The Epicurean Colotes, in a work entitled Περὶ τοῦ ὅτι κατὰ τὰ τῶν ἄλλων φιλοσόφων οὐδὲ ζῆν ἔστιν, cited two fragments of Empedocles in order to prove that the poet denied that existence exists (frr. B 8–9 DK = 12–13 Wright). Both are prominent in controversies about Empedocles’ physics and his usage of the term φύσις, but fr. 9 is very corrupt. To have any hope of restoring it, we will need to examine carefully Plutarch's explication de texte in his Adversus Colotem (10–12, 1111f–1113e). Although there have been two detailed treatments of this passage, neither has resolved the difficulties.

A generation ago Moses Finley said that the councils and the assemblies in the Homeric poems were not genuine deliberative bodies but looser, less productive gatherings. Finley and others regarded these bodies as transitional, so that regular councils and assemblies appear only later, in systems like those identified with Lycurgus and Solon. In recent years scholars have returned to an older view that Homeric deliberative bodies were well enough organized to make decisions, even if leaders or dissenters could undermine these decisions. Differences between councils, on the one hand, and assemblies, on the other, have not been prominent in this scholarship. The noteworthy exception is Fabian Schulz's 2011 dissertation on parallels between Homeric councils and the Spartan Gerousia, in which he draws several comparisons between βουλαί and ἀγοραί.

Spartan institutions were pictured as a model of political stability from the Classical period onwards. The so-called Spartan ‘mirage’ did not involve only its constitutional order but also social and economic institutions. Xenophon begins his Constitution of the Lacedaemonians by associating Spartan fame with the politeia set up by Lycurgus, which made the Laconian city the most powerful (δυνατωτάτη) and famous (ὀνομαστοτάτη) polis in Greece (Xen. Lac. 1.1). In Aristotle's Politics, in which the assessment of Sparta is more complex and nuanced, one finds a critique of contemporary Spartan institutions as well as praise for Lycurgus as a great lawgiver who established the laws of Sparta (Arist. Pol. 2.1269a69, 2.1273b20). Most other ancient sources often remark upon the unchangeable features of some Spartan institutions as a key aspect of Spartan εὐνομία. Thucydides maintains that, after a long period of war and stasis, the Dorians established excellent laws and Sparta employed the same constitution for more than four hundred years (Thuc. 1.18.1: τετρακόσια καὶ ὀλίγῳ πλείω ἐς τὴν τελευτὴν τοῦδε τοῦ πολέμου ἀφ᾽ οὗ Λακεδαιμόνιοι τῇ αὐτῇ πολιτείᾳ χρῶνται).

The prominence of the island city of Corcyra in Thucydides’ history of the Peloponnesian War presents a puzzle. It appears in the opening of the work in a conflict with its mother city Corinth (1.24–31), after which representatives of both Corinth and Corcyra deliver speeches at Athens (1.32–44). Further conflict between the two cities follows, with Athens supporting Corcyra (1.45–55). Later on, Thucydides depicts two unusually graphic episodes of stasis at Corcyra (3.70–85, 4.46–8). This prominence is surprising, given that the historian himself explicitly states that the initial set of events involving the island does not in fact represent the beginning of the war (1.66.1), and that the Corcyrean stasis is not the first in the war, and that, as has been often observed, it is not even particularly remarkable or influential in it. In what follows, I seek to clarify Thucydides’ use of the island first by exploring ancient views of Corcyra's ‘predecessor’, Homer's Phaeacia, and by arguing that perceptions of the mythical place mirror and reinforce beliefs about its successor Corcyra. An interpretation of Phaeacia as a representative of excess luxury, weakness and friendlessness requires an aggressive reading of Homer. As Rose and others have made clear, however, this position is defensible even if not all readers may choose to accede to it. A significant strand of ancient opinion seems to have adopted a similar attitude as well, perhaps projecting a fifth-century prejudice identified by Rusten back onto Corcyra's Homeric forerunner. In the second part of this paper, I argue that this background influences Thucydides’ presentation of Corcyra, and that the historian emphasizes the story of the island in order to illustrate a pattern of extravagant wealth followed by civic collapse that would have been readily recognizable to an ancient audience. The fact that Thucydides’ Corcyra-story traces all the stages of this process, from a nod to Homeric opulence through pre-war selfishness to wartime collapse, effectively explains his conspicuous use of the city.

