California Studies in Classical Antiquity: Volume 7 California Studies in Classical Antiquity, Volume 7 [Reprint 2019 ed.] 9780520322844

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CALIFORNIA STUDIES IN CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY Volume 7

UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA PRESS BERKELEY • LOS ANGELES • LONDON

C A L I F O R N I A STUDIES IN CLASSICAL A N T I Q U I T Y

Senior Editors: Thomas G. Rosenmeyer and Norman Austin Advisory Editors: Phillip Damon, Philip Levine, Ronald S. Stroud VOLUME 7

The poppy motif used throughout California Studies in Classical Antiquity reproduces an intaglio design on a bronze finger ring of the fourth century B.C., from Olynthus; D. M. Robinson, Excavations at Olynthus 10 (Baltimore 1941) 136, pi. 26, no. 448.

ISBN: 0-520-09518-9 Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 68-26906 University of California Press Berkeley and Los Angeles California University of California Press, Ltd. London, England © 1975 by The Regents of the University of California Printed in Great Britain

Contents HERBERT ABRAMSON The Olympieion in Athens and Its Connections with Rome Plates 1-6 J . K. ANDERSON The Battle of Sardis in 395 B.C. Map JAY BREGMAN Synesius of Cyrene: Early Life and Conversion to Philosophy STANLEY M. BURSTEIN Sceptre or Thunderbolt: Plutarch, Moralia 338B DAVID DAUBE Withdrawal: Five Verbs HERMANN FRANKEL Three Talks on Grammar MICHAEL S. GOLDSTEIN Athenian-Persian Peace Treaties: Thuc. 8.56.4 and 8.58.2

vi

Contents

SEYMOUR HOWARD Observations Concerning the Antiquity of the Getty Veristic Head and the Authentication of Ancient Marbles Plates 1-4

165

J O E L B. LIDOV The Poems and Performance of Isthmians 3 and 4

175

TADEUSZ MASLOWSKI The Opponents of Lactantius {Inst. VII. 7, 7-13)

187

ROBERT McCLURE The Structure of Catullus 68 Diagram

215 219

STEPHEN G. MILLER The Altar of the Six Goddesses in Thessalian Pherai Text figures 1-4 Plates 1-4

231

C. E. MURGIA The Donatian Life of Virgil, DS, and D

257

RONALD S. STROUD Three Attic Decrees Plates 1-4

279

HERBERT ABRAMSON

The Olympieion in Athens and Its Connections with Rome For most of classical antiquity the Temple of Olympian Zeus in Athens was an unfinished giant (pi. 1: l). 1 Its grand scale and want of completion drew the attention of numerous Greek and Roman authors.2 Vitruvius, the architect and military engineer who wrote in the second half of the first century B.C., names the architects who began the temple in the late sixth century: Namque Athenis Antistates et Callaesckros et Antimachides et Porinos3 architecti 1 The principal studies are F. G. Penrose, JHS 8 (1887) 272-273; Penrose, An Investigation of the Principles of Athenian Architecture 2d ed. (London 1888) 74-87, henceforth Penrose, Principles; Welter, "Das Olympieion in Athen," AthMitt 47 (1922) 61-71, henceforth Welter I ; Welter, "Das Olympieion in Athen," AthMitt 48 (1923) 182-189, henceforth Welter I I ; Travlos, Xvaoica+ucal ifxvvtu mpa T6 'OXvpmtiov, Praktika 1949 (1951) 25-43. For general accounts of the Olympieion see J . G. Frazer, Pausamas's Description of Greece (London 1913) II, 178-182; W. Judeich, Topographie von Athen 2d ed. (Munich 1913) 382-385, henceforth Judeich, Topographie; P. Graindor, Athines sous Hadrien (Cairo 1934) 218-225, henceforth Graindor, Athines; W. B. Dinsmoor, The Architecture of Ancient Greece 3d ed. revised (London 1950) 91, 280-281, henceforth Dinsmoor, Architecture; Wycherley, " T h e Olympieion at Athens," GRBS 5 (1964) 161-179, henceforth Wycherley, "Olympieion"; J . Travlos, Pictorial Dictionary of Ancient Athens (London 1971) 402-411, henceforth Travlos, Dictionary. 2 The principal ancient references are Thuc. 2.15; Arist. Pol. 5.9.4; HeraIdeides (Pseudo-Dikaiarchos) 1.1, in GGM I, 98; Vitr. De Arch. 3.2.8, 7.pr.l5, 17; Livy 41.20.8; Strab. 9.396; Veil. Pat. 1.10; Plin. HM36.45; Plut. Sol. 32; Paus. 1.18.6-8; Lucian, Icar. 24 and Schol.; Suet. Aug. 60; Ath. 5.194a; Philostr. VS 1.25.6; Dio Cass. 69.16; SHA Hadr. 13; Hesychius, s.v. 'OAii/itrton. 3 Porinos (G) or Pormos (H and S) are too much like poros and suggest a source something like, Avnoranp/ KaXXaurxpov Amftax&rp/ mupwov ouroSopipKu n o r , Fabricius, "Porinos," RE 22 (1953) 247. Antimachides and Kallaischros are names at home in Athens although they cannot be traced back to the sixth century, I. Kirchner, Prosopographia Attica

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Herbert Abramson 4

Pisistrato aedem Iovi Olympio f adenti fondamenta constituerunt, post mortem autem eius propter interpellationem reipublicae incepta reliquerunt.5 The existing limestone foundations and unfinished column drums, some of the latter recut aijd reused in the nearby Themistoklean wall, some reused as column foundations for the Hellenistic temple, confirm the good quality of Vitruvius' source. 6 The same author tantalizes the modern reader with Cossutius, the Roman citizen and architect, who, hundreds of years later, renewed work on the Olympieion for the Seleucid monarch and Zeus enthusiast, Antiochos IV Epiphanes. 7 Building operations ended probably with the death of Antiochos. The Elder Pliny and Suetonius provide additional information about the Cossutian structure. Sulla brought columns from the Olympieion to Rome. 8 Kings who were friends and allies of Augustus planned to honor him by finishing the temple and dedicating it to his genius.9 Hadrian, who completed and dedicated the temple, eventually overwhelmed Zeus in the popular imagination ; fourteenth century visitors saw columns which, they were told, had once supported the Palace of Hadrian. 1 0 D. Cossutius is known to us as the builder of the Olympieion only from Vitruvius' account of the building history in the preface to his seventh book: Itaque circiter annis quadringentis post Antiochos, rex, cum in id opus inpensam esset pollicitus, celiac magnitudinem et columnarum circa (Berlin 1901) 78, 616. My note on "Antistates, Son of Atarbos, an Athenian Architect, and His Descendants" will be forthcoming in the AJA. 4 Arist. Pol. 5.9.4, says that the Peisistratidai built the Olympieion as a means to keep their subjects poor and busy. Cf. Welter I 67-69. Wycherley, "Olympieion" 162-165, thinks that Vitruvius merely omitted the sons of Peisistratos. Conceivably the aging tyrant could have laid the cornerstone toward the end of his life and his sons could then have carried on work less enthusiastically. 5 Vitr. De Arch. 7.pr.l5. « Penrose, JHS 8 (1887) 272-273, fig. 2; Vanderpool, AJA 64 (1960) 267; Travlos, Dictionary 404, pis. 521-522. 7 Vitr. De Arch. 7.pr.l5. On Antiochos and Zeus Olympic« see Wilken, "Antiochos IV. Epiphanes," RE 1 (1894) 2474; Frazer's comments on Paus. 5.12.4; M. Rostovtzeff, The Social and Economic History of the Hellenistic World (Oxford 1959) II 703-704, III 1492-1493. » Plin. HN 36.45. 9 Suet. Aug. 60. 10 Supra n. 2 ; references to Paus., Philostr., Dio Cass., Schol. to Lucian, Icar.y and the SHA. Niccolò da Martoni, an Italian notary, and Cyriacus of Ancona were among those who were led to believe that the Olympieion was the Palace of Hadrian, J . M. Paton, Medieval and Renaissance Visitors to Greek Lands (Princeton 1951) 33; E. W. Bodnar, Cyriacus of Ancona and Athens: Collection Latomus 43 (1960) 39; cf. Bodnar, "Athens in April 1436, Part I I , " Archaeology 23 (1970) 188-189.

The Olympieion in Athens

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dipteron conlocationem epistyliorumque et ceteromm ornamentorum ad symmetriam distributionem magna sollertia scientiaque stimma ciois Romanus Cossutius nobilita- est archiUctatus.11 His efforts were a success not only with the masses but also in paitcis.12 Vitruvius adds that Cossutius was remembered to have undertaken construction in "Corinthian symmetries and proportions" and in a "spacious union of modules." 13 The temple Cossutius built was cited by Vitruvius as an example of an octostyle hypaethral plan. 14 A statue base of Republican date found within the Olympieion temenos wall and published by Dodwell honored AEKMOE K0220YTI0E noilAIOYPQMAIOEV That a Roman of the first half of the second century B.C. designed the Corinthian capital of Vitruvius' standard form might seem surprising; but the obvious pride with which Vitruvius wrote about Cossutius makes it difficult to believe that his citizenship was anything but a birthright. 16 He was among antiqui nostri and as good an architect as any Greek. 17 Vitruvius' interest in this architect may have been heightened by his acquaintance with C. Cossutius Maridianus, a moneyer of 44 B.C. The latter, like Vitruvius, was a follower of Caesar. 18 Apart from D. Cossutius, the name is known in Rome since the first quarter of the first century B.C.19 Caesar had even been betrothed to a Cossutia.20 Antiochos IV, it will be re11 Vitr. Dt Ardi. 7.pr.l5. 12 Vitr. Dt Arch. 7.pr.l7. Cf. Livy 41.20.8. 13 Vitr. Dt Arch. 7.pr.l7: In asty vero ad Olympùm ampio modulorum amparatu corinthiis symmetriis et proportiombus, uti s. s. est, architectandum Cossutius suscepisse memoratur, cuius ummmtanum nullum est vwentum. 14 Vitr. Dt Ardi. 3.2.8: Hypaethros viro decastyios tst in pronao it postico. Reliqua omnia tadem habet quae diptiros, std interiore parti coìumnas in altitudini duplicts, remotas a parittibus ad circumitionem ut portion ptristyliorvm. Medium autim sub divo tst sin tetto. Aditus valoarum ex utraqui parti in pronao it postico. Hums item exemplar Renuu non est, std Athems octastylos et tempio Olympia. 1' IG 112, 4099; E. Dodwell, Classical and Topographical Tour Through Cruci During the rears 1801, 1805, and 1806 (London 1819) I 391. 1« Vitr. De Arch. 7.pr.l5. 17 Vitr. De Arch. 7.pr.l8. H E. A. Sydenham, The Coinage of the Roman Republic reviled ed. (London 1952) 178, no. 1069, pi. 28, henceforth Sydenham, CRR; T. R. S. Broughton, The Magistrates of the Roman Republic 2 (New York 1952) 437. 1' M. Cossutius, a lawyer treated with distinction by Verres, ca. 72 B.C., Cic. Virr. 3.55.185. 20 Suet. Cats. 1.1 : familia equestri, std admodum dives. H i e question why a Seleucid monarch employed a Roman to build a Greek temple has not been answered. H . A. Thompson's suggestion that Cossutius was called in to roof the temple is Ear from compelling, " T h e Odeion in the Athenian Agora," Hisperia 19 (1950) 93.

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membered in this connection, spent almost a decade and a half in Rome. 21 Most of the Olympieion's visible remains were built in the period of Antiochos. Thirteen columns with their architraves still stand at the southeast corner of the peristyle which was dipteral on its flanks, tripteral on its ends (pi. 1:2). The third and seventh columns from the west end of the southern inner flank still stand. The fifth column from the west end of that row was blown down in a hurricane on October 26, 1852.22 The temple was octostyle with twenty columns on the flanks. Cossutius maintained the ground plan and wherever possible the foundations of the Peisistratid temple. The steps of the Peisistratid temple were removed with the exception of the bottom step of the west end. The new stylobate has upward curvature along its ends and sides. Marble was employed for the new krepis as well as all other visible parts of the building.23 The 17.25 m. high columns rest on Attic bases and plinths. The columns do not incline, but do have entasis.24 Of the entablature, fragments of the architrave with three fasciae and a single unfinished raking sima fragment, giving the pitch of the gables, survive. The sima fragment is either a reject or an indication that the temple was never completed. No part of the frieze has been recovered. The interior order is represented by a brecchia foundation wall running east-west and by a fragment of marble column fluting found within the area of the cella.25 The column capitals are not all identical, as Penrose was the first to observe. Differences in form and technique of carving have inspired archaeologists to assign some or all of the capitals to the Cossutian, the possible Augustan or the Hadrianic building.26 All 21 Wilcken (lupra n. 7) 2474. 22 Dinunoor, ArchUecturt 280; Judeich, Topograph!* 111. 23 Welter II 182. 24 Welter II 183; Penrose, PrvuipUs 43. 23 Penrose, PrvuipUs 70, maintained that "cramp m a r l u " on the exterior margin of the architrave are evidence that the frieze was decorated with sculpture. Welter did not believe in the decorated frieze and called attention to the undecorated friezes on the nearby Arch and Library of Hadrian, Welter II 184. For the sima fragment and the interior order see Penrose, PrvuipUs 77, 82, 124, fig. 24, pi. 40; Welter II 184, 188; Dinsmoor, Architecture 281. 2< Penrose, PriticipUs 76, put all the capitals in the age of either Antiochos or Augustus, but more probably the former, and urged comparison with the Tholos in Epidauros. Welter II 187, assigned the group at the southeast corner to the Antiochid period: the third and fifth columns from the west end of the southern inner flank to the Hadrianic period, comparing these capitals to those on the Arch of Hadrian; the seventh column from the west end of the southern inner flank to the time of Augustus because it resembled neither of the

The Olympieion in Athens

5

students have considered the capitals and therefore the columns of the southeast group Hellenistic. These capitals are the first extant normal capitals or examples of the Corinthian capital described by Vitruvius.27 Most of the basic elements (if not the proper combination and proportions) of the normal capital had been available in the Peloponnesos since the fifth century b.c. The Bassae capital (pi. 2:1) had two rows of acanthus leaves of equal height, central helices, volutes supported by leaves, and a palmette on the kalathos rather than a central flower on the abacus.28 The proportions and the foliage of the capitals of the inner order of the Tholos at Epidauros approach those of the Olympieion (pi. 2:2). 29 The lower part of the Tholos capital which rests upon the astragal terminating the column shaft is surrounded by two rings of leaves. Save for the leaves of the buried "chapiteau modèle," the bases of the ima folia touch each other.30 The leaves of the bottom ring have an " S "-shaped profile emphasized by the projecting middle ribs. On each side of the middle ribs are six leaf sections, each with five pointy leaf teeth. The lowest tooth of each leaf section overlaps the highest tooth of the section below forming an almond or tear-drop shaped sinus. The carving is crisp, the ima folia deeply undercut and set well in front of the secunda folia. The volutes and helices do not overlap as at Bassae other two groups. Dinsmoor, Architecture 281, consider! the southeast group Antiochid because the carving of the foliage resembles that on the Tholos of Epidauros, the others Augustan or Hadrianic copies because their style is less pure. Wycherley, " Olympieion " 172, and Graindor, Athènes 223-224, maintain that the differences on the capitals are minor and all may be assigned to the Hellenistic period. W. Heilmeyer, Korinthische Normalkapitelle : RSmMitt, Erg&nzungsheft 16, 57-58 (henceforth Heilmeyer, Normal), assigns all the columns to the Antiochid period except for the seventh column from the west end of the southern inner flank which he, like Welter, assigns to the Augustan period. 27 Vitr. De Arch. 4.1.11-12. A modern explanation is found in Heilmeyer, Normal 12-13; a diagram with labelled parts in H . Kâhler, Die Rimxschen Kapitelle des Rheingebietes: Râmisch-Germamscfu Forschungen, 13, fig. 1, henceforth Kâhler, Rheingebiet. 2* Gfltschow, " Untenuchungen zum Korinthischen Kapitell, I , " Jdl 36 (1921) 44-58,henceforthGtttschow, " U n t e n u c h u n g e n " ; G . R o u x , L'Architecture de L'Argolide aux IV et III' Sieclei Avant J. C. (Paris 1961) 44,45,365, pl. 17, henceforth Roux. Recently N. Leipen, Athena Parthenos (Toronto 1971) 38 and n. 114, figs. 2, 3, 60, stated anew the claim that the capital on the column supporting the Victory of the Varvakeion Athena is a simplified version of " t h e first manifestation of the so-called Corinthian order," invented for the Parthenon's cult statue. T h e objections to attributing the Corinthian capital to Pheidias are that there is no literary evidence supporting the attribution and the capital on the Varvakeion Athena has no sign of foliage, helices, or volutes. 29 First half of the fourth century B.C. Roux 132, 154-155, 359-360, 367368, pis. 47-49.1. 30 O n the "chapiteau modèle," see Roux 155-156.

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Herbert Abramson

but arise side by side behind the ima folia. An Attic Ionic base supports the columns of the Tholos and becomes canonic for use with Corinthian capitals.31 The Corinthian capitals which crowned the interior halfcolumns of the Temple of Athena at Tegea are also free as opposed to the later normal capitals, but differ considerably from those at Epidauros (pi. 2:3). 32 The fluting of the columns terminates abruptly beneath the fillet and astragal (as in Epidauros). The capitals are proportionately shorter than the Epidaurian versions and the vertical division of these capitals, unlike those at Epidauros, is basically in two parts: the two rings of leaves together make up one half of the capital, while the volute zone makes up the other. The helices have been omitted (as in later Italic Corinthian), but the volutes now spring from a fluted, slighdy bent cauliculus terminated at its upper end by a bulging ring set at right angles to the flutes.33 In place of the helices are large curving calyx leaves which arise from the calyx "knot." These leaves bend toward but stop short of a large central acanthus leaf which springs up from behind the secunda folia. The abacus is still cut back in its central part but its corners have been cut off. The earliest extant examples suggest that the architectural use of Corinthian capitals began in the Peloponnesos. By the fourth and third centuries B.C. Corinthian capitals had reached Attica and the rest of the Greek world. The special achievements of Athenian architects and sculptors were the use of Corinthian on the exterior of a building, beginning with the Lysikrates Monument (335/334 B.C.),34 and the development of the normal capital. The latter was to become the most widely used form of Corinthian capital in the Roman Empire.35 The capitals which Cossutius designed have their ancestry in the Argolid and Athens (pi. 2:4). These capitals represent the only set in which the vegetable elements are convincingly rendered as being 31 Roux 359. 32 C. Dugas, Li Sanctumn àftaprot rov vpimms. ilpooayw 81} oot 8topov f f t o i T€ SoBvat ool re Xaflti npmaSdmTW Starata; ftiv tpyov ¿ ¡ t f j i Sua ¡tot trwtvrróprfOfv ij otfiaofutimrnj SiSaoKaXos. It is interesting to note that Ptolemy's epigram is included in this letter (supra n. 32). oZS* on Outeris *yw, «cat c^a/upas' ÓAA órav atrrptuv '¡Xvtvw wvKtvas Oft^tSpAicovs cAuras, owe ir inu/miai yairp wooiv, àAAà "nap* aìrip Zi/vi StoTptjJuK iriftirKaftai ¿ftfipoaiip. (1585C) Antit. Pal. IX, 577. The standard study of this is F. Boll., Kleine Schriftm (Leipzig 1950) 143ff. The poem inscribed upon the Astrolabe with which the letter concludes is another paean to the cosmo*: Wisdom has found a path to the heavens—O mighty marvel! And intelligence has come from these heavenly beings. Behold ! it has also ordered the curved form of the globe, and it has cut the equal circles with unequal spacing*. See the constellations all the way to the rim whereon the Titan, / Holding his kingdom, metes out day and night.

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Although there is a playful aspect to these letters we must conclude that there is also a mystical one. It might seem strange to equate subjects of such high seriousness with play, but cosmic humor was not unknown to the Greeks. 36 Indeed, Synesius demonstrates his own ability at this sort of thing in his early work the Praise of Baldness'. the bald head is superior to the hairy head because it is reminiscent of the sphere, which is the most perfect object in the cosmos; in fact, the cosmos itself is a sphere. In Platonism the more perfect an object is, the closer it is to its immutable Form or Idea; therefore, the bald head is more real—in the Platonic sense of the word—than the hairy head because it enjoys a greater participation in Form. 37 It is generally agreed—though the only evidence is indirect—that Hypatia preferred the Porphyrian to the Iamblichean version of Neoplatonism, and that she gave the doctrines of Porphyry a special place in her school. 38 Ironically, it was the teaching of Porphyry—that most scholarly enemy of Christianity—that opened up a relatively smooth path from paganism to the new religion. Those Platonists who, according to St. Augustine (Ep. 118), moved to Christianity, rather than down to Theurgy and magic, did so by the Porphyrian route. There are two main reasons for this phenomenon: Porphyry's religious thought, unlike that of Iamblichus, is not dependent on pagan sacerdotalism but tends rather to minimize its importance; thus cult and ritual have a peripheral rather than a central place in his theology. The believer need not involve himself in (explicitly illegal) outward ritual acts. Porphyry's so-called "monistic tendency" enabled one to conceive of the Neoplatonic hypostases in a unique way which was much closer to—if not identical with—an orthodox conception of the Trinity. 39 Accept thou the slanting» of the Zodiac, nor let escape thee Those famous centres of the noontide assemblages (tr. Fitzgerald). For a discussion of the differences between the pagan, Christian and Gnostic world view with respect to the cosmos, its divinity, goodness, etc., cf. Hans Jonas, The Gnostic Religion (2nd ed. Boston 1963) Part III, "Gnosticism and the Classical Mind," 239-288. 3« E.g., Plato, Laws V I I , 796 where he equates the highest activities of life— including religion—with play; Heraditus, fr. 70. 37 Calmtii Encomium, 1184B. » J . Bidez, Kit 4 Pmphyr, (Ghent 1913; reprint, Hildesheim 1964) 134, believes that Porphyry was favored at Alexandria in the late fifth century. Lacombrade, SyrUsios 49, suggests that the teaching of Theon and Hypatia paved the way for a Porphyrian renaissance at Alexandria. 3* On Porphyry's critical attitude toward pagan ritual and Theurgy: Theurgy was only a first step that could help purify the soul but not, as Iamblichus, Julian and

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Moreover, the fact that science was an important element in Hypatia's teaching should make us wary of oversimplified associations of late Neoplatonism with late Roman "failure of nerve" or "the decline of rationalism." These theories are regularly invoked to explain away the religious concerns of the late ancient world merely as indications of a lack of faith in the efficacy of rational inquiry and practical human effort. There is no denying, as Dodds and others have demonstrated, that it was an "age of anxiety" with more than its share of pathological phenomena. However, we must be careful not to write off all the religious experiences of the period on the grounds that they are merely pathological. It is true that certain extremist groups such as the Gnostics gave up all concerns which were not related to their salvation. But other groups—especially the late pagans—tried to keep their Proclus thought, return it to the noetic realm. De Rigressu Animat, fragments assembled from St. Augustine, Civ. Dei 10 and 27-28, Vie de Porphyrt 27*-44*. For the positions of Iamblichus and Proclus see Iamb. De Amma 370-375. Proclus, In Tim. I l l , 234. Porphyry's, Letter to Anebo is a general criticism of late pagan theology, demonology, divination and Theurgy; Lacombrade, Synisios 49 takes Synesius' criticism of magic (On Dreams 1304C) based upon the hidden sympathies in nature to be a rejection of Theurgy; but Iamblichus also criticized those who explained divination simply in terms of cosmic sympathy; this kind of magic might exist but it is of an inferior sort compared with Theurgy which is based on a union of our intellect with a divine intellect (De Myst. I l l , 26-27, X, 3). A. C. Lloyd, Cambridge History of Later Greek and Early Medieval Philosophy (Cambridge 1967) on Later Neoplatonism, part IV, chs. 1719, p. 296, has helped greatly in bringing a new understanding to this problem. He points out that Iamblichus' attitude was consistent in this respect and " made the same kind of distinction (as in Theurgy) in the case of prayer, sacrifice and astrology ",De Myst. II, 11, V, 7-8,10, and 15; IX, 4-5. Cf. R. T. Wallis, Neoplatonism (New York 1972) "Anti-Christian Polemic and the Problem of Theurgy" 100-110. For an up-to-date scholarly and positive account of Theurgy see J . Trouillard L'Un el L'Ame selon Proclus (Paris 1972) " L a Theurgie" 171-189. Porphyry " telescoped " the hypostases by considering Soul to be in reality a part of the intelligible realm and by placing unified Soul and Mais close to the unity of the One. Porphyry even went so far as to " p u s h " the noetic realm into the One. The later Neoplatonists, as is well known, not only believed in "vertical" emanation down from the One, but also in " horizontal" emanation: the first noetic triad consists of the existence of the Father (hyparxis); the power of the Father (dynamis), the mind of the Father (nods). If this triad is identified with the One, the One may be said " to exist" (rd ttvm, esse, not cW>) while in the horizontal triad equal—not subordinate—powers, can be identified with the Father, (hyparxis), Son (Nods — Logos), Holy Spirit (tfynamis), usually in that order, but not always, thus opening a path from Porphyrian Neoplatonism to Christianity. (The identifications can become more complex.) For a thorough analysis of Porphyry's "telescoping" of the hypostases see Lloyd, Cambridge History of Later Greek Philo. 283-301; for an outline of the main points see Wallis, Neoplatonism 106; and for a brilliant demonstration that Marius Victorinus took this route, as did Synesius, see P. Hadot, Propbyre et Victorinus (2 vols. Paris 1968). The most helpful work for connecting the Hymns of Synesius to the Chaldaean Oracles, which were the basis of Porphyry's interpretation of the noetic triad, is W. Theiler, Die QtaldSischen Orakel und die Hytrnen des Synesios (Halle 1942).

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balance; e.g. Julian and Synesius were both active political figures who tried, and succeeded to some extent, to live according to the old Hellenic cultural ideals. Hypatia herself, in contrast to the more ascetic Neoplatonists like Porphyry, believed in the civic virtues, an indication of her philosophical independence if not originality. 40 It seems, then, that the Alexandrian "school" of Neoplatonism in the late fourth century combined scientific research with a certain amount of social concern, somewhat unusual for the period in degree if not in kind. The religious doctrines were taught in a "confessionally neutral" atmosphere, which was neither particularly hostile to Christianity nor dependent upon a sacerdotal paganism, in contrast to Julian, Iamblichus, and Proclus, who gave the cults of Hellenism a special status and made their practice indispensable. Hypatia and her students would have agreed with Julian, for example, on the importance ofpaideia as the expression of Hellenism, a culture superior to all others, in which philosophical and religious notions were of the greatest importance; but they would have disagreed with him and his followers on the role of pagan cult as a necessary manifestation of mystical-ontological realities which guaranteed the stability of the human relationship with the divine in the cosmos. Hypatia's school was not involved in anti-Christian propaganda, apparently had Christian students, and was tolerated under the cruel patriarchate of Theophilus. Her martyrdom probably had more to do with her charisma, popularity, influence, and reputation for piety and purity than any anti-Christian activity on her part. She could have been considered dangerous by some in spite of her intentions. She, more than any other contemporary figure, personified philosophy to Synesius.41 Philosophy was a real way of life for her—a striving for perfection and a reaching out for the divine which demanded a genuine love of wisdom. 40

The Suda attributes a belief in civic virtues to Hypatia . . . b> rt roir ipyois ¡ivfoova t< «at iroAiTunjv. Synesius' own form of Hellenism, which retained the ideals of paideia, saw them in the perspective of a mystical religion; again, without Julian's sacerdotalism. For social concerns of later Hellenism in general see Julian, Ep. 84-89; Themistius, Oral. 31, which contrasts speculative with practical concerns. 41 Lacombrade, SyrUiios 46 sees Hypatia as a living example of the balanced ideal of culture and civic activity which influenced him throughout his life. On students in Hypatia's school see Crawford, Synesius the Hellene 415, who makes a case for the presence there of Isidore of Pelusium, who supposedly became a friend of Synesius and possibly advised him on matters of dogma and heresy. Synesius refers to several of Hypatia's pupils in Ep. 96; 99; 133; 148; 149; 144; 140; 4; 16; 93.

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Let us examine some of Synesius' early works in order to see if there is any concrete evidence that he experienced this first conversion. The most important sources for reconstructing the philosophical religion which Synesius embraced in this period are his letters to Herculian (Ep. 137-146), probably written fairly soon after his departure from Alexandria, and his Hymn /, possibly written in about 397.42 In Ep. 137, he calls Hypatia the hierophant of philosophy, and philosophy itself a mystery suited only for pure initiates. Philosophy is the highest possible way to the divine: Life lived according to reason (nods) is the end of man. Let us pursue that life; let us ask for divine wisdom from God; let us ourselves—in whatever manner possible—gather wisdom from all over. 43 Those destined to share in the philosophic life are an elect providentially brought together for the pursuit of wisdom: Whenever I recall our association in philosophy, and that philosophy over which we struggled so much, upon reflection, I attribute our meeting to God our guide. For nothing less than a divine cause could impel m e . . . . I hold philosophy among the most ineffable ofineffable things . . . to reveal myself, and all that I possess, to a man with whom I had only a brief conversation.44 The initiated are connected with one another, not only by common human interests, but also by a deeper noetic bond: And if human affairs join together in mutual sympathy those who share them in common, divine law demands that

42 There is no absolute proof of thii except that it team to be purely pagan and the work of a recent "convert" to philosophy. The dating of the Hynau is a difficult problem and only those which contain biographical material can be fixed with any certainty. 137, 1528A. "Ibid. 1525B-C: trw> Si wpis ivfaXooo+lfKoumria* ¿»Hat,rat^Xoao^Lar inknp wipl f f i woXXa mmn^afur iimxvda ifa ro6 AaytaftoS ywifttvot lif flpaflcvrfj rlp> rnrrvxfa» ^ ^ awWIyu. oi yap ay ¿r' ¿Umnt j) itlas aMas ¿Mnot... ^tXooo^tav Si, in app^ran nftptf rore roty Ijfcu»... ifuarrin n , rat ra iftamoB tcn^iara caxicaXuiJta at&pi mrafipaxi M m /tot rat XafUm rim Xtyov.

