Theurgy, the religious magic practised by the later Neoplatonists, has been commonly regarded as the point at which Neoplatonism degenerates into magic, superstition and irrationalism.1 A superficial glance at the ancient lives of the Neoplatonists, and in particular at Eunapius’ Lives of the Sophists, reveals a group of people interested in animating statues, favoured with visions of gods and demons, and skilled in rain-making. But when we look more closely at the works of the Neoplatonists themselves, rather than the stories biographers tell about them, we find a considerable diversity of attitudes towards theurgy and a number of attempts to fit theurgy into their philosophical system.

In any competition for monuments of wasted labour the collection of accidental acrostics in Latin poets published by I. Hilberg would stand a good chance of a prize. But amongst his examples of ‘neckische Spiele des Zufalls’ (269) is one I am gullible enough to believe may be more significant. In Aeneid 7. 601–15 Vergil describes the custom of opening the gates of war in a long anacoluthic sentence, the first four lines of which run:

Mos erat Hesperio in Latio, quern protinus urbes

Albanae coluere sacrum, nunc maxima rerum

Roma colit, cum prima movent in proelia Mortem,

Sive Getis inferre manu lacrimabile bellum…

The Hiero is an account in Socratic conversational form of a meeting between Simonides the poet and Hiero the tyrant of Syracuse; it was written by Xenophon of Athens in the fourth century b.c., but is set in the fifth, when the historical Simonides and Hiero lived and met. The subject they are portrayed discussing is the relative happiness of the tyrant and private individual. Plato also makes this a topic of discussion in his Republic. However, whereas Plato writes a regular Socratic dialogue, Xenophon does not, for though he represents his characters using Socratic conversation, Socrates himself does not appear; the characteros of the Hiero are Simonides and Hiero, poet and tyrant. This is the problem of the Hiero. It requires explanation.

The action of the Hiero is initiated by Simonides and begins in the following way:

Simonides the poet once came to the court of Hiero the tyrant. When they were both at leisure, Simonides said, ‘Would you be willing to tell me, Hiero, something you are likely to know better than I?’ And Hiero said, ‘What is it that I should know better than you, who are such a wise man?’ He replied, ‘I know that you were once a private individual and are now a tyrant. Since you have experienced both conditions, you are likely to know better than I how tyrannical life differs from private life in respect of men's pleasures and griefs’ (1.1–2).

The identification of Simonides as a wise man who nevertheless seeks wisdom from others establishes his Socratic nature from the start.

To the extent that one subscribes to the proposition, by now a virtual principle of criticism (at least in some circles), that literary texts constitute sites for the negotiation, often vigorous, of power relations within a society, the reader of Catullus can hardly avoid some consideration of the poet's attitude toward contemporary political matters. It is a subject on which two principal lines of thought can be traced. Mommsen argued that Catullus responded to the enormities that followed the reinvigoration of the First Triumvirate at the conference of Luca in 56 by occupying a thoroughly optimate position. Wilamowitz, on the other hand, insisted that Catullus' lyrics reflect only moments of the author's individual experience, amongst which expressions of personal distaste for certain public figures naturally appear but nothing which can appropriately be taken as indications of a political stance. The approach of Wilamowitz has proved more influential, followed in spirit if not in specifics by numerous commentators. To the degree that Catullus has been assimilated to the Augustan elegists, whose poems have been deemed by a scholar of the stature of Veyne to be anti-political in nature, it has been all the easier to reject the idea that Catullus adopts a political position, an assessment strongly maintained in a recent study by Paul Allen Miller, for whom the rejection of all political engagement is the sine qua non of true lyric poetry. Mommsen's optimate Catullus has lately found his champion, however, in a careful article by H. P. Syndikus. Although Miller and Syndikus, like Wilamowitz and Mommsen, draw diametrically opposed conclusions concerning politics in Catullus' poetry, they are agreed nevertheless that politics can be regarded as a relatively straightforward term: it refers to statecraft, matters of government, and party strife. Other readers, however, have been more self-conscious in their theoretical concerns, a salutary consequence of which has been a shift by some to a less narrow conception of the field of reference appropriate to discussions of ‘the political’ in Latin literature.

