In the Peristephanon, a collection of hymns in praise of the Christian martyrs, the Spanish poet Aurelius Prudentius Clemens (a.d. 347/8–c. 405) refers back to a time more than a hundred years before he was writing, when Christianity was not the predominant influence in the Roman world but the religion of a beleaguered minority. In the course of Prudentius' lifetime, the trials that were suffered by that minority under emperors such as Decius and Diocletian became an important point of reference for increasing numbers of Roman converts seeking to identify with Christianity and its sectarian past. At the time, however, those trials were recorded in only meagre written accounts. Prudentius, whose successful administrative career might have culminated in elevation to a senior position in the imperial scrinia, displays particular interest in the extent of the official archival material in the Peristephanon. In a number of passages in this work, he comments on the fragility of historical documents, which are easily destroyed by acts of malice or the effects of time. The following discussion will examine the ways in which he reflects on the permanence, or otherwise, of his own written texts. Analysis of his imitation of elegiac verse inscriptions will demonstrate how he draws attention to the inadequacy of even the most monumental types of human writing. But I will argue that, by identifying his poems with the martyrs' perishable bodies, Prudentius claims that they too can be a medium for a divine presence not confined to any perishable physical form.

The interrogation of Meletus in the Apology at 24c4–28al is not infrequently seen as a typical case of all that is intellectually and artistically dissatisfying in Plato's practice of the genre of philosophical dialogue: not only are we presented with a philosopher who makes some claim to being committed to setting a particularly stringent standard for honesty in argumentation making sophistical arguments, but we are presented also with a cardboard interlocutor who is forced by the hand of Plato to acquiesce to those arguments in a fashion that is completely dissatisfying to the reader. The best anyone seems to do to save Plato from these charges of artistic incompetence and intellectual dishonesty is to appeal to such a level of historical accuracy for the text that the stupidity of Meletus' responses can be attributed to the stupidity of Meletus himself, or to point out features of the political and legal situation that might prevent Meletus from answering the questions by drawing on his true motivation—which is presumably more coherent. Taylor says of this passage:

The humour of the situation is that the prosecutor cannot venture to say what he means by either of his charges without betraying the fact that, owing to the ‘amnesty’, the matters complained of are outside of the competency of the court… Hence, when Meletus is pressed to explain what he means, he has to take refuge in puerile nonsense.

This allegory (R.,514 a 1–517 a 6) is among the most well-traversed passages in Plato's dialogues and deservedly so. Its emotional impact is undeniable, yet it confronts the reader with several problems of interpretation. There is a strong sense that it is of central importance to the crucial questions of the Platonic philosopher's education and his role in society, and it possibly holds one key to an understanding of the Republic as a whole.

In REG 73 (1960) and 75 (1962) I discussed various points connected with the Peace of Philocrates, a number of which have been assailed by M. M. Markle in CQ N.S. 24 (1974) in an article entitled ‘The Strategy of Philip in 346 B.C.’. Time passes, and, although de Ste. Croix in his Origins of the Peloponnesian War (1972), p.105, felt able to declare that ‘a book shortly to be published by M. M. Markle makes a valuable and original contribution to our understanding of the Peace of Philocrates’, and Markle himself confirms that a book is indeed forthcoming, some comment on his preliminary comments may be permitted.

The difficulties of this poem have led scholars to employ surgery of various sorts upon it.

This article attempts to show that surgery is unnecessary and that, given a fuller exegesis and a partial reinterpretation of subject-matter, the poem can be read as a single and consistent piece.