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we who are united through the intellect, the best thing within us, should honor one another. 45 In his letters to Herculian, Synesius not only takes delight in the mystique of initiation, but also discusses some of the specific elements which enable philosophy to lead its adepts to a more authentic and higher form of existence. Among the ideas he discusses are the following: the conception and practice of genuine virtue which is arrived at through philosophical reflection; that philosophy aids us in improving our spiritual vision so that we can perceive the divinity within ourselves and all things; that there is an ascending hierarchy of virtues, corresponding to the ascending ontological order of things, which, if mastered, allows the philosopher to rise above his earthly condition. Before going on to Synesius' variation on the traditional theme of philosophy as a mystery religion, let us briefly deal with these three ideas as they appear in his correspondence. Following the Platonic tradition, Synesius contrasts natural or fideistic virtue (i.e., doing good without knowing the real reason why you ought to be doing good) unfavorably with philosophic virtue, in which the agent is fully conscious of the reasons for his actions: For self control without reason, and complete abstinence from meat-eating have been granted by nature to many unreasoning species. But we do not praise a raven or any other creature that has discovered a natural virtue, because it is without the power to think. Life lived according to reason is the end of man. 46 Philosophy allows us to release the "eye of the soul", which is latent within us, and thereby enables us to look upon the divine: 45 lb id.: n Si Kvi aadjpotaurat jpetai nit m M ^ m n t fcaWw onMowir wra vow rcSv in ^iw to ipum* avyytro/Urovi ttiot amttTct ripios r' aAAifAaw n/tb (cf. Ep. 140 ad init.)** Ibid. 1528A: Eotfaooiirtf yap aXoyot, m awojpi Kptuu&aaias *oXX$ npa woAAofr iUywt cZkoiv ¿Mow vupa r^t ^afouuf. XXX' oin hrawovfttv ovrt rofxmrrp*, otfr' SXXo n ruv tvpOfUtw ^maue)f> apmfv, on ^onjMwt 'H N mm nofir {of, rAot antpmwov. nvnjv iitrOofiMr 9ti$tr r* curovms lti> ^poMu>, M H SVToi TW TOOVOC TO ^MMfl* 8W8FTQ* X^A«? ovXXfyoms.

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Jay Bregman Goodbye, philosophize and continue to dig up the eye buried within us.47

This "eye of the soul" is in reality the divinity within us that corresponds to and coincides with the divinity both within and beyond the cosmos. The final mystical goal is union of the internal divinity with the transcendent. Synesius, urging Herculian to keep striving to reach this ideal, quotes (or rather, slightly misquotes) Porphyry's account of the last words of Plotinus : Goodbye, philosophize, raise up the divine within you to the first-born divine.48 Synesius also demonstrates a complete awareness of the ascending hierarchy of philosophical virtues (aretai) through which the adept must pass if he is to purify himself for union with the divine : I had expected the pious Herculian to set his sights upon the things above and be entirely devoted to the contemplation of Reality; to look upon the first principle of mortal things, and, having long ago passed beyond the virtues which have been diverted and are connected with the ordering of things here below . . . exchange strength of body for manliness of soul. I do not mean that manliness *7 Ibid. 1525D : "Eppaxro, ¿fifia

« A I ^TAWRO^CT, KOÙ

SurréXti

TÒ Ó> ^¡FÍÍV

MFAX00 Truculentus 392f, 420, 706.

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effected by a wife already at this time must be left open. In another comedy a betrothal is declined, as also a beneficium, ' a good turn ', that would go with it, namely, the offer to take the girl without a dowry. 101 Further, a woman disowns a man who claims to be her litde brother. 102 Again, hospitium, 'friendship', 'guest-friendship', is severed; 103 and lastly, comités, 'companions', may be got rid of—the particular ones mentioned are care, misery, tribulation and so on. 1 0 4 Two plays by Terence contain the verb. A fiancée's father turns off the fiancé.105 Elsewhere in the same comedy, a considerable widening of the meaning is noticeable: a plan is given up. 1 0 6 Similarly, in another play, an austere way of life. 107 Whereas repudium in this literature is invariably a reaction to ' a shameful thing', repudiate has plainly begun being less circumscribed: its object may be care and misery, a plan or excessive austerity. Mostly, however, it still occurs within the original boundaries. The spurning of the 'little brother' is caused by his deceitfulness, his running after a rich girl and making sport of his poor, honest sweetheart; 108 the annulment of guest-friendship by a pimp's misdeeds, more precisely, by his being called to account for them; 1 0 9 and the fiancé's rebuff in Terence by his affair with an alien he treats pro uxore, 'as if a wife'. 110 The repudiare of a match in Plautus illustrates the multifaceted nature of shame. The girl's brother, who has run through the family property, opposes the betrothal, not because of any disgrace on the suitor's side, but because his side would be disgraced by giving her away without dowry. There is much discussion about what, in the circumstances, is the right kind o f p u d e o , pudicus, 'shame', to resist or to accept, 111 with a rich vocabulary from this domain—officium, 'duty', 1 1 2 101 Trimonmui 455, 637. 102 Cistellaria 451f. 103 Rudern 883.

104 Mercator 870f. 105 Andria 249. 10« Andria 733. 107 Adelphoi 858. 108 Cistellaria 479f, 492ff, 501.

109 Rudens 868ff. no Andria 144ff, 249. ill Trinummus 661, 697. H2 697.

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rumor, 'reputation', 113 Jlagitum, 'scandal'. 1 1 4 (The coupling of repudiosus and vitium will be remembered. 115 ) Some phrases are strikingly reminiscent of Deuteronomy: noli avorsari tuque te occultassis mihi, 'will you not turn away, please, and do not hide yourself from me' in the comedy, 116 'you shall not hide yourself' in the Biblical injunctions. 117 Yet we cannot say that repudiare as such here signifies ' to refuse a good in order to avoid shame'. For it is not the brother himself who describes himself as 'refusing'; it is others who urge him not 'to refuse', not to disdain the offer as if it were emanating from an objectionable party. In later writings, repudiare is in common use for one-sided rejection of a marriage 118 or betrothal 119 partner; and while the latter —or his or her circle—is often deemed evil, that is far from an inevitable feature. You may repudiare, for instance, in order to contract a more advantageous union. 120 Actually, making allowance for the newsworthiness of misconduct, one suspects that it played a considerably smaller part as the motive of renuntiare in reality than it does in the sources. The lex Acilia of 122 B.C. deserves mention. A victim of extortion by a provincial governor, when the authorities select a Roman to plead his case, may repudiare him if he is moribus suspectus, ' a person of suspect practices'. 121 The relationship to a representative—a paironus, 'patron', as he is called—is not too remote from a family tie or a guestfriendship. It may be declined if the nominee's history suggests that he may not be above making deals with the other side. Plainly an imputation o f ' a shameful thing'. The classical jurists speak of the repudiare of an inheritance. 122 Originally this would happen where the estate was insolvent, H3 640. 11*661. 115 See above, p. 106. 11« 627. H7 D e u t e r o n o m y 22.1, 3, 4. 11» Suetonius, Caesar 74.2, Tiberius 36.1, Rhetoricians 3, Quintilian 4.2.98, 7.8.2, 8.5.31, Digest 23.2.12 pr., U l p i a n X X V I ad Sabinwn, 24.2.4, U l p i a n X X V I ad Saiimim 24.3.38, Marcellus singulari responsorum, 40.4.29, Scaevola X X I I I digestorum. 11» Suetonius, Claudius 26.1, Digest 23.2.11, J u l i a n L X I I digestorum. Both marriage a n d betrothal a r e envisaged in Digest 24.2.2.3, Gaius X I ad edietum provinciate, a n d 50.16.191, Paul XXXV ad edition. 120 Suetonius, Caesar 21, Tiberius 36.2. 121 Lex Acilia 11. 122 Digest 1.19.2, P a u l V sententiarum.

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hence carrying ignominia, 'ignominy'. 123 However, while in this respect quite within the old territory of the verb, this usage no longer contemplates the elimination of a personal bond. It is surely because of this difference that, when a noun for the case is wanted, repudium is felt to be inappropriate and preference given to an action noun formed from repudiare: repudiatio,124 (Though in one medieval document at least we do find repudium of a right given up in favour of the Church. 125 ) Before long, both the verb and the noun cover the rejection of an inheritance on grounds other than insolvency and, indeed, the rejection of a legacy or the like. 126 Canon law repudiatio of a benefice is clearly an offshoot of the civil law. Outside law, by the age of Cicero, repudiare and repudiatio are frequent even where there is no imputation of ' a shameful thing'. Still, nearly always (not quite always 127 ) the tone is one of emotional condemnation and dissociation.128 The dictionaries rightly supplement the renderings 'to reject', 'to refuse', ' a rejection', ' a refusal', by 'to scorn', 'to disdain', ' a disdaining'. 129 English 'to repudiate', as also French répudier, faithfully reflects the Latin model. A slight extension in scope occurs in the second half of the eighteenth century : the verb and its noun may now be used of the denial of a charge as absolutely unfounded, if not outrageous. 130 Another development, from the first half of that century, is more innovating : ' to repudiate ' in the sense of ' arbitrarily to cast off an obligation'. The disgrace has shifted from the person or thing disowned to the disowner. To go by Craigie 131 (and disregarding an adumbration in Cicero 132 ), the starting-point seems to be a man's ruthless abandonment of his family : ' If a man repudiates the charge of his wife or children, villain is a word not villainous enough for him ', exclaims C. Lofft, 183 7. 133 The verb is still within its traditional setting, only it is not Gaius 2.154. •M Digest 24.1.5.13, Ulpian XXXII adSabinun. 125 Du Gange, Glossarium ad Scriptores Mediae et Infimae Latinitatis, ed. nova, vol. 5 (1739) 1280. 126 Digest 12.1.8, Pomponius VI ex PlaOio. 127 Quintilian 3.6.33. 12« Cicero, Philippics 3.10.26. 129 Lewis and Short, op. cit. 1573. 130 See W. A. Craigie, op. cit. 493. m Ibid. 132 Pro Mxaerta 4.9. 133 As quoted by New English (Oxford) Dictionary, J . A. H. Murray, vol. 8,

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wife and children who are thrown off but their charge, the duties owed to them. However, the new meaning fully blossoms a few years later, in connection with the ' repudiation ' of debts by American states, rousing the moral indignation of writers like Sydney Smith. 1 3 4 The employment of répudier in this field appears to be due to Anglo-American inspiration. University of California Berkeley

pt. 1, by W. A. Craigie (1910) 493. I have been unable to procure the work for inspection. 134 See Letters on American Debts in The Works of the Reverend Sydney Smith, 3rd ed., vol. 3 (1845) 441ff: Petition to the House of Congress of 1843, 441, 443, Letter II of 1843 to the Morning Chronicle, 451f.

HERMANN FRANKEL

Three Talks on Grammar1 I . O U R INHERITED CONJUGATIONAL SYSTEM IN ITS OVERALL SEMANTIC DESIGN

Let me preface this short talk with a few words on its subject and scope. By "our system" I mean the system prevailing in the Indo-European languages, as seen from the narrow basis of my own acquaintance with some of them. Within that system, I shall try to clarify certain crucial points as to the semantic values inherent in the various verb forms. The discussion will be limited to those forms that occur in finite verbs, disregarding participles, infinitives, gerunds, and the like. In order to further trim down for our present purpose the vast material, I shall offer a severe condensation of a chapter in a book I am writing, 2 and my presentation will be even more sketchy than it is there already, both by way of detail on the factual side and of comment on the argumentative side. The problem can be briefly set forth in the following terms: According to a doctrine based on the teachings of Greek grammarians of more than 2000 years ago, every finite verb form conveys, by means of certain formal characteristics, a five-fold purport: it indicates (1) some particular person; (2) some particular number; (3) some particular mood; (4) some particular time; and (5) some particular voice. 1 2

Text of papers read at Stanford University colloquia 1968, 1969, 1970. Ein Wenig Grammatik, Munich, Beck (forthcoming).

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We now apply the doctrine to a sample clause: "Water boils at 212°." Our example is meant to represent a common type; the type I have in mind includes, in addition to statements just as general, e.g., "Twelve equals four times three," also more specific ones, such as " T h e Volkswagen carries its engine in the rear." Our doctrine, then, defines the form boils as a Third Person, Singular Number, Indicative Mood, Present Tense, and Active Voice. We pass over, for the time being, the matter of Mood; as to the others, the person who pronounces (or writes) our sample statement is supposed to have answered the following questions to the following effect: (No. 1, with respect to person) 'Do I want to say of myself that " I boil," or do I tell those I am addressing that "you boil" ? Neither of these; I shall have to use the Third Person because it is some other guy that boils, by the name of water.' (No. 2, Number) 'Is it just one water, that is, one portion or kind of water, that boils at 212°, or several? One only, hence I have to use the Singular.' (No. 4, Tense) 'Do I mean that the water "boiled" at some time in the past, or that it "will boil" in the future? Neither one; bubbles are coming up right now, so that I am obliged to use the Present Tense.' And (No. 5, Voice) 'Is the water active when it boils, or is it merely passive when brought to a boil ? It acts on its own, hence I must put the verb in the Active Voice.' These four questions, and the answers given are, to put it mildly, peculiar. We could have circumvented the oddities if we had used an example like " T h e man takes his coat"; but the doctrine claims universal validity, so it has to prove its worth in all sister forms alike, with regard not only to the takes in the context but also to our boils; or, for that matter, to the equals in t h e m u l t i p l i c a t i o n e x a m p l e o r t h e carries referring to t h e

Volkswagen, where the same oddities arise. Let me interpose here a word to meet one of the several objections likely to be raised at this point. I spoke about the alleged Present Tense of boils. I shall be asked whether I am not aware of the fact that all our better grammars explain the tense of boils as being a "time-indifferent present." Indeed, they do offer that explanation, just as they offer others in a similar vein; and indeed, the description of the form as "time-indifferent" admirably fits that boils; but then, how about the term "Present" in its novel connection? I am afraid we have engendered a self-devouring monster. In the same way as, for instance, a form in the Future Tense indicates, without fail, that the action is to

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take place in the future, even so, if the term 'Present Tense' carries any meaning, it means a form invariably indicating present time; and if that form is also said to indicate no particular time, the lethal contradiction within that composite critter, "time-indifferent present," annihilates it and removes it from the picture, so that we are thrown back once more to the doctrine in its simplest, in its most elementary form. We shall briefly touch on that type of attempted adjustment later. Our next task is to take a closer look at the structure of the prevalent doctrine of verb conjugation, trying to understand it on its own terms rather than antagonizing it. As I see it, the doctrine is predicated on three postulates. Its first axiom is that our inflexional system faithfully mirrors five areas in the structure of original reality. There is assumed to exist an exact correspondence between, on the one side, the facts to which our speech refers, and, on the linguistic side, the five sets of form variation according to Person, Number, and so forth. The inflexional system is supposed to register each of those five areas to its fullest extent, and to cover all of them, as well as their subdivisions, with even-handed impartiality. The second axiom, closely related to the first one, is that each of the five areas may be likened to a circle made up of a number of sectors. These internal divisions are such as the norms of the particular language decree. In the set of form variations called " Person," the theme "Person" is dealt with in terms of what is known as "First, Second, and Third Persons"—a threefold division. In the Number set the theme is exhausted in terms of oneness, or, alternatively, multitude (plus twoness in those languages that use a dual), and so on through the remaining sets, Mood, Time, and Voice. The various sectors are supposed not to overlap but to be mutually exclusive; they are based on dichotomies, trichotomies, etc. The third axiom is in turn inseparable from the two others. According to it, whenever the speaker is about to produce a finite verb, he is confronted, as it were, with an obligatory questionnaire, on which are listed those form categories which his language allows. The questionnaire remains always the same; it offers invariably the same five questions and the identical five sets of multiple choices by way of an answer, such as "Person: First? or Second? or Third? Check one"—a command which the speaker implements by employing that verb form appropriate to the case in hand, and in like fashion all the way through until the questionnaire is completed.

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Seen in such a light, the doctrine is rather impressive. It is fully coherent to the point of appearing monolithic and unassailable. Moreover, it seems to be the only possible theory of conjugation, given the kind of form variety actually present in our languages. And yet, we have found that it does not work out as it should if it were definitive. There must be some flaw, or flaws, involved in its structure. In fact, I believe there are quite a few of them, more than can be adequately gone into in the span of time at our disposal. Let us just put our finger on one of them, less obvious than other shortcomings, but equally pervasive, using a sample sentence far more amenable to the doctrine than the one referring to the boiling point of water. Suppose I say to a lady: " M y wife wishes to be remembered to you"—what manner of precious enlightenment am I packing into the one verb form wishes ? If we follow the doctrine, I would thoughtfully intimate to the lady that my wife is not one of us two but a "Third Person," and that it is one wife only (Singular); and that it is now that she has that wish (Present Tense); and, to round it out, that her wish is due to some activity on her part (Active Voice). Revelations of such a caliber could not exacdy be styled, in journalese, "newsworthy." I think we all see in language a means of communication between human beings, invented and perfected by man for imparting information of value and concern to those one is talking to. If so, the axioms behind the current doctrine have over-emphasized the matter of an unsparing and unremitting duplication in language of all the prevailing circumstances. What was overlooked is the factor of a desire and need, or otherwise, for conveying items of information. We shall now pass in review the five individual sets of form variation, starting with the one that causes the least trouble. T H E INDICATIVE MOOD

The indicative mood—or better "mode," since the English " m o o d " is but a misleading corruption of "mode"—has received, for a reason which will be apparent soon, a rather vague name: Greek horistike enklisis or 'defining inflexion' and Latin indicativus modus', although every single word in our speech defines or indicates something or other. More helpful for our present purpose is another Latin name: modus rectus or 'straight mode'. What is meant by, say, "straight bourbon"? It means: just bourbon, mere bourbon, pure bourbon—

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note that these adjectives are, at bottom, of a negative nature; they amount to the negative fact that the original liquid is not adulterated or otherwise manipulated before we imbibe it. A " s t r a i g h t " thing has no positive characteristic; hence the difficulty, or rather impossibility, of attaching, by way of definition, a distinctive mark to it. T o return to the verb forms: when we say " T h e postman comes," in the indicative, we mean the event " s t r a i g h t , " without giving it some additional twist. It is rather the other modes: the imperative, subjunctive, optative, or whatever the language happens to possess, that bend and deflect the verb's purport away from its straight course, turning it into a command, or a wish, or a mere expectation or intention instead of a fact, or subject it to a proviso in the shape of an " i f , " or indicate oratio obliqua instead of recta or " s t r a i g h t " speech, or whatever other manipulation the not-sostraight modes serve to hint at. Now since the indicative mode alone delivers its message straight, with no additional specification, it rightly occupies the primary place in its series. In that initial position, it keeps aloof from the ulterior area where the other modes would come into play with their modifying operations. I therefore propose to see in the indicative, with respect to its meaning, the " b a s i c " member of the series. T h e concept of one " b a s i c " form category, standing on neutral ground and not marked off by any particular function, will emerge as a cornerstone in our analysis of the four other conjugational series as well. T H E SO-CALLED T H I R D PERSON

At the outset, we sort out the facts from the theory. T h e hard facts are that the verb forms known as " T h i r d Persons" are never used with an I / W e or a You (singular or plural) as their grammatical subject. Apart from that, they occur with any grammatical subject whatever, be it a person or some non-person; concrete, such as car, or abstract, as logarithm. T h e forms can also be employed with no definite subject in mind, as in Latin vesperascit or English It is getting dark. All the rest about the essence of the " T h i r d Person" is speculative. It is a rash guess that it constitutes a " p e r s o n " of sorts. (The term ' P e r s o n ' was meant by its originators to refer to a dramatis persona, but the particular connotation will be kept, irrelevant to the points we are presently to raise.) Likewise, it is an unwarranted assumption that the form category is something " t h i r d " — t h e native Sanskrit grammarians call it rather

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the "First P e r s o n " (prathamapurusa) and have it represent the entire verb in their technical parlance. Fully spelled out, the accepted hypothesis is to the effect that the speaker, by employing that form category, indicates—or, to use other synonymous words, expresses, declares, announces, professes, states, or gives to understand—positively that the grammatical subject is neither an I/We nor a You but something else instead. T h e hypothesis is none too attractive. For one thing, it implies that every single use of the "something else" form is predicated on two negative acts, considering and rejecting a potential I/We subject and a potential You subject. Not before these two operations have been accomplished would the speaker as well as his audience be permitted to link u p the verb with the "something else" as its actual grammatical subject, be it, in a narrative, a person such as an Orgetorix or Ariovistus, or a non-person such as a hillock between the two armies or the summer drawing to its close. If a book on chemistry has 20,000 verbs, not one of them in the I form or the You form, the writer would 20,000 times warn his reader away from the expectation that the sodium or its molecular weight or a chemical bond might be identical with the author or the reader himself. W h a t awesome presence is it that confronts each of us each time with the injunction: " I f you are not now referring to yourself or your audience, you must say so and opt for the Third P e r s o n " ? Where does that entity reside, in what sublunar or translunar sphere ? And who invested her with that paramount authority over our ways of expressing ourselves ? Are we not master of our own language ? O r is perhaps our own nature responsible for the astounding phenomenon? Are we so obsessed with our little ego that we can never get the thought of it out of the way except through an act of express denial before we can talk of the "something else" which is supposed to inhere in the " T h i r d Person" ? And is our attention at the same time riveted to such a degree on our chance interlocutor or reader that we can not speak of the "something e k e " without explicitly excluding the You likewise by our choice of phrasing? O r do we behave in that manner by sheer force of habit, several millennia after the founding fathers of all our languages felt in such a strange way about the I and the You? Psychology aside, there are other objections militating against the Third Person hypothesis. O n e of them may be voiced as follows.

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The three axioms on which the hypothesis is built—of an area to be covered, of a sector pattern, and of a stringent questionnaire —decree that the area of "Persons" be divided in partes tres. The three "Persons," presumably equal in rank and engaged in comparable functions, would all of them be constituted on similar lines, and all of them closely connected in a chain of obvious contrasts as one progresses from the first to the second and the third. Now two of the "Persons" fully live up to these specifications. The First and the Second are yoked together by a sharp contrast; it may even be that they were both born out of their mutual oppositeness. Each of them holds firmly in its tight grip one very definite, narrowly defined concept: the I and the You. The "Third Person," on the other hand, is not on the same footing with its supposed partners and competitors in the series. Since it embraces non-persons as well as persons, the " T h i r d " is not linked to the " F i r s t " or "Second Person" by a tangible contrast. Its grip (if it has a grip at all) could not be more loose, nor its range less well circumscribed; in fact, its applicability is limitless, because its function is to operate all over the universe of notions in human speech and thought. The various subjects over which the " T h i r d Person" is supposed to hold sway have not one positive characteristic in common to set them off from the I and You; not even the tiniest and airiest positive quality is there to bind them together into a group or clan or class by itself. Once we have broken the spell of the sector pattern and have shaken off the bad dream of a sinister power wielding a questionnaire, we are free to answer, on a clean factual basis, the apposite questions; there are just two of them. On the negative side—the " T h i r d Person" does not apply when the grammatical subject is either I or You, in the singular or plural. Is there any point in reading into a " T h i r d Person" form the idea of a " t h i r d " ? None at all. When at the dinner table the husband remarks: " T h e salad tastes especially good tonight," may we then interpret the s sound at the end of tastes to imply: " When I say' salad,' I mean the salad, and not that you or I taste good tonight" ? The " F i r s t " and "Second Persons" take care of themselves. They are strikingly marked off by a distinctive conformation, be it a one-word form as in Greek lambano and lambaneis, and an Italianprendo andprendi, etc.; or be it a two-word phrase as in English " I t a k e " and "you take", etc. If the speaker fails to use these characteristic markings—if, moreover, he has just mentioned some other subject, such as " t h e salad;" or else, if

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the subject, though not added to the verb, is clearly understood from the context or the speech situation—that in itself is amply sufficient evidence that an I or You is out this time. No one will miss them and fuss about their nonappearance; no explicit disclaimer is called for. The same is true when no definite subject was intended in the first place, as in Latin vesperascit or in English " It's getting dark." In such cases, the very pondering of an I or You as a potential subject would be an absurdity; no one, when reminded that " I t is getting dark," is going to ask: " W h o — m e ? " And on the positive side—what, if anything, does a use of the " T h i r d Person," with its limidess applicability, give to understand as to its grammatical subject? No more than that the subject, provided there is one, belongs to the class of Somethings. Is that fact worth mentioning, for the enlightenment and benefit of the speaker's (or writer's) audience? The question requires no answer. The upshot is that what is known as the Third Person gives no indication as to its grammatical subject. Positioned on neutral ground, this side of where a differentiation of grammatical persons sets in, it stands ready to extend its hospitality to all comers whatever, people and things alike. The " T h i r d " does not have to worry about accommodating a potential " I " subject or " Y o u " subject: if one of these should arrive, it will be carrying along with it its own characteristic form, its own bedding as it were. The misnamed Third Person, then, is, in the series of socalled Persons, the basic and indifferent, the noncommittal form category, and therefore it ought to be assigned the first place in the series. It is only at a measured distance thereafter, in the natural order of things, that the neutral category is followed by the person-oriented form categories, indicating an I/We or You as the subject—special categories created for special purposes, and to be applied whenever a need for them arises. Beyond their limited home territory, the " F i r s t " and "Second Persons" enjoy no sphere of influence; they do not irradiate the primary category with a sense of their own absence. T o say it once more: the postulates of a certain area with the label " P e r s o n " to be covered by the series, and of a sector pattern by way of subdividing that area, and of a trichotomous choice from prescribed answers on a mythical questionnaire, have to be abandoned. The different form categories answer no set questions; they merely carry positive information in various amounts, just as much or as

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little of it as the case requires. The so-called Third Person category, which is designed for the very numerous occasions where the matter of grammatical subject is already settled anyway, announces no more than "This is a finite verb," while the other two categories in the series include additional material: "—a finite verb with an I/We for its subject," or, respectively, "—with a You for its subject." Note: One doubt may still be set at rest. If (as we contend) a form like boils or takes, etc. indicates neither a " Third Person " nor any other special content, why then should it alone be distinguished, in modern English, from all other finite forms by the addition of a specific ending in the shape of the final s? The answer is to be found in the history of the language. Originally, all forms had their characteristic endings (and Italian, for example, has preserved this feature to the present day) while in some other languages, English among them, the endings were later abolished. If the one English form has resisted the change and still carries the -s (successor to an earlier -eth), the reason is that this particular form is, understandably, in more frequent use than any of the others. Generally, the more often a certain form is applied in actual speech, the firmer it is rooted in people's memory, and the less it is apt to yield to modernization. T H E SO-CALLED SINGULAR

As we turn to the number series of form variation, we note that not only verb forms are involved but also nouns and other words, so that here we have to pay attention to linguistic attitudes toward number at large. Now the " N u m b e r " section of the fabulous questionnaire is supposed to command: "Indicate by your choice from among the available word forms whether you are referring to one individual instance or to several of the same kind." Thus, in our favorite example, "Water boils at 212°" (or, in Greek prose, to hydor, with the definite article), the speaker, since he fails to say "Waters boil. . . ," would be restricting his statement to one particular portion of water, or one variety, or one occurrence. Yet actually the question of number never came up in the first place, because our speaker, while facing the stuff " water," had his back turned on the region where instances are counted. Or is perhaps the true reason why we do not say "waters" rather to be found in the fact that, to our regret, the plural form 'waters' is practically nonexistent? Hardly so, since that reasoning does not account for such examples as "Most of them arrived on horseback,

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but one on foot" where word usage would not inhibit us from mentioning that man's two feet. It is rather the other way around that we have to explain the phenomenon: many nouns appear in the "Singular" only because, for good and proper reasons, we are not in the habit of counting the objects in terms of individual units, or varieties, or occurrences. So far, our basis of operations has been very narrow; yet tentatively we venture on a broad conclusion. While a plural form implies an actual multitude, the category known as Singular is of an indefinite nature; it also covers cases where we think of neither oneness nor multitude. Evidently, the Dual (where it exists), the Plural, and the so-called Singular are not all of them on the same footing; they do not represent sectors in a circle filled with a variety of numbers. Evidently, the misnamed Singular again functions as the basic and neutral form category in its series. The noncommittal nature of the pseudosingular extends, in fact, far beyond the area where the items mentioned, such as water (or hunger, etc.) do not normally present themselves in the shape of individual units. We can and do distinguish one person from several persons; but when we speak of " The relationship between professor and student," or even "between the professor and the student," we are bent on ignoring that distinction. It would be beside the point to ask back: " D o you mean one professor and one student, or more of the one kind or the o t h e r ? " Here too the existence of a number-neutral form is indispensable for our linguistic purposes. It is also indispensable if we wish to admit into our parlance such notions as, e.g., any and anyone, or whoever, or every and everyone, and to envisage, in the guise of one particular case, an image of a vast multitude. It appears that the opposite concepts of " o n e " and " m a n y " are not incompatible but may peaceably coexist, at the same time, in our minds. There is no questionnaire in force to compel us at every turn to declare ourselves for the one and against the other. Take the interrogative who ?; it leaves the matter of number in abeyance, as when we cannot know how many people were in fact involved (as in " W h o bashed that door in ? "). The who ? applies equally well when we have one person in mind (e.g. in " W h o threw that rock?") and when, in asking " W h o was at the p a r t y ? " we expect to be presented in reply with a long list of names. When we say, on the basis of repeated observation, "A fly

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reacts to a light switched on with an incredible promptness," we mean " a n y fly", i.e. one fly multiplied ad libitum. The meaning remains unchanged when we switch our phrasing to " T h e fly reacts" or "Flies react." What we are mentally viewing while we pronounce or hear the statement about " a fly" can be likened to a drastic experience on the optical plane which we may name " t h e barbershop effect." Seated in a barber's chair, with a mirror behind you and another one in front, you watch a coundess multitude of identical barbers minister to you in an identical manner. The many are one and the one is many. Take the set phrase " T h e man in the street," standing for " a n y man we are likely to run into in any street." If someone were to take at face value the spurious singulars " t h e m a n " and " t h e street" and to apply the phrase to one definite man in one definite street, he would be joking. When " the Russian" is characterized, we could elaborate the phrasing and substitute " t h e (or: a) typical Russian." On the other hand, in " T h e enemy will soon attack once more," neither " a n y enemy" would do nor " t h e typical." Here, the form category is what our grammarians call a "collective singular"—correctly as far as the "collective" is concerned, but one had better stop calling it a "singular." The same goes for the "representative" and "distributive singulars," with the "distributive" referring to the type "Seven braves wielding a tomahawk." We could go on with our discussion of pseudosingulars, but a new matter demands our urgent attention. Should we not criticize our languages for not setting up, in addition to the dual and plural, and to the basic and neutral form category which merely usurped the name of a singular, a real and proper Singular ? Is not oneness important enough to rate a form category all to itself? How could a language get along without forms unambiguously indicating actual oneness ? Well, experience shows that it can. In practice, all over that area where an indication of oneness is desirable, the so-called Singular functions as a satisfactory substitute for the nonexistent real Singular. How does such a thing come about ? To demonstrate the double-action leverage by which it comes about, we cannot use an English example like "A man is there," because the article a is, etymologically, a reduced form of the numeral one, so that this addition might provide the phrasing with the stamp of oneness. Nor can we use an example like " M y head aches," where no article appears, because the question " O n e head or several?" does not arise, and we have discarded the notion, inherent in the current doctrine,

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that oneness has to be declared whenever it applies, no matter whether or not there is a need and desire to do so. In order, then, to get to the bottom of our little problem, let us turn to those among our languages that do not use articles. We suppose the housebell has rung; it was answered; and back comes the report, say, in Russian, " There man, asks whether could borrow wrench." As to the word man in this pronouncement "There man," we are under no temptation to look upon it as being of a number-indifferent character, the way it is in " Man proposes, God disposes"; in our case, a number concept is clearly involved; and the first thing evoked in our mind by the sound configuration man is 1 man. It would take an additional mental act to multiply the notion of 1 man; and since there is nothing to induce such an act, we stick with the concept of "one man." The same goes, even more so, for the word wrench: the suspicion that the stranger was asking for 2 or 5 wrenches would indeed be far-fetched. This simple and direct mechanism for grafting upon a number-neutral form a definite sense of oneness is forcefully helped along by its indirect counterpart, which is the conspicuous absence from our example of the plural form men. All our languages do possess a plural, evidently created for the one purpose of expressly indicating plurality; and we find that, ever since, the plural forms are invariably applied when the speaker has a plain, outright plurality in mind. Thanks now to our daily and hourly routine in handling our various form categories, the explicit plural forms keep lurking, as it were, in the wings of our linguistic mind, ready to jump onstage the moment they are required, while the listener watches out for their comings and goings. Since, then, we are here subconsciously aware that our announcer has refused to report "There men" and has opted for man instead, this choice on his part projects on the neutral form man a definite complexion of oneness—as definite as its spurned competitor, men, would be on the side of plurality. (It may be noticed that our explanation, for once, has come fairly close to the traditional doctrine.) In theory it sounds like a round-about mechanism, but in practice it works out with automatic smoothness. Hence, there has never arisen in our languages a pressing need for manufacturing a specific singular form category; and languages tend, as their histories show, to diminish rather than increase their form assortment, in order to lighten the burden of what our memory has to keep on tap for instant consumption.

