It has been acknowledged ever since H. T. Becker's dissertation on Aeschylus in Greek comedy that Aristophanes' plays can provide us with a terminus ante quern for the composition of the Prometheus Bound. The evidence is clearly presented by Becker and shows that there are a large number of echoes, particularly in the Knights and later in the Birds. Of these latter the most interesting occurs at Birds 1547, a line spoken by Prometheus himself, μισ⋯ δ' ἅπατντας τω⋯ θεōὺ ὡς ōἶσθα ςὺ which is certainly meant to parody PV 975, ⋯πλΏ λ⋯γῳ τō⋯ς π⋯ντας ⋯χθα⋯ ρω θεōὺς a line also spoken by Prometheus. It makes explicit what is surely implicit in all Aristophanic imitation, that what we have here is not just a play but a particular context that is so well known that the reference is meant to be picked up not just by the fictional ‘you’ to whom it is addressed but by the audience, too; in short we may infer that the line of the Prometheus Bound was already a classic quotation.

‘It is supposed’, declared the poet Wordsworth in 1802, ‘that by the act of writing in verse an author makes a formal engagement that he will gratify certain known habits of association; that he not only thus apprizes the reader that certain classes of ideas and expressions will be found in his book, but that others will be carefully excluded. This exponent or symbol held forth by metrical language must in different eras of literature have excited very different expectations.’ For his own era of literature Wordsworth proposed a language derived from the ‘simple and unelaborated expressions’ of the ‘language really spoken by men’, at the expense of ‘devices to elevate the style’ and ‘what is usually called poetic diction’.

The locus classicus for the didactic aspect of Greek tragedy is, of course, Aristophanes' Frogs, especially the passage at 1009–10 where Aeschylus and Euripides agree that (we) tragic poets are valued ⋯τι βελτ⋯оυϲ…πоιо⋯μεν τοὺϲ ⋯νθρώπουϲ ⋯ν ταῖϲ π⋯λεϲιν. But how seriously should we take this? It is comedy, after all.

In a recent re-assessment of the medical aspects of the Plague of Athens which is, to date, the most scholarly and comprehensive, Poole and Holladay have emphasized the tendency of many infectious diseases markedly to decline in virulence over decades and centuries and, sometimes, significantly to change their clinical manifestations. In the light of modern medicine they consider four possibilities: (i) The Plague was a disease (or combination of diseases) which still exists today. This they regard as improbable, (ii) It still exists in some remote place or places unknown to medical science. This is discussed and dismissed, (iii) It became extinct, (iv) It was caused by an agent which nowadays causes a significantly different clinical syndrome. They conclude as follows: ‘The truth, we suggest, almost certainly lies in possibility (iii) or (iv). But we can see no way of choosing between them. On either view the question: “What was the Athenian Plague?” is in principle unanswerable if the questioner is wanting to attach to the Plagsie the name of some modern disease or diseases’.

Scholarly interest in epiteichismos has, for various reasons, been centred almost exclusively upon the Athenian occupation of Pylos and the Spartan occupation of Decelea. In occupying Pylos the Athenians were adopting epiteichismos for the first time, as were the Spartans in occupying Decelea. Both enterprises were on a considerable scale and deeply influenced the course of the Peloponnesian war, though neither so decisively as had initially seemed likely. Another source of interest in them is their link with the perennial problem of speeches in Thucydides. The Thucydidean versions of speeches delivered shortly before the outbreak of the Archidamian war include references to the possibility that epiteichismos might be attempted by both sides (1. 122. 1; 142. 3–4), although in fact Athens did not do so until 425, and then partly by accident, and Sparta not until much later. These puzzling references have been thought by some scholars to be anachronistic, while others have disputed this inference, maintaining that even before the war military leaders had in mind the possibility of epiteichismos. A similar if less vexed problem arises from the fact that the occupation of Decelea, vigorously recommended by Alcibiades in the Thucydidean version of his speech at Sparta at the end of 415 and apparently accepted with enthusiasm (6. 93. 1–2), was not implemented until the spring of 413.

