Aristotle said that the association between male and female was the most natural form of association and he treated it as the first of the elementary units of society. Like many of Aristotle’s confident assertions this one looks unimportant, though true; but it deserves some attention. The association between male and female might seem to have a timeless reference. We might think that we know exactly what we mean by the words, and that Aristotle could have thought no differently. In fact there are many possible relationships between males and females and the ancient world was well aware of it.

ΔεȖρ’ [’ Eλε

υσινίον [τρ

ιττύς τελ[ε

υτāɩ, Περαι

õν δἑ τριττ

ύς ἄρχεται

Thus IG I2 897, a trittys marker from the Peiraieus. It is likely that I2 885, a horos from the Agora with the same formula, listed the same two trittyes in the same order.

IG I2 901, a Peiraieus marker of earlier date and written from right to left, also names a trittys of Hippothontis. Wade-Gery restored the first four lines as follows.

ΔεȖρε Η[ɩπποθο

ν[τί]ς φυ[λέ τελε

υτᾱι Τε (or Ζε) [---ο

[ν] δέ τριτ[τύς

Eleusis was the largest coastal deme of Hippothontis and Peiraieus the largest city deme. Therefore the trittyes Eleusis and Peiraieus must be coastal and city respectively. Accordingly, it was taken for granted by Wade-Gery that IG I2 901 contained the name of Hippothontis’ inland trittys. Since no deme of Hippothontis starts with either zeta or with tau, it apparently follows, if Wade-Gery’s restoration is correct, that inland Hippothontis was not named after one of its constituent demes. Nor, like some other trittyes, can it have been named after one of the twelve poleis settled, according to Athenian tradition, by Kekrops. Although a parallel would exist (the inland trittys of the phyle Oineis was called Pedieis) an appropriate or even remotely plausible name for inland Hippothontis does not readily come to mind and one is puzzled that Dekeleia, the name both of the tribe’s largest inland deme and one of Kekrops’ poleis, was not chosen.

One of the most pleasurable features of the plays of Euripides is his exploration of a wide range of character types, each of whom has the potential to be more exciting than the previous one. The fictional Aeschylus in the underworld of Aristophanes' Frogs (1043) remembers in particular the wicked women (Stheneboea, Phaedra), but Euripides also had his share of pious and self-sacrificing virgins (Macaria, Polyxena, Iphigenia), faithful wives (Helen in her name play, Andromache, Alcestis, Evadne), shrewd matriarchs (Hecuba, Jocasta, Aethra, Alcmene), and priestesses (Cassandra, Iphigenia in I. T., Theonoe, the Pythia).

Debate continues as to whether the Didascalicus (or Isagoge, or Epitome) ascribed to Alcinous in the MSS. is a work of Albinus, the Platonist of the mid-second century A.D., pupil of Gaius and teacher of Galen. While there are similarities between the work and the paltry remains of Albinus, these are not sufficient to prove any more than that Alcinous was influenced by roughly the same kind of Platonism as Albinus was, and that he wrote in a style comparable at times.

So much of Silius Italicus' Punica seems familiar. To read this epic is to be confronted by so many allusions to earlier poets that it is difficult to maintain a serious perusal of the poem without thinking ‘not another storm at sea / battle scene / catalogue of troops’. We have read it all before, it seems. Silius is a notable exponent of the tradition described by Conte as ‘emulative allusion’, a tradition which ‘both conditions the later poet's work and helps him to formulate its distinctive qualities.’ For example, Princess Asbyte, who appears in Book 2 during the battle of Saguntum, is a clear allusion to Virgil's Camilla, and the sea-battle in the harbour of Syracuse in Book 14 powerfully echoes Lucan's vivid description of the battle of Massilia in Book 3 of his Bellum Civile. There are catalogues of troops which emulate Homer in style, and the battle of Saguntum itself seems to encompass many of the battle scenes of the Iliad and the second half of the Aeneid.

