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.

One of the most impressive manifestations of the majesty and the antiquity of the Byzantine Empire must have been the great series of imperial tombs in the mausoleums of Constantine and Justinian which were attached to the Church of the Holy Apostles in Constantinople. Beginning with the burial of Constantine the Great (d. 337), the mausoleums served as the resting-places of most of the emperors (often with members of their families) who reigned during the next seven centuries, the last emperor to be buried there being Constantine VIII (d. 1028). The mausoleums then became full, and the emperors began to be buried in other churches and monasteries in Constantinople, often in establishments which they themselves had founded. There are not many comparable series of royal burials, and the presence of these tombs, as a visible record of the greatness of Byzantium, was one reason why the Church of the Holy Apostles enjoyed a celebrity only second to that of St. Sophia.

The emperors, beginning with Constantine the Great, understood very well the importance of placing the imperial burials in a worthy setting. The significance of the burials is illustrated by a report of a speech of Leo V, the Armenian (813–820), in which Leo is supposed to have remarked that the orthodox emperors were all buried respectably at the Holy Apostles, while the others died in exile or on the field of battle. In reality most of the emperors who reigned before the time of Leo V were buried at the Holy Apostles, and nearly all of those who reigned between his time and the beginning of the eleventh century were buried there.

The royal house of Pontus claimed to be descended from the cream of the old Persian nobility, the Seven Families, and to have received its lands as the gift of Darius I. The claim is first attested by Polybius (although in its essence it may go back to Hieronymus of Cardia), and it became common currency in the reign of Mithridates Eupator. Since Théodore Reinach wrote his magisterial history of the Pontic kingdom, the royal pretensions of the regime have been dismissed as apocryphal.

‘Death is bad for those who die, but good for the undertakers and the grave-diggers’. (Dissoi Logoi i 3)

And for archaeologists and for epigraphers as well, even though epitaphs, and especially simple or formulaic ones, are probably the most understudied and unloved area of ancient epigraphy. Yet the mere fact of an inscribed epitaph indicates deliberate and intentionally enduring commemoration, and therefore embodies a social attitude; epitaphs thus constitute a matter of historical importance that can be studied for the very reason that so many—in Athens over 10,000—survive. Most Athenian epitaphs which have been found have been dated, and for approximately two-thirds of them a general find-spot has been recorded (very few are actually found in situ with a body or grave-goods). Temporal and spatial variations within the distribution of Athenian epitaphs (Part I) prompt not only the question of why aspects of this habit should change over time, but why the habit of epitaphs should exist at all; the answer suggested here links the function and distribution of Athenian epitaphs to changing concepts of (and importance attached to) Athenian citizenship. For epitaphs function as more than testimonials to grief: they represent what survivors saw as defining the deceased (Part II), and the significantly greater number of epitaphs in fourth-century Athens derives from Athenians' emphatic definition of themselves as citizens at that time (Part III). Finally, the Athenians's use of tombstones has no parallel in the classical Greek world (Part IV), for the Athenians' developing perceptions of their own city and of their own special relationship, as citizens, to it, were also unparalleled.

Histories of the Athenian Empire (478–404 BC) have traditionally been offered as political and military narratives. They explain the origins of a naval alliance created in 478/7 BC, the so-called Delian League under Athenian leadership and its development into an ‘empire’ (arche) sometime in mid-century. Moreover, most treat the phenomenon as comprehensible as a self-contained period of enquiry. This article takes issue with both approaches. Through close examination of a wide variety of evidence connected with Athenian activity during the formative years of the ‘Delian League’ (478 to ca. 465), it argues that the Athenians made immediate use of the League navy and funds to appropriate resources, profits and territory for themselves, especially in Thrace, beginning with the capture of Eion on the Strymon, but also that these interests explain other early activities. Finally, it argues that the Athenians' economic behaviour should be understood in the context of Athenian aims and activities in the Archaic period.

