What decides the outcome of a Homeric battle? This may sound like one of those arcane problems only a devoted Homer-specialist would care to raise, but in fact the question strikes at the root of major issues in archaic Greek history.

The orthodox answer is that Homeric battles were decided by single combats between champions, with the rest of the warriors only marginally influencing the fighting. It is added that these champions were aristocrats, ‘knights’. On this interpretation many have argued that the political dominance of archaic Greek aristocrats was largely based on their military dominance, and that their power was seriously impaired when, in the seventh century B.C., military prominence shifted to the mass, the ‘commoners’; this change in the balance of power contributed crucially to the rise of the polis and the emergence of tyrannies. In outline the theory derives from Aristotle(Pol. 1297 b) and is firmly entrenched in modern works.

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.

In a recent article Margalit Finkelberg raises the question of whether or not the phrase κλοσ ἄπ;θιτον at Iliad 9.413 is indeed a Homeric formula:

λετο μν μοι νóατοσ, τρ κλοσ ἄπ;θιτον ἔσται

Her purpose is to ‘test the antiquity of κλοσ ἄπ;θιτον on the internal grounds of Homeric diction’ (p. I).1 Proposing to use specifically the analytic techniques of oral theory, she argues that this phrase does not represent a survival from an Indo-European heroic poetry, as has been suggested from the occurrence of its exact cognate, śápos;rdvas áksitam, in Vedic poetry. To this end Finkelberg presents a precise and carefully organized argument. I briefly summarize its two branches as follows:

(1) It is the formulae that comprise the oldest stratum of Homeric diction, and so it is here that one would find survivals of Indo-European poetic diction. κλοσ ἄπ;θιτον ἒσται (which Finkelberg correctly argues to be the complete phrase), however, cannot be judged a Homeric formula by the criterion of repetition since it is a unique phrase in Homer. Nor can it be judged a formula by the ‘functional’ criterion since the better attested κλἒοσ οὒ ποτ óλεῖται expresses the same essential idea in the same metrical shape.

(2) A unique phrase such as that in question might nonetheless be ancient. The development of the use of ἄπ;θιτοσ, first to modify concrete nouns, and only later with abstracts, however, would indicate that its use with κλοσ is late. The demonstration that κλοσ ἂθιτον ἔσται is a ‘formulaic expression’, moreover, argues that it was coined for this specific context in Iliad 9 by analogy with other Homeric formulae, and so does not preserve an Indo-European formula.

‘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)

The list of Helen's suitors in the Catalogue of Women, a late epic poem attributed to Hesiod, is directly related to the Catalogue of Ships in Iliad 2, in that it is in fact a list of future participants in the Trojan war. That the two catalogues treat the same traditional material is demonstrated above all by their agreement on minor personages: not only the protagonists of the Trojan saga, but also such obscure figures as Podarces of Phylace, Elephenor of Euboea, Thoas of Aetolia, or Menestheus of Athens feature in both Homer and Hesiod, and are characterized by basically the same traditional expressions. But, though the Hesiodic catalogue is sometimes used as evidence that a given Homeric personage belongs to the authentic tradition,3 it seems that the exegetic potential of this poem has not yet been exploited in full. As I hope to show, the Catalogue of Women throws light on one of the most controversial issues in Homeric scholarship, that of the representation of Athens and Salamis in the Catalogue of Ships.

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?

The second line of the poem in which Archilochus related his fable of the fox and the ape was a source of perplexity to Hellenistic scholars. According to Athenaeus Apollonius Rhodius explained it by reference to the Spartan practice of winding official dispatches round a staff or baton: ὅτι δ λευκῷ ἱμντι περιειλοντες τν σκυτλην οἱ Λκωνες ἔγρφον ἅ ἠβολοντο εἴρηκεν ἱκανς Ἀπολλώνιος Ῥδιος ν τῷ περ Ἀρχιλχου. This interpretation evidently failed to satisfy Aristophanes of Byzantium, who wrote a monograph (σγγραμμα) περ τς χνυμνης σκυτλη' view has held the field.

Anaximander is the first philosopher whose theory of the heavens is preserved in broad outlines. According to the sources the celestial bodies are huge rings of compressed air around the earth, each visible only where it is perforated by a tubular vent through which the fire contained in it can shine. Greatest and farthest of them is the sun, next comes the moon and under them there is the ring (or possibly rings) of the stars. It is a common practice to put and answer the following questions:

(i) ‘…why he should have placed the stellar circles or rings closer to the earth than are the sun and the moon.’

(ii) ‘…why these lower rings of stellar ρ do not obscure the brighter but more distant bodies.’

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.