As the author of the earliest secular account of the universe's formation, Anaximander of Miletus can lay a strong claim to the title of first Greek cosmologist. Tradition also credited him with invention of the first time-telling instruments: ‘He was the first to construct gnomons for the identification of solstices, time spans, horai and the equinox’ (οὗτος πρῶτος γνώμονας κατεσκεύασε πρὸς διάγνωσιν τροπῶν τε ἡλίου καὶ χρόνων καὶ ὡρῶν καὶ ἰσημερίας, Euseb. Praep. evang. 10.14.11). This paper reconstructs the location, design and function of a γνώμων which he erected at Sparta, and moots some intriguing parallels with the Augustan Horologium on the Campus Martius. Before we turn to the evidence, however, two points of terminology need to be clarified. The Greek term γνώμων can denote either a sundial—a pointer attached to a surface with marks for tracking its shadow—or the pointer itself, in English also called the gnomon; Eusebius’ reference to the identification of times suggests that what Anaximander created was in fact a sundial. Now, depending on its design, a sundial can tell either the hour of the day, the season of the year, or both; from Eusebius’ text it is not clear which function Anaximander's dial possessed, since the noun ὧραι can mean either ‘hours’ or ‘seasons’. But only one usage of the word would be appropriate for the sixth century: no authors refer to hours of the day prior to Herodotus (2.109) and there is no evidence for Greek sundials displaying hours prior to c.350 b.c.; by contrast, the use of ὥρα to mean ‘season of the year’ is as old as Homer and Hesiod, and the solstices and equinoxes mentioned by Eusebius demarcate the transitions between the seasons. Anaximander's device was a sundial, then, one which tracked seasons rather than hours. According to Diogenes Laertius, the cosmologist set up one such device at Sparta (2.1).

In his commentary on Bacchae 439, lemma γελῶν, E.R. Dodds writes: ‘the actor who plays the Stranger no doubt wore a smiling mask throughout’. In addition to this passage, Dodds cites Bacch. 380 (γελάσαι) and Hymn. Hom. Bacch. 14 (μειδιάων). Referring to Bacch. 1021 (προσώπῳ γελῶντι), he expands: ‘it is an ambiguous smile—here the smile of a martyr, afterwards the smile of the destroyer.’ The idea seems to originate either from Dodds himself (whose commentary was first published in 1944) or from R.P. Winnington-Ingram, whose Euripides and Dionysus (published in 1948) cites the smile as well. Winnington-Ingram's book, according to the Preface, was substantially complete by 1938, and he and Dodds were in close contact at the time of writing, so the idea could have come from either one or the other, or from their conversations. Whatever its source, the smiling mask is taken as fact by both, and through their works entered the mainstream of post-war scholarship on Bacchae.

This article seeks to present a detailed textual analysis of Protagoras’ Great Speech in Plato's Protagoras (320c–328d). I will argue that the concept of ἀρετή (‘excellence’ or ‘virtue’) as it appears in the Great Speech is whittled down to a vague notion of civic duty. In this respect, Protagoras is bringing himself in line with the democracy, but in doing so the ἀρετή he claims to teach loses much of its initial appeal, particularly in the eyes of his aristocratic clientele. Nevertheless, if the content of Protagoras’ Great Speech overlooks the abilities required to rise to political prominence, the form most assuredly does not. As one would expect from Plato's Protagoras, his speech is replete with just that oratorical prowess his students might expect to acquire from him. This, in turn, has a number of interesting and important implications in the broader context of the Protagoras, in particular regarding the contrast or conflict between long speeches and short-answer dialectic. Moreover, although it has long been noticed that Protagoras neglects rhetoric and personal pre-eminence in his account, as far as I know there has not been any serious attempt to analyse the stylistic aspects of this masterful speech. Accordingly, both this and (to a large extent) my attempt to interpret it within the economy of the dialogue are original.

Among our earliest extant references to the word ‘philosophize’ is an unfamiliar one, from the mythographer Herodorus of Pontic Heraclea, whose son Bryson associated with Plato and Aristotle. A Byzantine compiler quotes Herodorus, probably from his book on Heracles, as saying that his hero ‘philosophized until death’ (φιλοσοφήσας μέχρι θανάτου, FGrHist 31 F 14). This is a surprising claim in light of the fifth/fourth-century b.c. view of Heracles as long-toiling but not intellectual. Euripides' Licymnius characterizes him as ‘unimpressive and unadorned, good to the greatest degree, confined from all sophia in action, unversed in talking’ (φαῦλον ἄκομψον, τὰ μέγιστ᾽ ἀγαθόν, | πᾶσαν ἐν ἔργῳ περιτεμνόμενον | σοφίαν, λέσχης ἀτρίβωνα, fr. 473 TGF). Heracles is thus explicitly distinguished from those who strive for dialectical understanding or theoretical knowledge.