No part ot Plato's writings has been more debated than the three similes in Books VI.-VII. of the Republic, and still there is a diversity of opinion about their meaning. I believe that most of these difficulties arise from certain assumptions about their purpose which need revision. The current view applies the Cave to the Line, as Plato seems to direct, and this application, which is itself attended by considerable difficulties, leads to an assimilation of the two figures till (in most accounts) they seem to have much the same content and purpose. Again, as this makes the lower line appear to be the phenomenal world, it is thought that the simile of the sun foreshadows the theme of the Line by hinting at a connexion between the intelligible and the sensible which is made more explicit in the Line. Thus the group of similes seem mainly intended to show the dependence of Becoming upon Being. This paper will argue that such a view depends upon the misrepresentation of the symbolism adopted by Plato, that two antithetical groups of symbols are confused with one another, and that symbols are even identified with antitypes. Owing to these misinterpretations (if they prove to be such) the Form of the Good has been mistaken for a material cause; both the Line and the Cave have been thought to reveal Plato as embarrassed by a dualism between sense and intellect, and the purpose of the Cave in particular, since the error is cumulative, has been completely obscured. This paper will attempt to substitute for current accounts another interpretation which will relate the three similes closely with the political arguments of Book VI., and with the Platonic education which is set forth in close connexion with them.

In the Antiatticista, as we call the scanty excerpt of a lexicon of the second century A.D., so abbreviated as to be often unintelligible, we find on p. 86. 20 the following article: Γενέσια ⋅ оὔσης тε έоρтῆς &lsqbтῆς&rsqb δημотελоũς 〈έν〉 &rsquoΑθήνααις, ΒоB7δρоγιѿνоς ΠέμΠтηι, Γενέσια καλоυένμς, καθόтι øησί Φιλόχоρоς καί Σόλων έν тоȊς &rsquoΑξоσι, καί тῆς тоũ όνόμαтоς χρήσεως оὔσης &rsquoΕλλ:ηνικῆς, тί κιλúει μή μόνоν έΠὶ тῆς δημотελоũς έоρтῆς á»á καί έΠί тῆςίδίας έκáσтоυ тáσσεσθα&iota. What rouses our interest in this note is not the domestic quarrel between the Atticists of a stricter and of a more lenient observance about the meaning and the use of the word, but the facts themselves, which in the present case are fortunately clear enough. The lexicographer knows two entirely different facts: a material fact, the existence of a State festival in Athens called Genesia and celebrated on the 5th of Boedromion; a linguistic fact, the ’Ελλινικǹ χαῆσις which denotes by Γενέσια not this State festival but some private celebration. For the latter, it is important to observe that by &rsquoΕλλἠνικὴ χαῆσις the lexicographer does not mean Hellenistic Greek nor the usage of his own day, but the occurrence of the word in those authors whom the strict Atticists do not take as models of style, or who are not held to be Attic writers: it is to such authors, at least, that the lexicographer appeals in the preceding gloss: he there quotes ΕὐριΠίδης “Іωνι (653; 805) for γενέθλια and Herodotos (4. 26) for γενέσια. The latter passage could be the evidence for his linguistic fact, that ‘Hellenic usage’ applies the word γενέσια to a private celebration.

In the continuing discussion and debate over the development of letter-forms in fifth-century Athens, the official casualty lists from the public cemetery have played little part. One of them, however, the so-called ‘Koroneia’ epigram and related fragments (SEG x. 410; xxi. 123; and IG i2. 942), has been used in the argument by H. B. Mattingly, who has assigned it to Delion and claims its tailed rho for the 420s. But, the epigraphical argument aside, it seems to me that in so doing he has ignored two important characteristics of the lists—characteristics that are not apparent from these fragments by themselves but that can be seen from all the inscriptions of this class taken as a group. No summary of our knowledge of these lists has been written for almost 50 years, during which time the number known has almost doubled. In this paper I should like to outline the present state of our knowledge and to give some impressions of them gained from examining all known fragments and preparing them for publication. I wish to stress that these impressions were formed slowly, with no parti pris, no idea of their being used in any debate over letter-forms, but merely with the purpose of understanding as much as possible about the lists as a group.

M. I. Finley in his Politics in the Ancient World (Cambridge, 1983), 92–6 has recently cast doubt on the extent to which religious phenomena were taken seriously in ancient times. We believe that in stressing the reasons for scepticism he has overlooked much positive evidence for the impact of religious scruples on political behaviour and that in generalising he has undervalued the differences in this respect between ancient societies. The significance of some of this positive evidence is admittedly uncertain since in civilian life scruples might be easy to observe without great suffering. The acid test is in time of war, so that is the concern of our present enquiry. That attitudes varied can be shown only by comparing societies. We have here limited our discussion to three for which the evidence is well preserved: the world of the Greek city before Alexander the Great, Rome before Constantine, and the Jews in the Hellenistic and Roman period. Elucidation of the reasons for their distinct attitudes would reveal much about each of these societies and its religious practices and conceptions, but there will be space here only to show that considerable variety did indeed exist.

