis by the middle of the seventh century,’ and to call the latter a ‘tyrant’ and a ‘traitor.’ The last epithet is particularly uncalled for, since the little we know of Lygdamis shows him as a bold tribal leader who died at the head of his horde. If he burned Temple A, neither he nor Pythagoras was the builder of Temple B; and if the latter built any Artemision it can only have been either Temple A (after desecrating a pre-existent hieron) or Temple C. But, as I have stated on p. 7, it is so doubtful whether there is any reference to the Artemision at all in the solitary extant passage regarding Pythagoras, that the suggestion of his responsibility for any of the primitive shrines on the site is hardly worth making. This mental confusion passed away from me in Syria while reflecting on the westward expeditions of Assurbanipal, in attacking whose Cilician vassal Lygdamis came by his death; but it was then too late to make amends even in a list of errata, as I had left the book passed for press on quitting England.