This article examines Xenophon's rewriting of Herodotus’ Croesus logos (Hdt. 1.6–91) in the Cyropaedia (Cyr. 7.2), focusing on the very different role of the divine in the two narratives. Through a comparison with Xenophon's Memorabilia and several Platonic dialogues, I argue that Xenophon's retelling attempts to bring Herodotus’ Croesus logos in line with his own ‘Socratic’ theology and his pedagogical goals, and in doing so performatively rejects Herodotus’ vision of the role of the gods in historical causation. The Cyropaedia is, I argue, the first extant text in the Greek historiographical tradition which attempts to present divine justice and philanthropy as the central forces in the historical process, and the first in a long series of critical engagements with Herodotus’ theology.

In this Journal last year, in the first part of this paper, we began our discussion of Mattingly's proposal to lower the dates of several fifth-century documents: we began with the two from which he started, namely D7 and D14. These two he proposed to put in the late twenties. We and Malcolm McGregor had put them in the early forties, and after discussing what we took to be Mattingly's most formidable arguments we found no cogent reason to change these dates. We therefore did not go again in detail into their historical contexts, into the numismatic consequences of D14 or into the traces which D7 may have left in the long appendix to quota-list 8.

In this second part of our paper we shall discuss the other documents to which Mattingly has assigned more or less plausible new contexts later than those assigned hitherto. In our judgment, the early date of most is indicated by their script, particularly by the fact that most of them write sigma with three bars instead of four, so that it requires arguments of some cogency to move them much below the mid century.

For three documents, Mattingly has alleged reasons of such cogency: for D11 (Miletos); for Tod 40 = SEG x 30 (Nike priestess); for SEG x 24 (epistatai for Eleusis). All these use the three-barred sigma, and if the positive reasons which he alleges for their late date are valid, then he is entitled to refuse our sigma criterion.

Some remarkable discoveries were made in Greece in the year ending at midsummer 1935; not all of them, by any means, from official excavations, for, as often, ‘chance finds’ produced much of the most interesting material. In the following account, much of the information as to the results of official excavations is taken from Karo's forthcoming report in the Archaeologischer Anzeiger, proofs of which, thanks to the author's generosity, I have been able to use. I would here express my thanks also to others who have provided me with information or photographs.

Athens And Attica

The fifth campaign of the American excavators in the Athenian Agora has again led to important topographical discoveries. The first results are described by Shear in AJA 1935, 173 ff.; and a general idea of the lie of the land may be obtained from the plan, loc. cit. 175, which embodies the identifications made possible last season by the discovery of the Tholos and of the Altar of the Twelve Gods.

While the discovery of pre-historic remains proceeds apace on Greek soil, there has been for two or three years a certain pause in the exploration of purely Hellenic sites. Olympia, Epidaurus, the Athenian Acropolis, Delos, the Argive Heraeum, and Delphi kept the ball rolling merrily for some twenty years, but compared to those great enterprises in the strictly classical field the present is a day of small things. For some time past the German Institute has undertaken no considerable excavation. The French have only just got to work again at Goulás in Crete. The Greeks have made their most striking discoveries in cemeteries of the early period, to which the British School also has devoted all its energies for two years. Only the Americans have remained faithful to the classical tradition in their heavy and costly excavation of Corinth, which has not been rewarded, however, with much that belongs to any period before the Roman.

Bibliographical Note.—Of the two Financial Decrees of Kallias inscribed on one stone, one has been known to scholars for 65 years, one for over a century: they have had an enormous literature. They are published in the new Attic Corpus as I.G. I2 91 and 92, and the literature down to 1924 is there given. The three most important writers before that date are, I think, Kirchhoff, Meyer, Beloch: I have only one addition of any importance down to 1924, viz. Beloch's pupil, Max Romstedt, whose Leipzig Dissertation, Die wirtschaftliche Organization des athenischen Reiches (1914), devotes pp. 22–36 to the δεκατε mentioned in line 7 of the first decree. He is strongly for a late date, but I do not find his arguments cogent.