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To sum up: The misnamed Singular Number is actually the basic and noncommittal member of its series, neutral and fundamentally immune to the supposedly ever present dichotomy of oneness or multitude. As such, it freely raises its head when any counting is out of the question; or, for instance, when the speaker, while aiming at a multitude of analogous cases, sets his sights on one representative case, so as to have the one merge with the many. On the other hand, when the occasion does call for mentally distinguishing oneness from plurality, the same form takes advantage of two circumstances. For one thing, whatever may be mentioned, one single instance of it comes to mind in the first place; and secondly, as we are in the habit of using plurals whenever they normally apply, the failure of a plural to show up assures the listener that oneness is meant. T H E SO-CALLED PRESENT TENSE

After our comments on three of the five series: Mode, Person, and Number, we can be brief with respect to the so-called Present Tense. We have in our conjugational system a tense called Future: and rightly so, because whenever it appears, the event or condition stated is meant, without fail, to occur in the future. We have a number of tenses consistently placing the event or condition in the past, with very few exceptions, all of which can be satisfactorily explained. On the other hand, with that form category assumed to indicate present time, exceptions abound, so that it ought to be clear that the so-called Present is not a real counterpart to a Future Tense or any of the Past Tenses. We have already come across a type of statement where the supposed Present Tense fails to refer to a present event: "Water boils at 212°." Still more damaging to the hypothesis that these forms signify the present time is a fact which was brought to my attention, years ago, by one of my Stanford students. 3 In English, if one positively wishes to express that water is at a boil now, it would be a blunder to say that it boils; the correct expression is " T h e water is boiling." Thus in English, a form like boils, far from basically indicating, by virtue of its tense, the present time, is incapable of indicating such a thing, no matter in what context that particular verb form happens to occur. Now our better and more scholarly grammars conscien3 Walther K r o p p S. J .

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tiously list many cases in which we habitually apply the so-called Present Tense to events not meant to take place now, and the cases are there appropriately classified according to the circumstances under which they occur. Our example, " W a t e r boils . . . " (that is, it boils at any time, past, present, or future as soon as its temperature has reached that point) belongs, according to our grammarians, to a type that has received the name "time-indifferent present," with a blatant contradictio in adjecto mentioned above. In the same class belongs, say, " T h e Volkswagen carries its engine in the rear." Since Volkswagen does not play around with its fundamental features, inside and out, from one model year to the next, here too the time factor is irrelevant, although in such a case we cannot blame the seeming misuse of the Present Tense on nature's eternal laws. Another acknowledged exception to the assumed rule that a use of the Present Tense implies the present time for the event to take place goes by the name praesens pro futuro. This usage is in German far more common than the proper future forms and can be styled "standa r d " for that language; we do not say " I c h werde Montag ins Theater g e h n " but " I c h gehe Montag ins Theater." It also occurs in other languages, as " I graduate in 1974;" in French, when making travel plans, "Je reste a Milan deux jours;" and in modern Greek correspondingly. Then there is, third, the so-called Historical Present. Once there has been given, in a narrative, a clear indication of a past time, then the further progress of events can be couched in what is known as the Present Tense, and is quite normally so couched in the course of a graphic Greek or Latin narrative, although never, remarkably, in a Greek epic. An "Historical Present" also rules over some historical tables, with entries such as, say, "A.D. 14, Augustus dies." Now these annalistic tables are dry as dust, and there at least can be no question of an especially vivid visualization and a coy pretence that the events seem to happen before our very eyes. At this juncture, we take a comprehensive glance at those (and other) sweeping group exceptions as our grammarians have set them up in ordqr to adjust their theory to our actual speech habits. We may then restate the entire matter, as the traditional doctrine sees it, in these terms: " T h e Present Tense indicates that the event takes place, or the situation obtains, at the present time; except when, as an Historical Present, it refers to some past time; and except when, as a

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praesensproJuturo, it refers to a future event; and also except when, as a time-indifferent present, it implies no particular time." If we then wish to put it still more succinctly, adding up the three exemptions from the alleged rule, the sum total of what the doctrine teaches about the "Present Tense" will amount to this: " T h e Present Tense expresses present time, except when it doesn't"—an assertion of the same order as, say, " T h e Irish are redheads, except those with a different hair color," and I do not believe I have been guilty of misrepresentation. It will now be abundandy clear, I hope, that the so-called Present Tense is neither a present nor a tense, since it is noncommittal as to time. Standing on neutral ground as far as time is concerned, it is the basic form in the time series. There remains an important question to be taken care of: What do our languages do with the most common case in actual conversation, that in which a present time is in fact meant ? And once more the answer is: Nothing special. When someone tells me that "Your house is on fire," the first thing that comes to mind is that it is on fire now—unless, that is, there is something in the context to block that interpretation before it arises, as in " I t smells strongly of gas; just light a cigarette, and your house is on fire." It is rather in the less common cases, when an event or situation is to be placed in some non-present time, that we switch to forms specifically created to indicate some past or future time, or some temporal relationship. But again we often dispense, as we have seen, with those other forms when the time already is signalled somehow, as in " I leave on Monday," or in the midst of a narrative which had already been placed in the past previously. The factor of a need to give explicit notice of circumstances duly plays its powerful part in the organization of our speech; evidently there has never arisen an urgent demand for creating a special tense to express a "now"—apart from such recent English idioms as "is boiling", "is at a boil", and similar ones in some other languages. A check on any text, oral or written, for instances of the time-indifferent form as applied to transitory events or situations (please mark the proviso "transitory") of the present time would, I think, show that the " n o w " is hardly ever mentioned but invariably understood nevertheless. It can remain latent as long as we expect nothing else. This was a very cursory manner of dealing with a fascinating subject (for instance, the entire matter of "aspect" has gone unmentioned); but I leave it at that.

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The "Active Voice" is perhaps more patently misnamed than any of the others. It is supposed to imply that the grammatical subject rather acts than suffers; and yet the word suffers itself would be in the "Active Voice": we do not have to say " H e is made to suffer from arthritis." Not even all transitive verbs refer to some kind of activity; the statement " H e lost his parents at the age of six" is not an answer to the question: 'What did he do to his parents?' From a practical point of view, the concept of an "Active Voice" is a hollow nut, mere shell and no meat. In " H e went home," nothing would be gained by adding "actively," while an addition of "actively" would be most inappropriate in " H e slept," in " H e perished," and in " H e received a beating." If we ponder the area over which this form category rules, it appears that the pseudo-Active Voice, on principle, ranges as far as verbs do, covering actions and inaction alike, events and situations at large, statements of identification and classification, and whatnot. It is the normal form, indicating no more than what the verb says. Only in special cases, when it seems desirable to give the verb a particular turn, do we use the passive voice, which manages to twist the meaning so that the normal object of a transitive verb can become its grammatical subject. And in those languages using a middle or medio-passive voice, the medio-passive forms provide some other piece of information supplementary to what the verb would say if used in the pseudoactive form. Some verbs, of course, occur in the medio-passive only, because of the wish of the speakers always to include that kind of additional information for which the middle had been created. In short, the so-called Active Voice indicates no more than "This is a verb."

T H E OVERALL SYSTEM

On the basis of our results for each of the five inflexional series, we can now formulate a comprehensive theory of our overall system of verb conjugation, to supplant the accepted theory which we have so often weighed and found wanting. The basic form type, such as takes, falls, boils, is, etc., conveys no more than "This is the finite verb of the clause."

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If and when the speaker so desires, he can modify his finite verb form in a fivefold manner so as to put into it additional information. 1. "Person": He can alter his phrasing so as to give to understand that the grammatical subject is " I " or " We " or " You " (in the singular or plural). Note. In some modern languages, English among them, this is accomplished by inserting the pertinent pronoun " I " or " We " etc., while the verb itself remains unchanged, with few exceptions. 2. " N u m b e r " : The speaker can outfit his verb form with certain markings that allow it to agree with a grammatical subject in the plural. Note. In some contemporary languages, English and Swedish among them, this kind of adjustment is no longer in use, with a few exceptions as far as English is concerned. 3. " M o d e " : The speaker can alter his verb form when he wants to warn his audience that the statement is not to be taken in a straight sense but in some special mode, so that (colloquially speaking) there is some catch to it. 4. " Time": He can, by using certain inflexional markings, signal that in this instance a transitory event or situation is to be referred to some particular time other than the present one. And, lastly; 5. " Voice " : The speaker may, by using certain verb forms specifically created for the purpose (as in " H e was killed") convert the victim of the act into the grammatical subject of the verb to kill. These various manipulations can be cumulated at will; e.g. all five of them are involved in " W e would have been caught by the police, if. . . ." On the other hand, the speaker is always free to abstain from including this or that item of supplementary specification, by choosing rather the noncommittal form basic to the particular series, or the form basic to all the five series, the takes form. Thus, the speaker is never compelled to say more than he is willing to express; while the current doctrine has him each time wade through a nightmarish questionnaire and wrestle with alternatives which are often inappropriate and sometimes senseless—the latter goes for the alternative " active or suffering." It is my personal impression, although I do not know whether others will share it, that the theory as proposed is not only more correct and plausible but also more simple than the one we have been burdened with for a very extended period of time, with its manifold provisos and illogical exceptions, its underhand maneuvers, and

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papercd-over pitfalls. The difficulty for us in switching to an unfamiliar theory is not in any complexity of what is to be learned afresh, but in the task of unlearning what is all too firmly ingrained in our minds. II.

PRONOUNS—SO-CALLED

Grammar is, by its very nature, many things to many people, and as it happens, mostly distasteful things to most people, with the status of a necessary evil at best. Why it should be looked upon as an evil by the majority of those exposed to it, I shall not try to explain. About the necessity, on the other hand, of our concerning ourselves with grammar, there can be litde doubt. Grammar is a key factor in our intellectual "environment," to use a term which is in vogue at the moment, since grammar somehow keeps marshaling not only our words but, in a certain measure, our very thoughts as well. Yet I do not intend to go into "prescriptive" grammar; i.e., I shall not expatiate, with regard to "pronouns," as to how one should, and should not use pronouns (for instance, whether or not it is correct to say " i t is m e " — of course it is perfectly correct). We will rather deal with "descriptive" grammar, asking how our languages, i.e. those Indo-European languages we are most familiar with, do use pronouns—provided we are sure which words we wish to include under the heading "pronouns." That is all we are after. Of course every single one of us knows perfectly well how to handle pronouns insofar as we all do manipulate them properly and competently. Thus our method will be to stand back from our actual practice in order to look at that instinctive and automatic practice from a safe distance to describe what is going on. T h a t sounds simple enough, and indeed it is simple, as I hope will become apparent. Beginning at an early date, more than 2000 years ago, grammatical theory and speculation took a wrong move, arming itself with one set formula or another, and as time went by, assuming the awesome powers of authoritative tradition, so as to succeed in messing things up thoroughly and for good. O u r task would be lightened immensely if we could start from a blank slate, a tabula rasa. Instead, we are burdened with the unpleasant labor of unlearning while we would prefer merely to learn. O n our way, we shall be saddled with the business of some destructive criticism and some amount of unraveling gratuitous tangles. O n the other hand, our grammatical tradition also offers just about everything needed for a constructive criticism and a full

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positive clarification. Let us then go to work and sift; let us sort out what seems true and useful and discard what was mistaken and is useless. After all, I confess that to my mind the matter of pronouns is, as grammar goes, a rather fascinating province of grammar at large. It seems to me that our present subject affords an interesting vista of one aspect in the manner in which our languages do operate and, yes, the manner in which our thought processes operate while we avail ourselves of linguistic expression. There is a good deal of uncertainty and vacillation even at the outset. While all are agreed, rightly or wrongly, that the " p r o n o u n " is a part of speech (whatever that may mean) alongside the Noun, Adjective, Adverb, V e r b , . . . and so on, the answers grammar provides to the question of which words are to be included in that category "Pronouns" have varied significantly in the course of grammar's history, and they are still at variance from one nation to the other and even within the individual nations. What is the criterion ? What specific property is responsible for a certain word being a Pronoun ? Evidendy, this is a key problem, or rather the key problem. If we knew that, it would not merely point the way to a fitting classification of pronouns within our total vocabulary, but also would reveal to us the essence, if there is one, of the pronoun and of its functions in human discourse. For our first approach, it seems convenient to start from the name "pronoun." The " p r o " indicates that they are all supposed to be substitute words, words that stand in place of—what ? Certainly not in place of people, objects, ideas, concepts, etc. All words do that; all of them are signs or symbols of something outside of language. What is meant by "standing f o r " is clearly that they are supposed to represent some other word, some other linguistic appellation, that they serve as mere substitutes, second-string, second-class words, only by indirection connected with what they refer to; while non-pronouns would stand in direct reference to what they deal with. In a grammatical context, the second component of the term, "-noun," is ambiguous: it could mean either " proper n a m e " or else "common name;" i.e., "appellative noun." The one would be exemplified by "Socrates" and the other by " m a n , horse." The former is what our earliest extant Western handbook of grammar by Dionysius the Thracian (ca. 170-70 B.C.) tells us explicitly: "A pronoun is a word used in place of a name ( = proper name), indicating definite (grammatical) persons ( = 'people')" (p. 24, Uhlig). Dionysius goes on to

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enumerate those words as " I , you" (singular), etc., and "my, your," etc., "our, your," etc.—very few words, indeed less than twenty of them, rather a group of words than a class by itself. The same, extremely narrow delimitation of the group is found in Priscian (early 6th century A.D.) : Proprium est pronominis pro aliquo nomine proprio poni et certas (significare) personas. " Characteristic of the pronoun is that it stands for any proper [!] name and denotes a definite person" (I 55.13 sqq. Hertz). Priscian then goes on to refer to a theory which includes words like quis, qui, qualis, talis, and says that in reality these words are rather to be called nomina than pronomina because they do not stand for a proper name, etc. Making the big jump from ancient to contemporary grammatical theory: A representative French grammarian (Gr. Larousse du XXe siècle, on p. 168), meant to be authoritative, explains that a pronoun, in accordance with the etymology of the term, is a word "which replaces the noun [ = subst.] in the clause . . . it is a mere grammatical sign . . . it denotes the person, object, action, etc. . . . which already had been mentioned before, in order to obviate repetition." This is immediately illustrated by a quotation: " T h e heron was once walking somewhere. . . . He [it] was moving along the edge of a river." In other words, that grammar defines "pronouns" as if they all were what is known as anaphorics, ignoring the " I " and " Y o u " even though included among "pronouns," as in such banal utterances as " I am hungry," where no repetition is avoided. After the passage quoted, the French grammar trails off into a mass of details and casuistry, mentioning, inter alia, the various subclasses of "pronouns," such as "personal," "demonstrative," "relative," "interrogative," "indefinite" ("a category which looks somewhat like a catch-all"). All this is not very helpful or illuminating. Many will have noticed that, while the Dionysian formula has been kept here, it has been subtly re-fashioned and adulterated. " Standing for a proper name " has been turned into ". . . for a noun;" and, as a consequence, what followed in the original: "indicating definite persons (as an individual name would do) " is now omitted. This change, in turn, made it possible to add to the shprt list which Dionysius had given of " pronouns," and which was made up of the so-called personal and possessive pronouns only, to add the demonstrative, relative, interrogative, etc.—an addition which we can welcome and consider a really progressive step. On the other hand, this broadened definition is flawed by

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stopping short a little. Whether I introduce someone with the words "This is my uncle J o e " or " This gentleman is . . ." it should go without saying that if one " t h i s " is a pronoun, the other one would be the same sort of thing. But not so for our French grammar or for those who share its theory, because only one "stands for a noun" and the other rather for an adjective, so that one " t h i s " is in and one "this" is out. Also out, in the view of adherents to this definition are words like Latin qualis and talis and a host of others, for the same reason, and words like English where and there and how, etc. because they are adverbs rather than nouns. Most people have probably been brought up, grammatically, on the same formula, asserting t h a t " a pronoun is a word standing for a noun." I could now go on to quote from an equally representative German grammar (Duden, p. 46ff) or, for a change, the extensive list of "pronouns" in an elementary Greek grammar (Kaegi, p. 48ff, 1890), the best of all in my opinion. Yet, before the matter becomes still more confusing, let us call a halt to mustering the varying opinions of would-be authorities and look back on the zig-zagging course by which our current "popular " grammar has arrived at the point where it now stands. It is an extraordinary spectacle that unfolds before our eyes. In the beginning, as far as we are able to see, there was the technical term "pronoun," with its more explicit underpinning by the formula "standing for a noun = proper name." To the tyranny of that initial term and formula our grammar has bowed for more than 2000 years. Meanwhile, under the surface, rather radical alterations have taken place. As already mentioned, the theorists switched from "standing for an individual n a m e " to a reinterpretation "for a substantive." Furthermore, as we have also mentioned, the number of words to be included was increased from the original 17 to a multiple of that number. Thus, among others, anaphoric pronouns and relatives accrued to the fold. It was then discovered that these newcomers seemed indeed to "stand for a substantive," e.g. the anaphoric in "A man came in, and when we saw him . . .," with " h i m " representing " t h e man," or the relative in "A man appeared whom we did not know," with " w h o m " apparently standing for "the man." Footing on such ground, the French grammar came to the conclusion that a " p r o n o u n " was a mere grammatical sign, used in order to obviate repetition of what had been mentioned before. In such a manner, the original definition of "Pronoun,"

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when twisted to mean something else, happened apparendy to cover certain other words, originally not included in the class of "pronouns"; and this new coincidence seemed to lend a novel and entirely different justification to the "pronoun" term and formula as conceived and coined originally with a different intent for the original set of different words—a procedure logically as irregular as can be. What position are we going to take vis-à-vis this problem of delimitation? Trying to circumscribe a class of words, which ones are we going to include as belonging to one and the same class ? From the outset, it will be sound procedure to use criteria as objective as possible, as empirical as possible, and proceed from there, rather than postulating some speculative definition first, and then trying to fit our premature definition as best we can to the linguistic facts. I suggest that we start from the fact that all our languages possess, and make ample use of, matching sets of words, such as " w h a t " and "that," " w h e n " and "then," " w h e r e " and "there," etc.; Latin quam and torn, Greek hate and tote, etc. and similarly in such other languages as Sanskrit and Russian, mostly rhyming, and often correlative to each other. Both sides have a number of functions each. The forms made ("inflected") from the qu- stem, e.g. quis, quam, quantus, qualis, quando, etc. serve, when stressed, as interrogatives ; when unstressed, as relatives; when enclitic (e.g., somewhat, somewhere, somehow) as indefinitives ; while the forms made from the t-stem serve, when stressed, as demonstratives and less stressed as anaphorics. There are some more stems drawn into this system, e.g. English " h e r e " and " there," Latin ubi and ibi, tmde and inde, ut and ita and sic, with English so and thus. But it seems obvious that they all belong in the same word category, which may be renamed by us, with a made-up word, "luma." A made-up word, which suggests nothing at all, seems preferable to the conventional term, which, for one thing, forcibly and irresistibly suggests a definite representational theory, and, second, is pre-empted in our various grammatical lingos, by various and widely different fields they cover. Furthermore, I suggest that we list as also belonging to the Iumas the small group of words from which, historically, the appellation "pronouns" has started: the words I/you, tu/vos, tneus/noster, tuusjvester, etc.; i.e. what now goes under the precarious names of "personal" and possessive pronouns (the last one a clear misnomer). Why we lump the I/you group of words together with the

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matching sets is not immediately apparent. (That it is traditional to treat both together under the same heading "pronouns" would not be a valid reason for us to include both of them in the same class of words, since we have already abnegated the binding force of grammatical historical tradition and have violendy attacked some traditional assumptions.) Thus, if indeed the reader follows me for the next few pages, he will be doing so mainly on faith in my promise that a good and valid reason for linking the two series will come to light after a litde while. Yet they are already linked by the rhyming pairs in our languages, such as Latin nosjvos, nosier/vester; Russian nasfvas, nash/vash; Greek moi/toilhoi; hemeteros/hymeteros; hemeislhymeis—a unique feature in our languages. After we have constituted, if tentatively, our luma class from these two categories of words, we go back to our starting point, the conventional definition of so-called pronouns as " words standing for (either) a name (or) a noun." That thesis can be tested by a litde experiment: we can undo the supposed act of substitution, and revert to the original appellation; we can avoid pronouns altogether and supposedly get along better without them. If this has any meaning at all, it can only mean that it would be more correct, clear, proper, legitimate, exact, to use " I " in place of the proper name, but language occasionally takes the liberty of using " I " instead. Now if the "pronoun" is a mere substitute, it would be more exact if, in introducing myself, I would not say " / am Hermann Frankel," or "My name is Hermann Frankel," but rather "Hermann Frankel is Hermann Frankel," or "H.F.'s name is H.F." Whereupon the person I am thus addressing may reply: "It's not news to me that H.F. is named H.F., but what I rather want to know is ' Who are you ? What is your name ? ' " The other fellow is not bound by our textbook; you will note that he uses the pronouns, or lumas, you or your. It seems impossible to circumvent pronouns and to stick to the non-pronouns instead. The theory that an " I " is a mere pronoun, a mere substitute for the use of the name of the person, is litde short of preposterous. What is a given name? An artificial label, arbitrarily attached to some definite human being; it carries no meaning, it does not describe or classify the person referred to; and it works successfully for the intended identification only with an audience which is already familiar both with the name and with the individual who happens to bear that name. For all the rest of the people, a name is an empty

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sound. On the other hand: an " I " identifies directly and immediately the person meant: he is the one who says " I , " directly and immediately : there is no point whatever in interposing between the word " I " and the person so indicated an intermediary, such as either his name or an appellation like " m a n " or "woman," etc. Thus the reverse may seem more true: the proper name may be said to be a poor substitute for having the person to whom we are referring standing before us in the flesh and saying " I " or "me." Now let's try that other tack and interpret the term "Pronoun" as meaning "standing for a noun, for a substantive." Let's see how this works out in practice. Suppose I am introducing an elderly man to my friend, saying "This is my uncle Joe." "This" is a luma; does it stand for an appellative noun, such as "man, person" ? Does our "this" stand for " M a n is . . . " or "Person is . . . " ? Evidently in the non-luma form, the statement becomes senseless; I ought rather to say: "This man is my uncle Joe," or "The man I am presenting to you is. . . ." But then I have used lumas again, namely, the "this," or "I" and "you." Even if I were content to say " T h e man is . . .," the article " t h e " , which serves as a weak demonstrative luma, is just the straight demonstrative "This man" in disguise. Evidendy, often enough it is impossible to get around the use of lumas and to stick to non-lumas exclusively; evidently the lumas, far from being mere substitutes for words from other categories, are indispensable elements of language as we know it. No non-luma can substitute for a luma. Take, for example, another luma, the word "here," a number of one of the rhyming series we mentioned earlier (where/there/ here). Suppose I wish to express the meaning o f " I have here the original text of Dionysius the Thracian," and at the same time I wish studiously to avoid the use of lumas and to replace them by what they, according to the orthodox doctrine, stand for. First, I cannot say " I have" but we have already taken care of that. Second, I may not say "here," but have to replace it by an objective description of the place, by, say, " in room # 282, Tresidder Union, Stanford, Calif., 94305." This would indeed be a correct description of the place where the book is to be found at this moment; but it would not be, in the interest of my present audience, the most obvious definition but rather a roundabout one. The audience would have to go into some amount of cerebration, to this effect: "Room 282, Tresidder? But that's the place where we happen

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to be now; then, why does he not talk straight and say ' I have the text here'?"

