The story of Meleager as it is told in Greek literature clearly reflects two discrete versions, which may be termed the epic and the non-epic. The latter, as retold by Apollodorus(Bibl. 1.8.1–3), shows the folktale elements of love and the life-token (the brand which must not be rekindled). The other version, as told by Homer(Iliad 9.524-99) followed by Apollodorus (1.8.3), is an epic story where Meleager is the great hero whose μῆνις keeps him from fighting for his native Calydon against the neighbouring Curetes of Pleuron.

‘More light is thrown on the poetic art of Stesichorus by the papyrus-text of his Geryoneis than by all his other fragments together.’ This verdict continues to be as true now as when it was first enunciated. But we are also in the fortunate position of being able to infer much of value about what we may term the pre-history of the legend which the poet took as the basis for his composition. And a key document within this process turns out to be a text that is not preserved upon papyrus, that is not, indeed, included as part of any edition of the poet, and which has been the object of some very serious misconceptions. The relevant section consists of a phrase only three words long, but it is difficult to underestimate their importance, once they are rightly understood.

Among the many textual difficulties that beset Ovid's Ibis are two passages that allude, in an oblique fashion typical of the whole poem, to the iambographer Hipponax:

(1) et quae Pytheides fecit de fratre Medusae,

eveniant capiti vota sinistra tuo,

(447–8 La Penna)

(2) utque parum stabili qui carmine laesit Athenin,

invisus pereas deficiente cibo.

(523–4 La Penna)

According to the traditional view of Empedocles' cosmic cycle, there are two creations of plants and animals, one under the dominion of increasing Strife and one under the dominion of increasing Love. At the point at which Strife holds complete sway the four elements are completely separated and all life is destroyed; at the point at which Love is completely dominant there is also a destruction of the biological world, this time because the elements are blended into a perfectly homogeneous mixture. This interpretation of the cosmic cycle, which has prevailed almost since it was developed by Friedrich Panzerbieter (1844) and seconded by authority of Eduard Zeller (1856) was challenged by Paul Tannery (1887) and then by H. von Arnim (1902). Long after these essentially programmatic critiques, three independent studies published in 1965 by Jean Bollack, Uvo Hölscher and Friedrich Solmsen mounted a vigorous challenge to the received view. However, in a detailed monograph devoted to Empedocles' cosmic cycle, Denis O'Brien (1969) brought to bear an impressive array of scholarly evidence and critical acumen in support of the traditional view (or rather a modified version of it). Several challenges to the traditional view have appeared since O'Brien's book, of which the most significant is that of A. A. Long, who, while criticizing attempts of some opponents of the traditional view, produced some novel and interesting arguments against it. Although the traditional view continues to enjoy the support of authorities such as Jonathan Barnes and M. R. Wright, there is a decided shift in favour of revisionary views. Nevertheless recent advocates of a revisionary interpretation do not provide detailed refutations of the traditional view; Long's arguments remain the strongest objections to the traditional view, and they have never been refuted. Will they stand up to scrutiny?

Much has been written about the problematic passage towards the end of the Medea prologue-speech, in which the Nurse expresses fear concerning the intention(s) of her mistress; problematic both in itself, especially as to the interpretation of lines 40–2, and in relation to lines 379–80, which are almost the same as 40–1; a most suspicious circumstance.

The above is the text of Medea 922–33 and a selection of the critical apparatus from the Oxford text edited by J. Diggle. In his discussion of the variant readings at 926 Diggle leaves open the choice between θήσομαι and θήσω. It seems to me worth noticing that an old proposal of Theodor Ladewig to transpose 926–8 and 929–31, which has in any case much to commend it, has a bearing on the solution of this problem.

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.

Plato's Socrates denies that he knows. Yet he frequently claims that he does have certainty and knowledge. How can he avoid contradiction between his general stance about knowledge (that he lacks it) and his particular claims to have it?

Socrates' disavowal of knowledge is central to his defence in the Apology. For here he rebuts the accusation that he teaches – and thus corrupts – the young by telling the jury that he cannot teach just because he knows nothing. Hence his disavowal of knowledge is important to Socrates. Why does he make this claim? And how then can he justify engaging in any philosophical activity at all?