The manuscript of Andocides' speech On the Mysteries contains a series of documentary inserts culminating in the decrees of Patroclides (§§77–9), Tisamenus (§§83–4) and Demophantus (§§96–8). These decrees seem to fit their historical context and they are presented at length, with at least a few of the formalities that we would expect to find in the official record. Modern commentators have relied upon them as substantially genuine, allowing for the usual errors in transmission, but now their authenticity is contested. A close reading by Mirko Canevaro and Edward Harris rejects all three of these documents as products of feckless ‘forgery’. Alan Sommerstein responded with a strong defence of Demophantus' decree, and Mogens Hansen has recently defended Patroclides' decree and Tisamenus' as well. On many points the defenders are persuasive, but the sceptics make a good case, and so it seems reasonable to reconsider how these documents took shape.

The Menexenus is usually described as a ‘riddle’ or ‘puzzle’. The difficulties it poses have given rise to a multitude of exegeses, revolving around two antithetical readings. On the one hand, some scholars tend to consider the dialogue an ironic critique of Athenian democracy and/or of democratic rhetoric. According to this perspective, Plato expressed this criticism through a paradoxical and somehow feverish epitaphios (the ironic reading). On the other hand, some scholars consider the funeral oration to be quite serious. According to this perspective, Plato aimed at reforming the genre and at introducing his theory of the ideal state or his theory of virtue (the strict reading). In this paper I will be moving beyond these standard readings in an attempt to supplement them by identifying the real moral issue behind the Menexenus.

Is Aristotle committed, as a theoretical matter, to fixed species in biology? The answer seems to be a resounding no, if we were to infer his theoretical commitments from the actual practice found in his biological works. The answer, however, is far from clear, if we turn to the ‘philosophical discussion of biology’ found in Book 1 of Parts of Animals. In fact, I shall note that its context suggests that, contrary to some recent interpretations put forward, the phrase τὰ ἔσχατα εἴδη at 644a23 is best translated and understood as ‘infima species’, and that such a reading implies that Aristotle favours the methodology that reflects his theoretical commitment to fixed species (at least in Book 1 of Part. an.).

From 330 b.c. Alexander transformed his court by adopting a number of court personnel and practices from the Achaemenids. This included the adoption by the king of a mixed Persian and Macedonian royal costume, proskynēsis, Persian spear-bearers and certain Persian officers, such as the chiliarch and the chief usher (εἰσαγγελεύς). But Alexander also used an imposing tent and an audience style modelled on that of the Great King. It is my intention here to investigate the Persian-style tent of Alexander and the two court offices called the chiliarch and chief usher, associated with the king's new audience-style.

Hellenistic ruler cult has generated much scholarly interest and an enormous bibliography; yet, existing studies have tended to focus on the communal character of the phenomenon, whereas the role of private individuals (if any) in ruler worship has attracted little attention. This article seeks to redress this neglect. The starting point of the present study is an inscription Διὶ | καὶ βασιλεῖ | Φιλίππωι Σωτῆρι on a rectangular marble plaque from Maroneia in Thrace. Since the text was published in 1991, it has been disputed whether the king in question is Philip II or Philip V of Macedon. The question is further complicated by a newly published text from Thasos, plausibly restored to read [Β]ασιλέως Φιλί[ππου] | σωτῆρος. The identity of the king in these texts is a matter of great historical significance: if Philip II is meant, not only would this impinge on the question of his divinity, he would also be the first king called Sōtēr, thus providing the earliest attestation of a cult epithet spreading from the traditional gods to monarchs. The first part of this article will re-examine the king's identity by studying these two texts in connection with other dedications similarly addressed to a ‘King Philip’ and apparently set up by private individuals. The second will move beyond Macedonia: it will draw on potential parallels from the Attalid, Seleucid and Ptolemaic kingdoms and explore the possible contexts in which individuals set up similar objects. It will be demonstrated that, while there is evidence from other Hellenistic kingdoms of seemingly ‘private’ dedications set up according to civic or royal commands, in Macedonia the piecemeal and isolated nature of the evidence does not permit a conclusive answer. But whether set up spontaneously or by civic command, these objects provide important evidence for the interaction between the public and the private aspects of ruler worship.