We have now reached a point where we can start to generalize—if tentatively at first. It seems that the specific function of lumas can be defined to the effect that they are words designating their content in terms of the speech situation: I = the one who is saying " I " ; while Hermann Frankel [name] designates the person meant without regard to any speech situation; here = place where I am while saying " h e r e " ; "Room 282, Tresidder Union" designates the place in absolute terms, detached from any speech situation. An acquaintance of mine, many years ago, before World War II, remarked to me once that " Pronouns are words the meaning of which occurs in human speech only, and not outside of speech." Or human thought, for that matter. As you see, what I am explaining now is no absolute novelty, but was recognized by some people at least long ago. Only it has not permeated public consciousness; it has not been applied systematically, and has not yet percolated into "popular grammar," which persists, and is likely to persist for a rather indefinite amount of time, to believe in " a pronoun standing for a noun." Before we go on, we want a counterpart term to what we called "in relation to the speech situation." For want of a better expression, I shall speak of those absolute designations of things as " being detached from any particular situation " ; or for short, as "detached designations." Thus, the proper name I bear will be an element of "detached language," while " I " is a luma element. "Room 282 . . . " will be an element of "detached language," while " h e r e " is one of the lumas. By now we have eventually reached a point where the two series, the I/you series and the matching sets series merge in terms of their specific functions. The " I " and the " h e r e " have a fundamental function in common: they both identify that which they identify, the person and the place respectively, in terms of the speech situation, by counter-distinction to detached terms, such as the individual name, and the name of the building, plus room number, respectively. To broaden our examples somewhat: " I " functions like the speaker pointing his finger while saying " I , " and " y o u " like extending his finger toward the person he is addressing; " h e r e " is like pointing to the ground on which the speaker is standing, and " t h e r e " like pointing at a place somewhat

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removed. This "demonstrative" or "deictic" function establishes a real functional kinship between " I " and "here" and between " y o u " and "there." Thus, in Latin, the luma hie, "this," can be used in the sense of " I " or " m y , " and iste in the sense of " y o u " or "your." Here we are holding a piece of the promised bond between the two series of words. The fact that " I " and "you," " h e r e " and " t h e r e " are of a demonstrative nature ties them together with other demonstratives such as "this" and "that," no matter whether the " t h i s " and " t h a t " are syntactically construed like nouns or like adjectives. On both sides the words function on the basis of the speech or thought situation, and they do not exist, nor can they exist, outside of any speech situation. Next, we shall have to differentiate between two aspects of what we called "speech situation." Let's take the demonstrative luma "there." When I say "Look! There's a rabbit on our lawn," the context of " t h e r e " is to be referred to the frame of reference within which I am using the term " there " ; we may call this the " primary, or direct, speech situation." On the other hand, when I report: " H e moved to Rome and died there a week later," the content of " t h e r e " is determined by the frame created by means of my narrative: it refers to the place where I put the hero of my narrative. This use may be known as a "secondary, or indirect" speech situation. In the latter case, the demonstrative serves as a kind of cross reference within my speech. Not even in the case of the indirect speech situation may we truly say that the "pronoun stands for the name or noun." If we were putting it in this fashion, avoiding the luma: " H e went to Rome and died in Rome a week later," we would not be living up to the requirement of clear and intelligible expression. We would fail to bring out what we really mean, fail to bring out the identity of the place he went to and the fact that this was the last place where he came to live; that, say, he went to Rome to work in the Vatican Library, and before he had really started, he was dead. While use of the luma " t h e r e " does make this coincidence clear, a mere repetition of the name ' R o m e ' would serve to obscure it. It is not merely for the sake of brevity, and to avoid repetition, that I say "there" and not " a t Rome," but the luma carries the additional meaning of "the same place where he also died." Now this brings us straight to the anaphoric and relative pronoun, or relative luma. The relative luma serves, as has frequently been stated, as a link; that is, a link between two classes having one element in common. For example: " H e went to talk the matter over

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with his daughter on whom he was used greatly to depend for his decisions." If I were to say instead, repeating the cue word, " H e talked the matter over with his daughter. On his daughter he was used to depend . . .," I would say about the same thing materially; and yet one element would be missing which is present when a luma is used (daughter on whom). The luma openly professes the speaker's act in linking two clauses, and in this fashion the luma adds considerably to the clarity of the expression. It announces that the speaker has more to say about the girl than can be said in only one clause. This moment would be lost in detached and abstract language. About the same purpose could be served by the use of an anaphoric luma, as for instance "on her (anaphoric) he was used . . ."; the difference is rather of a grammatical nature, subordination in one case and coordination in the other. Going on now with this cursory muster of the subclasses of the luma category: It is a monopoly of the luma category to include interrogative words, such as " w h o ? " " w h a t ? " "where?" " w h e n ? " " w h y ? " These lumas create a specific, primary speech situation, in that they indicate that the speaker wishes to be told, or wishes to know, the "who," etc. Also exclamatory use with no interrogative information: " W h a t a mess!" "Why should h e ! " (so-called rhetorical question). It is sometimes said that the interrogative and relative lumas are mosdy identical. Such an assertion proceeds on the basis of written or printed words only, snuffing out the live words as produced by the human tongue and reacted to via the human ear. Actual speech audibly differentiates between interrogative and relative lumas, in that interrogatives are regularly pronounced with some stress of their own and within a specific frame of intonation, while relative lumas remain always unstressed. This tonal differentiation marks the transition from naked reality to the medium of speech. In detached language, or, more precisely, in reality outside and beyond language and somebody's thought, nothing is open to question, and there is no room for wonder and exclamation. Things just are as they are, period, with no question or exclamation mark. No " W h o threw a rock out and smashed what window?" but rather "N.N. threw a rock and smashed the second window on the southwest side." You can also read in our books of popular grammar the assertion that the interrogative pronouns are identical not only with the

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relatives but also with the indefinites. This is likewise incorrect, because the indefinites are neither stressed in actual pronunciation nor unstressed either, but enclitic. To insert a word on "enclitics" in our own languages: "Enclitic" means that the word is not only unaccented, and not only attaches itself, parasitically, to the accent of the preceding word ; but even, under certain conditions, can project upon the preceding word an accent, in order to produce the pattern and sequence of a stressed followed by an unstressed word. How does this work out in practice ? In English or German, etc., prepositions are unstressed as a matter of principle: To his uncle's house, with his uncle . . but in English the luma me is enclitic, as it is in Greek, ancient or modern ; and thus we can say in English: "Gome tó me, I don't have it with me." Enclitics do not open a clause, while atona (for example, relative lumas) do. Now to return to enclitic indefinites in English: we said that indefinite lumas are marked off by being enclitic, in contradistinction to accented interrogatives like where? or how? and to unaccented relatives like where. Thus we have, in English, the indefinite lumas in anywhere, nówhere, sómewhere, and sómehow, etc. The specific meaning of the indefinite lumas like anywhere is, if we put it into explicit words, " I am not inquiring into the particular 'where,' as I do with the interrogative and accented where ; rather, I am indicating by using enclisis that I mark the place where as irrelevant : that's what I mean when say 'anywhere' or 'sómewhere' etc." This connotation of the speaker's not caring which particular location he is referring to is of course also a moment of a direct speech situation, and an element which could not occur in detached symbolism, a symbolism which takes no account of the fact that somebody is saying something to somebody else. The force of the accentual pattern in indefinite lumas is so great and persistent that it has been transferred to nouns when used as indefinites, for example, sómebody, sómething, any time, nó time, sòme place, etc., while the normal pattern is "any néedle will do," etc. There is one more thing we may pick up on our way, while surveying the various subclasses of lumas. We may now correct the canonic table lifting the "parts of speech." The canonic table runs something like: "Nouns, Verbs, Adjectives, Pronouns, Numerals, Adverbs, Conjunctions . . .," putting the Pronouns side-by-side with Nouns, Adjectives, Adverbs, to their mutual exclusion. Actually, however, while Nouns, Adjectives, Numerals, and Adverbs are elements of

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detached vocabulary, the lumas duplicate these three on the level of luma vocabulary: we have lumas functioning like nouns, e.g. English /, you; like adjectives, e.g. English my, your, such; Latin quantus, talis . . .; like numerals, e.g. Latin quot, quotas; like adverbs, e.g. English here, there, when, as, why, and so on. In fact, the luma vocabulary duplicates to a large extent the classes of the detached vocabulary; with the notable exception that there are no luma verbs (although such verbs are thinkable, e.g. " I have just killed my father". "You •whatted?" "Yes indeed, I "thatted.") In English we have, however, something like a "pro-verb" using the verb to do in a similar function. How about, on the luma side of our vocabulary, the conjunctions ? Almost all our subordinating conjunctions are identical, for obvious reasons, with relative lumas: Who, What, When, Where, As, That, and so on. We have saved up for the last the subordinating luma conjunctions because they have a unique and especially glorious and proud function in our languages. It is they that enable our speech-thought to construct specific utterances of a higher order than a sequence of simple, single clauses would allow, to construct periods, piling one clause on top of some other clause in an interlocking relationship. It is the lumas, when serving as subordinating conjunctions, that have a monopoly of opening up for our linguistic expression an entirely new thought dimension: "What's done is done;" "As Maine goes, so goes the country;" " Where there is smoke . . . ; " " When you have finished, let me know;" " I knew right away that you were lying . . ." erecting, as it were, a second story on the basis of a ground floor, providing an event, or a situation, a condition, or other preliminary on top of which some other event, or situation, or conclusion will be constructed. The most frequent of these is the conjunction " T h a t " = Latin quod, Greek hoti, Russian tchto, etc. It is the most frequent because it is the most versatile, and most versatile because it is the vaguest of them all. It marks hardly anything but the mere fact of subordination; as for the rest, for the precise, logical relation between the two clauses, that has to be guessed and can be guessed, on the basis of the material content of the two clauses: " I knew right away that you were lying": the subordinate clause describes what I knew; Greek " I did not come to class hoti [ = that] I had a cold": Greek hoti or Latin quod does not denote "because," since it can be used for a lot of different meanings;

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but, in our example, it allows the audience to guess correctly that a causal relation is meant. It is one of the common prejudices of popular grammar that language has to look for "precise" words, e.g. for words with a meaning that is narrowly circumscribed. This is only half the story; the other half is that language needs vague and elastic words, applicable in a great number of different situations. One virtue of our vocabulary is precision, and another virtue is vagueness. Vague indications may be quite sufficient for our practical purposes because the reader is quite capable of making sense out of incomplete data. I I I . NEGATIVES LINGUISTICALLY

Once we have picked out from grammar at large as our present subject the grammatical treatment of the negatives, we may wish to know first of all how the negatives fit into the general scheme of things. Most of our better grammars for our diverse languages carry a systematic table of our total vocabulary, under the heading " Parts of Speech," or else " T h e Word Classes." In such a table, all the kinds of words will be classified according to a hierarchic system, with a number of main branches—traditionally eight of them—such as " noun, verb, uninflected words, adverbs" etc., and with subdivisions, and subsubdivisions, for each of the branches. It takes us a little while to discover where the " n o t " is supposed to come in: it is tucked away, unobtrusively, in an enumeration of various adverbs. And the category of adverbs, in turn, is supposed to include, by the large, words detailing the circumstances under which some event took place and the like; e.g., "She came . . . here" or ". ..yesterday," or detailing the manner in which an action is performed; for instance, "...hurriedly," or ".. . gladly," etc., as the case may be. Now it is clear at first blush that this description does not fit the negatives at all. It is not a matter of the circumstances under which she came (to go on using that example), nor otherwise a matter of the particular manner in which she came, when it is stated that she didn't. The " n o t " evidendy is a thing quite apart—so far apart in fact that it seems precarious to ask in what broader word category it belongs. The negative not only fails to be one of the various subkinds of adverb; rather, it is unlike any other word of our languages, in that all the other words, without exception—and indeed all the other elements of our vocabularies, such as endings, cases, suffixes, prefixes, infixes, and

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whatnot—all serve to add something or other to the body of information given and received in the medium of speech, while the negative alone destroys an item of information. The negative is unique. To put it another way: if we assume that the basic purpose of all speech is to paraphrase reality (a thesis we had better stay away from, but we shall not go into that): a negative statement has no counterpart in the reality beyond our speech; rather, over there, that which is not, is missing from reality, and that is that. Whenever we make a negative statement, we are punching an outright hole into the subject matter of our discourse; and whenever we contemplate a non-fact or an expression of negativity, we find ourselves staring at a black and empty hole. This certainly is a perplexing and disagreeable situation, and we wonder what our languages will do to ameliorate it. They cannot shy away from it, because the negative is clearly and indispensable element of our speech. To elaborate on that important point: a denial is by no means an admission of ignorance; far from it. Nor is it a mere admission of uncertainty or hesitation, as when we qualify an assertion by adverbs such as "probably," "perhaps," "presumably," "allegedly," "hardly," and the like. These adverbs, to be sure, do cast a shadow upon what we assert, but they leave it standing, if less firmly and in a dimmer light. We repeat: the negative is unique and does not fall into any broader and more comprehensive word category. Going back for a moment to the disappointment we had coming to us when we looked for the negatives in the traditional table of parts of speech—a venerable, prestigious, and ancient table, harking back, of course, to Greek theoreticians of language, implicitly believed in for a matter of two millennia, and remaining essentially unchanged in our latter-day grammars and dictionaries ever since, in spite of some patent progress in the doctrine the table hands down to us—did that disappointment deal a severe shock to one of our fundamental grammatical beliefs ? If so, it ought not to have been a shattering experience: it was just another case of excessive formalism and over-systematization on the part of our theoreticians. And anyway our canonic tables of parts of speech are flawed by several fatal and congenital defects. But that is again an involved matter we shall not allow to deflect us from our intended course. Let us rather follow up some observations on the ways our languages actually handle the onerous matter of negativity. It strikes us how typical it is that such words are compounds etymologically. The English not, though seemingly simple and straight-

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forward, is originally a compound of the negative proper, here represented by the sound n-, and of ought. Likewise, the German nicht combines the same two elements: they are n(e), the negative proper, and *icht, which in present-day German survives in the shape of the substantive Wicht. Latin non derives from the elements ne- and *oenom = unum; hence it represents a negated " o n e . " So does German n-ein. In English and German we easily, and rightly, associate the initial nwith the concept of negativity in such words as E. n-ever, G. n-ie = n- + je; the German je in turn, meaning "ever," was originally the locative case of a noun meaning "duration in time." We may compare Latin aevom or Greek axon, for "duration," and aion with the Greek locative a(i)ei, for either " a t the t i m e " or "ever." Lat. nemo is even more transparent, since hemo was an older form of homo. German niemand is a triple compound: neg. + it = " e v e r " + Mann; the final -d is secondary and late. English does not have a *no-man compound, but it has none = no one, and in addition it has the completely explicit combinations nd-body and n6-thing (I skip the explanation for the shift of accent away from the noun where it normally belongs, in E. ndbody and ndthing, or, for that matter, in German niemand and jemand). And so it goes on. It is rather an exception when ancient Greek (but not the modern variety of Greek) uses an uncompounded ou for " n o t ; " and moreover, it seems significant that the Greek ou has, as the saying goes, " n o etymology," that is, it is just as unique and isolated in the vocabulary as is its meaning and function. Russian also has a simple " n o t " and uses it with no restrictions: ne; and so has Sanskrit with na. These two are cognate as between the one language and the other one, and insofar as this is the case, they do have an etymology; but still, and this is the point, they are isolated within their own languages, apart of course from words derived from them, which is an entirely different proposition. But, as we said, the occurrence of unanalyzable negatives is rather an exception than the rule; the general tendency goes in the direction of compounding. There is a very good reason for that tendency: since it is the function of the negative to destroy, erase, expunge, explode, it is natural for the speaker to couple it with something to be annihilated by it, and in this manner to provide that hollow and bottomless notion with at least a semblance of outside support. We will not forget that it is not merely our speech that has trouble with the negative; it is rather our thought itself that sorely misses something to lay its hands on, as it

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were. If it is the job of a negative to destroy rather than to add, we wish to have it accompanied by something to get to work on and do away with. This will prove a leitmotiv for our present discussion: the natural urge, manifested in various fashions, to pair a negative with some positive counterpart. To be sure, there is no stringent necessity to do so, yet there is a powerful trend in that direction. Compounds with the negative for their leading component member, as we have already found in the type of n-ever etc. abound in our languages, especially for adjectives. Mostly, the negative element, which when isolated was embodied originally in the two-letter form *ne in the parent language, as preserved in the Slavic word ne for " n o t , " was reduced in these compounds to a mere n-, yet syllabic [p], just as a syllabic n is pronounced and heard in English words such as "heavn, tokn, happn," etc. At an early stage of our languages, however, this phonetic anomaly was gotten rid of variously, according to the sound laws of the particular language, by means of vocalization. In Sanskrit and in Greek, n sonans had a vowel added to it: an-, e.g. in Greek an-axios, "un-worthy"; but before a consonant, the an- was reduced to a mere a-, e.g. in Greek a-kephalos, " headless." In the Germanic languages, the n- became un-, as in un-even, un-worthy. In Latin, it appears as in(via en-), as in in-dignus, "un-worthy," hence English indignation, a protest against what one feels to be an unworthy treatment. In consequence of this Latin development, the prefix in- for " n o t " happens to be homophonous with the prefix in- as in in-land, and the two cannot be told apart except on the basis of meaning: Lat. in-sul-sus = in (the negative) + sul- (for sal, "salt") + -sus (a suffix) make up together the notion "silly," because the compound indicates that a thing lacks " salt," "spice" and " p o i n t ; " now this combination of in- (for the negative) and " s a l t " could theoretically be confused with Lat. in-sul-a for a piece of land that is "in salt," in the midst of salt water. All compounds in our languages enjoy the privilege of condensation and brachylogy, hinting by no more than cues (mosdy two) at what is meant. This is on the side. Our languages abound with un- compounds (and when I say " u n - " in the present context, I include the other representatives of the original n sonans, such as Greek a(n); Latin in-, etc.) with compounds coupling the negative element with the positive thing that is to be denied. They are so familiar and so transparent that we can save ourselves the trouble of exemplifying them in detail. The vast majority are adjectives: uncertain, unreal, unusual, unable, unselfish, unassuming, and a host of others.

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The smaller number of nouns (substantives) from among them have to be speared or netted one by one, such as: unbelief, unease, unreason, unconcern, unemployment. Along with the adjectives go numerous adverbs, e.g. unnaturally, unevenly, unwittingly, unsparingly, unappropriated. How about verbs? Well, there we have a big question looming ahead of us, which we shall attack at a more auspicious moment. Let us now rather pick up again a thread we had dropped previously, when we made ourselves realize what a stumbling block the negative is both for our thought and for our speech. Small wonder, then, when we (that is, " w e " as users of our languages) try to get around the negative as often as not. Take the homely example that we go to call on a friend, and when we come to his door, we are told, to our dismay, that " H e is out." Taking a closer look at that " o u t , " it is unproblematic as long as the communication is phrased " H e went out half an hour ago." This "went o u t " is a past action from which the would-be caller draws the inevitable inference: since he recently crossed the threshold of his home in a certain direction, he "is o u t " now. But where precisely is he? We are given to understand no more than that he is knocking about somewhere and somehow in the wide blue world beyond the four walls of his residence. That is not much by way of a positive item of information, but the " o u t " is a gossamer thread of at least a quasipositive quasi-information. Our next step leads us from " H e is o u t " to " T h e light is out." Here even the gossamer is gone with the wind. We do not try to dream where " T h e light is" when it "is out." What was meant was that "There is no light," but we have successfully dodged the straight negative. This modest experiment, pointing up an almost successful evasion of the ugly blunt negative, could be duplicated many times over. Speaking of English out as a camouflaged negative, we imagine the following bit of dialogue: Qj. "Did you go there with your children?" A: " I went without them." The answer starts like a " Y e s " : " I went with. . . ." But at this point, the " w i t h " is immediately canceled by the addition of an " o u t . " A quibbler could criticize the questionable logic; but the language is just wrestling with the awkward negation. Fully paraphrased, the answer would run somewhat like " I traveled with the children out," i.e. "leaving them out of the picture." Danish has for "without" the simple uden, identical with English out, which in an earlier age was outen. Other languages have hit on different dodges: ancient Greek used aneu(the) for "without," literally "far from, apart

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from." Similarly, earlier German (and Dutch) has sonder for "without," cp. the German verb sondert = English sunders, for "separates, splits;" thus, if I traveled, in German, sonder my children, we split when I left. Latin sine is again from a different origin, and so is Russian bes (although I do not know what precisely Russian bes is connected with). The fact that there is no kinship among the words in our languages for "without" but rather each branch has fashioned its own stopgap, makes it appear likely that the common ancestor language had not progressed to providing for the different notion. English without is a compound in which the positive element is in the leading position, while the negative part follows after. The out, though not directly and avowedly negative, nevertheless operates to the same effect, in that it strikes out and throws out what had gone before within the same word. While English without is unique as far as I can see, a rather common type of compound in both English and German, first suggesting some positive idea only to reject and revoke it immediately, within the frame of the same word, is the English type endless, harmless, painless, etc., with its close German equivalents endlos, etc. A phrase like endless toil is a kind of condensation of "they toiled no end," where, however, the " n o " is replaced by -less. A compound like painless, referring, say, to tooth extraction, faithfully mirrors a sequence of two mental acts: (1) "You think that pain will accompany the operation;" and (2) " b u t not here, you should for once dismiss and exclude any such notion." In this pattern, then, the prior element will suggest an idea that readily comes to mind in connection with the noun, while the second element, -less, declares that the idea does not apply to the exceptional case in hand; cf. " The plain was treeless," " The marriage remained childless." For this reason, a catalogue of English compounds with -less can serve as a guide list to mental associations or behavioral reactions commonly considered as normal in a given context. To mention at random a few out of a great number: priceless is based on the fact that normally everything has its price, so that normally one will ask " W h a t would it cost?" Words like mindless, careless, senseless, needless, useless, reflect a favorable portrait of human nature at large, in that they assume that in these respects {mind, care, etc.) a proper behavior and a proper motivation (need, use) are to be expected; so do merciless and pitiless, which are grounded in a belief that mercy and pity are normal while cruelty and spite are not, so that there are in the language no such adjectives as *crueltiless and *spiteless. On the other hand, the -less

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compounds do not flow from an idealizing or moralizing vein either, but they are realistic, as witnessed by words like faultless and spotless, which imply that these qualities are exceptional; if they were not, we could have *perfectionless but we don't, while we do have imperfect and unclean where the negative comes first. There is a fearless and dauntless but not a *courageless, because fear in danger is more natural than courage. Likewise, tiring of repeated exertion and taking a periodic rest is what we expect of normal people, so that a tireless endeavor is uncommon, and a restless behavior smacks of an unhealthy nervous disposition. To conclude with an example referring to a factual condition: there is the word penniless because we rarely meet with absolute destitution, and there is no adjective *wealthless because we do not run into some Croesus or other day in and day out. As to the derivation and function of the -less element, I do not hesitate to take it at face value. There are in our languages several comparatives not connected with a positive form from the same stem but with a superlative only, e.g. betterI best, worse/worst, more/most', just so, English has less/least. And the -less in those compounds, just as in its independent use, points to a " m i n u s " ; only that here it is postpositive, so that in this type of two-stage compound as exemplified in "painless extraction" it indicates one that stops short of inflicting pain. A limitless expanse is one where nature has failed to impose the customary limits; a bloodless revolution has succeeded in fighting shy of the usual bloodshed, and so on. I believe that this pattern of paraphrase will work out reasonably well all the way. Also we have now won the smoothest possible transition to the English use of less for the negative when it appears outside of compounds and within the free flow of speech. The English idiom " H e was less than honest when he said so" tactfully pretends that the man was striving for honesty but didn't quite make it. The circumvention here of the plain-spoken verdict " n o t honest" or "dishonest" (this dis- is another camouflaged " n o t " ) has in such cases a tinge of understating euphemism. We now return once more to that tiny band of compound words of which the standard-bearer is English not from *ne-ought, or German night, or Latin non, to which we may add modern Greek den which is a condensation of ancient Greek ou + d(e) + (h)en = " n o t even one," a triple compound no longer recognizable as such. It is a small band only as the number of dictionary listings is concerned, but a preeminent one by way of frequency of occurrence in actual speech. The

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main other members of the group are words for " n o b o d y " or " n o n e , " " n o t h i n g , " " n e v e r , " " n o w h e r e . " T h e y all have this in c o m m o n : that they are made up, etymologically, of the negative combined with an indefinite so-called pronoun, e.g. never = n + ever, or with a virtual indefinite pronoun, such as the ' m a n ' in Latin nemo or in G e r m a n niemand; the negated indefinite component, such as ever, gives the resulting word a sweeping generality. A n d as to their application, the members of the little series have this in c o m m o n : that they rarely deny a single detail in order to correct it (as in " T h e tie is not blue but g r e e n " ) but in the vast majority of instances they turn the entire statement into a nonfact, for instance in " S h e came not. Nobody called. W e can do nothing about it. This medicine never works. T h e r e is nowhere a trace of h e r . " T h e y do a w a y with any fact as alleged altogether. T h u s , the deployment in two parts or more might seem a linguistic inflation of one sheer and simple concept, the concept " n o t . " W h y then do w e consistently cultivate such compounds ? W e have discussed that question before, and w e repeat our answer: because of our urge to have the negative element paired with some positive counterpart. T h e urge is accounted for, as we have seen, by the fact that we abhor focusing on bleak and blank nothingness all by itself; and since it is the one and only task of the indispensable negative to turn a fact as tentatively suggested, e.g., " S h e c a m e here yesterday," into a non-fact: " S h e did n o t . . . , " that is, to act as a killer and deadly fighter, we prefer to conjure up the spectacle of two gladiators, as it were, fighting it out before our mental eyes. This was w h y w e like to embody the negative linguistically in a clear confrontation of two opponents. 4 I said " i n a clear confrontation" advisedly. I now stress, with an ulterior motive in the back of m y mind, the requirement of the confrontation being clear and evident and obvious. This requirement is no longer met in the case of Latin non. It took a professional grammarian to rediscover that once upon a time Latin non had been *ne-oenom: *oenom was no longer a living word, and moreover in the compound the ending had been chopped off. In practice, then, the non failed to exhibit its true nature; the two elements had been fused so thoroughly that the original purview was lost sight of. Just so, Latin nemo for " n o b o d y , " literally " n o t m a n , " had ceased to reveal and profess its etymology, since *hemo for " m a n " had been abandoned in favor of homo. A n d in 4 " G l a d i a t o r s " is a pardonable exaggeration on an emotional plane; we are analyzing the phenomenon under a microscope, with all proportions vastly enlarged.

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Latín nihil, for "nothing," the character of a two-part compound was obscured by the complete obsoleteness of the -hil or -hilum component : the ancient Roman grammarians who tried to explain nihil were at a loss as to its original meaning and could only hazard various guesses. I have singled out some Latin representatives of our little series because what I am driving at is what I believe to be a rather illuminating historical development in the transition from Latin to the Romance languages, and to French in particular. French has radically done away with the inherited Latin compound non in its original Latin function ; and, for that matter, with the entire set of ready-made Latin negatives, creating new two-part substitutes for them. Instead of going on with a (suitably modernized) Latin non venit " (she) not came," the French say "Elle n'est pas venue," literally "she no is step come." The " n o t " notion is split into two separate parts which straddle the finite verb form est. The first installment, ne, is the direct descendant of the inherited Latin non, for " n o t " or " n o " ; but the French ne no longer carries the entire denial, but functions as a down payment only, while the pas, "step," has been added afresh as an obligatory second installment. The two of them do not enter into an actual compound ; instead they form a novel tele-compound, at a distance from each other to keep them from coalescing again ; but they remain tied together nevertheless by another half-novel feature, the verb-centered word cluster, where they have their fixed places specifically assigned to them. And what becomes of Latin nemo, e.g. in " T h e r e was nobody there" ? It is similarly split up, " I l n'y avait personne," literally " I t no there had person." And so it goes on all along the line. The sense of ' He has brought me nothing ' translates into French as " I l ne m'a apporté rien," where the second element, rien, is a modernization of Latin rem, " t h i n g " : " H e no me has brought thing." There are six more items on my agenda, which I am going to subject to a harsh and disfiguring condensation, if the reader will bear with me that much longer. 1. To introduce a widespread phenomenon in the use of negatives, I take advantage of our last two examples. Suppose I am asked, in French, " W h o else was t h e r e ? " and my one-word answer is " Personne." O r a child asks me on my arrival from a trip : " What have you brought for m e ? " and I answer, again in French, " R i e n . " Literally I have replied " B o d y " and " T h i n g , " but what I intended to say, and what is automatically read into my answer, is " N o b o d y " and " N o -

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thing." The second installment of a two-word negative is, by dint of its habitual combination with the first and properly negative installment, so deeply dyed in negative blackness that it can readily function as a negative even when the first down payment is temporarily absent; or else it has acquired that function permanently. To lay quite bare the mechanism that is involved: " t h i n g " here stands for " a n y thing," and after the negative antecedent has rubbed off on it, " a n y thing" stands for " n o thing." There aire numerous instances in our various languages of that typical conversion. 2. Characteristic of the second-installment negatives is their frequently emphatic nature. It takes some effort on the part of the speaker to sweep the slate entirely clean and to erase the last vestige of tangible matter which our mind would rather have before it than the intangible " n a u g h t " which is the English not. Hence, e.g., French ne . . . pas or ne . . . point literally refer to a minimum of extension, to a " s t e p " or "point." The same also applies to expressions like English " I didn't sleep a bit last night," which in German is "kein bischen," literally ' I didn't have a bit, or a bite, of that delicious refreshment sleep.' Colloquial North Italian likes to add to negative statements and word mica, which etymologically means "crumb." 3. There is the matter of cumulative negatives. It is not a question of logic but only of usage whether, e.g.," Nobody gave nothing " is used for 'Everybody gave something,' as in standard English or German and standard Latin, or for " N o giver and no gift," as in standard Russian or standard Greek (and Greek happens to be a highly civilized language). The two types can aptly be explained by a comparison to electrical wiring and switches, with the wiring representing mental connections. In Greek there is one master switch, and when that is thrown, all the lamps go out together: "Nobody gave nothing" = " n o giver and no gift." In English we have the familiar arrangement of two switches, and as soon as either one is thrown, the lamps that were out previously all go back on together, from " n o giver" to "everyone a giver," and from " n o gift" to " a gift from every one." 4. The point here is more ideological than technical in nature. The challenging question is: Why has present-day English given up the earlier way of denying, e.g. "She came not here yesterday," and converted to "She did n o t . . ." ? The answer is, I think, because what is being denied is not the specific action of coming, as distinct from other possible actions of hers; as, e.g., "came not but left," "came not but

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slept," etc. Rather, the denial is pointed at the factuality of her coming. And as one says, to stress the factuality, "She did come (after all)," so here modern English puts it as "She did not come." In other words, the negative " n o t " is looking for some positive hook to append itself to, and the most appropriate and most logical hook is "did." 5. We no longer say "Came she here yesterday?" but "Did she come. . . ." This innovation is self-explanatory after what we have just suggested. A question of this kind concerns the doubtful factuality of what is tentatively proposed, of her past coming, and therefore the tentative phrasing is modeled on the same principle as a denial : (1) "Did she?" (2) "come here yesterday." It seems significant that an analogous change has taken place in the French language, from, e.g., "Est-elle venue?" (literally "Is she come?") to "Est-ce qu'elle est venue ? '' (literally " Is it that she is come ?"). The latter type of phrasing began to appear in the 12th century and has been prevalent since the 15th century. The background of the change is evidendy the same as in English. The French language has succeeded in very neatly setting apart the question of factuality : " Is it that ? " from the material content : "she is come here yesterday." However, the would-be authoritative French Grammaire Larousse du 20e siècle (in #126) has been purblind to the ideological and logical background, when it says the longer type of expression with an " Is it t h a t . . ." encumbers the phrasing (alourdit la phrase) and "is to be avoided," even though, as they admit, every speaker uses it unless he wants to lay himself open to the suspicion of a recherché diction. 6. The final item is perhaps the most astounding and revealing of all. It is this. In all our Indo-European languages, a strange taboo is in force which prevents us from negating a finite verb form, such as " s a w " or "came," by the prefix which is un- in English or its cognates like Greek an-, Latin in-, etc. We can not, and we do not say, e.g., "she *unsaw him when passing b y " or "she *uncame here yesterday." Although we do feel free to say "She overlooked h i m " or in German "Sie ubersah ihn," in the sense of an "oversight" and of a "not-seeing," and although we can say "She passed by him unseeing," where we combine the verbal adjective "seeing" with the un-prefix, a hypothetical *unsaw, as a finite verb form, is unheard of and impossible for us to fashion and to pronounce. The taboo has held sway unchallenged over a vast linguistic territory for a matter of, say, three millennia. I know of one exception only. In English, the taboo is being violated on a

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large and generous scale: he unlocked, uncovered, untied, undid, and so on and on. The cause is clear enough: in all these instances the un- prefix has ceased to indicate the failure of an event to materialize, and instead it declares that something is going on, rather briskly we presume; only, it runs in the reverse direction from what the verb says: " h e unlocked" means he did the opposite of locking, etc. The apparent exception is no real exception but confirms the rule, provided we make the rule more explicit by stating that a final verb form never takes an un- prefix as long as that prefix expresses a denial. But what is the rationale of the taboo in the first place, a taboo honored all the time and everywhere, evidently because of a permanent subconscious understanding by all speakers of its true ideological reason and suddenly relaxed at one place and time to a limited extent, namely in the one zone where that reason no longer obtains ? The reason can be no other than that the finite verb form is the core and backbone of any statement, and if the finite verb form were hollowed out by intimately incorporating a denial, the entire statement would collapse; up to this point, our languages feel that the same way as old Parmenides did. In order to have the communication say anything at all, the negative has to be added outside the verb form: "saw him not when she was passing b y " rather than "*unsaw." This is again the maxim we have encountered throughout: a denial on the one hand, and that which is to be denied on the other hand, are to be kept strictly apart so as to confront each other. And here I finally release my captive audience, in the hope that our initial contention has been borne out, even in an abbreviated presentation. The negatives are unlike anything else in language; they deserve, and they receive from that grammar that shapes our ways of expression, a very special treatment and are handled with meticulous care. Stanford University

MICHAEL S. GOLDSTEIN

Athenian-Persian Peace Treaties: Thuc. 8.56.4 and 8.58.2 Theopompus, writing in the fourth century, did not believe that Athens had concluded a peace treaty with Persia in the fifth century. 1 When he charged the Athenians with fabricating a treaty with King Darius, he was probably reacting to the various references to a fifth-century Athenian-Persian peace treaty in the histories and speeches of his day. 2 The fact that Thucydides makes no direct reference to a peace, even in the Pentekontaetia where one might expect it, lends weight to Theopompus' charge. There are, however, two passages in Thucydides' History which may contain indirect references to an Athenian-Persian treaty. One is Thucydides 8.56.4, the other 8.58.2. The former has been the subject of debate since the 1820's, the latter since 1940. Despite the substantial amount of time and effort already expended on discussions of these two passages, both merit reconsideration. I would like to thank Professors Mary E. White and W. Kendrick Pritchett for valuable criticisms. Any remaining faults are, of course, the writer's. 1 F. Jacoby, FGrH 115, F 153-155. For varying interpretations of these fragments see among others: D. Stockton, " T h e Peace of Callias," Historia 8 (1959) 61-64; R. Sealey, "Theopompus and Athenian Lies," JHS 80 (1960) 194-195; A. E. Raubitschek, "Herodotus and the Inscriptions," BICSL 8 (1961) 59-61; A. E. Raubitschek, " T h e Treaties between Persia and Athens," GRBS 5 (1964) 157-158; W. R. Connor, Theopompus andFifihCenhay Athens (Washington, D.C. 1968) 78-94, 122-123, and 182 n. 17. 2 E.g. Isocrates 4.118 and Diodorus 12.4.4-6 (if Diodorus is here following Ephoras). For a compact listing of the relevant ancient sources, see R. Meiggs, The Athenian Empire (Oxford 1972) 487^189.

