Professor Ogilvie, co-editor of Classical Quarterly since the summer of 1976, died suddenly at St Andrews on 7 November 1981. He was forty-nine. His untimely death is a grievous blow to his family, his colleagues at St Andrews, and an unusually wide circle of pupils past and present, friends from many walks of life, and classical scholars. At a remarkably young age Robert Ogilvie achieved distinction as a Latinist and Roman historian, a humane man of letters, a don, and a schoolmaster. He was a brilliant lecturer, an educationalist passionately convinced of the good in Greek and Roman life and literature. The demands which others made on him were heavy, and he demanded much of himself.

The relationship between the United Kingdom and the United States seems to embody most fully the type of the ‘special relationship’ today. It is a relationship founded ultimately (and now of course remotely) on biological kinship, structured by mutual economic and strategic interests and cemented by a sense of political and ‘spiritual’ affinity. At least the broad contours of such contemporary ‘special relationships’ are sufficiently clear. This is far from being the case with those of the Archaic and Classical Greek world, for two main reasons. First, and more decisively, our sources for the history of that world – literary, epigraphical, archaeological – are normally scrappy, discontinuous and variously slanted. Second, and only in part because of the nature of the evidence, the workings of all ancient Greek interstate relationships, whether ‘special’ or not, are in principle controversial. For in the absence of governments and parties in the modern sense it is frequently impossible to explain confidently a particular foreign policy decision taken by a Greek state. A fortiori it is in principle even more difficult to describe and account for ‘special’ relationships between states that apparently transcended purely immediate, local and narrowly self-interested considerations.

’Aυαγυώρισις γàρ διόλov, says Aristotle of the Odyssey,2 and throughout the poem's second half, with which we are here concerned, there is indeed a series of progressive recognitions as Odysseus reveals himself to Telemachos, Eurykleia, Eumaios, the suitors, Penelope and finally Laertes. So the importance of the opposite is not surprising; without concealment and deception there could be no eventual recognition. Concealment is of course necessary if Odysseus is to survive in the face of so many enemies, as Athena tells him (13. 307–10). But in addition, in any work of imaginative literature, so long as the reader or audience is aware of the truth, concealment and unperceived identity open the door to all sorts of half-truths and ironies – possibilities most obviously explored in tragedy and later comedy, but also made use of in the Odyssey. The irony which may be inherent in the arrival of the ‘nameless stranger’ has been most thoroughly explored by Fenik;3 here we examine a further implication.

Since Epigonus spent most of his life in Sicyon, it seems likely that Lysander was himself one of the associates of Epigonus that the passage mentions. This would place him in the latter part of the sixth century. But we have no further information about Lysander, and nothing of what is known of Epigonus is any help in the interpretation of the present account. Some innovations in kithara-playing are being credited to Lysander, but what they are is far from clear.

This line has long been a crux in the interpretation of Pindar, and there is still no consensus on its syntax or meaning. The conclusions reached by Stefan Radt (Mnem. n.s 19 (1966), 148–74) and Richard Stoneman (Quad. Urb. 31 (1979), 65–70) in the most recent studies of the problem are in all respects at variance. The cardinal difficulty of0 the line is the sense of , which must be elucidated before one can attempt to disentangle the syntax. I believe that previous commentators have overlooked or misapplied crucial parallel passages because of their preconceptions about the nature of the metaphor here.

Agamemnon returns victorious from Troy; the Argive Elders who form the chorus of the play greet and praise him. On a first reading the praise seems lukewarm, the passage as a whole rambling and uninteresting.1 Is the address unimportant because our eyes are intent upon Agamemnon and his retinue? If so, the tone of these anapaests would still be puzzling, in giving the king's arrival the effect of an anticlimax, particularly considering the duration and nature of the dramatic preparation for it.

Thus we read these lines in the manuscripts and in the printed editions (with minor variations that are irrelevant to our present purpose); thus the lines were read in the Middle Ages and, perhaps, already in antiquity.