Though I can hardly hope to justify it, I must record (as having given the impulse to this study) my impression that it was not so much the art of his days, as the theories built thereon, which led Plato to such definitions of the skiagraphia as ‘essentially servile and devoid of reality and truth,’ as ‘not altogether true nor pure,’ as ‘unclear and misleading,’ and as ‘an inferior coupled to an inferior and producing inferior offspring.’

In antiquity Apollodorus wrote a work upon the Greek Catalogue, Demetrius of Scepsis one, in thirty books, on the Trojan; both were used by Strabo, who surpassed, fortunately, either in judgment. Titles of similar works are ascribed to the logographer Damastes and the rhetor Polus. Its literary merits are extolled by Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Comp. Verb. 102, and though a considerable number of MSS. omit it, Tribonianus of Side in the Byzantine period was found to execute a special metaphrase of it.

In modern times the latest work dealing with the Catalogue apart appears to be the short treatise of Benedikt Niese, Der homerische Schiffskatalog als historische Quelle betrachtet, Kiel, 1873. Written at the blackest moment of Homeric and historical science, before the first light from archaeology had begun to illumine the gloom of Higher Criticism, before even Wilamowitz had lit his corpse-candle, the book naturally cannot influence our opinion now, and would not have needed mention but for the singular uis inertiae owing to which it is still currently cited. Niese's principal conclusions were: the Catalogue involves late political circumstances, contains geographical inaccuracies, especially in regard to Thessaly, and is the result of the contamination of an old geographical document or periegesis dating from 770–740 with names of heroes and peoples taken from the Cypria: the Trojan Catalogue is made out of the Trojan Catalogue again in the Cypria with additions from the body of the Iliad; and the editor of both may be found in a Milesian of 630–600.

The publication posthumously in 1951 of Professor Joachim's commentary on the Nicomachean Ethics has raised again in an acute form the question of Aristotle's use of Athenian law as the basis of his discussion of justice in Book V. We are told that Joachim In his interpretation of this book made much use of an unpublished essay of Professor J. A. Smith. It is particularly unfortunate that it has not been found possible to trace the manuscript of this essay among Professor Smith's papers since there is a good deal that is new and unorthodox in the resulting interpretation. It is also unfortunate that, because Joachim's publication was posthumous, there could be no reciprocity as between his and some other relatively recent and important discussions of the subject, especially those of H. D. P. Lee and of L. Gernet, while these last two, publishing in the same year, were ignorant of each other's work. I have felt drawn to a brief re-examination of the question because I am sceptical of the general lines of Joachim's treatment, rash though it be to differ from both him and J. A. Smith on the interpretation of Aristotle.

The specific question I propose to ask is whether in N.E. V Aristotle is basing himself at all closely on the substantive law of Athens, and my main conclusion is negative. I think that there is a tendency, particularly in Joachim, to read too much law into what Aristotle says, to force his discussion into a juristic mould into which it simply does not fit. Aristotle after all is attempting to describe a ἔζις, a tendency to feel and act in a certain way; and, close as may be in his thought the connection between the man and the citizen, we perhaps ought not tolook for too exact a mirror of the character of the good citizen in the external institutions of the city.

This paper examines the distribution of thematic infinitive endings in early Greek epic in the context of the long-standing debate about the transmission and development of Homeric epic diction. There are no aorist infinitives in -έμεν in Homer which would scan as ◡◡ – before a consonant or caesura (for example *βαλέμεν): instead we find unexplained forms in -έειν (for example βαλέειν). It is argued that this artificially ‘distended’ ending -έειν should be viewed as an actual analogical innovation of the poetic language, resulting from a proportional analogy to the ‘liquid’ futures. The total absence of aoristic -έειν in Hesiod is unlikely to be coincidental: the analogical form must have been the product of a specifically East Ionic Kunstsprache, and so could have been simply unknown in some other Ionian school of epic poetry where Hesiod was trained. Finally, the striking avoidance of anapaestic aorist infinitives in -έειν is argued to be explained better under the ‘diffusionist’ approach to the Aeolic elements in Homeric diction than under the ‘Aeolic phase’ theory.