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. . . vavs 7j£iov eav ßaaiXea iroielaÖai xou napanXelv rqv ¿avTov¡¿amv yfjv oirr) av Kai oaais av ßovXrp-ai. T h e implications of

Alcibiades' demand that, "the King be allowed to build ships and sail along his [i.e. the King's]/their [i.e. the Athenians'] coasts wherever he wished and with as many ships as he wished," change considerably depending on whether one chooses eavrov, the reading of Manuscripts A, B, E, F, M, and G, or eavrüv, the reading of Manuscript C. In particular, if one selects eavrov, one may argue that a prior agreement between Athens and Persia prohibited the King from operating his navy in the Aegean, a right he should have enjoyed without question under normal circumstances. And, indeed, the terms of the so-called Peace of Callias, as recorded in various fourth-century orations, do prohibit the King from sending his warships into the Aegean. 3 One should not, however, be too hasty in choosing between the possible readings, as K. W. Krüger pointed out in his study of the so-called Peace of Callias.4 In his discussion of 8.56.4 Krüger made three important points: (1) In choosing between possible readings for a disputed text, one cannot rely everywhere on the weight of the best manuscripts alone, especially when only an ending is in dispute. In particular, one should bear this in mind for Book 8, which is the most corruptly transmitted of the books of Thucydides' History. Thus, in chapter 56.4 one must choose between eavrov and eavrwv, both of which are grammatically correct, on the basis of context. 5 (2) Whichever reading one chooses, there is no reference in 56.4 to a peace treaty, since Athens was able on the basis of her naval hegemony to restrict the traffic of foreign warships in Greek waters through fear. 6 (3) Once the King has received the Ionian coast and the islands nearby, his request to sail in the seas bounded by these areas without restriction as to number of ships is quite reasonable. On the other hand, that he be allowed to sail along the coasts of Attica is an unreasonable request. Given that the Athenians, despite the high stakes involved, broke off negotiations because of the 3 Supra n. 2 and infra n. 25. * Historisch-philologische Studien (Berlin 1836) 86-91. His arguments opposed those of T. F. Benedict, Commentarii Critici in Thtuydidis VIII Libras (Leipzig 1815) and supported those of C. F. F. Haacke, De Bello Pelopotmesiaco II (Leipzig 1820). 5 Krüger 86-87. « Krüger 88-90.

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unreasonableness of Alcibiades' demand, one should choose eauriov as the more logical of the two readings. 7 Since the publication of Kriiger's work, scholarly opinion has been divided as to the importance of 8.56.4 Some scholars have regarded this passage as conclusive evidence for the existence of a peace, others have considered it a vague reference to existing circumstances, and still others have taken a position somewhere in between. The following summary reveals the varying degrees of importance attached to this passage by supporters and critics of a fifth-century AthenianPersian peace. In 1878, J . Classen rejected ecevrwv and accepted 56.4 as a reference to a clause of an Athenian-Persian Peace Treaty of 449: "Nichts konnte das Selbstgefühl der Athener tiefer verletzen, als wenn ganz Asien für des Königs Land erklärt, und mit der Gestattung der Freiheit, die Küsten nach Willkür zu befahren, alle Beschränkungen des Friedens von 449 aufgehoben wären." 8 In 18829 and 1897, G. Busolt rejected ¿avröiv and supported the existence of a peace treaty, referring to 56.4 as "ein deutlicher Hinweis auf die Existenz eines solchen [Friedensvertrages]." 10 In 1884, M. Duncker rejected 56.4 as a reference to a peace treaty, explaining that "Die Athener erzürnte, dass sie dies ausdrücklich anerkennen, auf die Seeherrschaft. . . ausdrücklich verzichten sollten." 11 In 1893, J . Beloch supported the existence of a peace treaty on the basis of 56.4: " F ü r das Bestehen eines Vertrages spricht Thuk. VIII 5 6 . . . . " 1 2 In 1893, F. Koepp supported Duncker's and Krüger's explanation of 56.4, but rejected the reading ¿avru>v as making Alcibiades' request "gar sonderbar." He added that the Athenians finally lost patience not because the last demand was so unreasonable, but because Alcibiades increased the number of demands at each meeting. 13 In 1899, E. Meyer joined Busolt and Beloch in using 56.4 as proof of a peace treaty: "Andererseits enthält bekanntlich gerade Thukydides einen zwingenden Beweis für die Realität des Friedens VIII.56. . . . Es [dass der König Kriegsschiffe baut und mit 7 Krüger 89. » Thukydides VIII (Berlin 1878) 86-87. 9 H Z 48 (1882) 385. «o Griechische Geschichte I I I - l (Gotha 1897) 352-353. H "lieber den sogenannten Kimonischen Frieden," Silz. d. Berl. Ak. d. Wiss. (Berlin 1884) 804. 12 Griechische Geschichte I (Strasburg 1893) 489 n. 3. »3 "Ein Problem der griechischen Geschichte," RAM 48 (1893) 490-492.

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ihnen an seinen Küsten entlang fahrt, wohin und in welcher Zahl er will] war ihm also vorher verboten, mit anderen Worten, diese Verhandlung hat den wichtigsten Paragraphen des Kalliasfriedens zur Voraussetzung." 14 In 1922, J . Steup agreed with Classen concerning eccvrä>v: "Es is aber ganz undenkbar, dass Alk., wenn auch nur in der Absicht, ganz sicher ein Scheitern der Verhandlungen herbeizuführen, hätte verlangen können, dass der König mit beliebig vielen Kriegsschiffen an allen Küsten des Herrschaftsgebiets der Athener solle vorbeifahren dürfen." At the same time he disagreed with Classen as to the existence of a peace, preferring to interpret 56.4 in much the same way as Krüger, Duncker, and Koepp: "Durch ein solches Recht des Königs [dass der König an allen Küsten seines Landes, also auch denen Ioniens und der übrigen Gebiete, die er jetzt erwerben sollte, mit beliebig vielen Kriegsschiffen sollte erscheinen dürfen] wäre ja der Rest der athenischen Herrschaft im ägäischen Meere und am Hellespont durchaus in Frage gestellt worden, ganz abgesehen davon, dass ein Eingehen der Athener auf die Sache ein unzweideutiges Fallenlassen ihres Anspruchs auf die Beherrschung aller griechischen Meere gewesen wäre." 1 5 In 1927, E. M. Walker rejected 56.4 as a reference to a peace treaty, putting the theory of Krüger, Duncker, Koepp, and Classen in more modern terms: "Thucydides VIII, 56.4 does not prove the existence of the Treaty. Treaty or no Treaty, the presence of a Persian fleet in the Aegean at this moment meant an end to the Athenian Empire. Recognized 'spheres of influence' might exist without a formal treaty." 1 6 In 1940, H. T. Wade-Gery pushed the pendulum back towards the position of Busolt, Beloch, and Meyer. In reference to a clause of the third Spartan-Persian treaty of 412/411 he noted that "just before [VIII 56.4], in spite of her desperate need, Athens had refused to waive that fundamental clause of her old treaty." 1 7 In 1945, A. W. Gomme completed the full swing of the pendulum, using 56.4 as conclusive evidence for the existence of a peace treaty: " Such a demand, coming from one about to accede to a request, could only be based on a written agreement. The treaty is genuine. . . ." 1 8 In 1959, D. Stockton took issue with Gomme's conclusion: " In reality, the language of the King's demand .is quite neutral, and could just as well be based on the Forschungen zur alten Geschiehte II (Halle a. S. 1899) 76-77. 15 Thukydides VIII (Berlin 1922) 136-137. 16 C 4 / / V 471. 17 "The Peace of Kallias," HSCP Suppl. vol. I (1940) 146. l» A Historical Commentary on Thucydides I (Oxford 1945) 332-333.

Athenian-Persian Peace Treaties

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19

existing situation." In 1961, A. Andrewes, agreeing in general with Gomme, explained 56.4 by stating that " a previous treaty had denied the king the right to bring ships into the Aegean in spite of the fact that he still held territory on the Aegean coast, at least Atramyttion (Thuc. V 1) if no more." 2 0 In 1972, R. Meiggs supported the Peace of Callias, commenting on 56.4 as follows: " N o such clause is included in any of the quick succession of treaties made in 411 between the Spartans and Tissaphernes and it is considerably easier to understand if Persia had, under a previous treaty with Athens, accepted limits for her warships." 21 This list is by no means exhaustive. 22 However, one fact is quite clear: all those scholars who do not see a reference to an AthenianPersian peace treaty in 56.4 employ some form of Krüger's second point to explain the significance of Alcibiades' demand. Only Classen, Busolt, Koepp, and Steup mention the reading êavrûv of Manuscript C. And, of these, only Koepp and Steup offer any real comment and even that is quite superficial—"gar sonderbar" and "ganz undenkbar," 2 3 — while Busolt and Classen simply refer to the weight of the so-called "good tradition." 24 Thus, during the last 50 years of this approximately 150-year-old scholarly debate, a reading of some significance has been neglected. The following is a reconsideration of the two possible readings. . . . vavs

r¡£íov èôcv ßaaiXea

noiflodcu

Kai irapanXeîv

rrjv

1» Stockton (supra n. 1) 67. 20 "Thucydide» and the Persians," Historia 10 (1961) 15. 21 Meiggs (supra n. 2) 142. 22 One could add : T. F. Benedict (supra n. 4) ; C. F. F. Haacke (supra n. 4) ; T. Arnold, The History of the Peloponnesian War III (Oxford 1835) 418 n. line 8; G. Grote, A History of Greece V (London 1870) 193 n. 2 ; J . Six, De Gorgone—Dissertation (Amsterdam 1885) 101 ; Th. Nöldeke, Aufsätze zur Persischen Geschichte (Leipzig 1887) 52-53 n. 3; L. Holzapfel, Athen und Persien von 465 bis 412 v. Chr.: Bert. Stud. z. klass. PhUol., VII (1888) 19ff; W. W. How and J . Wells, A Commentary on Herodotus II (Oxford 1928) 190; G. Glotz, Histoire Ancienne II (Paris 1931) 159 n. 73; J . Hatzfeld, Alciiiade (Paris 1940) 238-239 n. 4; H. Bengston, Die Verträgt der griechisch-römischen Welt II (München 1962) 68, no. 152; K. Kraft, "Bemerkungen zu den Peiserkriegen," Hermes 92 (1964) 159; C. L. Murison, " T h e Peace of Callias: its Historical Context," Phoenix 25 (1971) 29. I was not able to read the works of Benedict, Haacke, and Holzapfel. 23 Hatzfeld (supra n. 22) is just as superficial in his support of c'cnmüv: " on ne conçoit pas une clause autorisant une flotte royale à naviguer dans les eaux territoriales . . . de la Perse." For Koepp's point concerning the number of demands, see infra n. 31. 2* Busolt (supra n. 10) 353: "iaorov—so die gute Ueberlieferung der Hdschr. nicht iaormv" ; Classen (supra n. 8) 86: "rf/v ¿avrov yf¡v (nicht ¿avrwv, was nur wenige geringe Hss. haben)." However, see infra n. 27.

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07777 av kcu oocus av ßovXrjrou: 8.56.4. The Athenians have agreed to give the King all Ionia, the islands lying near-by, and various other possessions. At their third meeting Alcibiades increases his demands to the point where the Athenians can no longer accept. He asks the Athenians to allow the King to build ships and sail along his own land wherever he wishes and with as many ships as he wishes. This may be either a reference to "recognized spheres of influence" or to boundaries established by a previous agreement between the King and the Athenians, that is, by a treaty with Artaxerxes in 449, the so-called Peace of Callias, and/or by a treaty with Darius in 423. 25 However, before one chooses between these two possibilities, one should examine the context of Alcibiades' demand. At this point in the negotiations Alcibiades is seeking an unreasonable demand which will allow him to save face. He has failed to bring Tissaphernes over to the Athenian side. He has also failed to make his first two demands unreasonable. The Athenians have agreed to relinquish the Ionian sector. If the King were allowed to operate his navy in the Aegean, Athenian security, in particular the Athenian supply routes, would be endangered. Alcibiades' third demand is, indeed, an unreasonable one, but so were his first two. Had Athens handed over the Ionian sector, she would have betrayed all her allies in Ionia. Athenian envoys prepared to betray their allies in Ionia might have agreed to allow the King to sail his warships along the coasts of this same area. One must remember the stakes involved: " Sonderbar! Also die Inseln welche die Athener an der Küste Joniens besassen, wollten sie, wie dieses herrliche und einträgliche Land selbst, ohne Bendenken abtreten; aber die Schiffahrt auf dem zunächst angrenzenden Meere . . . hätten sie verweigern und so sich eines Bundesgenossen berauben sollen von dessen Unterstützung sie in ihrer verzweifelten Lage Rettung und Sieg mit Zuversicht hoffen durften ? " 2 6 Under these circumstances, is it possible that Alcibiades decided to

tccvrov yrjv

2 ' For a discussion of the boundaries possibly set by the Treaties of 449 and 423, see Wade-Gery (supra n. 17) 134-143; R. Sealey, " T h e Peace of Callias Once More," Historia 3 (1954/5) 329-333; Andrewes (supra n. 20) 15-18; Kraft (supra n. 22) 163-166; Meiggs (supra n. 2) 146-151. For the clause concerning the construction of ships as part of a treaty, see W. E. Thompson, "Notes on the Peace of Callias," CP 66 (1971) 29-30; also, Kraft 159 n. 4. Krüger (supra n. 4) 88 and Steup (supra n. 15) 136 agree in taking mvs itoi€ujQaL kcu itapairXttv in the sense of vavs TTOiT^adfitvov napairXelv. However, this interpretation does not make sense in the context of a demand, being more appropriate to a narrative. One would do best to take the construction literally. 2 6 Krüger (supra n. 4) 87. Thucydides 8.87.4 shows that Krüger does not overestimate the stakes involved.

Athenian-Persian Peace Treaties

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present a demand so outrageous that the Athenian envoys would walk out on the negotiations without a second thought? One must at least take this possibility into account. . . . vavs

rj^iov

cav

fiaoiXea

noteZodcu

Kai

irapairAelv

rf/v

av 2 The Getty head was examined under ultraviolet light and compared with ancient and modern marble sculptures in the Lowie Museum of Anthropology in Berkeley, with the assistance of its Senior Curator, D. D. Herod. R. W. Wharton and Professor D. H. Wright there and in the University Art Museum also made helpful comments about this and other matters; Mr. E. R. Prince, of the Lowie Museum, made the photographs for pi. 3:2 and 3; pi. 4:2. On the inspection and appearance of old and new marble surfaces under ultraviolet light, see J . J . Rorimer, Ultra Violet Rays and Their Use in the Examination of Works of Art (New York 1931) 17-23, figs. 7-10. Professor E. C. Bullard, Department of Geodesy and Geophysics, Cambridge University, who heard this paper in a meeting of the Committee on Art and Science conducted by Professor W. Munk at the University of California at San Diego, suggested that examination of the deeply recessed cuttings may yield metal traces of the sculptor'« tools. It is unlikely that they survive the heavy etching found in these areas (text, below), but traces of modern steel under the patina would point to recent manufacture. 13 CSCA 3 (1970) lOOff and nn. 3-4. 14 H. and V. Craig, "Greek Marbles; Determination of Provenance by Isotopic Analysis," Science 176 (1972) 401-403.

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core of the Getty head was generously analyzed by Professor Harmon Craig and compared with his collection of samples. The marble is apparently not Pentelic, as I initially presumed—at least in comparison with his numerous samples from the ancient quarry. But it does show the same amounts of carbon and oxygen isotope traces as a sample of marble taken from a fragment of the leg of Demeter from the Parthenon east pediment, in the British Museum. Comparisons with that part of the ancient group show similar patterns of erosion, foliation, color, and crystal in the stone surfaces (cf. pi. 3:4 and 5). This evidence indicates that marble like that of the Getty head was used in Athens during Classical antiquity. (And, more important, the test seems to indicate that the Parthenon sculptures may not be made exclusively of Pentelic marble, as is generally believed.) 15 Evidence concerning the provenance of the original marble in itself cannot, of course, prove that the Getty portrait was made in ancient Athens. The Romans imported Athenian and other Greek marble. And such marble is often still available in ancient quarries and in large fragments of antique stone in Rome. With Francis Turner, Emeritus Professor of Geology, University of California at Berkeley, who has elsewhere dealt with Classical marbles, 16 I examined the Getty head under magnification (pi. 3:2 and 3; pi. 4:2). Most of the surface is composed of brownishwhite grains (1-2 mm.) of marble (calcium carbonate) that were once polished and perhaps in some places repolished but are now found in different stages of relief, especially high in the creases. This decomposiis The Getty sample, taken from the back (at the center of the neck piece), was analyzed to be 8C 13 - + 4.0, SO1* — — 5.1; the Demeter sample, taken from a fragment in storage at the British Museum, was 8C 13 = +4.1, SO 1 ' = —5.1. Dr. Craig reports that a sample from an isolated block near the ancient quarry on Paros, but not the Parian marble of that quarry, has the same proportion of carbon-13 and oxygen-18. Special thanks are due Mr. D. Haynes, Keeper of the Greek and Roman Antiquities at the British Museum, who showed me the Demeter leg sample apparently used by Craig and who gave permission to make pi. 3:5. Mr. Haynes informs me that further samples (to substantiate the implications of the Craigs' findings) would have to be taken directly from the Parthenon sculptures and that permission for this would require extensive negotiations with the Museum trustees. Officials of the Pergamon Museum have refused to allow a sample of the Aiedius relief to be tkken. 1« F. J . Turner, " Petrographic Character of Classical Marbles," Contributions of the University of California Archaeological Research Facility 12 (1971) 34-42. For studies concerning the geology of Classical marbles, see further ibid. 39; N. Herz, "Geology of the Building Stones of Ancient Greece," Transactions of the New fork Academy of Sciences 17 (1955) 499-505; and H. and V. Craig, Science 176 (1972) 403.

Plate i

1. Veristic head of P. Aiedius P. L. Amphio, Getty Museum, Malibu.

Howard

2. Aiedius (detail of plate 1:3) (Rodenwaldt).

3. Funerary relief of Aiedius and Fausta Melior. Pergamon Museum, Berlin (photo: Staadiche Museen).

Howard

Plate 2

SBRdlMUf*

2. Getty Aiedius (detail of pi. 1:3) (photo: Staatliche Museen).

1. Head of man. Ostia Museum (Calza).

3. Heads of an old man. Left, Uffizi Gallery, Florence; right, Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek, Copenhagen (Schweitzer).

4. Getty Aiedius (ultraviolet illumination).

Plate 3

Howard

2. Detail, triangle of pyrites (c. 3 mm. long) and marble and dolomite surface in left ear.

v

1. Getty Aiedius.

4. Getty Aiedius, showing lines of foliation.

3. Detail, pyrites (2 mm. maximum) and etched surface by right clavicle.

5. Demeter-Persephone (detail), Parthenon east pediment. British Museum, London.

Howard

Plate 4

1, 2. Getty Aiedius (detail) Left, original surface level near left eye; right, soil mark (c. 6 mm.) and stained surface on back of head.

3. Forehead detail of plate 4:4, showing abrasions on raised surfaces.

4. Julius Caesar. Lowie Museum, Berkeley (modern).

5. Julius Caesar. British Museum, London (modern). 6. Side view of plate 4:4.

7. Julius Caesar (?). Formerly in Roman market (photo: German Arch. Inst., Rome).

The Antiquity of the Getty Veristic Head

171

tion, which has prevented most encrustation, is the result of etching rather than abrasion. Such etching in marble sculptures is usually induced by (1) sustained weathering, mainly from rainwater and carbon dioxide, converted into carbonic acid; (2) the leaching action of various ground acids during protracted burial; and /or (3) submersion into acid solutions, to simulate effects of the foregoing agents. A second, softer, but glassy, surface on the marble, that is white to pale blue and is more resistant to acid, now stands in higher relief along the original lines of foliation in the block. These layers of varying length and thickness run about 5 to 10 degrees out of the vertical, toward the rear and right side of the head (pi. 3:4). They are laminated deposits of dolomite ([Ca,Mg]C0 3 ) here and there mixed with crystals of pyrite (FeS2) and other impurities, sometimes found in isolation (pi. 3:2 and 3). The deposits, which can superficially look like encrustation or root hair marks, are not; they penetrate into the block, as layerings of a sort commonly found in beds of marble. By the crow's feet and cheek near the left eye, a large patch of this surface shows the original elevation— and its finer modeling (pi. 4:1). The back of the head is the most etched, soiled, and stained area (reddish brown and blue green). Presumably, but not assuredly, this deterioration resulted from long interment. (The polished green serpentine marble of the modern base is of a sort found at many European and Mediterranean sites.) Close inspection of the stone, then, also can yield no clear indication of age. Since the purchase of the Getty head, the detection of dendrites on the surface of antiquities has been popularly used as a proof of their authenticity. Sometimes these heavily saturated crystals of manganese and iron are very slowly formed on the surface of buried artifacts, by the seasoned action of ground water. The dark isolated patches on the Getty head that were examined for this hard encrustation were easily scraped, including one from the back of the head (pi. 4:2), whose composition, when tested with the electron microprobe, was not dendritic. However, not all ancient works that were buried necessarily have dendrites. 17 17

The head was examined for dendrites and other encrustation with Dr. F. H. Stross (retired), whose valuable short note on its nature and uses as a proof of antiquity appears in an exhibition catalogue, A. B. Elsasser and F. H. Stross, Science and Archaeology (Berkeley 1970) 4f, fig. p. 5, which also deals with other means of scientifically dating ancient materials. Analysis with the electron microprobe (ARL Model E M X S-M) was made in the laboratory of Professor I. MacGregor, Department of Geology, University of California,

172

Seymour Howard

To conclude, then, because of its uncertain history and unusual similarities to a better known and documented piece, the antiquity of the Getty veristic head seems unlikely. And yet, good arguments may still be made for, as well as against, its authenticity, on the evidence of morphology, provenance, and physical condition. Neither stylistic nor presently available scientific methods of analysis are sufficient to allow absolute determination of the age of the piece. The manufacture of marble antiquities has been a thriving industry since the early Renaissance, one that revived a parallel tradition in antiquity, and in both ages it accompanied the making of innocent copies and antico adaptations. The date of core marble can be determined by the presence of argon-40 (decayed potassium) that records the time of metamorphosis. An equally objective method for dating the surface would be valuable for the sake of chronology and for the identification of forgeries. Unfortunately, the fragile microscopic web of man-made surface, so differendy affected by the places of exposure and discovery, as well as by viscissitudes of handling, does not now promise to yield such information, especially for pieces no longer in situ. For the sake of comparison, it is instructive to examine another "Greco-Roman" portrait of an elderly man, sent to the same exhibition as the Getty head. 1 8 Its modernity is demonstrated by the obvious sort of internal inconsistency that usually reveals forgeries. This head, representing Julius Caesar (pi. 4 : 4 and 6), from the Lowie Museum of Anthropology in Berkeley, 19 has a severely distressed "ancient-looking" surface, probably induced by heating and alkaline decomposition as well as long exposure. It also has extensive "restorations": the nose and chin, which may be reset, and the neck and base, probably made of another marble. Of special interest is the part of the surface that has been artificially aged in the same mechanical manner as can be seen on another head of Julius Caesar, identified as of lateeighteenth-century manufacture and now in the British Museum Davis, by R. W. Whtkopp. (Professor C. Higgins in that department, who has worked in problems of Classical geology, also gave helpful advice and information.) No manganese was detected (less than 0.05 percent), and there was an insignificant amount of iron (0.7-0.9 percent). There was 5 percent calcium, probably marble scraped with the sample. 11 Text, above, and n. 11. 1» Del Chiaro, Roman Art 22, no. 1, pi. 58 (mus. no. 8/4254).

The Antiquity of the Getty Veristic Head

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20

(pi. 4:5). The forehead and hair in both cases were pitted with a plane of points (rasp, nails, or wire brush) that scored the high surfaces but not the lower and less-accessible areas, such as those next to the wrinkles and hairline (pi. 4:3). There are striking drill holes next to the ears of both pieces: The Berkeley head (pi. 4:6) has only one, too large and too distant to have held a dowel to support the small missing portion of the left ear lobe. A more recent and crude-looking forgery, once for sale on the Roman market (pi. 4:7), 2 1 is related to the Berkeley head in its physiognomy and decomposition. It and the portrait in London illustrate another sort of affinity between fakes; they apparently have mutual ancient and modern sources.22 Allied companions for the Getty head have yet to be identified. University of California Davis APPENDIX

Burton Fredericksen, former curator of the collection, who kept a file of specialists' observations concerning the authenticity of Getty antiquities, has told me that the antiquity of the head was not previously questioned, though since its publication it has been twice considered a Trajanic (hence neo-Greek) adaptation of a Republican model (see, for example, The J. Paul Getty Collection, Minneapolis, 1972 [exhibition catalogue, The Minneapolis Institute of Arts, June 29September 3, 1972], no. 7, pis. 7a, 7b). It was independendy brought to my attention by Mr. Fredericksen and J . Frel, of the Getty Museum, and then Professor D. A. Amyx, University of California at Berkeley, that Professor E. Gazda, University of Southern California, first recognized the similarity between the Berlin and Getty portraits. Dr. Amyx wrote to me that he and another archaeologist think that the head is modern, and he suggested this report. Shortly after publication of the Getty head, Dr. Frel, then with the Metropolitan Museum, informed me that he believed that the 20 B. Ashmole, Forgeries of Ancient Sculpture: Creation and Detection (Oxford 1961) 4f, figs. l ^ t . 21 German Archaeological Institute, Rome, negatives nos. 6543 and 6545. 22 See further ancient examples discussed by Ashmole, 5-7, figs. 5-8; and S. Howard, "A Dossenesque Double Herm in California," CSCA 4 (1971) 187 and passim, on the interrelatedness of forgery types and devices.