Open any history or hand-book of Greek literature in general, or Greek lyric in particular, and you will very soon come across several references to monody and choral lyric as important divisions within the broader field of melic poetry. And the terms loom larger than the mere question of handy labels: they permeate and pervade the whole approach to archaic Greek poetry. Chapters or sub-headings in literary histories bear titles like ‘Archaic choral lyric’ or ‘Monody’. Indeed it is possible to write a whole book and call it Early Greek Monody. Diehl's Anthologia Lyrica Graeca was structured around this distinction, which it adopted in preference to the chronological arrangement that is the obvious alternative. Indeed, it went so far as ‘to invent Greek titles “μονωιδίαι” and “χορωιδίαι” (sic)’. Most scholars would now agree that this is to go too far. But most would also continue to accept the validity and importance of the division, which a scholar has recently termed ‘the most fundamental generic distinction within ancient lyric poetry’

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.

Pindar must have narrated the myth of the birth of Apollo in many poems. We know of at least three, perhaps four versions: his only extant account of the birth itself is in Pa. XII; the latter of the two surviving sections of Pa. VIIb describes the flight of Asteria from Zeus, her transformation into an island and (probably) Zeus' desire to have Apollo and Artemis born there; the birth also seems to have been mentioned in the Hymn to Zeus immediately after the address to Delos and the account of Delos being rooted to the sea-bed in fr. 33c–d; finally a source reports that according to Pindar Apollo passed from Delos to Delphi via Tanagra and this would probably have followed an account of the birth, though it could refer to a lost part of Pa. XII or the Hymn to Zeus. These accounts have never been the subject of systematic investigation, which is regrettable, because they make up an important aspect of Pindar's attitude to religion. In this preliminary study I focus on two interrelated aspects: the stance Pindar takes towards the Homeric Hymn to Apollo and the role he attributes to Zeus.

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?

Herodotus tells us that some Naxian oligarchic exiles approached Aristagoras who was then ruling Miletus as deputy for his father-in-law Histiaeus, and asked him to help them return to power. Aristagoras, who saw a possible advantage for himself in the request, was willing to oblige but, as the matter lay beyond his competence, he put the project before Artaphernes, who, he said, governed all the peoples of the sea-coast of Asia. Artaphernes, in turn, brought the plan to the attention of Darius, who gave his consent. An army and a fleet of two hundred ships was made ready and placed under the command of Megabates. After a feint in the direction of the Hellespont the fleet put in at Caucasa preparatory to swooping on Naxos. There, however, a quarrel broke out between Aristagoras and Megabates over a disciplinary matter and the Persian, in a fit of pique, sent a message to warn the Naxians. As a result they were ready for the siege which proved to be a miserable failure. Aristagoras feared he would pay dearly for this débâcle and when a message urging revolt arrived from Histiaeus, he immediately acted upon it.

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.

The appearance of two new editions of the Choephoroi in 1986 has prompted me to reexamine the theatrical logic of the recognition scene. Anthony Bowen's student edition (Bristol, 1986) offers a curious contrast. Bowen is alert to the music of the choruses, and describes them as ‘a feast in themselves’ (p. 43). He remarks with reference to the strophic verse that ‘it is surprising how well these works have come down to us’ (p. 41). When he discusses the staging, however, he no longer finds the text well preserved, and follows Fraenkel in disposing of the footprints. Three interpolations, a total of nine lines, have to be struck out (pp. 177–81). A. F. Garvie's scholarly edition (Oxford, 1986) broadly accepts the extant text, but does not – I wish to argue – yet grasp the theatrical logic of the writing.

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).

πνοϲ, in general a common word in Greek tragedy, is a cardinal theme in the Heracles.

In the first half of the play the glorious saving Labours (πνοι, μχθοι, ἄθλοι, γνεϲ) of the warrior Hero with his bow, club and other weaponry are retrospectively evoked and further enacted. Repeated emphasis on this kind of ‘noble toil’ accords with the heroic definition of ρετ, which traditionally βανει διμχθω–8 the first strophe of the long First Stasimon in honour of Heracles (presumed to be dead) ends with:

ὑμνῆϲαι ϲτεφνωμα μ–

χθων δι' εὐλογαϲ θλω

γενναων δ' ρετα πνων

τοῖϲ θανοϲιν ἄγαλμα.

Heracles par excellence merits the title πολπονοϲ and for their individual greatness. πολυ- can mean either ‘much-’, so that it suffices for Amphitryon at 1190ff. to mention a single especially grand and godlike Labour:

AM.μϲ μϲ ὂδε γνοϲ ὂ πολπονοϲ, <ὂϲ> π

δρυ γιγαντοφνον ἥλθεν ϲὺν θεοῖ-

ϲι Φλεγραῖον ϲ πεδον ϲπιϲτϲ

This we may call the ‘epic’ view of the hero and of the πνοι performed by him cw ϲὺν θεοῖϲ. πνοϲ is normally martial in the Iliad.4 Note also, however, that the terminal ϲπιϲτϲ adds an allusion to the kind of martial ρετ most admired by 5th-century Athenians.