The beginning of the seventy-sixth poem of Catullus appears to cause some modern readers considerable dismay. One may instance the reactions of R. O. A. M. Lyne: ‘Our first reaction to the beginning of this poem may be one of incredulity’ (The Latin Love Poets [Oxford, 1980], p. 31); ‘The effect of such language is to imply an outrageous and implausible self-righteousness’ (ibid. 32); of K. Quinn: ‘a self-righteousness that makes us feel a little uncomfortable’ (The Catullan Revolution [Melbourne, 1959], p. 77); or of G. Williams: ‘this is sheer melodrama, a deft and surprising reversal of “count your blessings”’(Tradition and Originality in Roman Poetry [Oxford, 1968], p. 410); and, further down, on ‘si vitam puriter egi’: ‘This could be simply priggish or outrageous or both, but he does not mean it as a general statement’ (ibid.)

In one of the most disputed passages of Greek literature Plato in the Republic, 7. 528e–530c prescribes astronomy as the fourth study in the education of the Guardians. But what sort of astronomy? According to one school of thought it is a purely speculative study of bodies in motion having no relation to the celestial objects that we see. While this interpretation has rejoiced the hearts of Plato's detractors, who regard him as an obstacle to the progress of science, it has dismayed his admirers. Another school of thought holds that what Plato meant was that astronomers must get to know the real motions of the heavenly bodies as opposed to their apparent motions as seen by us on earth. The opposed interpretations may be set out in the following representative citations from Sir Thomas Heath and John Burnet.

In Herodotus' royal council scene, where Xerxes decides whether or not to punish the Greeks, the king's cousin and adviser Mardonius is made to say these famous lines (Hdt. 7.9β.1):

Over sixty years ago, Walter Headlam identified Ecclesiazusae 960–76 as a paraclausithyron, or song sung by an excluded lover from the street to his beloved within. In 1958, however, C. M. Bowra suggested that the whole of Eccl. 952–75 was actually the sole surviving example of a previously unrecognized genre of Greek lyric poetry, the informal love duet. The thesis has been widely accepted, and is adopted by Rossi, Henderson and Silk, as well as by the Oxford editor, Ussher, who rejects Headlam's identification explicitly. Only Zimmermann has failed to embrace Bowra's interpretation wholeheartedly, although he offers no detailed discussion of the passage. In fact, Eccl. 952–75 is not evidence for a lost lyric genre, but a sophisticated literary parody, carefully designed as an elaborate poetic comment on the larger action of the play in which it appears. Bowra's ‘love duet’ is a critical fantasy, whose fictional existence only serves to obscure the real purposes and humour of this Aristophanic love-song.

Anaximander explained the sun as an ejection of light or fire from an opening in the hollow rim of a kind of wheel which revolved around the earth. We are told that this wheel or circle of the sun is 27 times the size of the earth, and again that it is 28 times the size of the earth. These numbers have been thought to represent respectively the inner and the outer diameters of the sun wheel. This has been questioned by Kirk. Kirk assumes that the thickness or width of the rim of the sun wheel would be the same as the diameter of the earth. He argues therefore that there should be a difference of two units between the inner and the outer diameter.

That the theme of trickery and deception plays an important part in the comedies of Plautus is obvious. Although by no means absent from the comedies of Menander and Terence, it is not nearly so prominent in them as in Plautus. One reason for this difference may be Plautus' choice of Greek models, but there are good grounds for believing that changes made by Plautus to his models also served to emphasize the theme. E. Fraenkel showed that Plautus elevated the scheming slave into a comic hero in a manner alien to Menander and Terence. He identified as an important factor in this heroization of the slave certain features of style, notably the recurring use of military metaphors which equate the slave with a victorious general. He also showed that Plautus probably greatly expanded certain slave roles, this expansion being most evident in elaborate polymetric monodies such as Chrysalus' Troy canticum, Bacch. 925ff. These stylistic effects and the increased bulk of the roles give greater emphasis to the Plautine scheming slave and ipso facto to the element of intrigue in the plot. The omissions which naturally went together with Plautus' insertions could also distort the emphasis of the Greek play in favour of the element of intrigue; a probable example is the Casina, in which it is generally agreed that Plautus cut the original anagnorisis ending. Recent writers have stressed another aspect of Plautus' style which helps to give a particular prominence to the theme of intrigue in his plays, his liking for metatheatrical effects, which remind the spectators that they are watching a stage performance not real life; these effects are pervasive but particularly cluster around scenes of deception, emphasizing that the deception is in a special sense a performance, a play within a play.

