In his discussion of the tragic act in Poet. 14. 1453b15 ff. Aristotle separates the pity which we feel at mere suffering (πάθος) from pity roused by the way in which this suffering is or will be brought about. The revenge of an enemy is not in itself pitiable. We pity, if victim and agent are closely related to one another as members of the same family, but only if the action is of a certain kind. Four possible ways of presenting the tragic act are therefore distinguished: (1) attempted but not performed, with knowledge of the relevant facts (as by Haemon in the Antigone); (2) performed with knowledge (as by Euripides' Medea); (3) performed but in ignorance, recognition following later (Sophocles' Oedipus, Astydamas' Alcmeon, etc.); (4) attempted in ignorance but not performed, since recognition occurs in time to prevent it. Of these four variations (listed in order of demerit) the first is censured on the ground that it is morally shocking without being tragic, since it lacks πάθος. The second is mentioned in b27 as the favourite of the older poets, but is here passed over without comment. The third is explicitly approved on the ground that it avoids moral shock and has the emotional ἒκπληξις of the recognition. But for some reason which he does not state, Aristotle prefers the last, where recognition is in time to prevent the tragic suffering from actually taking place.

It is customary to consider late Imperial historiography as a barren waste of meagre and inaccurate chronicles and incompetent rhetorical epitomes, all overshadowed by the giant figure of Ammianus Marcellinus, the greatest literary genius, as E. Stein has called him (with some exaggeration), between Tacitus and Dante. In fact, however, the fifth century A.D. produced at least one writer who was, in the words of Niebuhr, ‘second to no historian even of the best ages in talent, good faith and wisdom; elegant and very pure in style, he justly acquired praise and glory both among contemporaries and succeeding ages’. Niebuhr was referring to Priscus of Panium in Thrace, but Priscus was a member of a school of historical writing which had been founded earlier in the fifth century by Olympiodorus, an historian of scarcely less merit than Priscus and author of what J. B. Bury called ‘a highly important work’. Since even Schmid-Stahlin are not able to refer to a single essay or mono-graph on Olympiodorus, it may not be amiss to assemble the facts which are known about him and to try to discover, so far as the scanty materials permit, what sort of man he was and what sort of work he produced.

The first volume of the collected works of Karl Marx, which is being issued by the Marx-Engels Institute of Moscow, opens with a dissertation entitled ‘Über die Differenz der demokritischen und epikureischen Naturphilosophie’, which he presented for his doctorate at the University of Jena in 1841. It is interesting to find one who was afterwards to win fame in very different fields starting his career with an enthusiastic tract on Greekphilosophy, which he evidently intended to make his work for years to come; for not only does he tell us in his introduction that this thesis is a prelude to a comprehensive study of Epicureanism, Stoicism, and Scepticism, ‘the philosophical basis of Roman life and character’, but appended to the dissertation are some seventy pages of preliminary notes for the larger work, which range over such varied subjects as ‘The Immanent Dialectic of the Epicurean Philosophy’, ‘The Idea of the “Wise Man” in Greek Philosophy,’, and ‘Parallels between the Epicureans, and the Pietists and Supernaturalists.’

Dawn. Aeneas has just left. As soon as Dido notices that the Trojan fleet is sailing far away from Carthage she is overcome by despair and launches into an enraged monologue (Aeneid 4.590–629), which climaxes in her curse against Aeneas and all of his descendants (607–29). In the first part of the monologue (590–606) Dido reproaches herself for how she has dealt with Aeneas:

I have shown in an earlier article that from the second half of the fifth century onwards the desire to defend Homer and Hesiod against accusations of immorality was certainly not the main motive which actuated the allegorical interpreters of the early poets. That desire, no doubt, existed; but the part which it played was wholly a subordinate one. In the present article I propose first to consider allegorism in its earlier stages, and to state my case for holding that the practice of allegorical interpretation cannot have originated in this desire of Homeric partisans to exculpate the poet. My view is that the function of allegorism was originally not negative or defensive but rather (as with Anaxagoras, Metrodorus, etc., in later times) positive or exegetical.

I Want in this paper briefly to contribute two points to the elucidation of this famous passage, and apologize for the fact that my possessing the same name as one of its most illustrious interpreters may add confusion to the doxographic tradition.

The first point is not an original one. It is simply to revive an interpretation given by Henry Jackson in an article which strikes me as the most profound and pellucid which I have read on the subject, and which is in some danger of being forgotten. Raven, about ten years ago, insisted as a criterion of interpretation that the entire passage should be viewed ‘as a single and indivisible whole’. This is precisely what Jackson does, though he concentrates his attention, as indeed does Raven, on the line and the cave.

