To interpret Pindar is a demanding task. Here, again, scholarly deliberation on his Epinicians proves productive. Instead of repeating earlier reviews of the book’s content and André Hurst’s position in relation to Pindar (for which see the overviews by Michel Briand, REA 122 (2020), 602–05, and Ulysse Carrière-Bouchard, CR 71 (2021), 1–3), Iwish to focus on a number of stimulating reflections proposed by the author.
The preamble (7–12) to this collection of Hurst’s seven articles (1979–2020) on Pindar’s Epinicians touches on several long-standing problems of Pindaric criticism without really making an original contribution; it serves to introduce a broader audience to the poet (on the poet-σοφιστής, ‘wise, expert craftsman’, see 45–48). Nevertheless, a more definite, personal view would have been more useful to confer a sense of unity upon the book; in the end, the author only explains his purpose epigrammatically, namely ‘to surprise the poet at work’ in his atelier and ‘to examine how Pindar’s art operates’ (12).
Hurst investigates three main features which contribute to the ‘fabrication’ (back cover) of the poems: ‘the organization of the topics’ (chapters 1, 3, 5) and its relevance for the poet’s agenda; ‘the usage of time’ (departures from rigorous chronology (102) such as anachrony, variations of tempo, syncope) and its narratological exploitation (chapters 4, 6); ‘the “poet’s” relationship with the audience and clients’ (chapters 2, 3, 5, 7).
The odes are treated as ‘texts’ (10, 12, 31, 89, 91, 100) composed by adhering to rules and patterns imposed by the genre (100), yet varied and enriched by the poet’s ‘personal touch’ (89); he is, conversely, much less concerned with the pragmatics of (re-)performance. The poet’s creative freedom and ‘state of mind’ (31 n.41), personified by the bee of Pythian 10.54 (31–33) or symbolized by the shipwright (16), is the kernel of Hurst’s investigations. He intends to demonstrate that Pindar does not adapt his poetry to any mainstream recipe (23). What seems to be poetic caprice is actually a symptom of the epiphany of an inspired creator unconstrained by boundaries (16, 31). Rather than restrict himself to mere virtuoso embellishments (87), he seeks the most eloquent way to depict the true meaning of the content and convey the programme of the poem. This can appear in the structure of the poem (the ‘recurrence’ (22–23) of Pythian 10 or the ‘parallelism’ (28) of Olympian 14), in the temporal development of the narrative (82–83, 115–16) or in allusions to sociopolitical contexts (internal references (95) alluding to a political strategy are detected in Pythian 4; chapter 7 is devoted to poetic-political strategies in support of the poet’s hometown of Thebes).
Hurst shows a penchant for Olympian 2. He follows the common opinion that Theron was descended from Thersander (147–49, with 41, 110), in contrast to the view of others that the poet presented Theron as an offspring of the Labdacid family (see Antonio Tibiletti, ‘Commenting on Pindar, Olympian 2: The Emmenid Genealogies’, CCJ 64 (2018), 166–77).
Hurst describes the structure of Olympian 2 (41–45) by comparison with the ternary structure récurrente [A-B-C-B’-A’] of Pythian 10 and proposes a narratological explanation of the chronological va-et-vient in several passages of this ode (chapter 6, especially 109–12). Chapter 3 is a useful exploration of the allusive literary-cultural echoes by means of which Pindar shapes the Isle of the Blessed in Olympian 2: epic reminiscences offer the audience a solid foothold (54–61), whereas the influx of Empedocles’ cultural-philosophical background (63–68, a point which originates from previous thoughts, 109 n.14) produces a contemporary, local, highbrow form of knowledge dedicated to the sagacious (68), which aims at the glorification of Akragas (69).
Chapter 2 focusses on the textual exegesis of Ol. 2.53–57. Hurst here anticipates an observation (40) on Pindar’s central role in Theron’s afterlife: without Pindar’s wisdom, Theron’s wealth would have remained ἀγροτέρα (‘wild’, according to Hurst). He delves deeper into the subject in chapter 7 (147–48).
Prosperity blossoms after painful events (41–42), a fact illustrated by the access of noble people to the Isle of the Blessed. The combined presence there of Cadmus, Peleus and Achilles makes the Theban past a shared, Panhellenic past (148). Although G.F. Gianotti’s reading (‘Sull’Olimpica seconda di Pindaro’, RFIC 99 (1971), 26–52, especially 50–51) of Pindar’s eschatology is striking (the Isle of the Blessed by analogy portrays the motif of matchless beatitude; the poet teaches the sagacious, and Theron, that the human condition has impassable limits), Hurst’s reasoning is appealing: if Peleus entered the Isle of the Blessed with Achilles thanks to Thetis, and on the other side Cadmus has no descendant going with him, the inference is obvious (148, with 42; the observation is not new, 109) that a place is left free for his offspring, Theron, who will be able to access the group of the Blessed by means of Pindar’s powerful and wise words.
Admittedly, Gianotti’s and Hurst’s inputs do not hinder each other: Pindar may suggest that Theron’s condition is extraordinary to such an extent that he can overcome the constraints of ordinary people and attain a perfect heroization. The mention of the Theban king turns out to be strategically οἰκεῖος, ‘domestic’, ‘familiar’ and ‘appropriate’ (Tibiletti (2018), 172) for the laudandus, whose Olympic victory prefigures his future beatitude (52).