Thucydides' account of the events at Melos in 416–15 B.C. falls into two parts, the famous dialogue in which representatives of Melos and of Athens discuss the submission of Melos, and a series of notes about the siege of the city culminating in the account of its destruction. But as I shall try to show, the two sections form part of a single whole. The discussion between the negotiators centres on two topics. In the first half of the dialogue the speakers discuss the expediency of forcing Melos into the Athenian Empire, in the second they discuss the likelihood of the Melians resisting successfully. But since the Melians are offered no alternative to becoming subjects except complete destruction, and since they are clearly not ready to choose the safe but dishonouring alternative, even though they have no chance of defending their city successfully, the inevitable destruction of Melos casts its shadow over the whole of the negotiations.

Many of the arguments used in the discussion are equally relevant to the destruction and to the subjection of Melos. This is partly a result of the Athenian aim: to impress their island-subjects with their power. This they can achieve by forcing Melos to become a subject—but equally well by destroying it. On the level of expediency the Athenian argument would be equally applicable to either course, and the tactlessness of the Athenians suggests that they are not much concerned which of the two they will adopt. The Melians on the other hand appear to anticipate their own rejection of the ultimatum and to include the consequences of this inevitable rejection within the scope of their arguments. So a debate about the expediency of forcing an independent state to forgo its freedom is at the same time a debate about the expediency of destroying an independent city that refuses to become a subject.

The story of the Athenian Tyrannicides Harmodios and Aristogeiton is well known to modern scholars who agree that the two men were figures of cult. The occasion for these rituals has inspired rather less agreement and the rites have often been connected with the Epitaphia. In this article, I re-examine the ritual setting of the cult. As I argue, evidence not previously brought into these discussions identifies the Panathenaia as the primary occasion for the Tyrannicides' rituals. This connection is further reinforced by other visual imagery (Panathenaic amphorae, sculpture, vase-painting) which links Harmodios and Aristogeiton to the festival of Athena and its celebration of divine victory over the Giants.

Das bekannte Problem, von wem der Name Metaphysik eigentlich stamme und ob derselbe denn mehr als ganz äuβerliche Bedeutung (nämlich die Angabe der Reihenfolge der Ausgabe der Aristotelischen Schriften) habe, wurde innerhalb der letzten Jahre überaus gründlich diskutiert. Das Problem, das hier behandelt werden soll, ist ihm verwandt. Wie immer man Name und dessen Entstehung erklärt, so bleibt doch sehr bemerkenswert, daβ die Metaphysik, wie ihr Name besagt, in irgendeinem Sinne auf die Physik folgt. Denn es scheint doch, daβ es im Sinne einer Reihe von Stellen bei Aristoteles läge, dieselbe nicht auf die Physik, sondern auf die Mathematik folgen zulassen, so daβ sie nicht Metaphysik, sondern Metamathematik heiβen sollte. Wenn wir uns also für den Namen Metaphysik interessieren, so geschieht es in dem Sinne: Warum Metaphysik und nicht Metamathematik?

An den Stellen, an denen Aristoteles das Wesen der Ersten Philosophie bestimmt, behandelt er immer wieder zwei Wissenschaften, die den Anspruch erheben könnten, Erste Philosophie zu sein. Es sind dies Physik und Mathematik. Und Aristoteles gibt diesen beiden das Recht zu, als Teile der Weisheit zu gelten, weist dagegen deren Anspruch Erste Philosophie zu sein, ab. Als Endergebnis der Diskussion finden wir die Formel, daβ es drei Philosophien (oder wie wir auch sagen könnten, Sophien) gibt, Physik, Mathematik und Erste Philosophie.