174

Seymour Howard

head was a Renaissance or Baroque invention in the antique mode. He more recently informed me that he believed it to be based upon the Berlin Aiedius, and that its execution, like its surface under ultraviolet light (see above), does not look antique. In a recent publication (Greek and Roman Portraits from The J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles, 1973 [exhibition catalogue, October 16-November 11, 1973], pp. 18-19, no. 15 "Modern Head of a 'Republican Roman'"), sent to me when this note was completed for press, Dr. Frel has stated that the head is of Italian marble (cf. above and n. 15) and has given reasons why he believes it to be modern: The modern sculptor has exaggerated the naturalistic treatment of the folds of old skin on the neck and cheek and around the twisted mouth. Where he had to invent, in the back of the head, an area not present in the relief head, the result is most inorganic. The shape of the bust is also without ancient parallels. The surface of the marble, especially on the reverse, cannot be reconciled with ancient technique. Finally, something in the psychology of the subject seems to be foreign to true ancient portraits. Nevertheless, a forgery may not have been intended, and the piece remains an excellent example of the vitality that ancient portrait types continue to possess.

JOEL B. LIDOV

The Poems and Performance of Isthmians 3 and 4 Pindar's Third and Fourth Isthmians pose a problem, whether they are one ode or two.1 An answer to that question demands some definition of what we mean by an ode. We often rely on manuscript authority and meter to determine the beginning and end of a composition, but they are insufficient or contradictory in this case. In consequence, almost all scholars have accepted as a satisfactory substitute a hypothesis (based on internal evidence) that recreates the historical occasions that prompted the poet's work. The theory distinguishes one composition from another by distinguishing their occasions. I would like to re-open the discussion by paying greater attention to the ode as a poetic composition. First a brief summary of the external evidence: There are two manuscripts of equal authority. The Vaticanus, B, shows Isthmians Three and Four separately; the Laurentianus, D, makes them continuous. But D also fails to distinguish Is. 2 from Is. 3/4, and of that distinction there is no question. Furthermore the scholia refer to the odes as if they were separate. So if the separation is a mistake, it must be an old one. The meter stops the evidence of B and the scholia from being decisive. The same pattern is used for the single triad of Is. 3 as for 1

Thus J . Boedeker's 1895 Monasterii dissertation, Pmdari Carmen IsUatucum tertium man in duo carmina diouUndum sit, which I have not seen. Two works to which I have had frequent reference are Elroy Bundy's seminal Studio Pindarica, I: Tht EUvtnth Olympian Odt, II: Tht First Isthnian Odt, University of Calif. Pub. in Classical Philology, Vol. 18, no*. I and 2 (Berkeley and Los Angeles 1962), and Erich Thummer, Pindar: Dit isthmischtn Gtdichit, I: Analyst dapindarischtn Epimkitn ..., II: Kommmlar (Heidelberg 1968, 1969). Further citations of these will be by author's last name, with the part or volume number.

176

Joel B. Lidov

the four triads of Is. 4, and there is no other instance of the same meter used in two odes. And the victor addressed throughout is the same, Melissos of Thebes. The arguments from circumstance neither take full account of the odes' conventional structure nor fully appreciate their encomiastic purpose. Most discussions start from the observation that Is. 3 seems to refer to a Nemean victory with horses (lines 11-13; apparently a chariot victory, cf. lines 16-17) and mentions an Isthmian victory in an unspecified contest. But Is. 4 clearly celebrates an Isthmian victory in the pancration (lines 2 and 44). Otherwise it lists only victories in the Panhellenic games. Boeckh, relying on the metrical identity of the odes, and giving greater weight to the authority of D and its copies, needed only to rebut the separatists of his time for the unity of the two odes to stand. He argued that an earlier Nemean victory had not been celebrated with an ode, and is given only brief mention here, overshadowed by the importance of the immediate occasion.2 The modern argument was first advanced by C. Bulle, and later but independendy by J . B. Bury.3 Schwenn, Christ, Wilamowitz, Puech, Norwood, Turyn, and Bowra at the least have accepted it. 4 They argue that Melissos won the victory in the pancration first, but that after Is. 4 was written (but before it was performed) Melissos won the Nemean chariot race. Pindar then wrote Is. 3 for that victory and presented it as a preface to Is. 4. This hypothesis explains the silence in regard to the Nemean victory in Is. 4 (indeed Bulle's and Bury's interpretation of the ode depends on the 2 Pindari Operae quae supermnt (Leipzig 1811-21) I, 2 563-564. 3 J . B. Bury, "Appendix D " to The Isthmian Odes of Pindar (London 1892) 167-172 (earlier in " T h e Third Isthmian," Hermathena 7 [1890] 276-280). Constatin Bulle first offered the theory in the Programm of Bremer in 1869 and was rebutted by Hermann Perthes in the Treptow Programm of 1871 (I have seen neither of these). Each repeated his view, with rebuttals and improvements, in articles titled " Pindar's dritte isthmische und elfte pythischeode" in the JahrbikhtrfUr Class. Phil. 103 (1871) 585-589, and 105 (1872) 217-226 respectively. They argue with exhaustive ingenuity for (Perthes) and against (Bulle) reference in the second triad of Is. 4 to the Nemean chariot victory, Bulle in order to demonstrate the theory discussed below, Perthes to prove that there is one unbroken ode here. Bulle does conclude that Pindar prepared the additional first triad with such mastery that—despite their difference in content—the two parts give the impression of having belonged together from the start. * von Wilamowitz-Moellendorff, Pindaros (Berlin 1922) 335f; W. Christ (ed.), Pindari Carmina (Leipzig 1896) 340f; Schwenn, in RE 20.2 (1950) 1670f; A. Puech (ed.), Pindare, IV: Istiuniques et fragments (Paris 1923) 33-39; G. Norwood, Pindar, Sather Classical Lectures, 19 (Berkeley and Lot Angela 1945) 172; C. M. Bowra, Pindar (Oxford 1964) 115, 317; A. Turyn (ed.), Pindari Carmina am Fragments (Oxford 1952 repr. of 1948) 203.

Poems and Performance of Isthmians 3 and 4

177

implications of defeat in the second triad of Is. 4), and the slighting of the Isthmian victory in Is. 3. Their interpretation does not determine the editorial treatment. Bury calls the two Parts A and B of one ode, and— apart from a joint preface—treats them independendy. Turyn prints them continuously. 5 W. S. Barrett has given a new twist to the metrical evidence on which the argument for any type of unity must depend. 6 His observations are the basis of my remarks. In the dactylo-epitrites we are accustomed to call an anceps the middle element of the sequence wherever it occurs in the scheme of elements (i.e., - x - ; I include ||x- and x-||). But in fact Barrett counted only 80 places 7 in total in Pindar's dactylo-epitrites where the supposed anceps is light (short) in one or more expressions in the text. Fifty-five of these 80 have only one light syllable among their expressions. In 44 places a light syllable expressing the anceps occurs only in the first triad. In another 25 places it occurs in both the first triad and elsewhere. That leaves only eleven places in which a light syllable expressing the anceps occurs outside the first triad without a responding light syllable in the first triad. Barrett concludes, among other things, that " t h e independent composition of I. 4 is betrayed" by the occurrence of 6 instances of light syllables expressing the anceps element in the first triad of Is. 4 with none responding in Is. 3.8 "Composition" of course begs the question of one ode or two, and Barrett's conclusion does not contradict Bulle's and Bury's hypothesis. 5 Turyn's statement, Itaque Boeckhium secuti poema tamquam worm el iuge tdimus, is misleading. He follows Boeckh only in that he prints them continuously. His theory about the relation of the triad of Is. 3 to the four that follow it agrees with Bulle's and contradicts Boeckh's. Looking at other modern editions we find that Snell/Maehler only add a parenthetical enumeration for Is. 4, Bowra treats them as entirely independent, Puech follows Bury. « "Dactylo-epitrites in Bacchylides," Hermes, 84 (1956) 248-249, 249 n. 1. 7 " P l a c e " refers to the metrical scheme, where the places are filled by elements. The number of expressions of a place in the text can vary from one (the epode of a one-triad ode) to twenty-six (the strophic system of P. 4). Barrett's figures indicate that Maas's statement, "almost every anceps is short in a few instances," (Greek Metre, tr. H. Lloyd-Jones, Oxford 1966, 41), should be revised for Pindar. 8 Six is my count; Barrett says five. There is one more with a responding light anceps in Is. 3. One of the six has responding light ancipitia elsewhere in Is. 4; these are wrongly indicated in the metrical scheme prefixed to the text in the Teubner editions (Pindari Carmina, I 4 , ed. Snell, Leipzig 1964; ed. Maehler, Leipzig 1971) 170. The last anceps of the second line of the strophic system is indicated as short in verses 20 and 38 (according to the continuous enumeration of Is. 3/4 used there); it should be shown short in verses 20, 44, 56 ( = Is. 4.38), 62.

178

Joel B. Lidov

But I think the figures are being used too readily. There are twenty-two dactylo-epitritic odes (counting Is. 4 as a separate ode). According to Barrett's figures, then, there are approximately two instances per ode of light anceps in the first triad only (or first strophe only, for the strophic odes), and slighdy over three instances per ode of light anceps in the first triad and elsewhere. These figures would be even lower if we did not count Is. 4 as separate. Thus light ancipitia are more likely to occur in the first triad than elsewhere, but the likelihood of an anceps being light in Pindar, even in the first triad, is small.9 Or speaking not as statisticians but as members of the audience, we associate light ancipitia with initial triads, though we do not as a matter of course expect them. What is striking about Is. 4 is that there are so many light ancipitia in the first triad, forcing us—both as statisticians and as members of the audience—to realize our association of this feature with the beginning of odes. The occurrence of so many light syllables here may of course be coincidence, or may be unrelated to the problem under discussion, but I think that the presence of three of these light syllables in the first line of Is. 4, and the unusual and striking rhythm they create, make it probable that the effect is deliberate and bears on our problem: eart

— u

fioi

-

deutv

(Karl

fivpla

u - u - u -

u-

TTCanq.

-

-

u

KtXtvdos

- w

Barrett's conclusion is correct, but when he says that the independence of Is. 4 "is betrayed," he is misleading. The poet meant us to apprehend the beginning of a new ode, and aimed to make it more obvious, not less. What does this imply ? The odes are separate and were written for continuous performance. For when a performance starts up, breaking the silence, the beginning of a composition is marked. But if the performance of two compositions is continuous, the formal notice of a new beginning must be made in another way, and Pindar has found another way here. 9 Outside the first triad, light anceps seems to be associated with junctures in the metrical phrasing. I have examined the stanzas with sufficient »sponsions (at least five) to be amenable to statistical study, and found 29 instances of a light anceps outside the first triad (with or without a responding instance in the first triad). Of these, 16 occurred at what I determine to be "colon" junctures on the basis of word-end frequency, and at least ten more in analogous metrical contexts. Proper names, of course, are also involved. See my dissertation, " T h e structure of the Dactylo-epitrite in Pindar," (Columbia Univ. 1972) 158-161.

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Pindar did not write the Third ode after he finished the Fourth. Otherwise the Fourth would not show these features. This makes even more evident a contradiction already apparent in Bulle's and Bury's argument. If the Fourth depends on the fact of previous defeats in the Panhellenic games for its point, then the Third ode vitiates the Fourth. Rather than say that Pindar consciously polished and presented a pointless ode, we should separate our interpretation of the poem from historical inferences about the dates of the victories, inferences which are already dependent on an interpretation. 10 If an epinician ode is a poem which praises a victor, and which, complete in itself, develops that praise from a beginning to its end, the Theban audience did not need any formal signal to make them aware that there are two odes here. The use of identical metrical schemes in the two odes, and the use of such a rhythmic device to mark their division suggest that they were conceived and performed as parts of some larger whole. But that unity in the performance is independent of the distinctness of the poems. Their separation is signaled by the rhythm of Is. 4.1. That signal is an appropriate but not a necessary effect. Is. 3 ends, complete in itself. The opening proposition on the nature of merit prepares Pindar's assertion of Melissos's worth, 11 as shown in two contests. Then he boasts of the heritage which that worth honors (line 9, ov . . . xareAey^ii, a litotes) and comes to a conventional close with a maxim, on human fate in contrast to divine invincibility, that sets the achievement in its highest mortal relief. 12 And Is. 4 does not need a preceding poem to make it clear any more than Is. 3 invites a sequel. 13 10 Bulle was aware of the contradiction and tried to cover it with enthusiasm: " und wenn wir nun obendrein aus dem ersten system sehen, dasz er es gethan, dasz auch der erfolg ihm günstig gewesen. . . .: darf da nicht diese erklärung a b eine allseitig begründete, j a unzweifelhafte hingestellt werden?" (supra n. 3 588). There are of course conjectures that will allow us still the earlier, independent composition of Is. 4; we might say that Pindar re-wrote the beginning of Is. 4 after he wrote the prelude in oi-der to effect their separation. I prefer to begin by letting the odes stand without the benefit of such ingenuity. U On the use of a conditional with disjunctives to prepare a vaunt, see Bundy, I 55f, where this passage is taken as an example. >2 For the force of this maxim compare the fuller treatment in P. 10.2 Iff. This ending illustrated a typical use of what Bundy (I 28)—who treats the odes as separate— calls the inverted form of a gnomic foil. When I say the ode is "complete in itself" I do not mean that the audience is not expected to supply from their knowledge the specifics of the victories. 13 Adolf Köhnken has examined the problem of the odes' separation in Die Funktion des Mythos bei Pindar (Berlin 1971) 87-94. He considers the manuscript evidence

180

Joel B. Lidov

Nonetheless, we should not conclude either that Pindar has simply written two odes and let them abut. The performance as a whole may have its rhythm, and we are not asked to erase Is. 3 from our minds when reading Is. 4. The argument for the unity of the odes recendy put forward by Erich Thummer rests on his comprehension of their single purpose and effect. Now that I have made clear that there is a basis for an alternative understanding we can look at his argument. Thummer sees in each and every ode certain topics of praise (there aire six in total), together with transitional and decorative passages and stylistic mechanisms which emphasize these topics.14 The unity of any ode lies in the use of some or all of these topics to praise the victor. Among the means of emphasis, it is fundamental to observe that Pindar sets early in the ode (or its segments) the most important items, and—in particular—the victory which provides the occasion will be named first and early, if only briefly. He will re-include it in a more expanded victory list later. So Pindar begins, according to Thummer's style of analysis, with a declaration of the praiseworthiness of such a man, names the Isthmian victory which gave rise to the ode—and a Nemean victory—praises his maternal ancestors, and then with a remark on the abundance of praise possible (Is. 3/4.19 = Is. 4.1) turns to the paternal ancestors (praise of victor's family). This incorporates and leads to praise of the fortune of the victor and his family (in war and in games). The variability of fortune, which they have experienced in the games (3/4. 46-7 = 4.28-9) does not diminish their honor. Ajax is given as a decisive for separation, since he finds no unanswerable argument for unity. He regards the argument based on the identical metrical patterns as inadequate, because of the small proportion of the surviving corpus. He briefly notes the self-sufficiency of Is. 3, and even makes the very unlikely suggestion that the references to the Isthmian victories there were meant to be misunderstood (see previous note). For the end of Is. 3 he cites other uses of the theme of the changeability of Fate at an odes's end. (O. 7, P. 12, N. 1). Kohnken also discusses the thematic unity of Is. 4. He too finds Is. 4 dependent on a previous lack of success at the Panhellenic games. Here, as elsewhere, his understanding of the odes steins from historicizing interpretations: he explains all thematic developments in terms of events which he supposes to have happened in a way that will allow his explanation. By finding a higher number of interrelations between the various parts of a poem, he is, however, able to reduce sharply the amount of history he must conjecture. Thus, he supposes that the loss of four men in war (line 17) dashed the family's hopes of major victories in the games. He then infers in the second triad several references to this misfortune. 14 Thummer, I passim, but see in particular his summary I 1 If, and the discussion of Is. 3/4, II 55-80 (the unity problem is discussed at length on pp. 55-57). For the principle of emphasis which puts important item first (it is one of many such means), see I 149-151; on its application to victory lists, see I 26. Cf. n. 16 infra.

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parallel example. The story of Ajax leads to the praise of poetry which in turn leads to the praise of the victory and of the person of the victor, this latter embellished by the story of Heracles, and of the victories obtained in the games in his honor. 15 It is difficult to deny any of the particulars of Thummer's interpretation, but I think this type of analysis ignores the effect of an ode as a whole. And what has been left out is crucial for our understanding of any ode as a poetic composition, and for a resolution of the problem here. Thummer's analysis does not, in fact, demonstrate the unity of the odes. Because he sees no development within an ode, but only separate topics, if given two odes on the same occasion (what I think we have here), he could not tell them apart. 16 For the objects of praise must be the same. And if the shorter ode precedes, the principle of emphasis already mentioned will make of it a preliminary contained in the whole. 17 An ode celebrates by enumerating topics of praise, but— what is much more—the poem as a whole praises and encourages praise. It persuades the audience to feel the admiration due the victor by considering and proclaiming his merit. The merit is measured according to traditional moral values by an argument developed (more or less fully) in each poem. The ode is an intelligent, emotional statement and as such it employs poetic structure (that is, rhythm, in its broadest and most restricted senses) to make its statement and to lead us to participate in the feeling proper to the occasion. I have already noted that Is. 3 comes of itself to a conclusion. A summary analysis will show Is. 4's particular development. " There seems to be no special praise of the homeland in this ode. Thummer explicitly denies the existence of any linear development in an epinician (I 11). He also argues that the impression of unity is to be had from observing the succession of general and concrete expression in this ode (II 57, I 147). But there is nothing individualizing about that succession from the start of Is. 3 to the end of Is. 4, nor is the transition he describes from the generalization of vicissitude ending Is. 3 to the particular praise of the family opening Is. 4 particularly compelling. 17 I find this particular "stilistische Mittel zur Verstärkung des Lobes" a rather uncertain mixture. We describe such devices according to their ends and means. Thummer allows only one generalized purpose (intensification of topics), and brings several mechanisms under one heading. He gathers together the announcement of the subject which is to be taken up, the conventional requirement that the celebrated victory be mentioned first, the dramatic device of foreshadowing, and the rhythmical device of enjambment (see his note on Is. 3/4.37, II 70), which involves equally our expectations about beginnings and endings. Certainly there can be emphasis at the beginnings of formal or material divisions of an ode; but we can rely too much on artificial categories in the analysis of the relation (or lack of relation) of parts.

182

Joel B. Lidov

The poet opens by declaring that Melissos's victory makes it possible to praise his virtues in a number ofways. 18 Rather than choose one, however, he observes that Melissos's achievement is representative of the family's abundance of virtue. This background to the present occasion is summarized and pointed in a corrective gnome (lines 5-6), its applicability to the family is comprehensively indicated (first antistrophe), 19 and the abundance is finally summarized and dismissed (lines 12-13) 20 in favor of a specific highlight of their glory: prowess in war. But this is not yet the real object. For the dark winter of their losses in war gives way to the bright spring of the present victory, 21 and so the development from the beginning reaches a peak at the end of the first triad, and then jumps to even greater heights as Pindar proclaims, with enjambment to the beginning of the second triad, the god's participation in the victory. This provides a transition not to amplification of the victory itself (which is thus postponed to the third antistrophe), but to the family victory list: the god has furnished a song which re-awakens our awareness 22 that they were victorious in various local games, and—what is more—they participated in the Panhellenic games. It is a reminder that, like everyone, the Kleonymids have had mixed success, rvxq is sometimes indifferent to true virtue. Aias is a case in point. The second triad ends, unexpectedly, on a note of philosophic consolation for the vicissitudes of fortune. The antistrophe of this triad has provided the material for No other ode of Pindar opens with this motive (the paths of praise)— which has been used against the independence of Is. 4—but one of Bacchylides' does. On the motive, see Bundy, I 12ff (with these lines as an example) and Thummer, II 26f, 64. On the conventional character of the construction in line 2, see Bundy, II 42f. 19 The division between maternal ancestors in Is. 3 and paternal in Is. 4 may as well represent the avoidance of repetition in one performance as the two parts of one topic (what Thummer would have here) in one ode. 20 On the summary forms of lines 5-6, see Bundy, I 7; of lines 12-13, see Bundy, II 44. The reminder of the limits to human achievements emphasizes how much has been achieved; the more forceful and sincere the admonition, the more forceful and sincere the praise. 21 The figure is discussed at length by Bundy, II 48ff. 22 In answer to the separatists who had wanted to see in lines 22-23 evidence for previous defeats, Boeckh (supra n. 2) had already pointed out that it is the song and not the victory which awakens the fame. Perthes (supra n. 3, 219f) argued that since it was fame in chariot races that fell asleep, this must have been a song for a chariot victory that awoke it. Comparison with O l . 8.74ff makes this passage plain: there Pindar awakes memory (the agent, for memory's object fame) to introduce—as here—a summary of family victories. The image is apparently conventional. It is developed more fully in Is. 4 (as is the family victorylist), and perhaps not without a touch of humor.

Poems and Performance of Isthmians 3 and 4

183

most of the arguments about this ode, and it deserves further comment. The poet does not say here that the Kleonymids had failures in the Great Games, he says that they participated. The audience of course knew the record, and we can assume that the poet expects them to remember it at this point, and from their knowledge appreciate what he says next. But he is listing victories by members of the family other than Melissos in this passage, and the change in subject matter at this point justly arouses in us a suspicion that he had no victories to name. If we work backwards, the consolation of the following lines seems to justify that suspicion. 23 But the point of that consolation is not to repair the loss, but to prepare the understanding for the distinction of true merit (see below). So the loss is not the point, and the audience can also remember here Melissos's Nemean victory without weakening the passage. Rather, they are drawn into a mood as reflective as it is sympathetic. Indeed, even if there had been victories, and lines 28-29 are a meiosis (such a humorous touch would have its place in this ode, cf. line 50, and above, n. 21), the point is not changed. For surely there had also been defeats, and it is this mixed material reward to which Pindar turns his, and our, attention. I elaborate the point to emphasize that it is what the ode says here that is most pertinent, not what it does not say; and also that there is no hard evidence here for the family history unless it could be proved that Pindar must mention such a victory by name if it exists. The third triad springs Homer on us, to make the real point: the poet sets out proper virtue and makes it enduring. 24 It is in the poet's capacity, then, to reveal the aperrj among the variety of experience, and so we appreciate that he finds apcrf to immortalize here. Now we have reached the celebration of the victory, but the task of selection is not done. Victory is no more by itself a pure expression of ape-rtj (for in this world a man must do anything to defeat his enemy, M Cf. Thummer, ad. loc. II 71, and Bundy, I 14 n. 38. 24 On opOoto as the poet's assurance of the truth, see Bundy II 63. T h e notion that the poet mates fame immortal is better known in Pindaric studies, but it is entwined with the notion that he does—or should do—so by ascertaining and proclaiming the truth (a combination implicit in the etymology of aAij^rjr). Aias is the prime example of the difficulty of the process. Pindar develops the theme less cheerfully in N. 7.2032; Homer gets less credit there, for Aias' experience is foil to the treatment of Neoptolemos that follows. In N. 8 Aias' story (lines 25ff) serves the condemnation of slander. The poet contrasts slander with what he declares to be his activity (line 39):

uWoa> airocrra^cjv x^piv. Here the path of praise has reached its goal. In the third triad, Pindar dwells surprisingly on what appears to tarnish the victor's brilliance. Indeed, Norwood found it so inappropriate that he suspected the whole ode. 28 We can see that this passage (lines 47-51) may be of a piece with other touches of humor in the second triad. Above all, these lines apply to the victor on this occasion the general argument which is developed in this ode as the means of praise. Fortune in life is varied, and success in earthly contests does not always mirror the true virtue of a man (or family). A poet can perceive, understand, and give lasting expression to the true virtue when achievement does make it manifest. Pindar puts aside the wrong reasons for praising Melissos and proclaims here the praise he has found truly due—praise not for the act of winning, but for the good that Melissos, in his victory, represents. Praise is not begrudged. u ". . . there is more than a hint that under ordinary circumstances some thing less than approval would attach to the ways of the fox," Bundy, I 29. Cf. Thummer, ad. loc. II 76. An enemy must be fought as one fights enemies. For Norwood's reaction, see below. 26 On the uses of the Heracles stories to Pindar, see Bundy, I 43f. Here too the story serves as a transitional flat between the peaks of praise (the third antistrophe and the final epode). 27 Kohnken (supra n. 13, 114) compares lines 37, "O/xTjpor rot rtrifuiKtv St' avipumuiv and 59, rcTtfumu tc irpos a8avaron> fiXos. 2* Supra n. 4, 172-174. Norwood has no conception of the poem as a whole

Poems and Performance of Isthmians 3 and 4

185

We have two odes. The traditional categories do not easily classify them. The first pays most attention to a Nemean victory, but it is bound into a larger performance with an ode that celebrates an Isthmian victory. The odes, we see, are written not for the specific victories but for the festival that celebrates them; and there appears to be one festival for two victories here: e o n St kcu SiSvfxwv aedXtov MeXiaaui

(jLotpa irpos €\xf>poawm> rpeipou yXvK€loa>

frop

(Is. 3.9-11)2»

In so far as the reasons lie in the circumstances, the poems can not tell us why Pindar wrote two odes, or why a pancration victory seems to take precedence over one in a chariot-race. But we can appreciate the final effect he achieved. The Third Isthmian is neither elaborate nor developed. Christ called it exile et ieiumm. If we look not for decorative sententiousness in Pindar but for a clear and intelligent expression of praise, the Third Isthmian is brief and emphatic. The declaration of merit is bolstered by a second victory, by the victor's piety, and by the family heritage. Against the background of this ode, the Fourth Isthmian dwells more reflectively on the difficulties of rewarding merit in life, shows that these are the poet's opportunities, and reveals here a fit subject to make the very best of that opportunity. Save for the comparisons that conclude the first epode and the second strophe, the ode is not glittering; it is urbane and graceful. Pindar has given the Nemean victory its due in its own ode; it is not made to be a foil for the glory of the Isthmian, which clearly occupies the foreground of our attention. 30 Thus both victories are celebrated, but not in two equal developments. The total performance is varied and persuasive. Stanford University that would allow him to place this passage in perspective. H e has the same difficulty with the second epode. 29 O n tv^poovva as a term for the victory celebration, see Bundy, I 2. 30 I suspect that the Nemean victory is not mentioned in the second ode in order to avoid the appearance of subordinating the glory of the Nemean to the Isthmian victory (the appearance of the opposite emphasis in the fust ode is compensated by the second). Since both poems seem to be written for the joint performance, I think we would do them a disservice if we detached Is. 3 from its traditional place in the arrangement and treated it as a misclassified Nemean.

TADEUSZ MASLOWSKI

The Opponents of Lactantius [Inst. VII. 7, 7-13] The consensus of Lactantius' critics is that his chief opponents were the Epicureans.1 His preoccupation with Epicurus and 1 The attitude of Lactantius toward the Epicurean philosophy has been a subject of discussion among many scholars. The majority of them rightly point out the apologist's hostility towards it. For this see S. Brandt, "Lactantius und Lucretius," Jahrbücher für classische Philologie 37 (1891) 230: "kein philosophisches system aber muste ihm naturgemäsz in so unversöhnlichem gegensatze zur 'wahren philosophic' (de opif. 20, 1), dem Christentum, stehend erscheinen wie das Epikurs. es hat jedoch die feindschaft des Lact, gegen den Epikureismus nicht nur in seiner christlichen Überzeugung ihren grund, sie beruht vielmehr allem anscheine nach ganz besonders auch noch darin, dasz Lact, ursprünglich, ehe er Christ wurde, mit seinen philosophischen anschauungen im wesentlich auf stoischem boden stand." Cf. also H. Usener, Epicurea (Lipsiae 1887) L X X V ; R. Pichon, LacUmce. Étude sur le mouvement philosophique et religieux sous le tigne de Constcmtin (Paris 1901); G. D. Hadzsits, Lucretius and his Influence (New York 1935) 216-218; E. Bignone, V Aristotele perduto e laformazione filosofica di Epicuro (Firenze 1936), I, 146 calls Lact, "fierissimo nemico" of Epicureanism ; E. Bufano, "Lucrezio in Lattanzio", Giornale Italiano di Filologia 4 (1951) 335: "il compito di Lattanzio è quello di esaltare la religione cristiana, combattendo tutto quanto possa ostacolarne il trionfo: l'Epicureismo, sopratutto che reppresentava, sotto certi aspetti, ai suoi occhi, il nemico più pericoloso: il resto non ha per lui importanza alcuna;" Ch. N. Cochrane, Christianity and Classical Culture (Oxford Univ. Press 1957) 191 calls attention to the fact that the argument on behalf of divine providence in the Divinae Institutions "consists largely of commonplaces lifted from Cicero and the Stoics", and adds, "they serve merely to indicate the affiliations between Christianity and classical idealism as against the materialism of Epicurus and Lucretius;" H. Hagendahl, Latin Fathers and the Classics (Göteborg 1958) 48-52 takes the view of Brandt. These pages are of special interest for Hagendahl's bibliographical observations ; D. Pietrusinski, " Quid Lactantius de ethnicorum philosophia, litteris, eloquentia iudicaverit," Latinitas 12 (1964) 274-277. The view that Lactantius was friendly toward Epicureanism, startling as it may seem, does also have its proponents. For this see J . Philippe, " Lucrèce dans la théologie chretiènne du III au X I I I siècle," Revue de l'histoire des religions 32 (1895) 293, but above all, E. Rapisarda, "L'epicureismo nei primi scrittori latini cristiani," Antiquitas 1 (1946) 49-54

188

Tadeusz Maslowski

Lucretius in his apologetic works bears out this assertion.2 But the scope of Lactantius' criticism of the Epicurean doctrine is not confined to its two most prominent representatives. In addition, it embraces the founders of atomism, Leucippus and Democritus, and a number of pagan thinkers whose views the apologist deemed, in one way or another, related to the spirit of the Epicurean teaching. The purpose of this paper, therefore, is to subject the notion of Lactantius' anti-Epicureanism to further refinement by investigating precisely those "secondary" opponents of Lactantius in their relation to and bearing on the main body of criticism directed against the doctrine of Epicurus. As a result of this investigation, we shall see that the term "anti-Epicurean," so frequently applied to the writings of Lactantius, is too narrow and ought to be replaced by " antiatomistic." Furthermore, in an effort to account for Lactantius' practice of associating and connecting with the Atomists other thinkers whose activity lay outside the mainstream of atomism, but whose views posed equal danger to the integrity of Christian dogma, we shall have to go a step further. To use a modern designation in this connection, it will be best to consider Lactantius' works as simply anti-materialist. In doing so, however, we shall not merely indulge in a verbal redefinition of the main thrust of Lactantius' works. Far from it, our investigation will set Lactantius' anti-Epicureanism in better perspective and yield a fuller understanding of it. The accounts of Lactantius' attitude toward philosophical thinking of the past are customarily preoccupied with his eclecticism.3 This is not surprising especially in view of the fact that the apologist did not shrink, on the one hand, from exploiting for his apologetic purposes even some of the views of his Epicurean opponents and, on the other, and " L'epicureismo nei primi scrittori latini cristiani. La polemica di Lattanzio contro l'epicureismo," Antiquitas 2-5 (1947-1950) 45-52. An evaluation of Rapisarda's thesis will be found in H. Hagendahl, op. cit. 49-52. The general thrust of this evaluation can be gleaned from the conclusion reached on p. 52: " T h e loose suppositions and the mistakes which Rapisarda substitutes for a scholarly interpretation of the passages in question leave only room for one conclusion, viz. that his hypothesis is a failure. Scholars had better consign it to oblivion." 2 See Lactantius, Optra Omnia, ed. S . B r a n d t , Corpus Scriptorum

EaUsiasticorum

Latinorum 27, fasc. II (1897), Index Auctorum, s.o. Epicurus and Lucretius-, cf. H. Hagendahl, op. cit. 48. 3

See R . Pichon, op. cit. 9 3 ; E . G . Sihler, From Augustus to Augustuu ( C a m -

bridge 1923) 176ff. H. Hagendahl, op. cit. 83-84.

