‘Irony,’ says Quintilian, is that figure of speech or trope ‘in which something contrary to what is said is to be understood’ (contrarium ei quoddicitur intelligendum est). His formula has stood the test of time. It passes intact into Dr Johnson's dictionary (‘ mode of speech in which the meaning is contrary to the words’ [1755]). It survives virtually intact in ours:Irony is the use of words to express something other than, and especially the opposite of, [their] literal meaning (Webster's).

If you look up οἶκος in Liddell and Scott, you find the instances classified in three main divisions: first those meaning a house, or sometimes other kinds of building; secondly ‘one's household goods, substance’, for which I shall generally say ‘property’, though Liddell and Scott do not actually use that word; and thirdly ‘family’. This threefold distinction is sound, and I shall adhere to it here. Admittedly one sometimes finds an instance where it is not easy to decide which sense the word has. Two of the senses, occasionally even all three, may overlap. But in the great majority of instances it is clear which sense is meant.

In what sense did the Hellenistic philosophers see themselves as the heirs or critics of Socrates? Was Socrates, in their view, a philosopher on whom Plato was the decisive authority? What doctrines or strategies of Socrates were thoroughly alive in this period? These are the principal questions I shall be asking in this paper, particularly the third. To introduce them, and to set the scene, I begin with some general points, starting from two passages which present an image of Socrates at the beginning and at the end of the Hellenistic era. Here first are three lines from the Silloi of the Pyrrhonean Timon of Phlius:

From these matters (i.e. the inquiry into nature) he turned aside, the people-chiselling moralising ‘chatterer, the wizard of Greece, whose assertions were sharply pointed, master of the well-turned sneer, a pretty good ironist.

The opening pages of the annals of the Roman monarchy tell of long-lived rulers and thriving families. Augustus lived to the ripe age of seventy-six, survived by his wife of fifty-one years, Livia, who died at eighty-six, while her son Tiberius bettered his predecessor's record by two more years. Augustus’ sister Octavia gave birth to five children, all of whom lived long enough to get married; Agrippa left at least half a dozen children, and perhaps more; Germanicus, despite his tender age at death, was survived by no fewer than three sons and three daughters. At the same time, longevity and abundant offspring went hand in hand with early death and misery. More than a few luminaries of Augustus’ court were less fortunate than their elders: Marcellus died at twenty-three, the elder Drusus at twenty-nine, Augustus’ heirs Gaius and Lucius Caesar at twenty-three and eighteen. Drusus had lost a number of children save three that survived; Germanicus buried three of his six sons as infants.

This paper is concerned with the position of a Roman paterfamilias with respect to his family's property in the period of the Republic. Rights over property are in Roman law strictly dominium and not potestas; but to understand the role of a family system in a society one must analyse how its property is managed and passed on.

This papyrus was acquired, with some others, for the Egypt Exploration Society in 1914 at Medînet-el-Faiyûm by Dr. John Johnson. It consists of five large pieces; of these four join and together measure 37 × 24·5 cm.; they contain remains of three adjacent columns. Another piece measures 5 × 13·5 cm., and a small unplaced scrap (Fr. A) 4·5 × 3·7 cm. The writing of the recto, which runs along the fibres, is large, regular, rounded, and clear, but not elegant; I would assign it to the second century B.C. The verso was written across the fibres; the hand may be the same, but seems more cursive; the surface is very damaged and no whole word is legible. A certain irregularity in the spacing of letters and lines suggests that the papyrus was used again for a document.

Demosthenes' client Euxitheos is attempting to defend his claim to citizenship, and finds himself obliged to counteract the prejudice raised by his opponent Euboulides from the fact that his mother works, and has worked, in menial wage labour. The implication is that no citizen woman would sink so low; therefore, she is no citizen, and so neither is he. His response is defensive: he acknowledges that such labour is a source of prejudice (42), but argues that people often find themselves obliged to undertake such demeaning work through poverty, which is deserving of the jury's sympathy, and in any case has no bearing on questions of citizenship (45). He does not challenge the assumptions behind the prejudice, suggesting that he expects the jury to share them, and this might encourage us to extrapolate from the passage to a set of common values held by Athenian citizens, namely that paid work by women is degrading, embarrassing and only acceptable as a temporary expedient under the compulsion of poverty. If we then align these attitudes with the implications elsewhere in the orators that women led lives of seclusion, usually confined indoors and largely separated from the exterior male world, we might be inclined to conclude that the labour of women was also confined to the oikos and almost entirely distinct from the labour of males, not least in having little or no monetary aspect, a point which the usual view of the economic capacity of Athenian women appears to confirm.

