This paper is concerned with a problem which has puzzled me for many years. The Greek philosophers of the Ionian tradition, from Anaximander to Epicurus, are commonly called specially ‘scientific,’ in contrast with the Italian tradition started by Pythagoras. Why is it, then, that their systems are cast in the form of dogmatic pronouncements? It is not only that they describe, with complete confidence, matters beyond the reach of observation, such as the origin of the world; but when they come to matters of detail, they make assertions which could have been upset by a little careful observation or by the simplest experiment.

It has been argued—by Burnet, for instance—that this dogmatism may be only apparent. Our evidence is fragmentary, and comes largely from manuals compiled much later by men whose object was to discredit science for reaching contradictory conclusions, and by no means to record the methods employed to reach those conclusions. W. A. Heidel, too, thought that, if we possessed the philosophers' notebooks, we should find that their results were obtained by methods akin to those of modern science, though with less awareness of the need for caution in experimental tests. Behind these arguments lies the assumption that the questions they asked themselves, the motives prompting their inquiries, and the quarter to which they looked for the sources of knowledge, were the same then as now.

An inscription found at Demirdjidéré in Caria, and published by A. Laumonier in 1934, deals with the granting of the citizenship of some unnamed city (probably Alinda) to Dionytas and Apollas, officials in the chancery (ἐπιοτωλαγραφῖον (sic)) of Olympichus, the στρατηγὀς of a Hellenistic king, whom Laumonier very reasonably identifies with Philip V of Macedon: Olympichus he assumes to be the Carian dynast of that name, whose machinations against the town of Iasus in about 202 B.C. are recorded in three well-known inscriptions, which Holleaux published in 1899. Unfortunately, in dating his inscription to the year 202, Laumonier paved the way for certain unjustifiable conclusions about the relations of Macedonia and Caria during the last quarter of the third century B.C.; and as these conclusions have since been drawn by Lenschau, it is important, I think, to point out their tenuous basis before there is any risk of their becoming widely accepted.

The collection of Greek inscriptions in the Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge, has been much increased during the last four decades. It will therefore be useful to give a complete list, and, where it seems to be advisable, a full description of these sixty-four texts in stone, bronze and wood, twenty-four of which are unpublished, as far as I am able to ascertain, or have been published without full transcription.

The agora, the nucleus of all Greek cities, was in the beginning simply a convenient open space, around which buildings were irregularly placed. With the growth of systematic planning in Ionia a new type was evolved, and henceforth the old-fashioned agora and the Ionian existed side by side. Several years ago F. J. Tritsch wrote an account of the old type of agora, taking Elis (Fig. 1) as the best example. Since then Athens has yielded richer and more interesting material. The new evidence clarifies and confirms the picture drawn by Tritsch, which may still be accepted as true in principle. One might, however, attempt a brief general account of the new or Ionian agora, which has not perhaps been given the place it deserves in the history of Hellenic architecture. Finally, since remarkable Hellenistic developments have been revealed in the Athenian agora, one is prompted to ask whether the influence of new ideas and methods produced modifications in the older type.

1. P. Amh. 11 and P. Berol. 7504: History of the Problem of their Relationship.

‘Too small to have more than a palaeographical interest’: thus marked, the Amherst Papyrus 11 was published by Grenfell and Hunt in 1901; they assigned it to cent. I B.C. For all its smallness, however, Wilamowitz remembered this text when he found a similar one in the Berlin Papyrus 7504, which he edited in 1907, dating the hand ‘spätgriechisch.’ But in quoting from the Amherst Papyrus he relied too much on his memory; that, and some mistakes which he made in editing the Berlin Papyrus, prevented him from making full use of his discovery.

A considerable step forward was taken by Adam Abt in 1910. He supplemented convincingly ll. 8–12 and 17–18 of the Berlin Papyrus from the text of the Amherst Papyrus. He even envisaged, and for excellent reasons, the possibility that the two papyri were parts of the same roll, but eventually decided against it because he thought that ll. 13–16 of the Berlin Papyrus could not be made to fit on to the Amherst Papyrus. Here he was wrong, as will be shown presently.

One hundred years ago, in 1842, the Lycian Marbles were exhibited for the first time in the British Museum. Sir Charles Fellows had discovered them at Xanthus, the capital of Lycia, and succeeded in procuring them for the Trustees of the British Museum. Since that time, the Lycian Marbles have formed one of the main parts of the collection of Greek sculpture in London. But their London home seems to have had the strange effect of making them more and more reticent: these Lycian sculptures have indeed been extremely successful in withstanding all attempts at explaining them or even understanding them. In spite of the immense sensation caused at the time of their arrival in England and all through the nineteenth century, there is nobody who can even nowadays assign to any of them an accurate date or supply an adequate commentary.

The Harpy Tomb provides us with an excellent example for these (I admit) rather sweeping statements. Its place was in the middle of the Archaic Room of the British Museum. Everybody walked round it, looked at it, tried to explain it, and gave it up. Much has been written about it during these last hundred years, but the only solutions offered were of a vague mythological or symbolic character. However, I believe the time has come to attempt an explanation from a different angle altogether. It seems hopeless to continue on the well-trodden track, and to consider it simply as a piece of architecture or a piece of sculpture, in which we try to puzzle out the religious views expressed in the reliefs. In the interpretation offered in this paper, it is regarded primarily as the tomb or heroön of a certain family and as a monument of a certain historical character.

It need hardly be emphasised that the survey of the past two years' work in the field of Greek epigraphy which I here offer can make no pretension to completeness. The interruption of communications consequent upon the war has robbed me of access to the majority of the relevant books and periodicals published on the Continent during the last months of 1939 and the whole of 1940. Nevertheless, in view of the amount and importance of the work noted in the following pages, I think it better to write my account, imperfect though it must needs be, in the accustomed form and at the usual time, rather than to hold back my material until the return of peace and the re-establishment of communications enable me to fill the serious gaps which remain. I hope that my next review will be written in conditions which will make it possible to complete this survey of 1939 and 1940 while at the same time summarising the publications of 1941 and 1942. Once again I ask all those scholars who have materially assisted my task by the gift of copies of their works to accept this assurance of my warmest gratitude.