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 language of Greek Tragedy can be considered as a whole by virtue of the characteristics which distinguish it from that of other branches of Greek literature, and the resemblance between the three tragedians in this respect is more noticeable than the differences. Still, if we compare Aeschylus and Euripides it is impossible not to feel a marked change of tone, in λ⋯ξις as in δι⋯νοια and ἤθη. As in E. the familiar legends are frequently set in a more everyday atmosphere and the characters cast in a less heroic mould, it is natural that the tone of the language should be lowered, partly by the frequent use of distinctively prosaic expressions and partly by the introduction of what appear to be colloquialisms. This change of tone in language was at once noted by Aristophanes and is referred to by Aristotle as an innovation of E. On the other hand E.'s style presents a certain anomaly, since while deliberately securing a closer approximation to the language of prose and ordinary conversation he also shows a poetic and archaizing tendency in the use of Aeschylean and Homeric words and forms not found in Sophocles. This may be due to a reluctance to depart too far from the poetic tradition of Greek tragedy, and possibly to a scholar's interest in the language of Aeschylus and Homer, in a minor degree a foreshadowing of the learned archaism of the Alexandrian poets.

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.

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.

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.

In discussing the atomists' theory of vision modern accounts have quite neglected to take into account two sections of Alexander of Aphrodisias on this topic. Nearly identical in length and content, they contain objections to the atomist theory of vision by means of the (henceforth ‘idols’). In form they consist of a series of questions purporting to contain atomist doctrine. Each question is followed by objections to its subject-matter. Most of the questions contain doctrine known to us already from other sources.

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.

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 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 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):

In the myth of the Phaedrus Plato sets forth a picture of the life of discarnate souls in heaven. He represents these souls by the symbol of a winged charioteer driving winged horses. In the case of the souls of the gods (theoi), the charioteers and horses are good (246 a ). In the case of the other souls whom Plato calls daimones, and among whom our own souls are included, the soul is represented by a charioteer with two horses of which the right one is good but the left one evil (246 b ). It is generally agreed that the right and left horses represent thumos and passion respectively, while the charioteer symbolizes reason. Plato goes on to describe a procession which the gods and daimones make up to the outer edge of heaven in order to contemplate the Forms which lie beyond. The gods, we are told, make the ascent easily and when they reach the edge of heaven have no difficulty in staying there and beholding the Forms. The daimones, however, experience difficulty due to the recalcitrance of the evil horse, which all their charioteers possess (247 b Plato divides the daimones into three main groups: those who succeed in beholding the Forms though with difficulty; those whose vision is only partial; those, finally, who fail to see the Forms at all. Since contemplation of the Forms provides the nourishment by which the wings of the soul are nurtured, those daimones who fail to see the Forms at all lose their wings and fall to earth. They have to go through a series of earthly existences for 10,000 years, before they regain their wings and return to heaven.

Much effort has been invested by scholars in defining the specific character of the Homeric values as against those that obtained at later periods of Greek history. The distinction between the ‘shame-culture’ and the ‘guilt-culture’ introduced by E. R. Dodds, and that between the ‘competitive’ and the ‘cooperative’ values advocated by A. W. H. Adkins, are among the more influential ones. Although Adkins's taxonomy encountered some acute criticism, notably from A. A. Long, it has become generally adopted both in the scholarly literature and in general philosophical discussions of Greek ethics. Objections to Adkins's approach have mainly concentrated on demonstrating that his denial of the cooperative values to Homer is untenable on general grounds and is not supported by Homeric evidence. Characteristically, Adkins's thesis concerning the centrality to Homer's ethics of the so-called ‘competitive values‘ has never received similar attention, probably owing to the fact that this is the point at which his picture of the Homeric society concurs with the influential reconstructions by W Jaeger and M. I. Finley. The present study of timē and aretē, generally held to be the two competitive values central to the Homeric poems, purports to address this issue.

The plot of Iphigenia in Tauris is usually thought to be Euripides' own invention. Its basic assumption can be found in Proclus' summary of the Cypria, viz. that a deer was substituted for Iphigenia during the sacrifice at Aulis and that she herself was removed to the land of the Tauri. Her later rescue by Orestes and Pylades, however, cannot be traced with probability to any work of art or literature earlier than Euripides' play. In this play, in which Orestes recognizes and then saves the sister whom he had long thought dead, it is assumed that her replacement by a deer went unseen by those present at the sacrifice. The sequel which this assumption allowed Euripides to invent (if it was he who invented it) is original only in a limited sense, since it bears the imprint of several familiar story types. These types include the following: (1) the murder of a kinsman is narrowly averted by a recognition; (2) a reunion is followed by an intrigue; and (3) a maiden is rescued. Each is used elsewhere by Euripides. The first two, for example, are found in Cresphontes, the second in Electra, and the third in Andromeda. Correspondences of this sort, based on plot patterns, will naturally gain in interest if it can be shown that they throw light on a play's meaning or on the process that led to its creation. The student of dramatic plots, however, soon discovers that analogies between them are easy to draw and can be quickly multiplied.

It seems to be widely agreed by modern scholars that when Solon created his four census-classes (τ⋯λη) in early sixth-century Athens (Plut. Sol. 18. 1–2) he gave to at least three of them – the ἱππεῖς, the ζευγῖται and the θ⋯τες – names which were in pre-existing use there. But what, if so, did the names signify, before being assigned their new, official, quantitative (and semantically colourless) Solonic sense? The archaic Athenian θ⋯τες were presumably recognizably akin to their Homeric and Hesiodic namesakes; and despite the etymological obscurity of the word in any event, in practical terms it will have denoted men who by all relevant social, economic or military tests scored a negligible rating. In the case of higher scorers, however, it becomes important for us to discover precisely which criteria are being applied, and so it is the ἱππεῖς and the ζευγῖται who have always posed the main interpretative puzzle. For the ζευγῖται Ehrenberg put it succinctly enough: ‘the zeugitai can be explained either as those who owned a pair of oxen under the yoke (zeugos) or those who are joined to their neighbours in the ranks of the phalanx’. Both these explanations – for convenience I shall (for the moment) call them the agricultural and the military – have indeed long had, and continue to have, their adherents. Most of the great nineteenth-century students of Staatsaltertümer took the agricultural line, usually without argument; and the standard lexica still do. In 1894, however, Conrad Cichorius made out a strong case for the military explanation, and he has had many followers, both witting and (I should guess) unwitting.

When entering into a legal agreement, it is not unusual for one of the parties to ask the other to provide some security so as to ensure that the latter's obligations under the agreement will be fulfilled. There are two basic forms of security, personal and real. In personal security for a loan, the borrower arranges for a third party to come forward and to promise the lender that he will fulfil the borrower's obligations in the event that the borrower does not make interest payments or repay the principal. In real security, the borrower pledges some of his property, either movable or immovable, as security to the creditor. If the borrower defaults, the creditor has the right to seize the property pledged as security, and, if he wishes, to sell it for cash in lieu of repayment.