Most ancient peoples assumed that their gods approved of war; the pacifism of some pre-Constantinian Christians was exceptional. Nor did such rules in combat as were observed necessarily have a religious foundation. Ancient like modern scruples were often based on moral and humanitarian grounds, as in the treatment of corpses and civilians; the gods, as the guardians of general morality, might be involved in such matters, but only at a remove.

Over sixty years ago, it was written of early Greek tyranny that it ‘had arisen only in towns where an industrial and commercial regime tended to prevail over rural economy, but where an iron hand was needed to mobilize the masses and to launch them in assault on the privileged classes… But tyranny nowhere endured. After it had performed the services which the popular classes expected of it, after it had powerfully contributed to material prosperity and to the development of democracy, it disappeared with an astonishing rapidity… The people regarded tyranny only as an expedient. They used it as a battering ram with which to demolish the citadel of the oligarchs, and when their end had been achieved they hastily abandoned the weapon which wounded their hands.’ Thus Gustav Glotz, whose view found favour with de Ste Croix. He too concluded with appeal to Aristotle, who in a famous passage declared that unlike monarchy, which arises to help ‘the great and good’ (οί πιεικεȋς) against the People, and the monarch who is appointed as one of ‘the great and good’, ‘the tyrant comes from the People and the multitude to confront the men of note(οί γνώριμοι) and prevent the People being unjustly treated by them. This is clear from what actually happened, for, generally speaking, the majority of the tyrants became tyrants from being demagogues so to speak, having got themselves trusted by their abusive attacks on the men of note.’ Against this view of Aristotle and all his latter-day satellites, this paper is directed.

The Cratylus begins with a paradox; it ends with a paradox; and it has a paradox in between. But this disturbing characteristic of the dialogue has been overshadowed, not to say ignored, in the literature. For commentators have seen it as their task to discover exactly what theory of language Plato himself, despite his declared perplexity, intends to adopt as he rejects the alternatives of Hermogenes and Cratylus. A common view, then, has been to suppose that the ⋯πορίαι of the dialogue are mere camouflage for the hidden dogma, whatever that may be. A favoured candidate, of course, has been the theory of transcendent forms, in some preliminary version. As a consequence, the dialogue has often been seen as a precursor to the great metaphysical works of Plato's middle period such as the Phaedo or the Republic.

Not so, I shall argue. My case is that this dialogue centres upon a series of paradoxes which are both powerful and unsettling. Their final effect is to attack the theory of forms, not to defend it. They are, I suggest, genuine proposals of philosophical difficulty, rather than mere artifice to disguise an idealist truth. As such, they belong, and may clearly be seen to belong, with works of the critical period which subject the theory of forms to scrutiny. Thus the ⋯πορίαι of the Cratylus have their counterparts in the Parmenides, the Theaetetus and the Sophist. I propose, then, that the dialogue was written during the late, critical period of Plato's philosophical activity.

By the colours and decoration of a vase fragment one determines the period and style to which the original belonged; while its physical contours show from what part of the original it comes. The material may be insufficient for a reconstruction of the whole design. But it is often legitimate to go beyond what is actually contained in the preserved pieces.

Zeller argued that the ‘innumerable worlds’ mentioned in accounts of Anaximander's system must be an endless succession of single worlds, not (as in the Atomists' doctrine) an unlimited number of coexistent worlds scattered through infinite space, some always coming into being while others are passing away. Zeller pointed out that a succession of single worlds is grounded in the principles of the system. ‘Things perish into that from which they had their birth… according to the order of Time,’ a cycle of birth, existence, and destruction. A world ends, and the living divine stuff begets a new world to take its place. On the other hand, there is much in the system to contradict the idea of coexistent worlds. Anaximander's successors, Anaximenes, Anaxagoras, and Diogenes, show that this idea is not a necessary consequence of the unlimitedness of the original world-stuff. Nothing in the appearances of Nature suggests it. Anaximander is a monistic hylozoist, whereas Democritus is a pluralist with his innumerable independent atoms producing, by similar processes, independent world-systems in different parts of an infinite void.