At some time around August 324 b.c., Antipater, the regent of Macedonia received orders from Alexander the Great that he was to be replaced with another eminent officer in the Macedonian court, Craterus. In addition to his removal from office, Antipater was ordered by Alexander to leave Macedonia for the East, bringing with him fresh levies to replenish those that comprised Craterus' own contingent of veterans from Opis. Though Craterus left Alexander's court shortly thereafter, neither man can be said to have made the journey speedily or directly. A range of reasons has been given to explain Craterus' slow advancement, including the construction of infrastructure to allow the transportation of military resources from east to west, the poor state of his health, and the need to recruit more men. By the time of Alexander's death in June of 323, Craterus and his forces had only reached the province of Cilicia in southeastern Anatolia. Antipater's immediate reaction to his new role is not recorded, but what is known is that he remained steadfast in Macedonia, seemingly in defiance of Alexander's orders. It is the purpose of this paper to evaluate Antipater's refusal to depart from Macedonia, to explore whether tensions between Antipater and his replacement could account for Craterus' sluggish advance and to highlight the impact that Greek domestic politics had on Antipater's position in Macedonia.

The Stoa might be not the first philosophical school that comes to mind when considering the most important ancient contributions to aesthetics, yet multiple extant fragments show that the Stoics had a non-marginal theoretical interest in aesthetic properties. Probably the most important piece of evidence for the Stoic attempts to theorize beauty is the definition of beauty as summetria of parts with each other and with the whole. In the first half of this article, I present and analyse the main evidence for this definition. Then I discuss Plotinus' critique of the definition and argue that it contains some pertinent remarks that, with support of additional evidence, lead to the conclusion that the Stoics conceptualized aesthetic properties as supervening on functional composition.

This passage provides invaluable evidence on the procedures pertaining to the admission of new citizens in Classical Athens. The picture that the author has given of the roles that were played by the institutions involved in these procedures is very clear: for the reader's convenience I display it in the form of a diagram in Figure 1. According to Ath. Pol., the deme voted on whether a candidate was both of legal age and of free status; if free status was denied by the deme, the candidate could appeal to the Central Court; and at the end of the process the Council of Five Hundred double-checked that the candidate was of legal age.

The deliberative speech known by us as On Organization (Περὶ συντάξεως) focusses on financial organization and political economy more than any other speech in the Demosthenic corpus. The assembly is to decide the fate of an unspecified sum of money (1). The speaker, who later identifies himself as Demosthenes (12), proposes that, instead of distributing the money as theoric subsidies, all citizens can instead be satisfied by embarking upon a scheme of τοῦ συνταχθῆναι καὶ παρασκευασθῆναι τὰ πρὸς τὸν πόλεμον ‘organization and equipment for war’ (3). This scheme will distribute revenues amongst all as pay for useful service (1–5, 9). The speaker urges that this must be done if the city is once again to act as the arbiter of Greek affairs, and if the Athenian dēmos itself is to break the power of self-interested orators and resume its proper control of the polis (13–36).

In the ninth book of his Ἀτθίς the Athenian historian and religious expert Philochorus related an omen about which he had himself been consulted in the late fourth century b.c.e. (FGrHist 328 F 67).

Latin is one of the best documented and most extensively studied of any language: nearly every area has been subject to continued and intense scrutiny, with ideas from recent subfields of linguistics providing a fresh look at some old topics. The Latin future (or –to) imperative, the form that conveys commands for non-immediate execution, constitutes precisely such a topic in Latin linguistics: from the Roman Imperial period on, students have demarcated the usages, syntax and context-specific features associated with this form; more recently, scholars have applied ideas from various linguistic subfields to achieve new insights. Given that the –to imperative is so well understood, it might come as a surprise to find that some matters pertaining to it are still debated. This paper will address four such contested areas: first, its register (is it colloquial—that is, a feature of everyday speech—or elevated?); second, the form's politeness (is the –to imperative ‘softer’ than the present imperative?); third, the temporal scope of the –to imperative (can it ever really pertain to orders for immediate execution, and thus overlap with the present imperative?); and fourth, the sensitivity of the form to social factors, that is, to the identity of the speaker and the addressee. (Did slaves avoid using the form with superiors? Did women, held to be more polite than men, refrain from it? By contrast, was the speech of citizen males characterized by a high frequency of the –to imperative?)

Inquiry will be made here into a specific challenge facing writers of fabulae palliatae, namely the interior scene, which they had not always the same means to display as did the poets of the νέα they adapted. One of them, Terence, will be seen to have reacted by eliminating the interior scenes that he found in his models.