AN inquiry into the use of paradeigma in the Iliad must begin with Niobe. At 24. 602 Achilles introduces Niobe in order to encourage Priam to have some food. The dead body of the best of Priam's sons has now been placed on the wagon ready for its journey back to Troy. Achilles says (I paraphrase), ‘Now let us eat. For even Niobe ate food, and she had lost twelve children. Apollo and Artemis killed them all; they lay nine days in their blood and there was no one to bury them, because Zeus had turned the people into stone. On the tenth day the gods buried them. But she managed to eat some food, when she was tired of weeping. And now among the mountains, although turned into stone, she still broods over her sorrows. But come, let us also eat. You can weep for your son again later’ (24. 601–19).

In this essay I discuss an important but neglected controversy in which the Stoics sought to discredit Epicurus' teaching on justice by showing that the Epicurean wise man, if immune from detection or punishment, will commit injustice whenever he may profit from it. Under the influence of this criticism, tradition has developed a view of Epicurus' position that makes it so weak and vulnerable that it is difficult to see how Epicureans could have defended it over the course of several centuries. There is decisive evidence, however, that Epicurus' critics seriously misrepresented his position, and that the tradition influenced by their polemic stands in need of fundamental revision.1 My purpose here is to prove that the Epicurean wise man will not commit injustice, secretly or openly, because it is in his self–interest to be just; to reconstruct Epicurus' arguments for this teaching; to show how he defends his position against natural right theorists; and to clarify the larger issues at stake in his controversy with the Stoics. I begin by sketching the Stoic criticisms and the Epicurean response (section I).

Many years ago Wilamowitz desiderated a systematic collection of the texts which relate to the different types of poetry composed by the great lyric poets of Greece. He hoped that if we could only crystallize our admittedly scanty information about the characteristics of, say, the Paean or the Dirge, we might be able to reach a slightly better understanding than we have now of the formal structure and artistic design of the poems and fragments which have come down to us under these titles. Indeed, this kind of knowledge is very important.

In Euripides' Bacchae Dionysos visits Thebes in disguise to establish his mysteries there. And so, given normal Euripidean practice, it is almost certain that in the lost part of his final speech Dionysos actually prescribed the establishment of his mysteries in Thebes. In the same way the Homeric Hymn to Demeter tells how the goddess came in disguise to Eleusis and finally (vv. 476–82) established her mysteries there. After coming to Eleusis she performs certain actions in the house of king Celeus, for example the drinking of the κυκεών, which have long been recognized as corresponding to ritual undergone by the initiands in the Eleusinian mysteries. It is the main thesis of this paper that just as elements of the Homeric Hymn to Demeter seem to derive from a ἱερ⋯ς λ⋯γος of the Eleusinian mysteries, so certain elements of the Bacchae derive from a ἱερ⋯ς λ⋯γος of the mysteries of Dionysos, and that furthermore Euripides consciously alludes to the Dionysiac mysteries for a dramatic effect dependent on the religiosity of his audience, rather as Aeschylus alludes in the Oresteia, on the principle μαθο⋯σιν αὑδ⋯, to the mysteries of Eleusis.