In Athens during the late Classical and Hellenistic periods, it was customary for a man who was borrowing a large sum of money to pledge some property as security for the repayment of his loan. To show that this property was legally encumbered, a flat slab of stone, called a horos, was set up, and an inscription, indicating the nature of the lien on the property, was inscribed on the horos. These horoi served to warn third parties that the man who pledged the property as security was not free to sell it or otherwise alienate it until the loan was repaid. The terminology which is used on these horoi to indicate that the property has been pledged as security varies. On a relatively small number of horoi, only seven, the property is described as ‘lying under (an obligation)’ (ὑποκειμένου, -ης, -ων) for a debt, the amount of which may or may not be specified. The texts found on a far greater number of horoi, some 128 in all, use a different type of expression. On these horoi, the property is said to have been ‘sold on condition of release’ (πεπραμένου, -ης, -ων, ἐπὶ λύσει). The terminology used on the horoi to describe this kind of lien presents a striking contrast with that employed by the Attic orators: in their speeches we find the verbs ὑποκεῖσθαι and ὑποτιθέναι when it is a question of pledging security for a loan, but never πέπρασθαι with the addition of the prepositional phrase ἐπὶ λύσει.

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).

Students of Stoic philosophy, especially of Stoic ethics, have a lot to swallow. Virtues and emotions are bodies; virtue is the only good, and constitutes happiness, while vice is the only evil; emotions are judgements (in Chrysippus' Stoa); all sins are equal; and everyone bar the sage is mad, bad and dangerous to know. Non-Stoics in antiquity seem for the most part to find these doctrines as bizarre as we do. Their own philosophical or ideological perspectives, and the criticisms of the Stoa to which these gave rise, are no less open to criticism than are the paradoxes and puzzles under attack – but they may be, often are, better documented, less provocatively attention-begging, or simply more familiar. Even disputes within the Stoa can be obscured or distorted by modern prejudices. Posidonius rejected Chrysippus' theory of a unitary soul, one rational through and through, on the grounds that such a theory could not satisfactorily account for the genesis of bad – excessive and irrational – emotions, the πάθη (Galen, PHP 2.246.36ff., 314. 15ff. De Lacy). Posidonius' own Platonising, tripartite soul feels more familiar to us because the Republic tends to be a set text rather more often than do the fragments of Chrysippus' de anima; and the balance in Plato's favour is unlikely to change. When Posidonius wrote, on the other hand, the Chrysippean soul was school orthodoxy, and Platonism the latest thing in radical chic.

The standard histories give notice of a polemical treatise entitled Letters on Empedocles, 'Eπιστολικὰ. περὶ 'Eμπεδοκλέους (Diog. Laer. Vitae 10.25) in twenty two books by Hermarchus, Epicurus' favourite pupil and successor. The work survives in some twenty fragments of more than probable ascription. The most important of these is an extensive extract preserved by Porphyry at De Abstinentia 1.7–12 on the origin in human history of justice, homicide law, and expiatory purifications, which has been the subject of much discussion. Porphyry himself never names the title of Hermarchus' treatise, though he makes it clear that it was in the form of a polemical attack on the views of Empedocles. A recent papyrus find gives the title not as Letters on Empedocles, but as φρὸς 'Eμπεδοκλέα (Against Empedocles). In what follows it will be convenient to show that this is no mere variant but in fact the original and correct form of the title, and to determine what can be known with certainty as a result about the make-up of the work.

‘Jason…chosen leader because his superior declines the honour, subordinate to his comrades, except once, in every trial of strength, skill, or courage, a great warrior only with the help of magical charms, jealous of honour but incapable of asserting it, passive in the face of crisis, timid and confused before trouble, tearful at insult, easily despondent, gracefully treacherous in his dealings with the love-sick Medea but cowering before her later threats and curses, coldly efficient in the time-serving murder of an unsuspecting child (sic), reluctant even in marriage.’ So Carspecken put the case against Jason's heroism. In the face of such an indictment, Lawall's plea in mitigation, ‘it must be admitted that [Jason] often reveals the qualities of a true gentleman’, seems somehow inadequate. Criticism since Carspecken has found various overlapping categories for Jason which both take account of the earlier negative judgements and preserve the centrality of his ‘personality’ and character in the poem: Jason is the quiet diplomat who works through consensus rather than force, his is a heroism of sex-appeal, he is an anti-hero, the embodiment of Sceptic ‘suspension of judgement’, or, alternatively, he is ‘one of us’, credible and lifelike. Carspecken himself tried a different tack: the poem is concerned not with individual heroism but with the heroism of the group (cf. 1.1, 4.1773–81).