Rem tene, the elder Cato advised the aspiring orator, verba sequentur. The advice applies equally to the textual critic. Of those who have attempted to emend, repunctuate, or defend this passage, few seem to have been troubled by any doubts about the firmness of their grip on the res, the precise point Poseidon is making. The usual view of what Poseidon means is that those who sack cities are foolish because such an act results in their own subsequent destruction, presumably because they desecrate temples and thereby offend the gods. Poseidon's words are cited as encapsulating the ‘moral’ or ‘lesson’ of the play, that the destruction of others and their cities brings the victor no advantage but only his own ruin, that the sacking of cities is always and everywhere an act of criminal folly. Yet there are several features of the lines themselves that are hard to square with this reading, and the context, Poseidon's monologue and his dialogue with Athena, suggests a slightly different view of the lesson to be read from the coming destruction of the Greeks.

Three famous sophists are referred to together in the Apology of Sokrates as still practising their enviably lucrative itinerant profession in 399 b.c. (not, by implication, I in Athens): Gorgias of Leontinoi, Prodikos of Keos and Hippias of Elis. The last of these was the least well known to the Athenian demos, having practised mainly in I Dorian cities. There is no extant reference to him in Old Comedy, but we can assume that he was sufficiently famous – especially for his fees (possibly the highest charged by any sophist) – to justify his inclusion as the third of this ‘triad’; cf. the triad Protagoras – Hippias – Prodikos in the Protagoras, considered further below. Gorgias was by now a grand old man of about ninety (with more than a decade of active life still ahead of him), the last survivor of the first generation of fee-taking educators, associated first and foremost in the popular mind with the suspect arts of political and forensic persuasion. Prodikos and Hippias were probably in their sixties.

Murray's edition of Medea (1902) made use of five manuscripts: BAVLP. Page (1938) added a sixth, the Jerusalem palimpsest, H. But Medea is preserved in six more manuscripts (I do not count apographs), which Murray and Page cite rarely or never. I investigate here the value and affiliations of these six and of a fragmentary seventh (F), which they do cite. The seven manuscripts are:

O (Florence, Bibl. Laurenziana, 31. 10), late twelfth century2

C (Vatican, Vaticano greco 910), fourteenth century; lacks 880–4, 1050 to the end3

D (Florence, Bibl. Laurenziana, 31. 15), fourteenth century4

E (Athos, Μον⋯ 'Ιβ⋯ρων 209, formerly 161), early fourteenth century; lacks 731–825, 1029–1133, 1339 to the end5

F (Venice, Bibl. Nazionale Marciana, gr. 468), c. 1300? Only the hypothesis and lines 1–426

The two slaves, Xanthias and Sosias, posted by their master's son to guard his ‘sick’ father Philocleon, challenge the audience to guess the nature of the mysterious and strange disease &nuó&sgr&ogr&nu ⋯&lambda&lambdaó&kappa&ogr&tau&ogr&nu, 71) on account of which the father must be kept inside the house. When the correct answer to the riddle is finally disclosed, Philocleon is revealed to beis revealed to be φιληλιαστ⋯σ (88), namely a man ‘who loves to be a juror’ and to spend his days in the law-courts passionately pursuing the infatuation of which his son tries to cure him by locking him up away from the law-courts and from his fellow jurors. The joke owes its comic effect to incongruity, termed the ‘humour of inappropriateness’ by MacDowell, who writes: ‘It is funny when addiction to being a juror is called a disease (87–88), because “disease” is a word which is not generally applied to such conditions’. It should, however, be stressed that in order to create this sense of incongruity the previously mentioned diseases must form a class with certain common characteristics fundamentally different from those of Philocleon's, thus gradually moulding the audience's expectations and channelling them in a completely different direction.

Barrett has given a brief account of the affiliations of Hn with the manuscripts which he has collated. He derives his information about the readings of Hn from the reports of nineteenth-century editors, and he does not report this manuscript in his apparatus criticus. He concludes that ‘In three instances (72, 641, 817) Haun. has the truth, or an approximation to it, where the rest of our tradition is at fault (though in two of them there are traces of the same reading in O) … in each case the reading can be accounted for as a lucky accident, and so I judge it in fact to be.’ Of the other four manuscripts, which editors have not collated, he gives no account. ‘From a number of readings cited by Turyn it appears that they are all more or less closely related to Haun.’ K. Matthiessen has voiced a mild regret that Barrett did not settle the question by collation. I have collated these five manuscripts from photographs or microfilms.