Opponents of Lactantius

189 4

from condemning those of Plato or Aristotle. It is thus pointed out that he allied himself with Lucretius against the pagan gods 5 and their priests; 6 that calling the same poet to his aid, he upheld against Plato and Aristotle the limited duration of the world; and, when he addressed himself to the question of its beginning, he found it convenient to join Plato with Lucretius as his allies against Aristotle.7 Such examples are, admittedly, good illustrations of Lactantius' eclecticism, but, insofar as they scarcely graze the surface of the philosophical issues underlying them, they provide no clear indication of its nature. Above all Lactantius did not play off all philosophers against each other indiscriminately. His method of viewing the philosophical past was determined by the character of the ideas which he represented. This fact rendered his eclecticism highly selective. In his apologetic works Lactantius undertook the defense of the Christian dogma, which he termed Veritas, against all existing schools of philosophy. This was necessary because the pagan philosophers employed their genius in obscuring rather than illuminating the truth: Veritas in obscuro latere adhuc existimatur.

. . philosophis

turbantibus

(Inst.

earn potius

quam irdustrantibus

pravitate

ingeniorum

I I I . 1,1). As s u c h , p a g a n

philosophy should be put on the same footing as pagan religion. For in their relation to the Veritas, there is no difference between them; both, Lactantius insists, constitute the source of error: nam cum error omnis aut ex religione falsa subvertere

(Inst.

oriatur aut ex sapientia, III.

in eo convincendo necesse est

utrumque

1,9).

In Lactantius' evaluation of individual philosophers or schools of philosophy, the Veritas serves the function of a criterion by which their ultimate worth or uselessness can be established. The logical sequence of this approach to the philosophers of the past is Lactantius' * Cf. J . Philippe, op. cit. 291-292. ' See Inst. I. 16,3 where Lactantius quotes Lucr. I, 32 to describe his own mission against polytheism: ' religionum animos nodis exsolvere pergo' ut ait Lucretius, qui quidam hoc effictre non poterat, quia nihil veri adferebat. Cf. Inst. II. 3, 10-11. * This is implied in Inst. I. 21, a chapter devoted to the discussion of various religious rites of the pagans, prominent among which was human sacrifice. At the mention of the latter, Lactantius quotes the lines of Lucretius in which the poet condemned the cruel act of the immolation of Iphigenia, officiated by her own father: Tantum religio potuit suadtrc malorum / Quae peperit saepe scelerosa atque inpia facta {Lucr. I, 101 and 83). Likewise when Lactantius brands a certain Furius furiosus for indulging in strange religious rites as a Roman magistrate and priest, he invokes Lucr. II, 14-16:0, stuitas homimtm mentis. . . . 7 See Inst. VII. 1, 6-10 and II. 10, 24-26.

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frequent declarations 8 of the degree to which those philosophers are "removed from the truth." To indicate, on the other hand, his total disapproval or condemnation of their tenets, the apologist consigns them to the realm of error.9 Now, to understand Lactantius' criterion of valuation in operation we must know its exact content. This is supplied in summary fashion by Inst. V I I . 6,1: Nunc totam rationem brevi circumspicione signemus. idcirco mundus foetus est, ut nascamur: ideo nascimur, ut adgnoscamus factorem mundi ac nostri deum: ideo adgnoscimus, ut colamus: ideo colimus, ut immortalitatem pro laborum mercede capiamus, quoniam maximis laboribus cultus dei constat: ideo praemio immortalitatis adficimur, ut similes angelis effecti summo patri ac domino in perpetuum sewiamus et simus aeternum deo regnum. There is no doubt that this is the gist of the Veritas which Lactantius set himself to defend against philosophers and pass on to the educated pagans of his time to gain fresh converts among them. He himself states unequivocally in ibid. 2: haec summa rerum est, hoc arcanum dei, hoc mysterium mundi. As for its meaning, we can paraphrase it as follows: the world was created by God for a purpose, i.e., for the sake of man. The purpose of man's existence is to know the Maker of the world. This knowledge, in turn, is to serve as a basis for man's worship of the Creator. The worship itself is intended to secure immortality for man. Finally, the immortality which is granted to man as a reward for his labors is expressly designed to provide the Father and Lord Most High with a retinue of faithful and worshipful servants who fill the spaces of the everlasting kingdom. As the wording of this passage shows, aside from the notion of God which constitutes the central idea of Lactantius' Veritas, another idea which receives equal importance in the system is that of purpose. The latter is graphically expressed by the adverbs idcirco and ideo and the corresponding «¿-clauses. Its correlation with God points to the fact that what Lactantius had in mind was divine providence. Thus, whatever the specifics of Lactantius' Veritas, the concept that stands out most > This is a common practice of Lactantius. See G. L. Ellspermann, The Attitude of the Early Christian Latin Writers toward Pagan Literature and Learning (Cath. Univ. of America Patristic Studies, 82, Washington 1949) 85 n. 84 who quotes Epit. 25 (30) 2: longe a veritate summoti; Ira 2,5: aiiter de unita iUa maiestate sentimt quam Veritas habet. . .; Inst. III. 30,1: longe devium philosophos iter a veritate temdsse. . . . ® See e.g. Inst. II. 8,9: in quo errore etiam philosophi Jiterunt; Opif. 20,3: induxerunt potius errorem quam sustulenmt; Ira 5,16: in maximum errortm caduni.

Opponents of Lactantius

191

prominently is that of God's providential creation and the destiny of man and the universe. 10 Keeping this in mind, we can now proceed a step further and examine Lactantius' view on the relation of the pagan philosophers to the Veritas as defined. On this point the apologist is likewise very explicit. Unlike many early Christian writers, 11 who held pagan literature and philosophy in contempt, Lactantius displayed a more liberal attitude in this regard. His declarations can be considered in two steps. First, concerning pagan philosophy in general, Lactantius has this to say (Inst. V I I . 7, 1-2): Quam summam quia philosophi non comprehenderunt, nee veritatem eomprehendere potuerunt, quamvis ea fere quibus summa ipsa constat et viderint et explicaverint. sed diversi ac diverse ilia omnia protulerunt non adnectentes nee causas rerum rue eonsequentias rue rationes, ut summam illam quae eontirut universa et eonpingerent et inplerent. facile est autem docere paene universam veritatem per philosophos et sectas esse divisam. As is evident, Lactantius does not entirely divorce Christian dogma from the philosophical achievements of the past. The Veritas is really the sum total of all previous efforts of the philosophers, who in their own way and manner had a share in it, and yet were unable to piece the results of the various investigations together into a coherent system, which Lactantius claims to be the exclusive property of the Christians. However, this general estimate of the pagan philosophy, couched as it is in language of reconciliation, is subsequently modified when Lactantius comes to grips with its individual representatives in Inst. V I I . 7, 8-13. As a result we learn now that, after all, only some philosophers have a share in the Veritas. Philosophy of the past was, in fact, friendly to Christian dogma only in a limited sense. A large portion of it can indeed be identified as downright inimical. In an effort to determine this, Lactantius 1 2 adopts the procedure of matching the tenets incorporated in the gist of the Veritas with their antecedents, which he finds in the teachings of the individual philosophers of the past. The counterparts to those antecedents are the views of the enemies of the Veritas. Accordingly, he first (8) takes up the 10 See E. F. Micka, The Problem of Divine Anger in Amobius and Lactantius (Cath. Univ. of America 4, Washington 1943) 83-112. 11 Sec P. Labriolle, History and Literature of Christianity, tr. by H. Wilson (New York 1968) 13-20. 12 Henceforward, references to Inst. VII. 7, 8-13 will be confined to the numbers of the paragraphs without additional description. E.g. (8), (9) etc.

192

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question of creation and places Plato, who maintained that the world was made by God, in the same camp as the highest authorities of the ventas, i.e., the prophets and the Sibylline oracles.13 The adversaries of this truth, on the other hand, having done away with divine creation, are said to have expressed two diverse views: (a) that all things come to birth of their own accord; (b) that all things are born as a result of the concourse of minute seeds. To quote Lactantius: errant igitur qui vel omnia sua sponte nata esse dixerunt vel minutis seminibus

conglobatis.

I t is t o b e

further noted that the errant of this statement is employed to denote that the views in question constitute the antithesis of the Veritas. Following the same illustrative pattern, Lactantius notes in the next paragraph (9) that the Stoics, too, had a share in the Veritas, inasmuch as they maintained that the world was created for the sake of man, whereas Democritus, in postulating the origin of man from the earth and dispensing with the divine factor in creation and general design in nature, reduced life to nothing. Next, we learn (11) that since Aristón 14 espoused virtue as the end of human life, he, too, is basically in agreement with the prophets, whereas Aristippus, in setting forth bodily pleasure as man's telos, committed a grave error. In like manner, the question of the future of the soul was settled by Pherecydes and Plato along Christian lines, but the contention of Dicaearchus and D e m o c r i t u s , qui perire cum corpore ac dissolvi

(sc. animas)

argumentatus

est

(12), was totally erroneous. Finally Zeno the Stoic is noted and commended for his agreement with the prophets on the punishments and rewards of the soul after death, while Epicurus is censured because he discarded such beliefs as figments of the poets' imagination (13). In effect, what we are told by Lactantius in Inst. VII. 7, 8-13 is that, roughly speaking, only the Stoic-Platonic tradition comes anywhere near the Veritas; and, consequently, if Christian dogma is indeed the completion or the crowning effort of pagan philosophy, as he intimates in Inst. VII. 7, 1-2, it is so only in this restricted sense. On the other hand, to insist, as some critics 15 do, that Lactantius' endorse13

References to the Sibyls as the authorities of the Veritas are the standard practice of Lactantius. M. Heinig, Die Ethik des Lactantius (Grimma 1887) 7 points out that the Sibyls are quoted by him 75 times and that we owe to him 200 of their verses. It is to be noted that Lactantius takes recourse to the Sibyls, because his pagan readers could hardly be expected to accept testimonies from Sacred Scripture alone. Cf. E. F. Micka, op. cit. 88 n. 35. 14 This must be the Aristón of Chios, a Stoic philosopher, who postulated indifference to everything which was neither virtue nor vice. See D.L. VII. 160ff. >3 See G. L. Ellspermann, op. cit. 68; O. Bardenhewer, Geschichte der altkirch-

Opponents of Lactantius

193

ment of this tradition is tantamount to a conscription of " t h e best philosophical thinking of the past," must remain a matter of conviction and not fact. But be this as it may, the remarkable feature of Lactantius' survey of the ancient schools of philosophy in their relation to the Veritas is not the fact that the mystic writer Pherecydes, in addition to Plato and the Stoics (all in one way or another prominent representatives of philosophical idealism in antiquity) are arrayed on the side of Christianity, but rather the manner in which he had drawn the list of his opponents. In regard to these, two points can be made. In the first place, they do not form a homogenous group. For, in addition to the Atomists, who undeniably are most conspicuous in it, Lactantius brings forth an unidentified view, according to which omnia sua sponte nata sunt, as well as the teaching of the Cyrenaic philosopher Aristippus and the Peripatetic Dicaearchus. Secondly, considering the weight attached by Lactantius to Inst. V I I . 7, 7-13 and in view of the claim that the thrust of his works is largely anti-Epicurean, we are surprised by the almost total absence of Epicurus among them. Indeed, in this crucial passage only one opinion is directly attributed to Epicurus (13), whereas of the three remaining tenets which could be linked with the Epicureans, one (9), nevertheless, is ascribed to Democritus, another (12) is shared between him and Dicaearchus, and the third (8) is couched in general language. In view of this, it is fair to say that Lactantius' interest in ancient materialism, conceived as a pervasive trend which asserted itself throughout antiquity, exceeded his interest in its particular representatives. And as for the Epicureans, they had a strong but obviously not exclusive hold on his mind. It was thus Lactantius' endeavor to present a comprehensive picture of the tradition hostile to the Veritas that led him to minimize the role played in it by the Epicureans in Inst. V I I . 7, 7-13. I n doing so, however, he clearly caused tension between the passage in question and the general anti-Epicurean tendency of his works. T o what extent, then, the Inst. V I I . 7, 7-13 is devoid of anti-Epicurean elements and to what degree the substitutions for the Epicureans offered in it are justified, will be the subject of our continued investigation. A corollary to this investigation will be a comment on the situation of Epicureanism in Lactantius' time. We may begin with what pertains in the passage to the lichen Literatur (Freiburg 1914) II, 478-479; J. Tixeront, Mélanges de Patrologie et d'Histoire des Dogmes (Paris 1921) I, 346; E. G. Sihler, op. cit. 176.

194

Tadeusz Maslowski

question of Ethics. Here the anti-Epicurean posture of Lactantius is considerably diminished by the fact that virtue, set forth by the Stoic philosopher Ariston as the summum bonum, has for its counterpart, on the other side of the Veritas, the pleasure of Aristippus. But the choice of the Cyrenaic philosopher in this instance is rather puzzling. In view of the verbal similarity of his and Epicurus' summum bonum, there is no good reason why Lactantius should ignore the latter, if the Epicureans were indeed uppermost in his mind. The fact that he was aware of the basic difference between the two philosophers on this point does not explain the situation either. For, despite his assertion 16 that Aristippus' pleasure pertained to the body while Epicurus advocated the pleasure of the mind, Lactantius does not hesitate, when it suits him, to reduce the latter to the level of the former: Juit ertim (sc. Epicurus) turpissimae voluptatis adsertor, cuius capiendae causa nasci hominem putavit (Inst. III. 17, 35). Consequently, in making a "substitution" of Aristippus for Epicurus in (11), Lactantius' criticism of the Epicurean doctrine, if intended at all, is at best indirect. Despite this, the significance of (11) as a criterion of Lactantius' attitude toward the Epicureans somehow pedes in view of his customary neglect of their Ethics. 17 As Brandt had noted, 18 the strongly theistic and teleological outlook of the apologist's thinking turned his attention from this department of the doctrine to the Epicurean Physics, where the differences of the two systems were most glaring. To this we may add that Lactantius was propelled in the same direction by his moral teaching as well. For the virtue of which the pleasure of Aristippus forms an antithesis is not, in Lactantius' scheme of morals, the end of life for man. To be sure, it is still not only a good but a good of all, and as such it deserves the highest praise: negari non potest quin et bonum sit et omnium certe bonum . . . at nihil virtute pulchrius, nihil sapiente dignius inveniri potest (Inst. III. 11, 9-10). Nevertheless, the only good which meets all the requirements of the definition of summum bonum is, according to him, immortality: summum igitur bonum sola immortalitas invenitur, quia nec aliut animal nec corpus adtingit nec potest cuiquam sine scientia et virtute id est sine dei cognitione ac iustitia provenire (Inst. III. 12, 18). Sec Inst. III. 7,7: Epicurus summum bonum in voluptaie animi esse censtt, Aristippus in ooluptate corporis. For a similar distinction, cf. Inst. III. 8.5. 17 There are relatively few references in Lactantius' works to the Epicurean Ethics. See Inst. III. 7,7; Inst. I I I . 8,5 and lOff; Inst. III. 12, 15-16; Inst. III. 17, 2-9. '» See S. Brandt, op. cit. 233-234.

Opponents of Lactantius

195

In claiming immortality as the highest good, however, Lactantius imagined that he had come into conflict not so much with the Ethics as with the Physics of Epicurus. Of course, this is not to say that Epicurus himself ignored the concept of immortality in his moral speculations. On the contrary, its significance for him is underscored by the fact that his whole ethical system rests in large measure on its denial; i.e., on exacdy the opposite premise, that happiness is attainable here and now, and this, insofar as infinite time does not produce infinite pleasure. 19 Consequendy, it would be absurd for man even to yearn for immortality. Needless to say, both the spirit and content of this teaching stand in marked contrast with Lactantius' outlook and bear a potential conflict with him. For, contrary to Epicurus, the apologist takes a clue for his interpretation of the meaning of life from the idea of immortality and, in consequence, relegates happiness to the afterlife. He states his position in a splendid paradox that the least amount of happiness in this life is the essence of happiness on earth: non cad.it ergo in hominem beatitude illo modo quo philosophi putaverunt, sed ita cad.it, non ut tunc beatus sit, cum vivit in corpore, quod utique ut dissolvatur corrumpi necesse est, sed tunc, cum anima societate corporis liberata in solo spiritu vivit. hoc una beati esse in hac vita possumus, si minime beati esse videamur (Inst. III. 12, 34—35). But this irreconcilability of the two systems on an ethical level is never expressed by Lactantius in the terms just indicated. Instead, in an effort to assert and fortify his summum bonum, he turns his attention to the department of Physics where the question of immortality finds its ultimate expression in the discussion of the nature of soul. Here, it is to be observed, the Epicureans are not, in a historical sense, his chief opponents, but rather the Atomists in general. Hence, when in drawing up the list of the adversaries of the Veritas Lactantius brings forth Democritus 20 as the spokesman for the mortality of the soul (12), he seems to be indicating precisely that. Nevertheless, that he should leave Epicurus out of his account, provides, in this case, material for thought. For otherwise both in brief references to Epicurus 21 and especially in his long argumentation with Lucretius, 22 he displays acute 19 See C. Bailey, Epicurus. The Extant Remains (Oxford 1926), K . J . X I X and X X as well as his notes on pp. 359-360. 20 For Democritus' views on the atomic structure of the soul see e.g. D.L. IX, 44; for his assertion of its dispersal at death see Aft. IV. 7, 4. 21 Epicurus is linked with Democritus as a spokesman for the mortality of the soul in Inst. 111.17, 34, Inst. VII. 8, 8, Inst. VII.13, 7. 22 This is the detailed analysis of Lutr. I l l , 417-829 in Inst. VII. 12, 1-30.

1%

Tadeusz Maslowski

awareness of the fact that the Epicureans exerted themselves to the utmost to prove that the soul, as an atomic compound, is dispersed at death. We shall advert to this inconsistency again. As for Dicaearchus, his presence at the side of Democritus is in keeping with Lactantius' aim of presenting a broad view of the enemies of the Christian dogma. The apologist, it is to be noted, never elaborates on the exact standing of this philosopher on the question of the limited existence of the soul. He is referred to a number of times, 23 always in the company of Democritus and Epicurus, yet never with a word of meaningful explanation. But we know from Cicero's Tusc. Disp. I, 21 (and Lactantius was familiar with this dialogue 24 ) that Dicaearchus altogether denied the existence of the soul as distinct from the body and insisted that, in view of this, we cannot even speak of a life after death. Cicero also intimates the vehemence with which he inveighed against the immortality of the soul: acerrime. .. Dicaearchus contra hanc immortalitatem disseruit {Tusc. Disp. I, 77). Thus Lactantius was fully justified in placing him among the opponents of the Veritas. The question of the immortality of the soul goes hand in hand with the question of future life. Since the Atomists denied the former, they had no use for the latter. Indeed, it was already Democritus who asserted that some men, conscious of evil-doing in life, but ignorant of the dissolution of mortal existence, render their lives miserable by inventing false legends about the time after death. 25 But the strongest opposition to the doctrine of punishments and rewards in the afterlife came from the Epicureans. In their system of Ethics this belief was singled out as one of the chief obstacles to ataraxia. Epicurus dwells on it in the Letter to Herodotus, where he maintains that freedom from this belief is the most necessary condition of happiness. 26 His Roman disciple, 23 Sec Inst. III.17, 34, Inst. VII.8, 8, Inst. VII.13, 7. 24 See Brandt's Index Auctorum, op. eit. 250. tt See Democr. (Diets, 68 B 297): ¿wot 8tnpip ¿ ¿ » a *

SuiXuow ovk tl&irts avBpcumi, awttS^oa Si rijt Jv rep fUtp KCuampoeyitoawT)s, rov rfjt ¡¡urrijs xpivov b> rapaxals K ¿oflois ToXainutpiovm, t/mSSta ntpi T O O ¡irra rijv TTXTURI/V ftuOoirXearrtvoyrfs xp6vov. Cf. C. Bailey, T. Lucnti C. DKN (Oxford 1963) 1158 and W. K. C. Guthrie, A Hist, of Gr. Philos. (Cambridge 1965) II, 434-435. 2 < See D.L. X, 81 where three causes of men's fear are mentioned: the belief in the divine nature of the heavenly bodies and the fear of punishment or annihilation after death. Then we read in ibid. 82: 1} &i empetfia T O TOVTOIV NATMAV AM>XtXuo6m W U

TW

MU Kvpuurarwv.

awtxH

Opponents of Lactantius

197

Lucretius, raised such a strident cry against it, that his sanity was put to question. 27 And later Epicureans continued this tradition. 28 Consequently, there is nothing unusual in Lactantius' choice of Epicurus as a leader of this opposition in (13). On the contrary, insofar as the Epicureans were its most prominent representatives, this choice was made by him, so to speak, by the lack of a better alternative. By the same token, the passage furnishes a rather poor gauge of his attitude toward the Epicureans. It is tempting to say that Lactantius was, in fact, totally dependent for it on the anti-Epicurean tradition. Long before him, Cicero, too, felt that the incessant protestation of the Epicureans against the idea of future punishment was one of the chief characteristics of their philosophical activity. He mocked them because the stories of the Acheron, which in reality hardly make any impression on the average man, are upheld by Epicurus as the source of universal terror: quibus mediocres homines non ita valde moventur, his ille clamat omnium mortalium mentes esse perterritas (N.D. I, 86). 29 In the last two paragraphs, however, which we shall presendy discuss, Lactantius ignores Epicurus again, thereby reproducing the situation of (12). These paragraphs, (8) and (9), deal with the erroneous views on the creation of the world and man, topics of great weight in Lactantius' overall system. The Epicureans are disregarded here—in the one case (8), on behalf of the Atomists in general and an unidentified view; and in the other (9), on behalf of Democritus. The absence of the Epicureans in these paragraphs is particularly striking in view of the gravity of the matter they contain. The position of the Atomists on the creation of the world is, as we have already seen, stated by Lactantius in the most succinct manner possible: errant igitur qui. . . omnia . . . nata esse dixerunt. . . minutis seminibus conglobatis. As it stands, this statement that the universe, along with everything contained in it, is a product of minute seeds brought together, is vague enough to be applicable to all Atomists. Leucippus, Democritus, Epicurus and Lucretius all agreed on the atomic structure of our world and the innumerable other cosmic LUCT. op. cU. 11. 2* See Diog. Oen., fr. XVI, col. I : FAFSOV/IM yap o. 1913, 218, no. 1. Perhaps the most obvious parallels, although in a funerary context, to the form of our altar with individual stelai simulated on a larger monument are those bearing the fifth-century Athenian casualty lists; cf. D. Bradeen, Hesperia 33 (1964) 23-29, and Hesperia 36 (1967) 324-328. 43 T h e meaning of the epithet is not agreed upon; see F. Hiller von Gaertringen, Hermes 46 (1911) 154-156; F. Solmsen, Hermes 46 (1911) 286-291; V. Costanzi, Athenaeum 1914,49-51.

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Stephen G. Miller

These stelai are, in fact, one of the more intriguing aspects of the monument. Simple pointed stelai, although common as grave stones throughout Greece, are extremely rare in other contexts. I have been able to find only two other instances of the use of this shape in connection with the gods. 1. Volos Museum no. E 432, from Glaphyrai (pi. 4:2) 44 Height: 0.955 m. Width: 0.235 m. Thickness: 0.060 m. The stone has suffered greatly since its discovery and only traces of a few strokes still survive in the last three lines. I reproduce the text of the Corpus. 'Epftuiv

eù£a-

fievos oati

Atovv-rqvSe

cn>c6r}Ke

«cat

IJapfit-

vi%os KOU Ni-

#c[a]v8pos 2. Volos Museum no. E 1019, from Pherai (pi. 4:3) 45 Height 0.54 m. Width at top: 0.152 m. Width at bottom: 0.19 m. Thickness (maximum) : 0.081 m. NvSafios irtp

Aafiov-

vos

IJorti-

Sowi

One might rather expect EvSafios as the name in line 1, but the reading of the first letter as tm is secure. The Thessalian form irép is attested at Pherai,46 as is the more usual vnep.47 IG 1X2, 411. This is the stone which Stàhlin, op. cit. 61, n. 16, dates to the Archaic period and attributes to Boibe. I can find no reason for Stàhlin'» change of the thirdcentury date and the Glaphyrai provenience published by Kern. « Unpublished; discovered March, 1940. 46 Béquignon, op. cit. 96, no. 78. 47 Ibid. 91, no. 62.

Altar of the Six Goddesses

247

These two stelai are obviously aniconic monuments and the discovery of them in the same region as our altar suggests that Pherai was the center of a well developed and even formalized aniconism. Aniconism was, of course, well known throughout Greece in the historical period, and there are many ancient references to aniconic images. Zeus, 48 Hera, 49 Aphrodite, 50 Artemis, 51 and Apollo 52 were all worshipped in aniconic form together with other deities and heroes in various parts of the ancient world. These aniconic monuments are sometimes portrayed in other art forms as, for example, on an Apulian red-figured bell crater in the Cleveland Museum, where a plain stele bears the inscription A&POAITH and must be an aniconic image of the goddess.53 Even more pertinent to the present discussion are the regions where a flourishing aniconism is attested as, for example, at Pharai in Achaea where some 30 squared stones in the agora were worshipped with the name of a god given to each. 54 More notable yet is Tegea in Arcadia where Pausanias noted a square image of Zeus and continued with his own editorial comment: " I t seems to me that the Arcadians particularly like this form." 55 This statement has been well documented by the discovery of nearly 30 such "statues" in Arcadia, mosdy from Tegea. 56 These rerpáywva áyáX¡xara fall into two categories. One is the familiar human-headed Herm, the other a plain square shaft crowned by a pyramid which is set off from the shaft by a scotia

«8 Paus. 2.9.6 (Sicyon). «» Clem. AI. Protr. 40P (Samos), and Strom. 418P (Argos). 30 Tac. Hist. 2.3 (Paphos on Cyprus). 5« Paus. 2.9.6 (Sicyon). 32 Especially under the epithet Agyieus; cf. Harp. S.D. Ayvutr . . . Jlyvtcfo S4 itjri KUOV «V 6(V Aifyuv, ov ioraot irpo TWV (fvpwv ... tSlovs Si «Ival (jxiatv airrovs An6^Xcovos. Note also Paus. 1.44.2. Perhaps the most obvious ancient representation of Apollo in this form is on a terracotta plaque from Rome; cf. Fasti Archaeologici 22 (1967) fig. 48. 33 Cleveland Museum no. 24.534; CVA Cleveland, fasc. 1 (USA 15) pi. 43.1. Note also the stelai of Nike on bell craters now in Bonn, museum no. 79, and Madrid, museum no. 11081; cf. A. Cambitoglou and A. D. Trendall, Apulian Red-Figured Vases of the Plain Style (Rutland and Tokyo 1961) pi. 20.96 and 98. A stele of Zeus appears on a vase at Ruvo; cf. L.R. Farnell. The Cults of the Greek States I (Oxford 1896) pi. Ia. 3« Paus. 7.22.1-5. 33 Paus. 8.48.6: irenolrjrai Si Aral Jtos TtXtiov ßotfios ayaXjta mpayotvov irtptoaws yap rt T

Aen. 7.47) and G. 1.8 ( > Aen. 3.334). In four instances (Aen. 1.651, 3.211, 3.399, 5.105) invenies clearly refers forward, and in one (Aen. 7.764) it clearly refers backward. There are two examples referring from the Aeneid to the Eclogues or Georgics (Aen. 3.274 > E. 8.59 and Aen. 9.213 > G. 4.545), on the basis of which Goold argues for a DS order Aen., E., G. But both habes and invenies seem capable of referring both backwards and forwards, though they are more often found referring forward, since the formula dictum est is available when the scholiast wishes to refer clearly backwards. Habes and invenies seem to be preferred when the scholiast refers between books (that is from Eclogues to Georgics or Aeneid or vice versa); the scholiast may have regarded these references as neutral in direction. However in the one instance in which the Compiler uses plenius dictum est to refer to another work, he refers from Aen. 8.677 to G. 3.221. This can hardly be reconciled with a DS order Aen., E., G. Therefore the two instances of invenies referring from the Aeneid to the Eclogues or Georgics seem to me insufficient to prove that the Compiler adopted Servius's order of Aen., E., G., rather than D's order E., G., Aen. Goold could claim that references which argue for the order E., G., Aen., are D's formula with minimum change, while references which support an order Aen., E., G., reveal the hand of the Compiler. This is logical, but I don't believe it. Formulae using plenius or other forms of plene seem to be regularly the Compiler's own insertion: see, e.g. at Aen. 7.207 quod superius (3.12) plenius dictum est, and 11.581 superius (476) plenissime narratum est, in both of which the formula is attached by the Compiler to a comment of Servius. In the latter example it is clearly a formula used by DS to indicate transference of Servian comment to a different location in DS: see F's readings in Thilo's apparatus at p. 547.20 and p. 536.28. To further confound the question of arrangement, I cite DS at Aen. 1.305: de quo loco suo in quarto libro dictum est. This scholium is transmitted only by f, but if we accept it, and combine it with Aen. 7.764, quam historiam plene in secundo (116) invenies (so F in Thilo's apparatus), strict logic on Goold's method would compel us to assert that the Compiler composed comment on Aen. 1-2 (found in codex C) after he composed comment on Aen. 3-12 (found in codex F). But if so, then we must assert that the order of composition is not to be identified with the order of arrangement. It is improbable in the highest degree that the Compiler wanted us to find comment on Aen. 1-2 after comment on Aen. 12. A priori the most likely order of arrangement for DS, if there was a fixed order, is the order E., G., Aen., since: (1) this was the order of the D comment; (2) this was the order in which both the A a n d T traditions of Servius are transmitted, and must be the order of Servius inherited by the Compiler (whose Servian text contained both A and T errors); (3) this is the regular order in our early MSS of Virgil.