All editors and translators that I know of render the first part of this passage along the lines of ‘They changed the usual meanings of words‘. Thus Weil and Romilly talk of ‘le sens usuel des mots’,1 Stahl of ‘usitatam vocabulorum significationem’,2 Bloomfield of ‘the accustomed acceptation of names’;3 the most popular modern English translation gives ‘words... had to change their usual meanings’,4 and the best-known modern commentary the phrase in my title – ‘the customary meanings of words were changed’.5 The passage is widely quoted, not only by ancient historians but also by sociologists and philosophers; and one suspects the excitement of this translation to be at least a part-cause of the passage's fame. Comparisons are made with modern propaganda, Orwell's 1984, and so on. But this translation must be wrong; unfortunately for generations of believers, though fortunately for the reputation of Thucydides, who would otherwise be saddled with a nonsensical piece of writing.

The purpose of this article is to explain what I believe to have been the nature of the relationship between Aristophanes and the producer of his earliest plays, Kallistratos. My view was indicated in my edition of Wasps (pp. 124, 263–4) without full explanation. It is much the same as the view taken by Rennie in his edition of Akharnians (pp. 11–21), but I think that it can be given more cogent support than Rennie gave it. Recently the whole matter has been discussed afresh by G. Mastromarco (QuadernidiStoria 10(1979), 153–96)andS. Halliwell (CQ n.s.30(1980),33–45).1 This has enabled me to make my article briefer; I need not repeat the full bibliographical references to other views which Mastromarco and Halliwell have given, and I can, for the most part, confine my comments to the points on which I disagree with them.2 Everyone accepts the statements of the Hellenistic scholars that the earliest plays of Aristophanes (Banqueters, Babylonians, Akharnians) were produced δι⋯Καννιστρ⋯του. Consideration of what this meant may begin from his own justification of the arrangement, given in the parabasis of Knights.

Catalexis was the subject of an important recent article by L. P. E. Parker. There is one particular aspect of it that she does not touch, and that ought not to be left out of account: its presumable Indo-European origins. Consideration of this aspect leads to the drawing of distinctions which otherwise tend to escape notice.

There has never been any doubt that an important part of Thrasyboulos’ forces in his campaign at Phyle and in the Peiraieus was non-Athenian. Lysias in his funeral oration, 2. 66 ff., gives fulsome praise to the xenoi who fought and died for the return of the democracy. Other honours paid to the living are recorded by Aeschines, 3. 187 f., and in the inscription I.G. II. 10, a decree followed by a list of names grouped by Athenian tribes, some of which are certainly non-Athenian. However, little has been said about who these people were, or why they chose to help the return.

In this article, an introduction to a proposed more comprehensive treatment of the subject, I wish to discuss the contribution that the parabasis makes to the understanding and interpretation of Aristophanes’ comedies. The study of this part of the plays has in the past concentrated upon two main areas: firstly, its role in the development of comedy, including questions about its original position in the dramatic structure and its relationship to other elements such as the parodos and agon; and secondly, its role as the repository of Aristophanes’ personal views.1 I shall touch but incidentally on the first of these, though my argument will have some bearing on it; to the second I shall return at the end. My aim is to consider an aspect of the parabasis that has not so much been neglected as dismissed as non-existent: the relation between the contents of the parabasis and those of the rest of the play. It is generally agreed that the parabasis deals with matters that are irrelevant to the dramatic action, but I wish to argue that it has a significant role as the focus of the most important themes in the play: far from breaking up the unity of the play, the parabasis provides indications as to where that unity is to be found, besides giving hints about the meaning of the play and the nature of Aristophanic comedy generally.2

As an example of Aristophanic literary criticism the portrayal of Agathon in the prologue of the Thesmophoriazusae has been rather overshadowed by the poetry contest of the Frogs. This is largely because more can be said about parody when something substantial of the author parodied has survived.1 Before many of the specific difficulties of the Agathon scenes we have no alternative but to confess our ⋯πορ⋯α.On the other hand, we need not despair of understanding the general point of these scenes, and in this the most helpful method is that of identifying those Aristophanic techniques which shaped them. This method has already taken us a good way forward, so that there is no need now to argue for the structural integrity of these scenes2 or their thematic relevance to the play.3 Accordingly, in this paper I will discuss the portrayal of Agathon in relation to typical Aristophanic techniques. My main concern, however, will be with the significance of the different conceptions of literature raised in the course of the parody, Agathon being satirized in turn as an inspired poet, a craftsman poet and an effeminate poet. I hope to show that, for Aristophanes, Agathon's effeminacy is as much a reflection of his art as of his personality.