The collection and disposal of rubbish and waste and the maintenance of a decent standard of hygiene was as much a problem for ancient city authorities as for modern town councils. The responsibility for the removal of waste would often be dependent upon the nature of the rubbish and the facilities which city authorities offered. Thus early in the fourth century B.C. the agoranomic law from Piraeus prohibited individuals from piling earth and other waste on the streets and compelled the offender to remove it. The astynomic law from Pergamon, which probably dates originally to the Hellenistic period, similarly forbade the dumping or piling up of earth or the mixing of mortar on the streets of the city. As one of Demosthenes' speeches indicates, the effect of dumping rubbish indiscriminately was to raise the level of the road surface, which consequently restricted access and endangered adjacent property. Excavation of a triangular hieron to the south west of the agora at Athens further illustrates the results of dumping. Here it was found that, between the construction of the hieron in the late fifth century B.C. and the beginning of the fourth century B.C, the road surface on its northern side rose more than half a metre and covered the lower part of the wall of the hieron and its boundary marker. The accumulated fill included a deep layer of marble chips, which had been dumped in the area by marble workers. The laws from Piraeus and Pergamon were thus designed to keep streets passable, protect adjacent buildings, and safeguard pedestrians.

In recent years considerable attention has been focused on the question whether Plato ever uses arguments he knows to be sophistical, especially whether he puts such arguments into the mouth of Socrates. Though differing views have been held, at the present time the majority of scholars seem to believe that Plato does not. Though I disagree with this position, I will not attack it directly in this paper. Instead I will discuss what I take to be an important preliminary matter, establishing criteria that can be employed in order to assess the claim that one of Plato's characters does or does not argue sophistically. Since the case of Socrates is by far the most important, I will limit discussion here to the question whether Socrates ever uses sophistry.

The Aristophanic relevance of IG ii2 2343, a late fifth or early fourth century cult table; of Heracles, listing a priest and fifteen thiasotai, was first argued by Sterling Dow. Dow's summary of the communication which he presented to the Archaeological Institute of America is brief and a number of his conclusions may be too confident, but something of substance appears to remain.

In a well-known passage Aristotle ascribes to Plato, or as some think to his followers, the dictum, ⋯ γ⋯ρ ⋯ριθμóς ⋯στιν ⋯κ ⋯νòς κα⋯ τ⋯ς ⋯ορίστον (Met. 1081a, 14), ‘Number is (formed) from the one (unit, monad) and the undetermined (indefinite, unbounded) dyad (duality)’, but what this apparently simple statement means has remained a mystery until modern times. In other passages Aristotle expands it to explain that the indefinite duality is a duality of the great and small, e.g., ὡς μ⋯ν οὔν ὕλην τò μ⋯γα κα⋯ τò μικρòν εἶναι ⋯ρχ⋯ς, ὡς δ' οὐσίαν τò ἔν. ⋯ξ ⋯κείνων γ⋯ρ κατ⋯ μ⋯θεξιν το⋯ ⋯νòς εἶναι τοὺς ⋯ριθμο⋯ς (Met. 987b20–22). ‘As the matter (of number) he posits the great and small for principles, as substance the one; for by the mixture of the one with them he says numbers (arise).’ This identification of the dyad with the great and small, elsewhere called τò ἄνισον (‘the unequal’) and τò ἄπειρον (‘the unbounded’), gives a first clue to its nature. In a notable article in Mind 35 (1926), 419–40, continued in vol. 36, (1927), 12–33, and amplified by D' Arcy Wentworth Thompson in vol. 38 (1929), 43–55, A. E. Taylor first suggested a connexion between the indefinite duality and the modern theory of continued fractions. In the light of subsequent research in the history of Greek mathematics it may now be asserted with a high degree of confidence that his conjecture was almost certainly correct; but it was then no more than a conjecture, and when he looked for confirmation he looked in the wrong direction.