Two recently published inscriptions afford new insights into this subject. They were published separately and independently within a year or two of one another. Much is now to be gained by considering them together. The first inscription, found at Philippi in 1936, published by C. Vatin in Proc. 8th Epigr. Conf. (Athens, 1984), 259–70, and published with a fuller commentary by L. Missitzis in The Ancient World 12 (1985), 3–14, records the decision by Alexander the Great on the use of lands given by his father, Philip II, and in some cases confirmed by himself. The second inscription, found at the site of ancient Kalindoia (Toumpes Kalamotou) in 1982, was published with exemplary speed and an excellent commentary by I. P. Vokotopoulou in Ancient Macedonia 4 (Thessaloniki, 1986), 87–114. It records the names of the priests of Asclepius on a stele dedicated to Apollo; and in the preamble it mentions the name of Alexander, being Alexander the Great. Philippi and Kalindoia were both within the limits of the kingdom of Philip and Alexander (Str. 7 fr. 35).

The topic of degrees of being in Aristotle is almost universally ignored. A very few scholars do discuss the topic or make use of it in passing. This situation mightbe explained by a scholarly consensus that (a) Aristotle did have a doctrine ofdegrees of being, but (b) this doctrine is too uninteresting to be worth much discussion. Conversation with a number of scholars from several countries has convinced me, however, that a rather different consensus lies behind the current silence. It turnsout that many experts in the subject deny that Aristotle believed in degrees of being.No one, to my knowledge, has defended this denial in print. But the reason forsilence is not that the topic is dull, but that it is scandalous. Both defenders andopponents of the view that Aristotle had a doctrine of degrees of being tend, in conversation, to find the topic embarrassing. Our contemporary metaphysical prejudices areso opposed to degrees of being that people find themselves unable to make anysense of such a doctrine. As a result, one group of scholars is embarrassed on Aristotle's behalf at the suggestion that he might have held such a senseless doctrine.Another group, less sure of where the philosophical truth lies, finds itself in theinterpretative embarrassment of being unable to explain and motivate the doctrine. So bothgroups avoid the subject.

The causes of the rural discontent with which Solon attempted to deal have never been satisfactorily explained. The invention and extended use of coined money, which has often been blamed, is hardly likely to have had such drastic effects in itself if one accepts the witness of other parallel episodes in world history. We can learn something of the austerities of life on the land in central Greece from Hesiod, and scattered literary references may serve as clues to a reconstruction of developments.

In 1883 Alexander Enmann demonstrated the existence of ‘eine verlorene Geschichte der romischen Kaiser’. Not all of his arguments or conclusions were valid, but one fundamental postulate is undeniable: Aurelius Victor in 359/60 and Eutropius a decade later independently used a common source, a lost Kaiser geschichte of relatively brief compass. This lost work (it ought now to be clear) went down to the death of Constantine in 337, and traces of it can also be discovered in other writings of the late fourth century: in Festus’ Breviarium, in Jerome's revision of Eusebius’ Chronicle, in the Epitome de Caesaribus—and in the HA. If the HA used the Kaisergeschichte, its composition postdates 337— as Otto Seeck stated plainly in 1890.

‘The Greeks have two treaties with the King: the one which our city made, which all praise; and later the Lacedaemonians made the one which all condemn,’ says Demosthenes (15. 29) c. 350. Isocrates, however, did not always run with the pack, for a few years earlier he urged the Athenians to make peace on the basis of the treaty ‘with the King and the Lacedaemonians [which] commands the Greeks to be autonomous, the garrisons to depart from the cities of others, and each people to have its own territory’ (On the Peace 8. 16)

Eunapius makes it clear in his Lives of the Philosophers, published some time after A.D. 396, that he had already published the major part of his historical work, and that he was contemplating extending its scope. He refers to the Gothic invasion of Greece in 395, and states that he has already recorded some of the disasters which befell about that time, and that he hopes to relate others (52/476).

ARCHAEOLOGYTHE Classical Spartans were noted for their austerity, which seemed already ancient to writers of the fifth century B.C. The early poetry and art of their country show a considerable aesthetic sense. This apparent contradiction has caused some students to conclude that the strict Lycurgan regimen was not introduced till the middle or even the end of the sixth century (when literature and art were dead or died) and that before that date Sparta had culturally been developing in much the same way as other important Greek states. The argument is unsound.