At Theaetetus 163d-164b Socrates objects to the thesis that knowledge is perception by pointing out that a man who has seen something can still remember it, and so has knowledge of it; but this is impossible, if knowledge is perception, since he is no longer perceiving it.To this Protagoras is made to reply with two sentences at 166b 1–4:.Cornford translates ‘ For instance, do you think you will find anyone to admit that one's present memory of a past impression is an impression of the same character as one had during the original experience, which is now over? It is nothing of the sort’.Cornford understands this as the suggestion that the memory and the original perception are of different things: ‘ All that the objection in fact established was that “ perception” must be stretched to include awareness of memory images’. So too Lee: ‘Protagoras’ “way out”… appears to be to say that what we now know is not properly X but rather (say) our memory trace of X - some present πά θ ο ς (Y) quite distinct from X (or, more exactly, from our earlier perception of X: Protagoras must thoroughly subjectivize the matter) and very different from that (perhaps along Humean lines of vividness and the like)’. (Relevant passages from Hume are given by Campbell in his note ad loc.) McDowel

The matter which I wish to discuss is a discrepancy between two accounts of the origin of the philosopher in the myth of Plato's Phaedrus. Before their incarnation the souls of all humans are imagined as having enjoyed the vision of reality, but not all in the same company or to the same degree. For, in the first place, the souls are distributed among the companies that severally follow eleven different gods, 247 a-b, a distribution which is regarded as important for the type of character an embodied soul will subsequently have, 252d. In the second place, some souls are more successful than others in following their god, and accordingly they manage to see more of reality than do the others, and on this variation depends the sort of life each soul will subsequently have on earth, 248 d-e. And here arises the problem about the philosopher, corresponding to the two differences of company and degree in the soul's pre-natal vision of reality.

In Book K of the Metaphysics Aristotle raises a problem about a very persistent concern of Greek philosophy, that of the relation between the one (τ⋯ ἓν) and the many (τ⋯ πλ***θ***), but in a rather peculiar context. He asks: ‘What on earth is it in virtùe of which mathematical magnitudes are one? It is reasonable that things around us [i.e. sensible things] be one in virtue of [their] ψνχ⋯ or part of their ψνχ⋯, or something else; otherwise there is not one but many, the thing is divided up. But [mathematical] objects are divisible and quantitative. What is it that makes them one and holds them together?’ (1077 a 20–4).

The ‘choriambic dimeter’, or ‘wilamowitzianus’, is favoured by Euripides. Aeschylus does not use this colon,1 while Sophocles, as explained below, restricts it to a few stanzas and occasional sequences. But Euripides has at least one ode composed of ‘chor dim’ standing κατà στίχoν with glyconic in all of his middle and later plays except Tro2 ‘Chor dim’ has a strong affinity with glyc. They not only mix within an ode but make strophic responsion with each other. P. Maas regards ‘chor dim’ as an anaclastic variant of glyc: and indeed some scholars give the name ‘glyc’ to the colon.4

An important fragment of the lost portion of Aristotle's Poetics is the definition of synonyms preserved by Simplicius, which corresponds to Aristotle's own citation of the Poetics for synonyms in the Rhetoric, 3. 2.1404b 37 ff. I shall argue elsewhere that this derives from a discussion of the sources of verbal humour in the lost account of comedy and humour. Here it is my aim to show that Simplicius definitely derived the quotation from Porphyry, which pushes back the attestation of this part of the Poetics by more than two centuries (although the citation in the Antiatticist, Poet. fr. 4 Kassel, is older still). Furthermore, I shall show that some of the words in the definition are a gloss added by Porphyry for the purposes of his own polemic.

Granted the acceptability of the argument in section B the only clear contradiction in the evidence about the union of Corinth and Argos is that between Xenophon and Diodorus. What I have said about the latter may seem arbitrary and wilful. But I suggest that it is no less arbitrary and wilful to regard Xenophon's account of the matter as utterly wrong or, worse still, almost utterly wrong but with tinges of truth, and that we are quite entitled to give Xenophon, not Diodorus, the benefit of the doubt. I should also have thought that, a priori, unification is quite as likely to have occurred against the background of the violent political disturbances of c. March 392 as against that of the destruction of the Spartan mora and Iphicrates' successes elsewhere in 390.33