For a long time there has been a dispute about the gravity of the disaster suffered by the Athenians and their allies in Egypt in 454 BC. Thucydides i 104 and 110.4 says that 200 ships sailed there (a figure now commonly accepted); that, six years later, a further force of 50 arrived just after the disaster; and that the majority of these was lost. As all the ships which were already in Egypt at that time were also lost the total would seem to be about 230–40.

This was generally accepted by scholars of the last century, but in this century many scholars have come to doubt so overwhelming a loss in relation to the League's total resources. This scepticism is made possible by Thucydides' failure to say specifically how many ships were actually in Egypt when the disaster befell—whether, in fact, 200 had remained there for six years (Thuc. i 109 says that the Athenians and their allies remained, but this is not conclusive for 200 nor for 6 years).

How and why did Daphnis meet his end? The story of Daphnis was in origin Sicilian and its most popular and consistent form goes back at least to the Sicilian writers, Timaeus and Stesichorus (Aelian, Vera Hist. 10.18). It occurs also in Diodorus Siculus (4.84) and the scholia on Vergil (Servius, ad Ecl. 5.20, 8.68; Philarg. ad Ecl. 5.20). According to this version Daphnis, who was the son of a Nymph and had been exposed under a laurel bush from which he took his name, was a herdsman. He was loved by a Nymph and plighted his troth to her, promising γυναικὶ μὴ πλησιάζειν. He was, however, seduced by a beautiful princess and, as a punishment, was blinded and, in some accounts, fell to his death from a cliff.

Opinion has long been divided whether in his treatment of Daphnis Theocritus follows the popular version or elaborated an original story of his own (or, it may be, followed a version otherwise unknown to us). We know of other such original versions, by Hermesianax and Sositheus so that a striking departure from the old tradition would not be unprecedented. His casual allusions to Daphnis are all ambiguous or uninformative (5.20, 81; Epigr. 2, 3, 5) while Idyll 8 must be discounted since it is certainly not from his pen. We are left, therefore, with Idyll 7.73–5 and Idyll 1.64–142. Thyrsis' song is, however, far from being a straightforward narrative. It is throughout allusive, seeming to assume from the listener familiarity with the story. The salient points of it may be summarised: Daphnis is languishing with love (66, 78). The gods visit him. Hermes comes first from a hill, which is a feature of the landscape (77, πράτιστος ἀπ' ὤρεος), and asks with whom Daphnis is in love. He receives no reply. Then Priapus, who also is unanswered, teases Daphnis with his love and reveals that the maiden wanders the countryside looking for him. Finally Aphrodite comes and Daphnis at last breaks out into a tirade against the miseries brought on mankind by Love. He ends by taking leave of his surroundings and, despite an attempt by Aphrodite to revive him, dies.

In one of the most popular anthology passages in Latin, Servius Sulpicius, writing to console Cicero for his daughter's death, describes how, as he reached Greek waters, sailing from Asia, he began to look about him at the ruins of Greece. ‘Behind me was Aegina, in front of me Megara, on the right the Piraeus, on the left Corinth, cities which had once been prosperous, but now lay shattered ruins before my sight.’ Oppidum cadavera he goes on to call them—corpses of cities! The picture, it will probably be objected, is overdrawn; certainly the ruin of Greece was, by Cicero's time, already a rhetorical commonplace, to be echoed by Horace, Ovid and Seneca in turn. But it was based upon an essential truth. The Saronic Gulf, once the centre of the world, was now, for all that Greece meant, a dead lake lapping about the foundations of dead cities. In that tragic decay—which was not confined to mainland Greece—we are confronted with one of the most urgent problems of ancient history, and one with a special significance for our generation, who were already living in an age of economic, political and spiritual upheaval, even before the bombs began to turn our own cities into shattered ruins.