In Simplicius: sa vie, son oeuvre, sa survie (Berlin 1987, reviewed in JHS cx [1990] 244-45), the editor, Mme I. Hadot, in the first part of the biographical introduction, cites Agathias Hist. ii 31, 4. This is usually taken to show that the Neoplatonists, who had fled to the Persian court when Justinian closed down the Academy in 529, went back to Athens after 532. That view, she holds, rests on a misreading of the text (…δεῖν ἐκείνους τοὺς ἄνδρας ἐς τὰ σφέτερα ἤθη κατιόντας βιοτεύειν ἀδεῶς τὸ λοιπὸν ὲφ᾿ ἐαυτ–οῖσ…). However, she herself misconstrues ἐφ᾿ ἑαυτ–οῖς as ‘selon leur choix’': that is, on returning from exile to their own accustomed places, these men should henceforth live without fear as they might choose. To yield that version, the Greek would have to be καθ᾿ ἑαυτοὺς. The actual expression means ‘amongst themselves’: they might philosophise, but not in public. That a touch of private heterodoxy amongst the learned few is harmless if it does not stir up the ignorant many was well understood, indeed explicitly so later, in Islam and mediaeval Christianity.

As supplementary to the papers by Mr. Myres and myself in this Journal (vol. xvi. p. 188 and 241) I here give the results of two short journeys in Eastern Karia and Southern Lydia (see the Map, Pl. VI.), made by the aid of funds granted me by the Hellenic Society.

A.—Ancient Sites.

I proceed from West to East, starting from Tekke Kale, the most easterly site described in our former papers (see route-map, p. 58).

Divlin Kale, at a short distance from Tekke Kale, is a tower of isodomous masonry. It is situated near the most frequented road across the Mazin Dagh, the road from Chesme to the Maeander plain. It commands no extensive view and cannot, like Tekke Kale, have served as a beacon station. The construction differs from that of the beacon-stations Tekke Kale, Attaulusu Kale and Kurundere Kale, the corners not being ornamented with that draft, which is characteristic of these and of the military masonry of circ. 300 B.C. Divlin Kale is of earlier date, and its raison ďêtre was to protect this not unimportant line of road.

Among the post-homeric traditions of Odysseus' wanderings the most persistent and circumstantial group is that which places such decisive adventures as the visits to Circe and the underworld in Italy. His wanderings were indeed located at various times in many other parts of the Mediterranean and even beyond it, but none of these locations was felt in antiquity to have so much authority as those which connected him with Campania and sometimes with Etruria. How the two main branches of the Italian tradition are related is a further problem. The Italian location might appear as from the first the obvious and natural result of Greek colonisation within the historic period beginning with the eighth century; certainly many of the later developments must be derived from this source. There is also the likelihood that the Greeks in Italy and Sicily brought with them not merely the Iliad and the Odyssey and the cyclic epics in some form, but also other traditions of Odysseus from western and southern Greece which were independent of the Ionian epic. Scholars have often regarded the historic colonists as the originators of all the Italian lore of Odysseus, and have connected with them, in their earliest generations, those passages of the Odyssey which suggest real acquaintance with Italy or Sicily, assuming them to be later than the rest. This is not the place for a critical discussion of late books or interpolations in the Odyssey; it will simply be assumed that not all the material of Homer, as material, was of the same date, and that there was much other matter, not used in Homer, which was as old as any that was included. Some of this matter, since Odysseus' home was near the limits of the Greek world, may also have been imperfectly Greek from the first, and not all of its carriers need have been Greeks.

A curious irony hangs over the two similes of the lantern and the clepsydra which Empedocles used to describe his theories of seeing and breathing (frr. 84 and 100). Similes were a feature of Empedocles' style, and it is clear that on these two in particular he has lavished considerable care. They have been preserved in their entirety, as almost the longest continuous quotations which Aristotle makes from any author. Despite such auspicious beginnings, these two similes have proved peculiarly resistant to modern attempts at interpretation. The reason for this, I shall try to show, is that certain features in the two similes took on a spurious significance as a result of Plato's remodelling of Empedocles' theories. Difficulties of interpretation have been caused by trying to read back these innovations of Platonic theory into details of the similes that in their original context were fortuitous and inessential.

In Plato vision occurs when fire leaves the eye and joins fire outside to form a single compacted body, along which movements from the visible object are communicated as sensations to the eye.

According to Theophrastus, Empedocles explained vision as the result of effluences which are given off from objects and enter the appropriate pores of the eye. Dark effluences enter the watery pores of the eyes, and bright effluences enter the fiery pores of the eye. As I have tried to show in an earlier article, Empedocles distinguished good and bad vision, by day and by night, for eyes with a predominance of fire and for eyes with a predominance of water. Good vision results when the dark and light elements which enter the eye are equally balanced. Poor vision results either when there is too much fire in the eye, so that we are dazzled, or when there is too much water in the eye, so that our vision is dimmed. In the whole of his detailed and one would have thought exhaustive account, Theophrastus says nothing about fire leaving the eye as a factor in the act of vision.