The MS L 28 of St John's College, Cambridge, contains a number of critical annotations on Juvenal from the pen of Jeremiah Markland. The existence of these notes has been known at least since the publication of Mayor's edition, in which many of them were published, although the prolixity and disorder characteristic of that edition make it hard to find them. At one time I thought that Ruperti had seen the manuscript, because he was aware of the conjecture aliena sumere vultum a facie (3.105-6), but with the help of Dusaulx I found that it was published in Markland's notes on Lysias (p.330 Reiske). Markland is commonly reckoned the greatest critic of the eighteenth century apart from Bentley, and one would have supposed that editors of Juvenal would have thought that the very dust of his writings was gold. In fact, however, these annotations have never been published in their entirety, and it seems time that they should be. Some of the textual proposals have been made independently by other scholars; some, to the best of my knowledge, have never been made by anyone else and now see the light for the first time. Some, as one would expect, are brilliant and incisive; others are strikingly bad. One must remember that these are the thoughts which passed through his mind as he was reading Juvenal in a very second-rate edition, and no doubt he jotted them down for future consideration. No one will think the less of a critic because his marginalia and anecdota contain material which later reflection would have rejected.

Sophia Schliemann is a familiar figure. The name readily conjures up a determined young Greek woman, who shared with her older German husband a passion for Homer and archaeology. We see her gamely putting up with the inconvenient realities of living at the site of an excavation — uncomfortable lodgings, often shared with exotic and undesirable fauna, blazing sun, freezing cold, rain and mud at Mycenae, and the relentless wind and dust of Troy. In recent years we have come to admire a woman who seemed easily to transcend the limitations imposed on her sex by the era and society in which she lived. She commanded groups of workmen at Troy, Mycenae and Orchomenos. Above all, we see her playing a crucial supporting role at the climactic moments of Heinrich’s excavations. At Troy she stood by his side and wrapped up Priam’s Treasure in her shawl. At Mycenae she got down on her hands and knees in the Shaft Graves and extricated the gold jewellery and masks from the mud.

Aug. Serm. 378 distinguished clearly between arrabo and pignus: quando datur pignus reddit homo quod accepit re completa propter quam pignus accepit, arra autem quando datur non recipitur sed super additur ut impleatur. The same distinction is drawn by Isid. Orig. v 25.20. Especially significant is the assumption by Gellius, that there was a usual distinction known to everybody, and his consequent explanation of why Quadrigarius used arrabo where pignus would be expected (xvii 2.21): Cum tantus, inquit, arrabo penes Samnites populi Romani esset. Arrabonem dixit sescentos obsides et id maluit quam pignus dicere, quoniam vis huius vocabuli in ea sententia grantor acriorque est. Quadrigarius used arrabo, I take this to mean, because it expressed more keenly the bitterness felt by the Romans at being forced to leave their fellow-citizens in pawn. (If this is so arrabo would already be in sordidis verbis, though Gellius ascribes this colour of the word to his own times as against those of Quadrigarius.)

Gibbon describes the years that correspond with the lifetime of Cyprian of Carthage thus: ‘the whole period was one uninterrupted series of confusion and calamity’. On the whole the impression to be gained from the extant correspondence of Cyprian of Carthage (the eighty-two letters are to be dated between the years c.249 and 258) is not of this kind and this evidence ought to act in some degree as a brake on exaggerated descriptions of the chaos of the period. Cyprian can assume, without the slightest hint of doubt, uninterrupted ease of communications all around the Mediterranean, freely cross-referring to other public letters of his on the assumption that they must have come the way of his correspondents. Similarly he is prepared to claim of an open letter written by the Roman clergy that it ‘has been circulated throughout the entire world and has reached the knowledge of every Church and of all the brethren’. The official correspondence which Cyprian conducted is indeed of notable breadth and frequency—among the letters which we chance to have figure communications with Christian communities in Spain, in Gaul, in Cappadocia (all suggesting previous correspondence with these areas), and of course in Rome and elsewhere in Italy. As Metropolitan of the African Church he sends to Rome on one occasion a list of all the orthodox African bishops and their sees, no doubt in order to keep the Roman records up-to-date—and also their address-list for their communications. Furthermore, after the abortively threatening persecution of Gallus the regular meetings in Carthage of the African synod appear to have been resumed. At Carthage, at any rate, life appears to have been little affected by the military and administrative débâcle that was becoming evident in imperial circles and from Cyprian’s point of view the Mediterranean world still appeared to be very much a unity.