This paper proposes that living Seleucid kings were recognized as divine by the royal court before the reign of Antiochus III despite lacking an established centralized ruler cult like their fellow kings, the Ptolemies. Owing to the nature of the surviving evidence, we are forced to rely heavily on numismatics to construct a view of Seleucid royal ideology. Regrettably, it seems that up until now much of the numismatic evidence for the divinity of living Seleucid rulers has not been fully considered. I argue that the evidence from silver coinage produced in the name of the Seleucid kings presents a version of the official image of the reigning king and that images which portray the king as divine reflect central acceptance of the king's divinity. This is clear from the epithets on the coinage of Antiochus IV and his successors, but I will argue that the same principle holds for all earlier Seleucid kings. Thus coinage with divine images of Seleucid kings provided one of the mechanisms through which the royal court transmitted the divine nature of the kings to the population. As we will see, in the case of Antiochus Hierax, local considerations also influenced the numismatic representation of the king. This blurring of boundaries between the local veneration of the king, which has long been accepted as normal civic practice in the Greek city-states and in non-Greek temples, and the royal images of the divine king calls into question the strict division between civic and centralized ruler cults. The reflection of local cults within royal ideology can be seen as a manifestation of a negotiating model of Seleucid power that relied heavily on a dialogue with a wide range of interested groups. This article argues that the inconsistencies in the development of an iconography of divine kingship before the reign of Antiochus IV is a manifestation of the same phenomenon.

Few details in Virgil's description of the underworld have elicited more comment than his treatment of the sinners Ixion and Pirithous

quid memorem Lapithas, Ixiona Pirithoumque?

quos super atra silex iam iam lapsura cadentique

imminet adsimilis; lucent genialibus altis

aurea fulcra toris; epulaeque ante ora paratae

regifico luxu; Furiarum maxima iuxta

accubat et manibus prohibet contingere mensas

exsurgitque facem attollens atque intonat ore

In the Introduction to her recent translation of the Poetics, Miss Hubbard astutely recognizes the intellectual orientation of Aristotle's aesthetic theory. She observes that for Aristotle the concept of mimesis is intimately connected with that of mathesis and thus that the basic pleasure of art is the intellectual pleasure involved in learning. She then correctly identifies two levels of the learning process involved in mimesis: on a lower level it signifies the way in which children learn their first lessons but on a much more sophisticated plane it denotes a process by which our understanding of ‘moral facts and moral possibilities’ is deepened. She perceptively concludes that if art is to achieve the goal set for it by Aristotle, it must have a significant relationship to ultimate truth.

In assessing the value of any historical work it is necessary for the investigator to undertake the often frustrating and tedious task of Quellenforschung. In the case of the De Caesaribus the first substantial attempts began in Germany in 1873 and 1874 with the appearance of two important studies by A. Enmann and A. Cohn. Enmann sought to explain the mass of verbal similarities, numerous errors and shared idiosyncrasies to be found in Victor's De Caesaribus, Eutropius' Breviarium 7–10, and parts of the Historia Augusta by postulating a common source which has subsequently come to be known as the Kaisergeschichte. He was so convinced by his findings that he stated (p. 459), ‘Victor und Eutrop es beide als Haupt – wenn nicht als einzige Quelle benutzt haben’.

Working quite independently Cohn's examination of the first eleven chapters led him to conclude that from the beginning of Augustus' sole reign to the death of Domitian Victor, Eutropius and the Epitomator followed a common source which he entitled Suetonius auctus, an account excerpted from Suetonius with some new material added. Enmann, however, had already described the Kaisergeschichte's early chapters in this way and the two were readily identified.

One major problem remained. The traditional date of the completion of the HA was still believed to be 305/6; consequently if the K.G. had been used by its authors then the K.G. must have been written by that year. Nevertheless notable similarities between Victor and Eutropius continued apparently till 357 and Enmann therefore suggested a continuation of the K.G. until that date.

The following remarks are frankly speculative, and their subject one on which certainty is unlikely to be attained. It seems worth offering them because, though the conclusions are only tentative, they were reached by way of some observations which have a certain interest of their own.

Anaximenes, we are told, said that the sun is flat like a leaf, and that it and the other heavenly bodies ‘ride upon’ the air owing to their flat shape, as does the earth also.

Commentators on Epode 11 generally begin by comparing the opening couplet with Archilochus (frg. 215 West): κα⋯ μ' οὔτ' ἰ⋯μβων οὔτε τερπωλ⋯ων μ⋯λει, and sometimes also Catullus 68. 1–40. In both of these the poet explains that grief at the death of a loved one has expelled all desire to compose verses. According to the comparison, Horace, in 1–2, is stating that the onset of love (‘amore percussum gravi’, 2) has, similarly, so absorbed his attention that he cannot write verse. The translation will then run ‘Pettius, I have no pleasure any longer in writing verse, smitten as I am with a heavy love’.