This, then, is my reason for reopening a subject on which there is scope for such diverse opinion: adeo maxima quaeque ambigua sunt. If any further justification is required, then I will only add that the recent publication of Professor Michael Rostovtzeff's classic study of the social and economic life of the Hellenistic Age is at once an invitation and a challenge.

For three hundred years and more the meaning of the figures on the Portland Vase has been a matter for speculation of the most strange and varied character.

During the first half of this century there was something of a lull, but ten years ago Professor Erika Simon, after a wide-ranging and sensitive study of all the evidence, put forward a highly ingenious theory connecting the scenes with the ancestry of Augustus and, shortly after, Professor L. Polacco embroidered it further. In 1964 Mr Denys Haynes produced the excellent little book which is on sale at the British Museum: this was reviewed by Professor H. Möbius, who had his own theory, elaborated since in a longer article; and Professor H. Biesantz has exposed the weaknesses of all the solutions, without however propounding one of his own.

The wide differences of opinion among these scholars have prompted me to place on record some observations I made twenty years ago, when we first acquired the vase at the British Museum; and I shall take Mr Haynes' book as a starting-point, because it is the latest comprehensive account, and, being persuasively argued, bids fair to hold the field.

However, before we begin to examine the vase in detail, a few words must be said on its technique, its date, and the circumstances in which it was made (plates I–IV, VI–VII). The technique was to make a bubble of very dark blue glass, clear but so thick that it cannot be seen through, and over it a skin of white translucent glass reaching as far upwards as the base of the neck: then to join two deep-blue glass handles from the middle of the neck to the shoulder of the vase; and, finally, using the technique of the cameo-carver, to carve, and carve away, the white glass layer in order to produce figures and landscape. The blue glass becomes the background of the scene where the white has been completely removed: where the white has been thinned but not completely removed, the blue provides suggestions of shadow and distance.

The messenger goddess Iris alights at Birds 1199 in the city of Cloudcuckooland. She has been dispatched by Zeus to instruct mortal men on earth to maintain their sacrifices in honor of the Olympian gods, not yet aware that the birds, with the protagonist Peisetaerus as their leader, have founded this city as the hub of an empire that aims to wrest control of the universe from her divine family. This, however, she learns from a tense exchange with Peisetaerus, who forbids her passage through the birds' aerial domain.

The tombs at Vergina in Macedonia continue to produce more questions than answers. At the 1990 Annual Meeting of the Archaeological Institute in San Francisco a colloquium entitled ‘The royal tombs at Vergina: continuing issues’ was presented on these tombs, their dating, and their possible inhabitants. The participants in this colloquium were not in agreement about the identity of those laid to rest in the tombs, or when these burials took place, or the nature of the grave goods which accompanied the funerary rituals. We must continue to anticipate and hope for progress in the debate over these crucial questions.

The Critias after a long introduction breaks off almost at the beginning of the story. Both in form and subject it presents problems which have occasioned a vast amount of speculation. In the first place if Plato really composed it in order to shew his ideal Republic under the stress of war as illustrated by the ancient Athenians in his story, why is it that most of the introduction describes the rival state of Atlantis with a wealth of detail that is quite superfluous? Atlantis interests him much more than his ideal state, and has interested his readers in all ages to the exclusion of the Athenians. Secondly, why after a few introductory remarks does the Critias cease to be a dialogue at all? From the beginning it is an unbroken narrative on the regular lines of an Epic poem. Why, again, should the work be dedicated to Critias, of all people? The attempt to answer these questions involves a consideration of the truth of Solon's visit to Egypt, a review of the whole problem of Atlantis and a glance at the relationship between Solon, Plato, and Critias.

The progress of excavations in Crete has made it possible to distinguish with some degree of certainty the native from the imported objects found on Mycenaean sites in Greece. The purpose of this paper is to make known some fine examples of ‘Late Minoan’ art found at Vaphio in Laconia, Phylakopi in Melos, and Mycenae itself, and to show on what grounds they are to be regarded as of Cretan workmanship.