In the treatise de Abstinentia that the neoplatonist Porphyry devoted to justifying abstention from foods of animal origin, there is a long quotation from Life in Greece (βίος τῆς Έλλάδος) by the Peripatetic, Dicaearchus (end of the fourth century B.C.), who was a direct disciple of Aristotle. This book is known to represent a sort of cultural history of Greek humanity from the very earliest times.

In its essentials, this text tells us that the Golden Age, or age of Cronos, referred to by the poets, principally by Hesiod, in his Works and Days (from which Dicaearchus quotes verses 116–19: ‘And they had all good things, the grain-bearing earth, ζείδωρος ἂρονρα, itself produced an abundant and generous harvest, and they lived off their fields in peace and joy, amidst countless boons…’), that this marvellous epoch was perhaps a historical reality

Nearly ten years ago the first specimens of a new group of painted Mycenaean sarcophagi, or larnakes, began to become known in Greece. They attracted immediate attention, and some disbelief. The group has not yet been studied as a whole, or evaluated as a relic of Aegean art, for the circumstances of discovery and dispersal have made close examination difficult. The scenes of mourning figures painted on them have considerable interest, however, and it seems timely to put together what is known about them in spite of the incomplete evidence. Once the larnakes become better known it will be a pleasurable task for scholars to relate them as harmoniously as possible to neighbouring monuments of Aegean painting and to the late Mycenaean environment which produced them.

Until the discovery of these Greek larnakes, scholars rightly believed that the practice of using clay coffins for burial was essentially a Minoan one, not Mycenaean. The great number of larnakes on display in the Herakleion Museum in Crete demonstrates how widespread larnax-burial was in the Late Minoan period, apparently gathering momentum after the destruction of the Cretan palaces. While the earliest terracotta larnakes known in Crete are as old as the latter part of the Early Minoan period, they were not used extensively among the middle classes until the fourteenth and thirteenth centuries B.C. The first preserved wooden coffins of Crete are found in chamber tombs of sea-captains and soldiers who died in the late fifteenth century. Perhaps they adapted the custom from Egypt in an age when relations between coastal Crete and the Nile Valley were particularly active. One of the coffins in the harbour cemetery of Katsaba near Knossos was painted blue; otherwise there are no traces of rich surface elaboration in the Egyptian fashion. As far as one can tell from the rotted condition of wood in the Aegean climate, the Minoans did not use external face masks, or gilding, but made simply carpentered containers for simple inhumations.

The article offers a novel interpretation of the procedure followed in the case of Demosthenes’ speech Against Leptines, clarifying the workings of the institutions that secured the coherence of the laws of Athens. The procedure of this case of γραϕὴ νόμον μὴ ἐπιτήδειον θεῖναι seems idiosyncratic: the case came to court over a year after the enactment of the law of Leptines, so Leptines was no longer liable to punishment and the action was only against the law itself; it also involved the proposal of a replacement law. Scholars have argued either that the θεσμοθέται devised a special procedure for these circumstances or that Demosthenes deceived the judges into believing they could enact the replacement law. I argue that there existed two regular uses of the γραϕὴ νόμον μὴ ἐπιτήδειον θεῖναι: (1) to repeal laws that had been enacted irregularly and punish the proposer; (2) as part of nomothesia, to repeal existing laws that contradicted the new bill. This second use is the one that we find in Against Leptines: Demosthenes attempts to repeal Leptines’ law as part of the procedure to enact the replacement law. If the accusation is successful, he pledges to have the new bill enacted by the νομοθέται.