The present paper concludes that P. Oxy. 2463 contains remnants of a commentary on the Aitia of Callimachus. Identifying the commentary makes it possible to reconstruct the missing part of Heracles' conversation with Molorchus (SH 256–7), confirming its place in the Victoria Berenices and settling the latter's relationship to the Aitia. The argument takes its departure from a vexed passage in Lycophron.

Phaedra's long speech is one of the most important elements in Euripides’ most intricate play; we may confidently assume that with his surpassing interest in women and in rhetoric the dramatist will have lavished more than usual pains upon it. Interpretation of it has suffered in the past from false preconceptions and lexicological imprecision; the nature of the speech is such that we can be led far astray by a small misjudgement of the connotation (whether for Phaedra or the audience) of such words as at the same time there are some profoundly significant variants in the manuscripts, and it will be argued that the text of 405–12 has suffered from ancient garbling and interpolation. In the following discussion I am everywhere indebted to W. S. Barrett's commentary, whose detailed approach at least draws attention to numerous difficulties that have been hitherto neglected, but the conclusions reached differ radically from his.

Some say that only 30 were seized, and that the Curiae were named after them, but Valerius Antias [fr. 3P] says there were 527, Juba [FGrH275F23] that there were 683. They were virgins, which was Romulus' main justification: no married women were taken – except one, Hersilia, by mistake - since it was not in wanton violence or injustice that they resorted to rape, but with the intention of bringing the two peoples together and uniting them with the strongest ties. As for Hersilia, some say she was married to Hostilius, a very distinguished Roman, others that she was married to Romulus himself and even bore him children: one daughter, Prima, so called from the order of birth, and a single son, whom Romulus named Aollios after the crowd of citizens under his rule, though he was subsequently called Abillios [i.e. Avillius]. Many authors, however, contradict this account, which is given by Zenodotus of Troezen [FGrH 821F2].

In a paper where we tried to show in how many different meanings the term is chiefly used in the philosophy of Aristotle, we discussed the relation between and , but neglected the relation between and , which seems to be yet more important. The neglect, however, was purposeful; for to answer the question what the latter relation is requires a special research. This we are now going to carry out.

In his article (CP 71 (1976), 97–105) R. Reneham rightly classes Sail. Cat.20.9 as a conscious imitation of Cic.Cat.1.1, but adopts the unsatisfactory explanation of parody. Such parody is, as he notes, without parallel in Sallust and ineptly distracts attention from the vigorous development of Catiline's rhetoric. Elsewhere mimesis is regularly a compliment to the author imitated, often closely functional by reinforcing a point from the parallel of a similar context (e.g. Sail. Cat.4.1 ~ Pl. Ep.324 b). Similarly I suggest that here Sallust recalls Cicero's words to illustrate that perversion of vocabulary which is the keynote of Catiline's speech: just as he misuses, for example, the terms virtus fidesque at the beginning of his speech, in stark contrast to Sallust's own definition, so he perverts the famous words of the attack which revealed his true villainy in similar savage indignatio.

The concept of mimēsis was ‘shared by most authors, philosophers and educated audiences in the classical period, in antiquity as a whole, and even later’, although it has probably never been developed into a well-articulated theory. As far as we can judge from the extant evidence, the meaning of the expressions μίμησις and μιμέομαι differs from author to author and sometimes even from passage to passage. Ancient Greek views on mimēsis have often been discussed in modern scholarship, mainly within the field of history of art, and it has been demonstrated repeatedly that the traditional English translation ‘imitation’ is not always appropriate for the ancient texts and that in many contexts it is rather misleading. In the following study I aim to focus on this concept as it was employed in the oldest Greek cosmological and philosophical theories. As a rule, the study of these theories is complicated by their fragmentary state of preservation and by their distortion through the specifically Platonic views that were dominant among the later doxographers. I shall suggest that the Platonizing tendency still prevalent today, which tends to translate and interpret mimēsis as ‘imitation’ or ‘copy’, should be carefully revised in the light of the Hippocratic evidence and specifically in view of De victu, probably the oldest authentic, non-fragmentary, and non-Platonic document attesting the concept of mimēsis.