Plato's fondness for words compounded with παν- (nearly all adjectives and adverbs) is obvious at the most cursory reading of his works; this characteristic of his style becomes even more striking when his use of these words is compared with their frequency in earlier authors. An investigation of Platonic usage in this respect, relatively easy since the publication of Leonard Brandwood's Word Index to Plato (Leeds, 1976), yields interesting results. Whether the effect of the παν-prefix is intensive or determinative (see below, §I), Plato has a tendency to associate these words with some sort of disapproval; this disapproval is sometimes explicit enough and can sometimes be inferred from the use of the word, or of a word related to it, in other contexts. The words may be used ironically, as π⋯γκαλος often is and π⋯σσοϕος always. Another sort of disapproval springs from what may be called Plato's general dislike of (promiscuous plurality, excess and variety; for a philosopher who believes in single, unchanging Forms there is something intrinsically objectionable in such words as π⋯μπολυς and παντοδαπ⋯ς. It also transpires that Plato may have coined a number, of these words and that he was probably the first prose writer to import others from poetry; in the face of the fragmentary nature of surviving Greek literature it would be unwise to be more dogmatic. The following, somewhat dry, survey will, it is hoped, throw some light on the usage of these interesting words

In CQ n.s. 26 (1976). 62–84 I argued that the defeat of Sparta in 371 B.C. was not due to the pursuit of unwise policies towards the other Greek states. Unwise policies there had been. Sparta being by no means superior to Athens in the formulation of foreign policy, but these did not affect the position on the eve of Leuctra when, with Thebes politically isolated, and with some of the Boeotians disaffected, Cieombrotus at the head of a numerically superior Spartan and allied army was poised for the, destruction of Theban power; a triumph of policy it must have seemed. Sparta failed for military reasons. Her army was unequal to the military genius of Epaminondas.

Plato's Symposium consists of six speeches on Eros with the addition of Alcibiades' praise of Socrates. Of these speeches Socrates' speech is philosophically most important. It is true that the speech is given as a report of Diotima's view on Eros, but ‘she is a double of the Platonic Socrates’, and we take her view as the theory of Socrates in this dialogue

The second chapter of book three of the De anima marks the end of Aristotle's discussion of sense-perception. The chapter is a long one and apparently rambling in subject matter. It begins with a passage that is usually taken as a discussion of some sort of self-awareness, particularly awareness that one is perceiving, although such an interpretation raises some difficulties. This paper reconsiders the problems raised by supposing that the question discussed in the first paragraph is ‘how do we perceive that we perceive?’, and suggests an alternative interpretation which would solve many of the difficulties and have the additional merit of restoring unity to the sequence of notes which go to make up the whole chapter.

‘The Greeks have two treaties with the King: the one which our city made, which all praise; and later the Lacedaemonians made the one which all condemn,’ says Demosthenes (15. 29) c. 350. Isocrates, however, did not always run with the pack, for a few years earlier he urged the Athenians to make peace on the basis of the treaty ‘with the King and the Lacedaemonians [which] commands the Greeks to be autonomous, the garrisons to depart from the cities of others, and each people to have its own territory’ (On the Peace 8. 16)

‘Menander has set up a confrontation between this law [the law about epikleroi] and love… He wants the audience to regard the law as stupid and wrong… Surely one of Menander's purposes in writing this play was to make the Athenians consider seriously whether the law ought to be changed.’ Thus Professor D. M. MacDowell in the concluding paragraph of his article ‘Love versus the Law: an Essay on Menander's Aspis’. A similar view was already implicit in E. Karabelias' treatment of the play as indicative of the general attitude to this law in Athens in Menander's day: ‘A n'en point douter, l'épiclérat est ressenti, á l'epoque de Ménandre, comme une anomalie intolérable pour les mceurs de la societe athénienne à la fin du ive s.av.n.è L'épiclérat est odieux et ridicule… L'hostilité envers l'épiclérat est done un signe des temps’. And Professor E. G. Turner has written: ‘it is hard to imagine that the institution of the epiclerate emerged in good standing from this derisory treatment’.