This article deals with one particular aspect of Livy's narrative of the Gallic Sack of Rome, told in Book 5, and traditionally placed in 390 b.c.—namely the issue over the validity of the ransom agreement struck by the Romans with the Gauls. The broader context is well known—and needs only brief reiteration here. When the Gauls march on Rome, the Romans give battle at the river Allia, leading to a resounding Gallic victory. Most of the Romans flee the battlefield and then the city, except for a small group of both old and young, male and female, who hold out on the Capitoline Hill. That hill is subsequently put under siege by the Gauls. Following several months of beleaguerment, both sides are depicted as severely worn out by hunger and fighting. It is important for present purposes to stress that, when the Gauls stood at the gates and besieged the city, one of Rome's greatest heroes, Marcus Furius Camillus, was noticeably absent. Camillus was in neighbouring Ardea, some fifty miles south of Rome, training an army of Roman soldiers to challenge the Gallic invaders after his recent recall from exile and appointment to the dictatorship. But before Camillus’ return to Rome, the besieged Romans surrendered and agreed a ransom with the Gauls in order to liberate their city. The continuation of the story as given in Livy is equally well known. Camillus arrives in the middle of the ransom exchange, asking for the exchange to be stopped. Unsurprisingly, the Gauls are not keen on following Camillus’ orders, and insist on the ransom. Consequently, Camillus challenges the agreement between Romans and Gauls on a constitutional basis; the agreement was reached with a lesser magistrate after Camillus’ appointment to the dictatorship (5.49.2):

In his recent monograph on textual criticism, Richard Tarrant discusses the history, problems and practices of diagnosing interpolations in Latin texts, and persuasively argues for ‘restor[ing] interpolation to the editor's armoury’. In the hopes of better arming future editors, I identify a possible interpolation in the second book of Claudian's De Raptu Proserpinae (= DRP). The passage in question describes the celebrations in the underworld that attend the wedding of Pluto and Proserpina; joining in the holiday mood, the Furies let their snaky hair down to enjoy a drink of wine while they light festive torches for the nuptials (DRP 2.343–7):

oblitae scelerum formidatique furoris
Eumenides cratera parant et uina feroci
crine bibunt flexisque minis iam lene canentes 345
extendunt socios ad pocula plena cerastas
et festas alio succendunt lumine taedas.

According to Diogenes Laertius (7.49–51), the concept of ‘appearance’ (φαντασία) played a central role in Stoic philosophy. As staunch corporealists, the Stoics believed that appearances are physical structures in our corporeal soul which provide the foundation for all our thoughts (Sext. Emp. Math. 7.228–41). One of the crucial features of appearance is that it is a representational mental state that has the ability to provide us with accurate awareness of the world through causal interaction between our senses and external objects, and thus supply the means for acquiring knowledge about the reality. However, the Stoics recognized that we can also be aware and think of objects that are real but are not presently affecting our senses, as well as objects that are altogether fictional and thus incapable of ever interacting with our senses. Because of this, it was important for them to distinguish between representational mental states which are and those which are not caused by external objects at the moment in which they are formed. Chrysippus was one of the Stoics who paid special attention to this distinction; in a key text, Aet. 4.12, he is reported as reserving the name ‘appearance’ (φαντασία) only for the former states, while for the latter he used a different term, ‘imagination’ (φανταστικόν).

This is an investigation of an aspect of Virgil's Aeneid—ultimately, of the ways in which the poet guides his reader's response to Aeneas’ stay in Carthage—and, while it touches on Roman religious practice, clothing codes, late antique Virgilian commentary and Augustan ideology, it hinges on a single word in Aeneid Book 4 and its implications for Virgil's depiction of his hero in this book. That word is laena, and it features in one of the most celebrated scenes of the poem, when Mercury descends to earth to find Aeneas busily engaged in founding Carthage (Aen. 4.259–64):

ut primum alatis tetigit magalia plantis,
Aenean fundantem arces ac tecta nouantem
conspicit. atque illi stellatus iaspide fulua
ensis erat Tyrioque ardebat murice laena
demissa ex umeris, diues quae munera Dido
fecerat, et tenui telas discreuerat auro.

This article maps the complex and changing interrelation of madness (μανία) and truth (ἀλήθεια) in the erotic speeches of the Phaedrus. I try to show that μανία is not merely a secondary aspect but rather a fundamental element within the structure binding together the sequence of speeches. I will show how what starts as an apparently simple binary opposition between μανία and ἀλήθεια in Lysias’ speech and Socrates’ first speech suffers an important modification at the beginning of the palinode, and is finally turned upside down in the radical reappraisal caused by the focus on erotic μανία. The result is a different understanding of μανία, as well as a reassessment of the status and cognitive reliability of day-to-day human perspective.