This case will suffer from two drawbacks. Firstly there is the general scepticism about ritual patterns in drama arising as a reaction to the excesses of, for example, Murray and Cornford. This means that a far greater degree of probability seems to be required from suggestions of this kind than from the more traditional mode of speculation of, say, textual criticism. And secondly, it must be immediately and frankly admitted both that we do not know much about the mysteries of Dionysos and that most of what we do know is from the Hellenistic and Roman period. In the argument that follows recourse will sometimes be had to two assumptions. The first is to suppose a degree of continuity between the Dionysiac mysteries of the classical and later periods. This assumption is based firstly on the observable continuity of the mysteries: for example the antiquity of the Eleusinian ritual described by Plutarch, which will form an important part of my argument, is attested by Aristophanes and Plato. And it is based secondly on general considerations: conservatism is of the essence of those rituals in which a community such as a thiasos perpetuates itself by the transmission of a ritual treasured as originally taught by their god. The second assumption is to suppose, on the basis of numerous observable similarities, an essential similarity between the Dionysiac mysteries and the Eleusinian, about which we are well informed even for the classical period.

It is often assumed that we know very little about how literary texts circulated in the Roman world because we know very little about the Roman book trade. In fact, we know a great deal about book circulation, even though we know little about the book trade. Romans circulated texts in a series of widening concentric circles determined primarily by friendship, which might, of course, be influenced by literary interests, and.by the forces of social status that regulated friendship. Bookstores and ‘public’ libraries, which made a text available to individuals personally unknown to the author and his friends, were comparatively late developments. To trace the circulation of a Roman literary work, we shall use a schematic model to follow a literary text from its initial conception through the widening circles through which it moved.

This paper is based on two separate, though partly overlapping, registers (Registers I and II) of male Athenian citizens known to have been in the public eye between theyears 432/1 and 405/4 B.C., inclusive. Register I comprises those who are known inthis period to have held important elective public office, or to have proposed andcarried resolutions in the Assembly; a total of 176 persons. These are singled out fromthe much wider range of ‘officials’, most of them chosen by lot, to be found in theprosopography of Develin 1989, because they are those who actively, and in somemeasure successfully, competed for the political favour of the Athenian public. Theimportant elective public offices I take to be those of general, proboulos (in 413–411), member of any embassy, and delegate for swearing to an international treaty. Register II comprises those who are known in this period to have been referred to asindividuals in Athenian comedies; a total of 224 persons. Both lists inevitably havesomewhat fuzzy edges, mainly over questions of identification and dating; doubtfulcases are briefly discussed in the notes to the Registers. Probably no other scholar willagree with every one of my decisions in these matters, but the general validity of thepicture here presented is unlikely to be affected. Within Register II can be identifiedtwo small but important subgroups: those who are referred to not, as is normal, fordisparagement but for praise; and those to whom is devoted an entire play or a largepart of one. I will be returning to these.

It is often claimed that in the ancient world character was believed to be something fixed, given at birth and immutable during life. This belief is said to underlie the portrayal of individuals in ancient historiography and biography, particularly in the early Roman Empire; and tc constitute the chief point of difference in psychological assumptions between ancient and modern biography. In this article, I wish to examine the truth of these claims, with particular reference to Plutarch and Tacitus.

The question contrasts two ways of expressing the role of the sense organ in perception. In one the expression referring to the sense organ is put into the dative case (let us call this the ‘with’ idiom); the other is a construction with the preposition δiá (‘through’) governing the genitive case of the word for the sense organ (let us call this the ‘through’ idiom).

Ovidians continue to be puzzled by the 404-line speech put into the mouth of Pythagoras in book 15 of the Metamorphoses. Questions of literary decorum and quality are insistently raised: how does the philosopher's popular science consort with the predominantly mythological matter of the preceding fourteen books? Do Pythagoras' revelations provide some kind of unifying ground, a ‘key’, for the endless variety of the poem? Can one take the Speech as a serious essay in philosophical didactic, or is it all a mighty spoof, as intentionally laughable, perhaps, as the imperial panegyric with which the narrative of book 15 concludes? Or should we beware of imposing modern tastes on Ovid's original audience, and respect the Hellenistic and Roman predilection for scientific poetry? This article seeks to establish further contexts for the evaluation of the Speech of Pythagoras through a study of Ovid's allusive practice within the Greco-Roman tradition of hexameter epos. The figure who provides a foundation for Ovid's construction of his own poetic genealogy turns out to be the Greek philosophical poet Empedocles. The resulting reflections on Ovid's manipulation of generic conventions may be timely in the light of the recent appearance of sophisticated and fresh approaches to the question of whether the Metamorphoses is, or is not, an epic.