There has been much discussion in recent years as to whether the Athenian amnesty of 403 BC can be understood in terms of political forgiveness. A number of scholars have denied that it can. Nevertheless, if the oaths, covenants, and laws are properly analysed, it will become clear that, though ancillary to the earliest clauses of the agreement, the promise μὴ μνησικακεῖν was a blanket measure forbidding prosecutions for crimes under the Thirty and before in the courts after 403. The covenants (συνθῆκαι) chiefly laid down conditions for future relations between Athens and Eleusis. The promise not to dredge up the past was just one concern, and should not be confused with the agreement in its entirety. This article re-examines the agreement as a whole in light of recent discussion of the meaning of amnesty in the ancient world, and argues that the oath μὴ μνησικακεῖν, sworn subsequently, affirmed just one of the covenants, not, as is sometimes held, every covenant. Other clauses may have been re-affirmed by separate oaths. The legislation (νόμοι) which followed was designed to give clearer legal definition to μὴ μνησικακεῖν, but was distinct and separate from the covenants of amnesty.

The capacity of the individual to maintain several identities concurrently is well established, as is the ability of dress to reflect (passively) or to announce (actively) the social identities of its bearer. Within a multi-national structure such as the Achaemenid Persian Empire the semiosis of dress is especially complex. Since dress functions as a form of non-verbal communication, study of the language of dress of past cultures must appeal to the widest possible range of literary and visual sources.

Analysis of the visual arts within the Persian sphere shows careful attention to vestimental definition of the Iranian ‘dominant ethno-class’ and its separation from the dress of the subject peoples in the western empire. Artistic and literary evidence for the Greek and West Anatolian experience of the Persian Empire testifies to the extent of the Persian presence in the west. It also shows the cultural flexibility of the local populations, who might occasionally emulate the Persian model by adopting Persian dress while retaining the traits of their traditional cultures.

Critical assessments of the effectiveness of the characterization of Ofellus in Horace, Satires 2.2 have varied from time to time. However, there has been something of a consensus on the question of Horace’s attitude towards Ofellus. It has generally been believed that Ofellus is intended to be the mouthpiece of admirable sentiments. I believe, however, that a reassessment of Ofellus’ character is overdue and may facilitate a correct re-evaluation of Ofellus’ role within the poem and, thereby, of the meaning of the poem itself.

Plutarch records calumny directed at Cornelia, mother of the Gracchi, though he offers no detail as to its content. This article speculates that Cicero's reference to rhetorical misgivings concerning her marriage offers a clue. References by Pliny and Solinus to the ominous nature of Cornelia's postnatal condition prompt the further speculation that enemies of the Gracchi were able to claim that both her marriage and the birth of her children had run counter to divine injunction.

Our level of tolerance of solar and lunar symbolism is now much lower than it was when devotees went questing in the fields of mythology in the nineteenth century. Should a scholar now appear automatically to equate an epiphany of Apollo with the rising of the sun, he will find it hard to carry conviction, and rightly so. At the other pole is the thesis of J.E. Fontenrose, recently accorded the accolade by G. Karl Galinsky as neither to be ‘ignored nor disputed’. He argues that, while Diana was clearly identified with the moon in Roman literature of the first century B.C. because of her association with Hecate in the triformis dea, Apollo was never equated with the sun until the Imperial period.

Psychoanalysis is born of the fact that the notion of the self appears unable to take account of the whole of psychological life. Rejecting the limits of the self is recognizing the fact that it is invaded by forces which are completely other than it; it also involves both an analysis of why these are not understood, and a recognition that it is possible for the self to be obliterated. Plotinus asks: “But we . . . who are we?” (6.4.[22].14, 16). Does it involve flagrant anachronism to establish a link between the contemporary philosophy of the limits of the self and the Plotinian opening up to what is activity beyond the self? That this is not merely an arbitrary comparison may be demonstrated firstly on negative grounds, in that psychoanalysis rejects the cogito, exactly in the manner of Plotinus; the subject is born neither of itself nor of thought. However psychoanalysis, while accepting the partial state of the self, affirms the constitutive value of narcissism. The child’s identification with his image, called the mirror stage by Lacan(Écrto 1.89ff.: 1966 edn.), is the crucial stage in the building of the self. If this identification fails, or the image of the self is rejected, serious personality destructuring results. We are not here in the business of confusing philosophy with psychology, or child personality development with the progress of the spirit, but Plotinus’ reticence about images throughout the Enneads does bear a connection with Porphyry’s anecdotes in theLtfe of Plotinus: “Plotinus was ashamed of being in a body”; Plotinus refused to divulge any details of his family, or his place of birth; Plotinus was opposed to a portrait being made of him (Vita Plotini 1). This concurrence of life and writing cannot be neglected: Plotinus refused to allow Porphyry to write his biography, as if to assert the paradox of such an undertaking: an effort to paint the portrait of one who rejected all portraits.