The clear affinity between Quintilian's art-criticism (xii. 10. 3–9) and the comparable portions of Pliny's Natural History has often been remarked. Pliny's principal sources for his chapters on art have long been recognized as going back through Varro to the great third-century critics, Xenocrates of Sicyon and Antigonus of Carystus, the latter of whom worked over Xenocrates' treatise and incorporated new material of his own; an earlier Greek source was Duris of Samos, on whom Antigonus drew for the anecdotic element in his tradition. The careful work of many patient scholars has been successful in disentangling to a considerable extent the characteristic contributions of these and other authorities to Pliny's medley of information. On the other hand, Quintilian's incursion into the same field seems never to have been studied independently, but only incidentally to research on the Plinian sources. The purpose of this paper is to examine Quintilian's contribution afresh; my indebtedness to earlier studies, in particular to those of Robert, will be readily apparent.

The purpose of this paper is to reconsider the principal lines of approach which have been taken to the career of Appius Claudius Caecus in the hope of formulating a view of the censor which is neither over-dramatized nor, on the other hand, so muted as to deny recognition to those aspects of his political behaviou which so greatly exercised his contemporaries. In so doing, I will argue that previous studies of Appius' career have sought in the wrong places for an explanation of the political rivalry between him and his opponents and I will offer an interpretation of his censorial acts—and of one of them in particular—which, I believe, may account for this rivalry.

The causes and the outbreak of the Corinthian war, as well as the events immediately preceding it, have often been discussed by modern historians. Since the Corinthian war is the first attempt at achieving a new settlement in Greece after the Peloponnesian war and since it brought about new political alliances and the revival of old imperial rivalries, it is not only an episode in the continual warfare among the Greek states, but may also be regarded as a key to the understanding of a part, at least, of the pattern of Greek history in the fourth century B.C.

The problem of the genuineness of Antigone's lines Ant. 904–20 has never been satisfactorily resolved. The passage has been vehemently impugned for more than a century and a half; yet the majority of editors print it without brackets, and probably the majority of scholars accept it. This stalemate is aggravated by the manner in which the argument has traditionally been conducted.

This article has a double purpose: to argue for some specific points on Cicero's rhythm, and to show how the significance of rhythm for literary understanding is larger than has perhaps been perceived. The piece is based on a reading of the whole of Cicero; but it will make only occasional reference to the letters. The question of rhythm in the letters is particularly involved, and it will be best handled elsewhere.

From a careful and persuasive analysis of Sophocles' debt in the Ajax to Homer's picture of Hector and Andromache's farewell in Iliad 6, P. E. Easterling concludes that in the Ajax ‘we have the paradox of an author's distinctive originality finding expression through his reading of another's work’. In what follows I wish to show that the validity of this statement extends to an aspect of the play which is touched upon by Easterling (indeed in an illuminating way), but which I would like to single out for special attention: the preoccupation with the problem of what constitutes noble action, or, in the play's own terminology, what is the nature of εὐγένεια.

Mirko Canevaro and Edward Harris, in their recent CQ article (henceforth C&H), have rejected, as forgeries or reconstructions of post-classical origin, all the laws and decrees appearing in the text of Andocides' speech On the Mysteries (77–98) and purporting to be the documents which the speaker, at six points in that passage, directs the clerk to read out. I have no quarrel with their arguments (pp. 100–19) for rejecting the documents presented as the decree of Patroclides (§§77–9), the decree of Tisamenus (§§83–4), and a series of new laws passed in 403/2 b.c. (§§85–7) – though in this last case, with the exception of one phrase, the genuineness of the laws themselves is confirmed by the fact that they are cited verbatim by the orator in the surrounding text (§§88–9, 93, 94, 99). I shall be concerned here only with the last document of the group, a decree ascribed to Demophantus (§§96–8), which C&H discuss at pp. 119–25.

The Iliad is rich in references to stories that have only incidental relevance to the main narrative. These digressions, as they are often called, have usually been assumed to reflect a wealth of pre-Homeric legend, some of which must a have been embodied in poetry. The older Analysts tended to explain the digressions in terms of interpolation. Whether regarded as genuinely Homeric or as interpolated these myths were considered as something existing in an external tradition. More recent scholars have been prepared to admit that Homer may invent from time to time. For example, Sir Maurice Bowra observes that ‘the poet seems sometimes to invent a detail which looks as if it referred to some story outside his immediate subject but is in fact an invention brought to serve a passing need’.