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and Barwick is no doubt correct in seeing this avoidance as a deliberate editorial change. 31 The Donatian Preface also contains such references. In the Preface to the Eclogues, Donatus refers back to his Life or earlier part of his Preface twice, always using the first person diximus (194 and 251-254 Brummer). Similar uses of the first person plural are found at 251, 295, 326-7. In this use Donatus is consistent in style with Servius and with D before incorporation into DS, but decidedly not with DS, in which such personals are regularly changed. Nor do we find in the Donatian Life any of the other characteristics of the style of DS: suppression of the names of sources, 32 conflation of material from both Servius and D, rephrasing of comment of both Servius and D in characteristic ways, 33 including supplying apparent ellipses, 34 changing word order, 35 and occasionally changing classical to medieval vocabulary. 36 In fact all scholars who have paid attention to the question, including Goold, have recognized that the Donatian Life possesses none of the characteristics of the DS conflation. For this reason, if for no other, I regard it as sure that the Donatian Life as extant never formed an integrated part of DS. 31 Barwick (141) believed that these changes took place in the course of time, but both Goold and I attribute them to the author of DS, whom we call the Compiler: that is to say, we believe that the individual who infused the conflation of Servius and D with the consistent characteristic traits which may be observed in DS—including mode of connecting scholia, elimination of Servius' personal, certain rearrangements, additions, and subtractions of material—should be considered the effective author of DS, and it is his work (not an original, pure D added on to pure Servius) which we edit in DS. All of the main DS codices, C (for Am. 1-2), F (for Am. 3-12), and L (for E. and G), regularly exhibit impersonal or equivalent constructions in D scholia where Servius would use the first person plural (for " w e " meaning " I " ) . Codex C also regularly exhibits such constructions in scholia of Servius, and F and L occasionally do. On the basis of five examples in which he thought that DS preserved a personal construction from D, Barwick (141) conjectured that the D comment originally used the personal constructions of Servius and Donatus. I accept Barwick's conclusion but not his evidence. Three of the five examples are not valid. Those at Am. 2.152 (sicul supra diximus) and 202 (in quarto innuimus) are not apt since codex C is there missing; P, our sole source for these scholia, not infrequently exhibits the personal construction where C has the impersonal. I also think that P.'s innuimus in 2.202 is likely to be a scribal error for inomies. The example cited at Am. 4.246 (ut in primo diximus) must also be rejected, since the words are in fact Servius's. This leaves only Am. 2.69 (poUrimus advertere) and 6.603 (sicul supra diximus in Thilo's apparatus at p. 84.1) as valid examples. There is better evidence for Barwick's thesis, which would take too long to detail here. 32 See Barwick 144. 33 See Barwick passim. 34 See Murgia 331, 342. 35 See Murgia 327. 36 For an example, see Murgia 320.

Donatian Life of Virgil, DS, and D

271

Goold is aware of the stylistic difficulty, but his attempts to explain it are unconvincing. He can do no better than to explain as a whim of the Compiler 37 the preservation of Donatus's Letter to Munatius, which is inconsistent with the careful elimination from DS of traces of both Servian and D authorship, and the suppression of names of late commentators, including Donatus, Urbanus, and perhaps Aemilius Asper. 38 He is no more successful in explaining the fact that, although in DS as extant the Compiler always uses Servius as his base text, in the Donatian Life and Preface alone we have Donatus unconflated. He suggests first 39 that the Compiler was moved by the superiority of the Donatian Life. But the superiority of Donatus should have been just as obvious elsewhere, and never so moved the Compiler. The next suggestion does not work either: that, in some way influenced by the T lacuna at E. 1.37-2.10, 40 the Compiler transferred unaltered Donatus's Letter, Life, Preface, and comment on E. 1-2.10 to a position in front of the preface and comment for the Aeneid.41 Now the Compiler was a man of reasonable stupidity. But the incompetence of placing not only a preface to the Eclogues, but also comment on E. 1 and part of E. 2 in front of the comment on the Aen. surpasses belief. The maneuver would also fail to explain the lack of conflation and other characteristic changes. It is after all Goold himself who has shown the 37 Goold 120. 38 The suppression of the names Donatus and Urbanus has often been noted (e.g., by Goold 110). It is usually not noted that some other important commentators are rarely or never cited in D comments, although they were clearly used by the D commentator, as a comparison with citations in the Scholia Veronensia shows. Haterianus, the source of both Servius and DS in Aen. 2.672 (see Macrobius, Sal. 3.8.1-3), is never mentioned by name by either Servius or DS. Aemilius Asper, frequently cited by Servius, and frequently used by D, is mentioned only once in a D comment (at Aen. 10.673). The examples of his name in G. 4.452 and 519 are in the Vatican scholia, which are related but different. At Aen. 8.383 sic Asper in Servius is omitted by DS. 3» Goold 119. Servius survives through three traditions, all of which reached the ninth century in a lacunose state. For the state of L, our sole transmitter of DS, see supra n. 23. For the state of J , which lacked ten quaternions worth of text, including E. Praef.-G. 121, see Murgia 313 n. 7. r , our sole transmitter of Servius for E. Praef.-i. 1, lacked, besides part of Servius' Life, text on E. 1.37-2.10, which is supplied inmost of our manuscripts from Philargyrius. There is no need for the lacuna at E. 1.37-2.10 also to have infected the Servian text of the Compiler; it did not infect the Servian text available to Philargyrius (see Thilo 3, pratf. vi). Lacunae at the beginnings of MSS are common, even normal in early manuscripts. It is wishful thinking to try to establish a connection between the DS and T lacunae (see supra n. 23). « Goold 120.

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Compiler's inability to refrain from meddling with the text before him. 42 I have remarked above that there is no D comment corresponding to Donatus 160-169. There is in fact no D comment which answers any reference in Donatus's Life. The significance of this should be apparent when we contrast the practice described above in the D scholia: references to lines of Virgil frequendy are answered by corresponding comments at those lines. Even when we lack explicit references, we frequendy find a correspondence in both wording and content of one D comment with another. If Donatus and D are the same, we should expect to find similar correspondences between the Life and the scholia. Contrast Servius. Of four quotations in the Life, three (E. 9.28; Aen. l . l a - 1 ; 2.566-589) have corresponding comment at the lines cited. Of twelve quotations in his preface to the Eclogues, five or six have correspondences in the commentary: p. 2.16 > E. 6.1; p. 3.3 > E. 9.28; p. 3.7 > E. 3.94; p. 3.18 similar to G. 4.564 (360.13); p. 3.27 > G. 4.564; p. 4.14 > E. 1.69 (actually Philargyrius)."3 There are no inconsistencies with the commentary. Of thirteen references and quotations in Donatus, five are of lines where DS has perished. Of the remaining eight, three have correspondences in Servius, with no D addition or reference by DS to Donatus's Life: Brummer 119 > Aen. 6.165; 160 > Aen. 3.340; 160169 > Aen. 1.1. The remaining five have no correspondence in D, although all three of the references to the Eclogues have correspondences in the Bern Scholia: 47 > E. 5.20; 111 > Aen. 6.884; 118 > Aen. 6.164; 321 > £.10.1; 325 > £.6.1. Of the latter two references to the Eclogues we can perhaps not make too much, since Servius also quotes these lines in his preface to the Eclogues, without answering them in his commentary: Donatus 316-325 quod ad ' ordinem' spectat, illud scire debemus, in prima tantum et in ultima ecloga poetam voluisse ordinem reservare, quando in altera 42

See especially Goold 106f. Among opportunities missed, the Compiler could have added to Donatus's list of minor poems the Copa (Servius, Life 15), and a reference to the Helen Episode, if not the episode itself. 43 See supra n. 40. " Philargyrius" used Servius among other commentators and provides good testimony to the text that Servius would have contained in the I* lacuna: see Thilo 3, praej. vi.

Donatian Life of Virgil, DS, and D

273

principium constituent, ut in georgicis ait (G. IV 566): ' Tityre, te patulae cecini sub tegmine fagi', in altera ostenderit finem, quippe cum dicat (E. X 1): 'extremum hunc, Arethusa, mihi concede laborem'. verum inter ipsas eclogas naturalem consertumque ordinem nullum esse certissimum est. sed sunt qui dicant, initium bucolici carminis non 'Tityre' esse sed {E. V I 1): 'prima Syracusio dignata est ludere versu Servius, Praef. in E. (3.15-20) de eclogis multi dubitant, quae licet decern sint, incertum tamen est, quo ordine scriptae sint. plerique duas certas volunt ipsius testimonio, ultimam, ut (X 1) extremum hunc, € T O A[É]IAUL[A. . . ]

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In the commentary I have not always described letters which have been dotted in previous editions but seem clear on the stone. The text is printed for convenience only with a firm right margin, for it is not certain that the right side of the fragment is original. I have sought, however, to preserve the alignment of the final stoichos in each line; the irregular right ends of the lines as printed in Hesperia 14 (1945) 119-120 and SEG 10.87 give a misleading impression of the disposition of the text on the stone. Line 1 :

In the third stoichos from the end there is the bottom of a centered vertical. Line 4 : The center of the circular letter is too badly damaged to permit a choice between theta and omicron. Some form of araôfiâ might.be restored; cf. section 12 of the Athenian coinage decree, Meiggs-Lewis, GHI no. 45. Line 5 : Of the dotted nu only the lower part of the left vertical has survived. Line 6: "No case of the noun Se«ceT»j or the feminine adjective can

Three Attic Decrees

Line 8:

285

easily be accommodated in a line, where the only recoverable letters are E [ . . .]EKATE[. .]AITO It is profitless to try to recover the sense, but a reasonable beginning can be made with [ 8]« [oi 8]eKar«[vT]ai to [tcAo? ]. This is enough to show that the restoration is feasible." H. B. Mattingly, Proc. African Class. Assn. 7 (1964) 49. " I n line 5 the surviving letters and traces are consistent with 8]c [oi 8]€*aTe[vr]ai ro[ and it is hard to think of any very plausible alternative." idem, BCH 92 (1968) 470. But since [ ]e [8o8]««:are[i k]cci ro[ ] or [ ] e [Ae SJixare, [¿v]at ro[-] and other supplements are possible,12 in which a date or a numeral may be present, it is best to follow Meritt in printing the line in upper case letters and to refrain from any restoration, especially one on which a historical theory is grounded. " I read from squeeze and photographNOMOEH. The second O is not clear and it may prove even to be an impossible reading. I believe that only an inspection of the stone might decide. The last letter, however, seems to me to be H. If it is M it is badly out of shape. The alternative to reading vopos A[o] would seem to be to read vd/*«7/x[a]. In itself the reading v6(iiaix[a] is not improbable, because the whole context of the inscription deals with monetary matters and the word vofuafia occurs twice in the preserved portions of later lines. One would like a clear decision on this question. Unfortunately I can only report the letters as I see them, and the traces seem to me to favor vo/ao? A[o]." B. D. Meritt, Hesperia 14(1945) 120. " M y second restoration, however, seems to support the first. In line 7f Meritt's text gives us [ KaBairep KeXevei ho\ vopos A[o] if[a]AA[.. .]. 13 Study of the photograph justifies his verdict that NOMIZM[A can hardly be read without doing violence to the visible r e m a i n s . . . . The name Kallias inevitably springs to mind for line 7 . . . " H. B. Mattingly, PACA 7 (1964) 49-50. "During a recent visit to Athens I took the opportunity of examining the stone itself

12 For these see H. B. Mattingly, BCH92 (1968) 470 n. 2. 13 Actually, in Meritt's text, also reprinted in SEG 10, the doubtful omicron and aspirate are printed without dots.

Ronald S. Stroud at the Agora Museum. Meritt's reading vofio[s] A[o] in line 7 seems quite certain." H. B. Mattingly, PACA 8 (1965) 21. " In line 5 . . . it is hard to think of any very plausible alternative. I feel the same about line 7 where I was able to confirm Meritt's Ao] v6fjios A[o] /£[a]AA[ by independent study of the stone in Athens. . . . Now the word ScKarevrai inevitably recalls the mysterious SeKarrj of D 1, 7, so that my other restoration i£[a]AA[to ] may seem to be imposed by the evidence as a whole." H. B. Mattingly, BCH 92 (1968) 470. " I would now give up my hazardous restoration [Ao] vo/x[o]s A[o] if[a]AA[u}] in SEG x.87.7; we must surely read voH.[l]o|^[a]:, H. B. Mattingly, BSA 65 (1970) 142, n. 89. It would be easy to editorialize about epigraphic method on this line; I will try simply to state the facts as I see them. The letters NOM[.]2J are clear on the stone. Between mu and sigma there is a deep scar which has removed the original surface for a distance of 0.006 m. to the right of the mu. Beyond this scar, however, immediately to the left of the sigma, there is 0.004 m. of uninscribed original surface still preserved. The horizontal checker-unit of 0.01 m. and the diameter of the other omicrons on the stone, 0.007 m., are both such that if there had ever been an omicron inscribed in this space, some trace of it ought to be visible today on the patch of original surface to the left of sigma. To test this observation I measured the distance from the left side of sigma to the farthest projecting part of omicron at the eight other places on the stone where the former falls after the latter in the sequence proposed in line 7; the greatest interval was only 0.002 m. On these grounds I would exclude omicron as a possible reading. On the positive side, there is clearly perceptible on the stone, below the scar in this stoichos, the bottom tip of a roughly centered vertical stroke. It lies 0.004 m. to the right of the mu and could belong only to iota, upsilon, tau, or phi. Upsilon and phi may be excluded since they, like omicron, ought to have extended over onto the uninscribed space to the left of the sigma. Tau remains possible epigraphically but

Three Attic Decrees

287

MTS is impossible, so that iota seems assured. The placement of iota in the stoichos is erratic in this inscription; it falls sometimes in the center, sometimes either to the right or left of center. After the sigma there is a diagonal stroke sloping down from right to left at the left edge of the stoichos. On my squeezes this stroke does appear slighdy out of shape, as it did to Meritt, but this is due to damage which has removed most of the center of the stoichos. On the stone this stroke stands out clearly and it appears to be met at the top by the top of another stroke to form an apex. The traces in the top right corner of the space seem also to me to be those of a similar apex and not the free-standing tip of a vertical stroke. A misshapen nu, however, cannot be excluded, so that I print the almost certain mu with a dot. Since the bottom of the completely preserved vertical stroke in the seventh space from the end of the line stands free, there is no justification for reading a dotted lambda. In the next space only the top of a roughly centered vertical remains. Line 9: Of the dotted iota only the bottom of a centered vertical is visible. Only the left diagonal of the dotted mu has survived. Restorations of a publication formula here and conclusions drawn from them about the length of line of this text are misleading 14 in view of the equally possible interpretation / « « i i 1/ n \ t [€t\0B> o/0€ Tl$ «€ ya P X ° V •€ CdtOT€S €t7T€l € €7TUpO€aiv, irapa[. °.a: ?. . ] airavra vet, K€pa\jiov

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Fragments a, b, and c form a unit which preserves the full width and thickness of the stele but is broken at both top and bottom. The back is very roughly picked and in thickness this group of fragments tapers upwards, measuring ca. 0.055 m. at the bottom and ca 0.039 m. at the top. T h e right side forms much less than a right angle with the inscribed face and the same characteristic can be observed, though in a less pronounced form, on the left. Unlike the left edge, which is vertical, the right edge of the stele inclines inward toward the top, reducing the width of the stone from ca. 0.215 m. at the level of line 12 to ca. 0.208 m. at the level of line 1. This appears at first glance to be the result of a later reworking of the stone but it is unlikely because the chisel marks on the irregular right side are identical to those on the left and this inward inclination of the right edge has not removed any letters from the ends of the lines of text. The same irregularity of the right edge can be observed on fragment d starting at the level of line 21 where the stone is 0.219 m. wide; below this line the stone gradually becomes wider until it reaches the maximum of 0.229 m. at the bottom. Indeed, the

294

Ronald S. Stroud

mason seems to have known that he had to work with this rather ragged right edge, for he carefully ended each line close to it rather than attempting to leave a margin. This feature of the right side accounts for the fact that the lines in the upper part of this non-stoichedon text are considerably shorter than those in the lower portion. The text of fragments a, b, and c printed supra is the result of a study of the stones in the Epigraphical Museum. Through the kindness of Brian Cook of the Greek and Roman Department I have also been able to examine a squeeze of fragment d from the British Museum. M. F. McGregor also kindly sent me some measurements which resulted from his examination of this fragment in the summer of 1972. McGregor reports that the marble of fragment d is not white, as has been stated by Hicks and others, but bluish-gray like the fragments in Athens. Since I have nothing to add to the reading of fragment d, I have printed only its first four lines. E P I G R A P H I C A L COMMENTARY

Line 1: To the right of the break after AZ there is the bottom tip of a vertical stroke which lies fairly close to the sigma; iota is only one of several epigraphic possibilities. Line 3: Of the dotted rho only the top half is preserved. Line 4: In the seventeenth letter-space all that survives is the bottom tip of a centered vertical. Line 7: Of the dotted rho only the top half is preserved. It is followed by the apex of a triangular letter whose bottom half is broken away. Of the dotted upsilon only the top of a diagonal survives in the top right corner of the letter-space. Line 8: In the first stoichos there are preserved the bottoms of two vertical strokes which are spaced 0.004 m. apart, the normal distance between the two verticals of eta in this inscription. Since the text is not stoichedon, however, it is possible that these traces belong to two different letters; eta should not be printed without a dot as it is in the Corpus. The kappa which has been printed in the next letter-space without a dot is also very dubious. The bottom of a vertical stroke is clear but what has been interpreted as the lower diagonal stroke seems clearly to be a fortuitous scar at the edge of the broken top surface of fragment b; 0.008 m. to the right of the vertical stroke is the bottom of another identical stroke. After the break there

Three Attic Decrees

Line 9:

Line 11:

Line 12: Line 15:

Line 16: Line 17:

Line 18:

295

is the end of a diagonal stroke in the lower right corner of the letter-space; its angle seems to be too flat for alpha or lambda; but kappa, sigma, and chi all remain possible epigraphically. In the next letter-space are the bottoms of two diagonal strokes so placed as to limit the possible readings to alpha and lambda. In the bottom of the next space there is what seems to be part of a centered vertical. After this there is a small isolated dot at the bottom of the line which was reported by Wilhelm, UDA 235, but ignored by all subsequent editors. The stone above it is missing but this mark is clearly original and is best interpreted as the bottom of a two- or three-dot punctuation. In the eighth space there is a tip of a vertical stroke in the lower right corner. Of the dotted alpha only the tip of a diagonal survives in the bottom left corner of the space. It is followed by the top half of rho or beta. To the right of the last iota there is enough uninscribed original surface preserved, 0.005 m., to exclude the nu movable restored here by previous editors. Only the top half of the dotted rho is preserved. Wilhelm read the last preserved letter as a clear delta. I cannot see any certain traces of a letter here and prefer to follow the Corpus reading. Only the upper parts of the two dotted rhos survive. In roughly the fourteenth letter-space there is the end of a diagonal stroke in the top right corner, i.e. kappa, sigma, upsilon, or perhaps psi. It is followed by the top of a vertical to the right of which there is not enough original surface preserved to permit a clear choice among eta, iota, or kappa. In addition to the clear nu and pi, which are the only letters printed in this line in the Corpus, Hicks 32 reported traces which can be read on the squeeze. The right diagonal of the alpha is visible and there are the bottoms of two vertical strokes following it. Between the second of these and the nu there is enough original uninscribed surface preserved at the bottom of the space to limit the possible reading to theta, omicron, or omega, which all ride high in the line in this inscription. Of the final letter only the left diagonal survives. 32 Op. cit. (supra n. 22).

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Ronald S. Stroud

Line 19: Again in this line one of Hicks' readings ought to be added to the Corpus ; a diagonal can be detected at the right side of the first preserved letter-space. This document consists of two parts : ( 1 ) a fragmentary leasing agreement between the demesmen of Peiraieus and ol npiâp.evoi TÒ Otarpov of Dionysos 33 (lines 1-31); (2) a brief, honorary decree of the former for a certain Theaios and four Trpiâp.evoi TO Otarpov (lines 32-40). As preserved, the leasing agreement is concerned with construction in the theater (lines 2-8, 21 ) and with the administration of the building by the irptâfievoi during festivals (lines 9-16). Most of the details of the construction work are lost to us, although lines 1 and 6 suggest that the scene building was included. In line 2 the lessees, ol nptafievoi, are probably the subject of /9o[u] Acuir [ a t ] , as they must also appear in the next line as aù[roîç]. They are to be permitted use of stones and earth from the (adjacent ?) temenos of Dionysos. The next clause, ôrav S' èÇlaioiv, is to be interpreted as designating the expiration of the lease; cf. ôrav Sè 6 xpóvos «fóji, IG I I 2 , 2499, line 11; ineiSàv Sè ¿ÇKei o xpóvos rfjs

[uodaioews

H. Pleket, Epigraphica 1.43, line 15: êœs àv e'fe'Aöiji ò xpóvos ôv èfxiadwoaro, SEG 21.527, Une 59; and IG I P , 411, line 13; 2492, Unes 11-15; 2493, Une 23; 2494, Une 16. After this temporal clause an infinitive or imperative is required in line 5 ; an appropriate form of TrapaSîSœm is probably to be restored. When the lease expires, they are to hand over everything òpdà Kai ¿(rrrjKÓra. For this use of napaSiSiop.i, IG II 2 , 2492, Une 15; 2499, Une 17. In IG II 2 , 2493, line 23 the lessee is to leave something [vé]av Kai òp8rj[v] at the expiration of his lease; cf. IG II 2 , 2499, Une 14, rû>v S' óAAatv Kivrfoei ovdév.

The verb in the third person, plural, active, subjunctive in Une 6 has been restored as [àX]eixfiœaiv in Hesperia 32 (1963) 12, no. 10 and interpreted as referring to the plastering of walls. In view of the space for ca. seven letters after ea[v], we might restore a compound form such as ¿¿[V Sè irepiaXjtùfiwoiv, cf. IG II 2 , 1672, Une 61; 2499, Located on Mounychia hill, this structure is to be distinguished from the later (ca. 150 B.C.) theater at Zea; Xen., Hill. 2. 4. 32 ; Thuc. 8.93; Lysias 13.32, 55; IG 112, 1035, line 44; 1214, lines 19-30; H. Bulle, Untersuchungen an Griechischen Theatern: Abh. Bayer. Akad. 33 (Munich 1928) 6; W. Judeich, Topographie von Athen2 (Munich 1931) 451 ; L. Deubner, Attische Feste (Berlin 1932) 137-138; C. Anti, Teatri greci arcaici (Padua 1947) 136-138; C. T. Panagos, Le Pirie (Athens 1968) 221.

Three Attic Decrees

297

line 7. 34 " I f they do some plastering on the stage b u i l d i n g , . . . " T h e apodosis consists of Ktpa[. ?. . £]yAa airlrat Xafiwv, etc. Like ¿£uooiv in line 5, amevou is used of the lessee "leaving" his contract at its expiration, and it is often accompanied by a participle signifying that he can take something away with him; Pleket, Ep. 1.43, lines 16-21, tirei&cn> &t ¿£K€t o xpovos rf}? fjuadutaews, onrUvax OpaovfiovXov \a/36vra 2 TOV K€(j>y\ji\ara, 306/5. O n the strength of these contemporary Attic texts, Kepa[fiov xal £]u'Aa might plausibly be restored in our line 7. But since the irpid/ievoi must be the subject of the protasis, it is surprising to find the imperative and masculine participle of the apodosis in the singular. If we have correctly identified the formula in lines 6-8, the subject ofamrio \af}a>v ought to be one of the lessees or someone closely associated with them. After at least five lines, however, in which the verbs and pronouns are all plural, we might expect some guidance in making the harsh transition to the singular, aniro) Xafiwv; the subject ought to be defined. I tentatively suggest, therefore, that the letters at the end of line 7 and beginning of line 8 belong to a name in the nominative, without the article, and that this man was identified as one of the Trptafxevoi or an associate elsewhere on the stele, possibly at the beginning of the decree. For some reason, unknown to us, he was designated as the one responsible for taking away tiles and lumber at the expiration of the lease. If the punctuation point is correctly interpreted and :[o 8e \\povos is an accurate restoration, 35 the three preceding letters should be taken with the traces at the end of line 7 and the beginning of line 8. Since these three fragmentary letters are hardly compatible with a nominative ending, it is possible that they belong to an abbreviation either of a patronymic or a demotic which follows the name of the lessee. The obvious objection to this hypothesis is that the traces at the end of line 7 and beginning of line 8 cannot form part of any of the four names of the -npiapxvoi listed at the end of both the leasing 34

For examples of this and other compounds with full technical discussion of their meanings, F. G. Maier, Grieckische Mauerbauinschrijlen 2: Vestigia 2 (Heidelberg 1961) 71-75. 35 Two dot punctuation is used at the end of the leasing agreement (lines 22-24 in the Corpus) with sums of money.

298

Ronald S. Stroud

agreement and the short decree of Kalliades near the bottom of the stele. It is still possible, however, that there were more than four original lessees or that an associate of the -rrpuifxevoi, who did not contribute and is therefore not listed below, was charged with the removal of the tiles and lumber. The formula o 8e xpovos ¿pxfl has been studied by A. Wilhelm, AfP 11 (1935) 203-204. D. Behrend placed the decree at the end of 325/4, 36 late enough so that the name of the next archon, Hegesias, was known; but since we lack the name of the month when either the fiiaBwais began or the first payment was due, it is equally possible that both the decree and the inception of the lease fell within Hegesias' year, 324/3. Cf. Pleket, Epigraphica 1.43. On proedria, the subject of lines 10-16, see M. Maass, Die Prohedrie des Dionysostheaters in Athen: Vestigia 15 (Munich 1972) 77-95. In line 14 the most likely restoration is probably *a[i rots Upevoi], cf. IG II 2 , 1214, lines 22—25, etaayirw avrov o Syfiapxos els TO dearpov KCtffairep rovs Ifpels KCU T O V S aXXovs ots Se'Sorow i j npoeSpia netpa Ileipcuewv.

University of California Berkeley Postscript: After this paper was in proof B. D Meritt kindly informed me that in line 18 of the Aphytis fragment of the Athenian Coinage Decree (supra p. 280) he now reads [Adrjv]dcu from the photograph. Since on the stone and on squeezes I could see no trace of a crossbar in the triangular letter at the beginning of this line, I should prefer to print either alpha or lambda with a dot. I am most grateful to Meritt for pointing out that the reading [ ]?cu is not as incompatible with the restoration of Athena as my remarks on p. 281 would suggest, cf. the uncontracted forms M-qvaas in SEG 15.84 (Athens, ca. 400 B.C.) and A0€vacu in IG I 2 711.

Ait. Pacht. 86 n. 171.

Plate i

Stroud

âm^mW

• fiSnraSs N f ' t sfflffr

The Aphytis Fragment of the Athenian Coinage Decree.

Stroud

Plate 2

IP- .

R

-• ' •' * fw. A

«

i s i l l t p f e w .

Agora I 5879: SEG 10.87.

Plate 3

Stroud

Stroud

Plate 4