The Medicean Scholiast on 168 paraphrases The Scholiast has apparently misunderstood the image, since it does not seem to be a question of the ‘poor enjoying the pleasure [or the power] of light’. Broadhead’s explanation of 166-7 seems plausible: ‘wealth, deprived of men, will not win respect, and … ἀναρχία may follow the news of a great disaster’ (The Persae of Aeschylus [Cambridge, 1960], p. 74). But how can this be got out of the Greek? R. D. Dawe’s Repertory of Conjectures on Aeschylus (Leiden, 1965) lists numerous attempts to emend 166, but the real trouble seems to lie in 167. After discussing various interpretations of 167 as it stands, Broadhead expresses some doubts (‘if the text is sound’). He notes Lawson’s suggestion of φωσίν ὅ for φς ὅσον. Dawe records Blaydes’ ὅσοις. Broadhead also reports a suggested transposition of 166 and 167 (A. ‘Ludwig and others’), which does not really affect the issue of how 167 is to be interpreted. Πάρα at the end of 167 = πάρεστι according to LSJ, of which I fail to make any acceptable sense; Broadhead gives the words the only meaning they will bear: ‘For those lacking in wealth what strength they possess does not shine as a light’ (p. 74 n. 1), but his paraphrase, ‘does not bring salvation, or success’, is hardly justified by the Greek.

This is the text of Meritt, McGregor and H.T. Wade-Gery published in ATL as D 22, except that has replaced their in line 20.

In 1980 the restoration of line 22 was challenged by A.S. Henry: Vindex Humanitatis, Essays in Honour of John Huntly Bishop, edited by B.A. Marshall (University of New England Publishing Unit, Armidale), 17-33. He pointed out that is a reflexive pronoun, which must refer to the subject of the verb to which it is attached. The subject of on the other hand, is ; our restoration, he concluded, is therefore impossible.

This paper continues the author's long-standing quest to define the historicity of ‘epic society’ and to understand epic warfare and battle descriptions. It summarises the range of questions involved and a number of aspects on which some agreement has been achieved. Further progress is only possible by using new approaches. One of these, the comparative study of epic traditions, has recently yielded important results that are briefly summarised. Another new approach, overlapping with that of narratology, aims at understanding the working methods and conventions of the epic singer's art. The application of this approach to the narrative of epic battles has made it possible to distinguish between two large type scenes: ‘normal battles’ and ‘flight and aristeia phases’. The former are essentially historical and thus help us understand early Greek fighting, while the latter are essentially fantastic. Three elements occur predominantly or almost exclusively in these fantasy scenes: the aristeiai of the greatest heroes, the active intervention of gods in battle, and the use of chariots in battle. The demonstration, provided in the final section of this paper, that the latter — a component of Homeric battle that has long resisted convincing explanation — is part of the singer's arsenal of fantastic entertainment and ‘special effects’, removes it from historical consideration and further facilitates the explanation of epic battles and their historicity.

In the history of Philip II’s conquest of Greece the part played by Boeotia must weigh heavily. Recently the view has been urged that in 346 B.C. Philip intended to bring Boeotia low by breaking the predominance of Thebes within the Boeotian federal state but was prevented from having his way by the successful scheming of his opponents in Athens, who persuaded their countrymen to frustrate Philip’s plans by withholding their co-operation, so that Philip was compelled to treat Thebes favourably. As a corollary to this view it is thought that Demosthenes, the foremost of Philip’s opponents at Athens, aspired from the time of the Peace of Philokrates on, if not earlier, after an alliance between Athens and Boeotia as the only realistic way of resisting Philip. At the same time Philip is believed to have preferred, if only he could have had his own way, to have Athens as some kind of partner and to make Thebes alone his enemy. Rebuttal of this view of Philip’s policy in 346 has been prompt and telling and no more may need to be said about it now that G.T. Griffith’s magisterial account of Macedonia has shown, amidst so much else, how Philip’s relations with Greek states are to be understood in the light of Philip’s own changing views of his interests.