‘Auctoritas’ was naturally one of Cicero's favourite concepts. In the ideal republic power lay with the people, auctoritas with the Senate (‘Cum potestas in populo, auctoritas in senatu sit’, De leg. 3. 28). Alternatively, in a balanced state, potestas would lie with the magistrates, libertas with the people, but still auctoritas would be the property of the Senate, ‘in principum consitio’ [De rep. 2. 57).

One of the distinctions that Plato in the Laws stresses most heavily in his discussion of the proper relation between the individual citizen and the laws of the city is that between persuasion and compulsion. Law, Plato believes, should try to persuade rather than compel the citizens. Near the end of the fourth book of the Laws, the Athenian Stranger, Plato's spokesman in this dialogue, asks whether the lawgiver for their new city of Magnesia should in making laws ‘explain straightaway what must and must not be done, add the threat of a penalty, and turn to another law, without adding a single bit of encouragement or persuasion [παραμυθας δ κα πειθος … ἓν] to his legislative edicts’ (Laws 720a 1–2). A few lines later, the Athenian Stranger himself condemns such a procedure as ‘the worse and more savage alternative’ (τò χεῖρον τοῖν δυοῖν κα γριώτερον 720e4). The better method is for the laws themselves to try to persuade (πεθειν) the citizens to act in the manner that they prescribe. And as a means of doing this, Plato proposes attaching preludes (προομια) to particular laws and to the legal code as a whole: such preludes will supplement the sanctions attached to the laws and will aim at persuading the citizens to act in the way that the laws direct for reasons other than fear of the penalties attached to the law. Such a practice, Plato believes, is an innovation: it is something that no lawgiver has ever thought of doing before (722b–e). And we have no reason to think that Plato is here excluding his earlier self, e.g. the Plato of the Republic and the Politicus, from this criticism.

The word euboulia, which means excellence in counsel or sound judgement, occurs in only three places in the authentic writings of Plato. The sophist Protagoras makes euboulia the focus of his whole enterprise (Prot. 318e–319a):

What I teach a person is good judgement about his own affairs — how best he may manage his own household; and about the affairs of the city — how he may be most able to handle the business of the city both in action and in speech.

Thrasymachus, too, thinks well of euboulia. Invited by Socrates to call injustice kakoetheia (vicious disposition — he has just identified justice as ‘an altogether noble good nature (euetheia)’, i.e. as simple-mindedness), he declines the sophistry and says (Rep. 348d): ‘No, I call it good judgement’. But Plato finds little occasion to introduce the concept in developing his own ethical and political philosophy. The one place where he mentions euboulia is in his defence of the thesis that his ideal city possesses the four cardinal virtues. He begins with wisdom, and justifies the ascription of wisdom to the city on the ground that it has euboulia (Rep. 428b) — which he goes on to identify with the knowledge required by the guardians: ‘with this a person does not deliberate on behalf of any of the elements in the city, but for the whole city itself — how it may best have dealings with itself and with the other cities’ (428c–d). It is normally rather dangerous to draw an inference from the absence or rarity of a word to the absence or rarity of the idea expressed by the word.

The description Ausonius has given us of his family and of the teachers and professors of Bordeaux in the mid-fourth century is exceptional among our sources because of its detail and completeness. There is no reason to suppose that the picture he gives is untypical of life in the provinces and it makes a welcome change from the histories of aristocratic politics at Rome or Constantinople. It provides an excellent opportunity for a pilot study in which we may see how the conflicting elements of social status were in practice reconciled and applied. In the traditional, and still prevalent view, the society of the Later Roman Empire was ‘crushed … in the iron clamp of castes separated from one another by barriers which could not be passed’. The evidence of Ausonius suggests that this judgement should be qualified. The society of the fourth century may have been stable. It was not static.