It has long been noticed that Virgil's Eclogue 10, in which Gal I us plays so prominent a rôle, contains a combination of pastoral and elegiac elements. But this prompts the question: who was responsible for this combination? Was the fusion of pastoral and erotic-elegiac detail Virgil's own, or did Gallus himself write love-elegies with a strong pastoral colouring, a type of poetry which Virgil then echoed in Eclogue 10?

The account of the death of Palinurus at the end of Aen. 5 raises to a higher level of importance a figure who has previously seemed very much a minor character in the Aeneid. This is achieved partly by the narrative brilliance of Virgil's account of his destruction by Somnus, and partly also by the atmosphere of solemn mystery which surrounds his fate. This solemn note is first struck in the passage which directly prepares the way for Palinurus' death. At Aen. 5.779 Venus, anxious that Juno's wrath may still prevent the safe arrival of Aeneas in Italy, appeals for help to Neptune. He reassures her. Aeneas will arrive safely. There is, however, one condition:

unus erit tantum amissum quem gurgite quaeres;

unum pro multis dabitur caput. (5.814–15)

Epistles 1.20, the last poem of its book, begins with an elaborate joke on the entry of Horace's book of epistles into the world and ends with a well-known σϕραγίς describing the poet himself. It will be argued here that this final poem recalls and subverts the pretensions of two earlier final poems in Horace's own Odes, and that its good-humoured depreciation of Horace himself is matched by a similar attitude towards his previous grand poetic claims as a lyric vates.

When did Livy write his history? How many books had it, and what did the lost ones cover? Such answers as can be given to these questions come almost entirely from the one extant summary, the Periochae. The manuscripts of the Periochae disagree, however, on a matter of considerable interest: out of a hundred or so, only three, supported by a lost fourth, have been cited as adding to the title Ex libro CXXI the subtitle qui editus post excessum Augusti dicitur. When the latest editor, P. Jal in the Collection Budé (Paris, 1984), declares himself unconvinced of its authenticity (i. cxx–cxxi), he leaves the reader to decide whether authenticity means truth, authorial origin, or presence in the archetype; but whatever it means, seeds of suspicion have been sown.

The long-awaited publication of Otto Zwierlein's edition of Seneca's Tragedies provides a welcome opportunity to present a few observations on the penultimate scene of pseudo-Seneca's Octavia (846–76).

The scene in question features Nero quarrelling with his Guard Prefect over the fate of the Empress Octavia. In this altercation there are three textual points which have for long been in dispute. The first section of the article is concerned with these, favouring an emendation (858) discarded in the new Oxford edition, but questioning two of the verse divisions suggested (867b–868a) or adopted (870a) by Zwierlein.

That the most poetic of all the Greek philosophers should also be the severest judge of the poets was a perpetual embarrassment to his disciples and an invitation to enemies who could never have found their way into the difficulties of his thought. At the hands of Colotes, an early Epicurean, Plato became the butt of his own asperities; the allegorist Heraclitus, showing equal contempt for Plato and for ‘the Phaeacian Epicurus’, found that philosophy lent itself to vices for which the Iliad and the Odyssey had no name. Proclus, in his Commentary on the Republic, has the task of reconciling Homer with Plato, and of showing that the mythopoeic faculty is an instrument of the profoundest thought in both.

It would be a mistake to attempt to identify in modern terms the disease of Galerius described so graphically by Lactantius, Mort. 33 (cf. the similar description at Eus. H.E. 8.16). Consumption by lice or worms, if not genital ‘gangrene’, was a typical end for a tyrant or the impious, and there must be an element of literary exaggeration in Lactantius' account. But whatever one makes of the nature of the illness, Lactantius did set out to give the passage a scientific plausibility by his use of technical medical phraseology, and by an allusion to a medical theory at 33.7. Recognition of this theory allows one to settle the text at one point, where editors have failed to agree. There is also a second place in the chapter where familiarity with medical Latin points one towards the solution of a textual problem.