Arkesilas III succeeded to the throne of Cyrene after the royal power had been considerably curtailed. In the reign of the previous king, Battos III, Demonax of Mantineia had carried out a tribal reorganisation and constitutional reform which was, according to Herodotus, democratic. But since the leading opponents of Arkesilas III were the nobility, it is likely that the reforms of Demonax were supported, or at least acquiesced in, by the aristocrats. As Chamoux argues, the system of tribes created by Demonax will not have diminished the local influence of the aristocratic landowners, although the more recent colonists who arrived from all parts of Greece in the reign of Battos II were given a place in the new constitution. The arrangements of Kleisthenes a generation later at Athens provide both a comparison and a contrast. He added the Athenian δῆμος to his aristocratic faction for political reasons, just as the Cyrenaean nobility accepted Demonax, and similarly the democracy of 508/7 was principally a tribal reform. But, at Athens, after the fall of the tyranny, there was a pressure towards democracy which could not have existed at Cyrene a generation earlier, and it was precisely because he had to break down the local influence of the nobility that Kleisthenes devised the system of trittues, which is not paralleled at Cyrene. The Demonax reform resulted in constitutional power for the landowning class at the expense of the monarchy.

Mr Finley's article is an elaborated version of a talk first broadcast in October 1963. It was offered for publication with the intention of stimulating discussion of a problem which has been exercising archaeologists and historians. For this reason its author does not here answer the provisional criticisms and comments offered by Professor Caskey, Mr Kirk and Professor Page which are also printed below. It is hoped that this presentation will help to define for readers the very varied issues which attend the problem of the date and nature of the Trojan War.

The ‘scrutiny of all the laws’ that Andocides invokes in his defence On the Mysteries is usually interpreted as a recodification with the aim of barring prosecution for the crimes of civil conflict. This article advances four theses against that traditional reading: (1) In Andocides' argument the Scrutiny was designed for a more practicable purpose, not to pardon crimes unpunished but to quash any further action against former atimoi, those penalized under the old regime but restored to rights in 403. In context, coming close upon the summary of Patrocleides' decree, ‘all the laws’ means all laws affecting atimoi. (2) The other evidence from inscriptions and literary testimony, for the Athenian Amnesty and similar agreements, supports this reading: the oath that closed the covenants, mê mnêsikakein, functions as a rule of estoppel or ‘no reprise’; it was not in itself a pledge of ‘political forgiveness’. In regard to the Scrutiny, as in Patrocleides' decree, the oath means that old penalties, now cancelled, can never again be enforced. (3) The Scrutiny itself was a reauthorization of the old laws for summary arrest and other standard remedies against atimoi who trespass or violate their restrictions. As a corollary to this re-enactment, the statute of limitations was introduced, ‘to apply the laws from Eucleides’: the rules punishing the disfranchised cannot be used against those whose liabilities were incurred before 403. (4) Teisamenus' decree for new legislation was prior to this revision; it is not the decree that Andocides read to the court as a document of the Scrutiny. An ancient editor simply inserted the wrong document. Teisamenus envisioned no alteration of the ‘Solonian Code’; the decree for Scrutiny was an unforeseen but necessary correction. These measures were successive reforms sorting out the new hierarchy of rules, a process whose complexity is attested in Diocles' law.

The origin of the little code for the government of Byzantine agriculturists, which is known in the manuscripts as the Farmer's Law (νόμος γϵωργικός), has occasioned some difference of opinion among the learned men who have dealt with it. The greatest authority on Byzantine law, Zachariä von Lingenthal, changed his mind on the subject. He began by thinking it the work of a private hand—the compiler of the Appendix Eclogae—and assigning it to the eighth or ninth century (Historiae Juris Graeco-Romami Delineatio, p. 32). It was put together, in his opinion, partly from the legislation of Justinian and partly from local custom. According to his last view (Geschichte des Griechisch-römischen Rechts, 3rd ed. pp. 249 sqq.) it is a product of the legislative activity of the emperors Leo and Constantine and was enacted about the year 740 A.D.

The speeches concerning the Mytilenean revolt in Thucydides III present three speakers trying to justify or commend a decision: they are, in Aristotelian terms, examples of symbuleutic oratory. The purpose of such oratory is naturally to identify the right course of action, to achieve ϵὐβουλία. But Thucydides is writing about facts; he is also intensely aware of human nature, a force more powerful than reason. So his characters cannot be simply models of wisdom. They are human beings, and they feel the pressure of war or empire. Thus the rhetoric which they employ to convince their hearers is for the historian a way of discovering to his readers the limits, or the failures, as well as the powers, of reasoning; and in this exposure of human weakness Thucydides' work is both rationalistic and tragic, an analysis of human error, be it corrigible or otherwise. If, then, he puts into his speakers' mouths the arguments he himself thought they should have used (i 22.1 τὰ δέοντα), he does so in the service of historical truth (i 22.4 τὸ σαφές). Reality is portrayed realistically, through a portrayal of the minds of those who were part of it; for all action must originate from beliefs and be contemplated through them. Further, the complex or problematical nature of reality is mirrored in his speakers' opposing interpretations of the issues at stake.