The question to be discussed in this paper can be put in simple terms: at what date were the collections of scholia on classical Greek authors compiled? Scholars have given two conflicting answers. The first was put forward by J. W. White in his edition of the scholia to Aristophanes' Birds. Developing an opinion of Dindorf, he suggested that the archetype of the scholia was a large parchment codex of the fourth or fifth century, which contained in the margins a commentary drawn from several sources. A very similar view has been expressed about the scholia to Apollonius Rhodius and Pindar.

Aristotle's treatment of trade in the Politics book one is usually regarded as especially hostile, and this is put down to snobbery and political prejudice on his part. The Greeks often regarded trade as a degrading thing for a free man to engage in, and it would be surprising if Aristotle's view of trade were entirely unconnected with this Greek sensibility. But there should be something more definite than a loose general affinity if a charge of prejudice is to be taken seriously. A balance of hostile judgements over argued cases to back them up would be some sort of evidence for prejudice, and prima facie evidence against would be anything like a theory from which the hostile judgements followed as conclusions. Theories can be concocted to give the required conclusions, of course, and then we must try to decide how serious the theory is. It comes to this: is there so little in the reasons Aristotle gives for his condemnation of trade that they may be convincingly explained away and belittled as no more than expressions of attitudes?

Aratus has been notorious for his wordplay since the first decades of his reception. Hellenistic readers such as Callimachus, Leonidas, or ‘King Ptolemy’ seem to have picked up on the pun on the author's own name at Phaenomena 2, as well as on the famous λεπτή acrostic at Phaen. 783–6 that will be revisited here. Three carefully placed occurrences of the adjective have so far been uncovered in the passage, but for a full appreciation of its elegance we must note that Aratus has set his readers up to notice a fourth.

If Catullus' poems as we have them faithfully reproduce their order in the original roll or rolls, and if that order reflects a design of the poet's, then the last piece in our manuscripts naturally merits close attention. But even one who has vigorously upheld these hypotheses writes: ‘it is tempting to suppose that the poem is a spurious addition, attached after the publication of the collection; Catullus may indeed have written it, but not wanted to include so illepidus a piece of versification in his published works’ (Wiseman, Catullan Questions [Leicester, 1969], 27). Nor has the poem attracted much interest in its own right; it seems to be generally considered just another slice of biography, and as such hardly susceptible of a poetic meaning. The remarks which follow try to show that it has one, and perhaps also a significant position.

It is my intention in the first section of this paper to examine the available evidence in order to determine the lengths of tenure of the ordinarii and known suffecti for the reigh of Nero. According to the latest published fasti, twentyeight ordinarii and some sixty suffecti are attested for the reign, although not all of the latter can be definitely placed in a particular year. It will prove most convenient for our investigation if, first of all the relevant evidence is set out in full.

InC.Q., January, 1928, pp. 16 sqq., I examined afresh the two discussions of poetry as imitation which are found in Plato's Republic. I pointed out that Plato used the term ‘imitation’ (μίμησɩς and cognates) in two senses, a good and a bad. The only kind of poetry which Plato excludes from his ideal state is that which is imitative in the bad sense of the term. He admits, and indeed welcomes, that kind of poetry which is imitative in the good sense (without discussing the question whether any such poetry is actually extant), and which he calls either imitative or non-imitative according as he is using the term ‘imitative’ in a good sense or a bad. The kind of poetry (briefly summed up in Rep. 607a as consisting of hymns to the gods and eulogies of good men) which is admitted into the ideal state is certainly imitative; and (which is the important point) it is in fact called imitative by Plato himself (e.g. in 397d τòν τοῦ ἐπɩεɩκοῦς μɩμŋτὴν ἄκρατον)—of course in the good sense of the word. Now the tenth book begins by stating that the result of the earlier discussion had been the decision to exclude ‘so much of poetry as is imitative.’ The implication is obviously that the remainder will not be excluded. (Plainly it is assumed that such a remainder either exists or will be successfully called into existence by the ideal state.) But what are we to call that remainder, unless it be non-imitative in the sense (the bad sense) in which the word is here used?

Recent years have brought to light much new evidence which has sometimes compelled considerable revision of the consular fasti of the early Empire. Of especial importance have been the large number of tabulae ceratae forthcoming from the area around the Bay of Naples and the new fragments or reinterpretations of known fragments of municipal fasti The aim of the present paper is to examine the effect which recent discoveries have had on knowledge of the fasti for the reign of Claudius and in the light of the interpretation of this new evidence to produce a revised list of consuls for the period 41–54.