In March 2005 a rescue excavation uncovered a spectacular new epigraphic find from Thebes. Now on display in the Archaeological Museum of Thebes, a column drum 0.41 m in height has inscribed on it two identical epigrams, one (the older one) written vertically in Boeotian script and a second (later) Ionian copy written horizontally on the other side. Nikolaos Papazarkadas published the editio princeps of the epigram in 2014, using both inscriptions to create a composite text. As Papazarkadas realized, the column drum, which has a chi-shaped orifice at one end meant to hold a stationary object, at one point displayed a ‘shining shield’ (φαεννὰν | [ἀσπ]ίδα, lines 3–4) that Herodotus had seen in the temple of Apollo Ismenius in Thebes. Moreover, this shield was interpreted by Herodotus (relying on the language of the inscription and likely on the commentary of temple staff) as having been dedicated by the Lydian king Croesus to the hero Amphiaraus, when he was ‘testing’ the various oracles in Greece in order to decide on a course of action against his rival Cyrus of Persia.

Apollo travels from Pytho to Olympus, and the other gods greet his arrival (186–93):

ἔνθεν δὲ πρὸϲ Ὄλυμπον ἀπὸ χθονὸϲ ὥϲ τε νόημα
εἶϲι Διὸϲ πρὸϲ δῶμα θεῶν μεθ’ ὁμήγυριν ἄλλων⋅
αὐτίκα δ’ ἀθανάτοιϲι μέλει κίθαριϲ καὶ ἀοιδή.
Μοῦϲαι μέν θ’ ἅμα πᾶϲαι ἀμειβόμεναι ὀπὶ καλῇ
ὑμνεῦϲίν ῥα θεῶν δῶρ’ ἄμβροτα ἠδ’ ἀνθρώπων
τλημοϲύναϲ, ὅϲ’ ἔχοντεϲ ὑπ’ ἀθανάτοιϲι θεοῖϲι
ζώουϲ’ ἀφραδέεϲ καὶ ἀμήχανοι, οὐδὲ δύνανται
εὑρέμεναι θανάτοιό τ’ ἄκοϲ καὶ γήραοϲ ἄλκαρ.

Plato seems to have been pessimistic about how most people stand with regard to virtue. However, unlike the Stoics, he did not conclude that most people are vicious. Rather, as we know from discussions across several dialogues, he countenanced decent ethical conditions that fall short of genuine virtue, which he limited to the philosopher. Despite Plato's obvious interest in this issue, commentators rarely follow his lead by investigating in detail such conditions in the dialogues. When scholars do investigate what kind of virtue, if any, Plato thinks is open to non-philosophers, they typically look to the Republic. But in the Republic Plato sets out an ideal city; therefore, the virtue available to non-philosophers there is likely different from what he thinks is available to them in the real world. If we want to determine Plato's thoughts about the virtue of actual non-philosophers, we must look elsewhere. In this paper, I set my sights on the Phaedo.

This article adopts a revisionist approach to the intertextual relationship between Statius’ Thebaid and Silius Italicus’ Punica, two contemporary Flavian epics that interact with one another (first century a.d.). As such, this is not only an excellent illustration of intertextuality in action but also a prime example of how texts can be read in either direction depending on which takes precedence. Since both epics overlap in time, it is precisely the difficulty in establishing the direction of influence between the two poets that opens up texts in creative ways by allowing further readings. Of course, such an overlap calls for a shift in power from the author onto the reader in constructing meaning in text. However, textual evidence only allows us to do so much. It is my contention that Statius could not have interacted with Silius’ Punica beyond a.d. 92, which is the year when he published his Thebaid. This is also the year when Silius is thought to have composed Book 12 of the Punica. Therefore, Statius could only effectively engage with Silius up to Punica Book 12, it seems, while Silius carried on writing the remainder of his seventeen-book-long epic. Still, there is ample material from Statius’ Thebaid and Silius’ Punica Books 1–12 to explore in terms of mutual influence. A critical trend in Flavian scholarship has produced a list of parallels between the two epics showing Silius’ potential borrowing from Statius and vice versa. As recently discussed in Ripoll's study, the most significant parallel inviting close comparison is Hannibal's siege of Rome in Punica Book 12 and Capaneus’ assault on Thebes in Thebaid Book 10. In this article, I would like to return to these two specific episodes and read them alongside each other. The purpose of the reading is to evaluate whether this single interaction changes the model of how we think about the intertextual activity between Silius and Statius, before the final publication of the Thebaid in a.d. 92, when Statius could still revise, amend and polish in the light of the Punica.

Aristotle's Sophistical Refutations (= Soph. el.) seeks to uncover the workings of apparent deductive reasoning, and is thereby largely devoted to the caricature of dialectic that the ancients called eristic (ἐριστική), the art of quarrelling. Unlike antilogy (ἀντιλογία), which refers to a type of argumentation where two arguments are pitted against each other in a contradictory manner, eristic takes on in Aristotle an exclusively pejorative meaning, as is made clear, for example, by this passage from Soph. el.: ‘For just as unfairness in a contest is a definite type of fault, and is a kind of foul fighting, so the art of contentious reasoning is foul fighting in disputation.’