‘The most interesting excavated site, after Al Mina—Posideion, is Tarsus. This area may yet hold the key to many important problems, and provide firm associations between East and West which will give fixed points for early Greek history and chronology’ (Dunbabin, The Greeks and their Eastern Neighbours 33).

The publication of Tarsus iii (reviewed later in this volume) offers scholars the opportunity to judge how far the high hopes entertained for the absolute dating of Greek pottery found in the town destroyed by Sennacherib in 696 B.C. have been fulfilled. Hanfmann, who publishes the pottery, had already given some indication of the results in The Aegean and the Near East, 165 ff., a volume dedicated to Hetty Goldman, excavator of Tarsus. Some of the results seemed a little disturbing, like the appearance of East Greek bird bowls with rays before 696 B.C. With the publication we can see that the dating for Protocorinthian pottery of the end of the eighth century is moved back at least a quarter century (pp. 115, 129, 308), while the disturbance to the bird bowl series suggests even more radical changes, leaving something of a vacuum in the first half of the seventh century, so far as the usually accepted dates of Protocorinthian and East Greek pottery are concerned. Hanfmann does not pursue all the implications of this, nor was it his task to in this book. Fortunately the quality of the publication makes it possible to study these problems in some detail, to evaluate the evidence of the pottery and stratigraphy, and even to suggest possible accounts, different from those of the publishers, for the years around 696 B.C. In what follows I have taken Payne's chronology for Protocorinthian as the standard since none of the detailed attempts to upset it seem to me to have been at all successful, while much new evidence has appeared to confirm it. Dunbabin's.remarks on the possible margins of error have also to be remembered (in AE 1953–54 247 ff.).

Nearly fifty years have passed since Hogarth wrote, and it would be useful and pleasing to comment afresh on the votive offerings from the Artemisium, this treasure of gold and silver, of ivory and amber, with a touch of the gynaikonitis and the East. My purpose is narrower: a study of the objects from the Basis, and narrower still, their chronological implications for the date of the coins found with them. These coins are the only ones from the excavation found in what might be called a closed context. They can in principle be later than their latest co-finds; they can be earlier than the earliest, but it is reasonable to assume that they are contemporary with the majority of the objects associated with them.

A few objects were found outside the Basis under stratigraphical conditions which make their inferior limit of time almost as certain as that of the objects from the Basis, and many pieces from outside resemble Basis types so closely that they can with certainty be dated to the same period (Hogarth p. 235): I think it, however, prudent and safe to leave these, where possible, on one side and to keep to the specimens from the Basis.

The objects from the Basis are almost all of them of the seventh century B.C., a very few are later, and one piece only is possibly of the eighth century, pl. 4. 34. It is silver, gold-plated, ‘most probably detached from a hilt’ (Hogarth p. 114). The description gives no clear idea of technique and purpose: it is too small fora hilt. The decoration consists of engraved zigzags and compass-drawn ‘wheels’: these are no indication of an early date, as they still occur as border-decoration of the chiton of an acroterion figure from the Acropolis, but the whole somehow recalls those aimless designs on Late Geometric bronze sheets from Argos (Waldstein pls. 103, 104).

In an article entitled ‘The Career of Erasistratus of Ceos’ in Rendiconti del Istituto Lombardo (Classe di Lettere e Scienze Morali e Storiche, 103, 1969, pp. 518–37, abbreviated as RL) and more briefly in his three-volume work on Ptolemaic Alexandria (Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1972, Vol. 1 pp. 347 ff. and relevant notes in Vol. 2 pp. 503 ff., abbreviated as PA I and PA II), P. M. Fraser has recently re-examined the evidence concerning the life and work of the important third-century B.C. physician, anatomist and physiologist Erasistratus of Ceos. Fraser's analysis of the testimonies for the various Chrysippi is valuable; his insistence that there are no good grounds for rejecting the story, told in several ancient writers, that Erasistratus cured King Antiochus is not misplaced, and the conclusion that at some stage, at least, Erasistratus worked at Antioch should surely be accepted.